While Leo shot at any wolves jumping out to tackle either of them, Esme slit throats, broke necks and stabbed chests and sometimes stomachs to those who were deemed to die horribly. She recognised a few of them even behind their masks. These were the ones who loathed her. The ones who wanted more than anything for her to never return from missions.
They must have volunteered so they could get the chance to harm her. Only the most they did was catch her once with a cut to her arm, slicing open the black cropped hoody she wore. Ruining her favourite hoody annoyed her more than the idea of this troublesome night.
By the time they were finished, Leo was leaning up against the bloodied wall, gasping for air after fighting off the now dead brown wolf on the ground before him, and Esme was wiping her knife on one of the dead's arms. Esme glanced in Leo's direction; he was supporting his arm where blood trickled down from his jacket, and a gaping wound from a wolf's bite was apparent.
