Hunted

Chapter 6

To say I hated Joseph Forvatore was an understatement. 

It's as if every time I say that, every time I think there is absolutely no way I could hate him more than I already do, he goes and does something so completely fucked up and has me thinking what the point of his useless life is. 

Jake's death was on his hands. 

And now, my possible death was on his already dirty hands. 

The Headmistress looked between the two of us. Joseph had his eyes to the ground. I was seething. 

"Elliana. One of the first things that the originals hunters learn is that the mission always comes first. I told you to get the Luna, I didn't say that the both of you's had to come out alive. And anyway, you are alive. So really, I don't understand why you're so angry" Miss Roland shurgs. 

"I'm alive? Barely! This idiot ran me over. Yes, I understand that the mission always comes first and if he isn't going to save me than the least he could've done was not kill me!" I yell. 

"It was an accident!" Joseph calls out. 

"You're accidents tend to leave people 6 feet underground!" I scream at him. He pales yet again.

"I have told you multiple times Elliana, Jake Mabry's death was unfortunate. But Joseph had nothing to do with it" She stands up and snaps at me. 

"Arden Wallberk" I say lowly. Joseph stares at me, pleading with his eyes I shut my mouth. But I don't. I was so sick, so very sick of Joseph getting off easy. 

"Do you recognize the name?" I ask. She stares back. 

"He disappeared into thin air. No trace. Nothing. I know you'd assume it was a wolf but it wasn't. And if you want to know who was, you'd start by asking Joseph Forvatore" I leave. 

               \\\

I step out of the shower. My body chills the second it meets cold air. I look towards the mirror. 

Ever so slowly, I push the hair from my neck to the left side and turn. Just enough so that I would be able to see the tattoos on my neck. 

I'd killed 11 wolves. Each one, leaving behind a black hunters tattoo on my neck. The first one I'd killed was when I was eight. The tattoo you get for killing you're first wolf is always a cross. To represent that what we do, we do in the name of god and god's creatures. Not the moon goddess.

My brother and my father had taken me out to the Balmai Forest. Not many hunters were there so it was a sort of wolves breeding ground. 

We picked a single wolf. My brother and father had held it down whilst I, and my child innocence, stabbed it right in the heart. 

Taking someones life was never easy. Human or wolf. Lives were precious and when you take one, it sort of leaves an imprint on you. It sort of takes a bit of your soul with you. 

The Original Cohaagen hunter had witnessed his wife murdered by a wolf. They say he murdered wolves relentlessly until his own children couldn't even recognize him anymore. His whole body full of ink. 

I felt the same sensation I had felt a day ago. Like something washed over me. Relief. Hope. Happiness. And the familiar feeling of someone's eyes on your back. I place my t-shirt over my head and pull up my black tracksuit pants. 

I turn and grab the gun I always kept in the drawer, sandwiched between two towels. 

I look up and see green before feeling a sharp sensation into my thigh and collapsing. 

Green. Green. Green.