There were too many werewolves hovering around Scarlet Oak. In the short amount of time since she returned, she had realized that there were even several packs living there. The Light of May had done nothing to encourage secrecy and she knew some families were living right out in the open. She didn’t trust a single one of them, but she couldn’t exactly attack or interrogate someone so well established in her hometown. Especially not on her own. Nora didn’t exactly have many friends to begin with and she couldn’t just waltz up to someone and ask them to go on a killing spree with her.
Being a hunter required a lot more work than she had initially anticipated. There were certain circles to travel in, people who paid for your services, and knowing just when and how to track a wolf. Tonight, she’d done little to plan. The wolf she found hovering nearby the school was not one she recognized. Who was to say why he was skulking around. Perhaps the excitement and buzz surrounding the high school drew him down this far. Or perhaps there was a darker purpose to his visit.
A normal stakeout involved at the very least several days of planning, not several hours. A little voice in the back of her head told her that following this wolf was definitely not one of her better ideas, but a louder voice in her mind said that this was the only promising lead she’d had in weeks. All she needed to do was replay the images of her husband’s remains to fuel that thirst for revenge and she was raring to go. She wasn’t as familiar with the northern part of the state as she would have liked to have been for this particular run, but she did her best to stay hidden. Her solid black clothes helped hide her from the specks of moonlight that littered the ground.
Nora was not a skilled hunter. Her talent lay primarily in her shooting skills, less so in her stealth and knowledge. That wasn’t to say that she was not a good hunter, she simply lacked the training that others possessed. Though she had improved as time passed, she still made rookie mistakes that could get herself killed. Like snapping a twig as she moved through the underbrush. The second she heard the stick break, she froze and waited for something larger than her to attack. When nothing happened, she continued to move forward and came face to face with a man holding a shotgun aimed directly at her. Her Beretta was already in hand and aimed straight for the heart. She didn’t need to be a weapons expert to know that whoever shot first, they were both dead.
“I’ll lower if you do,” was all she offered to him in a soft whisper.