Hunter Hunter Book Novels & Stories

[katalina] I’m with Hunter now. We’re taking the route back home. My body is aching like I’ve been hazed by a fraternity. On our way home, Hunter was so serious on the road. He won’t believe me when I confessed that Bernard was just a fictional character in the book I was reading before. He didn’t know about my past. Nor he deserves to know. Of course, prior to I became a researcher and writer in one, reading pocket novels are my pastime. It helps me to escape the cruel world.

I pointed out, getting on the bike while I waited for her to join me. She got on the bike and her smaller hands found their way around my waist, gripping tightly. Was that the loud sound of my heartbeat speeding up? What was this craving coursing through me? Get a fucking grip Hunter. “You know I’m curious, Hunter. Why are you helping me? Your kind has been murdered endlessly by wolves and vampires and yet here you are, risking your life for me,” She whispered. I blew out a wisp of breath out of my lips as I started the engine, navigating on the deserted main road.

‘The hunters’ was all it said on the front, the same book Kyan and Zekan had spent days looking for. I quickly dashed out of the library and headed straight to see Talon. I pushed his heavy doors open to see him sitting in his large chair looking thoughtfully as Zekan and Kyan both sat at the centre table. They all looked straight at me as I bounded into the room. “I found this!” I rushed out as I held out the book to Talon. He looked at it as his eyes widened. “The book about the hunters!” He breathed out as he took it from me. Both Kyan and Zekan stood up from their seats in surprise.

"Enough," he growls. The Archivist snarls. "You're out of bounds, Hunter." He ignores her, turning to me. "Get up. Unless you want to be a footnote." The static recognizes him. Not his face-his *essence*. He smells of blood and static, like me. "Who are you?" I demand. He sheathes his blade. "Someone who's read your story. And *hates* the ending." --- **The Hunt**

Connie smiled and filled me with hope by saying: “Th… that’s ri… right, Da… Damy, sh… she’s worth it. If y… you n… need to crawl, do wh… what y… you ha… have to do, man.” Almost two in the morning and I can’t sleep, apparently someone else is up too. When I get to the living room, Hunter is sitting on the couch reading one of the sugary romances he loves so much. Go figure my brother! The guy is like a war tank and is in love with erotic novels, flowers and chick flicks. He looks at me from up his glasses and he sinks the knife without pity.

The place was a mess, Vincent couldn't help be impressed at how well Danté drove this donkey of a vehicle, but as a result of that NASCAR stunt everything here was out of its place. He went through drawers and cupboards, checked the glove compartment and window visors, nothing stood out, just an old grandma's RV by all other means. He then noticed something sticking out underneath the rubble, kicking some away he picked up the small black book and opened it. His eyes went wide, a little side scheme Dante had, it wasn't unheard of for hunters to have things like this, the problem was keeping it a secret. Vincent knew of two hunters that got burned for this very same idea, and he didn't want D

in a tone that indicated she knew it wasn't but had decided to protect his feelings, which she'd apparently also gotten from me. Hunter was reading Knox a book about wolves. Not a children's book — an actual naturalist's guide that Hunter had gotten from the library and which I was fairly certain he was only partially reading and was mostly studying the diagrams. Knox was listening with the same focused attention he gave everything that came from Hunter, and Hunter kept pausing to check that Knox was still listening and Knox kept making sounds that confirmed he was. I stood at the counter with my coffee and tried to remember what the mornings had looked like before this.

Ronan asked. The man flinched, just slightly, but it was enough. I saw it in his eyes—the moment he knew we’d caught on. I bent down, grabbing his hand and turning it to the side, exposing the faint mark etched into his skin. My growl rumbled in my throat. "He's a hunter." "Fuck," he hissed, the rope snapping as his claws swiped through the air where I’d just been. He bolted, but he wasn’t fast enough.

As I was trying to come up with a plan for taking down the last hunter on watch without being detected something came crashing out the window. It was one of the two hunters that were searching inside. The one I had just been planning on killing checked his friends pulse before cursing and jumping through the now shattered window. It seemed they found Mom and she was pissed. I could hear her wolf losing her shit. I jumped in just in time. My mom had her claws digging into the chest of the other hunter that had been searching the house. However she was not moving or completing the kill. The hunter who just came in from outside was holding a crying two month old Richard and in his other hand he

I smiled gently. “You have a warrior’s body.” I ran my fingers down a particularly ropey scar down her side. “What was this one from?” “Bobby Brown,” she said. “A werewolf that liked to hunt human children. He had a thing for their hearts. He’d barbecue them.” She shuddered with the memory. “He had killed my client’s nephew. Took me a week but I got him. Brought his heart to my client as proof.” She spoke matter of factly, no pride in her voice. She might not be proud of herself, but I was impressed. I had heard of Bobby Brown and had heard of the hunter that got him. I didn’t realize it was her.