The Wolf-Shaped Bullet
"Put the stake down, Wolf" a new voice was introduced into the chaos. The new voice belonged to a woman. She stood in the doorway, eyebrows knitting together with both concern, fury and what appeared to be slight pain. It was probably worth mentioning that this particular woman had also just broken down a door with her shoulder in order to get to the commotion inside. She could feel her skin purpling and bruising already. George froze, stake in hand, eyes darting to the door. The longer he stood still, the longer the thoughts raced through his mind about what he was going to do. Was he about to kill his best friend? His brain whirred to justify his future actions, in all fairness, his best friend did so happen to be a monster. A murderous monster at that but, wasn't he also the very thing he was judging Mitchell for? He was a monster, a werewolf, a part-time monster. He had also knowingly, willingly, even killed another person. Just because Herrick had come back from the dead didn't absolve him of his crimes. George felt sick. The woman at the door stopped his downward spiral with one word.
"Mitchell".