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Dmitri

Blood. Werewolf blood.

Silently, I make my way through the forest, tracking the scent until I reach a clearing behind some trees opposite where Sky's sunroom is.

Shit. It's Ruan. One of my warriors on surveillance duty.

After the meeting with Jacobson, I had men rotating shifts, monitoring Sky's shop and house, in case any hunters tried to make contact.

He lies in front of me, blood pouring from a wound in his shoulder. I hunch down beside him and swipe my finger through the river of red. I can smell it before my finger even reaches my nose. A silver bullet. He didn't even have time to shift. The shot was at close range, more than likely with a silencer. Whoever it was must have masked their scent, as there is no other scent besides Ruan's. The blood flow shows this happened minutes ago.

Rising, I notice tracks in the ground leading toward Sky's house. I allow my Lycan senses to take over, my eyesight taking in every detail, every crushed leaf and disturbed piece of soil, following the tracks through the forest. I take the high ground, jumping from tree to tree silently until I hear the snap of a twig up ahead.

I see the piece of shit. He is crouched down, hiding in a bush, holding a phone. I can only assume he wants to alert someone to the situation and call in backup. I edge forward.

I had mind-linked Ivan, letting him know of the situation when I left Sky at home. He should be here shortly, leaving another man to guard Sky's house.

I jump, silently landing on a branch just above the man who must be a hunter. They are renowned for using silver bullets, fatal to our species if lodged in the body. A slice from a silver blade leaves a pretty hideous scar, I know from experience, but an embedded blade, as with a bullet, can be the end for a werewolf or Lycan.

I jump down, landing in front of his hiding spot. He drops the phone on the ground, crushing it under the heel of his black military-style boots. He moves up and forward, out of the confines of his hiding spot, simultaneously reaching for the gun holstered to his side.

Before he can even grip the handle, I've grabbed him, one hand around his neck, lifting him off the floor, legs dangling uselessly feet above the ground.

One of his hands is rummaging through his jacket pocket while the other is clawing at my hand around his throat. I know what he is looking for and grab his other hand, which is now fisted. I squeeze his wrist, nearly breaking it and forcing his hand to open. A small glass capsule falls to the ground, confirming my suspicions. He is a hunter.

Each hunter is given a small capsule filled with a lethal dose of cyanide to be used in instances where they have been captured or where capture is imminent, with no way out. They are loyalists who would rather die than disclose any information. I didn't judge it. Werewolves were as devoted; it was just agendas that differed.

"Why are you here?" I growl, slightly loosening my grip on his throat on the off chance he answers.

"What do you want with the girl?" The red face looks defiantly back at me. He won't talk. I can see it written all over his face. We will take him back to our holding cells and continue the interrogation. I lower him to the ground just as Ivan breaks through the shadows of the forest and into the clearing we are now standing in. I toss the hunter towards Ivan, his body landing awkwardly on the ground in front of him, making the man cry out.

"Put him in a holding cell and start questioning him. I need to know everything. By any means possible. And see if Kira and IT can get anything off of this," I order, handing him the cell phone as I pass him on my way back to Sky's house.

I nod in greeting to the warrior standing in the shadow of a pine tree close to Sky's sunroom. Dylan. One of my best.

"She's sleeping." He points to the chair in the sunroom, a sleeping Sky wrapped in a colorful blanket.

She doesn't look peaceful. She has a small frown knitting her brow as she sleeps. How long has it been, I wonder, absentmindedly looking at the clock on my phone? About an hour.

I walk up to the exterior sunroom door and gently knock on the window of the door. After no reaction, I knock harder, successfully jerking Sky out of her sleep. She looks panicked, her eyes darting around until they land on me. She jumps up and quickly unlatches the door, sliding it open so that I can enter.

"Are you okay? What happened?" She is anxious, looking from my face to the rest of my body, scanning for any injuries. Her gaze stops at my right hand.

Shit. Ruans blood. She snatches my hand, pulling me further into the lounge and the light. She is moving it from left to right, checking for an injury.

"I'm fine," I say, harsher than I intended. It's cute, her concern for me. I'm just not used to it, and if she knew what I was, she would realize how wholly misplaced that worry really is.

"It's not my blood."

Her head snaps up, and her eyes turn to slits.

"Whose blood is it?" she asks nervously, her head moving from side to side slightly.

"It's a bear's blood. I found it on a trail just on the other side of the house." I motion outside toward the trail. "Must have been killed by a hunter. I let the local authorities know, and they will have it moved by morning."

She seems to be processing what I'm saying, a small look of doubt flicking across her face before it disappears.

"Come to the kitchen and wash your hands," she says, dropping my hand and moving towards her kitchen.

I walk slowly behind her, looking around as we move through the lounge, dining room, and into the kitchen. It is bright and quirky, like her, I think to myself after taking in the colorful tiles on the wall and all the knick-knacks on the windowsill.

"Here." She is standing by the basin, holding out a bar of soap.

I take it and start washing the blood off my hands. Ruan joined our pack a few years ago, eager to serve. Eager to start a new life. A life that was snuffed out by fucking hunters. Anger and sorrow clash, making my Lycan feel restless.

Sky is standing off to the side, a towel in one hand, which she passes to me when I switch the tap off. She can tell something is wrong. She can see it on me, and I hate that I am that transparent.

We stand there for a while, her looking at me, me looking at her, as I dry my hands. Without a word, I hand her the towel and then move around her, making my way to the front door.

With my hand on the door and my emotions running riot, making me scared to say anything, she clears her throat.

Here it comes. She's going to start asking questions. Questions I have no desire to answer right now. Besides, what would I say to her? A human. She wouldn't understand.

Slowly, I turn around.

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