One of the many disadvantages about being an underage hunter is no car. I had to carry all my weapons with me, and it took hours to get to any potential dens. Both of these factors don't half slow you down.
I crept along in the shadows of the vamps chosen den; an old hotel, once grand and high class, now fallen into disrepair. I had my machete, hunting knife, three syringes of dead man's blood and my handgun, in case of emergencies. I also had my lock pick, as kicking down doors when a nest of vamps were on the other side was never a good idea. But as I rounded to the oaken front doors I had intended to enter by, I saw that someone didn't share my belief, as one of the wooden panels lay splintered from its hinges. I had a hunch that they would be here, and sure enough, a sleek, black Impala was parked a few yards away.
'Damn Winchesters,' I thought as I entered the hotel's lobby. 'A thing called stealth exists!' I didn't have time to verbally abuse the boys further however, as a vamp came charging round the corner, making his way to a gilded staircase in the centre of the room. I separated his head from his shoulders silently, and took his path up the stairs. It led to an open courtyard, in the middle of which was utter chaos.
Dean's knife had been knocked out of his hand and was right on the other side of the room, while Sam was on his back and covered in his own blood, unconscious. Three or four vamps lay headless on the floor, but at least sixteen more were circling the boys, silently gloating. In fact they were so engrossed in taunting the Winchesters, that none of them knew I was there until heads began to roll. I ducked and weaved, slicing my machete through the air, and before too long a dozen more vamps were killed. My arms were burning and my breaths short and painful. I was losing concentration, and that was my mistake.
Before I could turn, the last and largest of the vamps had wrestled me to the floor and kicked my machete from my grip. I was flipped onto my back, looking straight up at a huge bloodsucker that put his knee on my chest and a hand round my throat.
"Well, well, well," he sneered, "Thought you could take us all on could you?"
"Bite me!" I spat back, immediately regretting my choice of words.
"Oh, it'd be my pleasure, sweetie." His fangs slowly emerged from his gums, and as soon as they were fully exposed he plunged them into my neck. I screwed my eyes shut and let out a half scream through my teeth. But before he could drain me further, I'd yanked one of the syringes of dead man's blood out from my belt and stabbed it into his stomach.
"Your turn to scream, you son of a bitch," I whispered to him, before I threw him off me, retrieved my machete and separated his head from his body. I stood, doubled over, catching my breath, before remembering that I wasn't alone in the room.
"We meet again, Dean," I said breathily, with a half-smile.
"Dude," he returned, "You just took down all those vamps in like, two minutes! How d'ya even know they were here?"
"I've been working this case for a couple days. By the time you guys had showed up, I'd identified the nest's location."
"And why the hell didn't you tell us?"
"You didn't ask," I replied coldly to Dean. "Help me with your brother; we've gotta get him patched up." I took Sam's arm and heaved him up, Dean on the other side. He was about a foot taller than me and almost twice my weight, so he was hard to carry. We headed towards Dean's car, and he pulled open the front door and sat Sam down in shotgun.
"Look," he said, "Thanks for your help. Seriously, we were getting our asses kicked in there. But, with all due respect… who ARE you?"
I cleaned the blood off the blade of my machete, pushed it into my belt and checked the wound on my neck again. I didn't know why I was stalling.
"Name's Wilde. Morgan Wilde."
"No freaking way," Dean replied. "You mean… you're The Morgan Wilde? Like the 'take down six vetalas in an evening' Morgan Wilde?"
I smiled. "You've heard of me?"
"Heard of you? You're a damn legend!"
