Swoosh! Swoosh!
Ilya shot another round, another unfortunate hotel staff staggered backward into a decorative pillar and slid down, leaving a red smear on the white stone.
And Ilya moved agian. Not running. But flowing.
Faster than any normal wolf should move without shifting, his body seemed a blur of black against the ornate lobby.
Few minutes later, men and women dressed as staff, in hotel were scattered on the floor, some seemed to be fatally injured, struggling to live, while others were unalived. Blood was even pooled in the beige-colored marble floor. And Ilya…
He was standing there in the centre of carnage. His black clothes were still pristine except for two small tears where bullets had grazed him.
"I'll leave this mess to you, Yuri." Ilya's voice pulled the man's attention away from the wolves on the floor. And the man named Yuri gave a short nod.
