Hunter: Cursed

Chapter One.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Ask one more time and I’ll turn you into shark bait.”

Giving up with a huff, I drop the air tank onto the sand and collapse beside it. The stupid thing is heavy, my flippers aren’t on correctly and I refuse to admit to Logan that he’s right. I have no idea what I’m doing since it turns out diving is different to snorkeling. Who would have thought it?

Why we even have to go after stupid sea creatures is beyond me. For one he’s a Tracker and I’m pretty sure mermaids are out of his area of expertise. When dealing with the supernatural, the ones who keep the world safe can be broken down into three categories. Hunters, Trackers and Slayers.

If you require a flea treatment after coming across them, for example - wolf shifters, werewolves and well, any of those shifter species, Trackers are all over them. Vampires and blood suckers in general go with Slayers like ham goes with cheese. Then again, mermaids are part fish, and fish are animals...

“Calm down Bunny, and put away the knife!” He sighs, shaking his head.

Reluctantly I slip it back into it’s sheath that’s strapped around my thigh. “Fine. You win. I don’t know what I’m doing!”

This time he groans and reluctantly sits down beside me. Without saying a word he fixes my flippers that I had been struggling to put on, and I only get more annoyed with myself for being so useless.

I hate this, and not just this, here and now. I’m not myself, stuck in this weird limbo. While I may have healed enough to feel like I should be doing more, my body isn’t liking it when I do. Plus my brain has taken the whole vacation thing seriously and doesn't want to function either.

Dying, and being brought back to life by some stupid god, isn’t as great as you’d think it would be. I’m healing as slowly as your every day mortal. It shouldn’t be like this. I’m a Hunter. If it isn’t a shifter, or a blood sucker, my kind are the ones to deal with it - then again we do those as well. We’re just lucky like that.  Because we’re often getting hurt or in my case, getting beaten to death - we heal pretty quick and not just that, but my best friend happens to be an Apopythe demon.

He is a giant snake with a bunch of neat tricks, and one them is being able to heal me even quicker. Because he is magic, he can’t do what he normally does and here I am on a vacation to rest and heal. It’s taken weeks for my chest to stop feeling like each breath is breaking my ribs all over again; the last of my bruises and cuts have gone now, but a few have left scars.

It sucks.

“There. Now, please listen to me for once in your life and maybe we can get in the water before sundown.” Logan teases, a lazy grin taking place of the scowl that had been set on his face the whole walk down to the beach.

I don’t blame him for that.

If I had to listen to me complain for fifteen minutes, non-stop, to then chuck a minor tantrum because the air tanks are too heavy, my flippers aren’t the right size and the goggles are too big, as well as hating on mermaids - well I probably would have gone through with the shark bait threat already.

As he goes through the basics, I do remember some of this from the training received back at Huntington’s Academy; a school designed to torture all of us before being set free into the world to take care of the big and bad like we were born to do while trying not to be killed in the process. In that regard, I really am one of the lucky ones because here I am.

“Got it?” He finally asks.

“Yeah.” Not really. “Thank you.”

“For what?”