KENDRA'S POV.
I am quietly sitting in a leafy tree, taking in what these halfwits are boasting about. I quietly sigh as I hear them going about their boastful talks. They're loudly bragging about their accomplishments. Of course, they don't notice me, silly warriors. They're talking about how they defeated other rogues, which doesn't sit well with me. I am one of their leaders, somewhere between their trainer and their alpha, and I like that position.
I took it by force. That's what alphas do. It was through an alpha challenge, and I won; props to my techniques. I didn't win it fair and square, but I won. That's what matters. I won. Who cares about fairness when you can have everything you want so long as you have the means? We are rogues, for goodness sake. We are rebellious, which automatically throws any virtue out of the window.
I am dressed in baggy men's clothing, a green tee, and dirty brown trousers. I have strapped my hunting sling bag across my right shoulder, and my tools hang limply on my left hip. My black shoes have collected some dust. I wouldn't say I like that, but I'll bear with it for now. My short brunette hair is tied in a messy bun, but my black cap hides it well.
Fed up with their conversation, I jump down the tree, somersaulting and landing on my legs. 'That entrance is worth an Oscar,' my wolf comments. We are ready to shed blood. No one touches my people and still gets to live. They killed one of my men, and now it's their turn. What goes around indeed comes back around.
"Hello, losers." I greet them.
They look flabbergasted, and I love their genuinely shocked faces. My wolf paces in my chest, amused. I can hear the old beast dancing around, making my emotions unstable. I push him to the back of my head to concentrate on my new catch, six bulky men. They look alarmed, and they all take their stance, circling me. I plaster a fake smile on my face.
"You're warriors or something? Spies, maybe?" I ask.
"Who are you?' One of them replies.
"Your killer," I answer him. "I harvest souls. You've heard of me," I state with finality.
They give each other glances, and one of them, the youngest, brings his hand to the left side of his ribcage, where he thinks his heart is positioned. He looks afraid. I love when they become fearful. That means I have already won half the battle.
"Tell us your name, rogue." Another one loudly asks, smirking his lips.
"Leftie," I say to him. "The last face you'll see before you die."
He lets out a hearty laugh.
"You're funny." He begins, and his mates join in. If anyone were to see us, they would think we're friends.
"Thank you," I state. "A good laugh before you die sounds just right." Deciding I have heard enough of the shallow talk, I look at the one who seems to be the leader.
"How about I finish up with you first?" I ask, cocking my head to the left. He looks concerned, and his fingers elongate, revealing his sharp werewolf nails. I display a smile filled with malice.
"I'm a dangerous one. I want two of you to come to me. You may stand a chance if you do that.
He seems amused.
"So I should be afraid of you?" He adds with a smirk.
I chuckle, sticking my tongue inside my cheeks. I fold my palms into loose fists and bring them to my eyes to mimic a crying baby.
"Suit yourself," I comment dismissively. My hand pulls a small stick, the size of a toothpick, and hoists it towards the gloating man.
"You should be concerned, Love. Rest in peace."