Castiel Krushnic was tired, but he wasn’t about to go home. There was a reason he was made senior partner, and it had nothing to do with letting a little thing like sleep stop him.
Given, he was nocturnal anyway.
If he was honest with himself, he found marketing boring. He much preferred advertising, which was where he started. However, marketing paid more and flashing big dollar signs only kept his family off his back about not being a part of the, well, family business. Most of them anyway. The ones who no longer wanted to associate with him tolerated him being out because of it. If they thought he had too much to lose, they knew he wouldn’t risk himself by turning on them.
After all, he was in his mid-twenties by the time he got out. He incriminated himself more than enough by that time, and witness protection would do nothing to soothe his apparent greed.
A greed that he didn’t have, but what they didn’t know… didn’t hurt him.
It was about nine o’clock, and Castiel figured he could work for another three hours before his inner feline needed to stretch out in a tree somewhere, maybe even Central Park if he didn’t feel up to the drive north. He rarely shifted nowadays –work being too demanding. He only did when he needed to, and being tired at this early in the night was proof of that.
He was on one of the top floors, and the Manhattan skyline gave him enough light to work in the dark. If he was human, he would still need a lamp, but again, nocturnal. He knew some of the hallway lights were still on, and the lights around the elevators and lobby as well, but he had all he needed at that moment. Even if the only window separating his office and the floor was a small panel to the right of his back. The wall opposite was ceiling to floor window, so that was plenty.
Which was probably why he didn’t notice a hallway light on the other side of the floor going off. Or, why Fred the night security guard didn’t pass by that panel window when he usually did.
He did notice, however, when his door banged open.
He looked up, shocked, in time for a man with brown hair and a smug look whistle in that mock-impressed kind of way as he barged in. “Damn, would you look at this,” he said as he swaggered in, looking around the room.
A taller man with longer brown hair followed him in, tossed the door shut behind him and also looked around the room. “He even has a globe, Dean,” the other man smirked.
“Want to bet there’s liquor in there,” the first man asked, pulling a gun from the waist of his jeans behind him. Castiel immediately straightened his back at the sight, even though the man was looking at neither Castiel nor his globe on the other side of the room by a large bookshelf – behind the man’s back. And yes, there was liquor in it.
The second man walked towards the windows and snickered, very condescended, “What a view.”
“Ain’t it?” the first man said, checking the gun’s clip and not looking at the view, almost patronizing in a way.
Castiel’s hands were up a little from the desk, palms in the air when they both turned to face him at the same time.
“Casteel,” the first man sneered.
“Castiel,” the second man corrected.
“Whatever,” the first man smirked, pointing the gun at Castiel. He wagged it a little, obviously taunting. “Silver bullets.”
Castiel’s jaw clenched at that.
“Anything to say for yourself, werewolf?” the second man asked.
Castiel, even though he knew he was literally in a deadly situation, couldn’t stop himself from scoffing. “You did not just call me a mutt.”
Both men’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?” the second man asked.
“I’m not a goddamn dog,” Castiel growled – literally, in his panther way. He noticed both men tense. He got an odd satisfaction with it. He could smell that these men were clearly humans, and it was obvious they knew Werewolves. Hunters, if he had to guess. Surprising them with an entirely different growl from that of a dog soothed him just a little.
“If you’re going to kill me for being a goddamn Were, you better respect which kind I am.”