Kylie has known the ways of hunting for as long as she can remember. Raised by her father she was taught that hunting was the only way of life and together they had to kill the demon that killed her mother when she was six months old. After her fath...
I sat in a motel room, one of the crappy ones with two channels that worked on the television, but I wasn't worried about that.
I was worried about my father.
He wasn't home yet and he should of been back over an hour ago.
It was supposed to be a simple hunt, a wendigo.
All you had to do was set the damn thing on fire. What was taking him so long?
A number of things ran through my mind as to why he would of been late. Someone got hurt, the case went wrong leaving my father to be pissed off and drinking at some bar, or worse he was dead.
I shook my head, letting my brown hair fly around me.
No Kylie, he wasn't dead. Don't think like that.
I scolded myself as my stomach growled loudly.
I ran a hand over my face as I boiled water on the stove of the motel room kitchen and began making mac and cheese.
Dad would be home soon, and all I had to do was make sure dinner was on the table before he got back.
There was a knock on the door. It was more than likely a maid wanting to clean our room.
"Kylie, I'm a friend of your father's." A deep voice boomed from behind the door.
I didn't know if I should answer it or not. The rule was to never talk to strangers, unless it was for a case.
"Kylie, please." The voice begged.
I felt my heart racing, the voice sounded desperate, and even though I knew better and it would cause punishment later, I walked to the door. Unlocking it and pulling it open with a loud creak.
I looked the man up and down, he was tall, wearing a brown jacket, dark brown hair, dark eyes, and as I studied his demeanor I could tell he was a hunter.
"You're Kylie, Derek's daughter, correct?" The man asked and I quickly nodded.
How did he know my father's name or mine? I had never seen him before in my life.
I reached for the knife in my pocket wanting to protect myself if things went wrong.
"Dad." I heard a boy say gently and as I looked back down to my own field of vision I noticed a boy about my age with eyes so dark that I felt like I was falling in them, shaggy brown hair, and freckles along his cheeks. He was cute, but despite his cuteness you could see the pain in his face. The same pain the I held in my own.
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"Just wait Dean." The man said before giving me a sad smile. "My name is John Winchester."
