"Was that entirely necessary, Nikodemus?" Lennox questioned as he shoved his way into the tent after his friend. "There are better ways to handle things. We aren't killers!" The old werewolf grabbed the young vampire by his shoulder. "You are not a killer," he half growled in the vampires face. "We have others who could have done that, we could have spoken to him, taken him into the woods to fend for himself. You told them yourself; they have no idea where this camp is. He never would have lead them to us," Lennox sighed, releasing Nikodemus. "This isn't a dictatorship, Nikodemus. You have to be willing to talk and hear others opinion!"
The young vampire laughed. "You heard their opinion while they were cheering me on!" he boomed, waving his hand towards the doorway of the tent. "We're training them to fight! If you think we aren't killers, my friend, you're under a serious delusion. We're going to have to fight, to kill, for our rights. We're starting a civil war; you knew that when you brought your family here!" Nikodemus shook his head. "You're right, I'm not a killer; but this is my family. I will stop at nothing to protect them. If that means removing some...some traitors head because he's trying to bring a raining death upon us, then so be it."
Lennox looked at Nikodemus; there was blood in his golden hair, his eyes as bright as rubies. "You need to feed," the old werewolf said simply, before showing himself out of the tent. Lennox ran a hand through his long, thinning hair, and sighed. He wasn't delusional, but he had hoped to avoid murder, at the very least. Shaking his head, he walked towards the arena, where at least two of the recruits were still training.