Hunter Hunter Hisoka Novels & Stories

My life wasn’t what I had just experienced. The Hunter in me kicked into overdrive. I pulled my knife from its holster, ripping my lips from Max’s and attempted to shove my knife between his ribs through his chest. He was too fast and grabbed my knife with his hand. I watched as the silver burned his palm, but he didn’t make a sound, he just threw the knife from my hand across the room.

The hotel sandal he was wearing fell to the floor. "Hey, I have to finish my business here to take that dog to its master and kick my ass back to America ASAP. Can't we work together now?" Iris was getting emotional right now. Usually, Jonathan never sucks like this. But suddenly she remembered Jonathan's words at that time. About a demon that can turn into an animal to hide from hunters. Her brain was thinking so fast that it felt like her mind was spinning. The husky dog ​​is a striped gray, cold expression and fierce with other hunters. Iris suddenly took a few steps back when she realized that. Her mouth was in a strange smile and her hands brushed her hair back roughly.

We listened to each other’s breath and nervous heartbeat. There was still reluctance on his face until he finally let me trace that long pitted scar starting from his right brow down his eye, close to his jaw. It hurts me that it completely blinded his right eye, but it never hindered his skill when it came to fighting. That’s how amazing and terrifying Hunter was, both as a soldier and a ruler.

The male hunter stared at the two women beside him, helpless. “No… you’re a monster! You wanted more power, you bastard!” one female screamed and rushed at Duke, but he turned and vanished, faster than any of them could chase. Ruth stepped closer to the man who had died. His face was familiar. He was older than most of the others, a peacemaker trying to prevent the coming war. Ruth’s gaze softened, then hardened as she realized what Duke had done. Before she could mourn further, more hunters entered the warehouse. Ruth didn’t wait. She turned and left.

Crystal Snow POV I can't believe I just heard Hunter saying he is sorry for something. This big man never said anything like this to probably anyone in his life. And I can't believe I'm falling for this crap again. But I manage to keep my shit together, and I helped him to get up, and I manage to put him in a bed over the ER room.

About to crash against it, Nicholas speeds to his back and slams him against the floor. The Hunter coughs out blood as a result. Nicholas takes a step round the Hunter. The Hunter is on the floor, stomach down, but maintains a hold of his weapon. His porcelain face has reddened from the hit. He flips up, surprisingly, now standing upright. His hand smears past his lips to clean the blood and narrowing his eyes at Nicholas, the Hunter heads for him.

I breathed hard, dragging my body up as I crawled forward on all fours like a fucking dog. I didn't stop, didn't even look back, not even when the air around me stiffened. Not even when the animals went quiet and the trees froze as though they had held their breath. Because deep down, I already knew what this meant. Growing up, I heard stories, rumours by the other slaves about the Hunter's Territory. No one dared to cross last this line, not even Alpha's or Betas and especially, not Omegas like myself. This land belonged to someone or something more deadly and mysterious.

Oh Moon Goddess, why do you hate me? Hunter sat on the ground, holding his head in his hands. He groaned. I remained at a distance, watching him, wiping the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. The night was fading fast, the sun started to rise in the east, bruising the sky in violet. “What have I done?” he moaned. He got up, smoothing his hair back. His hands were shaking. I took a step back. He had a pained expression on his face.

She collapsed onto the leather, trembling and satisfied — like someone who’d finally been branded by the fire they’d always chased or craved. Hunter straightened his shirt and looked down at the girl. "Tell Mario to bring me something cold." "Y-yes, sir," she breathed. He walked away, his fury dulled but not dead. He needed a drink. A few minutes later, Mario, the old bartender with rolled sleeves and a weathered face, handed Hunter a fresh glass of whiskey. "Rough night?" Hunter gave a tired chuckle. "You could say that." Mario nodded. "You keep cleaning the shadows, Devil, but they’ll always crawl back."

These hunters had trained their entire lives to fight werewolves. Not Kitsunes. Not spirits that wielded living fire. Harlan Dawson pushed through the confusion, drawing his silver sword. "Hold your ground!" he roared. "Don't break formation!" Some obeyed. Many didn't. A hunter loosed a silver arrow. Homura caught it between two fingers without even looking. Her eyes slowly shifted toward him. In that moment, he wished they hadn't. She flicked her wrist and the arrow shot back faster than it had come. It struck the hunter's shoulder, throwing him onto his back.