He shouldn't have gotten distracted.
The dark black motorcycle passed 150mph, the banging noise elevating into a soundless roar as dust and debris blasted backwards from the pure speed. Hitting a wheelie down the dirty country-road; the same shortcut he knew Yvette took to get to the hospital, Dimitri drifted passed a small outcropping of bushes, cleanly hitting a 360 as he, at the same time, shifted gears, revved the gas, and leaned forward, eyes narrowed from beneath his black, visored helmet, the Russian hunter continuing to drive at the same high-speed. Within a few minutes, he was out of the forest, the city's hospital in sight, in the distance. Cars were milling about, and he could see a few late-night civilians looking the direction he was blasting from, fright in their eyes. Smoothly, Dimitri shifted gears once more, his motorcycle easily and instantly going back to a more normal 60mph, while Dimitri himself sat back from his leaned forward position, dodging around a few unnamed cars as he began to head directly towards the hospital.
__________
The sleek motorcycle parked outside of the hospital, right beside what he could see was obviously Yvette's sportscar. Standing, Dimitri sat his helmet down onto the bike's handlebars, before unzipping his jacket and cracking his neck abruptly to the side. The ride was sort of bumpy back in that forest, but regardless, it was necessary to get here in time; in time for what? He didn't really know. In time for Yvette not to bitch about him being late, probably. Feeling on the edge for some reason, Dimitri glanced around onceHe walked into the hospital, sharp eyes casually taking in the occupants of the waiting room. There weren't much people there, since it was really late, but he noted what seemed to be an injured man sitting down, with wounds on his person, along with the nurse at the front desk glancing around with an obviously confused face.
"Is there a problem?" He asked, his heavily tinted Russian accent deeper due to his distinct lack of caring very much right now.
The nurse looked up. "Oh, yes. A tall man came in and asked about a patient, and then, when I came back, he was gone." She said, glancing around once more, before focusing her attention on Dimitri. "Anything you need, young man?"
Dimitri's eyes were slightly narrowed now, but from his sunglasses, you couldn't see. "No, mam. I'm here to see Nick Jackson." A random name...but he felt something was wrong...something was very wrong. It was the sixth sense from being a hunter for more than a decade. He had began to distinct their scent slightly from other humans, and there was definitely the slight dog-like scent pilfering through the air. He wasn't superhuman, and so he couldn't exactly feel directly from where it was going, but the talk of that man surprised him. He needed to go check on Thomas.
"Oh...he's in Room 132!" So, Jackson was an actual guy admitted here? Interesting. Dimitri gave the woman a nod, casually turning and beginning to walk up the stairs. Room 135 was Thomas' room number; at least, Yvette had texted him that while he was on the way here. As he got closer to Thomas' room, the feeling of deja vu began to grow steadily and steadily, until he was close enough to hear Yvette's voice, and another man's. Dimitri's scent was practically non-existant, from a specific poultice his father taught him to create, to combat a werewolf's nose, and his footsteps were as silent as a sneaking Navy SEAL.
"Do I have to call security or are you able to leave yourself, sir?"
There had to be a werewolf in there. He wasn't going to take any chance. Reaching behind his waist, underneath his leather jacket, Dimitri's calloused hands wrapped around what seemed to be the handle of a sawed-off shotgun, the rather stubby, powerful gun easily hidden within it's dark black holster. Pulling it out into his left hand, Dimitri took a long, silver bladed knife from his other holster, quickly glancing down the hallway for witnesses. There weren't any.
A heartbeat pause, and then, he swiftly and silently pressed a knee into the doorknob, the sharp and quiet strike breaking the inner mechanism of the lock, and easily letting him inside without the usage of his hand. Quietly, he swung into the room, the sawed-off shotgun pointed right at the tall man's head, while his knife was gripped in a white-knuckled fist, Dimitri's eyes glaring as he stared down at the sitting man.
"..." He said nothing, waiting for the man to answer Yvette's question. If he would leave, then Dimitri would let him...for now. He only killed werewolves that needed death. But if he didn't leave....then he would die. Dimitri wasn't stupid enough to think that there was no way for him to die himself, but that was why he had busted the door's lock and handle, rather than open it calmly. He could easily escape and reassess the situation, along with dropping his weapons and grabbing Thomas. This wasn't his first rodeo.
