Julien’s heart sank when he rounded the corner, gun held at the ready, and he found a dark liquid staining the tile floor of the long-abandoned hospital. He willed himself to hope it was the werewolf’s blood and not his missing friend’s, but experience had made the voice in his head a pessimistic asshole.

Julien hoped that he had at least given the monster a good fight before it had taken his life. His friend had been one of the best fighters he had ever met, but getting separated from the team was playing right into the enemy’s hands.

Julien looked behind him, finding Fred still behind him, eyes wide beneath his goggles, and he nodded ahead of him, showing where to go. Fred returned the nod, and he followed the other man down the corridor.

The blood trail went far down the hallway, and it rounded down another corner and disappeared beneath a set of double doors—an old operating room, Julien realised. He heard labored breathing as they drew closer to the doors, and he watched every shadow in the corridor to keep them from getting surprised.

Fred and Julien stood either side of the entrance, and after the count of three, they kicked open the door, readying their guns to shoot anything.

Julien spotted Adrian first. The man laid in the center of the floor, guts spilling all around him. Even if the man was alive, he would not be for long, so Julien looked around the room more, finding a mass of fur in the corner. It was the werewolf, glaring and snarling at them. It was massive, easily eight feet tall, but it looked much less impressive while riddled with bullet holes.

Pride swelled in his chest despite the circumstances.