Chapter 1 Prologue

The blonde one was dead. Our teacher had announced that she was brave, saying they were all brave, giving us the same speech about being in a better place and other nonsense I don't believe. Blondie wasn't brave poor thing could barely kill a fly. That's why she's gone. People did cried though. They always cry loud enough that I don't need to turn to know where it's coming from. I guess she'll be missed by people outside her family. As for me, I barely knew her; blonde hair and a big smile are all I remember.

The same way nobody will remember anything about me or cry for me cause I'm not dying anytime soon.

It's hard being a wolf hunter, especially when you didn't sign up for it; I know I sure as hell didn't, and neither did a lot of us. Just endless deaths and stupid tears. Regardless, I've never failed a test just cause I didn't want to take it (actually, I have, but that's not the point here).

We start with rouges. They don't have a pack, and it's extremely rare to see them with family or friends, making them easier to kill. Ten kids are sent to kill one rouge and some don't come back. They never send us unprepared, training us like crazy. The school's divided into two parts: regular school, where we're taught unnecessary subjects, and training, which involves climbing trees, shooting guns, and running at one pace to another for hours.

The hunters association is big, big enough to fund all the weird shit we do, to put it in simpler terms it's like a cult, where all the hunters (in this country) live in this big ass mansion, and the experience hunters ( the adults ) can leave and live out if they want but most stay for their kids and some don't. We're all given our own house, which is a room big enough to be a house within the mansion, and I live with my parents, my favorite people; well, my dad is my favorite person in the whole world, and my mom is there by default.

We had a team of 10 people that went on missions; the team number can be reduced to 5 depending on the pack and the number of warriors they had.

We usually do stakeouts, watching one pack for weeks; a month is the longest time we're allowed to observe a pack. There, we make our decision to attack or request for backup.

It's always another mission with this stupid place, missions upon missions, killing anything and everything that moves even if it was a cute little girl with ponytails, even if I didn't want to.

I'm good at what I do (at least I was), and my team is one of the best and greatly respected; people work hard just imagining one day they'll be a part of this great team.

Life was tasteless, and I had a lot of questions that usually went unanswered about werewolves, but as slow and empty as life felt, I couldn't complain; I worked hard to be able to kill those creatures and trained long and tirelessly. I was even a little bit proud of myself, until I wasn't, until my parents told me on my 17th birthday that we were retiring; I didn't even know such a word existed in our vocabulary.

I mean, my parents have been here long enough to retire, but why now, when I have accomplished so much when the only place left to go for me was up, and why were they making such an important decision for me? What was my worth if not killing wolves, what was my purpose for living if not for the organization? Normal school? With normal people, but I'm not normal, the color red stained my hands too much to be considered normal.

As our things were packed and as we got in the car and drove away, I was in a daze. This simply can't be true; I can't just stop being a wolf hunter again.