Typically hunters worked in teams—that’s why you had hunter family lines—and each hunter had a specialized role. But since I was a sole hunter, I’d had to pick up skills that were focused on things that could boost my survivability, like climbing—since wolves can’t climb—swimming—since they aren’t the best swimmers though they’ll do it in a pinch—and the use of silver blades and sniper rifles.
Give me a sniper rifle—or really, my fae-engineered sniper rifle that was a different creation entirely and could only loosely be called a rifle given that I needed to have special bullets for it, and not a real sniper rifle as it didn’t have the range those did because I predominantly used it in a forest—and a tree, and that was the safest way for me to fight.
Of course, the wolves didn’t let me bring my guns with too often when we were ‘training’。 （Or they would, but you cannot lug a sniper rifle on your shoulder when you’ve got wolves chasing you eight miles through the forest.）
I set my back against the tree trunk—precariously positioned as I was, I had to, or the recoil of my gun would send me toppling out of my tree.
Once I was sure I wasn’t going to fall, I switched off the safety and took my shot.
My fae-engineered rifle recoiled, kicking into my shoulder, but I’d been braced properly for it. I dug out the tiny set of binoculars I carried with me when doing my training so I could see how my shot was on my target.
Silvery paint spattered the ring just outside the bullseye—that was another reason my fae-made rifle was odd; it could only shoot two kinds of bullets: silver ones, and capsules that were basically a cross of BB pellets and paintballs. （The fae had been pretty grumpy I’d asked for that modification, which would have been impossible outside the use of magic. But I needed rounds that were safe for me to shoot off for practice given that a werewolf could randomly wander through.）
Not a bad shot. Not wonderful, but close enough to get the job done.
Two wolves appeared in the green of the forest like shadows, silent and deadly.
I held my breath, until I recognized the pair.
The taller but leaner one with a reddish coat and a small black mask that covered his face and muzzle was Aeric, while the more muscled one with the dark brown fur and a hint of rust undercoat with a spray of gray on his chest was Wyatt.
They ghosted their way up to the small river that flowed through the forest and connected to one of the nearby lakes.
The river had carved its way through the ground, so it didn’t have proper banks but rather steep cliffs that dumped into the wide stream.
Wyatt and Aeric didn’t even pause. They jumped the river, the muscles of their front legs and hind quarters visibly bunching through their thick coats, and landed with a predatory grace that was almost ominous.
It was an impressive leap I never would have attempted, but hey, that’s werewolf athleticism.
Now on the same side of the river as me and my target, Wyatt raised his nose as he sniffed, but I was downwind from them and up a tree, so he’d have a difficult time finding me.
Aeric slipped through the underbrush and found my target, investigating the silvery paint with his nose.
He made a noise of distaste, then pulled back, and started looking up in the trees.
I flicked the safety on my rifle, then nestled it across my lap. “Is something wrong?”
Wyatt saw me first and howled a hello before he triggered a shift, starting the transformation back to his human shape.
Shifting can be painful—they’re literally changing the structure of their bones and muscles, after all—and it typically takes between forty seconds to a minute.
That might sound fast, but it’s really dangerous considering it leaves the werewolf—or shifter—completely helpless, and gives an enemy plenty of time to kill them.
Greyson had the fastest shift I’d ever seen, and it still took him nearly thirty seconds to transform.
I secured my rifle to the harness I’d specially made for it and swung it over my back before I started shimmying my way down the tree.
Wyatt had almost finished shifting by the time I got down there, and Aeric had started the process, so I let them finish as I traipsed through the forest to more closely inspect my target.
“Ugh, I always feel like I need an ice bath after a shift.” Wyatt groaned and popped something in his neck as he stood up, brushing dead leaves off his bare knees.
“It sounds painful enough to need one.” I turned in his direction, and was secretly grateful that Mayor Pearl had the temperament of a bulldog, as it meant I didn’t have to worry about mentally scarring myself.