how to save a life | HUNTER!AKII

[Kaito Ichigo Matsumoto]

for as long as he could remember, he'd been alone. he couldn't recall the faces of his parents, nor the scent of their clothes. he'd never had anywhere that he could truly call home, no where that he could hide away safely from the sun or the hunters. he was a bastard with nowhere to turn, no where to run.

the vampire coven, his father's family, shunned him and turned him away unless he was knocking at deaths door. their saving his life was obligatory because his father was the coven master's brother. they couldn't just let their own blood die, regardless of how much they hated him. but their home wasn't his and he wasn't allowed to find refuge within those walls.

the werewolf clan, from which his mother's blood originated, was much less cold than his father's relatives. they would allow him a place to sleep and keep safe, but even that came with a cost. he wasn't welcome there, they were simply abiding by their instinct to preserve their own blood. they didn't really want him there, didn't really want him alive.

but both had taken care of him when his parents had died. they'd both managed to keep him alive somehow, until he'd gotten old enough to fend for himself. of course, he'd known from the beginning they no one wanted him, that he didn't fit in. they didn't bother trying to hide their hatred from him.

the longer he lived, the more they turned him away. he was old enough, strong enough, to take care of himself and even the compassion that ran so deeply within the werewolves wasn't enough to save him from their scorn.

kaito had long ago given up on finding somewhere that he belonged. it was a hopeless concept for a mutt like him. half werewolf, half vampire. he was a real monster. the kind that children were told about to keep them in bed at night. the kind that hunted every night in order to satiate its thirst. hunting. it was the only thing he was good at and he'd become accustomed to doing just that.

there was no room to feel pity for those that he mutilated. there was no room for feeling regret. he needed their blood to survive. the compassion that flowed through the werewolves blood had long ago faded away into nothing. yet he could never actually kill them. it was best to drain them dry and leave their corpse for someone else to clean up, yet he could never do it. he always left them clinging to life.

but then those hunters had started chasing him. they'd always been after him, of course, but he knew what was really going on. he was a scapegoat, a decoy, a ploy to keep the hunters away from the clan and the coven. he could be pinned with all of the blame, because he was a savage mix of both breeds who didn't discriminate and always ate his fill. even though his victims were always found alive, even if only just barely, no one else would know it. the bodies piled up and he was the only one around to take the blame.

the hunters never could manage to catch him, though. he was too smart, too fast. one step ahead of the game. at least, that was the case for most of the hunters. there was one, only one, who seemed able to match pace with him. she was the only one who could ever corner him and it pissed him off. but it was fun, too. because he always managed to escape, just when it was thought that he'd be killed for sure. or maybe they'd prefer to capture him, dissect him to find out what he really was.

all he was, though, was a monster without a heart. stalking the dark streets and hunting whatever meal happened to catch his eyes. the hunters saw dead bodies, some ripped apart and some drained of life. the ones who where left alive seemed like mistakes, lucky survivors who'd escaped death thanks to the hunters who were always on his tail. but maybe he was just a monster who didn't care about anyone but himself.

sometimes he found that playing chase was fun, other times he would just compel someone to come to him. he didn't like just anyone, though. if he played chase, he needed someone who was terrified of being caught. if he was compelling them, it needed to be against their will. and innocent, pure blood always tasted the best regardless of anything else.

kaito had just recently escaped a pack of hunters after his head and he was weak from the silver that had grazed his body and the sunlight that had burnt his flesh. but he'd escaped, nonetheless, and with a meal in tow behind him. it was only a child but it had been the best he could manage during his escape. he could feel the burns on the back of his hands and neck, he could feel the poison from the silver beginning to course through his veins. he knew that one boy wouldn't be enough but it would give him the strength he needed for a real hunt. it would tide him over until the sun finally set and the moonlight began to heal his wounds.

he got ready to sink his fangs into the child's neck.

( ( i don't even know what i'm doing but i hope this works somehow... ) )