Hunting a redhead.

“Welcome sir,” the Hunter in charge of the lower ranking men greeted Damon with a low bow as the golden eyed Erikson heir stormed past them, entering the darkened warehouse. As soon as he was far from the sunlight he removed his sunglasses with a flick of his hand.

“Where are the captives?” He turned and asked the man in charge, while placing his sunglasses in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Then he removed his suit jacket, and handed it to another of the men who took the designer jacket gingerly.

“The ones we have interrogated are in the cells in warehouse B,” Damon’s subordinate rushed to give his report in tandem with his boss’ large strides down the dimly lit hallway. “There are some that were brought in just this afternoon.”

“Let me see their names,” Damon demanded and quickly he was handed a sheaf of papers detailing the list of all werewolves that had been captured and all details known about him.

His eyes scanned the papers within seconds, only to stop when he took in a n