Heath (discontinued)

✿ my beautiful ✿

(edited on 9/9/15)

just a quick note. i literally cringed when i reread these older chapters but the story does get better with recent chapters.

plus i know a lot of you have issues with alex killing werewolves and whatnot but you'll be able to see her character develop as the story progresses!!! i don't want a character who's perfect from the start and perfect till the end. i want a realistic, albeit idiotic character, so i can develop her character as the story grows. yall can continue hating on alex cause ik she's a stupid bitch in the early chapters, but she does become more mature!!!

give alex (and this book) a chance, or should i say CHONCE? (those who get the reference, bless you.)

x caryl

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ONE

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I yanked my bloodied knife out of the wolf's fur, blood sliding down the dagger's blade and dripping onto the forest floor. His brown fur was matted together by the sticky red substance oozing out of its wound.

I didn't hesitate in wiping my dagger clean with my shirt, swiping away the blood coated on the silver blade until it was spotless clean before I stuck it back into the leather pouch strapped to my thigh.

The blade left a bloody and sticky patch on the bottom of my shirt, but I had more things to worry about than a couple of stains.

My only concern right now was that I had a limited amount of time to get up and running before his pack showed up. Because as much as I would like to go up against twenty wolves at once, I would much prefer to keep my life and my limbs intact.

I glanced at the body crumpled on the ground, distaste curling my lip.

He had shifted back into a human, and looked to be around his mid-thirties. He had a gaping and messy wound severing the skin on his chest, blood pouring out of the wound, trailing down his bare chest and pooling around his dead body.

The blood stained the forest floor and its dried autumn leaves a dark coppery red, and a thick pungent scent of metallic blood lingered in the air.

If I weren't already so used to seeing gory corpses, I would have keeled over and vomited the contents of my stomach right then and there.

But my heart had frozen over a long time ago, and I was void of any regret or remorse as I stared down at the body with a stoic face.

He may have resembled every aspect of a human, but I knew that they were nothing like humans. They were scums.

They were monsters, created to kill and destined to destroy everything in their path.

I would know.

They were the ones who killed my parents.

My fists clenched unconsciously, my knuckles turning white and my nails biting into the skin of my palm and drawing blood as a wave of raw hatred washed over me.

They deserved much worse than just death.

I had managed to survive for the past three years with the help of other werewolf hunters, and I had been a quick learner to pick up their combat skills and fighting techniques. They trained me to become the lean, mean killing machine I was today; they taught me how to fight, how to fend for myself, how to hold a dagger and all I needed to know to kill a werewolf.