The Life of a Rogue

Prologue

He let out an animalistic snarl and I was ready. I watched with a lazy smirk as he shifted his weight and leaned back on his legs.

With one swift motion, I drew out my sword from behind my back and cut him down. The sheer impact of sword cutting into flesh tingled my fingers; god, how I loved that. He wailed pathetically and snarled with anger. He fell limply to the floor, I kicked him over so that he rolled onto his back. He lay in his own dirty blood that seeped through the earth. His eyes burned with hatred and I matched his leer.

I pulled out a gun fixed with a silver bullet from my halter and aimed it at his skull. I often used a gun for my final move. I felt more like business rather than sadistic satisfaction as I watched my weapons cut each werewolf and vampire down. This was business, for the greater good, to tear down those who harm others, to get my revenge, to avenge my pack, nothing more. "Any last words?" I asked, mocking him.

His mouth opened but I didn't give him time to utter a word. A bullet exploded from my gun and rocketed into his skull. He fell back, limp.

The adrenaline seeped from me and I relaxed my pose. I sighed, knowing that I would have to clean up the mess. I would be needing another batch of hydrofluoric acid at this rate.

Bending down, I was careful not to get his blood on me and wiped my sword on his denim jacket. The scent of decay and blood overpowered me; I had to step back.

I flexed my fingers and tied ropes around the body. I decided to leave the blood, just to mess with them.

Sighing again, I turned on my heel and trudged back to my humble abode. I hated to think that I would bring the enemy to my home but I needed it melted down.

Or I could send a message, strap him to a tree or sprinkle little bits of him to be found... No, the silent ones are always the deadliest.

I looked back over my shoulder to the limp carcass of the Beta of the Blood Wanderers pack.

One by one, I will cut you down.