((Hey, sorry I didn't update yesterday! But happy Saint Patrick's day! :D  and uh.. sorry the chapters a bit short, but more is to come, I promise :)  ))

Mark lays in his bed, brown eyes staring at the ceiling and listening to doors open and close outside his own, first Jack's then the front door, and then each closing once again. The red haired man sits up after a few minutes of silence, pushing a hand through his dyed hair and standing slowly. Thoughts racing his head, thoughts he didn't want, that he wanted to just push away and forget.

Walking out of his bedroom silently he follows the trail he heard Jack take, the Irish man wasn't as stealthy as he seemed to think, each movement was tracked by a small creak in the floor, which Mark kept track of with his ears.

Walking outside where Jack had gone Mark's eyes wander until landing on his trash bin, his eyes narrowing as he walks over, digging aimlessly through the trash until he found what he was looking for. A washcloth stained in blood, he slowly examines it jumping slightly when something falls out and hits the ground with a clang.

Slowly he bends down, and his eyes widen slightly when he picks up the small object. A bullet, made of pure silver and coated in blood. A part of Mark silently begged for it to just be a coincidence, but he knew better.

Regardless, he told himself he needed more proof. Walking back inside he slowly creaks open the bedroom door. Jack slept peacefully, the blanket hanging loosely just below his chest, his breaths slow and steady.

Mark tiptoes inside, watching the sleeping man for a few seconds before his eyes scan his small body, finally landing on his left arm.

"Oh Sean..."

He says in a soft whisper, a bit of sadness lining his brown gaze as he examines the bloodied bandages wrapped around the man's upper arm. Gently he reaches over, moving the bandages over slightly, stopping when the man winced in his sleep, but continuing once his breaths steadied again.

Under the bandage was a small wound, though it was nearly fully healed, it was clear what it was. A bullet wound. Right where Mark had shot the wolf. The familiar blue eyes of the wolf made a whole lot more sense to the man now, it was Jack. Jack was the werewolf he had been hunting.

Creeping his way out of the bedroom he makes his way back to his own. Once inside he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, pushing a hand through his red locks anxiously. His eyes go to his phone for a second, thinking to call Felix but shaking the thought away.

Felix was a good hunter of course, but he didn't have as much of a heart as Mark did, and knowing Felix, he'd want to grill the wolf for information, about where its pack was. Every wolf had a pack, they always stuck together, no matter what. However Mark couldn't torture the Irish man, he was still his friend. So he decided he would handle it himself.

~~~~~~~~~The Next Morning~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack's eyes open slowly, a tired yawn escaping him, his vision blurred. He reaches up to wipe at his eyes, only to realize, he can't move his arms, nor his legs, or any part of his body for that matter. Panic overtakes him as he blinks away his blurred vision.

Once his vision clears he looks down, rope binding him to a small wooden chair, arms tied to the arms of the chair, legs to the wooden legs, and a thick layer of rope tying him so his back pressed against the wood. He pulls against the bindings, groaning with the struggle before stopping once he realized they wouldn't break, all he had managed to do was make his body sore.

Jack's eyes scan the room around him, a small stone room, with nothing in it but that chair, a light hanging from the ceiling, and a metal door in front of the Irish man. His nose twitches gently, the room smelled of other creatures, as though many other monsters before him had been here. However, he caught another scent, a more familiar one that would have normally calmed him if it were under different circumstances. He smelt Mark.

"Shit..."

He snarls under his breath, realizing where he was. He had to still be in Mark's house, that was a fact, but he'd never seen this room before. There was only one room Jack had yet to see in the red haired man's house, the basement. Of course Mark hadn't wanted him to find a room such as this, he must've wanted to hide the fact he was a hunter. Just as Jack wanted to hide his true nature, however Mark had found out.

Jack tugs against the ropes once more, before simply dropping limp, panicked thoughts racing through his scattered mind. Mark had found him out, tied him up... planned to kill him.

"Dammit Mark... why'd you have to be a hunter."

The Irish man mutters under his breath, his voice nearly shaking as emotions blended together, sadness, fear, betrayal, disappointment.

Jack lifts his head quickly as a click sounds through the room, and the door swings open with a creak. The Irish man's mouth curls into and involuntary snarl as the door opens to reveal the one man he really didn't want to see at the moment, his brown eyes boring into the tied down Irish man.

"Hello Sean..."