Killian's POV
I walked down the street alone, a wooden dagger balanced in my right hand, its sharpened edge catching the faintest reflection, the gun heavy in my left, loaded with silver and vervain.
A hunter’s tools. A warrior’s burden. Then it hit me, blood. Thick, sharp, coppery. Not the cold smell of vampire blood. Not the wild pull of a werewolf’s. Humans.
I moved faster, each stride covering more ground until a kilometer vanished in less than a second. And then I saw him.
Scott.
His mouth was drenched in red liquid, his chest heaving like he had been holding back for centuries and finally snapped.
Bodies sprawled around him, nineteen of them, their faces pale, eyes wide, every last drop of blood stolen. The twentieth was in his arms, limp, her throat torn open.
His fangs we
