Behind Enemy Lines

After something bad happens, everyone affected always seems to come up with every little thing they could have done to to prevent the incident. And that's exactly what I lie here doing now. I didn't pay enough attention to my surroundings. I'm not finished with my training. I left with as little weaponry as I could to prevent suspicion, should my father choose tonight to inspect and inventory his hunting supplies. Hell, I should never have gone out in the first place. There were so many things I had done wrong. And now, I would pay for it. Once I healed.

The honor code states that a hunter must sacrifice their life should they ever receive the bite. I never actually expected to have to uphold the code, yet here I am, on my back, in a dirt-coated nook in the rocky area of the forest, my body covered in gashes from the werewolf that just attacked me, my clothes ripped more than what is considered trendy these days. The large bite on my left thigh made it hard for me to walk, so going back home wasn't an option. At this point, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go back. It would be a whole lot easier to commit suicide without saying goodbye, would it not?

I tried to push away any thoughts of regret as I tried to make a plan for my death. Focusing still wasn't easy, however, thanks to the bite and it's effects. I was in a lot of pain, and couldn't keep myself from wishing I would fully turn soon so I could take advantage of their healing ability. Although they are my enemy, I will admit there are a few aspects of being a werewolf I've always envied. Healing was definitely one of them. I hoped it would be one of the first to take affect, but I lost consciousness from loss of blood before I could find out.

□☾□

I quickly realized after coming to that I was no longer in the forest. Great, someone had found me. So much for an easy death.

But, after sitting up - something I was able to do without causing myself immense pain because I had, indeed, healed - I discovered I wasn't in the hospital. Neither was I back home.

I sat in a comfortable bed which was in a dark, industrial-looking room. I could hear two men fighting somewhere outside the closed door. Pushing back the soft comforter I was under, I hopped down from the bed and went to find out a little more about just where I was and whoever had decided I deserved to be save.

Which I did not deserve, at all. I was a monster.

A man, probably in his thirties or so, who was sitting on the couch, was the first to notice my presence. "Look who it is. And alive and well! How lovely." He said, the smirk on his face and the sarcastic tone of his voice making it more than obvious he wasn't too pleased with the idea of me there. Which, really, I wasn't all that fond of either, but it was still a bit of a shock considering I expected whatever person who had saved me to be at least slightly concerned about my well-being.

"Would it kill you be less than a total asshole every once in awhile?" Another guy, who was a bit younger with much darker hair than the first spat back at him. He then turned to me, "feeling better?"