The whole street had been shut down, and a large crowd began to gather behind the barriers. The building must have been poorly constructed and made of 100% flammable materials because there was barely anything left of the building. What kind of shoddy workmanship was that? Aiden shook his head as he walked over to one of the victims who’d been in the building while a few hunters were loading one of the men into a black town car. “Excuse me,” Aiden flashed his hunter tattoo, “may I have a word with him?”
“Sure,” the head-hunter replied, “he isn’t going anywhere.” He motioned to the silver handcuffs around the werewolf’s wrists. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as the handcuffs seared his wrist while he tried to free himself. “Trenton Banks,” Aiden said as he climbed into the back
