Hunter Age Novels & Stories

Not even Hunter has dared trespass. Taking a cup of coffee from the coffee maker, I prepare a couple cups and think about what I’m going to say to Stryker. Hunter walks in minutes later. He’s wearing his usual band shirt and grunge jeans over his slender form. Hunter is in his early twenties. He’s also one of the best tech hackers in the world. I found him working at a Pep Boys several years ago fixing computers for extra cash while doing illegal side hacking. I had done some background work on him before I brought him into the fold. He has been an invaluable asset since. He lived in the garage for a couple of years before he fell in love. He and his girlfriend, Maleah, are sickeningly perfe

I asked, and they shook their heads. "We need to find him. The vampires have been hit bad already. All the blood banks have been destroyed. We have been working double-time, hunting and killing vampires that cross the line and hunt humans for food. We can't keep it up because John Hunter is beginning to retaliate." Kevin Palm, another top hunter, complained. We agreed to find out where the hunters were hiding and if truly Giles was the one leading them. I had trouble believing this because the man was in his sixties by now, but we knew what that bloodline was capable of. Anything was possible.

After about thirty minutes of riding slow, I had Honey Lemon catch up to Hunter and his horse. He moved his horse closer to mine so that they were trotting in step right next to each other, and then slowed them both down and reached for my hand. “I figured since this was a date I could hold your hand and ride,” he beamed at me. Hunter was about thirty years of age, but he had a baby face. It was almost like his humor was keeping him young. He always seemed to be happy and enjoying himself no matter what he was doing. It was true even today. As we rode on we talked more and got to know each other. At one point he asked if our age difference bothered me, to which I shook my head.

Oh yeah. They are asking for me at Hugh Valley. I slip on my coat, brush my hair back, drink some water, and leave for the valley at the far edge of the pack. The people in there are the protectors of the pack. The Elders. And Hugh Valley is akin to their own pack house. They love playing and hunting a lot so they stay together. However, their old age doesn't mean they aren't powerful. If anything, it is the opposite: their power grows immensely as they age, and the stronger they get, the closer they are to death.

I hinted. Hunter caught the hint, chuckling at the look on Hugh’s face. “Not a big fan of Azalea’s pregnancy?” “He’s pretty much got your boy pissing his pants at every word he says to him. He fears him, a nomad, over my Lycan King self,” I joked. That only made Hunter laugh even harder. “Considering the fact that he could end your life in seconds makes this all that funnier.” “I will not apologize for it. I’m getting introduced to a lot of things, but none of them have prepared me to get used to the fact that my eighteen-year-old daughter has to live the life of someone in their forties so early in her life,” Hugh grumbled.

They’ll want to check the wreckage to confirm I’m not inside. Keeping low to the ground, I hurried away from the crash as the hunters pulled up, hooting and hollering like the demented Americans they are. Now I don’t mean to say all Americans are demented. But the American hunters are an uncouth sort that takes a weird joy in killing, things being on fire, and vehicles getting into accidents. Whatever the case, their joyful hoots and hollers that I might be dead and arguments about who gets to take credit gave me time to get away. I hurried to the nearest neighborhood to search for a car to take.

“Now I’m old enough to potentially be chosen. You see, your aunt Kinshra is believed to have been one of the hunters, which may explain her incredible hearing. Did she still not tell you any of this?” Emory shook her head. She barely remembered the night of the last ceremony because nothing notable happened. Crouched on her aunt’s porch, her knees drawn up to her chest, Emory had watched the Hunter’s Moon descend behind a foggy horizon. The last Hunter’s Moon fell on her sixteenth birthday, marking her one year in Broiia. Her memory of the lanterns floating across the sky was what remained. “I’ve asked her dozens of times but she’s never answered.”

“What’s wrong?” I pointed to the gun, my voice shaking as I spoke. “When I was young, five years... I watched werewolf hunters blow my mother’s head off with that exact gun.” The silence that followed was deafening and Silas froze and then turned to look at the gun. "I hid behind a tree," I continued, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She told me to run, but I couldn't. I watched them corner her—watched them kill her." My voice cracked.

'Humans have an imaginative mind,' Kasper just said and a smirked form on his lips. For the past years, Kasper believes to what the only guardian in their village, which is guardian Kitsune, told him. She said that werewolves, have been living peacefully for hundreds of year's and in their time, there wasn't a hunter because humans and werewolves are just living in their world. Changes happened twenty-seven years ago, which is also the year when Flint and Kasper were born.

Ann's mom called from downstairs. “Does mom know?” Ann asked, getting off her bed. “She does. I don’t keep secrets from her, but she does not believe me. She thinks I am crazy,” Eljo said, walking towards the bedroom door. “Do you age?” Ann asked, looking at her father, that looked like he aged. “Yes. Unlike Werewolve Lycans and Vampires, Hunters aged,” Eljo explained, stopping at her bedroom door. “Am I a hunter?” Ann asked concerned.