No Werewolves Allowed

Chapter eighteen

"...And you, you better run because i'm going to destroy you for what you've taken from me."

― Samantha Young, Blood Will Tell

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I heaved a heavy sigh as we waited for the elevator, keeping an eye and an ear out for any footsteps of hunters. I silently prayed that the elevator would be empty as the doors swung open, but instead, I was faced with two hunters — both women.

They sported leather jackets and dark jeans, their scents reeking of silver and werewolves. They had been chatting over each other but immediately grew silent when they noticed my group and I standing on the other side of the doors.

One of them watched me, her eyes enlarging as she gazed down at my shirt — blood splattered all over.

I didn't waste another second as I sprung up, grabbing her by the collar of her jacket. My hands instinctively reached to my belt, unsheathing a dagger that I placed at her throat within a split second.

"P-please don't hurt me." Her voice wavered, growing glassy. A stray tear slid down her cheek and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her pathetic cries. My blood boiled over when I peered down at her own shirt. Her leather jacket was soaked in werewolf blood, their scent prominent to anyone who was near her.

She was a hypocrite.

She cried for her own life — just as I imagined werewolves crying for theirs.

"You can cry when you're six feet under." I spun her around sliding my knife across her throat simultaneously.

Her body grew limp in a second, and she dropped to the ground with a thud. Her blood poured out of her throat, staining the elevator floor as it spread out around her head. My nose crinkled at the thick metallic scent of her blood that penetrated my nostrils.

When finally, I looked up, the second woman was already laying on the floor next to her. Blood dripping out of her abdomen as she laid face flat on the elevator.

My read met Justin's and we nodded at each other in a silent agreement, each of us grabbing a woman's legs before dragging them out.

Their jackets scratched the floor as they moved, letting out an awe full screeching noise that sounded much like nails scratching against a chalkboard.

Justin and I set the two down on the floor next to the elevator and together, we filed in.

I watched as some of them attempted to avoid the pools of blood, unsuccessfully considering how small the elevator was.

The doors finally swung open again and immediately, the revolting smell of metallic blood slapped us in the face. Pained screeches sounded throughout the basement, piercing our ears. There was only a dim, narrow hallway, and a metal door at one end of it.

The hunters were so close — their stench was so much more prominent. I inched forward, the seven others trailing slightly behind me as I peered through the small circular window of the door.

My eyes widened at the knife that a hunter unsheathed from the waistband of his pants. He stalked over towards a young girl, as she attempted to shuffle away from him.

He wasn't alone in the room. All around, there were hunters. Some polishing their swords and knives and others lounging around in the couple of chairs that sat around the edges of the room. All of them sported leather jackets, all with the symbol of two swords crossed over one another.