The Hunter and the Hunted ✔️

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I ripped my arm from his grip and frowned.

"I want to get this over with as much as you do, but we can't do it in the middle of a school hallway."' I hissed.

He rolled his pretty brown eyes. "Meet me in the boys locker room then. The abandoned one on the South Side of the school." He nodded his head in that direction.

This was ridiculous. I was almost a hundred percent sure that no Hunts went this way. Flirting. Who did he think he was?

"Fine." I whispered and walked behind him through the hallways and out the front doors of the school.

I stayed a ways behind him, judging the way he walked. He walked with a calmness only he could manage, and a high-head. I mentally noted that he was cocky, and I could use that to my advantage.

I stuck to the walls, looking nervous. I constantly popped my knuckles and tripped over my own feet. If I made him think I was scared, he'd lower his guard down even more.

He casually opened the doors to the boys locker room. I stood outside for a couple moments, thinking that he could be right on the other side of the door, waiting to pounce.

After a minute passed by, I rushed through the door at an abnormal speed and spun to see a shocked Colin, leaning against the wall next to the door.

"What? Did you think I didn't see that trick up your sleeve?" I asked.

He shrugged and walked to the center of the locker room.

The lockers lined along the walls in a square, styled in to where there were two lockers per column, and around twenty lockers per row. Four movable benches were placed in front of each wall.

It wasn't a very big locker room, which must've been why it hadn't been used in years. No matter the reason, it worked out good for me.

Dust covered the lockers and the benches looked weak enough to break if a single person sat on them. The window to the coache's office was broken and glass still remained on the grey, sleek, concrete, flooring.

We circled each other, fists being held up.

I took a step forward just as he did, him going for a quick punch to my face. I grabbed his hand and used his own momentum to pull him forward.

He tripped and landed on the floor, making me scoff. "Amateur," I muttered.

He got up easily, flawlessly. His face had turned a pale white and his eyes were surrounded by a blood red. His pupils had turned a complete black, while fangs protruded from his gums. Ah, so he was mad? Good.

I held up my fighting stance. He lunged again, trying to kick my side. I dodged it, reaching for his leg with both hands. He quickly pulled back and managed to hit my jaw.

Stumbling, I placed my hands over my mouth. I pulled back and felt blood rush from my nose. I could taste the copper tang in my mouth, and even though my mouth was bleeding, it still felt dry. I was sweating, my body burning. I felt hot and sticky. Luckily for me, it was a feeling I was used too.

I ran forward, but before he could get a punch in, I slid underneath him. I kicked his legs out and watched him crumble to the ground. I climbed on top of his stomach, getting the upper hand.

I held both his hands over his head and pressed my knee on his throat, just tight enough so he could barely breath. It was a quick way to weaken anyone, even a Hunted.