Hunter

18. How to Aggressively Negotiate

But what is it like, to be human? Does anybody really know? Is there even a definitive answer?

"I don't know," I responded. "I haven't felt human in a long time."

"I know a few humans," Jenny-Jelly said. "They clean and they do yard work and they don't complain about it. They'd never even consider lifting a finger against us."

"Most humans don't go through what I've gone through," I said. "And those who do are too afraid to do anything about it."

But one day. One day, we'll rise and take back what you took from us. The oppressed will once again be the oppressors.

I read something like that once, a long time ago, during a history class. Reading further into it, you'll discover a vicious cycle - the oppressed become the oppressors, who will oppress those who oppressed them. And so the cycle continues.

It's kind of a sad thought. Today, it's the supernatural beings who are on top. Seven years ago, it was the humans. In the future, I have to believe, due to statistical evidence, that the humans will once again have power, until another supernatural being like Michael Randon decides that humans are no better than roaches.

Of course, I didn't say any of this to Little Miss Jennifer. I couldn't since we'd stopped in a well-lit, cozy hallway, in front of a single wooden door.

This is much nicer than the prison.

Jenny-doo-doo knocked three times on the door, then stood back, wringing her hands nervously.

Ah. I take it this is where the Alpha is.

"Enter," came a voice, muffled through the door. Jenni-unfair took a deep breath and opened the door, pulling me along after her.

Yes, I looked thoroughly around the room before looking at him, wanting to refrain from meeting his gaze for as long as possible.

But, unfortunately for me, the room wasn't that interesting to look at - just a normal study, comfortable, with quite a few bookshelves lining the walls, though they were only about half-filled. A fireplace sat on the far side of the room, but it wasn't lit, which wasn't much of a surprise - it was only October, and wouldn't be getting too cold for at least another month.

Then there was him.

He was sitting in a plush chair by the empty fireplace, one leg flung over the arm, looking much more relaxed than he had earlier - then again, would anybody be relaxed while witnessing the death of an innocent, besides a psychopath? He didn't look up as we entered, his eyes fixed on the occupant of the chair opposite him. It was a young woman, appearing to be around my age, though one glance told me that though we shared an age, we definitely didn't share a rating. She was without a doubt a ten, maybe a nine if I'm being ungenerous. On my better days, I consider myself to be a six. Next to her, I'd be lucky to be a three.

Her golden-blonde hair was drawn over one shoulder, the longest strands ending just above her hips. There was no doubt that she was a werewolf, but she was even more stunning than most. I could tell that, if she stood up, she'd have the long, slender build that most girls would absolutely die for. Me? I'm all hard angles and triangles, maybe with some human softness. She's curves and delicacy.

Why am I even thinking about this? Why does it matter?

Jen-Z, who was a seven next to this girl, by the way, cleared her throat. I wanted to whack her across the back of her head for announcing our presence. Part of me - a startlingly large part of me - yearned to eavesdrop on whatever these two were discussing.