Table of Contents

- LYCAN MOON

- Prologue

- 1

- 2

- 3

- 4

- 5

- 6

- 7

- 8

- 9

- 10

- 11

- 12

- 13

- 14

- 15

- 16

- 17

- 18

- 19

- 20

- 21

- 22

- 23

- 24

- 25

- 26

- 27

- 28

- 29

- 30

- 31

- 32

- 33

- 34

- 35

- 36

- 37

- 38

- 39

- 40

- 41

- Epilogue

- About The Author – Ruby Cruz

- About The Author – Rick Gualtieri

- Bonus Chapter

LYCAN MOON

An Urban Fairy Tale

Ruby Cruz

Rick Gualtieri

Copyright © 2017 Ruby Cruz, Rick Gualtieri

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is greatly appreciated.

All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

Edited by Megan Harris:

www.mharriseditor.com

Cover by Mirella Santana:

www.mirellasantana.com.br

Special thanks to our awesome beta readers. Your invaluable feedback helped us chip away all of the rough story concepts to reveal the chiseled sculpture beneath.

LYCAN MOON

Rowan Sinclair has trained for a life in the shadows. As a member of the Guild, she's vowed to mercilessly hunt werewolves or die trying. But when one approaches her, claiming to know her missing father's fate, she decides to do the unthinkable - work with one of the very monsters she’s sworn to destroy.

Dean Mason is a man living with a curse, doing whatever he can to keep the beast inside from sating its bloodlust under the light of the full moon. When a chance meeting offers a tantalizing glimpse of a potential cure, he’ll do anything to end the nightmare.

Now destiny has united these two predators, each possessing the key to something the other desperately needs. Their partnership will lead to either their salvation or mutual destruction in this urban fairy tale where there's no such thing as happily ever after.

Prologue

John Sinclair touched the pistol at his side, assuring himself of its presence for the umpteenth time. It was a quirk he’d picked up as a boy that even a lifetime of hunting hadn’t been able to erase. Still there, as always, sitting snug in its weathered holster.

Chiding himself for once again giving in to the old paranoia, he leveled his breathing, reached out with his senses. Something faint niggled at the far reaches of his perception – not quite tangible in his consciousness, but definitely there. A lesser hunter would have dismissed the feeling, but he knew from experience what that meant. This was no false alarm. A werewolf was somewhere nearby.

He’d been tracking this particular wolf for weeks, ever since that rich family on the Upper West side had gotten mauled to death. The police had fed the media some bullshit about the killings, but his connection on the force told him what he already knew. Wolf attack.

Goddamned whelps!

The victims had not only been mutilated beyond recognition, they’d been partially devoured – the bones gnawed on like a puppy’s chew toy. He felt a small degree of sympathy for both the ritzy couple and the servants who’d been killed in the attack, but at least they’d been found and laid to rest. The same couldn’t be said of their grown son. He was missing, probably torn to shreds, and his bones either buried in the park or at the bottom of the Hudson.

Poor rich bastard.

The police were pinning the killing on the chauffeur, also missing. Though John agreed they were on the right track, he didn’t think the chauffeur did it for the money as the papers were saying. He was betting the man was one of them, most likely the very same wolf he was hunting.

His cell phone vibrated once in his pocket, an incoming text, but he ignored it. His daughter, Rowan, was one of the few who had his number and the only one who ever used it, but if she’d been in trouble or had a lead, she’d have called. The girl was probably just bugging him, despite having been taught better, wondering if he’d found anything yet.

Though he knew it would piss her off, he powered down the device. Damned thing would tip off the wolf if it heard the buzzing. It was common knowledge in the Guild that whelps could hear a fly taking a shit from a hundred paces.

He didn’t need her help anyway. He’d been hunting werewolves since well before she was born. Only reason he carried the piece of junk in the first place was because Rowan insisted on it.

Damn millennials and their smartphones.

He’d spent a lifetime learning to trust his instincts, look for real clues like the hunters before him – a tradition dating back hundreds of years.

According to the forensics report, the killer had left a faint blood trail leading two blocks east toward Central Park. Unsurprising. There had been other attacks, not to mention multiple disappearances, in that area in the past year. The police thought they were random, unconnected, but he and Rowan suspected otherwise.

Who’d have ever thought Central Park West would be the home of a pack, or at least their hunting ground? Then again, this was New York City. Weird and this town went together like white on rice.

He scouted the neighborhood closest to the latest killing while Rowan patrolled a couple of blocks east, in and around the park entrance. She probably thought she’d gotten the more dangerous assignment, but his gut told him otherwise. If anything was going to happen beneath this month’s full moon, it was going to be here. He’d have bet a month’s worth of case files on it.

John reached out with his senses again, the tingling at the base of his neck stronger this time. The wolf was definitely near, probably trying to sniff him out. Let it try. He wasn’t one of this area’s hoity-toity easy marks. He’d been born and bred upstate, practically a hillbilly compared to these trust fund types. It was also where he’d been trained.

He knew exactly what would happen next. Werewolves were stupidly predictable – fierce, savage, and deadly as all hell, but not much smarter than actual wolves when in the grip of the moon. The whelp would lock on to his scent, then circle in closer, using the shadows until such time as it was certain of an easy kill. Then it would pounce. Pity, the only thing it would be eating this night would be a hollow-point silver bullet.

It would be another notch on his belt and a reminder for Rowan that she might be younger and faster, but it would be a cold day in Hell before she was bett...

He paused mid-step, suddenly on high alert. In the space of a second, his senses went from a dull tingle to practically screaming.

The hell?!

Before he could react, there came a sound from his left and the goddamned whelp came at him like a runaway freight train – fangs bared, ropes of saliva hanging from its massive mouth. Every instinct commanded him to run, but that would be fruitless. Besides, hunters never ran. They stayed and fought, even if it meant their death.

Sadly, it seemed death was the likely option. This wolf had caught him by surprise, seeming to opt for what amounted to a hit and run ambush, but that was impossible. Whelps weren’t nearly that smart.

Unfortunately for John, his reaction time wasn’t what it used to be – a combination of being caught off guard and his body being well past its prime. He yanked the gun from its holster, but his first shot was sloppy, unsteady. Nevertheless, the creature let out a yip of pain. For a brief moment, John held out hope, but he’d only grazed the beast’s massive arm.

He fired again, but the monster was already on the move, dodging with preternatural speed until it was within reach of him.

With a roar of rage, the wolf rose to its full height, towering over him, and batted his weapon away before he could empty it into its muscular midsection.

Having no other recourse, John backpedaled down an alleyway, giving him time to draw his knife. The short blade glinted in the dull moonlight, but the beast seemingly took no notice of the new weapon. Its red eyes fixed on his as it charged.

There was no time to dodge. John took the full brunt of the wolf’s weight. He landed on his back, the air knocked out of him. Before he could so much as suck in a full breath, the creature’s jaws clamped down on his shoulder. His leather jacket might as well have been paper against its assault. Razor sharp teeth tore through flesh and into bone, eliciting a tortured scream from the aged hunter.

John was certain he was about to be ripped to pieces, but then the weight on his torso suddenly withdrew, as did the teeth which had been tearing into his arm. When he opened his eyes, he saw the beast had actually retreated and was sitting – sitting! – staring at him, its head tilted to the side as if trying to comprehend what it was seeing.

He’d known many a hunter who had lost their nerve in the midst of battle, only to forfeit their life. That number included his wife, Moira, Rowan’s mother, fool of a woman that she’d been. But he’d never heard of another hunter losing their mind like he apparently was. The thing almost looked like an oversized puppy, for Christ’s sake.

And still it sat, staring at him, its eyes seemingly full of something that should have been alien to it – intelligence. No. That was impossible. Maybe the damned thing just hadn’t liked the way he’d tasted.

Whatever the case, it was sitting there now, a perfect target. Sadly, John couldn’t take advantage of the situation. His gun was nowhere to be seen.

Worse, he could feel the lethargy settling in, the first effect of a bite. Werewolf saliva had mild sedative properties – the Guild still had no idea how in the hell that had evolved – calming its prey and subduing it for the eventual feast, a situation not helped by the fact that he was bleeding badly.

He reached for his phone, but his fingers were already numb. The device clattered out of his grasp and onto the sidewalk, its screen dark and dead, like he soon would be. What a fool he’d been to suggest to Rowan that they split up and cover more ground, so he could keep the kill for himself, and then to turn off the one thing that could have saved him. Now he was down, wounded, broken, and with hope quickly fading.

He could do nothing but wait, his body betraying him, his eyelids heavy. His consciousness waned as he anticipated the final attack, praying it was quick.

Rather than the sting of razor sharp teeth sinking into his throat, he heard a shout and felt a heavy thump on the ground beside him. Before he could so much as wonder what was happening, though, the darkness claimed him.

1

Ro glimpsed the first rays of sun through the trees as dawn broke. The night had been a bust. She hadn’t heard from her father in hours and all her calls went straight to voicemail. The stubborn old man had probably turned his phone off, much as he did just about every hunt despite her protests to the contrary.

She’d found no sign of wolves during her patrol. The most excitement she’d had was when a drunk vagrant had bugged her for change, then had gotten violent when she told him to take a hike. She didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been a spinning kick to his face which had crushed his nose into pulp.

He’s lucky it wasn’t his balls.

She headed west out of the park and to where her dad was supposed to be patrolling. The ritzy brownstone where the Mason killings had occurred was only a few minutes’ walk away. The street was relatively quiet. It was still too early for all except the most dedicated of athletes or employees.

She tried her dad’s cell again with no success. Where the hell was he? She rounded the brownstone and checked the alley across the street. Nothing but the usual detritus. In a similar fashion, she examined all the places her father might have found to hide out – recessed doorways, alleys, lower level landings, even shrubbery.

One early-riser stuck her head out the window and asked what she was doing. “My keys,” Ro answered easily. “My stupid boyfriend and I got in a fight and he threw them out the car window.”

The woman’s face softened ever so slightly. “Good luck with that,” she replied before closing the window with a definitive thump.

Ro continued her search, her unease growing with every passing minute. She swore to herself. If he’d gone off to grab some coffee, without bothering to tell her, she was going to suture his damn phone to his hand.

She finished searching the block, then widened her search parameter to the next one over. Roughly twenty minutes later, in a narrow alleyway that branched off to several gated gardens on either side, she found her first clue. Two shell casings from a .38, the same caliber her dad used. She examined the ground and walls flanking her and found a small spray of blood on the side of one building. Following it, she spied what appeared to be a larger pool further down the alley, near one of the gardens.

She knelt and dipped a finger in it. Still wet, but thick and congealed. A few hours old at least. Her heart racing, she stood and glanced around, looking for any further signs of what might have happened. If her father had wounded or killed a whelp, he wouldn’t have hesitated to contact her so as to brag. That he’d gone radio silent instead terrified her.

Ro stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. She needed to be away from the shadows, out in the light and the warmth. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she’d hoped never to call. A smooth voice answered. “Hey, babe. Calling to trade hunting stories?”

“No, Kane. I need your help. My father’s missing.”

* * *

Ro resented having to call in the other hunter, but she couldn’t think of a better course of action in her current state of mind. She couldn’t exactly go to the nearest police station and report her father missing. Even if she ignored the part about werewolves and fell back on his day job as a private eye, the cops would still want details as to what he was doing in a ritzy neighborhood all night. His normal clients weren’t exactly the type to live in a place like that, something they could easily check. The blood evidence in the alley and the fact that he’d discharged his weapon would only further complicate matters. Even if he turned out to be okay, they’d still be finished in the city. The Guild would reassign them rather than potentially draw heat onto themselves.

Kane was a detective with the NYPD, an invaluable resource when it came to accessing police records in their search for possible werewolves and their victims, not to mention helping to keep the heat off of them. He’d been the one to tip them off about the increasing number of attacks on the Upper West Side, giving them copies of the police reports and crime scene photos.

The Guild had stationed him in the city just eighteen months ago, citing the need for an increased hunter presence in a major city of New York’s size. Her father hadn’t liked the other man from the start. “He’s careless and full of himself,” he’d groused one morning after a particularly difficult kill. “The ignorant jackass nearly got us both slaughtered tonight.”

But aside from searching all the nearby hospitals for her father, she had no other avenue to turn down. No one else in her life knew she was a werewolf hunter. To the world at large, she was just another working class girl living an ordinary, paycheck-to-paycheck life.

* * *

Ro swallowed back the fear rising in her throat. If she dwelled on it too much, she was certain it would paralyze her. He’s probably just holed up somewhere catching some sleep, she tried to reason. But he’d never abandoned her like this after a patrol.

She considered the possibilities.

If he was injured, he’d have definitely reached out to her. She had her nursing license and was more than capable of stitching up most non-fatal wounds incurred during a wolf fight. He would only have gone to a hospital if he’d been in dire need, and even then would have fought the effort ... unless he wasn’t capable of doing so. That led to the worst case scenario – he’d either been wounded so badly as to have been dragged off by the wolf or...

A wave of nausea at the thought caused her stomach to roil. She grabbed hold of the coffee cup in front of her and held onto it as if for dear life until the sensation passed.

“You’re looking good after a night out.”

She looked up to find Kane standing over her in the upscale café, mere blocks away from where she’d found the blood. He had a smug grin on his face, but at least he’d come quickly – small favors and all of that.

Instead of taking a seat across from her in the booth, he slid in next to her and leaned in close. She cringed inwardly, though she knew this was the only way they could openly discuss what they needed to without being overheard.

“I found blood and casings, same as what my dad uses,” she said in a low voice. “I haven’t heard from him since two, and his phone is off.”

“Let me guess, this happened a few blocks from the Mason house?” When she looked questioningly at him, he simply shrugged. “There’s a couple of desk sergeants I keep well-greased. On the down low, of course. They keep their eyes open for me during the full moon. Don’t worry. The calls that came in got filed as nothing more than kids with firecrackers.”

Ro nodded robotically. “This happening near there. It can’t be a coinci...” Her voice broke and she forced herself to take several deep breaths to calm down.

He put an arm around her and, despite her reservations, she found herself leaning into it. “Shh, Ro, relax. We’ll find him.”

“Kane, this is my dad. The only reason he wouldn’t have shown up after a hunt...”

“Shh, I know.” He blew out a breath, his tone becoming more businesslike. “You said you found blood?”

“Some splatter on one of the buildings near where I found the casings and then more on the ground several yards away.”

“What does that tell you?”

“I’m thinking he grazed the whelp before ... whatever else happened.”

“Are you sure the blood on the ground wasn’t the wolf’s?”

“If it was, my dad wouldn’t be missing, he’d be here with us ordering a third helping of breakfast sausage.”

Kane pulled away. “Okay, I’ll call the area hospitals, see if they’ve admitted any John Does. Any place nearby he might have gone to ground?”

She shook her head. “His office, maybe, but that’s all the way over in Chinatown.”

“Early morning meeting with a client?”

Ro laughed at the idea, though she didn’t mean to. Her father’s client list had been on a steady decline for years. It had reached the point where they were mostly living on her modest salary as a nurse. If he’d had such an important customer to see, she had little doubt he’d have let her know well in advance. “Sorry, but no. I don’t think so. Besides, I can’t see him risking public transportation after a hunt. It’s...” she lowered her voice, “dirty work, as you well know.”

Kane smiled broadly, showing off his straight white teeth, something that Ro was certain he used as a disarming tactic, whether his quarry was a perp on the run or a woman overburdened by her bra and panties.

She quickly looked away and pretended to fish for something in her bag, surprised that the thought had even entered her mind. The stress of the morning, following a sleepless night spent hunting, must have been getting to her.

“Okay,” Kane said, his tone suggesting that he wasn’t fooled for a second, “but you should probably check his office anyway. I’ll reach out to the Guild, see if they’ve heard from him. It’s a long shot, but we should cover all the bases.”

Ro turned back, hoping her cheeks weren’t flushed. “I should probably head home just in case he shows up there.”

“You do that. But before you go, I want to see the scene.”

They took their coffees and she led him to the area. Pedestrian traffic had increased now that people were starting their work day. With a quick glance around, she ducked into the alley and showed him what she’d described.

Kane stared at the blood stain on the ground, his eyes narrowing when he looked up at Ro sharply. “His gun. Did you find it?”

“No. I’d have told you if I had.”

“So he must’ve taken it wherever he went.”

“Or somebody picked it up and took it.”

Kane shook his head. “I doubt it. Doesn’t fit the neighborhood. If someone had found it here, we’d have heard about it. So that tells me your dad has it with him, wherever he is, and you know as well as I do that if he’s armed, he’s probably fine.”

Ro nodded, but internally she was at war. There were too many variables, too many questions. And she hated to admit that her father had far outlived the typical life expectancy for a hunter.

Oddly enough, it was that thought which calmed her more than any of Kane’s words. She was a hunter of the Guild, too, fully trained and more than capable. She had a job to do, one that could very well serve her own needs this time.

Her eyes locked onto the blood stain on the ground. With a steadying breath, she resolved to hold onto hope, no matter how feeble.

If her father was alive, she’d find him. If he wasn’t, she’d mourn him. But no matter the case, whoever was responsible would pay dearly for what they’d done.

2

The figure in the cage began to stir. His hands reached up to clutch his aching skull. The change back was always like this: pounding headache and a sore body, coupled with no clue of what was going on. He groaned and attempted to pull himself into a sitting position then winced as he felt a twinge on his upper arm. He examined the area to see a line of pink scar tissue already fading. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten the wound, but that wasn’t surprising. The fact that he had it at all couldn’t be good.

His head felt like someone was using it for a bass drum. He had only a couple of vague memories of the night before – faded black and white images that were fuzzy like a poorly shot home video, but nothing that coalesced into anything immediately recognizable.

He blinked, clearing his vision, and realized the door to the cage looked wrong. It was warped, as if something had knocked it off its hinges. Pulling himself to unsteady feet, he inched closer and realized that the bars around it were actually bent outwards.

Holy shit. I escaped last night. Goddamnit! Even after all the precautions they’d taken, he’d broken out of the cage and ... done what?

He racked his brain but couldn’t recall anything more than a few fuzzy memories of an alley. He swallowed, his throat dry, but then caught the distinct taste of blood. Oh no! Did I hurt someone?

Dean Mason swore silently, then banged on the cage door. “Coop! Where the hell are you, man? Let me out of this shithole!” After a few feeble hits, the door swung open freely. The hell?

He stepped out of the cage and saw a pile of neatly folded clothes on a nearby table. “Coop!” he called again, pulling a t-shirt over his head. He desperately needed a shower, but finding out what happened the previous night was a much higher priority.

Dean climbed the short flight of stairs to the main floor, and called his friend’s name again. “In here,” he heard from the direction of the living room.

When he reached the doorway, his intended greeting was cut short by the sight in front of him. “Who the hell is that?”

An older man lay stretched on the couch, seemingly unconscious. Cooper Maddox – Dean’s friend, confidante, and former bodyguard – was fervently attempting to staunch the blood flowing freely from a gaping wound on the old man’s right shoulder. “No fucking clue,” he replied without looking up. “Some guy you bit last night. He’s alive ... for the moment, at least.”

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” Dean raised his hands to his head and began to pace. “I knew this would happen. You should just kill me like I told you to. My life isn’t worth this shit.”

“Table it for now. I don’t have time for your goddamned martyr complex,” Coop barked. “I need some help here. Get me that saline there and hand me more gauze.” Dean stood where he was a moment longer, then moved to do as he was told. “I’m going to try to suture the wound, but the edges are pretty ragged.”

Dean handed him the supplies. “Did you talk to him? Does he remember what happened?”

“Oh, he remembers, all right. Wasn’t coherent enough to tell me his name, but immediately started raving about goddamned werewolves. Go figure. He seemed far more annoyed than freaked out. Hold that saline while I stick the IV in.”

“Gotcha,” Dean replied. “So, what? He some kind of nutcase?”

“I wish. Look on the table. Found that not too far away from where I picked you both up.”

Dean glanced over and saw a pistol. His mind immediately raced back to the wound on his arm and a hazy memory played out in his mind. “He shot me.”

“Don’t be a big baby. He grazed you. You probably barely felt it. The wound was already healing by the time I tranqed your ass. Just for the record, you’re damned lucky he wasn’t a better shot.”

“Why? You know I heal...”

“It was loaded with silver bullets.”

Dean’s heart stuttered. “Holy shit. Are you telling me he’s a hunter?” When he’d first been told about werewolf hunters, he’d thought it a load of bullshit. A ghost story to get him to stick with the pack. Now, he was forced to wonder whether there was some truth to Strike’s warning.

“Either that or a rich crackpot and, judging by the way this guy smells, I’m not betting on that latter. Good thing I found you when I did. Otherwise, he might have done more than give you a flesh wound.”

“Where’d you find us?”

Coop looked him in the eye, but not entirely without sympathy. “Where do you think?”

Dean sighed. He’d gone home again, or tried to anyway. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes at the painful memory, but before it could take hold his head throbbed again, perhaps mercifully so. “Christ. How much did you tranq me with? My head hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“Enough to take down a charging rhino. Serves you right for breaking out. You scared the shit out of me. Thought I was a goner, but you high-tailed it out the front door like your ass was on fire.”

“You know I can’t help myself.”

Coop shrugged as he continued to work on staunching the blood still flowing from the old man’s wound. “Whatever the case, we need to do more. That cage is shot. It wouldn’t hold a puppy right now. I can try to patch it up for next month, but we need to find somewhere we can properly secure – preferably further away from ... well, you know. I think you’re drawn there.”

Dean backed up and leaned against the wall. “Not sure I want to leave.”

“I don’t think we have a choice. You got lucky with this guy, in more ways than one. You could’ve easily killed someone during your little escapade.”

“Don’t remind me. You know Strike has me on a short leash.” Coop chuckled, which caused Dean to frown. “Not funny, asshole. Besides, he’s the one who offered us this safe house.”

“For a hefty fee,” Coop countered acidly. “I’m serious, man. We can’t stay here.”

Dean sighed with resignation. “I know. I ... have something in mind, but it’s gonna take time to get the funds together, especially with that asshole bleeding me dry.” He stepped forward again and glanced down at their patient, wincing at the amount of blood as Coop attempted to stitch it closed. “Can I do anything else?”

“Besides shutting up and letting me work? Not really. But don’t think I’m not pissed at you for this.

“Sorry about last night.”

“Not just last night. This whole fucked up mess,” his friend said softly, the bitterness evident in his voice.

“This isn’t your fight. You know that, right? You can bail at any time.” As Dean said the words, his heart sank at the possibility of losing the only friend he had left, but still he continued. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Yeah, I could,” Coop replied, standing up to survey the work he’d done. He nodded to himself, then turned to face Dean. “I meant what I said about being pissed, but I’ll get over it. As for leaving your useless butt high and dry, well, I may be an asshole, but I’m not a fucking asshole.”

* * *

Dean allowed himself the luxury of a hot shower and clean clothes before returning to the living room. Their so-called guest was still unconscious, but his wound had finally stopped bleeding, a fact Coop deemed a near miracle.

“Keep an eye on him while I get cleaned up.”

“And what do I tell him if he wakes up?”

“Hell’s if I know. You’re the one who bit him.”

“Well, why did you have to bring him back here, anyway?”

“It was that or leave him in the alley to either bleed to death or tell the friendly ambulance driver all about werewolves. Neither seemed a good option to me.” When Dean had no response, Coop blew out a breath. “Listen, man, I’m beat. I’m gonna take a shower and get some sleep. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.”

After Coop left the room, Dean buried his head in his hands. His friend was right. This whole convoluted mess was his fault. If he hadn’t been such an asshole, if he’d been less of a self-centered douchebag, if he’d learned to be a boring, upstanding citizen like his parents had wanted him to be, none of this would have happened.

He remembered the night this all began. Even though not that much time had passed, it felt like a different life altogether.

* * *

Dean had been high as a kite when he’d sauntered into the club some six months earlier, a babe with killer cleavage and an ass to match on his arm. He’d met her at a downtown bar earlier that evening where they’d shared a line or two. He tried to remember her name, but couldn’t quite place it. He’d been way too fucked-up for unimportant shit like that.

What mattered was that she was a prime piece of ass who’d given him a blowjob good enough to eat through the haze of even top notch Bolivian coke. His intent had been to sample her wares again before the night was through, but there was plenty of time for a quick pit stop before then.

The dance floor thumped with some shitty electro-pop, but he hadn’t cared about either the music or the dancing. They’d already used up his small stash of blow, but his date had assured him some premium shit could be had there.

That sounded perfect to him, a chance to obliterate any memory of the fight he’d had with his parents earlier in the day. He wanted to venture out on his own, start a company, and stop riding on the coattails of his dad’s success. He was nearly thirty and still living off his parents’ good graces, for God’s sake. It was pathetic. Even though he’d proven himself more than competent in running the research division, his colleagues still treated him like a fucking trust fund baby – barely concealing their whispers of nepotism when he entered the room.

Cocksucking morons, he hazily thought as he settled into his booth and shot back a mouthful of Johnnie Walker. They wouldn’t have known brilliance if it took a shit on their overpriced diplomas. He’d been near the top of his class at MIT, had a PhD in biomedical engineering, but the idiots he worked with still thought he did nothing but suck off his parents’ teat. Even three sheets to the wind, he could’ve run circles around them in either the lab or the boardroom.

After his second shot, he settled back and draped his arm around ... Darla, yeah that was it. “Darling Darla,” he quipped as if to prove to her he’d been paying attention. They finished a few more shots, then he noted the place wasn’t nearly as packed as he’d originally thought. “You sure you have a contact here? Place looks sorta dead to me.”

“You just wait, handsome. Things are just getting started.” She leaned in and slipped her tongue into his mouth, wrestling with his. A moment later, he crunched down on something bitter – a pill of some sort.

He pulled away, a frown forming. “Did you slip me something?”

“Relax, lover. Just a little taste of things to come.”

That brought the smile back to his face. “Oh? Gonna roll me in the alley and take my wallet?”

She grabbed hold of his crotch as she began nibbling on his earlobe. “Mmm, not your wallet I’m after.” Her tongue darted in and out of his ear, warm and wet. “You’re a yummy one. Did you know that?”

Whatever he’d just swallowed was forgotten almost instantly in his need to finish what she’d started. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She slipped out of the booth and took his hand. He had to pause to adjust his pants before following her through the small crowd of undulating dancers to a door at the back of the room.

A small warning siren had gone off in his head, a vague feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but his brain wasn’t in control at that moment. She pushed open the door and led him into a darkened space beyond.

He could barely see anything, the only illumination coming from a few low-wattage bulbs hanging from the ceiling. A strange odor hung in the air, like incense mixed with something musky, but any questions he might have had were silenced once Darla closed the door. She pushed him against the wall and began grinding her body against his with an intensity that nearly drove him mad.

Whatever she’d slipped him had his head already spinning, but damn if it didn’t make what she was doing to him feel ten times as good.

He reached down to unzip his pants, but a hand grabbed hold of his wrist and stopped him.

In the space of a heartbeat, he realized it wasn’t hers.

Darla backed away from him, grinning, her teeth looking long and white even in the dim light.

“What the fuck?”

More hands reached out from the darkness and he suddenly realized they weren’t alone.

He was grabbed and dragged down the hall, his body too numb to put up much of a fight. Another door was kicked open, and someone shoved him into a chair sitting in the middle of a small dank room that smelled of rotting meat. The stench, combined with the drugs already coursing through his system, made him want to puke his guts out.

“This him, Darling Darla?” an unfamiliar male voice mocked. Dean couldn’t make out much in the dim light, but he could see there were three of them in total. “You definitely picked a pretty one this time.”

“Almost a shame to turn him.”

“Yeah, almost. Good girl. Now get the fuck out of here and go wait in my room.” There came the sound of a hand slapping against flesh, then a thin man stepped forward. He was all wiry muscle, his arms covered in a combination of scars and tattoos that seemed to run together to form intricate patterns of ink and flesh. He leaned down and stared at Dean, his eyes tinged red as a weasel’s. “Thanks for getting her primed for me, buddy. Real good of you.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Dean asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough, Mr. Mason.”

“Huh? How the fuck do you know my name?”

“Who do you think told Darla to bring you here? You should be honored. Not everyone gets this rare opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” Dean slurred. “For what?”

“To become a part of the pack, of course.”

* * *

The memory faded as the old man stirred from his place on the couch.

I didn’t have any choice, Dean mused as he continued to stare at the man – his victim. He unconsciously rubbed his left arm, touching the months’ old scar that always seemed to tingle at the approach and wane of the full moon. Soon enough, this poor bastard would be resigned to the same fate as him, becoming little more than a slave to the moon as it brought out the beast inside of him.

Or maybe not.

A memory stirred in the back of his mind, a conversation he’d had with Strike – the leader of his pack and the one who’d bitten him. The fucker had been giving him the rundown on hunters, trying to scare him into sticking around, giving him some bullshit speech about strength in numbers. Dean hadn’t been paying much attention, but something Strike had told him came screaming back into his brain.

If he recalled correctly, Strike had said something about hunters being immune to the curse, just one of the unique qualities that made them extremely dangerous. Dean had blown it off as bullshit at the time, but what if it hadn’t been a lie?

He hadn’t believed hunters existed at all, but the man lying before him proved otherwise. If so, then who was to say the rest of Strike’s story hadn’t been true as well?

Even if this man was immune, though, Dean had no clue how it worked. Strike’s speech hadn’t been nearly that detailed. But maybe it didn’t matter. He was a skilled biochemist, after all. He’d worked alongside some of the best scientists in the country at his father’s company. Where there was immunity, there was the potential for a vaccine, and along with that came the hope of a cure.

Holy shit! Could it be possible?

Strike had assured him there was no going back, but did that even mean anything? The guy hadn’t exactly struck Dean as Mensa material. The asshole was probably lucky to be able to measure out the drugs he sold to help front his little lycanthrope night club.

He thought back to what he’d told Coop, about how he wanted to end this hell of an existence. But what if there was a light at the end of the tunnel that didn’t involve his death? What if he could be human again? He could never make up for what had happened to his parents, but he would happily devote the rest of his life to trying.

For perhaps the first time since he’d been bitten, the haze of depression around him began to clear.

His attention focused more sharply on the older man, his gaze zeroing in on the large wad of gauze at his shoulder. It was soaked through with blood ... hunter blood, perhaps the key to his redemption.

As the thoughts and possibilities swirled through Dean’s mind, he pushed aside the guilt about his escape the previous night. No time for that. There was work to be done if he was to save this hunter’s life and, in return, possibly his own.

3

Ro tried to relax as the full moon rose, but she was too restless. Not helping matters was the incessant buzzing from her phone.

With a near audible snarl, she ripped it from her pocket, looked at the screen, and sighed. Another fucking text from Kane.

Where are you at? I’ll join you, we’ll bag that whelp together, and then we can celebrate back at my place.

The guy just did not get the fucking hint.

She angrily typed out a message back to him. Listen, Kane. Last night was a mistake. It should never have happened and won’t happen again.

We’ll see, came the response.

What the hell, she thought as she stared at her phone. Did the arrogant bastard think she was playing hard to get or something? She locked her screen, made to turn it off, but then – remembering her father’s mistake – merely set the phone to silent before shoving it back in her pocket. She didn’t want to be caught in a bad situation with a powered-down device, even if that meant having to deal with Kane.

She chided herself for being an idiot, but realized she wasn’t entirely to blame. The approach of the full moon had both of them on edge. Like all hunters, their senses and instincts heightened as the moon’s apex approached. It was something they shared in common with their prey. The only thing they shared in common. Unlike werewolves, they didn’t change form and become bloodthirsty beasts. If anything, they served as nature’s yin to the whelp’s yang, a vicious cycle that had existed for centuries.

Unfortunately, that cycle had its downsides, especially when combined with Ro’s worry for her father. In a moment of heightened emotion, she’d left herself vulnerable and fallen for Kane’s charms. One moment they’d been having a heated discussion about which route to stake out, the next they’d practically torn each other’s clothes off, just barely making it to the bed.

The sex itself hadn’t been bad, she mused. No point in lying to herself about it. It wasn’t the deed so much as the person that was the issue. She’d regretted it the moment he’d collapsed atop her, flashing that smug grin of his as if he’d just bagged a trophy of some kind.

Enough of that jerk. She pushed all thoughts of the other hunter out of her mind. She couldn’t worry about him now, not when there was work to be done. Almost four weeks and all she had to go on was the hope that the whelp who’d taken her father was territorial. With any luck, it would make an appearance in the same area, giving her the chance she’d been waiting for.

She wore her usual hunting garb – dark t-shirt, leggings, black work-boots, and her long leather jacket. Her gun belt and knife were both strapped to her side.

The streets were eerily quiet, and pedestrian traffic was light considering the time of evening. Just as well, she thought, less collateral damage in case things get bloody.

She stopped in front of the building where the Mason family had been murdered. Of all the killings that had taken place in this area, theirs had been the most prominent. An affluent and influential middle-aged couple, they’d been killed in their Upper West Side brownstone. The safe had been broken into, the whole place ransacked, all valuables stolen. Officially, the police were looking for the couple’s son and his chauffeur / bodyguard. Both were wanted for questioning, but the excessively brutal nature of the killings, including the way the bodies had been partially eaten, suggested something the police weren’t about to admit: the murders had a supernatural cause.

And those particular murders had occurred just a few blocks from the alley where she was sure her father had been taken. That couldn’t be a coincidence, especially since the events had both occurred during a full moon.

As she examined the front of the fancy brownstone, with its stately façade and relatively well-kept exterior, she remembered her research. The Masons came from old money, greatly supplemented by Dixon Mason’s success in biopharmaceuticals.

Dixon Mason? What the fuck were his parents smoking?

Ro didn’t understand much of the research his company had been involved in, but she knew enough to understand that it had made them even richer than they’d been.

According to the police report, there was no sign of forced entry. Based on the blood pattern analysis, the robbery had occurred prior to the actual murders. It was Kane’s theory that some whelps may have somehow infiltrated the victims’ home while in human form, perhaps posing as household help, robbed the place just before the full moon, then let their wolf forms loose to play, thus ensuring no witnesses and little chance of the crime being tracked back to them.

She looked away from the building, a faint tingle at the base of her neck, and glanced in the direction of the alley where she’d found the blood stains. The street was mostly residential, more brownstones with gated grounds, far from the bustle of the main thoroughfares. She began walking again, feeling drawn toward the place where her father had last been. As she did, the feeling got stronger. Something was near. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it yet, but she was certain it wasn’t just her imagination.

She reached out with her senses, keeping alert. The ability to sense prey was perhaps her one real advantage, a gift handed down by her forebears, an ability that allowed her and her kind to survive in a world where monsters prowled the night.

The closer she got to the alley, the stronger the feeling got until she felt as if her entire body was electrified. A whelp, no doubt about it.

She slowly approached the mouth of the alley and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Despite her senses, she was walking into a dead end with limited visibility and against a creature whose physical prowess eclipsed hers many times over.

The atmosphere seemingly crackled with energy. The beast was so close, she could feel its presence, the hairs on her arms standing on end.

Then she heard it – a low guttural rumbling just barely audible above the sounds of the city. She couldn’t see the beast yet. The growl had come from somewhere near the end of the alley.

A small part of her wished she had taken Kane up on his offer just so she would have backup. But she wouldn’t lose her nerve now. She was descended from generations of werewolf hunters, daughter of one of the best there ever was. She could do this.

She crept along the side of one of the buildings, keeping her back to the wall and her gun arm outstretched. There was limited cover in the narrow space and, even with her hypernatural senses, she knew the wolf’s sense of sight and smell would more than make up the difference. Chances were it was already aware of her presence, getting ready to stalk her in anticipation of an attack.

Despite this, she moved further into the alley, the sounds of safety and civilization melting away as the darkness of her surroundings engulfed her.

The rumbling growl she’d heard earlier had ceased, the silence now all-consuming, almost as if she were underwater. She willed her breathing to slow, so that all she could hear was the thunder of her heart pounding in her chest, and reminded herself of the pattern that wolves used.

They were ambush predators, preferring to stalk their prey. Despite their size and strength, they often didn’t attack head-on unless injured or cornered.

Which is exactly what I’m doing to it now, she mused with a grim smile, her finger tightening on the trigger. That’s it. Come to mama bear. I got a nice bowl of porridge for you and it’s just right.

Within the space of less than a second, the shadows in front of her coalesced into a massive shape. The beast leapt forward with a roar and, even though she’d been anticipating the attack, she was still taken by surprise from its ferocity and speed.

It closed the distance between them faster than she anticipated, forcing her to jump to the side just as it slammed a massive clawed hand into the side of the building where her head had been only moments before. She turned and fired, but missed. Even in the narrow confines of the alley, the wolf was moving too fast to provide a solid target. Fortunately, where senses and reflexed failed, instinct and training took over.

Swift though its movements were, she tracked it and kept firing, trying to anticipate where it would be as opposed to where it was.

There came a sharp yelp of pain and then the shadows became still again as it retreated, just as quickly as it had come. Her body thrummed with adrenaline as she attempted to steady her breathing. She swept the alley in front of her with her pistol, feeling its slightly diminished weight.

Damnit! Almost empty. One, maybe two bullets left.

She didn’t want to chance it. Ro pulled the spare magazine from her belt, ejected the empty one, and then accidentally dropped it in her haste. She winced as it hit the ground with an audible clink, giving away her position as surely as if she’d set off a flare.

Dad would definitely tan my hide for that one.

It took her a scant second to pick it up and reload her weapon. Moving as quickly as she dared, she headed toward where she’d last glimpsed the beast’s massive form. At least she’d nicked it. Unfortunately, judging by the way it had moved, she doubted she’d done more.

Badly injured or not, though, it was still close. The tingling on her neck told her as much.

Further in, the gardens on either side of the alley proved to be problematic, the gates and plants inside providing long shadows in which half a dozen whelps could potentially be hiding, much less one.

Her senses were honed, but it was more an early warning system than a GPS. She’d need to conduct this one carefully if she wished to flush out the whelp before it attacked again.

She barely breathed, not wanting to reveal her position as she turned toward the first garden, off to the right of the alley. A small light was on inside of it, near a door leading into the building. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see that there was likely no monster wolf hiding in...

Ro drew in a hiss of breath as she spied what appeared to be eyes staring at her from near the ground behind the garden gate. She almost opened fire before realizing it was just a poorly placed garden gnome.

Stupid son of a...

She made it a point to remember to kick the damned thing over once the wolf was dead. Would serve the owner right for nearly scaring the shit out of her.

In that instant, movement registered from her left. She turned a moment too late, cursing herself for letting her focus waver. Before she even had a chance to aim, a massive fist – no, a paw – backhanded her across the face. She saw stars and the world around her momentarily greyed out. Her training kicked in and she instinctively dove to the side before it could finish the job. Rolling to her feet and shaking off the blow, she realized with a silent curse that her weapon was lying on the ground, well out of her reach.

As for the wolf, it stood where it had attacked her, still cloaked in shadow, little more than a massive shape against the darkness. She could hear it growling softly, far too near for comfort. Why wasn’t it attacking? It had her dead to rights, could have killed her before she so much as said “boo.” But it merely stood half hidden in the gloom of the alleyway.

Maybe I wounded it worse than I thought. Sadly, that was probably little more than wishful thinking. Though it remained unmoving, its massive silhouette, towering far above her head, didn’t give her the impression that it was badly hurt.

She eyed her gun, situated directly between them, and shuffled a foot toward it.

The wolf matched her motion, shuffling a single step forward into the moonlight where she could see it clearly. No matter how many times she’d seen a whelp, the sight never failed to impress.

Nearly seven feet tall, its head was that of an exaggerated canine, like someone had fed a German Shepherd an insane cocktail of steroids. Teeth, some up to three inches long, poked out from its extended snout from which copious amounts of drool dripped. A thick neck topped a massive, fur-covered body rippling with muscle. Though it was more than capable of running on all fours if need be, she knew a whelp’s true menace came in their ability to walk and fight bipedally. Their incredible strength was augmented by hands ending in wicked talon-like claws that could tear through flesh as if it were paper.

She looked up and met its gaze, its red eyes tracking her as they both stepped into the moonlight. The moon. She could see it reflected in its pupils, the edge of its profile just visible, giving the creature’s face a strange glimmer of ... intelligence. For one strange moment, she found herself matching its stare, almost lost in its eyes.

Goddamned rookie mistake if ever there was one, her father’s voice said inside of her mind, shaking her from the reverie. Forcing herself to look away, she glanced down.

Her gun was still out of reach. If she lunged for it, she would surely lose – a suicidal move at best. Instead, she moved her hand slowly toward the handle of her silvered knife. It was better than nothing, but just barely. She was much more adept with the gun. The knife was her backup, only to be used in a pinch – which was exactly what she was currently in, she supposed.

It was doubtful she’d even be able to draw it in time, much less line up a shot and throw it straight into the monster’s heart just as she’d been trained. Problem was, she’d never done so in battle before. She’d always relied on guns. Now, she realized they’d become her crutch.

Never again, she swore to herself. If I survive this, I’ll make sure I’m as strong with a knife as I am with a pistol. Hell, I’ll even carry a freakin’ silver machete if I have to.

That was all the time she allowed herself for introspection. Her situation required action, not words.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, the crackling power in her blood surging through her. In one swift movement, she unsheathed the knife and threw it at the center of the beast’s chest. Her aim was true!

Sadly, the beast was faster and moved to block the attack. The creature howled in fury as the razor-sharp blade struck its hand dead center, slicing through fur, skin, and muscle as if they were butter.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ro took advantage of the distraction to lunge for her gun, but was still a hair too slow. More quickly than she thought possible, the wolf recovered and launched itself at her, pinning her down. It took a moment to pull the knife from its paw and toss it away, eliciting a small cry of pain.

The whimper quickly gave way to a growl and it lowered its face to within inches of hers, its rancid breath mingling with her own.

It was over. She’d failed and now awaited the fatal blow, the moment when it would rip her throat out with its teeth, then maul her to pieces with its claws. She’d seen the remains of enough victims to know to expect a bad death.

Rather than being overcome with fear, though, she was half-surprised to find that a part of her was grateful – that she actually welcomed the release from this never-ending life of hunter versus prey. Hers had been a difficult, lonely path – one of friends forever kept at arm’s length and potential lovers kept even further away. These were feelings she’d never shared with her father. Even though he, too, lived this life, she’d never once seen him indulge in self-pity, not even when her mother had died. He’d have certainly laughed at her and called her weak.

She closed her eyes and pictured his face, trying to focus on the good times they’d had, the love she held for him. She finally allowed herself to accept the realization that he hadn’t walked away from his encounter a month prior. In these final moments, there was no need for the lie of false hope.

Ro wondered if his end had been like this ... if his thoughts had been of her as hers now turned his way. A solitary tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and she whispered, “I’m coming, Dad. See you soon.”

She turned her head and prepared for the final blow as the growl deepened within the beast’s throat.

The growl, however, changed to a loud snuffle as the creature inhaled sharply. The pressure on her chest abruptly disappeared, replaced by the chill of the damp night. When she dared open her eyes again, the wolf had backed away from her, its red eyes watching her warily.

All thoughts of death fled her mind in an instant, her training pushing its way to the forefront. She didn’t know why this whelp had spared her, but she wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

Quick as she could, she scrambled for her gun.

But by the time she reached it and raised her arm to aim, the only thing she saw was the empty alleyway in front of her. Once again, she was alone.

4

“You’re quiet today. Even more so than usual, and that’s saying something.”

Ro turned toward Kamika and tried her best to smile. It wasn’t hard. Kamika was one of the nicest people she knew, a nurse who truly cared. She had nerves of steel in even the direst of situations, yet always seemed to know exactly what to say to family and patients when things didn’t look good. She’d have made a good hunter, except she was dedicated to saving lives, not taking them. She was the type of person Ro might have wanted to be in a different life.

“Long night.”

“Hmm, let me guess ... a long night with a certain detective who keeps sending flowers to the nurses’ station?”

Beneath her smile, Ro gritted her teeth. “No. He’s a different sort of issue. And not in that way ... at least not anymore. Let’s just say he won’t take the hint.”

“Doesn’t sound like too much of an issue to me. Tall, dark, handsome...”

“And the type to remind you of it every five minutes. Believe me, sometimes rotten things come in cute packages.”

Kamika laughed. “Well, send him my way after you break his heart. I’ll be happy to rock his world, although I might demand chocolate as well as flowers.”

“Trust me. He’ll eventually ruin it by opening his mouth.”

“Who’s to say I won’t keep his mouth occupied, put his flapping tongue to better use?”

Ro snorted with laughter. She couldn’t help it. “Feel free to shut him up, if you can. As for me, I’m looking for something ... more, I guess, and Kane McGregor simply isn’t it.”

“Okay, so if it isn’t the hot cop, what’s eating at you, then?”

Ro couldn’t tell her about her missing father, or the fact that two days prior she’d tracked down a werewolf only to spend half the night getting her ass kicked and the other half icing her bumps and bruises.

A brief memory crossed her mind of being pinned down by the beast, of ruing her lonely existence and wanting it to end. Kamika deserved so much more from a friend than she could give her.

How wonderful would it be to have someone like her to bounce hunting strategies off of, instead of an ass like Kane who was too busy thinking of ways to get back into her pants. After a while, it all became too much for one person to take. She had so much to get off her chest or, barring that, to take out on someone’s ass.

But that would have to wait until the next full moon.

“You know what you need,” Kamika said, inserting herself between Ro and her workstation. “You need a night out. You’re long overdue.”

Ro hesitated.

“Come on, we’re all heading out after the shift is over. You can’t bail this time. It’s been forever since you hung out with us. Reggie will be heartbroken if you don’t go.”

Ro smiled minutely. “Not interested.”

“I’m not trying to set you up. I’m just saying that Reg has had a boner with your name on it ever since you started here.”

“Ro is only two letters.”

Kamika snickered. “Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? What’s the harm?”

Ro was well aware of her co-worker’s crush, but she didn’t care to encourage it either. “It just seems like a bad idea to me. Workplace romance, combined with me not really looking for anything serious...”

“Fine. Just give him a pity fuck, then.”

Ro narrowed her eyes.

“Or don’t. It’s good either way. Just come out with us and have some fun. You look like you need it.”

Ro let out a breath. She knew she’d never hear the end of it until she finally agreed. “Okay, you win, but give me some time to get ready first. I want to clean up after I’m done here.”

That was a lie. She wanted to head back to the scene of her encounter with the wolf, see if there was anything she’d missed, some clue that would help her track down the whelp’s human guise.

It was probably futile, of course. She’d already combed through the alleyway with a fine-toothed comb and found nothing of substance, but it was better than sitting and waiting for the next four weeks to pass.

She glanced toward Kamika. Maybe her friend’s persistence was a good thing. At the very least, it would ensure she didn’t spend all night searching for leads that simply weren’t there.

* * *

Dean’s eyes tracked the red-haired figure as she hurried down the street past his former home. She seemed familiar for some reason. He was momentarily tempted to follow, see if he could get a good look at her face, but knew it would be stupid. She probably just reminded him of one of his former conquests in less sober times. Besides, he had more important things to worry about.

He crossed the street, purposely avoiding what had once been his home. A pang of regret filled him at the thought of his parents, but he ignored it and focused on the task at hand. Grief was useless to him, so he allowed anger to fill those voids instead. The rage at what had happened to him and his family, it helped keep his resolve sharp.

He flexed his right hand and grimaced. The wound still burned as if it were fresh. The gauze he’d wrapped around his palm did nothing to dull the pain, but it did help staunch the continuous drip of blood. It still oozed enough that he had to change the bandage every few hours, but he was able to hide the injury beneath his leather gloves. It was slowly getting better, slowly being the operative word. For some reason his preternatural healing, which seemed to fix every other damned injury, didn’t seem to want to touch this one.

He walked two long blocks to a more commercial area. Loud music thumped from the basement entrance of an unmarked club, still going strong despite the rest of the buildings in the neighborhood being dark. A heavily muscled bouncer blocked the entrance until Dean said, “I’m here to see Strike. He’s expecting me.”

The goon glowered at him for a moment before allowing him entrance. Dean made his way past the bar and through the dancers undulating to a hypnotic rhythm that played in sync with the strobe lights. Not so long ago, he would have joined them on the dance floor after first knocking back some shots at the bar. But not tonight. Probably not ever again.

He approached the table at the back where he knew he would find Strike. Dean had no idea what the asshole’s real name was – probably something unthreatening like Sheldon or Bryce. He was almost certain it would be something that didn’t fit the guy sitting at the table. Scantily clad women hung off him like Christmas tree ornaments.

The so-called pack leader leaned back against the leather booth, eyes half-closed as he watched Dean approach. With a casual wave of his hand, he ordered the ornaments off the tree, so to speak. A familiar face crawled out from beneath the table, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Strike grabbed her arm before she left and pulled her in for a rough kiss. “You remember Darla, right, buddy?” When Dean didn’t answer, he added, “Go have some fun, baby. I’ll come get you later.”

“You’d better,” she purred, before slinking away.

He gave her a wink before turning back toward Dean. “I’m gonna assume you have my money. Darla sucks like a Hoover, as I’m sure you remember, so naturally I’m inclined to be a little upset that you interrupted us.” He stood slightly, adjusted his pants, then sat back down and poured himself a shot from the bottle on the table in front of him.

“Your blue balls are your own problem. I’m here to talk, not pay.” Dean eyed the guards flanking the table. They’d been casually observing the exchange but now tensed up.

“Really? That’s interesting, because I seem to recall we had a deal.”

“Yeah, and that deal was you’d give me a safe house and some stuff that would work.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, a movement that caused the guards to reach into theirs before Strike stayed them with a quick wave of his hand. Dean paused for a moment to see if he was going to be peppered with gunfire, then produced a small glass bottle and set it on the table. “The cage in the house isn’t worth shit, and this crap is worth even less. I still changed.”

Strike waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you changed. The mixture doesn’t prevent that and you know it.”

“No, I mean, my mind changed, too. I lost myself again. I can barely remember anything. It didn’t work.”

“So?”

“So?! I got out again!”

“Hmm.” Strike leaned back and tapped a gold-ringed finger against his lips. “Guess your better half doesn’t like being crated.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

He raised his shoulders in an unconcerned manner. “Maybe we need an adjustment in your dosage.”

“Seriously? This is bullshit, man. I’m not paying to be some fucking guinea pig.”

“Let me make one thing clear, pretty boy. This isn’t one of your daddy’s little science experiments, nor is it a fucking cure. The results are different for everyone. Just ask my boys here.” He gestured at the two hulking guards flanking him, neither of whom struck Dean as the type to have a thought unless it was given to them first. “Some need a little. Some need a lot. Some don’t respond at all. But before we jump to any conclusions, we can try a stronger dosage.”

“That’s what you said last month. You’d better not be playing me.”

“Strong words from someone who was begging for my help not too long ago.”

“I had no other choice and you know it.”

“You may not have a choice, but I do, and right now I’m choosing to get real tired of your attitude. Now, start talking nicely to me or I’ll have my boys here see how many new assholes they can cut in your hide.” When Dean held his tongue, Strike opened a metal case at his side and pulled out two small glass vials. “Better. This is the strongest dose I give out. I gotta warn you, though. This concentration has proven to have the occasional adverse effect.”

“Like?”

“Like death, genius.” Correctly reading the distaste on Dean’s face, Strike continued. “As I said, this isn’t an exact science. Wolfsbane is poisonous to normal humans, and it isn’t exactly healthy for us either, but I’ve been doing this for a while and my formulations are the best you’re ever going to find.”

When Dean continued to hesitate, he sighed. “You know what? I think I’ll give you another choice. The price is now double. Consider it an asshole tax. If you don’t want it, no skin off my back, but just remember the risk you’re taking when the next full moon comes.” He locked eyes with Dean for several long seconds, then turned to the goon on his left. “Nico, please escort our guest to the checkout area.”

Dean somehow resisted the urge to throw a fist at Strike’s infuriating grin.

As he walked away, Strike called after him, “And don’t forget, rent is due soon. Don’t make me double that, too, pretty boy.”

“Don’t bother. I found a new place.”

“Did you now?” Strike asked. “Good for you. Drop your keys off and don’t bother asking for your security deposit back.”

Dean gritted his teeth and followed Strike’s goon to a dark corner where a scrawny man with a cigar hanging out of his mouth was counting bills and tabulating receipts. Without looking up from his laptop, he asked, “How many?”

“Two. He said they were the strongest dose.”

The scrawny man held a hand out for the money while his other continued to type. With a roll of his eyes, Dean reached into his jacket, extracted a wad of bills, and dropped it onto the table. The other man lifted his head to finally look up at him. “Let’s see those vials. Gotta make sure they pass quality assurance.”

Dean handed them over, both filled with a pale blue liquid. The scrawny man examined both, an action Dean didn’t quite understand given his boss had been the one to supply them, then handed the vials back to him. “Five hundred.”

“It’s all there.” Dean nodded toward the roll of bills on the table.

“Boss said to double the price,” Nico interjected from behind him.

That elicited a grin from the cashier. “An even grand, then.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “I don’t have that much with me.”

“Aww, what a shame. Pity we don’t take coupons.” He grabbed the cash off the table. “Come back with the rest. In the meantime, I’ll put these on layaway for you.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Dean was back on the street, cursing under his breath as he walked. With both his and his parents’ accounts frozen, he was quickly running out of cash. He’d gotten lucky in finding the new place upstate, a forgotten asset in one of his parents’ many investment portfolios. Financing all the supplies he needed as well as the necessary reinforcements Coop requested had pretty much wiped him out, though.

At this rate, they’d be lucky to last a couple of months, especially with the rates Strike demanded for his so-called treatment. At the very least, he’d have to learn to watch his mouth around the man.

He’d started working on his own formulation, but so far had no more success than with Strike’s mixture. Hell, it was a shot in the dark. He had no proof the plant actually worked at all, just folklore and the word of an asshole drug dealer.

As he considered his options, his mind turned back toward the old man still under his and Coop’s care. At first, Dean had been excited about the prospect of the hunter’s immunity, perhaps too excited. Though he knew breakthroughs didn’t work that way, a part of him had been disappointed when his first few tests with the man’s blood samples hadn’t yielded any fruit.

That the hunter didn’t seem to be getting better wasn’t helping matters. A whole month spent feverish and delirious, he’d become worse in the past week until Dean was sure the old man was going to die, but then he had improved a bit the last day or so.

He hadn’t turned. That much Dean knew. In fact, the main reason he’d gotten out this time was because Coop had been preoccupied with making sure the old man didn’t suddenly wake up as a four-hundred pound monster wolf. At the very least, that meant there had to be something to that immunity story.

The hunter’s health was a concern, though. It was like his body was in a deadlock, holding its own against the infection, but not making any headway either for some reason.

Dean stopped walking as he thought this through. The infection that caused the curse was slowly overrunning the hunter’s body. The old man was tough, that much was evident, but at best he was barely keeping the fever in check.

Wait! Maybe that was it. Not only had it kept the old man from recovering, but it was also likely the reason Dean had failed to derive a serum from his blood. The hunter’s entire system was tainted.

He needed a pure sample, they both did. An infusion from a matched blood type could potentially boost the old man’s system, assuming a donor could be found. It would have to be soon, though.

Equipment and know-how weren’t his problems at the moment, but cash was. If things got bad enough, he might need to start hocking that equipment and then both he and the old man would truly be up shit’s creek. So whatever needed to be done, had to be done quickly.

He glanced down at his injury, recalling some of the few memories he managed to retain from his change. Perhaps he already knew the answer.

Someone else had tracked him down during this month’s change, a woman ... a red-haired woman.

Dean turned and looked around, remembering the person he’d seen on his way to Strike’s. That had to have been the reason she looked so familiar, but he’d been too goddamned preoccupied at the time to even consider it. And of course she was nowhere to be seen now.

She’d handled herself well during their battle, perhaps even better than the old man had. There was no doubt in his mind that she was another hunter.

Two in as many months. I’d better find a cure soon, because if my luck continues along this path, I’m toast.

It was too much to be a coincidence. It was time to go home and talk to the old man, see if he was coherent enough to answer a few questions. Dean had a sneaking suspicion his guest knew where to find this girl who could very well be the key to salvation for them both.

5

Ro followed the crowd to the nearest subway station and took her usual train downtown to the hospital. When she emerged onto the street, she hurried the couple of blocks to the employee entrance and swiped her key card. She’d overslept thanks to another nightmare. That was almost two weeks in a row now. Her mind constantly replayed the encounter in the alleyway with the whelp. Sometimes the dream ended as it had in reality. Other times, her subconscious was far less kind.

Despite the hours her nighttime excursions required, she’d never been late for a shift, so she practically sprinted down the hall to the locker room. She stripped off her bag and jacket, secured them in her locker, made sure she had her badge clipped on, and swiped in at the nurse’s station where Kamika was already getting report on her patient assignment.

They exchanged cursory nods of acknowledgement and Ro scanned the board for her assignment. Her block of rooms contained a two-year old with a high fever, a man in his twenties with a hand wound, and an elderly woman who had been throwing up for two days.

X-rays and wound cultures had already been performed for the man. The two-year old was waiting for a bed in the pediatric ward, and the elderly woman rested while receiving IV fluids and an anti-emetic.

She decided to check on the man first. Even though the report said he was in his twenties, when she stepped in she was still surprised by his appearance. She had been expecting to see a heroin junkie with an infected hand – a fairly common occurrence in this section of town – not the handsome, well-kept man sitting before her. He was tall and well-built, with dark hair and several days’ worth of scruff. If not for the gash in his right hand, she would’ve wondered if he’d accidentally wandered in from a modelling gig for American Eagle.

Ro offered a greeting and was almost immediately unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. His blue eyes were exceptionally bright and, silly as it sounded, he looked more like he was trying to peer into her soul than make casual eye-contact. Though she was positive she’d never seen him before, there was something strangely familiar about him, too.

He continued to stare at her, as if memorizing her every feature. Being no stranger to uncomfortable encounters, be them with patients or prey, she assumed a businesslike demeanor and approached. “My name is Ro and I’ll be taking over as your nurse. The x-ray results are still being processed and as soon as those come in, Dr. Malik will discuss possible courses of treatment.” She took a quick glance at his wound and again something nagged at her from the back of her mind. “How did you hurt your hand?”

“Bar fight,” he answered in a curt voice. “Guy came after me with a knife.”

The story matched what he’d told the previous nurse, so she relaxed slightly. The smackheads had a tendency to change their stories every time they told it. Besides, the wound on his hand didn’t match the stuff she usually saw on users. It was relatively clean, with no obvious signs of infection. Just a two-inch slash on the palm. The only thing potentially worrying was that it didn’t seem to be clotting over.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly tingled and when she looked up, she caught him staring again. Her eyes met his and she got a feeling akin to déjà vu.

What is it with this guy?

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say, but then she remembered what it was she did after hours. It would take a lot more than some leering creep to scare her. She swallowed the apprehension and cleared her throat. “That looks like it hurts. Do you need any pain medication while we wait for the x-ray results?”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. Though she never felt intimidated by patients, the way he was staring at her caused her heartbeat to quicken slightly. When she spoke, it was an effort to keep her voice neutral. “Okay, then. I’ll go check and see if Dr. Malik has any updates. Be right back.”

She quickly stepped out of the room, nearly tripping on her return to the nurses’ station. “What’s up with you?” Kamika asked her, eyebrow raised. “You look like someone just stepped on your grave.”

“It’s nothing. I just got a weird vibe from the patient in 9.”

“I got a look at him,” she replied with a knowing nod, “and he gave me tingles too, in all the right places.”

“Not that kind of vibe.” She twirled her finger near her temple. “I’m going to see if we can get him out of here soon. I don’t have time for Looney Tunes today.”

She found Dr. Malik sitting at a workstation studying something on the screen. When she approached him, she could see he was examining an x-ray of her patient’s hand. “Anything strange about it?” The doctor turned and raised an eyebrow, to which Ro quickly amended, “I meant, does it look like there are any complications?”

His brow furrowed. “There’s something lodged in there. Pretty deep, too.” He used the tip of a ballpoint pen to point to a small white triangular form superimposed on the image of the hand. “He said he was in a knife fight? I’m guessing it’s the tip of the blade. He’s going to need surgery to remove it, maybe some physical therapy afterwards. I’m going to consult ortho and call in the hand specialist. I’ll go talk to him.”

She nodded and went to check on her next patient. When she emerged, Dr. Malik was standing outside of room 9 with a frown on his face. “Ro, did your patient go to the bathroom or something?”

“No, not that I know of. Why?”

“He’s not in the room.”

“I’ll take a look around. Maybe he decided to stretch his legs.”

Ro checked the bathrooms to no avail. When she returned to the room, she saw he still hadn’t returned. An odd feeling filled her as she stepped into the hallway and scanned her surroundings. She didn’t think she’d be able to miss his tall figure in the flow of patients and hospital personnel milling about the emergency department, but she didn’t see anyone resembling an LL Bean model. She grabbed one of the nursing aides to help her search, but after another ten minutes still couldn’t find him. A sweep by security and Code Walker didn’t yield any positive results, so she had to relegate herself to the notion that he’d left the hospital.

Shit.

While she wrote up the incident report at the end of her shift, Kamika tried to console her. “Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known he’d walk. And you were just in his room right before he jumped ship.”

“But why come in if he was just going to leave? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Who knows? Brains and looks don’t always go hand in hand. I wouldn’t stress too much.” When Ro didn’t reply right away, she added, “Hey, if you’re going to obsess about it, then at least try to drown it with some beers. Terry from x-ray told me the first round’s on him.”

Ro remembered the last outing Kamika had talked her into. She’d come damn close to putting Reggie through a wall when he’d drunkenly tried to cop a feel. “I’d hate to be a third wheel and I’m kind of tired.”

“You won’t be. He’s bringing some friends, plus Mindy and Renee are coming also. Come on.”

“I’m going to take a raincheck. I want to go home, take a shower, and maybe lose myself in a book.”

“Fine,” her friend conceded. “At least tell me it’s a hot romance, because otherwise I’m getting you a cat and knitting you an afghan.”

* * *

Ro tried to let the incident from earlier go, but as she walked down the sidewalk, she still couldn’t get her patient’s nagging familiarity out of her mind.

She was approaching the steps of the subway entrance when the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. Though her senses were mostly attuned to whelps, they were also sometimes helpful in picking up when trouble was about to go down. Ro sometimes wondered if the sixth sense that hunters shared could be honed beyond just the occasional tingle, but it was never something she’d had the time to indulge in.

For now, she accepted the early warning for what it was and glanced around at her fellow commuters, seeing if she could identify the source of her unease. Nothing stood out from the crowd of humanity engrossed in their phones, music, and newspapers. She gave her head a slight shake as she watched the oblivious masses. Whoever had coined the phrase “safety in numbers” hadn’t considered potential casualties, collateral damage, or hostages.

When the train arrived in the station, she stepped on board, but the feeling of unease only dissipated slightly.

What the hell?

Ro considered things as the train moved along. She’d been running on all cylinders for weeks – working her shifts, continuing to search for clues that would point her either to her father or the whelp responsible for his disappearance, and doing her damnedest to keep Kane at arm’s length. Then there were the nightmares.

I’m probably just overtired. Maybe it’s a good thing I blew Kamika off tonight.

She reached her stop and walked briskly up the steps leading to the street. Whatever calm she’d been hoping for didn’t last. Her skin immediately broke out in gooseflesh as that anticipation of impending trouble seemingly tripled. There was no way this was her mind playing tricks on her. Something was off.

The pedestrian traffic lightened as she trekked the long blocks east toward SoHo. She’d walked these streets many times, often in the dead of night, with little or no fear. With her training, any would-be mugger would find her a very unpleasant surprise.

No. That wasn’t the issue. There were far worse things than mere muggers lurking the streets, and she was certain one of them was close by.

She considered her options. The full moon was still over a week away. Whelps weren’t the only threat haunting the night, though. Vampires, witches, even skin walkers – creatures straight out of humanity’s nightmares – were all far too real.

She dismissed the first. Vamps were ambush predators. It was still too early and there were too many people about. Witches were problematic, with their spells and glamours, but she could think of no reason for one to be stalking her. The Guild usually went out of its way to avoid crossing paths with them, and she couldn’t think of any with a personal quarrel against her. On that last, non-lycan shifters were exceptionally rare, but extremely dangerous. Against one, she stood little to no chance. But they were solitary. Thankfully, she’d never heard of one terrorizing a city before.

Her senses tingled again. Whatever was out there was close. Ro pushed any fear she had to the back of her mind and took a deep breath. It was time to end this game.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a pedestrian to nearly plow into her back. “What the hell, bitch?” the teenager complained before hustling away. She ignored him. He was inconsequential to whatever was playing out on the street. There was someone or something else out there that was far less innocuous, and she intended to flush them out.

Ro fished her phone out of her bag, even though it hadn’t rung. She stepped aside to allow for any passersby to walk past and enabled her tracker app.

As advanced as smartphones had become, hers wasn’t any that would be found on the shelves of the local Verizon store. Specially built by the Guild’s tech arm, it included a few extra features that made GPS seem quaint by comparison.

The tracker was one such extra. Originally designed to be used on hunts against multiple targets, it sent out a pulse that would detect any significant heat signatures within ten yards. Though it was usually far too distracting when tracking a lone whelp, it was a near godsend for avoiding pack ambushes.

Several blobs lit up on the small screen, most of them moving past her – commuters heading to whatever destination awaited them, nothing more.

There! A lone stationary signature appeared just at the edge of the phone’s range. That had to be it. Gotcha!

She made to appear as if she was texting someone, but was actually informing the app to set that particular heat signature as her target. As it moved, her phone would vibrate a silent warning, the frequency increasing or decreasing with its proximity. She slipped the phone into the front pocket of her jeans and started walking again.

Her senses on overdrive, she walked briskly but cautiously, all the while aware of the vibrations being sent out by her phone. Just as she figured, once she started walking, so too did her pursuer – the vibrations against her leg steady, indicating her would-be stalker was keeping pace. When she reached her building, she walked past and continued down the street.

Her mind racing to draw up a strategy on the fly, she travelled one long block east and abruptly turned the corner and ducked into a convenience store. She picked up a couple of oranges and a quart of milk, then paid for her purchases, noting that the vibrations from her phone didn’t change. Her uninvited company was waiting somewhere outside the store, close but keeping his distance.

She carefully tucked the groceries into her bag and prepared for the inevitable confrontation.

* * *

Dean waited in the shadows, making sure his hood was pulled up and covering as much of his face as possible. It had started to drizzle, so he wasn’t the only unidentifiable pedestrian seemingly shielding himself from the rain.

He’d recognized her immediately at the hospital. Her red hair had been unmistakable even in the darkness of the alley – perfect skin with just a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, pale green eyes which had stared at him with pleading and passion. He didn’t know how he remembered her, how he’d been able to reel in the animal enough to register the details. Usually he only remembered simpler sensations – scents, sounds, feelings of rage and an uncontrollable need to kill.

But he hadn’t killed her. Something within him, some small remaining sense of humanity, had forced its way to the surface. Maybe it had been the wolfsbane working after all, but somehow he didn’t quite believe that. Why her when everything else was a hazy blur of rage?

The old man, in his delirium, hadn’t put forth much resistance in giving up the information he’d needed. All he’d had to do was ask. Dean had been careful at first – observing her from a distance, staking out her apartment to learn her schedule. Despite her slight appearance, he realized how dangerous she likely was.

He quickly fell into a routine, playing it safe, waiting for the right moment. But then the old man began to take a turn for the worse again and Dean realized, with some horror, that it was getting late in the month. The wolf was again drawing near. It was time to shit or get off the pot.

He knew Coop wouldn’t have been keen on the idea of him going to the hospital, but the time for waiting was over. So he’d acted without consulting his friend first.

He considered his hand. Painful as it was, it had given him the perfect excuse to make contact, even if all he’d done was stand there staring at her like some sort of creep, unable to fathom how someone so fair could lead a life so deadly.

Was it fortuitous or just coincidence that the hunter he was seeking was also an emergency room nurse? Months ago, he would have believed the latter, but now he was beginning to wonder if it might be more.

After all, mere coincidence wouldn’t have practically dropped two hunters in his lap and dangled the possibility of a cure. Finally, he was almost within reach of the opportunity to continue, and hopefully perfect, his work. If he didn’t believe himself cursed, he would’ve thought he was damn lucky.

His plan had been to knock on her door, beg for an audience, and hope she didn’t blow his head off first, but she was taking her sweet time going home tonight. He continued to stand there, waiting. What the hell was she doing in the store? It would be just his luck if she was doing her weekly grocery shopping while he was standing outside in the rain like a moron. He gave her another five minutes, then stuck his head out of the alley and glanced toward the store. No sign of her.

Damnit!

He turned to scan the street from the other direction when his feet were swept out from beneath him and he was dragged back into the alleyway. He was roughly kicked over onto his back, facing the sky beneath the shadow of the buildings above him. And there she was, green eyes flashing and a pistol pointed right in his face.

Double damnit!

He should have listened to Coop and been more careful. Instead, he’d been an arrogant moron. This wasn’t some game of Mission Impossible. She was a hunter, trained to deal with things like him, and he was nothing but prey, especially now in his vulnerable human state.

He held out his hands, hoping she wasn’t the type to shoot first and ask questions never. “Wait!”

“Shut up.” She eyed the opening of the alley, then gestured with her gun. “Get up slowly, hands out in front of you. Try anything and a bullet goes in your brain. Lie to me and I’ll put one in your balls, too. And believe me, I’m a good shot and even better at making sure bodies are never found.”

He believed her. Strike had told him that hunters were to be avoided at all costs. He didn’t need that asshole’s advice to know she was dangerous. But even with a loaded gun in his face, he couldn’t help but marvel that somehow he remembered her from his time as a wolf when just about everything else was nothing more than a blur. Something about her was ... it was hard to quantify. Special was the only word that came to mind.

Dean had always been the type of guy to live in the moment, never worrying about whether life had a plan for him. But he couldn’t help shake the feeling that fate had orchestrated their encounter those many weeks back.

Of course, now the challenge was explaining that to her without his brains ending up smeared across the side of a building.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded.

For a moment, he considered pleading innocence, but then remembered her warning about lying. It was time to go for broke.

“I need your help.”

6

Ro stared hard at him, His tone was earnest if gruff, his eyes nearly glowing in the shadows with a fierce emotion. Whatever he wanted, he wanted it desperately.

“Who exactly the hell are you and why should I help you?”

“Because you’re one of the only people who can.”

“Oh, really?” She unlatched the safety with a click, but he merely eyed the gun. He was good at keeping his shit together, whoever he was, she had to give him that much. “How about this, then? You tell me and then I’ll decide whether or not to let my little friend here answer.” He hesitated and she began to tighten her finger against the trigger. “I really don’t have all night, and you definitely don’t.”

“I know you’re a hunter.”

Though she forced herself to remain calm, her heart stuttered within her chest. No one knew of her nocturnal habits. Correction: the only people who did were either dead or in the Guild, and this guy was obviously neither. “Okay, that’s a start. You have exactly ten seconds to explain to me how you know this or I’m adding another hole to your skull.”

He kept his hands up, his voice soft and calm. “We had a run-in last month, remember?” He paused as if unsure whether he should continue, causing her to move the trigger back another few millimeters. “You were hunting me. It ... didn’t go well for you. I could have killed you, but didn’t.”

If she’d been surprised before, now her heart leapt into her throat. This was the wolf?! Talk about irony. She’d been lamenting her lack of leads almost non-stop, only for the damned thing to seek her out. And it wasn’t even her birthday.

Regardless, if he was telling the truth, then she would get answers from him, learn if he was the bastard who’d taken her father. The problem was, he no doubt knew she couldn’t get what she wanted out of him if he was dead. She had to play this cool, act like she wasn’t desperate. “Well, if this doesn’t beat all. A whelp asking a hunter for help. Is that why you ran out of the hospital? What, were you afraid I was going to pop you right there in front of...”

A flicker of annoyance crossed over his face, the first reaction she’d seen from him. “Will you shut the fuck up for just one second and let me explain? The reason I didn’t kill you that night was because the beast ... something stopped me. When we were fighting, when you looked into my eyes, somehow I wasn’t the wolf anymore. I was me. For a split second, I was me again.”

She raised an eyebrow, wondering what sort of bullshit he was playing at.

“I know I sound crazy, and you have absolutely no reason to trust me, but I did spare your life. The least you could do is hear me out.”

Her mind flashed back to that night, to the abject fear and the anticipation of finally being free of this life. For one brief moment, she’d wanted to die. But she hadn’t, and now the tables were turned.

So many conflicting emotions. She considered beating his head against the wall until he told her everything he knew, but for some reason hesitated. As a wolf he’d bested her, but in his human form the advantage was hers. The past few minutes proved that much. Even though he was taller and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, she had no doubt she could take him in hand to hand combat. There was also the little fact that shooting him in cold blood right here would no doubt attract unwanted attention – not that she intended to tell him that.

She kept her gun trained on him as she ordered, “Keep talking. How can I be of assistance, besides putting you out of my misery?”

“I didn’t ask to become this. I never wanted this life.” He paused as if considering what to say next. “There’s a pack out of Central Park ... they’re the ones who turned me, used me. I’ve been trying to get free from them ever since.”

Ro realized he was very likely rambling to save his own ass, but she wasn’t about to waste the potential for good intel. Hell, in that one sentence alone, he’d confirmed something she and her father had only speculated about. “Go on.”

“They call themselves Los Colmillos.”

“The Fangs? Cute. What else you got?”

“They recruited me against my will.” He pulled up his sleeve, a gesture which caused her to tighten her grip on her weapon for a moment, and revealed the edge of a ragged pink scar. “Their leader, Strike, he wanted me in. Didn’t care to take no for an answer.”

She made a mental note of that name. “Why you? No offense, but you don’t exactly look like a first round draft pick for either the Bloods or Crips.”

He didn’t smile at her joke and she somehow sensed the desperation behind his neutral expression. Her own smirk faded from her face when he answered, “They wanted money. They lured me to a club one night and attacked me while I was too wasted to remember not to talk to strangers.”

Money? She stared at him a beat before realization set in. Something had been nagging at the back of her skull ever since laying eyes on him, and she finally knew what that was. She’d seen him before, or at least a picture of him, in one of Kane’s case files. “Holy shit. You’re Dean Mason. You went missing...”

“...six months ago. Trust me, I know. They bit me, kept me hostage for months. Kept threatening my parents if I didn’t make with the cash. I did everything they asked, but it wasn’t enough for them. The sons of bitches killed my family anyway.” He stated the sentence matter-of-factly, although he couldn’t quite mask the bitterness and, for the first time, a sliver of sympathy eked its way into Ro’s system. “They expected me to be part of the pack, thought I would sign everything over to them and bankroll all the shit they had going on – drugs, weapons, whatever.”

That caught Ro by surprise. She hadn’t expected a pack to be so organized, much less be its own crime syndicate. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because this is what you do, right? You hunt down fuckers like them, and...” He mimed a gun and pulled its imaginary trigger.

For a moment, she was tempted to take his story at face value, hear him out, but then she remembered the whole point of why she’d been tracking him to begin with. Whatever sympathy she felt instantly faded away. “Sorry to break it to you, buddy, but my kind doesn’t take requests, especially not from your kind.” She leaned in. “I’ll tell you what we do. We wipe werewolves out ... all of them, including spoiled rich boys with sob stories.”

His eyes grew wide, whether through fear or desperation, she couldn’t tell. “Wait! There’s more,” he pleaded. “Remember what I told you, that night in the alley, when I spared your life, when I somehow became me again? I think it was because of you.”

* * *

He couldn’t tell if she believed him, especially because she was still holding that damn gun like she wanted nothing more than to see how far she could make his brain matter splatter. She barely blinked and the effect was unnerving. No wonder she was a hunter. Despite the red hair and good looks, she was stone cold, cool and steady. The only grain of emotion was the fire in her eyes, and it wasn’t a sympathetic flame.

When she didn’t respond by way of immediately blowing his head off, he took that as a good sign, and ventured to continue. “I don’t remember much of anything that happens when I turn – close to nothing – only waking up the next morning and feeling ... I don’t know, wrong. But I remember that night in the alley, I remember you.”

“What is that even supposed to mean? So what if you remembered me? Congratulations. I remember you, too.”

He knew what he was about to say was cheesy and more than likely to not help his cause, but he couldn’t think of a better way to word it. He just had to hope she believed him. “It means there’s something about you. I don’t know what it is, but for a brief moment ... you somehow cured me.”

She blew out a snort of laughter. “You’re shitting me, right? Sorry to break it to you, Dean-o, but there is no cure to lycanthropy. Believe me, if there were, we would have found it and made sure your kind were ended once and for all.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.” He blew out a breath. “Okay, maybe cure was a strong word. See, Strike, the guy in charge of The Fangs, he’s been trying to sell me this drug. He calls it a ‘treatment.’ It’s made out of aconite. Wolfsbane.”

“I know what aconite is and I know what it does and doesn’t do. Don’t tell me you actually bought his bullshit.”

“Enough of it to kill me three times over, if I were still human. But it doesn’t work.”

“No shit. We’ve run our own tests on it. It’s useless once the full moon hits. Best it does is temper some of the feral qualities in the days leading up to the change. It can’t actually prevent you from turning. Nothing can.”

“I know that, but it’s supposed to help me remember, stay in control of myself.”

The hard look on her face softened minutely. “I’ve hunted enough of your kind to seriously doubt it works that way either. I’ve never seen anything to make me think you’re anything but monsters.”

“Then how do you explain what happened to me that night in the alley?”

For a split second, doubt shone on her face, but she quickly covered it up. “I don’t know. Dumb fucking luck, or maybe you just suck at being a whelp.”

“Why do you keep calling me that? What the hell is a whelp?”

“You are, stupid.”

He gritted his teeth. If he didn’t need her help so much, and she wasn’t holding a gun, he’d have wanted to knock the sarcasm right out of her. “Look, despite what you might think, I don’t want to be a werewolf. Even if I did, I definitely don’t want to be under the thumb of a bunch of blood-thirsty assholes who killed my parents because they want to drain my bank account dry. You may not think there’s a cure, but that’s not going to stop me from trying to find one.”

This time she outright laughed. “You’re fucking nuts, you know that? What makes you think you can find a cure to something that’s been studied for centuries?”

“Yeah, I get it. You guys are hunters and probably know more about this stuff than anyone else. But here’s the thing: we’re not using leeches for bloodletting anymore.” He stared hard at her, refusing to drop his gaze. It was time to shift the ball to his court. “The world has changed. I know science. We’re talking cutting edge here. My dad built a whole fucking company dedicated to curing stuff barely anyone’s even heard of, and I grew up learning it all. I have the knowledge and the equipment, and now I think I’ve found the missing piece of the puzzle. It’s the reason I’m here. It’s...”

“Don’t say it,” she warned.

“You.”

He definitely had her undivided attention. At the very least she wasn’t laughing anymore. He took advantage of the momentary silence to say, “Strike told me all about your kind. He said that hunters couldn’t be turned, that you’re somehow immune to lycanthropy, something that’s passed down in your blood. Is it true?”

She considered his question for a moment as if debating whether or not to answer. Finally, she gave a tentative nod.

“Then stop and think about it. What if that immunity could be distilled, extracted? There would be no more killings, no need for any of this.” He gestured at the gun still aimed at his chest. “We can help each other.”

Her eyes narrowed, the green in them glinting even in the low light of the alley. “You really believe this, don’t you?” She almost sounded like she was beginning to crack.

He nodded slightly, aware that any sudden movement could still cause her to pull the trigger. “I do. And if I’m wrong, if I don’t succeed, you might as well just kill me anyway, because I don’t want to live like this.” He tried to sound sincere on that last part, even if he was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

“Say I believe you. What would you need from me?”

“Not much. Just some samples of your blood. A couple of vials, maybe.”

“That’s it?”

She sounded skeptical, but he was still breathing, so he went for broke. “It’s a starting point anyway. After I run some tests, we’ll see.”

“And what about the full moon? Bright as you think you are, I doubt you’ll find a cure in a week.”

There was the attitude again, but they were making progress. He wasn’t about to screw it up now by telling her off. “I have a friend. He keeps me locked up.” Dean saw her raise a skeptical eyebrow, so he quickly added, “Yeah, I know. In the past, I’ve managed to break out, like when I met you, but I’ve since tripled security, taken every precaution. I won’t get out again.”

“And your friend?”

“He keeps me in line, gets us supplies, and does his damnedest to make sure I don’t hurt anyone.”

“Sounds like a good friend.”

“He is. Coop’s a great guy and he wants to stop all of this as much as I do. He probably wouldn’t be happy with me telling you this, but it’s personal. His sister worked for my family, too. Los Colmillos killed her along with my parents.”

Another flicker of recognition in her eyes. He suspected she knew who he was talking about. Coop had been mentioned in the papers along with him, and it was obvious this was a girl who’d done her research.

Despite her iron exterior, he got the sense that she wasn’t as cold-hearted as she was letting on. After all, there were far easier professions to make some extra cash than her chosen day job. He decided to use that knowledge and go in heavy. “Look, you’re a hunter, but you’re also a nurse. If you had the cure for cancer, AIDS, any of that, wouldn’t you want to share it with the rest of the world?”

She appeared to consider this, again offering a tentative nod. “And you actually think you have a shot at finding a cure?”

“Contrary to what you might believe, they don’t just hand out PhDs in biomedical engineering because your parents happen to be loaded.”

The corner of her mouth ticked up in a ghost of a smile. “All right, Dr. Jekyll, I’ll play along. So how does this work? Do you have a secret laboratory in your bat cave or something?”

“Something like that.” He could tell by the glimmer in her eyes that he had her. “I could show you.”

The smile on her face broadened. “Nice try, but my spidey sense is telling me no.”

If he weren’t so anxious about her being trigger happy, he might have actually laughed. “I get it, you don’t trust me. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“Fair enough. Speaking of medicine, though, let’s talk about the hospital. Am I supposed to believe it was just coincidence that brought you there earlier? That I just happened to be your nurse?”

He smiled sheepishly. “You got me. Not a coincidence. I was specifically looking for you.”

The grin on her face faltered and her expression became unreadable. “How did you know to find me? Nobody there knows about ... this.” She gestured to the gun in her hand.

“Another hunter told me. He tracked me down, much like you did. We got into a...”

Her whole body stiffened and the fire in her eyes blazed momentarily before she seemed to explode in a flurry of motion. Before he knew it, she’d dragged him to his feet and pinned him to the side of the building with her forearm against his throat and the barrel of the pistol shoved painfully into the underside of his chin. “This other hunter. What does he look like? Who is he?”

He could barely breathe. For someone so slight, she sure was strong. “An older guy – fifties or sixties, short beard, green eyes.” Realization dawned as he stared into the same green eyes he was remembering. The old man hadn’t said anything about their relationship. He’d been too out of it to provide anything more than a basic location.

He’d thought them merely partners, maybe a master / apprentice relationship. But now he saw how wrong he was and how much danger he’d just put himself into.

He heard a soft click as she cocked the hammer of her gun.

“Tell me what you’ve done to my father.”

7

Every instinct within her screamed that she should stop listening to his bullshit and end his miserable lying life, but if there was even the slightest chance her father was still alive...

“Tell me what you know right now or I swear I will unload every damn bullet I have into your goddamned skull.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. He’s alive and safe. We’ve been taking care of him.”

The admission shocked her and she backed away a step, though she kept the gun trained on him. “What do you mean you’ve been taking care of him? Is he hurt?”

He nodded. “You have to understand. I couldn’t control what I was doing as a wolf. He ... was bitten.”

“He what?” Ro readjusted her grip on the gun. The temptation to pull the trigger was almost overwhelming.

“You have to believe me. We’ve been doing our best to take care of him, but he’s been really sick – an infection, I think. He’s still fighting it.”

“Take me to him.”

“But...”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear.” Her voice lowered to a dangerous pitch. “That wasn’t a request.”

He hesitated for a split second before responding. “Okay. I will. I’m parked downtown.”

“You drove here?”

“Mass Transit doesn’t go to where we have him.”

* * *

She didn’t trust him on the subway – too many bystanders this time of day – so they took the bus back toward the hospital. He kept his hoodie up to cover his face, which was good. No way did she want anyone to recognize him and call the cops before she got what she needed from him.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he nudged her in the side. “This is our stop.”

She nudged him back much harder. “It better be.”

At some point during the bus ride, he seemed to have lost his nervousness. In fact, he seemed almost eager as he stepped off the bus. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. He was getting what he wanted. She was going with him.

Of course, his grandiose plan probably didn’t count on her finishing him off, depending on what condition she found her father in. That was still to be determined.

She watched him warily, ever aware that the unknown was a dangerous thing. There was an inherent trust in allowing him to take her to her father. She was leaving herself vulnerable, but the knowledge that he was alive trumped her own safety.

She realized this Mason fellow had probably figured that out and mentally kicked herself for allowing him to exploit her weakness. He’d gotten the drop on her weeks ago in that alley and now she’d allowed him to do so again in his human form. For all she knew, this was nothing more than a trap, planned well in advance ... one which she was falling for hook, line, and sinker.

“Stupid, stupid,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, slowing his pace.

“Nothing. How much further?”

“I’m parked in there.” He nodded toward a parking garage further down the block. When she hesitated to follow, he sighed impatiently. “Look, I’m not going to try anything. I told you, I need your help.”

She pursed her lips together but didn’t respond, just gestured for him to continue. When he paid the valet at the window, Ro saw that he handed him much more than what was quoted for the daily rate. “Insurance,” he explained when he noticed her raised eyebrow.

When the valet returned, she was surprised to see him riding a motorcycle. She didn’t know much about bikes, but she knew enough to recognize that it was fast and had a lot of horsepower.

The valet climbed off, handed the key to Dean, and walked away. He handed her the helmet and said, “Put this on.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t plan on getting into any accidents. Besides, it’ll take more than a spill to stop a wolf, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Can you say the same?”

“Just don’t try anything...”

“Oh, and I probably should warn you. You could try riding behind me with one hand holding your gun against my back, but I really wouldn’t recommend it.”

Annoyed that he called her out, she rammed the helmet onto her head. After a few moments of her fumbling with the buckle, he fastened it for her, the gesture making her feel like a child. He climbed on, steadied the bike, and instructed her to get on behind him. Her heart thumping wildly with adrenaline, anticipation, and a small amount of fear, she wrapped her arms around his waist and bit back a scream as he revved the engine and accelerated out of the garage.

Ro was all too aware of how vulnerable she was as he merged into traffic. She was on a motorcycle with a werewolf being taken to some unknown destination. “Fucking stupid,” she muttered again, glad the sound of wind and traffic drowned her out.

She was used to taking mass transit most places, and a car or van to the rest. The act of riding a motorcycle was completely foreign to her. Her arms tightened around him as he turned onto the FDR and accelerated north. At least he drove cautiously, none of that weaving between cars shit. She briefly wondered if that was for her benefit.

Once out of the city proper, the traffic lightened and the skyscrapers gave way to the cliffs and trees of the Palisades. As they continued north, Ro began to lose track of where they were. The road seemed to twist and curve in unexpected places, and she was too anxious to make note of every turn they made.

After what seemed to be an interminable ride into increasingly less populated areas, he paused at an intersection and called back, “You okay?”

She nodded automatically, but then realized he probably couldn’t see her. “Yeah.” The sheer terror from the ride had made all thoughts of an ambush flee her mind. So long as they made it there intact, she’d gladly face whatever horrors awaited. Once she was off this death trap, she could get her dad, kick this guy’s ass, and then catch an Uber back to the city.

After another mile or two, he steered the bike to the entrance of a narrow road which Ro realized was actually a long driveway barred by a rusted iron gate. After opening it, he maneuvered the bike through, then closed it behind them. The drive sloped upwards through the trees until it opened up onto a circular driveway in front of a massive, dilapidated looking house.

Dean parked by the front door and turned to her. “We’re here.”

Grateful to be stopped, Ro climbed off the bike, her legs a bit wobbly from the ride. She pulled off the helmet and shook out her hair. She noticed him staring at her as she finished. “What?”

He cleared his throat and muttered, “Nothing,” then held his hand out to her.

She stared at it for a moment until she realized he was reaching for the helmet, which she finally handed to him. “Where are we?” she asked, feeling a bit foolish.

Without answering her, he went to the front door, lifted a hidden panel in the siding, and punched in a code. There was an unmistakable click and he pushed the door open before gesturing for her to follow.

She hesitated for the barest of moments, realizing that if this was indeed an ambush, then it was about to be sprung. So be it. She’d committed to whatever was coming the moment she’d gotten onto his bike.

What she found inside surprised her. For starters, there was no pack of angry monsters waiting to disembowel her. The interior was relatively clean, if a bit sparsely furnished. The door closed behind her with a definitive click of an electronic lock being reset, the sound echoing slightly in the near empty hall.

She didn’t like feeling locked in, especially in this place where she couldn’t be sure where she was or whom she was with. More to dispel the silence than anything, she said, “This place looks empty. If you were lying about my father...” She felt for the gun at her side and laid her hand on its reassuring bulk.

“Don’t worry. He’s here. Come on.”

She took note of her surroundings as she followed so as to familiarize herself with the layout, in case she needed to fight her way back to the entrance. The home was stately, if relatively empty, with an old Victorian feel. Despite the modern locking system at the front door, the rest of the place seemed steeped in the décor of the past century.

He led her up a grand staircase, their footfalls echoing on the bare wood of each step. As they climbed, she got a sense of how stately the home must have been in its prime.

She followed Dean to the top where the hall branched in opposite directions. He took a left and eventually stopped in front of an open doorway. Inside was an ornately carved four poster bed upon which lay a still figure.

“Dad?” Her voice came out in a whisper.

“He’s sleeping,” someone else replied.

Ro jerked, not realizing that there was another person in the room. She silently cursed herself for being sloppy, letting her emotions get the better of her. Automatically, her hand went to the gun strapped to her side, but Dean stepped in front of her.

“Relax. It’s just Coop. He’s the friend I told you about, the one who’s been helping me.”

“Cooper Maddox at your service,” he said, rising, his eyes quickly darting toward Dean in a questioning manner.

Ro didn’t relax, but she did allow her hand to drop from the weapon.

The other man, Coop, was tall, taller than Dean. Muscular and with a shaved head, he reminded her of a live action Mr. Clean. The random thought left her mind as quickly as it had appeared. This was not the time for silly comparisons. She dismissed him with a curt nod and approached the bed slowly.

Her father looked pale, but he was breathing. Though she was loathe to admit it, the nurse in her could tell he’d been well taken care of. His thick grey hair was combed and clean, and his beard had been trimmed. “How long has he been like this?”

“It comes and goes,” Dean said. “I mean, we’re talking over a month. He’ll seem like he’s getting better, but then he’ll slide back. His current condition started about a week ago. It looked like he was fighting the infection, but then he took a turn.”

“And you never thought to bring him to a hospital?” She whirled on him angrily. “He needs antibiotics and proper medical treatment.”

“We’ve been providing that,” Coop interjected, as if affronted.

“Then why is he still sick?”

The two men glanced between each other meaningfully until Dean said, “It’s okay. She knows. In fact, she’s one of them.”

“Well isn’t that just brilliant?” Coop scoffed. “We’re caring for someone who wants you dead. So what do you do? You bring over one of his healthy buddies, who presumably also wants you dead. Let me know what to put on your gravestone. Nah, scratch that, I already have it. Here lies Dean Mason, world’s biggest fucking idiot.”

Dean crossed his arms and glared at the other man. “She’s the one who was hunting me the last time I got out.”

“And that’s better why?”

“Just shut up and listen. Remember what I told you about what happened? She’s the one who brought me back, made me myself again.”

“So you keep telling me. That’s your plan, then? You’re going to try to use her to develop that cure now? You get points for not giving up, even if you lose a few for being a dumbass.”

“I have to try. It’s better than hiding in a cage every full moon.”

Ro stood over her father and patiently waited for the two men to stop bickering. She didn’t enjoy being argued about as if she wasn’t there, but she was more focused on his condition than the dick waving contest going on.

After a few more moments of back and forth, Dean stepped over to the bed. “I’m pretty sure it’s the bite.” He pulled down the sheet to reveal her father’s left shoulder, which was covered in a large white dressing. He loosened the tape around the gauze and pulled it away, causing Ro to inhale sharply.

The bite wound looked red and raw, the skin around the ragged teeth marks swollen and almost purple, the open areas crusted black with dried blood. She rounded on Dean. “He needs a hospital. He’s probably septic.”

“It’s not infected,” Coop said, stepping in. “We collected cultures and the wound is clean.”

Though she was impressed he even knew what that meant, she didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a bite and everyone knows how much bacteria is in saliva. You might not have done the cultures right.”

“I know what I’m doing, Miss High and Mighty Wolf Hunter or whatever you are. Dean does, too. Whatever is going on inside of him, it’s not being caused by a bacterial infection. There’s a ... I hate to say this, but I think there’s an extranormal element here. I don’t think he can be treated by medicine alone.”

“So, what, are you some kind of voodoo witch doctor?”

Dean cut in. “Think about it. What do you think will happen if we bring him to the hospital, huh? Any doctor who looks at that wound is automatically going to think it’s from a rabid dog or maybe a bear and give him the standard treatments before even testing him. It could set him back, maybe even kill him. Is that what you want?”

Ro hated to admit it, but he had a valid point. “Okay, fine. But as you said, he took a turn for the worse in the past week. Why?”

“It’s just a theory, but I think it’s because the full moon is coming. Whatever causes ... this is becoming stronger with the lunar cycle and his body is trying to fight it off.”

“The question is why?” Coop replied. “I mean, you said hunters are immune, right?”

Dean nodded then turned toward Ro.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“So then, what’s happening? Or is this how it normally works?

“We...” Ro trailed off. She realized that a lot of what she knew about her immunity was hearsay. Scratches and cuts were pretty par for the course for a hunter, but so far as she knew, she couldn’t remember actually meeting another of the Guild who’d gotten bitten this badly and not been torn to shreds in the process. “It’s ... complicated.”

“Of course it is,” Coop replied with a roll of his eyes. “Isn’t it always?”

Dean stood up from her father’s side, a thoughtful look on his face. “I’ll admit I’ve been thinking about this a bit.”

“Always a dangerous thing.”

Ro ignored Coop. “And?”

“And I have a theory that you might be the key ... for both of us,” Dean said after a few moments. “We might be able to transfuse him with some of your blood, give his immune system a boost, if you will. That might help his recovery.”

She considered that for a moment, then grudgingly admitted, “That might be the least stupid thing that’s come out of your mouth since I met you.”

* * *

She allowed Coop to draw a sample of her blood, her free hand never far from her holster, then she sat at her father’s bedside holding his hand. The two men disappeared with the vial, presumably to start whatever analysis they had planned.

She was forced to admit that what Dean had said made sense. She and her father shared the same blood type. If he’d received a massive dose of the infection and was badly wounded on top of that, perhaps getting a transfusion of some of her antibodies would aid in his recovery. She sincerely hoped that would be the case. To think him dead, then to find him only to lose him again, would be even more terrible than losing him in the first place.

All hunters were prepared for the inevitable, but it was all about dying in combat to the wolves – brutally yet swiftly. To watch him suffer a slow death, however, was worse than anything she could have prepared herself for. She’d seen many patients near death come through the emergency room doors and had watched others as they wasted away, but she wasn’t ready to experience her own father being one of them.

She felt more helpless than ever before. He had always been the one to care for her, and now to see him like this, so frail and weak...

Ro sat in the chair and leaned forward, resting her head against his right shoulder. Tired and with the adrenaline of the past hour wearing off, it wasn’t long before she fell asleep.

8

Dean observed from the doorway as Ro slept, her hair splayed across her face and her father’s shoulder. She couldn’t be too comfortable in that position, not with her body contorted in the chair and her head at that unnatural angle, but he didn’t want to disturb her.

Something stirred within him upon seeing her slumbering form, although he wasn’t sure what. She was abrasive and temperamental, the exact opposite of what he usually found attractive. Hell, she had potential to be downright lethal, but there was something about her, something that went beyond her fiery red hair and clear green eyes, something that went deeper than even her volatile temperament.

The beast inside him had remembered her from that night in the alley. One moment he’d seen the world through the wolf’s eyes – shades of black and white and grey – when, all of a sudden, it had transformed into a world of color and clarity.

Almost as if she sensed him hovering in the doorway, Ro stirred and sat up. She stood and stretched her back and arms, lending credence to his observation about her uncomfortable looking position. She turned and then gave a start when she noticed him leaning against the doorframe.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” he said with a quick smile, trying to cover up the fact that he’d been staring.

“What time is it?”

“I was kidding about the morning. Sort of, anyway. It’s about three a.m. Coop’s down in the lab while I take a break.”

“He’s in the lab? I thought that was your specialty.”

“To his credit, he knows a lot. Jack of all trades type of guy. He was a medic in the Army before he came to work for me. He stuck around ... after ... because he feels responsible for what happened to his sister and my family, because he wasn’t there to stop it.”

She let out a bark of harsh laughter. “You should tell him to stop torturing himself. I don’t care if he was some super soldier back in the day. Against a pack of wolves, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“Yeah, I get it, but he’s ... a loyal friend, sometimes to a fault.”

Ro glanced away, back at her father. Dean got the sense she was almost certainly thinking the same thing he was, that her dad looked about three inches from death. “You told me he got worse in the past week. How was he before then? Was he coherent?”

“Somewhat. Coherent enough to talk, but not really with it. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.”

“Yeah, he probably would’ve tried to strangle you with his IV tubing or something,” she stated with something akin to pride in her voice.

Weird family, Dean noted.

“Was he this bad during the last full moon?”

“He was bad, but not like this. It’s like the infection has gotten worse.”

“When can we transfuse him?” she asked.

“Hopefully soon. I want to run some tests first. Make certain it’s the right thing to do.”

“Certain?”

Dean shrugged. “As certain as we can be with a supernatural infection and an X-factor immunity.”

She pursed her lips, her brows knit in consternation. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Leave him here for you to treat as your own personal guinea pig?”

The sudden turn toward bitterness shouldn’t have surprised Dean. After all, her father was injured and he was, by all accounts, a member of the species her people were at war with. Nevertheless, he snapped back, “Hey, I’m trying to save his life. Maybe show a little fucking gratitude, will you?”

He knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth.

She stalked over to him, anger seeping from every pore. “Gratitude? You’re the motherfucker who bit him! Why should I show gratitude to someone who’s only helping me so he can save his own ass?”

Dean took an involuntary step back, if only to maintain some space between them since he didn’t want to be shoved into a wall or worse. “Look, I’ve told you once and I’m saying it again so it penetrates that thick skull of yours. I never asked for this. I’m not one of your blood-thirsty monsters out for fresh meat, and I’m not some Los Colmillos asshole looking to score some quick cash. I just want to get some of my old life back, and if that means taking care of your old man and making sure he survives to kill more wolves, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

She stared him down, her green eyes meeting his, for one beat, two, until finally she blew out a breath. “Okay, fine. I’m ... sorry.” The words came out as if she’d had to gargle them down with broken glass.

“Apology accepted. Now, let’s discuss...”

“But I’m staying here with him. That way we kill two birds with one stone. You do what you can to make sure he gets better, and I’ll supply you with the blood you need to find a cure.”

Dean nodded, inwardly smiling. It was the situation he’d hoped for. “Fair enough.”

Ro folded her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t finished, J. Crew. Here’s the thing. I want my own room, my own privacy. I’m not cooking or cleaning up any of your shit. I take care of dad and myself. Non-negotiable. That work for you?”

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or throttle her. She really was a piece of work. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Good. Do you have a car I can borrow? I just need to get back into the city to grab some stuff and I’m not making another trip on that death trap of yours.” She noticed him smirking. “Did I say something funny?”

“Sorry. It’s just that, well, I was kind of hoping you’d want to stick around.”

“So?”

“So, it’s already taken care of. Coop drove back down while you were asleep and picked up your things.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Hold on. That asshole broke into my apartment?”

“He took the keys that were in your bag over there and used them to get into your place and pack some stuff for you.”

“How’d he even know where to go? Or have you been stalking me longer than you’re admitting?”

“Relax. We got your apartment number from your wallet, okay?”

“And that makes it all better?”

His good mood evaporated in an instant. “If you want your stuff, it’s in one of the rooms down the hall. If not, then that’s your problem.” Without waiting for a response, Dean turned and left the room. She could find her own way.

* * *

Ro took one last glance at her father before following Dean through the doorway. By the time she entered the hallway, he was already halfway down the stairs. She let out a frustrated breath and continued down the hall, checking the doorways as she went. She found her things in a bedroom a few doors down and across the hall. The room itself seemed cavernous, albeit it was sparsely furnished with just a wrought iron bed and a solitary double dresser.

She wondered idly who had owned this house. It obviously had been lived in at some point, but it had the feeling as if it had been abandoned for some time, minus the high-tech security system, of course.

About a week’s worth of clothing had been hung in the closet. Some toiletries had been left on the dresser along with her laptop and cell phone charger – pretty much the bulk of her meager belongings. He hadn’t brought everything but, then again, she wasn’t planning on being here long.

She walked back to her dad’s bedroom, retrieved her bag, and then remembered she still had the quart of milk in it from her sojourn to the convenience store. Her stomach growled in response. It had been hours since she’d eaten or drunk anything.

Figuring it wouldn’t hurt, she opened the milk and dug out an orange as well. She knew she couldn’t live the entire week on a few snack items, but she’d be damned if she was going to go downstairs begging for food.

A few bites took the edge off her mood, so she decided to explore her new living quarters. To her delight, the bedroom was equipped with a private bath, within which a few of her own personal bath towels had been hung. She smiled despite herself. If her hosts were trying to reassure her, they weren’t off to a bad start.

Once she finished cleaning up, she checked her phone for messages, but found she had no signal whatsoever, which was strange. They hadn’t traveled that far from the city but, then again, nothing about this trip had been ordinary. A quick check of the time told her it was almost five in the morning, but she felt wide awake. As a hunter, she’d never needed much sleep, and the impromptu nap after her arrival had revived her. Instead of rest, she opted for some early morning exploration.

She checked on her father one more time before continuing down the hallway. Two more doorways revealed empty bedrooms, while a third contained a large linen closet. Further on, an archway opened up to an impressive media room dominated by a massive flat screen TV, an entertainment center, and a dark leather sectional. In the relatively empty mansion, this room stood apart.

She spied another doorway leading off the media room, so she crossed over to it and cracked the door open slowly, revealing another bedroom, this one furnished. The sound of slow, steady breathing alerted her to someone sleeping within, presumably one of her hosts. Or maybe both. She had no way of knowing how close of a friend this Coop might be.

A memory stirred within her. Her father coming back late from a hunt one time when she was still a young girl. He and two other hunters had tracked an entire pack back to their lair, where they’d found them asleep in their human forms. They’d gunned the entire lot down before they could so much as surrender.

It would be so easy, she thought, before pushing the idea away. Though one of the tenets of the Guild was to never give the enemy quarter or show them mercy, her dad’s story had always bothered her on some level.

She quietly closed the door and backtracked out. Ro didn’t even remotely trust Dean or his friend, but she wouldn’t make the first hostile move, not unless they gave her reason to.

She wandered back to her bedroom and decided to try and get some more rest, but not before thoroughly securing her door. Despite their stated intentions and the creature comforts, she was forced to remind herself she was, for all intents and purposes, behind enemy lines.

9

Despite Ro’s attempt to sleep, her mind refused to settle as it replayed the events of the night before. She gave up after about thirty minutes and climbed out of bed. By the lightening sky outside the window, she knew dawn was beginning to break, so she decided she’d rested enough.

From the window, she got a better idea of the estate’s layout. Large trees surrounded the property, blocking her view of the drive from the main road. In the light, she could see her earlier impression had been correct and the landscape had not been tended to in some time – rambling vines and weeds choked what would have been impressive garden beds when in full bloom, and she spied the remains of a pond near the tree line.

Turning away from the window, she retrieved her phone from the small nightstand and saw there was still no signal. She pocketed the device and decided to try elsewhere in the house. After pulling on her boots and securing her hair into a ponytail, she heard a noise from outside in the hall.

She moved across the room and leaned against the door but didn’t open it. Footsteps entered her father’s room only to leave a few moments later. After they’d retreated in the direction of the staircase, she cracked the door open and moved swiftly across the hall.

Her father was still in bed, his eyes closed and sunken. He was restless and sweat clearly stood out on his forehead. The basin by the bed had been cleaned out and a fresh washcloth placed next to it. She filled the basin with cool water from the bathroom, dipped the washcloth into it, and placed it on his forehead. It was all she could do for him for now. Despite all of her skills, she’d never felt so helpless in her life.

He murmured incoherently and thrashed his head about as she tried to wipe his forehead. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Ro. You’re going to be okay.” Her confident words sounded hollow in her own ears, but she continued to say them as she worked to freshen his face and neck.

He was burning up and seemed so much paler than he had only a few hours ago. She was afraid to leave his side but didn’t know what more she could do for him. An IV dripped fluids into him, keeping him hydrated, but he needed something to bring his fever down.

With renewed purpose, she squeezed his hand one more time before leaving the room in search of either Dean or Coop.

The door at the end of the hallway was ajar, so she surmised whoever the occupant had been was the one who had passed her room earlier. She turned in the other direction and headed to the staircase, her footsteps echoing softly on the stairs beneath her feet.

The sound of faint movement came from deeper within the house, so she followed it. She passed through what looked to be a sitting room, then a formal dining room lorded over by coffered ceilings and an enormous chandelier. Through one of the entrances to the dining area, she found an expansive kitchen and, inside, Dean rooting through an industrial-sized stainless steel refrigerator.

He was scowling as if it had offended him deeply, and she couldn’t help but comment, “If you’re waiting for it to apologize, I think you’re gonna be waiting a long time for an answer.”

Startled, he stood up and closed the fridge doors. “Just looking for some breakfast.”

“Oh? Did you give your personal chef the day off?”

He glared at her but didn’t reply to her sarcasm. “You find your room okay?”

“Yeah, though I have to yell at your buddy for forgetting to pack my TV and cable box. I don’t know how you expect me to live like some sort of caveman.” At his withering gaze, she added, “Yes. It’s fine. Seems like he brought almost everything in my apartment.”

“From what I hear, there wasn’t much else.” He turned away from her and opened the fridge door again, as if expecting its contents to be different now.

She peered around him and saw it was mostly barren save for a nearly empty gallon jug of milk, a half loaf of white bread, and a banana gone black. “Slim pickings.”

“Yeah, we haven’t exactly had a chance to go for a grocery run.”

“Wait a minute. How can you find the time to take care of my dad, stalk me, loot my apartment, and try to find a cure for lycanthropy, but not buy stuff to eat?”

“Time management isn’t my strong suit.” After a moment, he looked away and added, “I’m also a little low on disposable cash. I used most of my funds paying off Strike and getting supplies for the lab. There’s not much left and it’s not like I can just go to the ATM with the police looking for me and Coop.”

“Poor white, rich boy can’t afford his Grey Poupon?”

“I wouldn’t talk, unless you’re planning on eating the drywall, that is.”

He had a point there. She reached into her pocket, then hesitated. There was something hilarious about this situation – her, a nurse, having to bankroll the heir to a pharmaceutical empire – but necessity made for strange bedfellows. “I have some cash on me. Listen, my dad needs some meds to bring down his temperature, but I can grab some groceries while I’m out getting those.”

“We’ve got the meds covered. I gave him some IV Tylenol earlier. That should help. If you can loan me the money, though, I’ll have Coop make a run.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he cut her off. “You don’t have a car and you don’t know the area. It’ll be faster if he does it. He knows where to go without getting noticed.”

Speaking of the devil, Dean’s right hand man picked that moment to enter the room. He acknowledged them both, then set to work loading a fresh cup into the Keurig machine on the counter.

“Fine,” Ro said, “but if I give you my money, you need to give me something in return.”

Dean leaned back against the kitchen counter and lifted an eyebrow, apparently curious to hear what she had to say. “What exactly are we talking about?”

“It’s simple. I was thinking about things and I decided to update our deal a bit.”

* * *

“Let me guess,” Coop said. “We should pray that you don’t alter it further?”

“Not helping,” Dean replied before turning back to the hunter. “Taking care of your dad isn’t good enough?”

“Look, pretty boy, we wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t bitten him, so cut the crap. I want intel on Los Colmillos. Problem is, they’re smart. We’ve known for a while that there’s a pack near Central Park but, aside from you, they’ve done a good job of covering their tracks. Far too good for normal whelps. So that’s the new deal. You need to eat, and I need information. As far as I see it, it’s a win-win.”

Dean’s eyes opened wide. He’d heard that hunters were crazy, and now he was beginning to see why. That he’d agreed to live under the same roof as a woman who was just as likely to shoot him in the face as say “good morning” was nuts enough, but this was pushing the envelope into batshit territory.

“It’s not that simple. Those bastards killed my parents in front of me just because they could. The only reason they don’t still have me on a short leash is because they know the gravy train is drying up. But there’s no way I’m risking you leading them back here. This is the only secure place where I can continue my research without them finding out.”

“Is that why you have high-tech security out in the middle of Bumblefuck, New York? Listen, I get it. But this is what I do.”

He took a deep breath and considered her request. Okay, fine, it hadn’t been a request so much as a demand. It was painfully obvious this woman hadn’t ever been near a charm school.

On the one hand, he had no love of Strike or his minions. Bunch of lowlife thugs. The problem was that he was connected to them. It was impossible to know how deep, but he could feel it. The closer the full moon got, the more he could sense his pack – albeit he refused to think of them as brothers or sisters. Way out here it was faint at best, but that didn’t mean it was the same for them. Strike was far more experienced at this. If Dean did as the hunter asked and somehow that got traced back to him...

“It’s too risky.”

“Aw, what’s the matter?” Ro mocked. “Afraid for your littermates?” Her voice suddenly hardened. “I thought you hated those mutts for what they did to you. Were you lying?”

“Not really a trusting sort, are you?” Coop interjected, coolly sipping on his mug of coffee.

She turned to him. “Oh, and how many enemy combatants did you willingly turn your back on in the service?”

“Touché.”

“It’s not that,” Dean said. “I’d be happy as a clam if you brought back Strike’s head and used it as a soccer ball. Hell, I might join you in a game.”

“You’d lose.”

Dean bit his tongue. It had been less than a day and already it was all he could do not to deck her. He didn’t know how he was going to survive her constant needling without losing his mind, especially with the wolf’s aggressive nature becoming more dominant by the day. If both of them managed to make it to the full moon alive, it would be a near miracle.

“So what’s the issue, then?” Ro asked.

“Maybe he’s worried about you tracking blood on the carpets. Cleaning crews are hard to come by when you’re broke.”

She turned and pointed a finger at Coop. “Don’t think I’m not mad at you. I heard what you did. If I ever find out you’re in my apartment without my permission again, I’m going to plant one of my silver-toed boots up your ass sideways.”

Coop smirked at her over his mug.

Dean was momentarily forced to admit he was curious who would win in a fight between them, but dismissed it almost immediately. That was a stupid thought. The last thing they should be doing was fighting among themselves, even if it seemed almost inevitable. “I don’t like it.” When they both stared at him for a moment he clarified, “The Los Colmillos thing. She can plant her boot up your ass all she wants.”

Ro crossed her arms over her chest and faced him. “You don’t like it? You’re going to need to do better than that.”

He debated how much to say. He’d already told her far too much. If she knew about his connection to Strike, too, he wouldn’t put it past her to figure out a way to use him as living bait, something he wasn’t quite ready to commit to yet. “Believe me, it’s for our mutual protection.”

“I don’t need protection from those wolves. I can handle myself.”

“I don’t doubt it, but your dad can’t, not in his current condition. Look, we can’t let anyone know where we are.”

“Is that why I can’t get a cell signal in here?”

She’d noticed that? Oh, who was he kidding? Of course she’d noticed. No point in playing dumb on that one.

“Yep. Cell jammer. No signals in or out. Go a hundred yards in any direction and you’ll be able to make a call again, but that means anyone looking for you will potentially be able to triangulate your coordinates as soon as you power up. So no text messages, FourSquare, or finding your friends, at least not in the immediate area.”

“Assuming she has any,” Coop added.

Ro shot him a dirty look but didn’t take the bait. “I have people who are gonna wonder where I am.”

“People?” Dean asked warily.

“Relax, Fido. If I was going to turn on you, you’d already be scooping your brains off the floor. I meant friends, coworkers.”

He’d almost forgotten she had a real job. “Fine. Coop will take you.”

“I will?”

If Dean weren’t so annoyed, he would’ve chuckled at his friend’s surprised expression. “Yes, you will.” He turned back to Ro. “Once you guys are at a safe distance, you can call whomever you want.”

She nodded, but then narrowed her eyes. “And my dad will be okay here?”

“Seriously? I’ve taken care of him this long, I’m not about to hurt him now.” God, this woman was infuriating. If it wasn’t her attitude, it was her paranoia. “Listen, do whatever the fuck you want. You’d just better decide quick, though. The full moon rises in about a week. We need to be stocked and settled before then, and I don’t have much time to waste on your GI Jane crap.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Oh, he knows,” Coop replied, to which she actually barked out a short laugh.

Dean threw his hands in the air. “Right back at both of you. Nice to know you’re cut from the same cloth. Maybe you two should get a room.”

“No thanks,” Coop replied.

“Let me guess,” Ro said, a strangely knowing grin on her face as she looked between Coop and himself for some reason. “I’m not your type.”

“Nope,” Coop replied, walking over and depositing his cup in the sink. “My mom always told me to stay away from redheads. Too much crazy. Besides, always had a thing for Latinas myself.”

Ro seemed at a loss for words at that.

“What?” Coop finally asked.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, almost sounding embarrassed for a moment, before addressing Dean again. “Okay. Here’s my final offer. I’ll front you some cash. Hell, I’ll even help shop for the groceries. But you need to give me something on this Strike asshole.”

“But...”

She walked up to him and jammed a finger in Dean’s chest, hard enough for him to feel it. “Let me make myself perfectly clear. I’ll be damned if I don’t come out of this lunar cycle without killing at least one wolf for my trouble. If it’s not one of Los Colmillos’s mutts, then I’m liable to be a lot less choosy on who I turn my gun barrel toward next. Get my drift?”

Something about her tone told him she meant it when she said, “final offer.” He still considered it a stupid risk, but it seemed it was either the potential danger of Strike figuring out where they were, or the very real danger of a hunter who knew exactly where to find him.

After a moment, he held out a hand to her. “Deal.”

10

Ro sat in the passenger seat, distinctly aware of Coop’s mute presence beside her. Nothing looked familiar outside her window, but that wasn’t a surprise. Everything probably appeared different in the daylight compared to the evening dusk.

He seemed to take a different route away from the mansion than Dean had taken the night before. The road twisted less and there was considerably more traffic now than she remembered. Within a few minutes, he accelerated onto the interstate. Definitely a different road than last night.

Either way, she hated not being in control. “Where are we going?”

“We’re heading back. Not all the way, just to within the city limits. If anyone is keeping tabs on you, or you accidently tag your location on a Facebook post, they won’t be able to trace you back to the mansion.”

“You guys are being a little ridiculous, don’t you think? Especially after your buddy waltzed into a busy emergency room. People could have easily recognized him.”

“Just for the record, I think that was a stupid thing to do.” After a few more seconds, though, he added, “People don’t recognize what they’re not looking for. Dean Mason is old news compared to whatever politician is being asshole of the week. You didn’t even recognize him and you were right in his face. The only people really looking for him are cops and wolves.”

She considered this man, Dean’s friend, and decided to ask outright, “You really think he can find a cure?”

“If anyone can, it’s him. He’s damn near brilliant ... when he’s not stoned or drunk off his ass.”

“Are you telling me I’m leaving my dad alone with a junkie?”

“Recovering junkie. He’s been clean for months. Ever since he was turned.”

She knew werewolves weren’t susceptible to many psychoactive drugs, so it didn’t impress her like he obviously expected. Still, it didn’t seem worth pursuing at the moment other than as a way to antagonize the man in the driver’s seat. “So what’s your take on this? Dean said the whelps killed your sister.”

“You have quite the way of speaking bluntly.” She turned to look at him, saw the hard set of his face. “They tortured her first to get Dean and his parents to cooperate. Dean’s dad gave them everything he had on hand, but it still wasn’t enough.”

“With wolves, it never is. They’re never sated. Always hungry for more, and they don’t care how they get it.”

“When the Masons told them there wasn’t anything else left in the house, they killed Tasha, then started on the cook, Mrs. Stevenson.”

“Why didn’t he go to the cops?”

“And tell them what? That a pack of werewolves was blackmailing one of the richest families in town? Dean was in a tight spot. He didn’t know what was happening to him. All he wanted was a cure, and he thought by cooperating they would give him one. He didn’t know it was all bullshit. When Dean got frustrated enough and tried to push back, that’s when they finally decided his parents were expendable.” Coop kept his eyes ahead, but Ro could tell they were focused on what had to be a horrific memory. “Look, I don’t know if you have the key to a cure, I really don’t. And I can’t guarantee that your dad is going to survive this. But what I can tell you is that if I ever come across any of those wolves, I’ll tear them apart myself.”

“I’ve got a contact in the force. Another hunter. If you guys can get me more info on this pack, he can help. Maybe we can take them down for good.”

“That’s gotta be Dean’s call. It’s his hide that’s on the line.”

Ro got the sense she wasn’t going to get him to spill what she wanted to know. She could hear the man’s loyalty in his voice. So, partially to change the subject, but also to keep herself from getting bored, she picked up a small piece of paper in the center console and opened it up. “...milk, juice, and six pounds of steak?”

“He likes red meat right before he turns,” Coop explained. “The rest is for after.”

“Anything to keep the whelp satisfied, eh?”

“Makes the transition easier for everyone,” he answered without any sense of irony. “By the way, what is it with that whelp thing? Why do you keep calling him that?”

“It’s just what we – hunters, that is – call werewolves.”

“Is it supposed to be some kind of insult, like calling them puppies or mutts?”

Ro shrugged. “I guess so. Never really thought about it much.”

“Kind of racist, don’t you think?”

“Racist?”

“Yeah. I mean, like calling someone a spic or a raghead. No offense, but not the most progressive thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Quite the contrary,” she remarked. “It doesn’t matter what color your skin is. Once you change into a wolf, we’ll put a bullet in your head all the same. We’re equal opportunity that way.”

They continued to drive in uncomfortable silence. Eventually, the Manhattan skyline appeared in the distance. A few minutes later, Coop parked the vehicle in front of a small grocery store in the Bronx. He nodded to Ro and said, “You can turn your phone on now. Check your messages, call your boss, whatever you need to do. I’ll be right back.”

She waited until he climbed out the car before powering on the phone. At least a dozen texts were waiting for her from Kamika. Are you sure you don’t want to meet up for drinks? ... Hel-lo, Earth to Ro ... until finally culminating with Are you okay?

“Shit.” She thumbed her response into the phone. Sorry for being MIA. Family emergency. I’ll be out of town for a while. Don’t worry about me. She knew she’d get a barrage of texts back, but in the meantime, she checked her other messages, but they were mostly from Kane. She wasn’t surprised to see more of the same come-ons. The guy really didn’t know how to take a hint. She deleted them just as her friend began to text her back.

She sidestepped Kam’s inquiries with purposefully vague answers, then called her manager and gave her the same story about needing to tend to a family emergency and that she would be out of town for at least a week.

“You can call in for the week, then you’ll need to apply for family leave if you need to be out longer,” Margo, her manager, explained with a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

“I understand. Hopefully I won’t need any longer.”

“Well, I hope they feel better. Who did you say it was?”

“It’s my dad,” she answered, figuring the truth was better than making something up. “He’s been sick for a while, but I think he’s turning a corner. I just want to make sure he gets better.”

Ro’s sincerity must have touched something within her manager because she gave no further argument. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You should have mentioned something to me sooner. You could have applied for leave a lot earlier.”

Yeah, but I didn’t know my dad was still alive until now. “Thanks, but it’s kind of personal.”

Margo sighed. “We’re here for you. I hope you realize that.”

“I do. I appreciate it.”

“Keep in touch, Rowan. I hope he gets better.”

As soon as she ended the call, Coop returned with a brown paper bag in hand, the type that winos suspiciously carried to conceal open liquor bottles. “What’s that? Hair of the dog that bit you?”

Coop glared as he handed her the bag. “It’s a burner with a couple hundred minutes. I figured you should have one for emergencies. You can use it without anyone tracing it back to you.”

Ro blew out a breath and shook her head as she reached into the bag and pulled out a cheap cell phone and charger. “Or the mansion? Great, so I’m Jason Bourne now.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Is this where your money’s going? Paying for this low level spy crap?”

“It’s this ‘crap’ that’s been keeping our asses safe. Now cut the chit chat and let’s get in there and get what we need. We’ve been here too long as it is. Cash only, no credit cards, keep your cap on.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a mock salute and climbed out of the car.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they returned with a small shopping cart full of groceries. “I really hope this stuff lasts us a week because I barely have enough left to buy us lunch at McDonalds,” she complained after climbing back into the passenger seat.

“We’ll figure it out if we need to get more,” Coop answered, his face stony as he started the car.

Ro texted one more message to Kamika, saying she didn’t have good cell reception where she was going, but that she’d hopefully be in touch soon. Coop pointedly looked at her phone, at which point she sighed and powered it down.

“Sorry to cut the sexting with your boyfriend short,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t have one.”

“Didn’t look that way from the flowers I found at your place last night.”

Ro grimaced. “Please tell me you chucked them in the garbage.”

“You got something against flowers?”

“No. I like them just fine. It’s the guy who sent them I don’t much care for. Anyway, can we change the subject to something less vomit inducing?”

Coop made a placating gesture with his hands, though a smirk lingered on his face.

Back on the interstate, Ro stared at the passing trees, bored and annoyed. “So I get that you want revenge for your sister, but your loyalty to Dean, it seems there’s more to it than some bodyguard and his employer.”

“We already went over that on the drive down. I told you, we’re not a couple.”

“No, I don’t mean like that. It’s like you guys are ... friends.”

“We were in rehab together,” he answered after a beat. “After I got out of the service, things were rough. I found out my girl had been cheating on me and was pregnant with some other guy’s kid. Messed me up. My brother, he’d been using for a while and ... well, I got into it and got even more messed up. When he OD’d, I decided I was done, so I got clean, met Dean during group. We hit it off. Then when we got out, I needed a job and he hired me, no questions asked.”

Ro considered this and found herself, for a change, without anything snarky to say. “That’s a nice story.”

“Don’t get me wrong. He can be a serious douchebag, but he ain’t all bad. And lucky for you, he’s a smart douchebag, so if there’s any hope at getting your dad better, he’ll find a way.”

* * *

Dean was having a hard time concentrating. He’d hoped diving into his work would give him some focus. With Coop babysitting Ro and her father resting comfortably, it was the first real chance he’d had to do a full side-by-side analysis of the blood samples at his disposal. Three in all – his, of course; the hunter’s; and Coop’s as an untainted human sample for control purposes.

He hadn’t expected any immediate breakthroughs. That would be stupid. He knew most progress was made after years of testing and study, usually with a full team of scientists working in tandem. However, he was short on both accounts – time and help. There was no lying to himself. He was hoping for a lucky break. He’d studied his own blood thoroughly, as well as any effects the addition of Wolfsbane had on it. Though he was certain the chances of spotting an obvious cure were about nil, he’d been inwardly hoping for some major difference in hunter blood, something that would jump out at him and be so stupidly evident that he’d want to smack himself for not thinking of it.

Yeah, hope was a fool’s errand at best.

However, he was finding it near impossible to concentrate for even the barest of cursory exams.

It was getting close to the full moon and he was well-aware of how that affected him. It made him antsy, irritable, and more than likely to test how far he could push Coop’s patience before getting decked. As the days wore on, it would only get worse until he felt like his skin was practically crawling off him.

The thing was, he’d been prepared for that, popping four tabs of Focalal, a powerful ADD medication developed by his father’s company some years back. It was normally prescription only, but being heir to the company’s leadership definitely had its perks.

With the wolf came a massive tolerance for drugs of all kinds, especially the fun ones, but he’d found that doubling the normal safe dosage of Focalal usually gave him brief periods of focus in the days before the change.

Except that today it seemed to be doing shit-all. Was he developing a tolerance for the drug? Somehow he didn’t think so, especially since his thoughts seemed to keep turning back to the red-haired hunter. He certainly seemed to have no trouble focusing his mind on her.

It made no sense. Sure, she was attractive, but he’d had better in his day. Being young, well-off, and good looking was a surefire way to have a choice of one night stands. To say he’d had his fair share of nines and tens wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

He couldn’t even pretend she was his type. He liked them bubbly and fun. Ro acted like she had a ten foot spiked plank shoved up her ass half the time. This was a chick with enough chips on her shoulder to fill a Vegas casino.

There was also the fact that she apparently had no qualms whatsoever about cold-blooded murder. Though he’d tried not to let it show, her comment about killing at least one wolf and not caring who it was had chilled him to the bone. Yeah, he definitely preferred his ladies a bit less on the psychopathic side. He had his fair share of crazy exes, but nothing compared to her.

He briefly considered whether he should have turned elsewhere. He now knew there was at least one other hunter in the city. When Coop had packed up Ro’s apartment, he said he’d found flowers at her doorstep, red roses of all things. Looking forward to celebrating our next hunt, the attached card had said. He considered it a safe assumption that her admirer, some guy named Kane, hadn’t been talking about an evening spent jacklighting for deer.

Gah! What a stupid name. Sounds like some jock douchebag. Whatever the case, though, he obviously had partnered with Ro at least once before.

Dean realized this other hunter was likely to be no less dangerous or hostile than she was, but at least he was a guy and guys were sometimes much easier to reason with than the opposite sex. Dean had experienced more than enough bad breakups to realize that much.

Still, something about Ro was different, special. She had caused the wolf to recede, for him to remember. It was her eyes that had especially haunted him. The way she’d looked when he’d had her helpless – the desperation, the fear, but all mixed with a sense of relief, as if she were almost glad that he’d beaten her.

Her vulnerability had reached out to him, deep within the wolf, and dragged him to the surface. In that instant, he’d gotten the sense that she was hurting every bit as much as him, perhaps more so.

Then again, the only one who’d been physically hurting ever since he’d confronted her in the alley had been him.

But there was still no denying the effect she’d had on the wolf.

He shook his head and began preparing the samples for protein sequencing. The wolf. That had to be it. His mom had owned a Pomeranian when he was young. The dog had absolutely hated him, but couldn’t get enough of his mother or her circle of lady friends.

Dogs were like that. Sometimes they just decided they liked someone for no rhyme or reason. Maybe his wolf was no different. Perhaps she reminded him of someone who’d once fed him a Milk Bone in a previous life or something.

Yeah, that had to be it.

There was no other reason for it. She was so far off his personal mark he could barely imagine them being friends, much less anything more.

Although something more wouldn’t necessarily be a torturous thing, he considered. For a brief moment, images flashed through his mind: her pinned beneath him, nails raking furrows across his back, his hands plunged into her fiery red hair while his mouth worked on other parts of her flawless skin.

He wondered if that other hunter and she had ever ... and was surprised to find a knot of jealousy worming its way through his gut, one that brought with it images of him using his teeth on the male as well, but in a much less gentle manner.

That thought snapped him out of it. Teeth ... the wolf. He had less than a week before it would be coming out to play again. He needed to get his ass focused, get as much done as he could, then double check to make sure there was no chance of escape once the change took over.

He glanced down at his hands, a test tube in each. But which one was which?

Goddamnit!

While he’d been indulging in his idiotic fantasy, he’d stupidly not been paying attention to which of the samples he’d grabbed. And, of course, he hadn’t bothered to label them.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

It was something his father would have admonished him for as a grade school student in chemistry class, much less as an adult with an advanced degree.

Now he’d need to start all over again.

Dean put the samples down and walked over to the desk which held his meds. He opened the drawer, grabbed the bottle, and shook out two more pills before dry swallowing them.

Triple the dosage it is, at least for this week, he mused.

He forced himself to focus, as difficult as it was. He needed to find the cure, then be rid of this girl once and for all.

Otherwise, she would almost certainly be the death of him ... in one way or another.

11

When Ro returned from her grocery run with Coop, she found her father resting, but Dean wasn’t anywhere in sight. Anger flashed through her. “Did he bail and leave him here?”

“Relax, he’s probably working on the cage or in the lab. He wouldn’t leave.” He nodded to the doorway. “Head down to the first floor, then take the second door on the left to the basement. I’ll put the groceries away.”

Anger still simmering within her, Ro found the aforementioned door and opened it to find a darkened stairwell. The light shining up from the bottom emboldening her, she followed the stairs down to where the landing opened up to a basement larger and stranger than any she’d seen before.

Fluorescent lights lit the space over a concrete floor, but that’s where her recognition ended. Long counters lined the walls. Tables dominated the center of the room, topped with various machines Ro could only imagine served some scientific purpose.

Tubes, bottles, and beakers of varying sizes, filled with assorted chemicals, littered one of the counters. A table in the middle of the room housed a portable centrifuge and a propane fed Bunsen burner array. An ice bucket held test tubes of what looked like blood, and next to it was a tray with a couple of glass vials containing miniscule amounts of a pale blue liquid. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something drew her to the blue vials. She picked one up and held it to the light, admiring the color.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean stepped from behind what looked like a large freezer, condensation from the cold air billowing around him. He slammed the door shut, stormed up to her, and grabbed the vial out of her hand.

“I was just...”

“Unless you have a lot of money to pay for these, don’t touch them.”

Offended, she stepped away and said with a frown, “I wasn’t going to break it.”

“Let’s get something straight. You might be some scary-ass hunter, but this is my lab. Down here, I’m the boss. So don’t just walk in and touch things you don’t know anything about. You could have contaminated everything and set me back weeks.” He put the vial back onto the counter and surveyed the rest of the bottles while she glared at him resentfully, annoyed at his attitude.

Even though he continued to scowl at her, he looked slightly ridiculous in plastic safety goggles and purple disposable gloves. That greatly offset her sudden urge to pop him one in the mouth. She took a deep breath. This wasn’t getting them anywhere, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be any way for them to spend a week together.

She decided to start again. “Maybe if I understood more of what you’re doing, I’d know what not to touch.” He continued to glare at her, so she blew out a sigh. “Listen, I’m putting a lot of trust in the assumption that you actually know what the fuck you’re doing, so rather than giving me attitude about being curious, why not just tell me a little about your research?” She gestured to the ice bucket containing the test tubes. “Is that my blood over there?”

“Some of it is yours, some is mine.”

“And...?”

“And I’ve got several different tests ongoing. First off, I’m trying to see what makes you different from, say, Coop and me, of course. Contrary to what they show on TV, I can’t just whip up a cure because someone snaps their fingers.”

“I didn’t snap my...” She gritted her teeth, refusing to be baited. “Okay, fair enough. Any progress on helping Dad get better?”

He pulled off his goggles and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m also running a few tests between your blood and your father’s.”

“I thought we were talking about a simple transfusion. You don’t think that will help him anymore?”

He stared at her for a beat. “Honestly? I’m not sure, but I don’t want to do anything without having more data first. I just want to run some tests to make sure transfusing him with some of your plasma is safe.”

“But we have the same blood type and I’m his daughter. I’m also a hunter. I don’t think you’ll find anyone else more compatible.”

He nodded. “I get that. We also have to take into account that he’s infected with wolf venom, saliva, whatever you want to call it. The resulting immune response may ... adversely affect him in his weakened state.”

“But he’s getting worse by the day. Waiting obviously isn’t making him better.”

“I know, but I want to go about this cautiously, not hot-headed and irrationally.”

She wanted to punch the smug look off his face. “Then I suggest you cautiously work at a much faster pace. You promised me you would help him if I came here. I swear, if you’re stalling for some reason...”

“I’m not stalling! You have no idea how science works, do you? These types of breakthroughs don’t happen overnight, and no amount of threat or bravado can speed that up, so kindly go do something that hunters do. Shoot a tree or skin some animal, but back the fuck off and let me do my work.”

His last sentence came out in a near growl and, for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a flash of red behind his eyes, as if the wolf had pushed its way to the forefront. Her own instincts kicked in for a moment and she balled her fists before catching herself and backing down. She reminded herself that she still needed his help. She didn’t have the scientific expertise he boasted of. As much as she hated to admit it, he was probably the only person who could help her father.

Frustrated, she turned on her heel, but then spotted the door at the far wall. Curiosity overrode her anger, so instead of leaving as she’d intended, she found herself drawn to that end of the room. She ignored Dean’s calls to wait and purposefully strode to where a heavy security door sat ajar.

Ro reached for the light switch just outside the door, but Dean caught her by the wrist. “Don’t,” he said, but she snatched her arm away. She snapped the light on and pushed the door open, a sudden chill overtaking her upon viewing the room beyond for the first time.

Steel reinforced bars encased the four sides and ceiling of the cage. Each wall was bolted securely to the floor with one side firmly anchored to the concrete of the basement wall. Two sets of heavy manacles hung from the far side. From a fifth chain hung what could only be described as an oversized dog collar. She walked in further and began to examine it all, mesmerized by what he and Coop had set up as a way to keep Dean contained.

“The manacles are silver plated so they should help slow me down a little,” Dean said from behind her, his voice softer and more controlled than before.

She never thought she’d be able to feel sorry for a wolf, but looking back at him, she felt a smidgeon of sympathy forming in her gut. She’d never considered a werewolf, a whelp, as anything but a blood-thirsty animal, even in their human forms, but this man seemed determined to prove otherwise.

Her eyes met his, blue as the sky on a clear day. She tried to remember his feral gaze from that night in the alley, the coarse fur and bared teeth, but in the artificially bright light, she was having difficulty recalling the moment.

“Do you think it’ll hold?” she asked.

“It has to,” was his tired reply.

She turned away to examine the lock on the cage, the bolts on the floor, the manacles and the chains connecting them to the walls. “Looks pretty solid. Do you have any other safeguards in place?”

“The security door is the same type they use in government facilities – three inches thick and with an electric lock. There’s cameras on all four walls and no windows. And if I somehow get past all of that, there’s Coop. He has an air rifle equipped with enough tranquilizer to stop a charging water buffalo. If that’s not enough, well, I’m open to suggestion.”

She stared into his eyes again. She’d never heard of any wolf going through the lengths he had to protect others from his actions. Much as she hated to admit it, she realized she admired him for it. Before she could betray her thoughts, though, she said, “I only have one, but I’d really hate to have to put a bullet in you before you help my dad. Speaking of which, you’d better get back to work.”

She pushed past him and escaped the confines of the cage before he could say anything more.

12

She ran through the alley, the wolf close behind. The sound of its paws upon the pavement seemed a breath away, the claws ready to catch upon her shirt and tear the fabric and skin beneath.

She was out of bullets, had wasted the last when her shot had gone wide and missed entirely. She’d been careless, too quick to pull the trigger instead of calmly taking aim as her father had taught her. Risking a desperate gambit, she turned and pulled her knife from its sheath, prepared to throw it, but was too slow. The beast lunged and was atop her, its heavy weight pressing down and stealing her breath.

She struggled to free herself but it was too strong. Her forearms were pinned beneath its powerful hands. She realized she should be afraid, but wasn’t. She wanted to end this, to be free of this life. She was so very tired of the battle and the chase – of the loneliness.

She stared into its eyes, dark pupils surrounded by red. The wolf looked down at her, its hot breath humid on her face.

As they gazed at each other, understanding seemingly bloomed between them and she ceased her struggle. Its eyes changed, morphed from red to clear blue, the fur receding to reveal unlined skin with a generous amount of stubble, dark hair, strong arms, and a smooth, well-muscled torso.

Dean.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and when that didn’t work, touched her tongue to her lips. His eyes shifted down toward the not-so-innocent movement. A beat passed, then two, the resulting anticipation nearly driving her insane.

The first touch of his lips on hers was soft and feather light before deepening into an explosion of sensation. Without warning, he pressed against her with a hunger that rivaled that of the beast inside of him. Yes! This was what it felt like to be desired, devoured, to be tasted and savored.

The weariness left her body and the same hunger he exhibited swelled up within her.

Her hands crept up to grasp at his strong shoulders, to weave through the hair at the nape of his neck as his lips left hers to nibble at the base of her throat. His hand wandered down, slipped beneath her shirt to the soft skin beneath. She gasped, the sound mingling with his ragged breaths.

His lips wandered further until becoming encumbered by the fabric of her shirt. He lifted his head, his eyes spearing into hers as he grasped at the collar of her blouse and tore it open. He grinned appreciatively, almost reverently, until the smile transformed into something much more rakish, dangerous.

Ro wasn’t scared, though. Far from it. It was as if her entire being had been awakened from a deep, yet restless sleep. She wanted more of this beautiful man, regardless of the beast within.

Flesh on flesh, they grappled, each wanting more but not getting nearly enough. His hands reached down, grasped at her waist, then her hips, and divulged her of the rest of her clothing.

Never before had she felt such primal need, and she welcomed the freedom from inhibition, suddenly realizing that she had craved this her entire life.

* * *

Ro woke with a start, the dream fresh in her mind. Her clothes were damp from perspiration, and her respiration came in hitched breaths.

What the hell was that?

It had started the same as her nightmares, but with a new ending, one she hadn’t been expecting. She hadn’t had a dream like that in forever.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she’d never had a dream quite like that, at least nothing that came close to what she’d just experienced.

For a moment she lay there, savoring the memory, debating whether she might fall asleep again and rejoin it in progress, but then rational thought began to sneak in, overwhelming the sleepy euphoria.

She tried to push it out of her mind, to remind herself that Dean, no matter how smart or good-looking, was a wolf, and that all those pretty trappings hid a monster inside.

* * *

Dean awoke, annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of what he’d been doing to her. After a moment, though, he realized that he was in bed alone, that everything had been a dream. He looked to the empty bed on either side of him as if to confirm those truths.

Holy shit, what a dream, he thought. It had brought to life some of the thoughts which had been swirling through his head earlier about the sharp-tongued redhead asleep down the hall. Evidently, he was failing miserably at keeping those thoughts at bay. He didn’t know why he was so affected by her. He didn’t need or want the distraction. What he needed was to find a cure so he could finally escape from this unwanted existence. Everything else was secondary, especially a dalliance with a woman who, so far as he knew, would have shot him without a second thought had he not been helping her father.

Knowing that sleep wouldn’t come again for a long time, he decided to make use of his insomnia and get some work done. He pulled on a t-shirt and quietly opened the door. He could hear Coop snoring from his room so he walked softly past it and down the hall. No sounds from Ro or her father’s rooms, which was just as well. Both of them needed their rest and the more quiet he had for his work, the better.

Besides, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d react to seeing her at that moment.

He made his way down to the lab, each step moving him farther away from her intoxicating presence. He didn’t need the distraction she brought with her waking presence and especially didn’t need her peppering his subconscious mind with wet dreams. Hell, he’d felt like a fucking schoolboy.

Once he got down to his lab, his nerves began to calm, the distance from the hunter seeming to help ease the hormones that had raged within him after the dream. He couldn’t let himself be preoccupied by thoughts of her. He needed to focus, especially now that he had her blood. He had more than enough work ahead to occupy his attention.

He decided to start with some of the same experiments he’d conducted with John’s blood, marry them with the information he’d discovered about aconite and other herbal remedies. His mind clearing of all but science, he pondered different formulations and combinations, while considering whether lycanthropy was spread like a virus, bacteria, or some other mechanism.

He booted up his laptop and scanned the notes he’d typed in. He knew the answer was there somewhere, that some combination of hunter blood, herbal medicine, and perhaps even some pharmaceuticals would provide the cure he needed, the cure that would perhaps finally set him and many others free.

He just needed a little time and a lot of focus.

13

Ro wasn’t certain how she felt as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. As her breathing slowed and the dream began to fade, she wondered how the hell she had gotten into this mess, how she’d let herself get talked into staying in a remote mansion with a werewolf, his bodyguard, and her wolf-bitten father. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought she was on some crazy reality show: Paranormal Secrets of the Rich and Famous.

Her father still rested fitfully, his fever waxing and waning randomly. It seemed no matter what they did to allay his symptoms, what treatments they tried – he wasn’t responding. She pushed that thought away, refused to believe he wouldn’t survive this. He was the strongest person she knew, ornery and tough. If anyone was going to beat a wolf bite, he would.

His condition puzzled her, though. She’d learned from him that hunters were supposed to be immune, so why wasn’t he getting better? Was there something she missed, something else she was supposed to do for him? She’d studied the canons, practically memorized them word for word, but she’d never seen anything about how to treat a wolf bite in a hunter.

She’d assumed they’d heal much like any other non-fatal wound. Though hunters didn’t have regenerative abilities like werewolves, they were more resilient than the average healthy human, with faster than normal healing capabilities. If she went by her training, her father should have been back on his feet several weeks ago, but instead he was declining by the day.

The thoughts floated in her mind, jumbled, reassembled, but the solution was elusive. Frustrated, she climbed out of bed and padded downstairs in search of some liquid sustenance of the high proof variety. Maybe that would work in settling her mind enough so she could get some sleep.

A quick search of the kitchen yielded nothing more than the groceries she’d bought the previous day, so she moved to the adjoining rooms but had no luck there, either. She remembered Coop’s story about meeting Dean in rehab and had the sinking feeling that the house was dry. Good for them, but not so much for her.

Maybe there was something in the lab, she reasoned. She doubted she would find anything other than chemical grade alcohol, but she knew many a doctor who stashed a bottle of Scotch in their office.

She descended the stairs to the basement, a small curl of excitement in her stomach, something akin to the feeling she got when she’d successfully sneaked her first drink from her dad’s liquor cabinet. She’d gotten a smack in the face for her stupidity after he’d found her passed out in front of the TV, half empty whiskey bottle on the table. She’d paid more when he dumped her fully clothed in a cold shower and told her, “Drinking’s for celebrations and funerals. Getting drunk, though, is for idiots. I find you passed out again, I’ll skin your behind. Now sober up and go to bed.”

The hangover she’d experienced after had been one for the record books. She’d puked for what seemed like hours, then wished her brain would explode and put her out of her misery. Her father predictably took no pity on her and made sure that her training regimen that day was extra rigorous.

With those memories fresh in her mind, she almost gave up and went back upstairs, but then noticed that the lights in the lab were on and she could hear the unmistakable clacking of fingers on a keyboard.

When she reached the landing, she saw Dean staring at a computer screen, reading some impossibly tiny print. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his uninjured hand and sighed. The memory of the dream flashed through her mind and she could feel her mouth go dry.

She cleared her throat and said, “Anything good on Netflix?” more to announce her presence than to start a conversation.

He turned in her direction. If he was surprised to see her, he gave no indication. “What are you still doing up?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

He gestured to the screen. “I’m searching for anything on lycanthropy. Anything that sounds remotely real, that is. You wouldn’t believe how much crap is out there. It’s a lot to weed through.”

She smiled inwardly. Of course she’d believe it. A good deal of what popular culture believed about werewolves had originated with the Guild, tons of misinformation to keep the masses from figuring out the truth. “If you’re hoping to find a cure on WebMD, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing in your ... err ... group’s archives?”

Ro shook her head. “My dad made me practically memorize the canon of the hunter’s guild. There’s nothing in there that I’m aware of.”

“No secret tomes or anything?”

She smirked. “If there was, how would I know about it?”

“Touché. Well, then I guess I’ll have to be the one to discover it,” Dean stated, resolve in his voice. “Why’d you come down here again?”

“Trying to find something to take the edge off.”

“Sorry. Coop keeps this place dry as the desert and I don’t argue.”

“Yeah, I figured, but doesn’t hurt to ask.”

They stared awkwardly at each other for a beat until she gestured toward his arm. “You really should get something done about your hand. It’s a wonder it hasn’t gotten infected yet.”

“Coop has been irrigating it daily.”

“Really? Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Like a bitch, but it’s not like I have much choice. The damned thing just won’t heal.” When she didn’t respond, he changed the subject. “You could try some warm milk. It’s what my mom always told me to drink before bed.”

An image flashed in her mind of a young werewolf getting tucked into bed by his mother and she smiled. “Maybe I’ll try it.” She turned to leave, but paused before climbing the first step. “Hey, if I remember correctly, there was an old recipe in the canon for an infusion of wormwood to help hunters ward off colds and infection. No idea how effective it is, but maybe something to look at.”

“Do you remember the recipe?”

“Got a pen and some paper?”

He quickly produced both and she jotted down what she remembered. It wasn’t a complicated recipe, and she doubted it would yield much in the way of results, but at least she felt like she was contributing something to the cause.

He looked over her shoulder at the ingredient list she’d written. What seemed to be a genuine smile appeared on his face. “Thank you.”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward, especially now that she was in such close proximity to him. He was standing right behind her, their bodies nearly touching, and she could see the shadows under his eyes, the pulse ticking away at his throat.

His face tipped downward and he met her eyes. A vivid image flew through her head, one which involved her pressing her lips to his and to various other body parts.

She took a breath and swallowed. “I should probably head upstairs.”

Almost as if he read her mind, he averted his eyes, a slight smirk on his face. “Yes, you probably should.”

A tense beat passed between them until finally she bolted out of the room, well aware she was obviously retreating in a manner which had nothing to do with him being a werewolf.

* * *

The warm milk did nothing to help her sleep. In fact, she was more restless than ever with all the raunchy thoughts that refused to leave her head. When she finally forced herself out of bed the next morning, she was in a foul mood and her body was screaming for caffeine. A quick peek in her father’s room revealed him to be unchanged from the night before. She wiped down his forehead, checked his IV, then kissed him on the cheek before heading downstairs.

She was grateful to find the kitchen empty and set about making coffee. Growing up under her father’s roof, she’d learned to drink hers black, usually with a good amount of grounds thrown in. Cowboy coffee, her father called it. It was horrid stuff, but it kicked like a mule.

She brewed a cup using the Keurig and grimaced at the taste. It was weak and watery, nothing like what she was accustomed to, but she slugged it down and drank another, not caring that the hot liquid scalded her throat. What she wouldn’t have given for a triple espresso.

When Coop entered the room, yawning and rubbing his eyes, Ro was on her third cup. “Someone likes their caffeine fix.”

“You realize this stuff shouldn’t even qualify as coffee,” she greeted grumpily.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I could probably throw a handful of dirt in a pot and make something better.”

“Sounds divine. You’ll forgive me if I pass.” He pushed past her to prepare a mug of his own.

“Your loss.” She leaned on the counter next to him and abruptly changed the subject. “Dean’s hand. He said you’ve been washing it out every day.”

“We all need a hobby. What about it?”

“There’s a sliver of silver stuck in it. When he came to the hospital, I got a look at his x-ray.”

“Kind of figured that was the case.”

“Ever think about removing it?”

“Of course, but it’s not like pulling out a splinter. If it hasn’t come out on its own by now, that tells me it’s embedded pretty deep. There’s a ton of tendons and nerves in there and I’m not exactly a surgeon.”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t be cutting, we’d be removing. When you were in the Army, did you ever dig out any shrapnel?”

“Yeah, but that was out of necessity. Doing it here would potentially be a hatchet job, not to mention it’d be extremely painful.”

“Life is pain. He’ll get over it.” Then, realizing she was being a bit insensitive, she added, “I could help you.”

“Help? You sure this isn’t just an excuse to amputate?”

“No! I just ... I just think it would make things easier for him and everyone all around.” She stopped when she realized he was joking. “Ass! Come on, he’s your friend. Don’t you want to help him?”

“Sure, I do. Hell, I’ve pretty much devoted my life to making sure he doesn’t kill himself in some stupid way or another, but this is silver we’re talking about. If anything goes wrong and it gets into his bloodstream ... well, I just don’t want to speed up that process.”

“You do realize I assist in these types of procedures all the time, right?”

“Yeah, in a hospital setting, with real doctors and sterile equipment. I think we maybe have two pairs of rubber gloves here at best.”

“Two’s all we need.” The truth was, as a nurse, that concerned her, but she felt that they needed to do this. Dean was hurting and she, well, she could help ... much like how he was helping her father. She wasn’t sure when she’d changed her mind about putting a silver slug in his brainpan, but this seemed like a way for her to give back. “It’s just a little piece of silver, but it’s killing his hand.” She blew out a breath. “It needs to be done.”

Ro waited as Coop contemplated this over his coffee. She’d fought and argued with men far more menacing than him – her father one of them – and she knew he didn’t have a chance.

Finally, he sighed heavily. “Fine. Let’s go ask Dean. After all, it’s him we’ll be slicing into.”

* * *

“No way,” Dean protested. “My hand is fine.” It was a lie, but he still didn’t want them conducting some half-assed surgery on him, especially when there was more important work to be done.

“You’re full of shit. It’s not fine,” Ro argued. “It’s no different than me letting you treat my dad in the bedroom upstairs, except that he’s far sicker than you are.”

“Exactly. We had no choice with him. I do.”

Coop interjected, “Hey, you got your answer. No deal.”

She planted her feet and crossed her arms, as if the stance would make her look more authoritative. Dean thought she looked like a teenager having a tantrum instead.

As if reading his thoughts, her eyes narrowed. “Stop being a fucking baby. Look, you can’t just keep washing it out indefinitely. Something has to be done, sooner rather than later. At least this way you’ll have my help.”

“You seem awfully intent on this. Why?”

She hesitated slightly before answering, her stance softening. “Because if I’m going to bother helping you find a cure, I might as well make sure you’re completely healthy to do it. For all you know, residual silver in your body might negate the effects of any treatment you come up with.”

He paused. Damn if he hated to admit it, but she had a point, one he hadn’t considered before. “Fine, but I expect to still have all five fingers when you’re finished.”

* * *

They decided to do the extraction in Dean’s bedroom. As he lay on the bed while Ro prepped his hand, he wondered vaguely what she thought of his space. It was sparse, but much larger than the other rooms in this part of the mansion. He hadn’t done much to personalize it since he’d taken up residence, but at least his sheets were clean and the place was uncluttered.

After a few moments Coop asked, “Okay, you ready?”

“Not really,” Dean said, but he nodded anyway. He felt a warm feeling course through him from the sedative Ro had administered. For a moment, he thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, but then he felt a sting of pain as they began poking at his bad hand. He involuntarily tried to pull back, but they kept him still.

“Shh,” Ro said. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.” Her voice was so different than how it normally sounded ... soothing, comforting.

There came another stab of pressure and again he tried to pull away.

“Hold still,” Coop commanded.

“Wait a second. I’ll give him another shot.”

The warmth pervaded him again, more burning and stinging in his hand, but it wasn’t as bad as before, becoming heavily muted as the drugs began to take hold. Soft hands stroked his fingers, the soothing voices returned, but they sounded muffled, far away.

Someone dug what felt like a screwdriver into his hand, bringing back the pain. He cried out but it sounded far away, as if his head was filled with cotton.

“Just a bit more ... got it!”

Dean winced and bit down on his tongue from the pain that followed. He must have blacked out because the next thing he knew, his hand still ached, but it was a different kind of pain than before.

“Dean?”

He recognized his name, but his eyelids felt so heavy. He managed to lift them enough to see a red-headed angel through his lashes. She was beautiful, serene, a perfect representative of the heavenly host.

“Dean?” she called again. Her perfect face was marred by a frown. “Wake up. It’s all done.”

“Am I dead?”

A frown creased her face. “No, but you will be if you don’t fucking open your eyes and wake up. You’ve been out for over a day. You got Coop worried sick. He’s out in the hall crying that he killed you.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

“And you might want to consider changing your name to Captain Hook.” His gaze flew to his hand. When he saw it was wrapped in gauze, he turned back to her and saw that her frown had been replaced by a wide grin. “I’m just messing with you. You were out for maybe ten minutes. Coop’s just cleaning up.”

“Hilarious. Everything go okay?”

“We got the silver out. Took a while to find, but I knew where to look thanks to the x-ray I saw.”

“Thanks. You’re a real angel.”

She laughed. “Far from it. Now I know you’re snowed if you’re telling me shit like that.”

14

Ro tossed in the bed, sleep escaping her yet again. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself in the alleyway. She wasn’t sure how the dream would end this time – whether the wolf would attack or ravish her – and that’s what worried her most. The last thing she needed was more of either of those thoughts in her head.

Even though she knew it wouldn’t help, she stepped out of the bedroom to grab something to drink, but before she even made it down the stairs, she heard a noise that gave her pause.

Above the sounds of Coop’s snores, there was something else at the end of the hall. She couldn’t discern what it was, but it was definitely artificial, like from a TV or computer. Light shone from beneath the door to the entertainment room, the one adjacent to Dean’s bedroom, and she heard a muttered oath.

Sincerely hoping he wasn’t doing anything gross, she softly knocked on the door. The sounds immediately muted and he called out, “Yeah?”

She opened the door to find Dean sitting on the couch, legs sprawled in front of him. Some type of video game was paused on the big screen TV and he held a game controller in his hand. Surprise mixed with concern was etched on his face. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah. Dad’s still out. I just couldn’t sleep. Heard the noise and...” She felt foolish all of a sudden, invading his personal space. “Anyway, what’re you doing?”

“Playing Mario Kart. Helps me clear my mind.”

“Mario Kart?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah. You have played it, haven’t you?” At her blank look, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

She shrugged. “My dad didn’t exactly let me play video games when I was a kid. I snuck out to an arcade once or twice when I was a teen, but otherwise it was pretty much training twenty-four seven.” She was embarrassed to admit how closeted a childhood she led – homeschooled for most of her early youth, no friends close to her age other than the children of other hunters. It wasn’t until her father allowed her to attend middle school that she began to socialize, but by then she’d been deemed a loner, a freak, a nobody.

She pushed the memories out of her mind. “You shouldn’t be using your bad hand.”

“It’s fine,” he said dismissively, waving the bandaged hand at her. “Hardly feel a thing. Feels tons better than it did before Coop went digging around in it, surprisingly enough.”

“Your healing was probably able to kick in now that the silver is finally out.”

“Whatever it is, it’s working. Guess I have to thank you for convincing me to go through with the surgery.”

“You’re welcome.” She stood awkwardly in the doorway, torn between leaving and curiosity about the game.

She was just about to turn around when he said, “Hey, since we’re both insomniacs tonight, you wanna play?”

A scene from her dream the previous night flashed in her memory. “What?!”

“It’s a two-player game and I have another controller.”

Oh, that. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt pleased he’d asked. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

“Hey, you’re awake, I’m awake. We might as well do something that doesn’t involve too much brain activity for once.”

Again, imagery from her dream flashed through her mind. “I guess...”

His friendly expression took on a different tone. “Unless...”

“What?”

“You’re afraid I’ll kick your butt.”

“Are you serious?”

“I can imagine how that would look, the mighty hunter defeated by the big, bad wolf. I mean, heck, I’m not even sure I have opposable thumbs when I change.”

“Wolves don’t beat hunters.”

“Oh?” His grin widened. “They do when the hunters are ... chicken.”

“That’s it. Hand over that controller and prepare for the beating of your life.”

* * *

If someone had told him he would be spending the night teaching a werewolf hunter how to play Mario Kart, he would’ve asked what they were smoking. But here she was, controller in hand, navigating Luigi through one of the mushroom courses. He wasn’t overly surprised to see she had a knack for the game, probably in large part due to her preternatural hunter reflexes.

I guess all that training has some benefits after all.

He had the advantage of experience, however, and handily beat her when they finally went head to head. “Ugh! Okay, best two out of three,” she announced, her eyes bright with determination.

“Your funeral,” he replied and set up the game again.

He had to admit, this was nice, not bickering for once, all their problems forgotten for the moment. He wasn’t overly surprised to discover she had a competitive streak, so when he beat her three times in a row, she insisted on playing best out of ten. And so on.

Coop found them like that the next morning, when he walked in bleary-eyed to the sounds of them going for best out of fifty. “What the hell? I thought you were killing each other in here and you’re fucking playing Pole Position.”

“Goddamn you’re old,” Dean said, at which point his friend flipped him off. “I’m teaching her the finer nuances of video gaming ... son of a bitch!” His cart got whammied by her character’s lightning bolts.

“Ha! Who’s teaching who?” Ro replied.

Coop shook his head and walked back out of the room. “You guys are seriously messed up.”

15

As the time of the full moon approached, Ro’s father began to deteriorate faster. His fever spiked and he began to hallucinate. “Moira,” he called out. “Moira, where are you?”

“Who’s Moira?” Coop asked after they administered a sedative that finally succeeded in calming him.

“My mom. She died when I was young. Wolf attack.” Ro removed the melted ice packs from beneath her father’s arm pits and replaced them with fresh ones. No amount of medicine seemed to bring down his fever, but more concerning were the occasional low pitched moans he emitted. Moans that sounded almost like growls. “How’s Dean coming along with his work? He’s got to give him something. Dad’s not going to last much longer like this.”

Coop got up and headed for the door. “I think he’s close. I’ll go talk to him.”

Ro smiled after him as he left, grateful for all he’d done. After the past few days, she’d grown a begrudging respect for the man. He was a loyal friend, a good medic, and he served as a decent buffer between her and Dean whenever she was ready to rip his throat out in frustration.

But despite everything, her father still wasn’t getting any better. Ro wiped a cloth across his forehead then stepped back to look at him, her heart breaking a little more each time she saw him like this.

She didn’t know what she would do without him. When he’d first disappeared, she’d tried to fill the void by going through the motions, working at the hospital and doubling her time investigating the attack.

Her dalliance with Kane had been an unwelcome distraction, made even more annoying by the fact that he kept bugging her even when she’d specifically told him to stop. Pity he hadn’t thought to send her a bouquet of rifles instead of flowers, maybe in a basket of silver bullets. At least that would have been useful.

She’d been forced to go back to her apartment twice in as many days to retrieve the flowers he kept leaving at her doorstep, so they didn’t give a blaring indication that she either wasn’t there or had died. She also had to answer at least a few of his numerous texts so he didn’t do something stupid like put out an APB on her whereabouts. She’d told him basic information – that she was following a lead on her father – but kept it vague enough so he couldn’t track her if he was so inclined.

That would have been a disaster on so many levels, not the least of which was the position it would put her in – stand with Kane as a fellow hunter or go against Guild canon to side with a wolf.

True, Dean was helping her father, but she wasn’t naïve enough to pretend there wasn’t more to it than that. Problem was, over the course of the last several days, the lines in the sand she’d grown up believing in were becoming increasingly blurred.

After the night spent playing Mario Kart, her dreams about him seemed to only intensify. They would always start the same, with her being chased in the alley, and now they always seemed to end the same also, being pinned and ravished by him in his human form.

She tried to ignore the surge of hormones every time she saw him, tried to ignore her quickening heartbeat and physical response. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to a werewolf and all the complications that brought.

Ro tried to convince herself it was because he was just a good-looking guy. After all, he was a known player, and if she had been any other woman, she would have deemed him a gazillion on the hotness meter.

That’s all this was, she told herself as she continued to care for her father. This was chemistry, nothing else, made more intense by the coming of the full moon and her merely mistaking her hunter instincts for something even more primal. Yeah, that had to be the case.

After a while, she almost believed it.

* * *

Later that evening, she found herself venting her frustrations with a little knife practice out on the grounds. A large tree stump stood about ten yards away from the back porch, so she used that for target practice. Rather than soothe her, the practice instead served to fuel her aggression, the laser focus of the hunter within her overtaking her senses.

Dean had come through on his end of the deal and given her the addresses of Los Colmillos’ most frequent haunts as well as where they liked to hunt. She was most interested in taking Strike down, but realized it might not be possible alone. That was fine. At this point, any wolf would do, and if that wolf happened to belong to his pack, so much the better.

Having hit the “heart” of her target at least a dozen times in a row, she removed the knife from the stump one last time and sauntered back into the house.

As soon as she entered from the back porch, she heard the groans from upstairs. The sedative they’d administered earlier in the day had obviously worn off and her father was hallucinating again.

Damnit!

She met Coop in the hallway off the kitchen. “I’m on it, Ro. I’ve got more ketamine.”

“Fine,” she snapped, her blood still up, “you take care of him while I go talk to our resident genius.”

Something on Ro’s face must have clued him in on her thoughts, because he said cautiously, “He’s trying his best. It’s not easy for him, not with the full moon approaching.”

“I don’t care what’s easy for him. My dad is upstairs dying. I can’t just sit around watching him suffer while Wolf Boy dicks around with his chemistry set in the basement. I need to do something.”

She pushed past him and practically leapt down the stairwell where she found Dean at the lab counter. He was more disheveled than usual, the stubble on his face almost grown out into a full-on beard, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. She didn’t allow his appearance to deter her, however. She needed action, she needed answers, and dammit, she was going to get them.

“Tell me you’ve got something to help my dad,” she greeted bluntly.

He glanced up sharply from the computer screen he was staring at. Something flashed in his eyes. “Say again?” His voice was deceptively soft, but there was an edge to it.

Rather than back off, as her better judgment told her she should, she continued to push, welcoming any fight he wanted to give her. “You heard me. You’re sitting down here with your thumb up your ass while he’s up there dying.”

“You think I don’t know that? That I’m not trying my best?”

“He’s hanging on by a thread, getting worse by the minute. Whatever we’re going to do, we have to do it now, before the full moon gets here. There’s no telling what effect that’s going to have on him.”

Dean passed a weary hand over his eyes. “I’ve run a half-dozen experiments and I can’t find any significant variances between his blood and yours.” She opened her mouth to respond, and he held up a hand. “But that’s what bothers me. If hunters are supposed to be immune, I can’t understand why he isn’t getting better by now.”

“English, please. What does that mean in terms of helping him?”

“It means I’m no closer now than I was when you first got here.”

“So what you’re telling me is that we’ve wasted all this time when you could have just given him my blood and hoped for the best.”

“What I’ve done is at least determine that with the similar characteristics of your blood, giving him a plasma transfusion probably won’t hurt him, but I have no idea whether it’ll actually help.”

“I don’t care. The rate he’s going, he might die whatever we do. We have to at least try.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” he snapped, standing abruptly. “I am working day and night with minimal resources trying to help him.”

“You’re only trying to help yourself,” she spat, tears of anger in her eyes.

He stepped up to her, his movements swift and purposeful. Though he towered over her, Ro refused to cower. Instead, her hand went instinctively to her belt and the knife strapped to her side.

He noticed the movement, his eyes shifting downward, and a smile which could almost be called feral crossed his lips. For a fleeting moment, she thought she might have caught a glimpse of the wolf within the man. “You going to try something, little girl?”

“Believe me, I’d do more than try.”

“Think so?” The corner of his mouth lifted even further. “Then what are you waiting for?”

That was all the provocation she needed. She used her lower center of gravity to plough into his middle, catching him by surprise and shoving him backwards so his lower back caught the edge of the counter. The satisfying grunt she heard elicited a tiny thrill within her.

He whirled and lashed out at her, but it was sloppy. She saw it coming from a mile away, ducked beneath it, and swept his legs out from under him with a spinning kick. Dean landed flat on his back, momentarily stunned. Wasting no time, she straddled his downed form and put the blade of her knife to his neck.

“You forget, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

He grabbed the wrist holding the knife, his grasp tightening painfully as she applied slight pressure to the skin of his throat. “And you forget that I’m the only person who can help your dad. Like it or not, we’re in this together, so either do what you’re going to do, or back the fuck off and let me do my job.”

She refused to flinch and stared him down, noticing after a moment the blueness of his eyes – so deep and clear it was like staring into pristine waters. The fierce quality of his gaze dissipated until his expression became impassive and his grasp on her began to loosen.

Her heartbeat increased as she realized this was just like the ending of her dream, only she was the conqueror and he the prey. She slowly lowered the knife to the collar of his shirt, preparing to slit it down the middle and...

“Whoa, what the fuck’s going on here?” Coop called from the stairwell landing.

Ro snatched her hand away and said, in a voice shakier than she liked, “We’re just setting some things straight.” She stood up and glared down at Dean. “I’m the hunter, you’re the healer. So I’d suggest you make with the healing before I decide to do my job again.”

He didn’t answer right away, continuing to stare at her with impassive eyes, his breath heaving. “Are we done?”

She nodded, breathing just as heavily as he was. She sheathed her knife and backed up a step to allow him to get off the ground.

When he was finally upright, he locked eyes with her for another moment then said in a tense but steady voice, “We’ll go ahead with the transfusion, as requested. It’s probably our best bet at this point. Hopefully it’ll be enough, especially this close to the full moon.”

“And if it’s not?”

“I’ve still got the wolfsbane I bought from Strike. It might be enough to slow down the infection, but it has to be a last-ditch effort since I’m pretty sure any dosage could potentially kill him.”

“We could have tried that days ago.”

“I know, but I was really hoping to have more concrete answers than ‘will probably kill him.’”

Ro considered this, then nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

“Be a donor, obviously.”

She laughed tightly. “If this wolf thing doesn’t work out, you can always try making it as a vampire.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious? No? I didn’t think so.” He pointed to his desk chair. “Roll your sleeve up and sit your ass down.”

Dean prepared the transfusion kit, but when it came time for him to insert the needle into her vein, his hands shook so much, he didn’t trust himself. Without being asked, Coop stepped in and took over, deftly sliding the needle into place, the flash of red in the tubing indicating success.

Dean watched as the blood collected in the bag, then he instructed Coop to collect a second pint in case the first transfusion didn’t work.

When Coop finally took the needle out of her arm and patched the puncture site with a piece of gauze, he instructed her to sit still and relax while he handed off the bags of blood to Dean, who immediately began to process them for plasma.

Ro watched him work silently, hoping that she’d done the right thing coming down, confronting Dean, and forcing his hand. Deep down, though, she realized it was the only option she had left.

Now to only hope that it hadn’t been in vain.

16

The steady drip of yellow plasma flowed down the IV tubing leading into John Sinclair’s arm. Drip, drip, drip. It was maddeningly slow, but Ro’s experience told her that if her father was going to have an adverse reaction, it would be within the first few minutes of the transfusion.

He continued to mutter incoherently in his delirium, and she suspected that if this didn’t work, there was a very good chance he wouldn’t survive to see the waning of the moon. Coop had administered some more sedatives, but they seemed to have barely touched him. She didn’t dare ask for anything stronger, though. They needed to reserve the more powerful drugs for Dean and his transformation. Besides, anything stronger might only serve to kill her father faster.

His breathing was ragged and labored, his skin dry and hot despite the ice packs they kept applying. Ro did the only thing she could – held his hand, wiped his brow, and, even though she’d long ago disavowed any belief in a higher being, prayed.

She was midway through the Lord’s Prayer, barely remembered from her childhood, when his breathing changed. It had a strangled quality to it. When Ro looked up at him, she saw his eyes rolled up into his head.

“No!” She clamped off the tubing but knew the damage had already been done since only a small amount of plasma remained in the bag. “I need help!”

She hurried to connect the IV fluids which they’d kept ready to administer in the event of this very scenario, in the hope of flushing the toxins from his body, but it was a desperate gambit at best.

He began to shake violently, and she pushed her hands onto his chest to keep him in the bed. It seemed as if every inch of him were fighting her, and it was all she could do to keep him from falling off onto the floor. After several moments of struggling to hold him down, he stopped thrashing and fell back onto the bed where he lay unmoving save for his labored breathing.

“Dad?”

Without warning, his entire body seized up, his eyes flew open, and he snapped his jaws at her. A terrible growl erupted from his throat. On instinct, she let go of him and stumbled back, just as Dean and Coop rushed into the room.

“What the hell...?” Coop muttered, staring wide-eyed at her father.

And then the seizure or whatever it was ended and her father fell back onto the bed, his body completely slack.

Ro didn’t hesitate, her medical training taking over. She returned to his side, listened to his chest, then lifted her head. “He’s stopped breathing.” When the guys continued to stare mutely at the scene, she shouted, “Help him!”

She tilted her father’s head back slightly in an attempt to open his airway as they finally sprang to action. Coop grabbed a syringe from the top of the dresser while Dean checked for a pulse.

“Stay with us, John!” He muttered a curse beneath his breath and then, without another word, began chest compressions, his arms locked above her father’s sternum, pumping his heart from outside his body. “Coop, where’s the epi?!”

“It’s in.”

They administered CPR for what seemed an eternity, with Ro and Dean taking turns attempting to pump life back into the aged hunter’s chest. Ro couldn’t think – she could only do what her training had taught her. She pushed away the knowledge that this was her father, her only family, and focused on the burn in her arms and the rhythm of her compressions. One, two, three...

She wasn’t sure how long they tried to resuscitate her father but she was prepared to keep going until she passed out from exhaustion. Through the fog in her mind, she heard Coop announce, “I’m out of epi,” but she ignored him. She needed to keep going. She couldn’t lose him.

Dean placed a hand on her shoulder but she continued to press on her father’s chest. “Ro,” he called. When she continued to ignore him, he repeated, “Ro!”

“No.” He attempted to pull her away, but she shoved him back.

“Ro, he’s gone,” he announced more gently. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” One, two, three ... she refused to stop.

“Wait a second,” Coop said from John’s other side.

“I said no!”

“Hold on! I ... I think he’s breathing again.”

The words finally registered in her adrenaline-soaked brain. She stopped the compressions while Coop checked for a pulse.

Awe and disbelief showed on his face. “Holy shit. He’s back. Ro, he’s back.”

Relief flooded her exhausted form as she put a hand to her father’s neck and felt the strong, steady bumps of a heartbeat beneath her fingers. “Oh my God.” She wiped the tears off her cheeks with an unsteady hand and asked, “Dad, can you hear me? It’s Rowan.”

He didn’t respond, but his color was definitely improving, and his breathing seemed much less labored than earlier. In fact, even though he had literally died before her eyes and been brought back to life mere seconds earlier, he looked better than he had since she’d discovered he was being kept at the mansion.

“What happened?” Dean asked. “We only left the room for a moment.”

She gave a brief recounting of her father’s reaction to the transfusion, then added, “I think it’s time we bring him to a hospital. We can’t keep him here, not after this.”

Dean shook his head and backed up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Too risky.”

Ro wasn’t about to let him cop out so easily, though. She stalked him to the corner of the room. “For who? For you? His heart fucking stopped no more than five minutes ago. He needs proper care with monitors and medicine and fucking sterile conditions.”

Coop cleared his throat, though his voice was still hesitant when he spoke. “Hey, man, I kinda agree with her. I think we’ve done all we can for him here.”

“Think this through, both of you. What are we going to do, drop him off at the nearest emergency room and tell them, ‘Hey, this old guy died and came back to life while fighting off a werewolf bite?’ They’re gonna ask questions about that wound on his shoulder and why exactly we waited so long to get him treated.”

“So what if they ask questions? Let them fucking ask!” At that moment, Ro was tempted to kick his ass and be done with the argument.

“Questions like that take time. Time neither of us has right now, unless you’ve forgotten what’s almost here.”

She hadn’t forgotten. The cycle of the moon was practically ingrained into her soul. Right then, though, she couldn’t have given two shits. “Cover your ass if you want, but I’m done playing with his life. Come on, Coop. Help me get him to the car.”

“Rowan?” The weak voice came from the direction of the bed and all three heads turned toward it.

Ro rushed to her father’s side, all thoughts of the argument forgotten. “Dad? I’m here.”

“Rowan,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “My girl. My strong girl. I knew you’d find me.”

“I never gave up, Dad.” Tears ran fresh down her cheeks.

“Where am I?”

“Safe for now,” she answered, her eyes briefly meeting Dean’s. “But we need to get you to a hospital.”

“No. No hospitals.”

“But...”

“No hospitals,” he repeated in a tone much stronger than she thought him capable of in his state. “Too many questions. I’ll be fine.”

“You were bitten, Dad. You nearly died. We had to restart your heart.”

“I know. I may have almost died, but I’m not deaf.” He closed his eyes briefly, as if too tired to continue, before opening them again. “I don’t need a hospital. I just need to rest.”

“You’ve been sick for weeks. You need proper care.”

“You’ve done a fine job. Now mind my words.” He attempted to prop himself up on his elbows, but grimaced when he leaned on his bad arm.

“No, Dad, lie back down. Like you said, you need your rest.”

“No hospitals,” he repeated, his voice fading. “I mean it.” His head fell onto the pillow and his eyes closed.

Fear lanced through Ro again, but Coop stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, I think he just fell asleep. Poor guy must be exhausted.”

She continued to stare down at him for several minutes, as if refusing to believe it was true. But it was. After some time, she forced herself to step away to the window, where she could see the moon through the trees. It was bright tonight even though it hadn’t quite yet reached full capacity.

When she was a child, she used to think the moon was magical, that it brought with it all sorts of wonderful secrets, like exposing people for what they really were. Bad people became werewolves but good people, like her father, became hunters. They were protectors. The moon empowered them to help those who couldn’t protect themselves ... almost as if they were superheroes.

But now she was grown and knew that the notions of good and evil were not so black and white. She glanced over at Dean. Though she couldn’t pretend to know what lay in his heart, she was pretty certain he wasn’t evil. His actions demonstrated that. He might have been a selfish, self-serving lout, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Not by a long shot. She was still pissed at him, but it would pass. Hell, most of her ire was probably the effect of the hunt being so close. Her senses were practically on fire.

She ran a hand over her face. What the hell was she supposed to do? The full moon was tomorrow night. She couldn’t just leave her father, not when he’d been literally on the brink of death, to go werewolf hunting. But the pull to hunt was strong, like it always was when the full moon approached. It was ironic. In many ways, she was as much a slave to the moon as Dean.

* * *

She wasn’t sure how long she stood at the window, listening to her father’s breathing gradually relax and then give way to soft snores. After a time, she heard footsteps behind her and turned slightly to see Dean approaching.

“Look, I know you think I’m being selfish in keeping your dad here, but I’m just trying to be practical. We’re the best ones to say whether this treatment worked and if it’s going to last past the full moon. We need to monitor him until then. Coop can stay here and watch him closely while you go on your hunt. And if anything happens, he’ll let you know right away.”

“What about the cell jammer?”

“If it comes to that, he can turn it off to contact you.”

“And you’ll be in your cage?” she asked in a low voice so her father wouldn’t be able to overhear in case he woke up.

“Not my preferred place to spend the night, but those are my plans.”

“I just don’t feel right leaving him.”

He lowered his voice to match hers. “Look, I may be really stupid in telling you this, being a werewolf and all, but you should go. Your dad would understand what’s at stake and would want you to stop Strike from hurting anyone else.”

“Yeah, Dad always did live for the hunt.”

“I figured as much. When we first brought him back here after he was bit, he told us in no uncertain terms how much he hated werewolves.”

“In exquisite detail,” Coop added from further back in the room.

“How does he not know you’re one of them?”

Dean nodded at the two of them to follow him out of the room. Asleep or not, Ro couldn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about this within earshot of her dad.

Once they were all out in the hall, he closed the door partially and said, “Obviously I was in wolf form when I bit him. Coop was the one who found us in the alley. Your dad was unconscious by then. Coop tranqed me and somehow got us both back to the safe house we’d been using, all without the old man realizing what was going on.”

“Wasn’t easy,” Coop added.

Ro nodded. “You do realize he’ll kill you if he ever finds out.”

“No kidding,” Dean said, “which is why I’m not telling him. I value my life.”

“So I noticed.” After a moment, she added, “Sorry. I’m ... just tired.” She turned away, but could feel his eyes on her. The pull of the hunt was getting stronger, as were her senses. The effect left her on edge. She could feel the electric tingle practically pulsating within her at Dean’s proximity, the predator drawn to prey. The skirmish in the basement earlier had been merely an appetizer, and she was already starving for the main course. The pull was almost intoxicating, the feeling akin to the endorphins surging through her after a long run ... or really good sex.

She drew in a deep breath, willed her body under control. What the hell was she thinking?! She was almost as bad as a wolf, lusting for the fight and the kill ... or just plain lusting.

When she finally turned back to face Dean, his eyes had darkened. Was he feeling it, too?

“I’ll take first watch,” Coop announced, breaking the silence. “He seems stable now, but we probably shouldn’t leave him alone for too long.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Ro protested, but he waved away her argument.

“You need your rest for tomorrow.”

“And you don’t?”

“I’m just a glorified babysitter for the pound puppy here. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Her eyes met Dean’s for one final fleeting glance before she nodded and walked over to her room, multiple emotions warring within her.

* * *

Ro ran down the darkened path, heart racing, the creature too close. She tripped, tried to roll to compensate, but her shoulder hit the dirt hard and her gun was knocked out of her hand.

It was upon her in one leap, its heavy weight nearly suffocating in the cool night air. She’d tried to run but it had found her. It always found her.

The beast growled deep within its throat, the steady rumble menacing, the anticipation almost too much for her to bear. Why didn’t it just get it over with? What was it waiting for?

Its face was only inches from hers, teeth bared, red eyes intent on her and unwavering. Tears began to fill her eyes, the shame of defeat even worse than the anticipation of death.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered.

The wolf seemed to hear her, his teeth no longer bared, as it moved away slightly and tilted its head as if considering its options. Then it did something even more surprising. It spoke.

“Ro? Ro, wake up.”

The voice was human. Dean’s. Ro blinked at it with disbelief and it repeated itself. “Rowan? It’s time to...”

She awoke suddenly, flailed about, then felt her arm connect with something solid followed by an, “Oomph.” She looked down to see Dean on the floor, rubbing his jaw.

“What the hell? You’re lucky I didn’t gut you.” She subconsciously felt for the blade beneath her pillow, assured herself of its presence, then relaxed slightly. “What are you doing in here?” She climbed out of bed as he picked himself off the floor.

He tested his jaw as if to see that it still worked, then said, “Sounded like you were yelling or something. I just ... well, obviously you were okay enough to deck me, so I’m just gonna go.”

“Dean, wait.” She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. “I’m sorry I hit you. Though, in the future, you should know better than to sneak up on a hunter when they’re asleep.”

“In the future?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, now I do anyway. Were you having a bad dream?”

“I guess you could say that. I’ve been having them ever since...”

“The night in the alley,” he finished for her.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

He stared at her, as if considering, and Ro had the crazy notion that he looked very similar to the wolf in her dream. Instead of answering the question, he said, “You dream about the wolf, don’t you?” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” she answered with a sigh.

“Are they always the same? These dreams of yours?” There was a quiet urgency to his questions, as if they stemmed from more than mere curiosity.

“Sort of. I don’t know. I try not to dwell on them,” she lied.

His eyes locked onto hers. “I’m chasing you in the alley, then I catch you, but I don’t kill you.”

Her heart sped when he spoke the words, as if recounting the images from her own dreams. “Yes.” His description made it all seem so simple, so matter-of-fact, but the way his eyes bored into hers told her that he thought the dreams so much more than ordinary.

“What would you say if I told you that I have the same dreams?”

* * *

Dean knew he was standing too close. He could smell her – shampoo and something else – a light scent above her natural musk. He could hear the hitch in her breath at his admission, could almost hear the way her heartbeat quickened within her chest. He could practically taste the pheromones rolling off her. He knew what she was thinking ... what she was remembering, because he had the same memories.

“That’s impossible,” she finally answered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You have a birthmark on your chest, right about here.” He touched a finger to her left shoulder, dangerously near her breast.

“You do realize how close you are to getting slugged again, right?” she said without much conviction, her eyes wide. Surprisingly, though, she didn’t push him away.

He gave a knowing smile. “You know I’m right.”

As if remembering where she was, she finally broke contact with him and stepped away from the bed. “And what if you are? What does it prove? Maybe you’re just a peeping Tom.”

“It proves that we share some sort of ... connection. Something about that night changed both of us. We just have to figure out what. And why.”

“A connection? You realize how crazy that sounds?”

“And yet here you are, talking to a werewolf.”

“Point taken. But even if you’re right, this connection, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I? My dad’s alive. That’s all that matters to me right now. The full moon is tomorrow and as soon as the hunt is over, we’ll be out of your hair. Out of your life for good.”

He shook his head with a wry laugh. “Well, then it’s a good thing you’re far too annoying to be missed.” As she sputtered, he turned to leave. “Try to get some more rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Unless I see you in my dreams first.

17

Dean checked the welds on the cage for the fifth time. They were as solid as they’d been the last four times. There was no way he was getting out, not unless he accidentally left a bulldozer in there with him when it was time to change.

Speaking of which, he again glanced at his watch. It was getting late. His skin had felt like it was rippling for the past three hours. Not critical yet, but soon enough.

Where the fuck are they?!

He’d known what Coop had made a run for – meat, and a lot of it. The fresher the better, all to keep him occupied. Apparently, his wolf was a beef snob. Didn’t seem to like anything that had been frozen.

I swear, I was some rich lady’s Shih Tzu in a previous life. Had to be.

But why did Ro insist on going with him, now of all times, when his change was so close? Wasn’t she the one who’d demanded access to his security measures so she could conduct her own assessment? Wasn’t she the one who was skeptical when he’d told her that they had it covered?

So where was she now? If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she and Coop had a thing going on. After all, she’d been accompanying him with increasing frequency over the week.

That’s a hell of a lot of quickies.

Coop, however, had informed him that it had been for the purpose of trying to dissuade her somewhat persistent admirer.

That, or she was coordinating with the other hunter.

He tried to push that thought away, but it wouldn’t go easily. The thing was, she’d given him her word. Though he had no way of knowing if a hunter’s word was worth anything more than a pile of wolf shit, he’d chosen to believe her. Doing otherwise seemed like a slippery slope toward paranoia.

Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t had the opportunity to kill him a dozen times on her own during the course of the week. If she’d really wanted to, she could have ended him easily.

Okay, enough of that.

He took a moment to remind himself that he really didn’t need either of them there for the change. He was more than capable of locking himself up.

However, he definitely would feel better if Coop re-checked everything and made certain there were no mistakes. Despite his previous escapes inadvertently giving him access to hunter blood, he had no intention of getting out again. Just because he’d gotten lucky in the past didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t wake up one day to find himself surrounded by bodies.

He thought of his parents, how they’d been mauled to death. It was bad enough it had happened to him. He wouldn’t allow himself to ruin any other lives because he was too sloppy to double-check things.

Dean glanced down at his hands and noticed they were shaking. It wouldn’t be long now. Where the fuck were...?

He caught the sound of movement – feet descending a flight of stairs.

A few moments later, the heavy security door opened further and in walked Coop, carrying with him a heavy bundle that had started to leak through the wads of butcher paper wrapped around it. Ro followed a few steps behind.

Despite letting out a silent sigh of relief, Dean laid into them. “So nice of you to remember what day it is.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I had some things to take care of.”

Her vague answer raised his hackles even more. “I appreciate your devotion to your Twitter audience, but maybe you could pick a better day to snap selfies.”

Coop let out a chuckle as he stepped past Dean and into the cage with his bundle.

“And what’s your excuse?”

Ignoring Dean’s tone, Coop unwrapped the bloody bundle and spilled out the contents in the corner. “You know the drill. We have to cycle butchers. Don’t want anyone getting suspicious when I show up once a month demanding almost half a side of bloody beef.”

Dean nodded ruefully. He did understand and hadn’t meant to snap at his friend. The wolf’s attitude was definitely starting to become dominant.

“That’s a lot of meat,” Ro said, apparently unfazed by her own dressing down. “Where do you put it all?”

Coop stepped out of the cage, crumbling up the butcher paper. “Let’s just say that you might want to avoid the second floor bathroom for the next couple of days.”

Dean rounded on him. “Seriously?!”

Coop, however, wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “Just giving our guest a friendly PSA.”

“With a healthy dollop of TMI,” Ro added sourly.

Dean turned to her. “So, what kind of ‘things’ did you need to take care of?”

“Hunter business. That’s all you need to know.”

The wolf reared its head again and it was all he could do to not tear into her, literally. He restrained himself, though, and asked through gritted teeth, “Are we talking about me, or...?”

“Relax,” she replied. “Los Colmillos. If the information you gave me is any good...”

“It is.”

“If it’s any good,” she continued, “then with any luck you’ll have less of them to worry about come morning.”

“So you’re still going through with it?”

She folded her arms across her chest and stared up at him. In doing so, he couldn’t help but notice she’d exposed the tiniest bit of cleavage. He felt the wolf stir within him for a moment, or at least he thought it was the wolf, and quickly turned away to pretend to study the cage again. “It’s risky,” he said, his voice descending to a near growl.

“What part of my life isn’t?”

He glanced back at her and their eyes met. Despite her flippant tone, for the barest of instants he saw that same vulnerability he’d seen that night in the alleyway, but then she quickly steeled her gaze.

“You just do your part and stay in your cage like a good little puppy,” she said. “My father...”

“Your father will be fine,” Coop interrupted. “You have my word on it.”

She nodded toward him, seeming to realize that was the best she was going to get.

“Hey.” Dean put a hand on her arm before quickly yanking it away lest he find himself launched over her shoulder. “I wish I could give you my word, too. I really do, but...”

She appeared to size him up, her eyes boring into his for a moment before finally softening ever so slightly. “I appreciate that.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to his friend. “Coop will keep him safe.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Coop reiterated.

“I know. Speaking of which...” She made it a point to look at her watch.

“She’s right. It’s almost show time, boss.”

Dean nodded. Aside from the awful sensation of waking up after, not knowing what he’d done, this was the part he hated most. It was dehumanizing, not to mention terrifying. But it was also necessary. “Okay. Let’s go.” He stepped into the cage and walked to the far end toward where the chains hung.

He took a deep breath, then peeled off his shirt and tossed it back over his shoulder to Coop. Dean turned and stared past him at Ro. “You should get going. We can handle this.”

Rather than leave, she stepped into the cage, too. “I told you. I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re secure. So let’s make with the dog collar.”

Dean locked eyes with her for a moment before realizing two things: he wasn’t going to win against her, and he had no time left to try. “Fine, but if you’re going to help, then get over here and fasten these things onto me.”

“Um, Dean?”

He turned to his friend. “What?”

“Your pants.”

“Huh? Oh.” He reached down to the waistband of his sweatpants, but then hesitated, his eyes locked on Ro.

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked. “Sorry, stud, but you’re not the first naked man I’ve seen. And believe me, I don’t impress easily.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but then recommenced stripping down.

When he was done, he grabbed the steel choker from the floor, secured to the wall by twelve feet of high grade chain, and placed it over his head. He then held out his hands so she could secure the manacles to them.

Ro stepped in to do so, then glanced down for a moment. “Aww, did you manscape just for me?”

“What?!” He quickly lowered his hands to cover his privates.

“Well, I can’t very well cuff you like that.”

Behind her, Coop gave a loud snort, and after a moment, a grin appeared across her face, too.

“You’re both assholes,” Dean said.

“Lighten up,” she replied, then after a beat added, that same grin still on her face. “You’ll live longer.”

A few minutes more found Dean secured to the wall, locked in his cage with a pile of meat to sate the wolf’s appetite.

Coop checked the security cameras and ensured that his dart gun was loaded with enough Xylazine to knock out an elephant.

Finally, he and Ro stood at the door, ready to lock it up for the night.

It wasn’t a moment too soon. Dean began to twitch all over, the precursor to the change starting. Within minutes he’d be deep in the throes of it.

“G ... go!” he stammered to them.

Coop nodded at him then stepped out.

Ro stayed a moment longer. Her eyes locked with his and in them he saw the steely gaze of a predator staring down her prey. A beat later, she must have registered the pleading within his, because finally she looked away, but not before softly uttering, “Good luck.”

* * *

“For the last time, I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?” Ro asked, her eyes boring into Coop’s until the larger man looked away.

“Yes. Dean isn’t going anywhere. Trust me. He’s got three layers of security between him and the stairwell and a shitload of doped up meat to keep him occupied enough so he won’t even think about leaving.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The wolf...”

“I know. When he’s fully changed, his senses will be through the roof. Too much and he’ll smell the drugs and stay away, no matter how bloody and appealing it looks. Been there, done that. I didn’t add enough to knock him out, but it should mellow him nicely for a couple of hours. It’s just a pity there isn’t a dog version of catnip.”

Ro allowed herself a ghost of a smile. Coop seemed alert, but not panicky about the situation. That eased her apprehension somewhat. “What if my dad wakes up?”

“I’ll be there for him. As for the rest, the walls are soundproof and the camera feeds all stream right here in full HD.” He held up his smartphone. “If your dad asks, I’ll just tell him I found a horror movie on YouTube.”

Ro opened her mouth to ask more but stopped herself. She was just making excuses at this point, letting the worry take over. In truth, there was little she could do here that he could not.

Besides, she knew her father. If he learned she had information on a dangerous pack and had ignored it in favor of babysitting him, she wouldn’t hear the end of it for a long time to come.

That thought brought out a true smile in her ... her father being around for a good long time.

“See something you like?” Coop asked with a grin.

“With you? Not likely.” Though her words were sharp, the tone of her voice was light. “Just remembering what I have to do tonight. Guess it’s time for me to go.”

He nodded, but then asked, “Forgetting something?”

She looked down at herself, dressed in her hunter gear and fully armed. Nothing seemed amiss. “Um, are you expecting a hug?”

Coop rolled his eyes at her, then reached into his pocket and produced a set of car keys. “Here. Unless, that is, you’re planning on seeing if Uber has any full moon discounts.”

Ro didn’t have to drive often, living in the city as she did, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how. She took the keys and flashed him a quick smile of gratitude. “Keep my dad safe,” she told him before turning away. She stopped after a step and added, “Dean, too.”

“You got it, but I need you to do something for me also.”

“What?”

“Kick some werewolf ass.”

She smirked. “Always.”

“Oh, and try not to get any scratches on my car while you’re doing it.”

18

Kane McGregor looked down at his phone and pretended to read an email, a text, or some insipid Facebook post about someone’s breakfast ... anything to mask what he was really doing there.

The old lady who’d been passing him in the hall gave him the once over, then continued slowly, almost maddeningly so, on her way. Had he known where she was going, he would have been tempted to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way, but that would have almost certainly blown his cover.

Finally, the woman turned a corner. He waited a few more minutes, then heard the distinct sound of an apartment door being unlocked, opened, and then closed again. Certain he was alone for the time being, he removed the lock picks from his jacket pocket and quickly jimmied the door in front of him.

Though it would have been easy for him to slip right into the apartment, he hesitated. His quarry this night wasn’t some stupid wolf, a fact that put him in an increasingly foul mood. To force him to waste his time like this, during a full moon no less, was definitely not a point in her favor.

He might not have been there on a seek-and-destroy mission, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make Rowan pay nevertheless. She’d been increasingly pissing him off lately and this was merely icing on the cake.

Bitch thinks she’s too good to hunt with me, just like her old man. Well, she also thought she was too good to spread her legs and scream my name, but I proved her wrong there, too.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Anger was a good way to cloud one’s judgment and make them do something stupid. He wouldn’t give in to it. Kane valued his reputation, both as a detective and a hunter.

The thing was, Ro was a hunter, too. And though he didn’t consider her to be in the same league as himself, he knew it would be wise to be careful.

He quickly checked the door jamb for any hairs that had been taped in place, or any other subtle precautions she might have taken to alert her to any compromise in security.

Finding none, Kane took one more look around the hall, saw it was empty, then slipped a ski mask over his face. He pushed open the door, stepped in, and quickly shut it behind him. Had this been private property, he would have gone much more slowly, checked for booby-traps, but since this was an apartment, he figured the odds were in his favor. Wouldn’t do to accidentally maim the superintendent if they popped by for routine maintenance.

But that didn’t mean he was in the clear. It would be child’s play to set up a surveillance system even with something as minor as a webcam. Hence the mask. Rowan might know that someone had been in her place, but she wouldn’t know who and, if pressed, he’d deny any knowledge of it.

Kane flipped on the light and found, to his absolute lack of surprise, the place to be unoccupied. If anything, it was utterly unremarkable. Hell, had he found it trashed and obviously broken into, that would have gone a long way to easing his anger. Finding Rowan face down, dead in a pool of her own blood, would have been somewhat off-putting to his plans for their future, but at least that would have excused her odd behavior this past week.

He quickly cased the apartment for surveillance of any kind, a fairly easy task given its size. It was unlikely that Rowan was employing anything too high-tech. Her job wouldn’t allow her to afford anything truly state of the art and the Guild was mostly interested in providing tools for the hunt rather than defense. Ask them for a caseload of silver bullets and you’d find it on your doorstep the next day. Ask them for a sturdy deadbolt, though, and your pleas would most likely fall upon deaf ears.

Satisfied, he began to search her place more thoroughly, looking for any clues to her strange behavior.

All the while, he grew more annoyed.

He and her father had gotten off on the wrong foot almost immediately. Sinclair was old-school and believed that Kane, as the newest hunter in the region, should defer to his expertise. Thing was, he was old, past his prime, and less technologically savvy than most toddlers these days. Kane not only had his hunter training to fall back on, but he was one of NYC’s finest as well, knowledgeable in all the latest tools and techniques they used.

John was too set in his ways to understand that times were changing. While Kane would never give props to the filth they hunted, he wasn’t overly surprised when the old man had gone missing ... no doubt a victim of his own stubborn adherence to the days of old.

Afterwards, he’d thought maybe his daughter might be of a different mindset. Sure, she’d been upset by her old man’s disappearance and likely death, but she’d been open-minded about Kane’s methods. He’d sensed in her a possible kindred spirit. And it sure as hell hadn’t hurt that she possessed an ass that wouldn’t quit.

He’d had many a lady in his day, but conquering a hunter, that had been something special, almost like wrestling a caged animal into submission. Not that she had really submitted. Hell, he probably still had a few scratches on his back from their night together. It had been enough to convince him they might make a good pair for more than just the occasional hunt.

Of course, that had been before the bitch had skipped out on him. He’d woken up, ready to give her a good morning she wouldn’t soon forget, only to find he was alone in his bed. Ever since then, she’d had the nerve to brush him off as if she had better prospects on the horizon.

Kane knew better. Though Ro’s night “job” was mostly kept off the records, much as any hunter’s would be, her position as a nurse meant she was a tax paying citizen and thus easy to keep tabs on. Even before he’d bedded her, he’d done an exhaustive background check into her life. Considering the risks he took every full moon, it wasn’t wise to turn his back on someone he couldn’t be certain of. Privacy definitely took a backseat to protecting his own ass, as far as he was concerned.

He’d thought he had figured her out. Given enough time, he would have worn her down, made her realize her station in life. She would’ve eventually realized she should have been honored he’d chosen her.

But then this past week had happened. She’d up and pretty much disappeared from the radar. All he’d had to go on was a brief blip from her cell phone in the Bronx and a few brush-offs via text. He’d called in a few favors and since learned she’d also been in touch with her place of work, having taken some time off to ... and here was the interesting part ... care for her father.

The question was, had that merely been a convenient excuse or did she really have a lead on him? And if the latter, why hadn’t she called him in to help? Did she really think she could take on whatever had gotten to the old man by herself?

He’d checked with the Guild, and no other hunters in the state had heard from her. So, either she was off on some vacation of self-discovery, or whatever the fuck it was that chicks did when they needed to get their heads on straight, or she was balls-to-the-wall crazy.

He kind of liked that latter scenario. Made her even hotter in his mind, but that ego would need to go. She’d need to learn her place, and he was definitely primed to be the one to teach her.

But first, he had to find her.

He silently cursed himself for waiting this long. There was a pack operating within the city limits. He was certain of it. He should’ve been out there busting heads, hunting them down, and collecting a few more teeth for his personal collection. If the guys back at the Guild knew how he was spending this month’s full moon, he’d never hear the end of it.

Kane continued to go through her stuff, a picture starting to form in his mind. She’d definitely packed for an extended stay, there was evidence of that much. All of her hunting gear was gone. Most of her clothes, too.

But where?

He didn’t know, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to find out. This month’s wolf hunt was a bust, but he had different prey in mind anyway.

Kane opened his jacket and removed a small case. It was time to get back to basics, and the best way to do that was to start dusting for prints.

He’d find her. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

It’s only a matter of time, Ro told herself. They were near. She could sense it. Possibly more than one. Her nerve-endings were practically on fire, screaming at her that danger was rapidly approaching.

According to Dean, Los Colmillos liked to switch up their hunting grounds every so often to throw any opposition – be they hunters or the police – off their scent. If they stuck to their usual routine, though, at least part of the pack would be prowling the North Woods of Central Park this night.

She could see why they might favor this spot. Though she knew that 110th Street lay, at most, a couple of hundred yards to the north, she might as well have been in a whole other state. If anything, she felt less like a New Yorker in that moment and more like Little Red Riding Hood.

The only difference being that she was actively looking for her own personal Big Bad Wolf and, when she found it, it would almost certainly not like the surprise waiting for it in her picnic basket.

The moon was bright in the sky, unfiltered by clouds. Its light was insignificant against the cityscape, but she could still feel its pull on her. She’d been waiting for this night for what had felt like an exceptionally long month, her close proximity to Dean during the waxing moon sharpening her innate need to vanquish her prey. She couldn’t often claim to enjoy being out on a hunt, but on this night, she would have been lying if she denied it.

Ro stopped moving as she heard what sounded like multiple soft footsteps padding through the underbrush. As she ceased her movement, so did they, mirroring her. She’d been right. These wolves seemed much smarter than the average packs she and her father had hunted in the past.

“Hello?” she called out timidly. “Is anybody there?” She almost had to stifle a chuckle at the horror movie cliché.

Before entering the park, she’d purloined an oversized coat and hat from a nearby Goodwill box. She figured her best bet for blending in would be to either appear as a jogger out for a late night run or as a homeless person in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d decided on the latter, as it made her appear weaker, not to mention offered plenty of camouflage for her weaponry.

Though she had her tracker on her, she didn’t dare look at it. To do so now would give away that she was more than she appeared. Besides, with her senses on edge as they were, she didn’t need it.

She took a step, then another, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight and a corresponding spike of adrenaline hit her brain.

Ro sidestepped, more out of instinct than having heard the actual attack. The wolf was both smart and fast. Had she been anything less than she was, it would have taken her and carried her off into the bushes before she’d even had a chance to scream.

Pity for it that, smart as it was, luck wasn’t on its side this night.

She spun as it leapt at the spot she’d been a mere moment before and brought her fist up, slamming it into the back of the beast’s thick skull. Normally such a blow would be laughable in the face of a monster wolf, but she’d used its momentum against it. Off balance as it was, her hit sent it staggering to its knees as it tried to cease its own forward motion.

Ro jumped on its back, simultaneously drawing her knife. She was sticking to her personal promise. Besides, it was too soon for the gun. She could sense this wolf wasn’t alone. Though double-tapping it in the back of the head with nine millimeters of silver was by far the safer course of action, she didn’t want to prematurely scare off the pack-mate she was certain was close by. She wanted it to think this was a fluke – that she’d gotten lucky.

After everything she’d gone through the past few weeks, one kill was not going to suffice for this moon.

Before the first wolf could regain its feet, she slammed the weapon into the base of its skull. Despite the toughness of its skin, the silvered blade sank into it like a hot knife through butter. With a quick twist of the grip, she severed its spinal cord, killing it instantly.

It hadn’t even had time to whimper.

Ro pulled out the blade and palmed it, drawing it into the oversized sleeve of the coat. She backed away from the downed wolf and started trembling. Though she knew it was likely that whatever else was out here with her wouldn’t be taken in by the ruse, she had to try. If another wolf was close by and truly in the grip of its beast form, it might not possess the higher brain functions to put two and two together.

She didn’t think that likely, though. Everything she knew about these Los Colmillos wolves told her they weren’t animals, at least not in their thinking. The first one had been sloppy, overconfident, but there was little chance of another being so reckless in the face of the obvious – that she was still standing while its pack-mate lay dead on the path.

Still, Ro kept up the illusion. She backed away from the monster, staring at it wide-eyed, a feigned look of horror upon her face as if she was too terrified to even scream.

Several moments passed when suddenly the hairs on her neck stood up again and she sensed movement from ahead.

That’s it. Come to mama.

She’d purposely backed herself up against a rocky outcropping. It served to protect her backside, even if it boxed her in. That was fine, however. She had no intention of running.

The wolf stepped from the brush on the opposite side of its dead companion. It was huge, considerably larger than the one she’d just dispatched.

She took a quick look at the dead wolf, taking note of its smaller size and lighter coloring. Probably a female. The one before her now was most definitely a male which, for some reason, made the coming fight even more exciting.

The beast lowered itself to all fours and approached the downed wolf slowly, its eyes never leaving her. Its stance suggested it was ready to spring into action at any moment. Ro stared back at it wide-eyed, as if in disbelief, but in actuality waiting for it to be in a position where she was unlikely to miss her shot.

Slowly, she reached down with her free hand and slid it beneath the hem of the coat to where her holster lay.

Just a little more, you son of a bitch.

The wolf nudged the other with its nose, as if checking to see if it were merely stunned.

Good luck with that.

Even as the male continued to sniff its companion, the dead wolf began to change. The hair retreated from its body. Its stature began to shorten, and its features began to take on a human-like form. Within moments, Ro’s instincts were confirmed as the body of a naked woman lay where the wolf had been a moment earlier.

The other beast lifted its head and bared its teeth at her.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Here I am. So tasty and helpless.”

Rather than charge her, though, the wolf looked around as if considering its options.

Damnit! “Not fooling you for a second, am I?” she asked aloud. “Fine. The hard way it is.”

Ro flung the coat off her, revealing her lithe form. In the same movement, she drew her gun. When the dead wolf had shrunk back to human size, it had greatly diminished the cover it provided its companion. She didn’t think she was going to get a clearer shot.

This wolf proved to be much smarter than its companion, however. It reared up to its full height and kicked out, sending the dead woman flying toward Ro just as she pulled the trigger.

Ro dove out of the way, her shot missing by a mile. She rolled and came up to her feet just as the wolf lunged for her. There was no hesitation from it as there had been that night with Dean. This one meant to have its pound of flesh.

That was fine by her. She likewise felt absolutely no sympathy in this fight, either for herself or the creature.

Only one of them would walk away from this.

There was no time to aim properly. She pulled the trigger as she sidestepped, catching a hairy elbow in her midsection, hard enough to almost knock the wind out of her.

She staggered and backpedaled, putting some distance between her and it. Clear shot or not, it was suicide to stay within arm’s reach of a monster like this.

As she did, she saw the creature stumble into the tree line. It put one of its paws over its thigh and let out a brief whimper. She’d winged it.

The male wolf turned toward her wide-eyed, the anger in its eyes replaced by a look of pain and, although she couldn’t be certain, she was convinced she saw fear, too.

It had just enough cover to potentially ruin her shot. She had to finish it off before it could bolt. If it ran, it was unlikely she’d be able to find it again before it could hole up somewhere.

“So, that other mutt?” she asked, hoping this thing was smart enough to understand her. “She your mate, or just your fuck puppy?”

Its eyes narrowed and its lips pulled back from its teeth.

Pride before a fall, motherfucker.

“Sorry to break it to you, Fido, but I’m pretty sure all dogs don’t go to heaven.”

The creature snarled and charged her. She’d been right again. Somehow this thing had understood her. It was amazing, almost unbelievable. It went against everything she’d been taught about lycanthropes and most of what she’d experienced. Something about Los Colmillos was different. She wasn’t sure whether to be excited or terrified at the prospect.

However, she was certain she’d end up dead either way if she didn’t stow away her thoughts and act. Stupid! In trying to distract the creature, she’d also distracted herself.

Wounded as it was, the wolf was still blindingly fast. She’d underestimated it.

It was upon her within a heartbeat, possessing nearly every physical advantage over her – strength, speed, and mass. The only prospect in her favor was that its size made it nearly impossible to miss at this range.

It plowed into Ro just as she pulled the trigger.

Her feet left the ground, the beast’s momentum carrying them both forward. Ro’s breath was knocked out of her, and she was pretty sure she heard a rib snap, but her finger continued to work the trigger, emptying the magazine into the wolf’s chest, its dense fur and muscle muting the sound of the gun until at last it stumbled and pitched forward.

The wolf landed atop Ro just as the gun clicked empty. It let out a wheezing gasp and, for a moment, she feared it was still alive, but it turned out to be nothing more than the last breath escaping from its body.

She’d done it, not only bagged two wolves by herself, but two of those fucking Los Colmillos bastards.

Now the only thing left to do was wait for it to turn back into a human so she could roll the dead fucker off and make herself scarce before the cops arrived.

19

Ro fortunately didn’t have to wait very long. After a few minutes, the wolf finally changed and she found herself being smothered by a dark, muscular man who smelled strongly of blood and B.O. Bracing her hands and feet to push him off, she had a wild sense of déjà vu, since she’d done much the same to Kane when he’d collapsed atop her after their one-off tryst.

Sure, she’d enjoyed it at the time, but the memory twisted her expression to one of distaste. Shaking the unbidden thoughts from her mind, she set to work on staging the scene. She retrieved her own jacket from the bushes, then discarded the purloined coat near the bodies, hoping to point the finger at a homeless junkie. The hat she kept, but stashed it inside one of her pockets – no point in leaving trace hair evidence at the scene.

Lastly, she pulled a pack of wet wipes from her jacket pocket and proceeded to clean up as best she could, her senses still on alert for any unusual activity around her. She paused halfway through to check her tracker app, just in case, and found it clear. It wasn’t quite as good as a second set of eyes watching her back, but in a pinch it would do.

After scrubbing for as long as she dared, she placed the soiled wipes back in her jacket, pulled on her gloves, and fervently hoped she’d done an adequate job of making herself presentable. She needed to book it out of there before the bodies were discovered by the cops or, worse, by other members of the pack. She had a spare magazine of ammunition on her but knew better than to push her luck. With two wolves already on the ground, there was no chance of fooling any others who happened upon her.

Rather than do the smart thing and head straight back to the car, she decided to take a detour first, adrenaline and the thrill of the hunt still coursing through her. It wouldn’t be very far, not according to what Dean had told her, and would help sate some of the pull she still felt from the moon.

Dean had said that many of the killings Los Colmillos were responsible for had occurred in the area around Central Park West. His parents had been only the latest victims, with at least half a dozen other families targeted in that area before them. Furthermore, Dean hadn’t been the only rich boy to be recruited – three other people in their twenties had been reported missing from the affected families. They were either now members of Los Colmillos or lying dead at the bottom of the Hudson.

According to Dean, the gang operated from a seedy club just outside the swankier areas they liked to prey upon. It was there she found herself heading.

She would’ve loved nothing more than to put a bullet in their leader, the asshole calling himself Strike who apparently fancied himself some sort of werewolf drug lord. From what Dean had said, though, the dirt bag was more than content to stay in the club during the full moon and cavort with his various bitches while his lackeys roamed the streets. With a grimace, she thought, Lackeys were exactly what I killed tonight while the big dog stayed locked up in his kennel.

The building occupying the address Dean had provided was dark, the only light coming from some flickering neon illuminating the basement entrance. No one manned the door, but she wasn’t fooled. She could sense them in there.

Though the pull of the hunt was still strong, she wasn’t stupid enough to try it on her own. She was almost a full block away and yet her senses were almost on fire. That meant a lot of fangs present.

It would be suicide to try to take them all on single-handedly, at least without something a bit bigger than her lone handgun – a bazooka, maybe. Hmm, something to consider for next month.

Those musings faded from her mind as her instincts flared up. Something was coming. A wolf returning to the den, perhaps. She could sense its presence, the tickle on the back of her neck strengthening to a full-on burn. It was likely to sense her here, too.

So it was with the hunt. The same battle, month after month, to determine which one of them, hunter or wolf, was actually the alpha predator.

She glanced around. The shadowy alleys and entrances, while perfect for concealing evidence of battle, could also hide wolves curious to her presence.

Realizing the risk of staying was too great, she turned and walked briskly down the street. She didn’t want to be caught in a skirmish here, not with a club full of wolves so close by. By all appearances, the street was deserted, but the tingling burn on her neck indicated otherwise.

Instinct gradually gave way to rational thought, and she realized coming here without backup was stupid and reckless. Despite her earlier care, she probably still reeked of wolf blood. Any pack member catching wind of her would most certainly want revenge.

She hurried toward the subway, and as she did so, she pulled out her phone and enabled the tracker app again. Two stationary signals hovered near the far edge of its range, but they faded as she moved farther away. Nothing seemed to be following her, but she resolved to remain sharp and not let curiosity get the better of her.

The prickling at the back of her neck faded once she descended to the subway platform. Perhaps she’d just been paranoid. After all, the thrill of taking out two wolves on her own had certainly gotten her blood pumping and put her senses into overdrive.

She wished she’d grilled Dean for more info on Los Colmillos earlier. She could have done a more thorough reconnaissance, carried more ammunition, maybe even contacted the Guild to arrange for a group raid. But she hadn’t, wanting to selfishly take a chunk out of this pack herself before letting others get a crack at them.

Ro consoled herself with the fact that even though she might not have taken down all of them, she’d whittled their numbers. She’d done what she’d set out to do. Next time, she’d get Strike, if not the whole goddamned pack.

She heard her father’s voice in her head. “Better to be smart than to be dead. You aren’t running away from the fight. You’re living to fight a battle you can actually win.”

The memory helped to soothe her ego, as did the knowledge that she’d bagged two Los Colmillos whelps single-handedly. As far as she was concerned, she’d fulfilled her duty tonight.

When she stepped off the train at the downtown stop, her spirits were considerably lighter. At this rate, she could get back to the mansion, check on her father, and take a nice long shower, all before sunrise.

But first, she wanted to stop by her apartment.

* * *

Ro unlocked her front door with a great sense of relief that Kane had finally stopped leaving flowers on her doorstep. It was annoying and downright embarrassing, plus the wilting bouquets left a mess.

Before she could push the door open, though, Mrs. Wilson from down the hall stepped around the corner. “Rowan, thank goodness it’s you.”

“Hey, Mrs. W. What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“Oh, these old bones bother me on nights like this. Too many aches and pains to sleep well.” She waved a hand as if this was nothing new. “Anyway, heard a noise out in the hall. I thought you was that man again.”

“What man?” A tingle surged through Ro, though she was pretty sure it wasn’t caused by a wolf.

“The one’s been leavin’ you flowers. Handsome fella, but somethin’ shifty ‘bout him.”

Goddamnit, Kane! “Tall guy, blond hair, cleft in his chin?”

“That’s him.”

“Well, thanks for keeping an eye on the place for me and letting me know. Did you at least enjoy the flowers he left last time?”

“I sure did. Smelled pretty and looked nice on my kitchen table. My grandson came by and thought I had myself a secret admirer.” She cackled. “Had him goin’, I did.”

“Not too far of a stretch. If I were a guy, I’d be leaving you flowers all the time.” She gave the old woman a wink.

“Pretty young thing like yourself, I bet you get tons of admirers.”

“None I actually want admiring me.”

“You just wait. One’ll come along, and when he does, you’ll know it.”

“Believe me, I’m not holding my breath.”

“Shame Malcolm’s married. I think you ‘n him’d get along fine. Better ‘n that gold digger he with, dressin’ in them skimpy outfits like she all that.”

Ro knew that if Mrs. Wilson got on a roll about her granddaughter-in-law, she’d end up talking for the rest of the night. “I’d better get going. I’m meeting some friends.”

“All right, an old lady knows when she’s done.” She flashed a toothless grin. “Before I forget, that handsome guy, he came by tonight. Saw him in the hall, but he didn’t leave no flowers.” She seemed put out by the lack of extra decoration for her little apartment.

Ro smiled in an attempt to mask the apprehension in her gut. “Good to know. Thanks again, Mrs. Wilson.”

She’d briefly considered showering and changing her clothes in the comfort of her own apartment, but now that she knew Kane had been by, she nixed the idea. Instead, she let herself in and began to look around, searching for anything out of place.

At first glance, all seemed fine. Everything was as she’d left it, but she knew Kane. He wasn’t stupid. It’s not like he would leave her a note saying, I broke into your apartment. Thought you should know. Paranoid though it might be, she decided to take a much closer look, and that’s when she began to notice it. Her apartment was in too perfect of shape. Something was off.

The dust that had collected on the surfaces over the past several weeks was gone, wiped clean. She doubted Kane had decided her apartment needed a thorough dusting while she was away. No. He definitely hadn’t struck her as the domestic type. The only reason she could figure that he would clean up would be if he’d made a mess.

She slowed down and took her time, scouring every inch of her place for anything that seemed off, eventually noticing a small smudge of gray that had been missed. He’d made a mess, all right, one that had consisted of an entirely different type of dust.

Shit. She needed to get back to the mansion.

20

John Sinclair heard the growls but they were strange, muted, as if filtered through a radio. His first instinct was to reach for his knife, but his reflexes were dull, his arms barely moving even though his brain screamed at them to act. Then he realized there was a weight upon him. His arms were being restrained by heavy blankets, but why?

He cracked open an eye to get a bead on his surroundings. Indoors. A large but bland bedroom. A somewhat familiar-looking young man sat in a chair beside him, his eyes glued to one of those infernal smartphones. Damn things were a blight on humankind, the true curse of the young, beholden forever to tiny boxes of metal and plastic that controlled their lives by providing them instant access to everything. Despite the Guild sanctioning such devices, he’d always hunted without a tracker, like a real man.

He gave an inward scoff as he listened to the sounds coming from the phone, almost like wild animals copulating. Guy must’ve been a fucking weirdo. He paused as he realized the grunts and snuffles sounded familiar ... then came the howl.

He attempted to sit up and hissed sharply as pain lanced through his shoulder. The young man turned to him, concern in his eyes, but John feigned rolling over as if he were still asleep. He didn’t know this man, would not trust him until he figured out what was going on.

He had no recollection of how he got in this bed and only a vague memory of how he’d been injured. Who was this person? Where was he?

His mind raced as his host laid a palm on his forehead. “Fever’s gone,” he murmured. “Get some rest, old timer.”

Memories stirred beneath his closed eyelids. The whelp in the alley. A sensation of moving – no, driving. A quick flash of his daughter’s face hovering above him, but that was it.

The young man had apparently decided he was done messing with him, because his attention turned back to his phone. “Come on, eat the steak like a good boy,” he muttered at the screen. “There. Now take a nice long nap.”

Was he watching some kind of half-assed horror movie, or was he actually watching a whelp? John could scarcely believe it. Was this guy another hunter, one he didn’t know? He thought he was familiar with all the Guildsmen registered in the past thirty years, but his memory wasn’t what it used to be. Still, he didn’t recall any others operating in the area except for Ro and that goddamned fool Kane.

This man must have been a hunter if he knew enough to have given him the treatment, though. Though weak, his mind was clear of fever, a true sign that he had been bypassed by the curse.

He had to think things through. He was weak, a virtual prisoner in this bed, with tubes and crap seeming to stick out of every damn orifice. In his current condition, it wouldn’t do to start a fight with this fella, especially since he looked like he could handle himself. John lay back and allowed himself to relax for the time being. He needed to rest, regroup, and then figure out what his next move would be.

* * *

Not trusting herself to drive within the speed limit, Ro set the cruise control once she hit the highway. This would have been the worst time to get pulled over – stinking of the blood of two dead wolves. She was tempted to check the messages on her phone, if only to see whether Kane knew about the corpses in the park, but then she thought better of it.

If he was snooping around her apartment, then maybe he suspected she was up to more than just hunting. If so, he’d crossed the line from annoying to straight up stalking her. That in itself wasn’t a worry. If push came to shove, she could shove back a hell of a lot harder than most girls her size.

The problem was Dean. If Kane figured out that she had been collaborating with a wolf, even one who had the ability to save her father’s life, Dean would be as good as dead and she would soon follow. Worst of all, it would be with the Guild’s blessing. Their approach to any hunter suspected of going rogue involved a lot less talking and a lot more killing.

Ro knew Coop had a record, having been busted for drug possession, so his prints would be in the system. Kane might have been an arrogant hot-headed douchebag, but he was a good detective. If Coop hadn’t been careful, and there was no reason to believe he would have had cause to, it was only a matter of time before Kane made the connection. He wasn’t the type to ignore a question such as why the Masons’ bodyguard, who was wanted for questioning with regards to their murders, had been in her apartment.

She tried to come up with a reasonable excuse she could give him. If so, she could contact him casually, pretending to inquire about whether he’d gotten any new leads and then throw him off the scent.

Maybe Coop had fallen off the wagon and had broken into her apartment looking for cash for his next fix. His presence could just be a coincidence. It was a weak cover story given the fact that Ro wasn’t rich by any stretch of the imagination and there were far more likely targets than an emergency room nurse. Besides, a junky would have ransacked her home, left it in much worse condition than he’d found it. No, it was too poor a story. If Kane figured out the connection and somehow tracked them back to the mansion, they were screwed.

However, that last part also might be their salvation. She’d been careful not to use her cell phone outside of city limits, and she’d only used her debit card once to withdraw some cash, but she’d done that near her apartment. Dean had done an admirable job making sure the mansion was off the grid and untraceable to him. Connection made or not, there was a very good chance Kane wouldn’t be able to track her there so long as she continued to be careful.

Kane’s presence in her apartment only served to strengthen the resolve she’d begun formulating the day before, when her father had nearly died. They needed to leave, both for their safety as well as Dean and Coop’s. After all, Dean had enough blood samples to hopefully fuel his research for weeks to come. And with her father on the upswing, she could take him home and care for him there until he regained his strength and, with any luck, before he realized they’d been in the company of a wolf.

She tried to convince herself that the only reason she was interested in saving Dean was so he could figure out a cure for lycanthropy. If he did, then the curse would be lifted for both sides – Lycans would be human again and thus there would be no need for hunters.

Deep down, though, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to her need to help him than that, and the more she tried to convince herself there wasn’t, the less she believed it.

As she sped down the highway, she mused that perhaps the Guild would be right to conclude she’d been compromised in some way.

* * *

By the time she returned to the mansion, Ro had managed to convince herself that there was still time, that even if Kane made the connection – which he probably would – that the chances of him tracking her back to this location were still slim for the time being.

She realized she could help by being proactive in throwing him off the trail. Once she got her father away from this place, she could meet with Kane and throw out her own red herrings, even if reaching out to him would only serve to encourage him further. He was well versed with interrogation techniques, but she had a hell of a poker face when she needed to.

Besides, he could tail her for as long as he wanted to, but with her back at home and working at the hospital, he wouldn’t learn anything useful except maybe her coffee and bagel preferences.

That was, assuming she could convince Dean and Coop to stay as far away from her as possible. She didn’t think that would be an issue with the latter. Dean, however, had proven himself surprisingly stupid on occasion ... such as blatantly stalking her at work. She had to make sure he got the hint that it would be suicide to contact her again.

All of that could wait for the moment, though. With the moon setting and on the wane for the next half a month, she could get her head on straight again, figure things out in a logical way.

Twenty minutes later, she stepped out of the shower. Coop had already briefed her that her father was okay and Dean was still secure, so she allowed herself the luxury of cleaning up a bit. As she dried off and got dressed, throwing on a comfortable pair of sweat pants and a sweater, she briefly considered strapping her gun to her side – after all, there were still a few hours left in the night – but she decided against it. If her father knew, he would surely have had something to say about that, but she left her weapon behind anyway.

She knocked softly on the bedroom door before entering, not wanting to startle Coop and get tranqed for her trouble. He sat in a chair by her father’s side, reading a book. Both his dart gun and phone were on the nightstand close by. A soft snarling could be heard coming from the speakers of his phone. It seemed risky to leave it on with her father close by, but he appeared to be sound asleep.

“How is he?”

Coop put down his book, some fantasy story about a redneck monster hunter named Bubba. Ro couldn’t help but smirk. She’d have thought he would’ve had enough of the supernatural to last him a lifetime.

“Good,” he replied. “Better, actually. He was fitful at first, but as the night’s worn on, he’s been settling into a deeper, more natural sleep. I’d venture to say he’s resting quite comfortably now.”

She stepped to her father’s side and looked down at him. He did appear to be sleeping soundly. She risked putting her hand on his forehead and found his temperature to be normal. He grumbled incoherently at her touch and rolled over.

Ro smiled and stepped away, not wishing to disturb him. She turned to Coop, planning to tell him he could take a break, but instead asked, “How’s Dean?”

“Still furry and pretty darned pissed off, by the sound of things. Maybe next month I’ll invest in a few of those Kong chew toys to keep him busy. Seriously, though, it’s been pretty quiet. He gave a go at his chains for a while, but then he got bored and set to work on his dinner. Been mostly pacing since with the occasional howl at the moon.”

“Can you watch my dad for a little while longer? I’m going to go check on him.” The words came out of her mouth before she even realized she was saying them.

“Well, yeah, I guess. I’m happy to keep an eye on things, but are you sure it’s a good idea to go down there? I’ve learned to keep watch on him from a distance. Even stepping into the room sets him off. I mean, he’s only got, what, maybe another hour or two at most.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t doubt that but...”

She was already on the move, though, stepping toward the door and heading for the stairs.

It was strange. She’d seen captive wolves before. In fact, one of her earliest memories was of her father taking her to a Guild safe house. A wolf had been captured earlier that evening and the hunters were waiting for it to change back so they could interrogate its human host. She remembered being terrified of it, the way it had raged relentlessly and tirelessly against its bonds. She’d wanted to turn away, but her father had forced her to look.

“This is our enemy, Rowan. It knows neither fear nor mercy, and so you must never show it either.”

They’d stayed for several hours until long after the wolf had regressed and sat before them, a naked pleading human. She had remembered her father’s words and had tried not to feel sympathy for it, not even after the hunters put a bullet into its head.

Her father’s words haunted her as she walked down the stairs and she paused to consider things. It would be only an extra minute or two to go back to her room and retrieve her gun. Yet she continued downward, passing through Dean’s laboratory, until finally she stood outside the heavy security door. She hesitated as she realized what she was about to do. The door could be opened from the outside, but the lock was set on a timer. Once closed, it couldn’t be opened again from the inside until dawn broke.

Sure, Coop was watching via camera, but if anything went wrong, there was little chance of him making it down in time to save her.

Every instinct in her body screamed for her to turn around, to at least arm herself. So it was strange how her hand instead reached out, almost in a detached way, keyed in the lock code, and then released the latch.

Almost instantly she felt the electric pull of the wolf. Her senses had been on the wane for the past few hours, so when his proximity brought about the instant release of chemicals in her brain, urging her to fight, to kill her enemy and all like him, the effect was jarring. She ignored the urge as best as she could and stepped in, quickly closing the door behind her and locking herself inside.

She remembered the night in the alley, those last few moments when she’d given up on her life, the hope she’d felt at the concept of being free. And she realized a part of her missed that hope, wondered if perhaps she could feel it again being in his presence.

The click of the door caught the beast’s attention. With a snarl, it lunged toward her, stopping short of the cage walls thanks to the chains which held it securely in place.

Or perhaps not that securely. There came the slightest groan of metal under fatigue, but it held for now.

The werewolf reached for her, clawing at the air, little more than a savage monster after all. The rational part of her began to assert itself and she felt foolish. Whatever she’d thought, hoped, to find down here was little more than some fantasy. The reality was the wolf, and the wolf was little more than a beast in need of being put down once and for...

Her eyes locked with those of the creature, her steely gaze meeting its feral madness, and then the impossible happened. Both of them hesitated, frozen in place as if in a test of wills. She took a step forward, certain that would break the impasse between them. Rather than redouble its effort to get to her, though, the wolf ceased struggling and actually took a step back.

Mesmerized, she continued to gaze into its eyes until realization hit.

They changed. The wolf’s eyes were still tinged red, but the malevolent gaze which had first met her had softened. Ro thought that perhaps the light was playing tricks on her, but when she stepped forward again, almost to the bars of the cage, she saw it was true. A trace of blue had seeped into the wolf’s irises and, along with it, something else: intelligence, understanding ... perhaps more.

The creature stopped baring its teeth and sat on its haunches as it continued to stare at her. A moment later, its tongue rolled out the side of its mouth. Insane as it was, she let out a laugh. For all intents and purposes, Dean now looked less a killer beast and more like an overly large lap dog. The illusion was cemented when he actually wagged his tail at her.

Careful not to take her eyes off him, Ro lowered herself to the floor outside the cage and sat. She could hardly believe what she was doing.

“I’m going to stay here with you until it’s over, if that’s okay,” she said in a gentle voice.

Almost as if understanding her, Dean lay down, using the full length the chain afforded him, and put his head on the floor, his eyes continuing to stare into hers.

She realized his paws were only about a foot away. Crazy as what she’d done up until now was, she knew that what she was about to do next was damn near certifiable.

“It’s okay.” She reached her hand between the bars. “I’m here.”

Dean’s lips pulled back in a snarl for a moment, but she continued to speak to him, ready to pull back at a moment’s notice, until she placed her hand upon his massive paw.

Once her hand rested on his, he relaxed, and his eyes closed. The two remained like that, hand on paw, until the curse asserted itself once again, and he began his transformation back to a man.

21

Dean’s mind awoke long before his body began the painful regression back to his human form.

Or at least partially awoke. It was strange, existing in a sort of halfway state between himself and the wolf. A part of him wanted to rage, to rend, to tear, but that part was no longer dominant. He recognized the girl. She was sitting in front of him. Though the wolf part of him had no name to give her, he knew her nevertheless. Something about her had, once again, drawn him back from the brink, back from a dark place where the only color he could see was the red of spilled blood.

He saw red now, too, but it was her fiery hair, done up in a ponytail but no less brilliant to his eyes. The last time he’d seen her like this she’d been primed for battle, but now she simply sat and looked at him, a mix of wonder and sympathy in her eyes.

More of the human awoke and he was able to put a name to her face – Rowan Sinclair, Ro to her friends. Was she a friend? He found himself hoping she was.

He glanced down and noticed her hand upon his, looking so small compared to the wicked claws upon which it sat, but somehow powerful all the same.

He opened his mouth and yawned. The wolf was tired. Its time was spent. The moon would be waning now and with it the cycle of the beast.

With this realization came the first hints of pain. Dean, almost fully conscious now, understood what this meant and felt fear. He’d never been awake during the change back. Growing into this thing was traumatic enough, feeling his skin ripple, his bones and muscles expand, and his body morphology completely rearrange itself. How bad would it be to experience in reverse? All he knew was that in months past he’d awoken, sore and restless, but spared the agony of the transformation.

The change came more quickly now, and he saw the hair receding from his paw ... hand and arm, leaving for a moment a grotesque mockery of an appendage. He gritted his teeth as the spasms began to rack his body.

But then he looked down and realized her hand was still atop his, refusing to let go, and somehow that made the rest of the torment he endured a little more bearable.

* * *

While Ro had seen wolves change back to their human forms before, this time was different. For starters, he wasn’t anywhere near dead. Nor did she have any intention of killing him. That alone was new and strange.

His eyes changed first, shifting from feral red to clear blue, then he began to shrink before her eyes, his massive body transforming, fur and claws receding until he lay naked on the floor in his human skin.

With the setting of the full moon, her pull to Dean and the hunt waned much more abruptly than its approach. It was like that every month, with the strongest of her hunter instincts turning off much like a switch.

Where she had scoffed at his lack of clothing before, she held her tongue now. Lying on the floor, the pain of the transformation obviously racking him, he seemed vulnerable, but in a different way than a hunter might normally view his kind. He was alone, just trying to make his way through this cruel world – saddled with a curse he hadn’t asked for.

Maybe that’s why she felt somewhat of a kinship to this man. Even though they were opposites – he the wolf, she the hunter – they shared the loneliness of their respective existences.

Several minutes passed while Dean recovered from the trauma of the change, her hand still outstretched toward his through the bars of the cage. His gaze shifted up to her face and she guiltily withdrew it.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her eyes averted. While his state of undress hadn’t bothered her before, she could now feel her face warming up in a distinctly non-platonic kind of way.

Panicking, she quickly jumped up from the floor and unlocked the cage door. “Get dressed and then meet us upstairs. We need to talk.” She tossed his clothes to him, then abruptly turned to leave.

No use getting attached now. Besides, he’s still just a freaking whelp.

For the first time in her life that word felt wrong in her head, and she stopped halfway up the stairs to consider what that meant, especially now that her father was on the mend.

Ro wished she had an easy answer to that, but she didn’t.

* * *

Dean wasn’t sure what had just transpired between them, if anything at all, but whatever it was, it was over now.

He laughed to himself at her assertion that he simply get dressed and meet her upstairs. One sniff should have been enough to convince anyone that wasn’t a great idea. The wolf was a lot of things, but housetrained it was not. Fortunately, he needed to walk no further than his lab to remedy that. There was a small shower stall off in the corner. Dean had originally intended it for emergency chemical spills, but while they were first building the cage, Coop had suggested it also serve a more practical use.

The cage! Dean looked around and surveyed it. There were a few nicks and scrapes here and there, as well as some scratch marks in the concrete wall, but it had held. Goddamn, it had actually worked! Fuck Strike and his crummy safe house.

He smiled to himself, but realized there’d be plenty of time for a more thorough examination of it later. Ro had sounded pretty adamant in her need to talk. On the other hand, it apparently wasn’t so big of an emergency to keep her from tossing his stuff at him and running off.

She could wait.

Besides, Dean needed a few more minutes to wake up before he was ready to have any conversation more in-depth than “Good morning.” That he also wanted to sort out his thoughts from when he’d first awakened in the wolf’s body was something he barely admitted to himself. And if his shower was a wee bit colder than he normally preferred, well, it was probably best for him to not dwell upon that too long.

He stepped out about ten minutes later, feeling much more himself and smelling a lot better. He dried off, threw on his clothes, and then took a few more minutes to brush his teeth and comb his hair. In that time he almost managed to fool himself into believing it was simply out of courtesy, so he didn’t look like a complete dirt bag in front of Coop.

Finally finished, he headed toward the stairwell and let out a whoop of surprise when he almost barreled into the hunter in the doorway.

“Watch it,” she cried out, eyes wide.

Dean recovered quickly, then backed up a step as he realized he was close to infringing upon her personal space, a potentially dangerous place to be if she was in a mood. “I thought you told me to meet you upstairs.”

“I thought you were going to hurry.”

“Did you come back down to check on me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No. I never left. Got caught up in my thoughts. Figured I’d just wait for you.”

“Are you certain?” he asked with a grin.

“Yes.”

His smile widened further. “You’re sure you weren’t trying to sneak a peek at me in the shower?”

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Sorry to break it to you, but I’ve already seen the goods. Consider me unimpressed.”

He held up a hand with his thumb and forefinger extended. “Not even a little?”

“Interesting choice of words ... little.”

“Ooh, I don’t know why you bother to hunt with that peashooter of yours, princess, when you wound me so with your words.”

Her veneer of toughness seemed to crack ever so slightly and she allowed the ghost of a grin to appear on her face. “Come on.”

He fell in step beside her. “So what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“I’ll tell you on the way up.” She stopped abruptly, again almost causing him to walk into her, then turned and gave an exaggerated sniff of the air.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“I guess I have to give you a little credit after all,” she replied, turning and continuing up.

“For what?”

“At least you don’t smell like wet dog.”

* * *

“I don’t know if I agree,” Dean said as they neared the second floor. “Why not give it a few more days?”

Ro had been expecting him to argue the point. “Because I saw him. He’s doing much better. It’s amazing the difference a few hours made. With the moon on the wane, I think his body is finally compensating for the infection.”

“Exactly,” he countered. “That’s a few hours at most. What if he has a relapse? What if he needs another transfusion?”

She realized these were all valid points. As a nurse, she knew better than most the dangers of assuming the worst was over based on the slightest hint of recovery. What she couldn’t tell him was that this was for his own protection every bit as much as her father’s. Kane was an X-factor, easily as dangerous to Dean as Strike was to her. The sooner she moved her dad and got on with her life, the better it would be. She could then deal with Kane on her own terms.

There was also another factor at play, one she felt far freer to share with him. “He’ll be with me. I can take care of him. If not, I can take him to the hospital where I work. Speaking of which, I really need to get back to that. Not all of us have a trust fund to fall back on.”

Even as the words left her mouth, she regretted them, especially when she saw the hurt look on his face. Despite the size of the house they were in, Dean wasn’t exactly swimming in cash at the moment. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just a little testy this morning. Full moons don’t afford one a lot of sleep in my line of work.”

For a moment, he appeared as if he wanted to respond, probably with his normal condescending tone, but he simply nodded. “Apology accepted. I still think it’s premature to move him, though.” He glanced down at her, almost as if anticipating her next statement. “And before you argue, this isn’t about the blood. I have plenty left to continue my research.”

Damnit!

She’d been hoping to use that as an excuse to counter his arguments. “Why don’t you see for yourself how he is? I’m telling you, he’s much better.”

“Fair enough. But you need to give it at least another day anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“Strike.” Upon seeing the grimace of displeasure on her face, he continued. “After each moon, he insists on meeting with the entire pack. He claims it’s to make sure there were no issues with the change, but it’s more to keep us in line.” He stopped and stared hard at her. “That is, assuming he’s still...”

“He is,” she finished. “Took out two of his mongrels, but couldn’t get close to the man himself.”

Dean nodded. “You can’t underestimate him. He’s smart and has been at this a lot longer than I have. That club of his is pretty much a werewolf fortress come the full moon.”

“Kind of what I figured.”

“Two, eh?” he asked as they reached the second floor landing. “All by yourself?”

She smirked, ready for the challenge. “Barely broke a sweat.”

He let out a laugh. “The wolf might be gone for the next month, but I’m pretty sure I can still smell bullshit when it’s being piled on.”

“Think what you want, but that’s two more notches I’m going to be carving in my...”

“Bedpost?”

“Pistol grip,” she corrected. “As for Strike, what of him? As far as I can see, his dealings with you don’t have anything to do with my dad and me staying here any longer. And if you tell me that Coop’s backseat can’t fit two more, as far as arguments go, that one is pretty goddamned weak.”

Ro stepped in to the hall to the sound of arguing. Even if she hadn’t pinpointed where it was coming from, she knew her father’s voice.

“Get your fucking hands off me, you goddamned bastard.”

She briefly turned to Dean. “Still think he’s not feeling better?”

“I stand corrected.”

22

Dean stopped in the bedroom doorway to find Coop trying to keep the older man from getting out of bed. Ro, hot on his heels, pushed past him into the room. The older hunter, though still obviously weak, seemed to have a lot more fight in him than his friend had anticipated.

“I said don’t touch me,” John Sinclair snapped as he tried to pull the IV out of his arm.

Ro stepped forward without hesitation. “Dad, don’t. You’re still recovering.”

At the sight of his daughter, John appeared to relax a bit, but his guard was obviously still up. “Don’t just stand there, girl. Come get this son of a bitch away from me before I cut him a new asshole and teach him how to breathe out of it.”

“I sincerely doubt you could cut a slice of toast in your condition,” Coop shot back.

“Anytime you want to try, boy.” The old hunter turned to Ro, a look of annoyance on his face. “Got cotton in your ears? I told you to get over here and teach this...”

“Dad, stop. Coop is right. You’re still recovering.”

John turned a side eye to the man by his bedside. “Coop, eh? You a hunter? Because you sure as shit don’t move like one.”

“I’m a friend,” Coop said.

“Ain’t no friend of mine.” John’s eyes narrowed. “And if you ain’t from the Guild, then what are you doing keeping a whelp in your basement?”

“What?”

“A goddamned werewolf! Don’t act stupid. I know what I heard.”

Oh shit. Dean was afraid of this. Time to step in and see if he could give his friend a save, lame as it might be. “Hey, Coop, don’t tell me you were watching the SyFy channel again. I told you that crap rots your brain.”

John turned toward him, seeming to notice his presence for the first time. For a moment, confusion shone on his face, leading Dean to think they had a shot at pulling off the ruse. Then the old man’s eyes narrowed.

“Rowan, get your gun.”

* * *

John wasn’t sure what was going on, but all his instincts were telling him something was off. The man whom he’d first thought to be a hunter just didn’t seem right to him. He’d been born into the Guild, had been around their kind all his life. There was a certain quality to the men it produced. It was hard to say how, but he could identify a Guildsman by sight after only a few minutes. This man, whoever the hell he was, wasn’t one of them.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t trained, though. That much was obvious when John had finally gathered enough strength to try to sit up. Slow and injured as he was, he could still have subdued most normal men. This bastard, though, had countered him, kept him from removing all the damned tubes sticking in his arms like he was little more than a goddamned pincushion.

Then, in the middle of their kerfuffle, his own daughter had made an appearance. Had he been a lesser man, he might have cried tears of joy at the sight of her, but instead he’d fallen back on his training and ordered her to his side. Imagine his surprise when she hesitated. She’d always been a willful girl, but she knew her place ... or had anyway. Now, here she was telling him what to do, talking to this fella like she knew him or something.

He’d been about to lay into her with a tongue lashing when a second man, one who’d come in with Rowan, had tried laying on some bullshit lie as if he couldn’t tell the difference between a horror movie and a real wolf.

The first guy, the one named Coop, was a big fella – bald, tall, and well built – but John wasn’t intimidated. A fancy boy with gym muscles, that was all. Hell, they were usually the first to run in any fight.

That was when realization struck. John recognized him. Flashes of memory, broken fragments from the last several ... he realized he had no idea how long he’d been out. Was it hours? Days, maybe?

It was unimportant. He could learn that soon enough. What mattered was that he’d seen this man before.

Images flashed through his mind. The man leaning over him ... injecting him with something ... taking his temperature and adjusting his medication.

Maybe Rowan was right and they were friends just trying to help, but if so, then how come he’d never met this fella before? Was she running around with someone behind his back?

Before he could say anything, though, one last memory flitted through his head. He was lying in the back of a car or truck, gravely wounded. There was someone else lying on the seat alongside him. It was another man, the same who’d told the lie about watching movies. He was unconscious and naked. Before passing out himself, John realized the other man was trembling, not unlike a whelp who’d just regressed back.

John glanced over at the dresser. The noises from Coop’s phone, the ones which had sounded suspiciously like growls, they’d stopped.

And now here was this new fella standing in his doorway.

John wasn’t an educated man, but he wasn’t a fool either. He knew how to put two and two together and in doing so realized, he didn’t like the answer one bit.

* * *

Everything was unraveling fast, too fast. Dean had hoped that the old man would start recovering following the full moon. What he hadn’t expected was the recovery to happen so quickly and for his secret to be discerned so soon.

“Girl!” John snarled. “Mind me. If you have your weapon, get it. If not, get your ass over here and get me out of bed. We can take these two.”

“It’s not like that, Dad. Dean and Coop are friends. They’re helping you. They’re helping us both.”

That seemed to set the old man off even more. “What the hell have they put in your head? You know the rules. We don’t make friends with whelps. We kill them. No exceptions. Not ever!”

Dean didn’t really remember much from his fight with the older hunter and, in the weeks he’d been caring for him, the old man’s demeanor had been gruff but not overly onerous. He now realized how much John’s sickness must have blunted things, how delusional he’d been while ill. Awake and fully conscious, John Sinclair was practically seething with raw, unadulterated hatred.

“They’re the ones who found you and helped you get better,” Ro continued to argue.

“You think I’m stupid, girl? I saw him, right after the full moon. You’re the one who bit me, ain’t ya?” He pointed an accusing finger at Dean.

Even though he knew the older man spoke the truth, he was at a loss for how to respond. “Sir, please calm down.”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down, whelp! I know what I saw. I’m not stupid. Rowan, I’m going to tell you one last time, get your gun and put this mutt down.”

“Dean, you need to leave the room,” Ro said without looking at him. Her eyes were trained on her father, her expression cool and emotionless. This was a completely different woman than the one who had held his hand in the basement just minutes earlier, who had shone empathy for the human within the wolf.

“Ro...”

“I said get out!”

“But...”

Coop clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Dean was about to protest further but caught the look in his friend’s eyes. “I got this,” Coop reiterated.

Frustrated, Dean walked out of the room and slammed his palm against the wall before stalking down the hall.

* * *

Ro turned back to her father, who was already ripping out his IV and calling for his clothes. “Okay, Dad, hold on. You almost died. You need to slow down.”

“I need to get the hell out of here, find my weapons, then come back and put that whelp down. That’s what I need.” He trained his gaze on her, bitter disappointment showing in his eyes. “I thought I trained you better, Rowan. I taught you not to be soft, not like your mo ... what the hell are you doing?”

Ro turned to find that Coop had returned. “Excuse me,” he said calmly, pushing past her.

Before she could question him, he jabbed a needle into her father’s arm.

“What the hell was that?” the old man cried.

“Just a little something to calm you down.”

“You asshole! I’ll get you and your canine bang buddy. I’m gonna put a bullet in both your fucking skulls.” He continued to spew invectives, but his voice became increasingly weaker until it finally trailed off into silence. After a few more minutes, soft snores filled the room, but the atmosphere remained tense.

Ro stared down at her father, her emotions at war. A part of her was tempted to snap Coop’s neck for what he’d done, but she held herself in check, realizing that, deep down, she didn’t entirely disagree with his actions.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had to. He still needs to rest and he can’t do that if...”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry.” She stared at her father’s prone figure and inexplicably felt like crying. But she swallowed down the tears and cleared her throat. “We’d better get him out of here before he wakes up.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It’s not safe for him ... us to be here any longer.”

Coop apparently thought better than to disagree. “Go pack your things. I’ll get him dressed.”

Her first instinct was to argue that she’d take care of her father, get him ready, but she suddenly found herself weary in a way that even her lack of sleep from the night before couldn’t account for.

She’d known her father hated werewolves. He’d practically beaten the knowledge into her since she was a young child, teaching her to hate them as well. Wolves had killed her mother, after all, had devoured her and gnawed on her bones afterward.

But deep down, she realized that in the past few days she’d begun to suspect that he might be wrong. Not all wolves were bad. They couldn’t be. Dean was certainly an exception, viewing every full moon as torture rather than the bloodbath others seemed to revel in.

She wasn’t sure exactly when her shift in thinking had occurred but suspected it had built up slowly – learning that Dean had saved her father’s life, his compassion for his friend, his guilt over his family, his determination to find a cure. Little by little, he’d made her a believer.

Ro retreated to the guestroom she’d called home during her stay at the mansion. She threw her clothes and personal items haphazardly into her duffel bag. A part of her didn’t want to leave, but she pushed that out of her mind. This was the way things had to be. It’s not like she could hide out here with Dean forever, tinkering around until he found a cure. She needed to go back to her job, her friends, her life ... as it was. Besides, she’d done her part. Dean had his blood samples and her father was better. There was no need for her to stick around anymore.

She stepped out of her bedroom just as Coop emerged from the other room, pushing her father in a wheelchair. “Got everything?”

“Yup. Even if I don’t, you know where I live,” she said, though the joke fell flat. They both knew that further contact would be unwise.

* * *

Dean met the trio at the top of the stairs so he could help Coop carry the old man down. Ro flashed him an unreadable look before returning to her room to double check she hadn’t left anything behind.

“How are you doing?” Coop whispered as they carried John down the stairs.

“Fine,” Dean replied brusquely.

“Let me guess. Not one for long goodbyes.”

“No goodbyes yet, period. I’m coming with you guys.”

They reached the bottom and set the wheelchair down on the floor. Coop looked back up as if to check that Ro hadn’t emerged yet. “Are you sure you want to come with us? If he wakes up...”

“Then I’ll knock him out again,” he replied, his jaw set. “This isn’t up for discussion. I need a ride into the city anyway to meet up with Strike. We’ll save gas this way.”

“Are you sure that’s the reason you’re tagging along?”

“What other reason would I have?”

“You know, I might not be a werewolf, but I can smell your crap a mile away.” When Dean didn’t reply, Coop said with a sigh, “Okay, fine, but we need to get moving. The tranqs aren’t gonna keep this tiger down forever.”

23

“What are you going to tell him when he wakes up?” Coop asked once they got Ro’s father settled into his bed.

“Oh, I figured I’d give him his gun, your address, and see what happens.”

“You’ll forgive me for not finding that hilarious.”

She stood and stretched. “Sorry. Gallows humor.”

“Seems to be a lot of that going on.”

Ro was inwardly relieved when Coop had insisted on dropping Dean off first. Kane had been at her apartment once and, though she knew the chances of him returning were slim, she didn’t want to risk finding him there again with Dean around.

Coop had pulled to the curb a few blocks away from the Masons’ brownstone and allowed the engine to idle while Dean climbed out. He’d maintained a stony silence the entire drive into the city. There were times when he seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but then he’d just huff and look out the window.

Dean had hesitated as he exited the car, his eyes lingering on Ro a moment, his expression hooded. Again, she wondered if he would say something, but he didn’t, instead turning away before closing the door and walking off.

Even though she’d barely uttered an acknowledgement herself when he’d gotten out of the car, she still felt affronted by his silence. After all they’d been through the past week or so, she would have thought she at least merited a goodbye. But he hadn’t said anything – just left without a second glance.

She told herself she didn’t care, that she had more important things to worry about than some spoiled rich boy with an attitude.

Traffic going downtown was light given that it was before rush hour, a fact which Ro thought fortuitous since the sedative her dad had been given wouldn’t last forever. When they were within a few blocks of the apartment, she called the police station where the desk sergeant informed her that Detective McGregor was in. She hung up while the call transferred, but even with the reassurance that Kane was safely at work, she still insisted Coop drive a few times around the block to make sure the apartment wasn’t being watched.

“Ro?” Coop asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I should probably get going before someone complains about me parking in front of a hydrant.”

She double-checked that her father was resting comfortably, then walked him downstairs.

* * *

John waited until he heard the click of the door, then sat up. He was groggy and far from feeling his finest, but he was in command of his own faculties well enough to do what needed to be done.

Bunch of fools. As if he hadn’t been at this game long enough to know when to play dead, and to do it well enough for nobody to suspect otherwise. The asshole had caught him by surprise with that needle when he’d been arguing with Rowan. Fool girl. He had no idea what had gotten into her head, but he’d set her straight.

There was no telling how long they’d been driving when he’d awakened, but he had to assume it hadn’t been long. The fact that the rest of the ride had seemed to take forever confirmed this.

He had to take one hell of a mean piss, but that would have to wait until he could jot down the details of their journey back to the city. Best to do it now before the crispness of the memory faded. It would be some time before he was well enough to hunt again but, once he was, he wanted to be certain he could make his way back there again.

There was payback to be had and John Sinclair was not a man who let such things go easily.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Coop asked one last time. “Your old man’s a handful.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ro replied. “He’ll get over me getting help from a ‘filthy wolf,’ then it’ll be business as usual.”

They looked at each other awkwardly, then Ro gave into the urge to give him a brief hug. “You take care of yourself. Don’t let Dean give you too much shit.”

“Eh, it’s no fun when he’s agreeable,” he said with a grin. His expression sobered considerably before he added, “Seriously, be careful. It sounds like your cop friend is one to watch out for.”

“Says the guy who broke into my apartment and took all my stuff.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know. Don’t worry. Paranoia is pretty much a way of life for me. And please take your own advice.”

“Always.” Coop turned toward his car, but paused to face her again. “Hey! Don’t mind how Dean was acting earlier. He can be a douchebag when he’s upset.”

“Why would he be upset?” she asked neutrally.

“Because I think he actually sort of liked you.” He continued to his car without stopping again.

Ro climbed the stairs back to her apartment. She checked on her dad again, but he was still out. Unsure of what else to do, she started to unpack.

Although she’d told Coop that life would go on as before, she wasn’t sure exactly what that would entail. She hated to admit that the past week had opened her eyes to the possibility of a world without werewolves, one in which they might not be the enemy.

And then there was the matter of her father. She’d known him to have blinders on when it came to life as a hunter. After all, she’d heard an earful and then some when she’d told him her intentions of going to nursing school.

“What, is being a hunter not good enough for you?” he’d argued, despite her protests that the skills she’d acquire would erase the need to go to the hospital for stitches and the like, situations that always led to uncomfortable questions from those treating them.

When he still hadn’t bought her argument, she’d played her ace. “One of us has to make a living and the Guild isn’t exactly paying the rent.” That comment had caused him to stop speaking to her for two long days until he finally relented.

This fight was no different. He was stubborn and tough as nails, but he wasn’t unbeatable.

The buzzing of her cell phone pulled her from her thoughts. She picked it up and, unsurprisingly, found a message from Kane. We need to talk. Text me ASAP when you’re available to meet in person.

Ro tried not to feel too anxious about the message. After all, she’d killed two wolves in Central Park – Kane had to know those should be attributed to her. Then again, there was the fact he’d been sniffing around her apartment. She wondered if she should confront him about it or figure out his angle first.

I can meet you in an hour at the usual place. Before he could reply with something stupidly sexist, she added, See you at the coffee shop.

Though she wasn’t looking forward to seeing him in the least, it was best to get it out of the way sooner rather than letting it fester.

* * *

When Rowan went to check on her father before leaving to meet Kane, she found him wide awake and sitting up in bed.

“We got some talking to do,” he said bluntly.

She had a sinking feeling she knew what he wanted to talk about, but it would have to wait.

“I know, and we will talk. First, I need to meet with Kane and fill him in on what happened. We’ll chat when I get back.”

It was a lie wrapped in the truth, one which she hoped her father wouldn’t be able to detect. She had no intention of telling Kane about Dean and his whereabouts, or how she got word on the wolves’ operation around Central Park. She still had to figure out how to keep her dad quiet about them getting help from a werewolf, but hopefully his dislike of the other hunter would render that a moot point.

One problem at a time, she told herself. Deal with Kane now, figure out the rest later.

“Stay in bed and try to get some sleep,” she told him. “Nurse’s orders.”

Ro stepped outside and dug her hands in her pockets in an attempt to ward off the sudden chill in the air, wishing she’d thought to wear her wool cap.

By the time she reached the coffee shop, Kane was already waiting at a corner booth near the back. She slid in, avoided his gaze, and ordered a triple espresso. When her eyes finally met his, she found a sardonic expression sitting on his face.

“Welcome back,” he stated, his dark eyes boring into hers as if he could discern all her secrets by staring her down.

“Thanks.” She forced herself to stare back. To look away would reveal weakness. She reminded herself that all she had was speculation as to what he did and didn’t know. Chances were he was just trying to browbeat her back into his bed. Being paranoid about it was not going to help her.

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Other than the obvious?”

“And that would be what?”

“Us. Or the lack thereof. That night was a mistake. I told you at least a dozen times. One of us here can’t take a hint, and it isn’t me.”

“You can’t deny we were good together. Don’t try lying about it, either. A man can tell.”

She wanted nothing more than to knock his arrogant teeth out. “Look, I didn’t come down here to rehash old arguments. Do you have anything to discuss that doesn’t involve a lame attempt to get me back to your apartment? Because if not, I’m kind of busy.”

His eyes darkened and she could see him trying to hold back his temper. If she provoked him much more, he’d probably snap. She was almost curious to see what that would mean, especially since they were in a public place.

After a beat passed, he sipped the coffee in front of him, set down the mug, then smiled with what seemed like genuine amusement on his face. “You know what I like about you? You’re unlike other women. No fuss, no games, not even trying to get dinner and a movie out of the deal.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is I doubt there are many guys out there who appreciate the type of girl you are, who understand you like I do.”

“What makes you think you understand anything about me? I mean, so far you’ve done a shitty job of understanding that I don’t want to start anything between us that doesn’t have to do with the Guild.”

“Oh, I understand far more than you know.”

Ro sighed, expecting him to start in on a play by play of their night together. “Such as?”

“Such as, I understand that you’ve been out of the city following a lead on your dad. I know you told your boss that he’s been sick and you’ve been taking care of him. I also know that no one has seen or heard from him in two months.”

She took a sip of her coffee and regarded him coolly. “That last one isn’t anything you didn’t already know. As for the rest, so you’ve gone from detective to stalker? Not really a checkmark in your favor for your line of work, especially since breaking into someone’s apartment is ever so slightly illegal.”

His eyes flashed with surprise.

“Seriously? You didn’t think I would notice? Do you think I’m a fucking rookie?” When he didn’t answer right away, she had to bite down the temptation to throw her coffee into his face. “What were you hoping to find?”

“Answers.”

“To what?”

“Questions I had.”

“Like what bra size I wear?”

He smiled. “That and a few others.” Oh, she really wanted to deck him. He was like a mosquito she couldn’t swat away. “Where is your father, Ro?”

“Home. We just got back. That’s why I answered your text so quickly.”

His eyes opened wider. He definitely hadn’t been expecting that answer. “John is alive? Where? How?”

Now it was her turn to pile on the bullshit and see if he bought it. “Long story short, he was hurt, got bit by a wolf he was hunting. He killed it but wandered off in a daze, half out of his mind with fever.”

“He was gone for two months.”

“Trust me, I noticed.”

“A bite, huh? Somebody had to have been taking care of him. No way he could have lasted that long on his own.”

Ro smiled grimly. “He got lucky. One of those weird survivalist types found him. Didn’t trust calling the cops or taking him to a hospital, but he did what he could to treat him. Dad must’ve said something to him about me because the guy reached out, told me what happened, and brought me to his place.” She hoped if she kept close enough to the truth, but in a vague sort of way, it would prevent her from getting tripped up in her lies.

“And you knew how to treat him?”

“Dad told me,” she lied. “Good thing, too, because he nearly died. His heart stopped, but we were able to get him back.”

“Did this guy suspect how he got the bite?”

“Doubt it. He thought it was from a big dog. I didn’t argue the point.”

Kane didn’t say anything, just studied her over the rim of his coffee mug. She allowed herself a small smile. “I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is to be back in the city. That place he was keeping Dad in was a dump.”

“Oh yeah? Where was that?”

“Somewhere in the middle of West Bumblefuck. Off the grid, but I could probably find it again if I needed to.” She sipped her espresso and could almost picture the caffeine rushing through her veins. Heaven. “All right, this has been fun, but unless you’ve got something else for me, I really should get back. Dad’s resting now but I don’t want to leave him alone too long.”

“Is that where you were last night? Watching over him?”

She heard the tone in his voice, knew he was trying to bait her. “And miss a hunt? Sick as he was, Dad would kick my ass if he thought I pussied out on a full moon. He was stable and, well, we have a job to do, or were you too busy rooting through my underwear drawer to remember?” She drained the rest of her espresso and began to stand, hoping he’d get the hint and let things lie.

He grabbed her arm before she could walk off. It was a move that both surprised her and caused her to feel a tingle of something she hadn’t felt with a human in a long time: fear. He stared into her eyes for a long second, but when he finally spoke, his voice was cool as a cucumber. “The whelps in the park. I assume those were yours.”

“Who else?”

“And you just left your Dad alone?”

“That guy, Coop, had taken care of him for almost two months on his own. He didn’t seem to mind doing it for one more night.”

“So his name’s Coop?” There was a malicious undertone to the statement, one which caused a chill down Ro’s spine.

“Yeah. No idea if it was his real name or not. I didn’t pry.” She hated telling Kane any bit of the truth but knew that if she played it too dumb, he’d catch on. She just had to hope that she’d fed him enough misinformation to keep him off balance. She had little doubt Kane would have already run any prints he’d found at her place, so dropping Coop’s name wasn’t much of a risk. It was the rest she was worried about.

“And you trusted this guy?”

“He saved my father’s life, took care of him. That’s all I needed to know. He didn’t try anything, if that’s what you’re worried about and, even if he did, I can take care of myself.” She snatched her arm away. “Now, if you’re done giving me the third degree, Detective, I’m going home.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by in a couple days when John’s feeling a little better.”

“Go ahead. I’m sure he’d love to see you, ask if you’ve bagged any whelps lately,” she answered frostily, laying the dig in. “But this time make it a point to knock first.” She reached into her wallet, dropped a ten dollar bill on the table, and left before he could say anything further.

24

“Sit down before I have my boys smear your ass across 6th Avenue.”

“Nice to see you too, Strike,” Dean said, two goons flanking him as if he was somehow a threat to anyone in this place.

He couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in the club since he’d last been there. Usually it was in full swing, regardless of the time of day. Today, however, it was like someone’s parents had come home and told them the party was over. There was no music, no DJ present, and the dance floor was empty.

Strike was, as usual, surrounded by several of his pack bitches, but they were all keeping their distance. He didn’t see Darla but figured she was at her normal spot beneath the table. Seemed rude to check, though.

Dean would have smiled if he hadn’t been fully aware that the slightest indication he knew anything about the attacks in Central Park would end badly for him.

Instead, he quickly ratcheted down the attitude ... a bit anyway. “What’s the deal? Normally this place is jumping, but now it looks like a funeral home. Someone’s grandma die?”

Strike’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re real funny, rich boy. Should take that act on the road.”

“That’s what all my friends tell me. But seriously, what happened?”

“Two of the pack got iced last night.”

Dean feigned raising an eyebrow in surprise. “They get run over crossing the street?”

“Looks like a hunter got them out in the park. But it’s weird. Far as we can tell, it was quick and clean. Over in minutes. Hunters are good, but this was some Chuck Norris shit right there. Took out Jorge and Darla like they were a couple of newborn pups.”

Darla? That explained her absence, and likewise Strike’s particularly foul mood.

“Has all the makings of an ambush. It’s almost like the bastard knew where to find them,” Strike continued. “Got my boys sweeping the place for wires, making sure we’re not bugged.”

“Maybe they just got lucky. You know – right place, right time. You’ve said yourself that they’re cagey motherfuckers.”

Strike leaned back and ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “I don’t know, man, maybe. Whatever the case, this shit is bad for business. It don’t scare me none, but now I gotta deal with it.”

“The burden of leadership.”

Strike’s eyes met his, almost as if seeing him for the first time. “Speaking of which, how’d your change go?”

“Pretty rough, no thanks to you,” he lied.

Strike laughed. “Not my problem. No bucks, no bane. Still running a tab, my man. I don’t suppose you’d care to settle with the teller.”

“Not today. Cash has been tight. I’m just here to check in.”

If anything, Strike looked even less pleased than he already did. “Not the words I want to hear, rich boy. That trust fund of yours drying up already?”

Anger spiked through Dean as he remembered everything that had happened to his and Coop’s families, and here this asshole was making light of their deaths. He was in no position to say anything to the contrary, though. “Everything is still locked up. You and your friends made sure of that. The cops don’t forgive and forget when it comes to these things.”

“My heart bleeds for you, esé. So much that I’m gonna give serious consideration to not tripling the price.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Ain’t I? And in these trying times, too.” Strike’s eyes narrowed again. “Now, you got any other business, or are you just gonna stand there making the place stink of Axe body spray?”

“I think we’re done here.”

“For now. I’m considering how to deal with our sudden membership shortage, so stay in touch. Don’t make me come looking for you.” Without further preamble, Strike nodded and the two goons escorted Dean to the door.

Though he kept his cool on the way out, he was fuming inside. The only solace he took was that Ro had done her job and managed to hurt these bastards.

But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see Los Colmillos taken down for good, Strike most of all.

Though he’d sworn to himself that his time with Ro and her father was finished, that the only connection he could have with them going forward was with whatever blood samples he had left, he began to wonder if he’d been hasty in that decision.

John Sinclair was dangerous, single-minded in his hatred for wolves. Even if Dean approached him with the intent of completely selling out his pack, he’d likely not live to enjoy it. There was that other hunter in the city too, Kane, the one that Coop had told him about. Dean didn’t know him but, without proof to the contrary, it was foolish to believe he was any better than the old man.

Ro, however, was different. He had little doubt she’d happily accept some more dirt on Strike’s people come the next full moon.

The problem was getting to her without the others knowing.

* * *

Kane stalked into the station, ignoring the lukewarm greetings of the graveyard shift. He sat at his desk and scowled at the messages left on it – a pile of post-it notes that littered the usually tidy surface. Most were inconsequential, empty leads, requests for callbacks, and he knew half were placed there just to piss him off.

He’d gotten some flak from his Guild buddies for not bagging any whelps the night before. They had a running tally on kills for the quarter and he’d been in the lead until this last full moon. All he had was a cold trail and no new leads.

On top of that, Ro had been particularly bitchy. When they’d met up at the diner, she’d looked at him like she’d rather eat dog shit than sleep with him again. Uppity bitch. Who does she think she is?

Still, the memory of pumping into her as her nails scraped down his back, holy hell, it was enough to get him hard again.

The reaction only served to fuel his anger, he adjusted his pants and turned on his monitor. Might as well put his bad mood to use and see if anything interesting came of the evidence he’d found at her place.

He checked his email then opened the report on the AFIS search he’d requested on the prints from her apartment. As expected, one set matched hers, no surprise there. A second set, however, came from someone else, and a search by the analyst had found a positive hit.

Cooper Maddox, 32, ex-Army, arrested on heroin possession. Ex-military explained the survivalist thing, Kane reasoned. No record after that. Last known address listed was some place in the Bronx. The guy looked sorta familiar from his mug shot. Kane tapped a few buttons, running a search of his name through the system.

He stared at the computer screen, disbelief on his face. “Holy shit,” he muttered beneath his breath. He scanned the file that popped up, his mind finally making the connection, then sat back in his chair and tried to make sense of what he’d just discovered.

When Ro had mentioned meeting a man named Coop, the name had rung a bell with him, but he hadn’t been sure how. Now he did.

The Mason murders.

The question now was what to do with this information.

* * *

John Sinclair knew he was many things, not all of them nice. He could be a stubborn old bastard set in his ways, one who’d screw over his best friend if he thought it was for their own good. However, he wasn’t stupid.

He took some time to calm down after his daughter had given him some cock and bull story about needing to bring that idiot Kane up to speed. Though they operated in the same city, they were fully independent of each other. There was no more need to check in with Kane than there was to walk into his office and take a shit on his desk. Sure, hunters often worked together when packs were involved. It was both a courtesy as well as an occasional necessity to make sure nobody died of their own stupidity. However, most partnerships only lasted as long as it took to clean up any messes left after the full moon.

Meeting for coffee struck him as suspicious, considering he’d made no secret of his disdain for Kane. Deep down, he worried that maybe something was going on between them. That cop was a good-looking fella, around her age, and he was a slick-tongued son-of-a-bitch if ever there was one – could probably talk a dried up old spinster out of her panties if he needed to.

Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded. Hunters were encouraged to marry other members of the Guild. It kept their bloodlines pure, ensured their gifts were passed down to the next generation. Hell, that’s how Rowan had come to be born, at least until he realized what a craven cunt her mama really was.

Kane wasn’t a coward, John was sure of that. But he was an arrogant idiot of the highest caliber. Being stupid was as surefire a way to meet an early grave as losing one’s nerve in this business.

The problem was, Rowan could be as bull-headed as he. He wouldn’t put it past the girl to drop her drawers for the fool just to be spiteful. Hell, maybe that’s why she had slipped away when she had.

Who was to say what the fool girl had been up to while he’d been incapacitated and unable to keep her on the straight and narrow?

John sat back and considered everything that had happened. There were three potential issues to be dealt with as he saw it.

His health was his top priority. In his current condition, he was likely to lose a slap fight to a toddler. John had always kept in good shape. He might be within spitting distance of sixty, but he normally had the physique and stamina of a man half his age. Problem was, two months flat on his back had erased his edge. Now, for perhaps the first time in his life, he felt his age.

He’d need to whip himself back to fighting form before he did anything else, or it would all be for nothing. He’d be no better than an old man crying about shit from his bed while everyone else went about their business and ignored him. Hell, he would, too, if he were in their shoes. No. They’d be far less likely to ignore him if they knew he was just as likely to kick their asses as do anything else.

Kane was the next on his list, an easy fix if ever there was one. He needed to make known to the man that he’d best keep his prick in his pants if he didn’t want it shot off. At the same time, John needed to be careful to not alienate him. Making enemies of other hunters was bad enough, but Kane was a cop, too, and the son of a bitch was probably spiteful enough to use his pull to make life hard for anyone who crossed him. Hell, at the very least, it would probably only take a phone call or two for him to get John’s PI license revoked. Not that he’d been earning a lot with it the past few years. Still, best to work it carefully so he could get what he wanted while still keeping Kane in his pocket.

Besides, he might very well need the man’s help with his last problem – that goddamned wolf. He had no idea what the whelp had said to Rowan to keep her from immediately splattering his brains all over the sidewalk. It didn’t make sense. There’s no way he wouldn’t have pulled the trigger, not even if his and Rowan’s positions had been reversed.

He didn’t trust whelps.

He didn’t negotiate with whelps.

And he sure as shit would never have shacked up with one.

He considered that last thought. A few of the more brazen bitches he’d met over the years had tried their luck, hoping that offering him a piece of ass was enough to keep him from firing a bullet between their eyes. All of them had ended up in a shallow grave.

It was the way he’d raised Rowan, taught her since she was a girl. Hell, he’d have probably been less angry with her if she’d let him die. But she hadn’t and as a result had left a major loose end to be dealt with.

He’d been meaning to give her a good tongue lashing before she’d walked out on him earlier, but now he was glad he hadn’t. It had given him time to take stock of the situation and realize what needed to be done.

He had a full month to work on his problems. Might as well use the time wisely.

Thus, when Rowan finally returned home from her meeting with Kane and asked what he wanted to talk about, he was quick to brush it aside, thank her for saving him, and do whatever needed to be done to start mending his body as quickly as possible.

25

“Your blood pressure is good and your heart sounds strong,” Ro announced as her father rolled down his sleeve. She put away the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. “You should be ready for the hunt next week.”

“I’d better be with all the extra training I’ve been doing,” he muttered gruffly.

“I’m just glad to see you better, even if I think you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.” she added, not looking him in the eye. She was glad he was feeling better, that he was alive and well, but he’d been cold to her ever since they returned to the apartment, even more so than usual. She knew he was still angry she’d refused to kill Dean, even if it had meant saving his life. The constant distant attitude had spoken volumes.

He stood, stretched, and cracked his back. “Don’t get old, Rowan. Your body betrays you, even if your mind still thinks it’s young. If you’re as stubborn as me, and I know you are, it’s hard to slow down when you need to.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the relatively wistful tone in his voice. “You’re not old, Dad. You were bitten by a wolf. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“True that, though I won’t be happy until I get a chance to pump the whelp who took a chunk out of me full of silver.”

Ro held back a sigh. It was becoming a running argument between them. No matter how much she tried to convince him that Dean had only wanted to help, that there were other wolves out there more worth their time and energy, her father remained obsessed.

With the hunt approaching again, she fervently hoped that the intelligence she already had on Los Colmillos would be enough. Her last message from Dean, a brief text two days after she left the mansion, had been little more than a quick note that the pack had been twitchy since losing two of their number, but there’d been nothing else since.

She had to admit that she’d hoped to hear more from either Dean or Coop in the intervening weeks. She’d never before given much thought to her loneliness, not with her job at the hospital and her hunter life. But with her father’s return, she realized how narrowly focused she’d been, how superficial her few relationships were.

No one really knew her. Definitely not Kane, whose thoughts stopped at the end of his dick. Kamika and her other friends at the hospital knew nothing of her secret life and, as such, she was forced to keep them at arm’s length. Hell, even her father didn’t know her half as well as he probably thought. He’d never even tried to understand why she would want to do something with her life other than hunt.

Though she’d been reluctant to admit it at first, she slowly realized that in Dean she’d found a kindred spirit. Coop, too, she quickly reminded herself. She’d found in them, dare she say, friendship.

Or at least she’d thought she had.

She’d taken to keeping the cheap burner phone in her pocket. It had remained silent since that single message from Dean, but she kept it near in the hope that, as the full moon approached, there might be another message. However, with the pull of the moon rising and still no word, so too did her hope begin to wane.

So, it was, after stashing her equipment, a surprise to hear the buzz and feel the slight vibration in the pocket of her jeans. She spared a glance at her father, who was busy scowling at the set of hand weights she’d gotten him, then quickly walked into her bedroom and closed the door.

She pulled the phone out and saw a simple one sentence message. Meet me by the grocery store. You know the spot. 15 minutes.

She raised an incredulous eyebrow. The smug presumption of the text combined with her annoyance at how eagerly she’d ripped the phone from her pants raised her ire through the roof. The arrogant bastard! Was he really so self-centered that he thought she would drop everything to meet him?

An angry grunt alerted her that her father had begun his workout in the next room. He was going to be in an even more cantankerous mood once he was done, almost certainly looking for an argument. She let out a sigh that had been building inside of her. If she was going to escape, it had to be now.

She grabbed her weapons just in case – remembering the old Guild mantra that it was better for old habits to die hard than an unprepared hunter – then pulled on her jacket with the hope that her father wouldn’t notice she was heading out armed. She didn’t need him asking questions, not when she wanted to know why Dean was contacting her now after three weeks of nothing but silence.

“I’m going out to grab a bite to eat. I’ll be back soon.” Without waiting for an answer, she left the apartment.

* * *

Ro waited in the alley by the convenience store, certain this was the place Dean had been referring to in his text.

She glanced nervously around. With her father back, meeting this close to her place was the height of stupidity. She’d need to point this out to the idiot once he showed his face, make sure they came up with a different spot to meet in the future.

Ro paused in her thoughts, surprised that she’d so quickly settled on the fact that she planned future rendezvouses with Dean. She mentally slapped herself. That was a piss poor way of putting it. Meetings, yes. They were just meetings ... to discuss nothing but business. There was nothing else between them.

A shadow fell upon her, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up to find Dean’s familiar silhouette darkening the entrance to the alleyway.

An awkward silence settled between them, the surrounding noises from passing traffic and pedestrians oddly muffled. Perhaps it was the blood rushing through her ears, the thrum of her hunter’s instincts now that she was so close to a wolf with the full moon only days away.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice a bit shaky. He actually sounded sort of nervous, which surprised her. Considering their proximity to her apartment, though, perhaps it shouldn’t have. Oddly enough, she felt more exhilarated than anything else.

He’d lost weight, that much was obvious, and she wondered if he and Coop had run out of grocery money. She was about to ask when she remembered he’d called this meeting, presumably to discuss things other than this week’s deli specials. “I was surprised to get your text. Is Coop here, too?”

“He’s taking care of some business uptown,” he answered vaguely. “How’s your dad?”

“Getting stronger by the day.”

“I guess that’s good.” She could tell from his face, though, that he considered her father’s health a dubious proposition at best.

“It is, for the most part. Stubborn as a mule when it comes to his conditioning exercises, but he does them.”

“Must run in the family.”

“Exercise?”

“Stubbornness.”

She wanted to smile. The banter seemed so familiar, but she refrained, turning serious. “Why did you want to meet? I mean, it’s been weeks, so I figure this has to be about something other than chit chat.”

He seemed to hesitate before finally stating, “It’s Los Colmillos. They’re planning a big rave on the night of the full moon. Recruit and Feast, Strike is calling it. After last month, he wants to bulk up his numbers, develop some extra security. He’s sent word to a lot of known partiers, the type of crowd I used to hang with before I got bit. My guess is he’s gonna do to them what he did to me – put them on a short leash so he can get their cash.”

She nodded grimly, noting what remained unspoken. What had happened to his family was likely to be repeated. That was enough to convince her. Though she didn’t have much of a social life to speak of, this was one party she wouldn’t mind crashing. “Where’s it supposed to be?”

When he provided the address, she turned away from him, her mind working overtime. It wasn’t the location of the club she’d scouted during the last full moon, the one where Strike supposedly ran things. It was further south and closer to the waterfront. Trying to avoid the park, she reasoned with a bit of pride, surmising that she was the cause for the change in venue.

Ro realized she hadn’t responded when she looked up and found Dean staring at her expectantly. “Are you supposed to be there, too?” she asked.

“It’s not mandatory, if that’s what you’re asking. I made it clear to Strike that I wasn’t one of his rabid dogs.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t like that.”

“Not one bit, but since he’s about bled me dry, so to speak, he’s been way less up my ass about being a good little pack member.”

“Good. Then I won’t have to watch my aim once I’m there.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re planning on going by yourself. I know you’re good, but against all of them?”

She let out a mirthless laugh. “Relax. This is way bigger than just me. We could take down the entire fucking pack if this pans out. We can go and talk to the Guild, organize a raid, put that Los Colmillos pack down for good.”

“Whoa, I’m not going anywhere near the Guild,” he protested. “That’d be suicide.”

“I meant my dad and me.”

After a moment, Dean appeared to visibly relax. “Sorry. Should have guessed that. What are you going to tell them? The Guild, I mean.”

She shrugged. “I’ll figure out something. Needless to say, you’ll have to remain my anonymous source.” She looked up at him and grinned. “Pity. If this works out, you’d probably deserve a medal in their eyes.”

“I’m afraid that’s not the type of metal they’d want to give me.” He raised his hand to his head and made a shooting gesture.

“Probably true.”

Dean paused again for a few seconds then said, “So ... your dad.”

“What about him?”

“Has he mentioned coming after me?”

She held up a hand. “More often than I’d like. But I kept my promise. I haven’t told him anything about you or where you’re staying.”

“Small comfort if he’s anywhere as good as you are.”

Ro considered this. He was right to be worried. But she’d made him a promise and she meant to keep it. “Trust me. This rave info is just the thing we both need. He’ll be too busy helping me plan this raid to worry about one wolf from the Upper West Side. If all goes well, we’ll be so flush in wolf corpses that the paperwork alone will keep us busy for months.”

She could tell he still wasn’t convinced, so she put a hand on his arm in what was intended to be a comforting gesture.

He glanced at her sharply, his eyes meeting hers before darkening considerably. She almost expected them to turn red and for him to bare his teeth, but neither happened. Instead, he pulled his arm away as if burned. She was surprised to actually feel hurt by this.

“Well, I’d better get going or Coop’ll think you put a silver bullet in my heart,” he said with a nervous chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes.

She quickly covered up her disappointment. “Thanks for the intel. I mean it. If we can pull this off, it’ll change everything for you. You know that, right?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not going to breathe easy until I find that cure.”

“How’s that going?”

“Making progress, but nothing I’d bet my life on yet.”

“You’ll find it,” she said with complete conviction. “I ... believe in you.”

Again, there came an awkward silence as they stared into each other’s eyes, until finally he said, “Good luck next week. Stay safe, Ro.”

“You too. Tell Coop I said hi.”

He nodded, gave her one final long look, then turned to leave the alley.

* * *

“Where have you been?” Coop asked when Dean walked in the door of the dilapidated mansion some hours later. “That was a hell of a coffee run. What, did you stop to grow the beans yourself?”

Dean sighed, readying himself for whatever was coming. He knew his friend well enough to suspect he wasn’t going to get out of this with a simple nod and wave. “I ... had to meet with someone.”

“Someone?” Coop replied, sounding entirely unconvinced. “And does this someone have a name?”

“Well...”

“Perhaps red, wavy hair, a tight ass, and a penchant for killing werewolves?”

“Hey!” Dean snapped.

“Which part got you, the killing werewolves bit or the comment about her ass?”

Dean inwardly cursed. Some days he almost wished Coop wasn’t as good of a friend, or at least not good enough to read him like a fucking book. “It’s not like that.”

Coop sat down in a nearby easy chair and folded his hands on his lap. “Tell me how it is, then.”

“That party Strike’s hosting, the one I told you about.”

“The killer shindig?”

“Emphasis on the killer part. I wanted to tell her about it. Maybe she can get some friends together and turn it into a shooting gallery instead.”

“Can’t say I would shed too many tears if that happened,” Coop replied. “I only wish I could join them.”

“Too risky.”

“I’m not stupid, man. I know that. I’m just saying I wouldn’t say no to putting a bullet in that bastard’s brainpan myself. But dead is dead in my book. If someone else does it, I’m entirely cool with that. I can piss on his grave regardless.”

Dean nodded and started to walk past. Though he was starting to feel the moon’s pull, it wasn’t too bad yet. He figured he should get some work done while he was still able to concentrate.

Coop called after him, stopping him in his tracks. “By the way, is there a particular reason you couldn’t just text her this information?”

Dean knew he should keep walking, ignore his friend and get back to work, but he took the bait nevertheless. “I needed to make sure she got the message.”

“Needed?”

“Wanted.”

“I think you were right the first time.” Dean didn’t need to turn to know that Coop was wearing a grin as he spoke. “But I repeat, why did you need to go there? I mean, last I checked, she hasn’t blocked our number.”

“I...”

“And her old man has gotta be back on his feet by now. Tough old bastard like that isn’t going to stay in bed for long. You were taking a hell of a risk.”

“I know, but if this pans out and they take Los Colmillos down, then it’s worth it.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean she’s worth it?”

Dean didn’t answer. He knew there was nothing he could say that would get his friend off his case about this. The asshole had an infuriating way of twisting his words and throwing them back in his face.

Refusing to take the bait, he continued down to the basement. Once there, he stood in his lab for quite some time, staring at his workspace but not accomplishing anything ... his brief encounter with Ro playing out over and over in his mind.

Finally, because he knew he wasn’t going to get anything accomplished until he stopped fighting himself, he said in a small voice, barely a whisper, “She is worth it.”

He reached for his bottle of Focalal and dumped several pills into his hand. He had a feeling he was going to need them.

26

Ro unlocked the door and let herself into the apartment where she found her father sharpening his knives. While she was unpacking the groceries she’d bought, he called to her.

“You were gone awhile. Where’d you go shopping? China?”

“I ran into an old friend,” she stated.

“Old friend, eh?”

She didn’t want to outright lie to her father, but at the same time felt the need to continue protecting Dean. “Fine. I was working a lead, trying to get the scoop on that wolf pack out of Central Park. They call themselves Los Colmillos.”

“Real fucking scary,” he groused with a sound of disgust. “I’ll try not to wet myself.”

Ro stepped back into the living room and smiled. “You might have to try extra hard after you hear what I have to tell you.” She explained to him about the Feast and Recruit, making sure to not mention Dean’s name. By the time she was finished, she had his undivided attention.

He put down his whetstone and stared at her hard. “So, you’re telling me that these bastards are gonna hold some kind of goddamned werewolf disco?”

“More a rave,” Ro corrected. “But same general idea.”

“I don’t care what the hell they call it. It doesn’t make sense to me. You bloodied their nose, but it’s not like you wiped out half their numbers.”

“I know that, but this is the first time these assholes have gotten a bloody nose at all. Up until now, they’ve somehow been a couple of steps ahead of us all. These wolves have been super careful. But now I bet they’re wondering if they haven’t been careful enough and I think that has them scared.”

“So they’re planning on holding a big event to dine on the local cuisine?”

“That and a recruitment drive all in one. They’re planning on hitting up some of the best from New York’s social scene.”

“Bunch of rich assholes,” her father muttered. “Doubt society will miss them.” He thoughtfully rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “You’re not planning on taking a whole pack of whelps by yourself, are you?”

Ro leaned against the wall. “Guild canon states duty before ego. C’mon, Dad. Still testing me after all this time?”

“Just making sure. Never bad to brush up on the basics.”

She nodded. “I wanted your opinion first, but I think we should contact the Guild and get a group of party crashers together.”

“You sure you can trust your source?”

“I have no reason not to. I bagged those two wolves last month based on the info he gave me. It was solid.” When her father didn’t answer, she added, “This is our chance to take down this entire pack in one fell swoop. We’re talking putting down at least a dozen of these murdering bastards. Maybe more.”

Ro inwardly smiled as he asked for a moment to think it over. She knew it was an act, her dad just being cantankerous. He was definitely interested. Who among their number wouldn’t be? It was the lycanthrope equivalent of the motherlode. She’d been to enough Guild meetings to know that big scores like this weren’t forgotten easily. Those who participated in successful raids of this size were hailed as legends for years to come. Even the humblest of their number wouldn’t turn down that opportunity.

“So, you gonna tell me where you got this info?”

Ro folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not thirteen, Dad. I have my sources and I have my own ways of making them talk.”

Her dad locked eyes with her and she practically dared him to grill her more, but she’d purposely worded it the way she did. Her father might be a hunter and one of the meanest sons of bitches walking the planet, but he was still a dad, and there were some things dads simply didn’t want to know about their little baby girls.

“I need you to tell me...” Or maybe not. Ro’s eyes opened in surprise. “Is that whelp going to be there?”

She almost breathed a sigh of relief, but then realized her father’s question was even more loaded than one about her sex life. Still, she’d been anticipating this.

“I told you. D ... he’s not our enemy.” In the weeks since, she’d learned to be careful about saying Dean’s name. That level of familiarity seemed to set her father off even more than usual.

“Didn’t ask that,” he replied gruffly. “I asked if he was going to be there.”

After a beat, she replied, “I don’t know. My source didn’t give me a guest list. But he’s part of this pack and, from what I hear, it’s supposed to be all hands on deck.” So much for not lying to him.

“Okay then. Next question.” His eyes bored hard into hers. “If he is, can you do it?”

She matched him stare for stare. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that. We both know my kill record stacks up pretty well compared to yours this last year.”

“Didn’t ask that either. I asked about him. Can you do it?”

A battle of wills ensued, one that she doubted she’d win. However, she wasn’t certain she wanted to. After several moments, she looked away. “Yes. If he’s there, I can pull the trigger.” If he’s there, which he won’t be.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” John sat down, put away his knives, and began cleaning his gun. “I think you were right about needing to bring the Guild in.”

“Want me to start making calls?”

“I got this one,” he replied. “Got some buddies who owe me a few favors. Besides, been too long since I’ve given them a call. It gives me a chance to catch up, let them know I ain’t dead yet.”

Ro nodded, then turned away. So far so good. She’d been afraid of crumbling under her father’s gaze but had held her ground. Now all that needed to be done was figure out the logistics of getting a bunch of loose cannon hunters organized in time for the hunt.

If this all went as planned, it would be a big win for them. Might even be enough for New York City to be declared purged and for them to be assigned elsewhere.

Elsewhere ... far away from Dean.

He would be safe from her father, safe to work on his cure in peace.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a knot of worry at the base of her spine, but she tried to dismiss it. With the full moon less than a week away, she knew her senses were heightened, and that probably meant her paranoia was, too.

That had to be it.

He won’t be there, she told herself again. He’d better not be.

* * *

John walked into the precinct after having called ahead and been assured Detective MacGregor was in. He found Kane sitting at his desk, scowling at his computer screen as if it were a whelp who’d just gutted his family in front of him.

“Detective, John Sinclair here to see you. Said he had an appointment.”

Kane gave a curt nod to the clerk and wordlessly gestured to the chair next to his desk. John sat, feeling distinctly uneasy at the station. He was used to being in control, to being the one in charge, but he was acutely aware of his disadvantage now. He needed Kane’s help, though, and had a feeling that would come at a price.

Kane pressed a few keys on his computer, then the screen went blank. When he finally turned to John, his expression was easy, much more congenial. He held out a hand which the older man shook, matching him grip for grip. “Good to see you up and about, John. I see you’ve been recovering well.”

“That I have.” He couldn’t show weakness. The hierarchy within the Guild wasn’t so different from a wolf pack. Any sign of weakness and you were knocked down, another alpha taking over. “In fact, been planning on joining the hunt next week.”

“That so?”

“Ro says she’s got some news on a pack in the park, but I think it’s a load of horse shit. Untrustworthy source.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m pretty sure it came from a goddamned whelp.”

* * *

Kane ushered the old man into one of the interrogation rooms for privacy. He couldn’t have him ranting about werewolf hunting in the middle of the police station. “She mentioned something to me about a pack out of Central Park. How do you know it’s BS?”

John gave him a story that seemed to prove what he’d already suspected – that what Ro had told him that day in the diner was nothing more than a pile of crap.

Still, it was best not to take anything at face value. The old man looked fit enough, pretty good for someone who’d reportedly been at death’s door three weeks ago. But this story about them living with a wolf, like they were some sort of fucked up Brady Bunch – Kane wondered if the old man had completely lost his mind.

As John relayed the story of being bit, then held hostage by a wolf and his friend, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place in Kane’s mind: Ro’s strange disappearance, her behavior after her return, the way she’d been evading him.

Following his talk with her at the diner, he’d spent weeks searching for any trace of Cooper Maddox. All this time, he’d wondered if she realized she’d been shacked up with a wanted murderer, but now, listening to John, a new theory was forming in his head. Cooper wasn’t the murderer. His rehab friend, Dean Mason, was.

The attacks against rich yuppies on the west side, somehow combined with burglarizing their homes, the disappearances of key upper class citizens, they all made sense now. Dean Mason hadn’t been just another casualty of the wolves – he was one of them now.

And if the old man were to be believed, Mason and his fuck buddy were holed up somewhere in Upstate New York, some big house north of the city off I-87. He couldn’t offer many details – he’d been pretending to be unconscious during most of the drive back to the city – but Kane didn’t need much more. He had the old man’s notes now, which was a lot more than what he’d had when he started this day. He could begin there and see where it took him.

Sinclair was practically raving about his little girl having gone over to the “dark side,” but Kane wasn’t worried. In fact, he was excited to kill two birds with one stone. By finding this whelp, he’d finally gain the old man’s respect, and in the process rid the world of another murderous beast.

Then there was Ro. She obviously felt some debt of gratitude to the creature. He wasn’t sure why – the wolf had bitten her father, after all – but still, she obviously felt some need to protect it. Otherwise, why not just blow it away the second its usefulness was at an end? It had to be because it had taken care of her father. Nothing else made sense. Except...

In the back of his mind, he pictured her giving it up to the whelp, maybe as payment for caring for the old man. It was a thought that pissed him off royally, especially since she’d been purposely avoiding him ever since their night together.

He took a deep breath to calm down before John noticed he was getting agitated. It was probably just his imagination running wild anyway. A hunter falling for a wolf. That was the stuff of bad romance novels.

Whatever the case, Kane knew something had to be done. Guild rules were quite clear on that. You didn’t let wolves walk away, not if you could do something about it.

But maybe that could work in his favor. If little Rowan had purposely broken their laws, he could use that against her ... maybe convince her that she’d been wrong to dump him after all. He wasn’t above using leverage to get a girl like that back into his bed.

Yeah, that was the ticket. A dead wolf, favor with the Guild, and a cute piece of ass to boot. And if it all played out, he’d probably even have the old man’s blessing on it all. This had win-win written all over it.

“Thanks for bringing me in the loop on this, John. If you don’t mind, I’ll reach out to the Guild, start coordinating with them.”

John nodded. “Just remember, the whelp is mine.”

Kane gave the old man his best winning smile. “Agreed. We’ll just be there to clean up once the job’s done. He’s been smart enough to evade us for this long, but with this information, we’ll find him and make sure he doesn’t live to see the sun rise.”

27

Ro sprinted down the alley, the beast bounding at her heels. She was trapped, cornered, the wolf cutting off all means of escape. A dead end. She whirled and ducked just as the creature leapt. It crashed into the wall behind her, buying her seconds at most. She straightened and began to run again, but it recovered quickly and tackled her into the side of a building.

Pain erupted in her side and she cried out. She was pinned against the wall, its claws painfully grasping hold of her wrists. She turned her head away from its brutish face and the certain death its nightmare fangs offered.

She heard a snuffle, a sharp inhalation, felt its humid breath at her neck. She prayed it would be quick, that it wouldn’t simply bite her and leave her for the fever to claim, that it would finally end this ceaseless struggle that was her existence.

Hot breath was replaced by the feel of its tongue against her neck and then soft lips. Sharp claws receded and became strong fingers. When Rowan turned her head, she saw Dean, his blue eyes clear but intense, his expression hungry, but not for blood. She saw in his face desire and realized he wasn’t alone in that feeling.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

“I needed to see you,” he growled softly. His lips grazed her ear and a shiver ran through her. “I’ve been going crazy without you.”

“You can’t do this,” she pleaded without much conviction.

“Can’t I?” She heard the smile in his voice, felt his breath on her ear. Her body betrayed her, heat flooding her insides, melting her core and weakening her knees.

She couldn’t deny it. She wanted this as much as he, had craved it from the moment she’d met him, but had resisted because she knew what he was: a wolf, a monster, an abomination of nature – everything she’d been taught to fear and hate.

But with his breath on her cheek, his body hard against hers, she had no defense against the sensations coursing through her. She could no longer keep lying to herself. She wanted this man, had craved his touch for the long weeks since she’d last seen him.

She moved first, just a turn of her head, their eyes meeting to convey need and understanding. They both wanted this. If this would be the last, the only time they met like this, it would have to be enough.

He met her lips with his, hot with need, the firm pressure mimicking the press of his body on hers. She tasted him, tongues entwining, as he raised her arms above her head.

She allowed herself to be dominated, wanted to be suppliant, a mate to his alpha. He lowered his head, bit lightly at the curve of her breast, and she moaned, the action both teasing and fueling her desire.

She wanted to grasp his naked back, to rake her nails across his smooth skin, feeling the powerful muscles beneath as he nibbled and teased her through her clothing, but he held her fast. She was his prisoner, one with no desire to escape.

Suddenly he released her, if only to grab hold of her shirt and pull it over her head to feast on the flesh beneath. His mouth hot on her skin, she clung to him, her fingers in his hair as he clamped on her breast, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

The sensations were almost too much, the actions of his lips and tongue enough to push her close to the edge. She felt the tension building within her but wanted more, wanted a taste also.

She took the initiative, pulled his head up and kissed him again, shifted her mouth to lick at the pulse wildly thrumming at his neck.

She felt rather than heard the rending of fabric at her waist, cool air momentarily chilling her as she was exposed to the night. Hot hands replaced the chill as they lifted her hips and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him, the anticipation of what was to happen almost as much pleasure as what came next.

He speared into her and she matched his moan with one of her own. This was how it was supposed to be, this was what heaven felt like, wrapped in the arms of a man who seemed to know her every desire and secret wish.

He filled her, again and again, each thrust building on the tension within, gathering it as she clung to him, oblivious to all but the need for release.

She cried out as she exploded, his cry following soon after as he found his own nirvana, his movements slowing. Still she clung to him, not wanting the moment to end. For the first time in her life, she felt complete.

* * *

Dean awoke in his own bed, the sheets soaked with sweat. After the initial confusion, he relaxed his head back on his pillow, let out a ragged breath, and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

Shit. It had felt so real, like those others he’d had while Ro still lived in the mansion. This was different, though. They’d actually culminated their game of cat and mouse in a way that was so intense he could still taste her in his mouth.

No, this was no game. He’d never been consumed so utterly, had never felt such complete release, both physically and spiritually. For one moment, he’d been able to completely let go, to know that he was accepted and understood. He’d had more than his share of women, but this was the first time any coupling, even the memory of one, actually made him want more ... and it hadn’t even been real.

Or had it? He remembered their conversation, how it appeared they’d been having the same dream, and he wondered if she, too, had just awoken in her apartment, his scent still fresh in her mind.

He jumped in the shower, hoped the cold water would help dispel the dream from his mind but, as he feared, the memories persisted. They were too vivid, too real, nothing like the fuzzy images from other dreams he’d had. He could feel himself in the alley, touching her, tasting her, being surrounded by her.

He dressed quickly, dismissing the temptation to crawl back in bed in the hope of experiencing it again. He needed to get back to work, to forget about the girl with the fiery hair. He was a werewolf, a mythical monster, but somehow she was the one in possession of the power to bewitch him.

* * *

Ro rolled to her side, her heart thudding wildly within her chest. She could still feel him, could all but taste the sweat on his skin. If she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve expected to reach over and find him lying next to her in the bed.

Seeing him again in the alley had to be what had triggered it. It had to be. She’d thought she was free of the dreams when she’d left the mansion, but now they were back, stronger and more vivid than ever.

She drew a hand over her face and covered her eyes. She couldn’t deny that a part of her had been glad to see Dean, that even though she’d spent less than two weeks with him and Coop, she missed the banter and the camaraderie. Hell, she even missed playing that stupid Mario Kart game.

And now she realized perhaps she missed even more than that, despite the fact that nothing even remotely like that dream had occurred between them, outside of her encounter with him as a wolf.

She had to face the truth, though. She knew in her gut that they could never be together, as friends or otherwise. It was impossible. She would be an outcast, hunted by the Guild for betraying her kind, assuming her father didn’t kill her first.

She wondered what her dad would say if she told him she fantasized about quitting, that she wanted to live a normal life, raise kids, pack lunches for them, all of those mundane things that others took for granted.

What a joke! She knew exactly what he would say – that she was forsaking her heritage, ignoring her destiny and her birthright. That she needed to get over herself and look for another hunter with whom to continue the family line.

Those thoughts pushed away all other residual feelings from her dream. She couldn’t continue to long for a life that would never be. Despite Dean’s efforts, there would always be predators lurking in the dark, waiting to prey on the innocent. She had a duty, a calling. She was born to this life, and she had to bear the burden of her responsibility.

Ro sighed and pushed herself out of bed to begin her day. No matter what her hormones told her, she knew her dreams were best left in the world of mists and fantasy.

28

Kane double checked the coordinates on his GPS. He was beginning to wonder if he was being stupid, wasting his day off on a wild goose chase, but his gut told him otherwise.

After his illuminating conversation with John, he did some more digging into the Mason family and their assets. The family’s many accounts had been frozen after the parents’ double murder, but his research had turned up a number of investment properties as well. They’d all been busts, but that wasn’t a surprise. The kid, Dean, wasn’t stupid. He was a partier and a bit of a screw-up, but his high school and college records were top of the line. Someone like that would have to know that any property directly connected to his parents would be the first place the police would check.

The one that he was standing in front of now, though, had potential. It hadn’t shown up in his initial search, having been bought by a dummy corporation. He’d only found out about it by luck, a brief mention of a holding company in one of the case files. Easily overlooked. He’d followed the money trail to several more dead ends before discovering this place. It was near perfect – old, rundown, and off the beaten path, but more than big enough to use as a hideout. It also matched up pretty well with John’s notes.

As far as hideouts went, Mason could have done worse.

The guy was smart, Kane had to give him that. Probably had to be to keep his drug habit off his parents’ radar, at least until he got busted and sent to rehab. Kane rolled his eyes at the thought. Might be book smart, but he was still stupid enough to get caught. If I were that rich, I’d be on a yacht somewhere in the Bahamas sucking tequila shots out of some chick’s belly button, not holed up in a crack den.

Kane knew the Mason kid had met Cooper Maddox in rehab and then had taken pity on him and given him a job. They’d been one big happy family of former smackheads until Mason’s family got iced by whelps.

Now the only question was how many of the fucking beasts he was dealing with here – one or two? A single wolf made no sense. Why would a human stick around, even ex-military like Maddox, knowing they were on the menu?

The old man had said that Maddox had been caring for him during the full moon, but he could’ve been delusional. Hell, he probably was.

No. It didn’t add up. The only explanation that made sense to him was that they’d both been turned. Maddox’s records didn’t seem to indicate someone dumb enough to not notice his employer turning into a hairy psycho every full moon. Yet he hadn’t run or tried to go to the police. Yeah, he had to be a goddamned whelp, too.

Two for the price of one. Kane looked into the rearview mirror at his own reflection and smiled. Ro thought she was hot shit, bagging two wolves on her own the month prior. Well, now it was his turn.

He climbed out of his car and pushed open the gate to the driveway. Though it appeared rusty to the casual eye, it opened easily and noiselessly, evidence that it had been recently cared for. He walked slowly toward the house, his eyes trying to take in everything at once.

The long driveway was in disrepair but paved. No tire tracks were evident, but that didn’t mean anything. The grounds were unkempt and overgrown, and the structure that loomed before him looked unoccupied by all appearances, but that could easily be a ruse.

He knew he had to be careful. He didn’t have a search warrant, and any extenuating circumstances in which he might have to break in were sketchy at best. Though as a hunter he wouldn’t have given two shits about those things, during the day he was still a cop. For now, this was only a reconnaissance mission, nothing more.

Of course, if this place turned out to be the love den of two fudge-packing whelps, then the law wouldn’t really matter, but first he had to be sure.

He glanced through one of the first floor windows and saw little more than a mostly empty room. He stepped away from the porch and surveyed the exterior. Nothing to indicate anyone lived there.

This place was remote, no neighbors in sight. It would be a simple matter to pick the lock and check things out.

If he was wrong, though, and he got caught, it would be on his head. Capping a whelp was one thing, but he wasn’t quite ready to cross the line and gun down innocent humans just to cover his own ass. Tempting as it might be, he had to remember that was one of the major differences that separated hunters from the beasts – once that line was crossed, there was no going back.

He briefly considered ringing the doorbell. After all, it wasn’t like either Mason or Maddox knew him from a hole in the wall, but he didn’t want to risk it. Even the slightest screw-up could spook them into running. Fortunately, he had one more ace up his sleeve.

Kane closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. This close to the full moon, they were almost razor sharp.

There’s something near. I’m pretty sure of it.

Pretty sure wasn’t certain, though.

The feeling wasn’t nearly as strong as those that surged through him at the height of the hunt, but he thought he recognized the presence of a wolf somewhere close by.

It wasn’t enough justification to kick in the door in the middle of the day, gun blazing, but it was good enough to call the Guild. He had enough clout with them to seal the deal and, if he was wrong, he could always point the finger at the Sinclairs for tipping the wolves off. Let that bitch try to explain her way out of that one.

He gave the mansion one last glance and vowed to return soon. If there was wolf blood here, he would make sure it was spilled.

* * *

“What the fuck?”

Coop watched the security feed again.

Hidden cameras along the driveway and front of the house had caught the intruder. He watched as the man sauntered up the driveway, came up onto the porch, and scouted around before retreating.

It hadn’t been their first visitor. In the past month, he’d caught a few teens trying to break in ... either looking for a haunted house to explore or a place to screw. Maybe both. There’d also been the occasional real estate agent popping by to staple up flyers on how it was a seller’s market.

This guy was neither. He was a big man, tough looking, with a surety that set off warning bells in Coop’s head. He knew cops, and this guy carried himself like one. He was probably being paranoid, but he couldn’t help but consider the other hunter, Kane, the one who’d broken into Ro’s apartment – a place he was certain he’d left a few fingerprints behind in when he’d been sent by Dean to collect her stuff.

It seemed a leap of logic that the two occurrences were related, but he’d learned to trust his instincts. At the very least, there was no denying the guy trespassing on their property wasn’t merely some figment of his imagination.

But how? Even if that Kane guy had lifted his prints from her place, how could he have traced them all the way up here?

He briefly considered whether Ro might have ratted them out. If this had happened immediately upon meeting her, he might have believed that, but having gotten to know her better, he didn’t think she was the type. Yes, she was a hunter, but she wasn’t possessed by blind hatred. His gut told him she wasn’t to blame.

The problem was, his gut also told him this guy was trouble. From the look of things, he’d been casing the place, and Coop had a feeling it wasn’t because he was some crackhead looking for copper wiring to pawn. He looked like someone who knew what they were doing.

To him that meant cop, military ... or hunter.

He didn’t know how many times he watched the loop of video, his mind forming multiple potential conclusions, but he let out a yelp of surprise when a hand fell on his shoulder.

In a flash, he was out of his seat with his fists raised, only to find Dean’s surprised face staring back at him. “Dude, chill. I thought I was supposed to be the one on edge this week.”

“Sorry,” Coop replied, embarrassed.

“Something good on TV? I haven’t been able to sneak up on you like that since...”

“That first week in rehab?”

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, man. No relapse.”

“That’s good.”

“But it might be worse news.” He showed Dean the security footage.

He was hoping that perhaps his friend would offer some reason why he was wrong to feel paranoid about this, but Dean simply replied, “He moves like she does.” He said the words softly, as if he didn’t realize he was speaking out loud.

“What?”

Dean took a breath, then clarified in a louder voice, “Like Ro. She had ... has this ... I don’t know ... way about her. Like she’s a cat, perpetually stalking a mouse. That she’s ready to pounce at any given time. This guy moves the same way.”

That did little to assuage Coop’s concern, although he couldn’t help but ask, “You memorized the way she moves? That’s only slightly creepy.”

“Bite me.”

“I think that’s your deal ... in another four days, anyway.” Before Dean could snipe back at him, Coop steered them back to the topic at hand. “Anyway, I agree. Whoever this guy is, he wasn’t looking to sell us Girl Scout cookies.”

“Okay, so keep an eye out. See if he returns.”

“Listen, I don’t think you’re understanding me here. If that guy comes back, it’s not going to be good for us. It’s going to be even worse if he brings friends. You just said it yourself, he moves like her. If so, that means he’s a hunter, probably that one she was telling us about.”

Dean folded his arms and waited, as if he knew what Coop was going to say next. He looked exhausted, dark circles rimming his eyes, and he had lost weight since the last full moon. Coop suspected a lot of his issues had to do with the absence of a certain redheaded hunter.

Fortunately for them both, he was still thinking straight, and right then his thoughts were telling him they couldn’t stay at the mansion much longer, not with weird strangers sniffing around. Coop stood to his full height, as if that would help persuade Dean. “I know you’re going to say I’m being paranoid, but I think it’s time for us to get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“Somewhere else. Somewhere nobody else knows about.”

“Ro wouldn’t sell us out.”

“I’m not saying she did, man. What I’m saying is that, careful as we are, we might not have been careful enough. It’s possible this is nothing. But we can’t take that chance.”

“The full moon is only a few days away. Where else am I going to go? I can’t risk changing some place that isn’t secure.”

“If I’m right, then this place isn’t secure anymore.”

“And if you’re wrong? You said it yourself. This might be nothing. Besides, where else is there?”

Coop didn’t have an answer to that. Had their finances not been so tight, that might not have been an issue. As it stood, they didn’t have an immediate backup. There were other places they could potentially go to ground, but nowhere that could hold Dean once he changed, at least not without weeks of prep.

“And there’s my research, too,” Dean continued. “I’m close, Coop. I can feel it. I can’t stop now.”

“This isn’t smart.”

“I know,” Dean replied. “Trust me. I know. But letting me run wild is even less smart. What if I hurt someone?”

“I could keep you tranqed.”

“Knocking me out for an hour or two is one thing, but all night? You know that won’t work.”

Coop nodded. They’d been through all of this before in months past. “So what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, but running isn’t an option, at least not until the moon passes.” He was silent for several seconds, but then looked Coop in the eye. “Do you think she’ll help us?”

“Ro?”

“Who else?”

Coop was torn between wanting to see what she knew versus running the risk, on the off chance she had sold them out. In the end, though, he decided to trust his instincts about her. “I can reach out and ask. She still has that burner, assuming she didn’t toss it after you showed up at her stoop like a lost puppy.”

Dean looked away, embarrassment etched onto his face. “Don’t start. I know that was a mistake.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I do believe we have a first. Dean Mason admitting he was an idiot.”

“Gloat later,” Dean replied with a scowl. “Anyway, do you have any other ideas?”

“Besides run?” Coop began to pace. After a minute or two, he stopped and turned back to Dean. “I hate to say it, but Ro throwing them off our trail is probably our best bet. In the meantime, we can do a few things from our end to help our cause.”

“Like?”

“Half the first floor already looks abandoned. Let’s do what we can to make the rest of it look that way. Make it seem like even if we were here, we aren’t anymore. We move what we can, trash the rest.”

“Go on.”

“There’s only the one set of stairs down to your lab and the cage. It’s already soundproofed, so we’re good there. We can rig it so that it looks like a wall collapsed upstairs, completely block the stairwell, maybe even hide the fact that the stairs are there at all. Hopefully they’ll think this place is being held together with spit and bale wire, give up, and move on.”

“Okay, that could work. What’s the catch?”

“The catch is we’ll need to make sure we have the tools to dig ourselves out afterwards...”

“And?”

“And ... if they are hunters, and it doesn’t fool them, we’ll be cornered, trapped.”

“Which means we’ll have to fight our way out.”

Coop held up a hand. “No. Which means I’ll have to fight them off. Possible with a choke point and if they only show up with guns and knives. They bring anything bigger, though...” He let the implication hang in the air.

Dean finally nodded. “Let’s hope we’re wrong about this guy, but until then, it sounds like we have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, we do. But first things first. Time to notify the cavalry and see if they can do anything about this.” Coop stood, grabbed his keys and phone, and prepared to head out.

He had a message to send, and it couldn’t wait.

29

When John heard the buzzing, he first thought it was Kane with news about the upcoming raid. Then he realized the noise was coming from Ro’s phone. It was tucked into the pocket of her hunting jacket, which she’d neglected to bring to work that day in favor of a rain coat.

He fished it out then realized it wasn’t her normal cell phone. It was an older model, similar to the one he owned – with none of those fancy bells and whistles the younger kids favored.

On the screen was a text message from an unknown number. We need to talk. There’s potential trouble. When can we meet?

John stared disbelievingly at the message.

At first he wondered if this was the mysterious contact she’d refused to divulge to him. But then darker thoughts began to settle into his mind. Why bother with the extra phone? The Guild wouldn’t care either way, so long as the info was good. But then, what if the Guild wasn’t meant to see this?

John had long ago learned to listen to his instincts. So, rather than try and rationalize this, he simply typed a message back. No point in beating around the bush when it was simple enough to confirm his suspicions.

Dean, is that you?

He waited for the reply, hoping against hope that when it came, it would ask who the hell this Dean fella was.

It’s Coop. Dean ... well, he’s busy.

Coop. It was that whelp’s buddy, the one who’d taken care of him. That didn’t absolve the man, though. Associating with a wolf was nearly as bad as being one. The bastard was a traitor to the human race.

John knew his daughter had gone soft, but was she actually helping a whelp now? It didn’t seem possible, but the proof was right there in front of him. At the very least, she was still in contact with it. He thought he’d raised her better, taught her that these monsters were not to be trusted at any cost, but this message, it told him he hadn’t done his job well enough.

A deep sadness filled him followed by pure, seething rage and he kicked out, toppling a nearby snack stand and shattering the glass atop it to pieces. No, this was not his fault. She had her mother’s soft heart. He should have known she would end up like this. All that talk of becoming a nurse, helping people, of finding a purpose other than killing. He should have known then that she was losing her edge. Despite everything he’d taught her, she didn’t have the stomach for this line of work. Her blood was every bit as thin as her mother’s.

He knew then exactly what needed to be done, knew he couldn’t wait until the full moon. He needed to act now, finish this before he lost his daughter forever.

His fingers fumbled on the keys in his rage, but he managed to reply, Meet me at my father’s office. He texted the downtown address.

Do you think that’s safe? What about your dad?

Don’t worry about him. Two hours.

John turned off the phone and began to prepare.

* * *

The office of John Sinclair, Private Investigator, was little more than a hole in the wall near Chinatown. Before he’d been laid up, he’d handled cases mostly involving missing persons who owed money. For a while, it had been steady work, but with the rise of the Internet, his caseload became more and more sporadic.

An eviction notice hung on the door, a result of his two month absence. John promptly crumpled it up and tossed it away. It was an empty threat by the building owner anyway, nothing more. The place was a dump, everyone knew it, but he was the only person who seemed to not care.

Still, it was out of the way and the neighbors never blinked twice no matter what type of clientele visited. Over the years, it had given him a secure place to work, to train, and to conduct Guild business.

Now it would serve him well again.

When two hours passed since the last text message, John finally turned the phone back on, saw another message waiting. Running late. Had to find parking.

He didn’t mind at all.

When the knock finally sounded on the door, he waited a beat, then flung it open. At some point during his absence the power had been turned off, but that only served to further help with the element of surprise, his eyes having had plenty of time to adjust to the darkness inside.

The figure standing in the doorway didn’t have a chance to even say a word before John was upon him. He slammed his gun against the newcomer’s chin, staggering him, then pushed him to the floor and shoved his weapon into the man’s midsection.

“So much as twitch the wrong way and I’ll gut shoot you. Understand?”

The man gave a weak nod while John reached behind him and pushed the door closed. “Wouldn’t do no good to scream anyway. Soundproofed this place years ago. Not that anyone is listening.”

Even though the light was dim, he could still make out Coop’s features and actually found himself hesitating for the barest of seconds, remembering the care this man had given to him when he’d been sick.

He swallowed it down quickly, though. This fella wasn’t a friend. He was a filthy whelp lover. John was a hunter and this man, however he may have helped him in the past, had colluded with a wolf. Therefore, he was as much an enemy as they were.

“Where’s Ro?” The wolf lover’s voice was slurred, courtesy of a few newly cracked teeth. He sounded nervous but, then again, he had good reason to be.

“Don’t you worry about her. You’ve got some questions to answer, and I guarantee I’m all the company you’ll need.”

* * *

When Ro returned home that evening, she was surprised to find the apartment empty. She’d grown accustomed to seeing her father there and wondered where he’d gone. Then she saw the note on the counter.

Caught a big case. Won’t be back til full moon.

Worry niggled at the base of her skull, but she ignored it. Her father was a grown man, and he’d proven himself recovered from his ordeal.

If he’d found some work, maybe that meant he’d finally moved on from his obsession with killing Dean and was using his time in a positive way. Maybe his near-death experience had changed him somehow, though she knew her hopes were probably unfounded. She knew her father well and thus understood the likelihood of a life-altering transformation was about the same as him declaring himself an advocate for werewolf equality.

She refused to let his adherence to his ways bother her, though. He’d always been a hard man – difficult to please but affectionate in his own way. She’d reasoned that living with him had made her a better hunter, had taught her that nothing was to be trusted, and that knowledge and preparation were what kept her alive during a hunt. But after last month, she couldn’t help but feel that she’d become a disappointment to him, that no matter what she did from now on, it would never be enough to make up for the fact that she’d let a wolf go free.

Growing up, she’d felt isolated from other children by virtue of her birthright. Now, she felt even more so without his support. Being back at work had helped, the easy camaraderie offered by Kam and her other co-workers. They’d all been supportive when she’d returned, inquiring about her father, about her well-being in general. A part of her wished she could stop telling them lies.

She could understand why hunters sought out other hunters for relationships. Other than to preserve the bloodlines, they were the only ones who understood: the pull of the moon, the need to hunt, and the thrill of the kill. Try as she might, however, the idea of spending a lifetime with Kane, or any of the others she’d met, repulsed her. They were of the same type: arrogant, cold-blooded, and lacking compassion.

Not that she craved romance. She’d seen enough movies on TV to find the traditional concept a bit saccharine for her tastes. She wanted something in between, a relationship that didn’t require the intricate dance of courtship, but at the same time wasn’t all about the physical. She wanted companionship, to be understood – and if sex happened to be involved, so much the better.

The thought that she might have had that connection with Dean had been on her mind too much as of late. They had sexual chemistry, she’d resigned herself to that fact, but there was an innate understanding between them also, one that went beyond hunter and prey. Despite the fact that he was a wolf, she could sense there was something innately good within him, something that rejected the notion of a life spent hunting and killing. She didn’t know what kind of person he was before he became a werewolf, but the person he was now...

All the same, she also couldn’t deny she resented that Dean had come into her life. That part of her blamed him for biting her father, nearly killing him, and then turning her life upside-down. Before then, everything had made much more sense. She didn’t have all of these conflicting emotions. She’d never doubted her life or family. It had been so much ... simpler.

She also knew it wasn’t his fault, that the curse had been thrust upon him by Strike and his pack.

He hadn’t asked for this life and neither had she, so perhaps it was time for both of them to stop pretending to be victims and take fate into their own hands.

With renewed resolve, she knew that Los Colmillos had to be taken down once and for all. The planned raid during the coming full moon was her best chance at doing so. That was the only way either of them could ever move forward. Strike’s wolves were going to pay for everything they’d done, and the price would be their lives.

30

Everything hurts.

Coop tried to will the pain away, a losing proposition. He’d lost track of how long he’d been in the dark, dank room of a rat trap John Sinclair called an office. The only thing he knew was the pain.

He should’ve known that Ro hadn’t been the one to respond to his message. He’d been so eager to seek her help that he hadn’t bothered to consider the strange nature of her request.

He’d thought he’d endured torture during his stint in the military, but John Sinclair had made that seem like a vacation at a luxury spa. The man seethed hatred in a way he’d seen in only a handful of militants.

He was pretty sure he had a broken jaw and more than a few cracked ribs. The old bastard had ripped out his fingernails one by one, then had broken each of his toes. The questions he’d asked as he’d committed each act of torture were always the same: “Where is the wolf den? Why did you have me and my daughter? What was your purpose in helping me?”

Coop had hoped that by answering the last two, he could assuage some of the old man’s madness.

“He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He’s trying to find a cure!” he’d screamed over and over again, but each time Sinclair would declare him a liar, that there was no cure. Then he’d start all over again.

He’d held fast, though, refusing to give up the location of the mansion, which was seemingly what the hunter wanted most. He wouldn’t break, couldn’t break, not with the faces of the Mason family haunting him, not with Tasha’s voice still fresh in his heart. If he broke, and Dean died as a result, that meant his sister’s death would have meant nothing, that she would have died for no purpose. If he could save Dean, there was a chance for him to save others from a similar fate.

His resolve didn’t make what he’d endured any easier, though.

Every time he thought it was over, the pain would begin fresh, some new and horrific assault inflicted on his body. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hang on, would lose stretches of time, presumably because he’d fainted. Those stretches of time seemed to get longer and longer, his body growing weaker. He could practically feel himself beginning to shut down, but he struggled to remain strong – for Dean, and for all the other lives hanging in the balance.

He hovered now in that state between unconsciousness and wakefulness, his entire body a mass of pain. He was desperately nauseated and thirsty at the same time, and he’d lost control of his bodily functions more than once since his capture. But John remained relentless, uncaring of the mess or the smell, and seemingly tireless.

“Is this how you repay us for taking care of you?” Coop had asked him near the beginning, when he’d been stronger.

“I would rather be dead than know a whelp took pity on me. You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

Tied up, bleeding, and broken, Coop struggled with the knowledge that John Sinclair might have been right.

* * *

Coop lifted his head slightly when he heard the voices. They were soft, distant, perhaps in a different room. Or maybe his ears had stopped working correctly.

No, there it was again. A second voice. He didn’t recognize it but, then again, all sounds had a muffled quality to them now, like trying to hear with his ears stuffed with cotton.

The voices became raised, heated, and he began to make out some words. The second voice, obviously that of a man, sounded angry. “What the fuck, Sinclair? Have you gone off the deep end?”

“This here is that goddamn whelp’s friend, the one who held me hostage after I got bit.”

There was a pause and, when the voices started again, they were closer now, more distinct. They were in the same room, and he could feel their eyes on him even though his own were swollen shut. “You did a number on him.”

“Sure did, but he’s a tough son of a bitch. Wouldn’t give up the location of their hideout or what their plans were up there.”

“You’re a goddamned idiot, Sinclair.”

“Mind your tongue, boy, or I’ll cut it out of your stupid skull.”

“Anytime you want to go, old man.” There came a pause, then a frustrated sigh. “I think I know where the place is. It’s upstate, maybe an hour north of the city. I’ve been there. It’s locked up tight, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about it.”

“‘Pretty sure’ doesn’t sound good enough.”

“I know it’s the right place. It’s owned by Dean Mason and, unless I’m wrong, beneath all the cuts and bruises, this is his good buddy Cooper Maddox.”

“I didn’t get no last names out of Rowan, just Dean and Coop, but yeah, I guess that matches up.”

“I had a hell of a time tracking it down, but I’m sure it’s the place. I could feel him in there.”

“Describe it.”

“Big house, like a mansion in the middle of the woods. The lot’s overgrown, but the gate was well-maintained.”

“Big circular driveway out front?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds like the place, all right.” John sounded triumphant. “Goddamn it all, Kane, you actually found it.”

Kane? The other hunter. Coop tried to will his eyelids open, to see if he’d been right and this was the man who’d been casing their home, but they were swollen shut.

“Yeah, if you’d waited, I could have saved you the trouble,” the second man, Kane, said.

“Wasn’t nothing this fucker didn’t deserve. He was helping a damn whelp.”

“Guess I was wrong about him.” Kane’s voice sounded closer as if he were leaning down inspecting his quarry. “I thought he might be a whelp, too, but being here now, I’m not getting that feeling from him.”

“Nope. This one’s human, or as human as a bastard wolf lover can be.”

Another pause. “So what’re you going to do with him? He’s wanted for questioning, but there’s no way I can take him in like this.”

“You could shoot the bastard and claim self-defense.”

“The way he looks?” Kane asked.

John gave a grunt of disgust. “Fine, then. I’ll take care of it.”

“Whatever you do, do it right, Sinclair. If wind of this reaches my colleagues at the station, you’re on your own. I’m not putting my neck on the line if you get sloppy.”

“I said I’ll take care of it. Ain’t my first rodeo, boy.”

“You really are a piece of work, old man.” Coop heard movement. When Kane’s voice came again, it was distant, as if he’d moved away. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quick, and do it right.”

“Don’t you worry. I got something special planned for our friend here.”

From the conviction in both men’s voices, Coop knew he was a dead man.

* * *

Dean checked the security footage one more time. The man Coop had spotted on the feed hadn’t returned, which he had thought a good thing. Far more worrisome was that Coop was long overdue back from his trip to meet Ro in the city.

That worried him for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the fear that his friend had given into the temptation to start using again. He didn’t think that likely, but the past few months had taken their toll, and the additional worry of having a hunter possibly stalking them definitely had not helped Coop’s stress level.

Of greater concern, though, possibly the thing Dean feared most, especially with the full moon looming, was that Coop had abandoned him. That Dean had pushed his friend too far and he’d simply given up on him.

Dean realized he was letting his imagination run wild, but he couldn’t help himself. The wolf clawed at his door, so to speak, and alone in the mansion he found himself so on edge as to be jumping at nearly every shadow.

He tried contacting Ro on her burner again, but the phone had been turned off the past few days. His calls went directly to voicemail and all texts unanswered. Perhaps the craziest thought that kept flitting through his head was that Ro and Coop had run off together. After all, they’d spent quite a bit of time together when she’d been here, even more time than Dean had spent with her. And they sure as hell bickered like an old married couple.

It was stupid jealousy, plain and simple – made even worse by the cycle of the moon. His hormones were all out of whack along with just about everything else.

No, if there was any chemistry to be had, it was between him and the hunter. There was little denying it. If their last meeting had proven anything, it was that when they were together, even a casual touch was electric. He sensed that she knew it, too, could see it in the quickening of her breath and the darkening of her eyes. If his years of debauchery had taught him nothing else, he knew when a girl was aroused.

The wolf in him seemed to have sensed it also, and it had taken all his self-control not to throw her on the ground and tear her clothes to shreds to get at the tempting flesh beneath.

Dean shook his head, sending those thoughts scattering to the darker corners of his mind, and tried to refocus on the problem at hand. His friend was missing, that was the important thing, and Ro was the last person to have contacted him.

Even though there was still a ton of work left, to prepare for a possible visit from that other hunter, he needed to find Coop, make sure he was safe. Together they could weather the storm ahead. Doing so alone, well, it was too terrifying to consider.

Taking a trip into the city this close to the full moon would be a huge risk, but it was one he had to take.

31

Late morning on the day of the full moon, Ro was edgy with anxiety. Soon after her father had left to work on his new case, she’d noticed that her burner phone was missing. She couldn’t remember the last place she’d used it, and it was nowhere to be found either in the apartment or at the hospital. She wondered if she’d been pickpocketed, but thought the possibility unlikely. It would take someone with ninja-like skills to pickpocket a hunter.

Upon discovering that she no longer had the device, she’d felt a sort of emptiness. It had been her only tether back to Dean and Coop, their one secure way of communicating – however sparingly they’d done so – and now that was gone. She couldn’t risk using her regular phone. She supposed she could always catch a ride up to the mansion to check on them, but she had no solid reason to make the trip. Besides, that would be ridiculous – a hunter going to see if a werewolf was okay, maybe to hang out together for a while and shoot the shit.

Maybe it was better this way. A clean break. That way, she would be less tempted to contact them and put either of them in more danger. It might also serve to get Dean out of her subconscious, where he’d continued to torture her with sweet temptations via her dreams.

Yes, this way was better. She couldn’t worry about them, not now when she needed to focus on the Los Colmillos raid. Both of them were adults. They could take care of themselves.

Kane had assured her a few days back that everything was a go for that evening, having apparently been put in charge of the raid by the Guild.

He’d told her he had a group of hunters inbound. She was supposed to meet them all at a prearranged checkpoint come sundown. Kane would take point with Ro at the flank. He’d been vague on the number of reinforcements allotted, leading her to wonder if the Guild leadership had been as skeptical about her information as her father had been. Still, if he screwed this up, it would be on his shoulders, not hers. That alone made her feel better he’d been assigned leadership on this one. Kane was all about himself. He wouldn’t knowingly hang himself out to dry, not with this big of a potential score at stake.

Her father was the one wildcard still left. In his note, he’d said he would be back for the full moon, but there hadn’t been any sign of him since. She tried not to worry, but in the back of her head, she couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d gone missing. She had to trust him, though. He was a grown man, an elder hunter, and her father. Besides, the day was still relatively young.

Ro glanced down at her phone, half surprised Kane hadn’t started texting her yet. She had the location of where they were supposed to meet, but it wasn’t like him to not try to weasel in an early meeting with her alone, another lame attempt to get into her pants. She hoped he was taking this seriously, because letting that cocky attitude of his lead the way would surely end badly for them.

She wondered if she should have contacted the Guild herself to protest his assignment, but as one of the younger hunters in the state, she had little clout amongst the elders. As both a man and a member of the police force, Kane was much more respected, regardless of the fact that he had some major asshole tendencies.

But then again, asshole tendencies are considered a plus with most of that group.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a chime from her phone. A glance at the readout showed a text from an unknown number. We need to meet. Same place as last time. NOW!

Who the hell was sending her this...?

Ro rolled her eyes. Goddamned idiot! Hadn’t Dean figured out yet that meeting in the alley was stupid, and texting her on her personal cell was the height of idiocy? If she wasn’t so eager to see him again, she’d be tempted to ram her fist through his perfect teeth.

She stopped herself. His looks, his strong arms, his sky blue eyes, they should have been the last things on her mind, especially this day. But now that the cat was out of the bag, that she’d allowed herself to acknowledge that there was some pull between them, it seemed those thoughts would no longer be contained.

Grrr! This is so ... not right!

Mentally slapping herself, she threw on her coat and headed out before she could think better of it, at least partially hoping that he said something stupid that would give her an excuse to deck him.

* * *

Ro felt his presence well before she saw him. The electric pull between them was almost intoxicating but tinged with an undercurrent that called for violence. It was weird to want to jump someone’s bones yet still want to break them.

She saw him in the shadows and was about to give him a piece of her mind when he stopped her with a glare. “I know what you’re about to say, that I shouldn’t be here and I shouldn’t have texted your phone, but you weren’t responding on the other one.”

“I lost it at some point,” she snapped, annoyed both at herself and at his accusatory tone.

His expression became alarmed. “You lost it? How?”

“Don’t know, and it really doesn’t matter now. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“It’s Coop. I wanted to know if he seemed okay when you met with him, because he hasn’t been...”

“Huh? I didn’t meet with him.”

“You didn’t? He said you got his text.”

“I haven’t heard from either of you since you told me about the big werewolf rave tonight.”

By the look that crossed Dean’s face, she knew whatever he was going to say wouldn’t be good. “He messaged you a few days ago, wanted to meet.”

“What for?”

Rather than answer her, he asked, “So you didn’t get it?”

She shook her head, a deep dread filling her stomach. “Like I just said, I never received a text from him.”

“So you don’t know where he is?”

“No.” When he didn’t reply, she asked in a whisper, “He said he was coming here to meet me?”

“Yeah. He told me he was leaving to see you, but he never came back. That was three days ago.”

Three days. That was right around when her Dad had disappeared. She could feel the blood leaving her face, the tips of her fingers going cold. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“What? What is it?”

“My dad left suddenly that same day, said he was working on a new case. He’s been gone since then.”

“Did he know we’ve been in contact?”

“I didn’t think so, but...” She let the implication hang, fear chilling her. That had also been around the time she realized the phone was missing.

“Shit!” For a moment, Dean’s eyes darkened, and she could almost see the red of the wolf peeking through. But when he took a deep breath and he looked at her again, he was still himself. “I don’t mean to assume the worst about your father, but...”

Ro held up her hand. There was no need to soften the blow. “Just say it.”

“Where would he have taken him?”

“I ... don’t know.” Her mind went blank, the fear and disbelief clouding any coherent thought.

“You have to think, come on.” He grasped her upper arms, the movement jolting her from her malaise. “Please, Ro!”

It was as if an electric current passed from him to her, causing her to gasp involuntarily. It did, however, have the result of clearing her mind for a moment. “He ... wouldn’t have gone to the Guild. It would have taken too long and they have protocols in place for dealing with wolf ... thralls, for lack of a better term.”

“Thralls?”

“Their language, not mine. Either way, I know my dad. And there’s no way their methods would have been enough for him if he was in a mood.”

“So then where else...?”

Ro took a deep breath, closing her eyes. After a moment, she opened them again. “His office. It’s the only other place I know of.”

“No offense, but he doesn’t strike me as a suit and tie guy.”

“He works as a PI in his spare time. It’s a little shithole of a place. I let the rent lapse when Dad went missing, but I doubt anyone else has moved in. It’s sort of a dump.”

“Are you certain?”

The more she thought of it, the more she was. “If he wanted someplace private, then yes. He had it soundproofed and the neighbors are not the type to knock on the door and offer you peach cobbler.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“Then I have no idea. My dad doesn’t tell me everything.”

Dean nodded as if resigned that this was their only shot. “Where is it?”

She started to tell him the address, but then said, “Screw it, I’m going with you. I need to see for myself.”

For perhaps the first time since they’d met, he didn’t argue with her – just led her out of the alley to where his motorcycle was parked and waiting.

* * *

They didn’t speak as they headed downtown, their only communication being when Ro indicated he should make a turn.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the office. Dean parked behind the building and they walked together to the entrance. The front door was locked, but Ro remedied that with a swift kick.

“Whoops,” she said dispassionately, then led him up the center stairwell to the second floor landing where a narrow hallway housed a row of doors.

Most were covered with discolored frosted glass, except one that was solid wood. The words John Sinclair, Private Investigator could be seen in faded lettering on it.

Ro stopped in front of the door then paused to look left and right. All was quiet in the hall. She tried the knob, found it surprisingly unlocked, and pushed the door open.

The stench of urine, vomit, and feces immediately assaulted her nose and left her gagging. She briefly wondered – hoped – that perhaps a vagrant had been squatting there.

That thought was quickly dispelled with she spied the stained tarps covering the floor. Ro had to swallow down the gorge rising in her throat as she stepped through a small swarm of fat houseflies hovering lazily in the room.

The main room was empty, so she moved to the small storage room she knew was in the back. Despite her years of training, she gasped when she stepped in.

Blood smeared the floor and walls, and the smell of excrement was even stronger here. A single chair occupied the room. Blood was pooled beneath it. “Oh my God,” she whispered, not wanting to comprehend the sight before her, not wanting to understand what its presence meant.

She’d never seen anything like it, not even with the Guild at their most sadistic.

Dean peered in over her shoulder. “Do you think it’s...”

“I don’t know, but whatever happened here was recent. Some of the blood is still fresh.”

Though she knew it could have come from anyone, Ro’s gut said otherwise. She turned to Dean, her voice surprisingly calm, yet belying the anxiety simmering within her. “You have to go. You need to get out of here.”

“No, I need to find out what happened to Coop. If this is his ...”

“If it is, there’s nothing you can do. You need to get back to the mansion before the moon rises, make sure you have enough time to secure yourself.”

“But...”

“I’ll find him.” When he continued to hesitate, she said, “I promise you, I’ll find out what happened to him, but you need to go. You need to keep yourself safe so...” the words caught on her tongue and for a moment she wasn’t exactly sure what she was about to say. “So you can find a cure.”

“Fuck the cure!”

“Don’t say that!” She took a step back, realizing she was letting her emotions get the better of her. “I’m sorry, but this has to end. We can’t keep on this way. I don’t want to, I realize that now, and you’re the best hope we have to figure out how to do that.”

He remained unmoving, his gaze intense. She was tempted to say more, but realized it would be foolishly selfish. “Go! You don’t have much time.”

As she stared into his eyes, she could feel the raw power and energy within him, ready to be unleashed. The hunter within her was drawn to him, but so was she, and her heart thumped uncontrollably in her chest. It was all she could do to not move toward him, but she wasn’t sure whether it would be to embrace or attack him.

He finally nodded and stepped away. “Good luck, Ro.”

“You too.”

She had a feeling they were both going to need it this night.

32

After Dean left, Ro surveyed the office again and noted the multiple bloodstains on the floor, particularly in the storage area. Ignoring the nausea roiling in her stomach, she considered where to begin. She was a hunter, a tracker, but so was her father. She doubted she would be able to find out where he was if he didn’t want to be found. The hallway outside was testament to that – dirty and dingy, like it always was, but without a trace that either a body or a grievously injured person had been moved recently.

She had to try, though. After scouring the office, making herself sick to her stomach in the process, she made her way back to the apartment, the only other place she thought of to look for clues. She hadn’t considered it necessary to check his things when she’d first discovered he was gone, but a look in his closet and dresser showed that several items of clothing were missing. She estimated that he’d taken two or three days’ worth, in addition to his toothbrush. Nothing really much to go on there.

More disturbing was the discovery that he’d brought his weapons with him – knives, his revolver, and some speed loaders. He hadn’t just gone to meet with Coop, she concluded. He’d gone hunting.

When in doubt, she figured she’d try the obvious first. She called her father’s cell phone, was punted straight to voicemail, then tried Kane’s. She didn’t trust him in the least, but if there was any chance he knew what was going on she had to try.

He picked up on the second ring, surprise clearly evident in his voice. “Hey, beautiful. Ready for our date tonight?” Despite his cheery words, there was an edge to his tone, one which Ro distinctly didn’t like.

“Of course. Can’t wait to take those goddamned whelps down.”

“Same here. And let me tell you, I’m extra excited to fight with you again. I like seeing you in action.”

Ugh. He really needed to come up with some new lines, or just quit talking altogether. “Six o’clock at the pier, right?”

A split-second hesitation. “Yeah, that’s right ... see you at the pier.”

Son of a bitch! He was lying through his perfect, pearly whites. She could hear it in his voice. The asshole was so full of himself, he probably never even considered she might be able to see right through his smug exterior. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

She disconnected the call, then paused to think. If he wasn’t going to the pier, then what? Why say everything was set for the raid when he wasn’t planning on being there?

She considered the most likely possibilities – that he wanted the glory for himself – then threw that out the window. Even he wasn’t so stupid to take on a full pack without securing as much backup as he could get.

So that left some vastly more disturbing reasons. Perhaps he and her father were planning on doing something with Coop. But during the full moon? No. They must have been planning something against the mansion and Dean. Her blood chilled at the thought.

It made no sense, though. Los Colmillos was a big score, enough to make them Guild heroes. Why throw it away for one wolf? But then she remembered her father. Once he set his mind to something, he’d cut off his nose to spite his face – to hell with glory.

She’d thought he’d been healing the last several weeks, but it was more than possible he’d been stewing, too, getting angrier with each passing day. She’d seen the signs, but her joy at having him back had blinded her to them.

Perhaps worst of all was the message they were sending. They’d be off somewhere else, leaving her to meet at the pier by herself and thus forcing her to decide if she wanted to tackle Los Colmillos alone.

They’d have to know she wasn’t stupid enough to take on such a suicide mission. Instead, she’d be left high and dry, with nothing to show for this full moon and a possible bloodbath left for her to discover at the mansion.

The more her thoughts turned down this path, the angrier she got. Obsessing on Dean was her father’s idea. She knew it in her gut, but embarrassing her and sending her on a snipe hunt, that had to be Kane – his petty revenge for rebuffing him and bagging two wolves the month prior without his help.

Her first reaction was to call Dean and warn him, but then she remembered the damned cell jammer. There was also the immediate concern of Coop. She’d promised Dean that she’d find him. Good as her intentions were, he might never forgive her if she abandoned Coop to drive to the mansion to warn him. She was torn, undecided what to do, when her phone buzzed.

Her surprise deepened on seeing Kamika’s name on the screen. “Hey,” she greeted upon answering it.

“Ro, you’ve got to get to the hospital.”

The urgency in her friend’s voice told her this wasn’t some mere schedule change. “What happened? Is it my dad?”

“No, not your dad, but there’s someone here. He’s asking for you, repeating your name. He’s in ... rough shape. You need to hurry.”

* * *

Ro rushed into the emergency room and straight to the nurses’ station. “Where’s Kam? She called me, said it was urgent.”

“Room 9,” the charge nurse answered. Her expression was grave and sympathetic, which Ro knew couldn’t be good.

She pushed away from the counter and steered straight to the patient’s room. Kam was assisting one of the physicians in inserting a chest tube while another nurse was drawing blood. The patient on the bed lay unmoving and looked beaten all to hell, but Ro immediately knew who it was.

“Oh my God. Coop!” He was barely recognizable. His face was a distorted version of his former self, a mess of bruises and cuts – his eyes swollen shut, his nose obviously broken. While some of his body was covered by a sheet, the parts that were exposed were also bruised and bloody, and his fingers were fat and swollen, like skinless sausages.

Dr. Han turned when he heard Ro’s voice and said, “You can’t be in here.”

“It’s okay,” Kam told him sharply. “He was asking for her specifically. He knows her.”

“Fine. Just don’t get in our way,” he barked, sewing the chest tube in place.

Ro went to the head of the bed, leaned down, and spoke softly. “Coop, hey, it’s me, Rowan. What happened? Who did this to you?”

He didn’t answer at first, gave no indication that he’d heard her questions. She was about to repeat herself when he moaned and turned slightly toward her voice.

“Coop?”

“Ro?” The syllable was barely audible, spoken through puffy and cracked lips.

“I’m here.” She swallowed down the tears in her throat. “You’re in the hospital. They’re going to fix you right up.”

He coughed and she thought he tried to smile, though she couldn’t quite tell. “Doubt ... it.”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter,” she said, trying to infuse some positivity into her voice. “Who did this to you?”

“I...” He coughed again, drew in a ragged breath.

She hated to cut him off, but realized he was very likely killing himself with the effort. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk right now.”

“Your ... dad.”

The words were barely a whisper, but they were enough to confirm what she already suspected. She leaned in, hoping Kam and the doctor couldn’t hear her. “Dad did this to you?”

“Yeah ... S-sorry. Stupid of ... me.”

“No, no. It’s not your fault. Not at all.”

“Sorry ...Tasha.”

She had no idea who Tasha was but, before she could ask, alarms began to sound from the cardiac monitor.

His heart rate, already elevated, began to climb. Ro automatically stepped back to let the others take over. While she couldn’t tell for certain, Coop didn’t appear to be breathing.

“Shit,” Dr. Han muttered. He began lightly shaking Coop. “Sir, sir? Can you hear me?” No response. He shined a penlight into his eyes, still no response, checked the monitor to see his heart beat suddenly slow, then stall.

“He must be bleeding out,” he said to no one in particular, his eyes on the bright red blood pouring into the chest tube. “Call a code, get the crash cart. We might need to crack his chest. Get the CTU team here now!” He spoke in staccato beats, each phrase short and abrupt.

Ro stood, torn between wanting to help and disbelief at what was happening. Kam hit the code button and other doctors and nurses entered the room. Someone pushed the cart in just as another person yelled out, “He’s coding, start compressions.”

Ro took a step forward, her training kicking in, but Kam held her back with a hand. “I’m sorry, but you know you can’t.”

“He’s my friend.”

“I know, but you’re not on the clock. You need to let us work.”

She stepped back, her mind racing. She almost reached into her pocket to call Dean, but then remembered it was a futile gesture. He was almost certainly back at the mansion, busy locking himself up for the night.

Watching the people work on her friend, Ro’s fear and disbelief began to be replaced by a different emotion altogether: anger. Her father did this. She knew he could be heartless and single-minded when it came to wolves, but this ... she couldn’t believe that the man who had raised her, who’d made her into the woman she was today, could inflict so much pain on another human being, and for what? Just to find someone he held an imaginary grudge against?

Then her mind made the leap. If her father could do this to Coop, someone who was only friends with a werewolf, what would he do to Dean? Unpleasant memories ran through her mind, things she’d seen at the Guild she wished she hadn’t: torture, hunters skinning freshly killed wolves before they turned human again, so they could wear the pelts as trophies. All things her father had dismissed as little more than boys being boys.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that happen. She was a hunter, but she wasn’t a murderer. She didn’t kill for the thrill of it. She did it to protect people from predators, to help keep the world safe. But what type of world was it if hunters crossed that line and killed for torture, sport, or petty grudges? What her father had done had gone beyond protection of the innocent and had escalated to flat-out murder.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood in the corner of the room. Someone tried talking to her once, but she couldn’t hear the words, could only see Coop on the stretcher, his chest cracked open, blood everywhere, the line on the monitor flat. She’d stopped hearing the alarms, only heard a faint thundering in her ears.

When Kam finally came to her, she was sitting on the floor. She wasn’t sure how she got there, but there was her friend, hovering over her, kneeling so they were face to face. “Ro?” She held out her hand to her, helped her off the ground.

Dr. Han said something to her, but she didn’t hear him. He seemed to expect a response but she just nodded, barely registered the quick glance that passed between Kam and him. She pushed past them and saw that someone was covering Coop’s body with a sheet. His face was still bloody and battered looking, his eyes swollen shut. He was unmoving, lifeless, a shell.

“My condolences,” Dr. Han said, his words so soft she could barely hear him through the thunder.

“I’m sorry,” Kam repeated. Her voice was louder, but still not enough to make Ro look at her. “Is there any family we can call?”

She shook her head. “No. I mean, I’m not sure. I didn’t know him that well.” But she’d known him enough. “What happened to him? How did he end up here?”

“Someone dumped him down at the pier. The cops were notified, but he was so out of it he couldn’t tell them much, just kept asking for you. They’re probably going to want to talk to you, especially now that he’s...”

The pier?!

She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened to him. You can tell them that.”

“But why was he asking for you?”

“He was my friend.”

“Were you two involved?”

“No, not like that. It’s ... I can’t explain. I’m sorry, Kam, but I’ve got to go.”

“Ro, you can’t leave. The police...”

“I have to. If I don’t, someone else is going to get hurt. I’m sorry.” Ro pulled out of her grasp then moved through the door and into the hallway. She ignored the people who stared as she walked through the hall, out the doors, and into the waning sunlight.

She could feel the pull of the moon affecting her as she began to run. The emotions within her gelled into one coherent need: to hunt.

Ro bared her teeth and put on more speed. Oh, she would hunt, all right, but tonight, it would be for different prey.

33

It was getting hard to concentrate.

Between his worry over Coop, the potential threat of the hunters, and the impending rise of the moon, it was too much for Dean. He’d tried his best, quadrupling his dosage of Focalal, but it barely made a dent in his anxiety.

At least one thing had distracted him for a while ... trashing the upstairs bedrooms to make it look as if the place had been abandoned in a hurry. It was a task he’d done with great vigor, taking out his frustrations on furniture and linens.

Sadly, he’d gone a bit overboard. At one point, he’d stopped to text Ro, ask her if she’d found any sign of Coop, but then, when he couldn’t get a signal, he’d smashed his phone in a rage. It was only after he’d broken it beyond any hope of repair that he’d remembered the cell jammer.

Oh well, not much I can do about that now.

He should have heeded Coop’s advice to run. Before, he’d had the illusion that the hunter at their doorstep was merely poking around, a wild goose chase. But if everything had gone as Dean feared it might, then Ro’s father would be a part of whatever was being planned. There would be no doubt in the hunters’ minds that this had been the right place.

Dean’s only chance was to hope that they thought they were too late, that he’d been here but left. Her father had only seen the upstairs. He didn’t know about the lab or the cage in the basement.

Back when he’d thought Coop had only been late in returning, Dean had kept himself busy preparing the doorway. He’d piled bookshelves, furniture, broken drywall, anything that would make it seem as if a wall had collapsed, and then secured it in place with a couple of two by fours.

The idea was simple enough. Once Dean stepped into the stairwell, he would pull a rope attached to the supports and make them collapse, hopefully causing all of the debris piled up to block it completely.

He waited as long as he felt he could, then stepped in, saying a silent prayer that Coop was somewhere safe.

After Dean pulled the rope, the crash that followed was tremendous and, for a moment, he was worried that the entire doorframe would collapse under the weight and knock down the wall for real. But it held. Best of all, it seemed to have done the trick.

There was no way in, outside of a concentrated effort.

However, that also meant he was trapped with no way out, but that was a problem for him to deal with tomorrow. Worst case, he had water and energy bars for a couple of days, as well as a crowbar and sledgehammer.

He surveyed his handiwork for a moment longer, hoping against hope that wherever his friend was, he was okay. For now, he still had work to do. He turned to continue down the stairs, meaning to check that his research had finished backing up, when he was startled from his thoughts by the rubble settling – the sound almost making him jump out of his skin.

The worry collected at the base of his throat, and he took a deep breath in an effort to temper the anxiety but, when he exhaled, it came out as a low growl.

He moved his tongue and felt very sharp points where his normal canines had been only a moment before.

Shit!

Time was up.

Dean raced down the stairs, tearing his clothes off as he went.

He stopped in the lab and quickly shut off the breakers controlling the power to the upper floors, but then paused to give the room a longing look before flipping off the light switch. If only he had more time. But again, that was a worry for the next day. His fate for this month was sealed. He’d need to try again before the next full moon ... assuming there was a next.

Maybe Ro did it. Maybe she convinced those hunters to go after Strike and his asshole friends. For all I know, I’ll wake up tomorrow just fine, feeling like an idiot because I have to dig my stupid ass out.

He stepped from the lab and into the secured area beyond it, holding Ro’s image in his mind and wishing he’d said something more meaningful before leaving her, than merely “good luck.”

He absentmindedly pulled the security door shut, then stepped toward the cage before looking down in horror and seeing how long his nails had become.

There was no time left for foolish longing for a girl he could never have, no matter how complete – how human – she made him feel.

Dean slammed the door of the cage behind him and began to work on the cuffs and collar, the task made difficult by hands that were rapidly becoming things meant more for rending flesh than finesse.

He had just slipped the collar over his neck when the first of the spasms hit and he was driven to his knees, the change fully taking over.

* * *

Damnit!

Ro didn’t need to look at the clock on the dashboard to know she was going to be late. The moon rising in the rapidly darkening sky told her that much.

Still, she realized she should consider herself lucky she’d gotten this far. On a hunch, she’d taken a guess that her father had probably used Coop’s car to move him and then dump him off. The deed done, he’d abandoned it ... presumably in the first spot he’d found, as she’d spotted it less than a block away from the pier.

Not overly cautious of him, but that lent credence to her suspicion that Kane was in on things. Probably waited for him and they drove off together upstate.

Amazingly, she’d spied the keys through the window, lying there right on the front seat. One hard boot to the glass later and she was in business. A small part of her wanted to think that maybe Coop smiled down on her from wherever he was now, but she knew better. No. This was her father’s doing, one small bit of arrogant sloppiness on his part. She knew him too well, could practically see in her mind what had happened. Once he’d finished with Coop, her father had left him for her to find. That done, his focus had almost certainly turned entirely toward Dean. What did he care if some filthy whelp lover’s car was jacked afterward?

It had been, but she doubted he suspected it was by the last person he probably wanted to see tonight.

Her thoughts were surprisingly clear as she raced north on the interstate. The moon full, she expected to be torn between the need to hunt down those Los Colmillos bastards and save Dean. If anything, she thought she’d be tortured by her decision, driven near mad by her hunter instincts.

Instead, she was laser focused. Perhaps, she mused, as she pushed the accelerator harder, it was because she was going after a wolf after all. However, it wasn’t to kill him. It gave her pause to wonder if she’d been wrong about her instincts all along. Maybe hunters were just drawn to werewolves, and it was Guild propaganda that had convinced them that their senses were meant only for tracking and killing.

It was heresy to even think those thoughts. To voice them would be more than enough to bring her before a Guild tribunal but, after tonight, she suspected that wasn’t going to be an issue. Whatever future lay before her, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be with her father, Kane, or the Guild.

The only question still nagging her was: how far was she willing to go? Perhaps, just as important, was how far gone her father was. However, seeing what he’d done to Coop, she had a feeling he wouldn’t let little things like boundaries bother him. It was something she’d long suspected, but never wanted to acknowledge.

She thought back to all the times she’d heard him muttering under his breath about her mother, the few times he’d gotten too into a bottle following a hunt and let his lips get away from him.

“Rowan, you’re just as pretty as your mother, but I hope to God you don’t take after her.”

“Should’ve shot her myself. Would do it, too, if I ever got a second chance.”

“Your mama died because she was weak. A hunter can’t be weak. Those who are get weeded out, one way or the other.”

She’d always thought it was because he was lonely and lashing out. Now she wondered if that wasn’t the case. Coop’s only crime had been to be a good friend, and her father had butchered him for it. What other failings would he consider to be worthy of death? Betrayal by a loved one, perhaps?

She didn’t know what lay before her this evening, but she had a feeling that hard choices would have to be made ... choices that, even as she continued to drive, she couldn’t be certain she’d be able to live with.

Assuming she survived the night.

* * *

“You sure this is the place, Kane? Looks like a goddamned dump to me. I swear, if we don’t bag anything tonight...”

“Shut your goddamned yap already,” John snapped as the foursome walked up the long driveway. “This is the place, all right.” He turned to Kane, who had taken the vanguard along with him. “This the best you could find? Two idiots with ball sacks where their brains should be.”

Kane shot him a look. “Relax, Sinclair. Hammer and Buck both trained with me. They know their shit.”

Bullshit was more like it, John thought. He regarded the two big men for a moment, noting the scars on the one called Hammer. That one looks sloppy as all hell. And what the fuck is up with that name? He think this a funny book or something?

His companion didn’t fill John with great confidence either. His eyes kept darting to spots they’d already covered. Reacting, not acting. Good way to meet an early grave.

“Hell, yeah, brother,” the scarred man said to Kane. “Now let’s do this. It’s hammer time!” The other two laughed with him as if that was the cleverest thing they’d ever heard.

John spat on the ground disgustedly. Every generation of hunters liked to complain that those who came after them were watered down, of lesser quality. He had always considered that merely a rite of passage but, looking at his companions, he began to wonder if there wasn’t some truth to that after all.

Fine. Use them as cannon fodder, he told himself. Anyone named Hammer has gotta be considered expendable. He turned and glanced once more at them, listening to their bullshit bravado, wondering how it would hold up once faced with three hundred pounds of fangs going for their throats.

That remained to be seen, but he was certain of one thing. If any of them turned tail, tried to cut and run on him, he’d shoot them in the back as certain as the night was long. Would probably be doing the world a favor, too.

The further up the driveway they walked, the greater the tingle John felt at the base of his spine. He knew the others sensed it, too. This was the right place. Even had he been blind, he’d have recognized it. There was a whelp here and it was close.

The only question now was how close.

Strong as the feeling was, he didn’t sense any movement out there on the lawn other than from his companions. Sounds weren’t right, either. Crickets were still chirping and he could hear the occasional squawk of a bird. They weren’t afraid.

That meant the whelp was most likely somewhere inside. But where? It was a big place and he hadn’t been privy to a tour during his stay there. Rowan had, but he had a feeling the fool girl wouldn’t have told him had he ordered her to.

That was fine, though. She had a surprise waiting for her down at the pier. He briefly wondered if that fella had stayed alive long enough for her to find him. Possible, but unlikely. Didn’t matter. He didn’t care either way. That was one son of a bitch who’d aided his last wolf.

As for his girl, hopefully that discovery, along with the shame of knowing her so-called big score had been ignored by the Guild, would be enough of a wake-up call to straighten her out. If not, then he’d have to do it himself.

John hoped there was still something salvageable left in Rowan. She’d shown promise as a hunter and it would be a shame to let that potential go, especially when the alternatives were two dull-witted jackasses named Hammer and Buck. But if not, then so be it. She could join her mother if it came down to it. He’d given her every chance in the world. His conscience would be clear.

They reached the porch of the dark house. There was still no sign of movement, nor any indication the place was still lived in, but John’s senses told him different.

“What do you think?” Kane asked, shining his flashlight in a window.

“I think you need to stop giving our position away and get us in there. You scope out the inside when last you were up here?”

Kane switched his flashlight beam to red so as to not screw up their night vision. “I thought you were in there for two goddamned months. Don’t you know the layout?”

“I was sick and drugged. All’s I remember is a big staircase and the bedroom they kept me in. I was too stoned to know much else.”

When Kane didn’t reply, John pressed, “So? Did you get inside or not?”

He seemed annoyed when he answered, “Didn’t get that far. Door was locked.”

John sneered. “So?”

“So, breaking and entering is a felony.”

It was all he could do to keep from punching the arrogant prick in the jaw. “Get to your fucking point.”

“I’m a cop.”

John stared at him incredulously. Was this guy shitting him? They were so close to the kill and this guy was bringing legalities into it?

“We ain’t got time for no search warrant,” the scarred one, Hammer, chimed in, causing his brainless buddy to chuckle.

“Let me make things clear. What we’re doing tonight is also called breaking and entering and, when we bag that whelp, it’ll be murder in the eyes of the law.” John narrowed his eyes and focused on Kane’s. “Is this going to be a problem, detective?”

Kane’s face hardened for a moment, but then broke into a smile. “Hells no.” He turned and kicked open the door in one swift move. “Fortunately for us, I’m off duty tonight.”

34

The wolf strained against its bonds, not caring how badly they dug into the flesh beneath its fur. It was famished, the empty ache of a deep hunger growling in its stomach and rising up its throat. It needed to be free. Needed to feed.

Whoever had dared tie these bonds to its arms had been foolish, sloppy. Though it only barely understood those concepts, what it did know was that they were loose. Once it began to pull and strain, it realized they wouldn’t hold for long. It made quick work of them, then turned its attention to the collar around its neck.

Struggling too much caused it to gag. It didn’t like that feeling one bit, so it grasped the chain with its clawed hands and raged until the metal gave and it was free.

It leapt at the walls of the cage, but found them secure. Enraged, it shook at the bars, rattled the door. It needed to be out, needed to kill and sate the gnawing hunger.

Long claws clinked against the bars, its fingers grasping the cool metal. Its growls deepened to a roar as it pulled and shook, anything to escape the confines of the cage.

It worked tirelessly, endlessly probing for weaknesses. Eventually its relentless attack succeeded in loosening one section’s mooring to the cement floor and the creature felt the slightest give. It gave no notice to the time that passed. It could have been minutes or hours – all it cared about was being free.

Over and over again, it attacked the weak spot until finally the metal began to groan and give way. Little by little, the structure began to acknowledge the beast as its superior. The cage was weak, whereas he was strong, dominant.

There came a final groan and a section of the cage ripped free of its moorings. The wolf stepped atop the broken bars and pissed upon them, marking this site for all others to know. Unchallenged, it bounded forward with no further hesitation.

It spied the door leading out of this place, had a vague remembrance of its strength, and charged with everything it had. A yelp of surprise followed when it swung open with the barest of hits, sending the wolf tumbling onto the floor. Quickly shaking it off, the creature raised its head in a howl of triumph, unaware that its victory had been a result of Dean’s failure to properly secure the lock as the change took hold of him.

It glanced around at the area it was in. Equipment it didn’t recognize, items filled with strange fluids. It caught the slightest scent of blood and, for a moment, was tempted to tear the place to shreds seeking the source. But its keen nose told it that would be a mistake. Whatever was here smelled old and was not nearly enough to sate it. The wolf hungered for fresh meat.

It needed to be free.

Some faint memory directed it to the stairwell and the freedom beyond. It bounded up the stairs, eager to smell fresh air, but found its passage blocked.

Another cage!

It had already bested one this night. It had no reason to believe this obstacle would present more of a challenge to its dominance. And if there were more beyond it, those too would fall. It would reach the outside, smell the cool air of the night, howl at the moon, and then it would hunt.

Instinct and rage drove it to work at making an opening. It used its claws, fists, and even teeth to dig at the rubble, its only concern being that of escape.

Plaster crumbled, wood splintered and, little by little, it began to make progress.

The pull to feed was too great, the emptiness within screaming to be filled and refusing to be ignored. The hunger was much more painful than the assault being inflicted on its claws. It would escape – it was only a matter of time.

* * *

Kane stepped through the front door, gun at the ready, and ordered silence from the others with a quick palm held up.

The foyer was predictably empty. He’d already seen as much through the windows. An effective façade ... for an amateur.

He paused, opened his senses, let them reach out like invisible tendrils. Almost immediately he noticed the distinct presence of a werewolf. It was close, closer than he’d sensed from the outside. He gestured to Buck and Hammer to check the adjoining rooms while Sinclair covered his six.

The old man balked at this, and for a moment Kane wondered if having him cover his rear was such a smart idea. He really didn’t put it past the old bastard to put a bullet in his back if he thought it would get him to the whelp faster.

Kane bit down on that fear, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck with his mental teeth, and forced it away. John would sense any weakness from him, but he wasn’t about to show the old man any. He was the future of the Guild and this was his hunt. The geezer was just along for the ride.

He felt a pull on his sleeve and turned to see John gesturing toward the large center staircase. He nodded and they slowly moved up to the second floor.

Silence reigned, the only sounds were their soft footsteps on the stair treads and the exhalations from John behind him. Kane sneered to himself. As hard as the older hunter had seemingly worked, he still had a ways to go, assuming he would ever be at one-hundred percent again – something Kane seriously doubted.

This fucker better not blow my cover. Kane was still pissed at John’s implications from earlier, that he’d been too hesitant about rule breaking to do what needed to be done. Fuck him. I’m three times the hunter he is. He’s the one that got himself bitten then held prisoner for two months, not me.

Still, even he had to admit John was a better choice to watch his ass than the two others. Buck and Hammer weren’t the best hunters in the Guild by any stretch of the imagination. Hell, it was a wonder the two morons were still alive. Unfortunately, no one else had thought it worth their time to stake out a deserted mansion in hopes of finding a whelp, even one with the taste of hunter blood upon its lips.

“You’ve been assigned two additional hunters. That should be more than enough to deal with the Mason issue,” had been the official Guild response, implying that quantity trumped quality in this instance. Bunch of assholes. They would have almost certainly been more interested in Ro’s bullshit about some goddamned werewolf party. Pity for her he hadn’t bothered to share that with them. If so, there would have been little chance of him being up here with even the meager backup he had.

Well, he’d show them. Even though he’d been wrong about Maddox being a whelp, at least he was no longer a factor, leaving them to hunt for only Mason.

With Ro back in Manhattan dealing with her father’s little “surprise” at the pier, they were free to clean up the mess she’d refused to deal with. So what if she’d bagged two wolves the previous month? The fact that she’d purposely let one go and had even allied with the son of a bitch was enough to get her expelled from the Guild. Hell, she’d be lucky if they didn’t decide to put a bullet in her head for breaking their most sacred creed.

Together, he and John explored the second floor rooms. The place was trashed: debris everywhere, beds turned over, holes in the walls. It was probably meant to look like kids or vagrants had been there. But they’d made one major, possibly fatal, mistake – they’d left the front door locked and none of the first floor windows were broken. The whole thing stunk of being staged.

Still, he and the old man searched thoroughly. No point in being sloppy and leaving stones unturned, even if their effort was ultimately fruitless. They found nothing except a few remnants of the past few months: empty medicine bottles, gauze packaging in the trash. At least some part of John’s story had been true.

The large bedroom at the end of the hall was in a similar state of disrepair to the rest, but his police training told him there was an actual pattern to the supposed chaos. He could almost see it. Also, whoever had done it had been sloppy as all hell. Water droplets still lay in the bottom of the bathroom tub, evidence that it had been used in the last day, contrary to the appearance that the place had been abandoned.

Mason had been here.

Only question was, where the hell was he now?

A tiny spear of worry began to form in the back of his mind that the whelp simply wasn’t here, that it was somewhere out hunting. After all, that’s what wolves at the height of the full moon did. He’d never met any that had the willpower to do otherwise.

But there was still what John had said. That he’d heard Mason’s growls from his friend’s phone, as if the wolf lover had him under surveillance. That was unlikely to be the case if he was running free. So that meant there was likely someplace on the grounds where the wolf could be secured and kept watch over. Clever. Fucking dangerous as all hell, but clever. Almost like something out of a movie.

After ensuring that the upstairs was clear, they made their way back down to see if their cohorts had found anything. But all they found was silence waiting for them.

* * *

There was no sign of the others, something which immediately set Kane on alert. John could tell as much by the way he tensed up. Mark of a true amateur, as far as he was concerned. He’d been at this game long enough to trust his gut and his senses.

His gut was telling him the whelp hadn’t struck yet and his senses reinforced that thought. He might have been getting old, but he wasn’t deaf. They’d heard nothing while upstairs – not so much as a squirrel scrabbling across the roof. In this empty place, any scuffle would have been hard to miss. Wolves were masters of ambush, but they weren’t all that subtle once they attacked. And that was assuming the two idiots they’d left down here didn’t get any shots off first – an unlikely scenario at best.

Hell, if those two fools had been taken out that easily and silently by a whelp, then John would have been glad to find their blood-soaked corpses. Would probably piss on their bodies, too, to let them know what he thought of them. The Guild was supposed to weed out anyone that pathetic before they got a chance to meet an early grave.

He took a sniff of the air. There was a distinct musty odor about the place. Plaster dust, a hint of aftershave – although whether it was from those two muttonheads he couldn’t tell. That was it, though. No acrid discharge from expended rounds, and none of the familiar coppery scent of blood.

“Come on,” John said, taking the lead.

He was certain that those two morons were fine, but that didn’t mean he was going to be stupid about it. Ten minutes later, after a slow and thorough search from room to room, they entered the kitchen where they found Buck and Hammer.

“Oh, hey guys,” Buck said upon seeing them. “Find anything upstairs?”

“Maybe,” Kane replied warily. “No wolf, but evidence that someone was here recently.”

“Yeah, we found that, too. Check it out.” He opened the refrigerator. While the power appeared to be off, a cool draft still wafted from within. There wasn’t a lot, but what food was present didn’t appear to be spoiled. “There’s no doubt someone’s been here.”

John turned and spotted a half-eaten sandwich on the counter in front of Hammer. “You don’t say.”

“What?” the younger man asked. “It was a long ride up. Besides, it’s not like this fucker is gonna need it tomorrow.”

“Too bad it wasn’t smart enough to leave any beers behind,” his partner joked.

“All right, enough games. Let’s keep looking,” Kane said, but John wasn’t having any of it.

He stepped up to Hammer ... gah, it was all he could do to keep his eyes from rolling straight out of his head at this jackass’s stupid name. “You think this is a game, boy?”

Hammer scoffed at the threat and reached for the sandwich. When he did, John drew his knife, quick as a flash, and drove it through the bread and into the counter with a dull thud.

“What the fuck, you crazy bastard?”

John stepped into his personal space and locked eyes with him. “I may be a crazy bastard, but I’m a live crazy bastard, and do you know why? Because I don’t do stupid shit like this!”

“It’s just ...”

“Food that’s owned by a whelp.”

“What? You think it’s got germs or something?”

“Use the few brains that God gave you, you fucking idiot. You ever think it might be drugged or poisoned, purposely left so some damn fool could find it.”

Hammer gulped visibly, but held his ground. “Bullshit. No wolf is smart enough to...”

“They’re only wolves one day out of the month. The rest of the time they’re wearing man suits. Talking like us, thinking like us. And this one knew we were coming. Put two and two together, you brainless hunk of shit, and pray that you’re not vomiting up your own insides in the next hour.”

The two men stared hard at each other, but the younger one blinked first. He turned to the rest. “Kane?”

John followed his gaze, but Kane’s face was unreadable. What happened next would matter a great deal. If Kane sided with his buddies, that would cement in his mind that the man was both dangerous and a fool. If so, he’d call off the hunt and leave these assholes to get themselves killed if they so pleased. Much as he wanted to kill the bastard whelp that had somehow gotten into his daughter’s head, he wasn’t stupid. John had only a couple of rules he lived by, but they were unbreakable. One of them was he didn’t put his ass on the line for cowards or idiots. He hadn’t with his wife, and he sure as shit wouldn’t start with this bunch.

After a beat, however, Kane said, “He’s right. You two need to get your fucking act together. If that whelp had been the one to step into this kitchen instead of us, you two would be lying in a pool of your own innards and you’d deserve it.”

John allowed himself the ghost of a smile. Maybe the man had potential after all.

Either way, it meant the hunt would continue.

He opened his mouth to tell the other two to start sweeping the east wing when there came a sound from further in the mansion. It wasn’t much, maybe just some debris settling, but his instincts told him differently.

“You hear that?”

Kane nodded.

“Mice?” Buck offered.

A moment later, the sound turned into a full-on crash, as if a wall had been knocked down. It was followed by a low-pitched braying, a noise that echoed in the derelict mansion and seemingly came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Awfully big mice,” Kane said with a grin.

John nodded and retrieved his knife from the counter. “Well, then it’s a good thing we’re here to do some exterminating.”

35

The wolf, finally freed of its prison, stepped through the opening it had made. The air here was fresher, and it took a deep breath, its wet nose capturing every scent.

It stopped, alert, as the odor of humans washed over its olfactory system. It took in their scents in the space of a second: blood, sweat, adrenaline, all of it. Their anticipation, excitement, and fear, all layered upon each other in a distinct and almost delicious aroma.

Prey was near, was in such close proximity it could almost taste their flesh. The need for freedom was almost overpowered by the primal urge to hunt. A large rope of drool dripped from its mouth as it sniffed the air again. More than one – three or four, by the variety of scents. They were grouped together, coming in from the right, getting closer.

It carefully climbed over the debris on the floor, instinct telling it to remain quiet. It was a master at stealth, its eyes built for darkness and the shadows, its ears attuned to the slightest movements, its nose keen at detecting changes in the atmosphere.

The longer it smelled them, the less appetizing they seemed. It preferred fresher smelling prey, and these smelled like they’d been marinating in sweat beneath artificial scents meant to mask their true odors.

There was something else as well. A familiar scent. A brief thought flashed through its mind, the sleeping intelligence within it battling against the primitive instincts which currently ruled this body – well-oiled metal. No ... weapons.

Though it refused to acknowledge fear and the weakness associated with it, it recognized the need for caution.

There came a slight shuffle of sound and the scents changed. The group was breaking apart, splitting up, perhaps attempting to surround it. The wolf moved away from them, flattening itself against the wall. It knew the layout of its surroundings, a remnant memory informing it of the best places to hide.

It didn’t want to hide, though. It wanted to feel the night air, to escape the stale confines of the house, to run through the trees. That was its domain. Not these cramped confines.

The wolf needed to get out, but it also wished to avoid these beings.

It moved from room to room, staying hidden in the shadows. The buried consciousness within gave name to the places it passed through, although it did not care. There was an access hall to the kitchen, and then a back door. The hall would provide some cover of darkness, and through the kitchen was freedom.

But that was where the other beings were coming from. There was another exit in the front – further away, but potentially more accessible.

It crept across the ballroom, quieting its breathing and, with it, dulling the scents inhaled with every breath. The beings were near and closing in, and it knew that in order to survive, it needed to move quickly toward escape.

Its claws clicked on the hardwood floor of the ballroom, the sound like gunshots in the silence. The other mind within it offered a suggestion, one alien to the wolf, but perhaps the wiser course.

It lifted its toes and walked upon the balls of the feet of its hind legs, an awkward stance that left it off-balance, but greatly reduced the noise it had been making across the polished surface.

Had it a sense of ego, it might have realized how ridiculous it looked trying to sneak as it was, but the only thing on its mind was freedom, to feel the wind rush through its fur as it ran unhindered and unchallenged.

It reached the doorway and hesitated. There, beyond the stairs, lay the front door. Best yet, it was open. The intruders – yes, they were intruders, for this was its lair, or at least the den of its other form – had been foolish and it would use that to its advantage.

The others were close, dangerously so, but so was freedom. It was too tempting a prospect to pass up. There wouldn’t be another chance this good.

The wolf crouched, putting all four of its paws upon the ground. What it would lose in reach and ability to kill, it would make up for in speed.

Now!

The beast bolted forward with everything it had, the door and the open yard beyond it growing closer by the second.

Movement registered in its periphery and with it came a cry of challenge from one of the intruders.

Though it wanted to be outside, perhaps more than anything else, instinct reared to life inside its mind, forcing it to stop short, its claws skidding across the floor just as there came a thunderous explosion from off to the side.

Something small and hot cut the air immediately in front of it and slammed into the wall with a hollow thud.

Run!

The voice screamed at it from its own subconscious, but it didn’t need to be told.

It abruptly shifted direction toward the stairs, leapt, and cleared the bannister as more shots rang out behind it.

Anger replaced caution as it scrabbled up to the first landing and continued into the darkened hallway. It had only wanted freedom, would have left the intruders alone had it been given the chance, but they’d attacked it. The acrid stench of their weapons was still fresh in its sensitive nostrils.

They were here to do battle, to challenge its dominance, but they were small and weak ... easy prey.

So be it.

If these creatures were so eager to die then it would gladly rip them to pieces. All thoughts of escape fled its mind as it began to anticipate the hunt to come.

It heard their voices below, piteous mewling. Soon they would follow. And when they came, it would be ready for them.

* * *

“Goddamned idiot!” John hissed at Buck.

“I thought I had a clear shot.”

“That’s yer problem. You thought.”

It was almost too tempting to kick the younger man’s ass. This should have been over already. One shot to the wolf’s heart, quick and clean. Yet this asshole had acted too soon, hadn’t stopped to steady his hand.

This whelp wasn’t stupid, not like others he’d faced in the past. Rather than turn and charge them, which would have made up for Buck’s stupidity, it had instead fled deeper into the house, racing upstairs as if the devil were on its heels. Now they’d have to flush it out, a cornered animal, easily twice as dangerous as it had been just a few seconds earlier.

John heard footsteps from off to their left.

Instinct taking over, he stepped in and forced Buck’s gun barrel down as the bigger man turned and brought it up.

“Knock it off,” he warned. “You trying to ventilate your own buddies?”

Sure enough, Kane and Hammer stepped into the room, their own weapons at the ready.

Maybe I should’ve let him open fire. Fifty-fifty chance of him hitting the idiot with the stupid name.

“What happened?” Kane asked, his eyes taking stock of everything at once. “You two okay?”

“Five by five,” Buck replied, whatever the fuck that meant.

“We’d be a lot better if my partner here had been aiming at the whelp instead of that wall over there.

“Anyone could have missed that.”

“But anyone didn’t. You did.”

“All right, enough,” Kane said, stepping between them. He turned to John. “Back off. You’ve been riding these guys all night.”

John refused to lower his gaze. “Sorry, friend, but I come from a time when respect was earned, not given. And so far, I ain’t seen much done in that way.”

As far as he was concerned, he’d given it a shot. He didn’t have a problem when Kane suggested they split up to cover more ground. That was standard procedure. Smart, too. But he should have known better when he got teamed up with Buck. He’d have been better off alone. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Where did it go?” Hammer asked, breaking the standoff.

John pointed a finger up.

Kane nodded grimly at first, but then smiled knowingly. John knew he was smarter than the two lug-heads he’d brought along as ballast. They’d already cased the upstairs, knew its layout.

They might have missed their first shot at the wolf, but there was no chance of it hiding from them now.

* * *

Ro didn’t recognize the SUV sitting outside the gate of the mansion, parked on the side of the road, but she didn’t need to. That it was here was all she needed to know. She parked Coop’s car behind it, making it a point to take the keys with her.

She checked her phone’s tracker app – no one but her in range – then slashed the other vehicle’s tires, taking the time to get the spare, too. Whoever was here, they could enjoy hoofing it back to wherever they’d come from. Maybe a nice long walk in the night air would be enough for Kane and her father to clear their heads.

The temptation to charge in was great, but she knew she couldn’t be stupid about this. Rushing in wouldn’t save Dean. If anything, it might get her shot instead.

She had to take this slow, cautious. She needed to treat the hunters out there like any other wolf she might otherwise be stalking.

Resisting every urge she had, she stepped through the gate and examined the dirt on the ground around it.

Four sets of prints.

That bastard Kane had somehow convinced the Guild to give him the backup he was supposed to be getting for Los Colmillos. What a joke. Four hunters tracking one wolf, especially compared to the prize they could have had.

If she hadn’t been so worried for Dean, she might have felt embarrassed for them.

Enough of that. She drew her gun, her training taking over, and began to scan the surrounding area as she slowly made her way up the driveway, hoping against hope that she wasn’t too late.

36

Kane signaled the two others to take the bedroom on the left while he checked out the rooms on the other side. This whole hunt was starting to leave a bad taste in his mouth. He and John should have been conducting this sweep, leaving Buck and Hammer to wait downstairs for them to flush the wolf out.

At the same time, he could understand the old man’s reluctance. He’d seen just enough when they’d entered the foyer to know how close Buck had come to opening fire on them. He was beginning to think that asking for backup on this one had been a mistake – too many hunters in too closed off a space. He’d worked with John before, but the other two lacked the cohesiveness or instincts of a team.

Those two were lone wolves, so to speak – effective on their own but too likely to trip over their own two feet when paired off. Still, it was a bit late for bellyaching. He couldn’t very well send them back to wait in the car, not without catching major shit about it from the Guild.

The small bedroom was clear. So was the adjoining bathroom. Damn mansions. The wolf could be in any of half a dozen rooms up here, not to mention closets or other nooks and crannies. His skin tingled harder than ever, though, which meant their prey was still here. It hadn’t jumped out a window or anything.

That made sense. Whelps typically didn’t run unless they were seriously injured, usually well past the point where they could make an effective escape. That this one had tried to go for the door rather than hunt them down was odd, but ultimately it didn’t matter. It was a whelp and he was a hunter. His job was to kill these fucking monsters, not psychoanalyze them. Besides, there was Ro to think about. She was somehow connected to this thing, and that couldn’t be allowed to stand. The Guild didn’t suffer wolves to live, and they took pretty much the same view on any hunters insane enough to go native.

The creak of a floorboard somewhere behind him interrupted his thoughts and he spun, gun at the ready.

Nothing but the doorway leading back to the hall. Probably one of the other guys. He could hear them rooting around, being about as subtle as two bulls in a china shop. A part of him was tempted to camp out and wait. Let Buck and Hammer act as live bait. Surely if he heard them, then the wolf did, too. It would come looking for them and then he could plug it.

Kane shook the thought from his head. It seemed that, contrary to everyone else, he still prided himself on playing by the rules of the Guild, if not the law. Sadly, at times the two were mutually exclusive. He was a hunter first and a cop second, now and always.

He stuck his head out of the door and checked the hallway. Still clear. He was tempted to bang on the wall, tell those two knuckleheads to stop making enough noise to wake the dead, but held himself in check. Doing so would make him as bad as them.

Instead, he continued down the hall toward the next bedroom. He reached for the doorknob then immediately hesitated when he noticed it was closed. Hadn’t they left it open when John and he were up here earlier?

The door exploded off its hinges before he could react. It slammed into him like a freight train, knocking him back, and sandwiched him against the wall. His head collided with the dilapidated wooden paneling and stars filled his eyes before the world greyed out around him.

* * *

This had been her room. Though she’d been gone for some time, the wolf could still smell the lingering traces of her scent. Her.

It was hard to remember things. It was a creature of instinct now, but her face was burned into its memory ... her red hair, green eyes, fair skin. Something about her was different. With her, the need to hunt was quelled. Replaced by an overwhelming need to...

Mate.

...be with her.

Noise registered in its ears from just outside the door. It rolled its lips back in a snarl, equally angry with itself as it was with whoever dared intrude upon her ... their domain.

He’d been stupid, sloppy, allowing her scent to take him away and drown out all other stimuli. And now one of the intruders had found him.

The wolf heeded the anger, let it take control and override all caution. He drove himself forward, knocking the flimsy wooden barrier out of the way. The wolf felt more than saw the body behind it, heard it slump to the floor where it lay unmoving.

More sounds caught its ears – other intruders quickly racing toward the hall from one of the other rooms.

This one was no longer a threat. It was time to deal with the rest.

The wolf charged full speed, instinct guiding it to compensate for what was likely to come next.

The moment before it reached the opening, another of the intruders stepped from the doorway. Its eyes opened wide in fear as the wolf plowed into it.

Ribs snapped and the weak thing crumbled beneath him.

It didn’t allow itself to get distracted, though. Not yet. Not until all its enemies were laid low. Its left ear twitched at the sound of metal clicking and it rolled with its prey, throwing it toward the third intruder who, even now, was preparing to fire its weapon at him.

The gun went off, an explosion of sound that hurt its ears, but that was the extent of the pain. The first man flew into the second, taking the bullet meant for the wolf.

He was upon them in an instant. The first man was wounded but still alive. Broken and bleeding, the blood was too much for the wolf to resist. Now firmly in the grip of the hunt, it backhanded the second away. The first cried out in its stilted language, but all threat was gone from its voice. Though the wolf didn’t understand the words, it grasped the tone.

But there would be no mercy. It was beyond that. It tore into the man and his cries turned to screams followed by the gurgling of blood as he choked within his ruined throat. Finally there came the last sigh of death and his body became still, save for the warm blood still flowing from the ragged opening that had been his throat.

The taste of blood and flesh awakened a deep hunger within and the wolf was tempted to stay and feast, but something told it that would not be wise.

“You fucking bastard!”

It was the second man. He was getting back to his feet, a metal blade glinting in his hand.

If the wolf had been capable of laughter at the pathetic display, it would have. But it sensed its time was short. Though this man was no threat, he was not alone. Instinct told it that to stay was to be potentially outnumbered in this small space. Though it was strong and swift, such a thing might be its undoing. Besides, as tempting as the feast before it was, there was still the pull of the outdoors and freedom.

Though its warring instincts battled over the need to eat and the need to run free under the moon, it forced them down so it could first deal with this man who thought himself a challenger.

Both the meat and freedom would need to wait if it wanted to survive, and it did. It wanted to live very much.

* * *

John heard the crash upstairs, the splintering of wood, and the commotion that followed. He raised his gun and waited.

A part of him hated to be down here acting as cover in case the beast got past the rest. There was a good chance the others would shoot it first, robbing him of his rightful kill. The odds were in their favor, after all – three armed hunters against one whelp. He wouldn’t be happy, but he reminded himself that dead was dead no matter who pulled the trigger. One of the first rules his father had taught him was that their mission always took priority over ego. He had a feeling that was a concept lost upon Kane and his buddies, though.

A loud snarl came from upstairs, followed by a gunshot. There was a crash, probably furniture being shattered, and John tensed for what came next: silence or... Screams drifted down to him, followed by the sound of wet meat being torn.

John raised his gun and took aim, wondering who it had been. It was regretful no matter who. He was a hard-ass, he knew that, but he wasn’t entirely heartless. Dying in the line of duty carried with it a modicum of respect, no matter who the hunter was or how much they may have deserved it. He would never hold the life of a whelp over that of another man, so long as that man stood his ground.

Despite the cries of battle from the second floor, he held his position off to the side of the staircase, a view which would allow him to see who or what came down before they could see him.

Lesser men might have run to the aid of their companions, but that could just as easily go as tits-up as anything else. Panic caused people to do stupid things. It was another lesson his father had beaten into him. When you were assigned your post, you didn’t abandon it, no matter what. There was a reason he was where he was, and running upstairs like a goddamned amateur could easily waste the opportunity he was waiting for.

More noises drifted down to him: snarls, faint cursing, the sound of something heavy toppling over. Whatever was going on up there, it was a hell of a fight, but still he stayed where he was, his instincts telling him he was taking the right course.

There! Movement at the top of the stairs.

He steadied his aim, waiting.

The topmost stair creaked as something heavy stepped on it.

His finger tightened on the trigger as he waited to see what would step into view. There was movement in the dark space between bannister posts and John focused on it.

He saw a hand and the sleeve attached to it. One of the others. They must have gotten the bas...

John started to relax his grip, opened his mouth to call out, but then he stopped. The angle was all wrong.

There came a thud, as if a boot had fallen upon the stairs, but it didn’t have the cadence of a footstep. More like something was being dragged down.

That’s when he realized his mistake, saw the large shape almost hidden in shadow behind that of the man. It was carrying him.

John wasn’t sure if it had the other hunter for the purpose of dragging its kill to a safe place or if it was actually using him as a human shield. The latter seemed impossible, far too clever a ruse for any whelp to think of. But then again, lately there had been some disturbing signs that the wolves were changing, carrying out attacks with a disturbing amount of forethought.

No matter the case, he realized he couldn’t hesitate.

Whoever was in the wolf’s arms was as good as dead, assuming they weren’t already.

He took aim and opened fire.

37

Pain exploded in the wolf’s thigh as it once more attempted its run to freedom, the booming thunder of another man-weapon leaving a painful ringing in its ears. As it had anticipated, there had been another of the intruders below, lying in wait. Unfortunately, this one had been smart and wasn’t fooled by its ruse.

Its leg gave out and it stumbled on the stairs. The voice buried in its mind cried out, told it that it needed to move because to do otherwise would be a death sentence.

As it fell, it kicked out at the wall with its good leg, propelling itself sideways with the corpse of the fallen prey. When it had grabbed the dead man, it wasn’t sure why at the time. But now it realized the reason had come from the other voice inside its head.

The wolf slammed through the flimsy wooden bars at the side of the stairs and fell, landing with the body between it and the other intruder, an older man who was now advancing upon it.

It made eye contact with the intruder and a vague recollection filled its primitive mind. It had seen this man before, fought him, bested him, but had been stopped before it could feed upon him.

Images flitted through its mind, hazy memories of the past, of this man unconscious before him, of her standing by the man’s side.

The wolf didn’t understand what any of it meant. What it did understand, though, was the challenge of another predator. That’s what this man was, proven by the triumph which shone on his face as he leveled his weapon.

Now!

The voice inside, still faint and far away, screamed the warning and the wolf obeyed. It shoved the dead prey away with everything it had. The body slid, the floor beneath it slick with the blood still leaking from its cooling meat, and slammed into the old man’s legs, knocking him over.

The intruder’s weapon fired before he went down, but the resulting sound and flash of light was nothing compared to the pain that suddenly exploded in the wolf’s side.

The beast snarled in fury, but it quickly became a whimper as its insides seemingly turned to fire, the burning in its gut intensifying with each heaving breath it took.

Every instinct within it screamed for it to fight, to tear this man asunder before he could recover, but it somehow knew that would be a mistake. It was hurt, weakened, and bleeding. It tried to stand and faltered, the pain in its gut and injured leg almost too much to bear.

Crawling on all fours, it forced itself to disengage. It briefly considered the allure of freedom, but doubted its ability to make it far, especially if this man pursued it. And somehow the wolf knew he would.

It needed to find somewhere to hide, to hole up and lick its wounds. Only one thought came to mind – the very place it had been desperate to escape. It needed to return there. Something deep inside, perhaps the other voice, told it that place was hidden. Though it had hated its confinement there, it realized it had also felt safe. In the past, there had been warmth and meat, almost as if it were less a prison and more a lair. Yes. Perhaps it had been wrong to wish to leave.

With an involuntary whimper of pain, it used its waning strength to bound away into the darkness of the house before the man could recover.

The wolf was a predator, powerful and savage, but such primal thoughts were lost to it in that moment as it found the stairs and began to crawl down them.

All it knew as it sought refuge was pain, fear, and a terrible feeling of being alone.

* * *

Goddamnit!

John pushed himself off the floor, slipped on the blood, and went down again. After a moment, he eased his legs off the corpse – Hammer’s, by the look of it, although it was kind of hard to tell in the condition it was in. Still a stupid name as far as he was concerned.

He’d hit his head but good on the hardwood floor when that thing had pushed the body at him, taking him out at the legs. He grimaced in pain as his tongue felt something, then spat out a tooth and a mouthful of blood. His head ached and his ears rang, but he didn’t have time for any of that shit. He’d been knocked clean out, no telling for how long but, by the fact that he hadn’t been gutted, it couldn’t have been for more than a minute or two.

If there was an upside to this fucked up situation, it was that he’d gotten off the shot. Wasn’t sure where he’d hit, but the cry that had come from the wolf just before he blacked out told him that he’d done more than nicked it. That was fine and dandy by him. Even if it hadn’t been a kill shot, the silver would be eating away at that damn thing’s guts like fire.

He switched on his flashlight and, sure enough, there was a trail of blood, distinct from the gore from Hammer’s body as it led further away toward the back of the house.

“Gonna get you, you son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself.

“Hey!”

Between his fury and still being dazed, he hadn’t heard the movement from up above until now. John swept the beam of his flashlight up and caught sight of two men on the stairs.

“Get that goddamned light out of my eyes,” Kane warned.

John was tempted to tell him to cram it sideways up his ass, but he realized that his dander was up, which wasn’t a good state to be in with the hunt still unfinished. So he swallowed his ire and lowered the light back to the floor.

“What the hell happened to you two?” he asked groggily. “Don’t take no offense, but you boys look like hammered shit.”

* * *

Kane was ticked. The damned wolf had gotten the drop on him like he was a first year trainee. He knew he needed to start treating these things with more respect than just dumb animals. The case load piling up on his desk these last several months told him as much, but old habits died hard.

As a result, when he’d seen that bedroom door closed up, he’d hesitated. It had only been for the barest of moments, but that was enough for him to be slammed into the wall like a rag doll and left stunned on the floor.

The others hadn’t fared much better. From what Buck had told him when he’d found the man in the other bedroom, pinned beneath a heavy armoire, the thing had attacked quickly, too fast for them to react.

Kane doubted that highly. Those two probably had their thumbs up their own, or each other’s, asses to have been taken out so easily, considering what a racket that damn thing had made.

According to Buck, Hammer was down, most likely dead. Then it had come for him, dropping half the furniture in the place onto his head before making a run for it.

Kane knew he should have felt something for their fallen partner, but right then he was too busy processing what had happened.

That the wolf had run, instead of sticking around to finish them all, was strange in itself. That it had apparently taken Hammer’s body when it left was proof that they needed to up their game, treat this thing like it could think like a man.

The Guild would need to change its tactics to deal with the evolving werewolves. But fuck the Guild for now. Right then, they needed to get their asses in gear if they wanted to have any chance of bagging this thing.

And Kane wanted to get it. He’d been embarrassed enough as of late. Bad enough the old man treated him like a stupid kid and that his daughter thought her hot ass was too good for him. But for a whelp to do it? That would not stand in his book.

“Get your ass moving,” he’d told Buck the second he was free.

“I’m kinda banged up, man.”

“You’re gonna be a lot worse if you don’t get your shit together and move it.”

They’d headed back downstairs where the gruesome sight of two bodies lying upon the floor had greeted them. That had stopped them dead in their tracks on the stairs.

Except it hadn’t been two. When one of them began to stir, Kane reacted and nearly put a bullet in the old man, just barely catching himself in time.

John looked up at them. He seemed slightly dazed, but there was determination in his eyes.

His gaze flickered between Kane and Buck. “Don’t take no offense, but you boys look like hammered shit.”

Kane glanced down at the body of their colleague. “That supposed to be a joke?”

John’s eyes bored into his. “That depends on what happens next. You boys gonna turn tail and run, or are you gonna stay and finish this with me?”

38

Ro heard the shots as she made her way up the driveway. She hustled the rest of the way, praying that she wasn’t too late. Just as she’d feared, the front door was wide open, the lock broken. She heard a scuffling noise, a fierce growl, then another gunshot.

She entered the mansion cautiously, sidearm at the ready, and caught a glimpse in the dim light of the wolf lurching away toward the ballroom. She mentally corrected herself that it wasn’t just the wolf, that it was Dean, when she spied two bodies near the foot of the grand staircase. From the amount of blood, it didn’t look hopeful for either of them.

Doing her best to not step in the gore and leave any prints, she approached as slowly as she dared, wanting to know their identities, but at the same time knowing that she needed to find Dean quickly in case the others were still after him. One of the men she didn’t recognize, but there was little doubt this had been his last hunt. The other...

She gasped when she saw her father. Blood dripped from his mouth and he had a good-sized lump on his head, but he groaned when she touched him – still alive! He stirred slightly, but then went slack again, his breathing steady.

She was torn between wanting to assure herself that her father was okay and finding Dean. She looked toward the ballroom, the direction she thought she’d seen him heading, and saw an obvious blood trail leading that way. Her stomach constricted at the knowledge that Dean was hurt, maybe badly. She didn’t fool herself into thinking that her father would quit once he was back on his feet. No, it would only be a matter of time before he started tracking Dean again.

She stared at her father for one more brief moment before making her decision. He was a tough man, the toughest she knew. He’d survived a wolf bite and near death. He could survive a mild concussion.

Ro moved to disarm him, but heard a sound from above – footsteps, more than one pair – before she could grab his gun.

Damnit!

This had to end. She needed to move quickly, get Dean out of the mansion before her dad and the remainder of his group found him and finished the job.

She followed his trail to the access hallway and saw a large pile of rubble and debris where the basement entrance had been. A small opening, just wide enough for a person, led to the dark stairwell beyond. Ro couldn’t help but notice that the bottom of the passage was wet, as if covered in blood.

Her heart constricted, afraid that she was too late. She reached out with her senses and felt the distinct presence of a wolf close by. He was still alive. Relief filled her, and she pushed through the opening as quickly as she could. Ro carefully descended the stairs then entered the lab. She heard tortured breathing somewhere ahead, but couldn’t see anything in the all-encompassing darkness. Without thinking, she reached to the wall and flicked on the switch, bathing the room in blinding white light.

As soon as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, she spotted Dean in the corner, bloodied and whimpering.

It ... he ... growled upon hearing her approach and lifted his head from the ground. She held out her hands in an attempt to soothe him. “Shh, it’s okay.” There was no way of knowing if he’d understood her, but she had to try. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Dean continued to growl deep in his throat but still she approached, arms outstretched. When she was within a couple yards, the growling stopped and she almost smiled when he wagged his tail.

Suppressing the ridiculous urge to giggle, she knelt down next to him. “You’re hurt bad, aren’t you?” Blood matted the fur at his side and leg. She couldn’t tell for sure, but the leg wound didn’t look too bad. The other looked more serious, so that’s where she turned her attention.

She knew she didn’t have much time as she reached out tentatively to probe the injury. “Shh,” she repeated. To her utter surprise, he allowed her to touch him, whimpering mildly.

Examining him more closely, she let out a gasp. Where the wound on his thigh was relatively clean, the bullet appearing to have passed clean through the muscle, the one in his side was ragged, ugly ... almost as if he’d tried to dig out the bullet himself.

As if sensing what she was thinking, Dean lay a bloody paw upon the ground and opened it. The remains of a silver slug clinked out onto the floor.

“Oh my God. You poor thing.”

He seemed to understand, his red eyes fixed on hers. He lay his head down again on the floor, as if content to feel her fingers in his fur. She raised her hand to his face, smoothed down the fur on his head, and he closed his eyes.

Dean’s ears twitched, and a moment later his eyes flew back open and he lifted his head. Ro didn’t need wolf ears to hear it, too – footsteps coming down the stairs.

Shit. She’d gotten too caught up in finding Dean, had let her guard down. They were cornered. There was only one exit out of the basement, and it led right to the hunters. They would need to fight their way out but, with Dean wounded, the prospect wasn’t looking very good. The only plus on their side was that the stairwell opening was a potential chokepoint.

She looked into the wolf’s ... Dean’s eyes and said, “Listen to me. They’re coming down the stairs. You need to get up. We have to make a stand.” He stared unblinkingly until she added, “If we’re going to live, you’re going to have to fight with me. I can’t do this without you. Now get up.”

Dean scrambled to an upright position, seeming to understand. He made no sound as he moved except for sharp inhalations of breath. He had to be hurting, but she couldn’t afford to treat his wounds now. She could see him favoring his bad leg, but he stood strong, his teeth bared as the footsteps continued to descend.

She trained her gun on the landing and forced herself to keep steady when her father appeared. His eyes widened in surprise upon the sight of her, but then immediately focused on the gun in her hand. His was drawn as well, but he faltered visibly on seeing her.

“Rowan? You were supposed to be at the pier.”

“Yeah, well, when you guys didn’t show up, I realized you might have been having your own party here. Turns out I was right. I hope you don’t mind that I crashed it.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” a familiar voice growled from further up the stairs.

“You need to get away from that thing, girl,” her father said, his voice unsteady.

“Really, Dad? After everything you’ve done, you really expect that to work?”

“Don’t be sassing me. I said to move.”

“You killed Coop. Murdered him in cold blood and then left him for me to find. There’s an entire pack out there killing people tonight and you chose your own goddamned ego over that, over me!”

While her father seemed to be warring with his emotions, Kane appeared little more than annoyed at her presence. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ro?”

“Protecting Dean from you.”

“I see. Never took you for a whelp lover.”

Ro ignored the dig, knowing that to become emotional would only weaken her resolve. She could feel rather than see Dean behind her, deep growls rumbling in his throat. He was wounded and pissed, that much was evident. She needed to think fast if this was going to turn into anything other than a bloodbath.

As much as she wanted to protect Dean, she wasn’t sure if she could fight her father. She’d fought beside him countless times, but the notion that he was now the enemy, that she might have to injure him when she’d fought so hard to save his life, she could barely conceive it.

But she still knew the difference between right and wrong. Dean, though a wolf, was still human inside. She couldn’t allow him to be murdered. Her conscience told her it was wrong but, more importantly, so too did her heart.

* * *

John had never seen a hunt turn to shit quite like this one had. How the hell did she get up here so quickly?

It was a stupid question, though. The fact was his daughter was here. She was born and raised a hunter. Resourcefulness was in her blood.

He cursed himself. He’d hoped his little gift at the pier would have bought them more time. Either the whelp’s friend had been further gone than John had intended, or she’d just abandoned him to come up here.

The latter was something he’d have done. No point wasting time over a lost cause, but he somehow didn’t think so. No. She wouldn’t have left the man to race up here and save this whelp. The latter bespoke of caring and the former would have required blood colder than ran through her veins. That meant Maddox was dead.

Damnit! He knew he should have stopped sooner but just couldn’t do it. Once he’d gotten started, he’d wanted that goddamned wolf lover to hurt.

Should’ve knocked her out and tied her up at the apartment instead.

All of that ran through his mind in the space of a heartbeat. The truth was, none of it mattered. Rowan was standing there, large as life, with her gun trained on him.

Her mother had been weak, a coward, but this, this went far beyond anything Moira had ever done. In the space of a few seconds, Rowan had gone rogue like few hunters before her. There was no way the Guild would forgive her for this.

There was no way he could forgive her.

In one fell swoop, she’d thrown everything away, her entire life, and for what? This thing?

He steadied his aim. The wolf was far bigger than his daughter. Try as it might, it couldn’t hide behind her. Though a kill shot would be cleaner, he was well aware that enough silver would be fatal on its own.

“Don’t do it, Dad,” Ro said, no doubt reading the intent on his face.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, girl.”

“I think it does. What you’re doing is wrong.”

He could feel Kane looming a step or two above him, and he moved to block the younger man from reaching the bottom. This was his business and his alone. “What I’m doing is wrong?” he snapped. “This is what we do.” He waved his free hand at the wolf. “That thing behind you is a werewolf, a goddamned monster, and our job is to exterminate them.”

“If he’s the monster, then why is he the only one I trust to turn my back on?”

He didn’t have a quick answer to that. Truth be told, he’d never seen a whelp act this way before. It was almost like it knew what it was doing. The look in its eyes seemed to convey this. They were still a wolf’s eyes, but they were different, more aware ... more human.

No! That was impossible. He knew it in his gut. It had to be some trick. Maybe she’d drugged it before they’d gotten down here.

Either way, it didn’t matter. She was wrong. Her days as a hunter were over. There was no doubt about that. She’d never be trusted again. But maybe he could still make her understand the error of her ways once this thing was dead.

* * *

Kane was growing more pissed by the second. Not only had this bitch betrayed them, but her father was obviously hesitating in doing what needed to be done.

Am I the only hunter worth a damn in this house tonight?

Not only that, but he was a cop, too. Usually the two careers didn’t overlap much, but on occasion it was useful ... like, for instance, in a standoff.

“Rowan,” he called out, “I want you to lay down your gun and come out here.”

“Not going to happen, Kane. Not unless you back off first.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

The old man was blocking him from the bottom of the stairs and a clean shot. He was tempted to club him in the back of the head and shove him out of the way, but that would have been a mistake. It was painfully obvious Ro wasn’t going to shoot her father. However, Kane wasn’t an idiot. To assume she’d afford him the same grace struck him as a stupid risk. He didn’t think she’d be gung ho to gun down another hunter, but it seemed smart to err on the side of caution.

“Ro, I’m going to ask again...”

“Oh, cut the shit,” she snapped from within the room below. “This is bigger than both of us.”

“How so?”

John looked up at him and narrowed his eyes, but Kane held up a placating hand. He knew what he was doing. It was one of the tenets of hostage negotiation – keep them talking. Sure, the hostage in this case was a monster they were going to put down with extreme prejudice, but same general principle.

“He’s working on a cure,” Ro replied after a moment.

What?!

“Have you gone soft in the head, girl?” John snapped. “You know as well as I do that there isn’t a cure. That thing’s a monster.”

“Your father’s right, Ro,” Kane said, hoping for a way to tell the old man to shut the fuck up without her hearing.

“Right now, there’s no cure that we know of,” Ro replied, desperation creeping into her voice. “But think about it, Kane. I’m sure you’ve read his case file. You know his family and what they do. If there’s anyone who can find a cure, it’s him.”

She had a point. The Masons owned a biotech company and the kid supposedly had more smarts than he knew what to do with. If things had turned out differently, he would have taken over the family business one day, assuming he got his fucked-up life back on track. Of course, that had all come to a screeching halt when the kids’ parents had ended up butchered. “He’s playing you. You’ve gotta know that.” There came a pause. Perhaps he was finally getting through that thick skull of hers.

But then she said, “He’s using my blood. He knows about our resistance to the curse. He’s trying to find a way to...”

John glanced up again, his eyes wide, but Kane ignored him. What the ever-living fuck? Not only was she a goddamned wolf lover, but she was letting him experiment with her blood. That was the one advantage they had over the monsters, the one thing that gave them an edge. And this bitch was letting him know all their secrets. How stupid could she be?

This fucking wolf wasn’t trying to develop a cure. Any moron could see that. He was going to use this to take down the Guild. In a flash, it all became clear to him. It was bad enough that she’d rejected him, but it went beyond that. She had rejected everything they held dear. Not only that, but she was actively working to destroy it all, too.

“Oh, you’ve fucked up, Ro,” he snarled, suddenly consumed by anger, by her betrayal. Not only had she spurned him for a wolf, but she was a traitor to their very kind. “I was hoping maybe we could convince the Guild to just drum you out, but there’s no way they’re letting you walk away now. Not after this.”

“Oh really?” she called back. “And what are they going to say when they find out you blew off possibly the biggest score in decades for a personal vendetta? You think I’m going down alone? You could have been a hero to the Guild, Kane, but you put yourself first, and now God only knows how many wolves are still going to be walking around tomorrow because of it.”

That was the last straw for him – to do this, the ultimate betrayal to their kind, and then to threaten his good standing as well.

He’d been willing to see that Guild justice was done, give her a chance to plead her case to them no matter how little good it would do her. But now she’d sealed her fate. No fucking way were either of them, this wolf or his traitorous cunt, walking out of there alive.

39

Ro could sense the internal war going on behind her father’s eyes. She knew he still meant to kill Dean but saw he was hesitant about training his gun on her. As much as he hated wolves, she was still his daughter. Hopefully that was enough to stay his hand for at least a few more moments.

The same couldn’t be said about Kane. She couldn’t see his face from her vantage point, but she could hear the rage in his voice following their discussion of a cure. She wasn’t sure why he was so angry. She would’ve thought they would all want this, an end to all the senseless killing and bloodshed.

Then a thought began to form. Maybe he didn’t want it to end. She’d seen him after a hunt, how he’d reveled in a kill, bragged about it to everyone who’d listen. She knew the pull of the moon, the need to hunt, the satisfaction that came after a job well done. Perhaps, for him, that was all he had. He had no family, no real friends that she knew of. The hunt was his life. To find a cure, to end the need for hunters, would be devastating to someone like Kane.

But she still had to hope that her father wasn’t so far gone. He was cold, entrenched in the old ways, but she had to believe he wouldn’t kill his own daughter just to preserve that way of life. If not, then she was truly alone.

“Rowan, you must understand,” her father said, “we’re doing this for you. I don’t know what bullshit that whelp has been filling your head with, but there’s no hope for him. The moment he was bit, he changed into a monster, pure and simple. You need to put him down and accept that. If what you’re saying about that gang of wolves is true, then we’re going to need you for that fight.”

“If you’d listened to me in the first place, then they would’ve been dead already, Dad. Dean is not the monster here.”

“Yes, he is! He’s a whelp! He’s an animal, a predator. Haven’t I taught you anything, fool girl? Now put a bullet in him and finish the job!”

Dean’s growls became louder behind her. Despite his injuries, she could sense him tensing to attack. That was perhaps what made wolves most dangerous to hunters – their uncanny ability to recuperate from serious injuries in remarkable time. Hence why hunters used silver, the one element which seemed to retard that ability – an ability that, Ro realized, might be their saving grace in this fight ... and there would be a fight. She saw that now. There was no chance of the others letting them walk away without one.

Sorrow welled up in her, but she forced it down. That would have to wait for later. What came next would require the same coldness she’d used to take down wolves in the past.

“Give it up, John,” Kane growled. “Can’t you see she’s a lost cause?”

“Shut the fuck up!” her father spat, turning ever so slightly toward him.

In the space of a second, Ro realized what she had to do. She used the distraction to aim and take her shot. It was, with some irony she realized, something her father had taught her to do, even as she added her own nonlethal spin to it.

Her dad cried out in pain as the bullet slammed into the side of his foot, causing him to crumble to the ground.

“What the fuck?” Kane yelled. “Are you fucking crazy, you stupid bitch?” But Ro was through listening. She rushed to the side, toward cover.

* * *

Dean felt like his brain was swimming in mud. For what felt like hours, but was probably just minutes, it was like he was surfacing from deep underwater. At first there were just flashes, like watching a grainy movie from the back row of a theater: Ro’s old bedroom, spilled blood, explosive sound followed by pain, returning to his lab.

But then she was there ... Ro. Little by little, he began to find the strength he’d lacked ever since he’d been bitten – the strength to fight against the wolf, to stand up to the beast that had so easily dominated him.

The wolf didn’t go easy, though. Fighting it was like wrestling down an angry Rottweiler with his bare hands, but Ro’s presence seemed to strengthen him while simultaneously taming the beast.

When the wolf wanted to snap at her as she tended to his wounds, he convinced it to stay its hand. When it demanded they attack the intruders, he forced it to wait.

Dean wasn’t wholly himself – one look down at his brutish body was enough to convince him of that. Nor was he fully in charge inside his head. The wolf was still there in his mind struggling to pull free, but he’d managed to leash it enough so that now he ... they ... were something greater than the sum of their parts, a shared mind, his intelligence paired with the wolf’s instincts.

Fortunately, as Ro fired her gun at the intruder ... her father ... he and the wolf were able to agree with little argument on what needed to be done next. They needed to protect her and survive. The only question now, as he followed her, ducking down behind some lab equipment to throw off the other hunter’s aim, was which need would prove to be stronger.

Daring to glance over at her, seeing the steely resolve in her eyes as she betrayed her own kind – her own family – for his sake, he had a feeling he knew what the answer was.

* * *

Ro crouched behind some shelving, knowing full well it provided inadequate cover against the onslaught to come. She felt no relief that her father was incapacitated for the time being, especially since she’d been the one to incapacitate him. He was pissed, that much was evident from the screams and invectives he hurled at her. She ignored them, refused to let them penetrate. If she listened too closely, she might lose her resolve and falter. After all, her father was family, he was blood.

But he was also wrong. That much she knew. And she would need to keep that knowledge at the forefront if she was going to survive the night. Even though he was injured, her father could still wield his gun, and she had little doubt he would be looking to shoot on sight. After all, she’d already crossed that line. For him, this would no longer be about who was right or wrong. Best case scenario, he would teach her a lesson, try to maim her but let her live.

Kane was another story. With the expression on his face as he attempted to close on their location, she was certain he was prepared to kill.

The two men were blocking their sole means of escape. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out her next move. A counter with lab equipment was adjacent to them. She had no idea what any of it did and was pretty sure Dean wouldn’t be much help in identifying them in his current state, but she wouldn’t need to know their function for what she had planned.

She touched his arm and he jerked in response, but his expression remained calm as far as she could tell. It was his eyes that did it for her. They were far less red than they’d been, almost a tinge of purple as if the blue of Dean’s eyes was fighting to come out. “I need you to throw something in their direction. Something heavy,” she whispered, hoping that he understood.

He stared into her eyes unblinkingly, and then did something which surprised her. He nodded his head.

Dean turned to the counter and reached for a boxy device about two feet wide. She unplugged it as quietly as she could, then told him, “On three and then wait for me. Okay?” Another nod. “One, two ... now!”

She reached around her cover and fired off two shots blindly. She wasn’t trying to hit anyone, just hopefully give them a reason to duck long enough to let Dean do what he had to. He was a helluva big rodent in this game of cat and mouse and, while his power was unquestionable, he also made a fairly hard target to miss.

He hefted the instrument and tossed it, seemingly effortlessly, toward Kane. As she hoped, the hunter reacted by shooting at it, instead of them, giving them the opportunity to relocate to a more defensible position.

Ro compensated by purposefully firing twice at the door frame. The bullets struck high, but ruined the shot her father had been lining up. As she’d expected, wounded foot or not, he was in the process of crawling into the lab, refusing to give up.

Goddamnit, Dad! For once can’t you please just be reasonable?!

The distraction gave them a few precious seconds before the hunters returned fire. By then, Ro and Dean had ducked behind an industrial-sized freezer unit, its size and thickness providing much better cover.

Even though she had spare ammo with her, they were outgunned, which in this small space could easily erase any advantage Dean gave them. They needed to take Kane out. With him down, she was certain they could get past her father and make a run for it. However, that would be easier said than done. Kane was a trained hunter and cop. As much as she hated to admit it, he was probably her match, maybe more so.

He also had one other major advantage over her. He might have been an arrogant jerk, a stalker, and prick of the highest caliber, but she wasn’t a murderer. She had no interest in killing him, no matter how tempting it might be.

She risked a quick glance around the side and almost got shot for her troubles, the silver bullet striking the freezer just inches from her face. But it was enough to tell her Kane’s location. He was holed up in the center of the room behind a table upon which sat Bunsen burners and a glass array of jars, beakers, and tubing that looked like it was pulled straight from a mad scientist’s lab. Various liquids she had neither the time nor expertise to identify were contained within the setup.

That was bad in itself. What was worse was that her father was now in the room, crawling in the opposite direction, trying to flank them.

She turned to Dean and lowered her voice. “I’m going to shoot out the glass above Kane, then we move to stop my dad. We need to get that gun out of his hands.”

Dean snuffled in return, which she took to be affirmation.

Ro made her move but, as quickly as she took aim, a clawed hand grabbed hold of her jacket and dragged her back behind cover. In the confusion, she squeezed the trigger, the shot going high and hitting one of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, showering the floor in front of them with glass.

“Jesus, it’s got her!” her father cried, and she could tell by the sounds coming from the other side that he was scrambling their way as quickly as he could.

She, however, was more concerned with what had happened. Instinctively she turned her gun on Dean before realizing what she was doing. He was shaking his head.

“Relax,” she hissed. “I’m sorry.”

But he continued to shake his head, gesturing in a way she didn’t understand.

“I don’t...” She didn’t have time for charades. Her father would be there in seconds.

“John!” Kane yelled from his cover. “What the hell are you doing? Get back here!”

Dean made a gesture with his hands, spreading them apart, then puffed up his cheeks, as best he could, and blew out the air in a mockery of a whoosh noise.

It took Ro a moment, one they really didn’t have, to understand. Then she whispered, “Shooting that would be bad, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded vigorously.

She let out a sigh of relief, bemused that she’d not only been saved, but also schooled, by a wolf.

When this is done, I am so signing up for a chemistry class.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sound from the other side of the freezer. Her father, no doubt.

She wasn’t sure what to do. At point blank range, anything could happen but, despite her anger, she just couldn’t envision killing him. No. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if that happened.

The problem was, she couldn’t be certain the reverse was true of him. What if...

However, the question was made moot, as Dean unexpectedly grabbed her and threw her to the floor.

Before she could question what he was doing, the wolf was upon her.

40

For a split second, fear and sorrow warred within her as she wondered if she’d been wrong all along. She’d trusted Dean, protected him, turned on her own flesh and blood for him. And now she was going to pay the price as he lowered his head and...

Did nothing but snarl in her ear?

He was growling, snapping, and clawing on top of her, but he wasn’t actually touching her.

What the hell is this, some bizarre wolf mating ritual? If so, his timing really needs work.

She heard movement from behind them and saw her father slide around the freezer, gun in hand. His eyes immediately went wide at the sight before him. “Get off her, you bastard!”

Suddenly she understood. This was a feint, meant to convince her father she was in danger. Dean was offering himself up as a target in order to give her a chance.

She took it.

Ro kicked out just as her dad fired. The bullet went high, but not enough as Dean grunted in pain from atop her. However, the weapon was knocked from her father’s hands and sent clattering away. She leveled her own gun at him, and she could see in his eyes both the betrayal he felt as well as the certainty that she had him dead to rights.

“Kane was right. You are a goddamned wolf lover. If you’re going to kill me, then kill me! Or are you just like your mother, too weak to do what needs to be done?”

His words were like a knife to her gut. He seldom ever mentioned her mom and now to do so like this...

“If I were weak, Dad, you would be dead already.” She bit down the guilt and regret, then kicked out again, catching him square on the jaw. He fell slack and lay there unmoving.

She was shocked at what she’d done. There was no doubt she’d be a mess later, but she didn’t have time for emotions now. She turned to Dean. “Are you okay?”

He grunted in affirmation but moved far more unsteadily than he should have.

Shit!

She was certain she’d moved fast enough to ruin her dad’s shot.

Maybe I am too weak after all. “It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

“Aw, how fucking touching. I might have to cry.”

Ro spun, but she was far too slow. In creating a distraction to disarm her father, they’d left themselves wide open for Kane to flank them.

Stupid!

He caught her arm and slammed it into the side of the freezer. There came the dull crack of bone and the gun slid out of Ro’s suddenly numb fingers a second before screaming pain shot up her arm.

Before she could cry out, though, he brought down his other hand, the one holding his own weapon, onto the side of her head. The blow dazed her and she slumped to the floor, barely conscious, the pain from her arm the only thing keeping her from slipping away into darkness.

She glanced up to find a look of triumph on the prick’s face. He was alternating between training his gun on her and on Dean, who lay next to her, panting heavily.

Kane smiled. “Guess the old man wasn’t useless after all. Two for the price of one. The wolf we tracked down and the hunter who died in the fray.” He bent down, pointing the gun at her forehead. “How’s that sound, babe? You came up here to join us, then got caught in the crossfire.”

She raised her eyebrows, not understanding, and he continued. “It’s simple, really. A Guild inquest is going to be timely. There’ll be questions asked, tribunals, all sorts of boring shit. This way will be easy, quick. Nobody will question a hunter dying in the line of duty. You won’t deserve the honor, sure, but you’ll be just as dead. Same result, less paperwork for me. I have enough on my desk as it is.”

He stood and aimed at her. “Say goodnight, Rowan. This is more than you deserv...”

Kane disappeared from Ro’s view, replaced by a wall of fur. She gasped in surprise, still dazed from the blow to her head, but she understood nevertheless. Dean was wounded, bleeding from a nasty new gash in his back, but he’d been playing possum. Her father’s shot had merely grazed him, and Kane, in his arrogance, had been too busy pontificating to bother checking first.

Her father had been right about him after all. He was a sloppy hunter.

The gun flew out of Kane’s hands, but it was quickly replaced by a knife.

Though strong enough to fight, she saw that Dean was still moving far more slowly than usual, his wounds having taken their toll. But he had the advantage of size and strength over Kane, who was doing everything he could to avoid the blows being thrown at him while trying to stab at the wolf.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been no contest, but Dean was injured and had lost a lot of blood. Though the ferocity of his attack pushed the hunter back, Kane was moving strategically, looking for an opening. She had a feeling it was only a matter of time before he found one.

The two, hunter and beast, continued to parry back and forth. The wolf, Dean, used his superior reach and natural weaponry, while the hunter countered with expert skill and a silvered blade.

Ro tried to push herself off the floor, accidentally put pressure on her injured arm, and saw stars. She bit down on her own tongue to keep from crying out, tasting blood. However, it served to clear her head, steady her focus. She needed to help Dean but, with a bum arm, she’d be more a liability than anything else.

That was, assuming she took Kane on via hand to hand.

Using her good arm, she pulled herself to her feet as Dean swung a haymaker. Kane ducked beneath it effortlessly, raking his knife across Dean’s ribs. It was a glancing blow, but with silver even a papercut would be agony to a wolf.

Wait! His knife!

Ro checked her belt and, sure enough, hers was by her side, still in its scabbard. She had to work a bit to get it free with her left hand, realizing what she had planned was going to be a long shot. Through all of her training, she’d focused on her dominant arm, and now she had to make a throw into the middle of two brawling foes with her weaker hand.

Dean pushed forward and managed to back his opponent up against the table with the chemicals on it. Kane brought the blade up and Dean caught it in his fist, holding tight even as blood began to drip from between his closed fingers. It must have been agonizing for him, but still he continued fighting.

Ro waited for an opening, but perhaps it wasn’t necessary. He was blocking her throw, but forcing his head closer and closer. Injured or not, one bite from his jaws would take Kane out of this fight. She only hoped Dean had enough sense of himself to only injure the hunter.

C’mon! Remember that you’re a man, not a monster. Please!

There! Dean reared back and went for Kane’s shoulder. Ro was about to whoop for joy when a high-pitched yelp stopped her short. Kane had brought up a knee between the wolf’s legs. It was a crazy, desperate move on his part, but it worked. Dean immediately disengaged and went down to one knee, a keening inhuman whine escaping his lips.

Kane raised his knife in both hands, preparing to drive it deep into the werewolf’s back.

It was now or never. Ro steadied herself and took aim. She let out a breath and waited for the space between heartbeats before letting her blade fly.

The knife flew end over end as Kane began to bring down his own weapon, the world seeming to move in slow motion as if it were a race to see who would strike first. And then Ro’s knife slammed home ... against one of the jars on the table next to where Kane stood.

No!

The glass shattered and a small splash of liquid hit the side of the hunter’s face, no more than a few drops, and Ro knew she’d failed herself and, worst of all, she’d failed Dean.

Dad was right about me.

Before Kane could bring down the knife, however, he began to scream.

* * *

Smoke rose from the side of Kane’s face and he reached up, clawing at it as if there was something living biting into his skin. That’s when Ro realized she’d hit a bottle filled with some sort of acid.

No wonder Dean didn’t want me to shoot earlier.

They weren’t out of the woods yet, though. Dean hadn’t recovered and Kane was still in a prime position to end this.

Ro glanced down and looked around, spying Kane’s gun nearby. Again, she’d have to rely on her bad arm to aim, but she liked her odds better than with the knife. Besides, the threat alone might be enough to get him to back off.

Wasting no time, lest he recover enough to finish Dean, she picked it up and took aim. “That’s enough! Leave him alone, Kane, or so help me, I will put a bullet in you.”

The hunter looked at her through one hate-filled eye, the other covered by the hand still desperately trying to wipe the acid away. He sneered at her but moved cautiously, as if unsure of her resolve. “You haven’t got it in you. Not with your old man, and not with me.”

“Try me.”

“Then do it, already, Ro! Just do it! Choose the monster over your own kind, you fucking whore! You’re a goddamned traitor, shooting your own father instead of this wolf. You’re as much of a monster as it is. So help me, you’d better pull that trigger, because otherwise I’m going to kill you just like I’m going to kill it. So what’s it going to be?”

“Give it up, limp dick. Last chance.”

It was a bluff and she was afraid he knew it. She’d killed lycanthropes before, had no problems doing so. But a person? That was different. That not only broke Guild covenant, but the pledge she took when she became a nurse. Albeit shooting her father had probably broken the latter but, in all fairness, she’d only meant to wound him.

Perhaps that was the key. She didn’t need to kill Kane. His knee, an arm, maybe his shoulder, anything that would incapacitate him. She could bind him up before they left, make sure he didn’t bleed out, but it would give them a head start.

Would it be enough, though? Kane was a cop. How long would it be before there was a multi-state manhunt out for her and Dean, one in which they’d no doubt be conveniently gunned down rather than brought in.

It would be so easy ... No! She refused to cross that line. Pick your shot, don’t miss.

Kane had apparently counted on her hesitation. Quick as a snake, before she could properly aim with her left arm, he flipped the knife in his hand and reared back to throw it. He had her dead to rights and wasn’t hampered by an injured appendage.

She began to put pressure on the trigger as he brought his arm down, knowing his chances were equal or better than hers.

And then Dean was there. He pushed forward from where he knelt and slammed into Kane’s midsection, driving him back into the table with a whoosh of breath, and breaking several more jars of liquid in the process, dousing the hunter in their contents.

The knife, however, still flew free from Kane’s hand. It tumbled end over end toward her, slamming butt-first into her shoulder just as she squeezed off a shot.

Her aim was knocked off center and she had the barest of moments to open her eyes in horror before the propane tank connected to the burners on the table exploded in a fireball.

A wall of oven-hot air slammed into her, almost knocking her off her feet. She looked up, stinging tears in her eyes, in time to see the chemicals pooling on the table ignite, engulfing Kane before he could recover.

The hunter screamed and tried to beat out the fire which was already rapidly spreading across his upper body, but Ro could see it was a futile effort.

His cries became high-pitched and unintelligible as another wave of heat hit her, bringing with it a wall of fumes which seared her throat and left her coughing uncontrollably.

They needed to get out of there before this place became their tomb.

“Dean!” Ro managed to cough out. She dropped to her knees to try to avoid the worst of the smoke and saw him. He lay on the ground, unmoving, his fur beginning to smoke and sizzle.

At first she despaired, but then Ro realized he was still in his wolf form. If so, he was alive, but she didn’t know for how much longer.

She eyed her father in the haze, but knew she had no chance of moving him with her injured arm.

“Dean!” she called again, crawling to him and shaking his wide shoulders. “You’ve got to wake up. Come on.” No movement. “Please! I can’t do this without you ... I can’t do any of this without you.”

And in that moment, she realized it was true. Whatever lay ahead of them, their lives were now entwined. But first they had to escape this inferno.

Dean stirred, coughed, and then his eyes opened. Ro could have cried for joy, but there was no time. He shook his head as if to clear it, then to her utter relief, began to push himself up.

She grabbed hold of his arm. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” He turned toward the stairwell, indicating that she follow, but she stopped him. “My dad,” she said imploringly. “I can’t leave him.”

Dean’s teeth pulled back in a snarl, but it was only for a moment and then he was on the move – slow, unsteady, but alive. He lifted her father’s still limp form from the floor, hoisted him over his shoulder, and turned back toward the door.

Ro stood to follow, moving to the wall opposite the flames, where Dean’s computer desk sat, but before she could get more than a few steps she noticed something she hadn’t before ... something small, insignificant, easy to miss. It was stupid of her, but she got the feeling it might be important and, as a hunter, her father had taught her to follow her gut.

That done, she covered her nose and mouth as best she could and ran.

There was no more time to waste. Something else exploded in the room just as she stepped into the stairwell. Kane cried out again from somewhere behind her, hidden from view by the smoke, but it was rapidly drowned out by the roar of the fire.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.

It was the only eulogy she had time for. She turned without further hesitation and began to climb as if her life depended on it.

A few more screams rose up behind her before falling quiet at last. No matter. She had a feeling she would continue to hear them in her dreams for a long time to come.

41

The smoke followed them up the stairs and became thick, black, and greasy, no doubt fueled by the myriad chemicals burning down below. The mansion was old and in questionable repair. It was probably only a matter of minutes at most before the entire building became an inferno.

The thickening smoke made it difficult to see, but Ro remembered the way. Once they crawled through the opening leading out of the stairwell, it was a fairly straight shot to the front door and freedom.

The opening was too small for Dean to carry her father through, and there was no time to widen it, so Ro helped pull him across after Dean laid him down as far through as he could set him.

The pain was immense, her arm throbbing as she was forced to put everything she had left into dragging her father one-handed until he was lying on the hardwood floor of the hallway.

Dean crawled through a moment later and once more grabbed hold of John.

Ro used the walls to guide them forward, the smoke effectively blinding them. They reached what she thought must be the foyer when a voice called out from in front of them, “Who’s there? That you, Kane? You get that son of a bitch?”

Shit! She’d forgotten she’d counted four pairs of footprints at the gate.

She wanted to kick herself. It was standard Guild protocol for multi-hunter missions. When one or more members boxed in a wolf, another was to stand guard in case it got past them.

Goddamnit!

She still had Kane’s gun tucked into the waistband of her pants, but she hadn’t either the time or inclination to check to see how many bullets remained in the magazine. No matter the case, an extended gun battle was ill-advised with the place probably only minutes away from coming down around them.

As if to accentuate the point, there came a muffled explosion from below, followed by a wall of heat that licked at their backsides.

She glanced back at Dean, barely stifled a cough, then pulled the gun out and held it in front of her.

Ro strode forward, trying to convey she meant business, holding herself steady so she wouldn’t give away the fact that she’d have gladly downed half a bottle of Percocet to dull the pain.

Eventually she saw him, a large man silhouetted in the doorway ahead, blocking their way. His weapon was out, but his aim appeared unsteady. Ro smirked silently. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his resolve was wavering.

He turned toward the sound of her footsteps – a big man, dark-haired and muscular, but with a gut developing around his middle. Ro was certain she’d seen him before when visiting the Guild. Brock ... or maybe Buck. Yeah, that sounded right.

“It’s about time,” he said. “What the hell did you guys do down ... who the fuck are you?”

He saw the gun pointed his way and aimed at her with his own, but then Dean, holding Ro’s father, emerged from the smoke and the hunter’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“Son of a bitch. You’re that traitor whore. Kane was right. He said...”

“Kane’s dead,” Ro replied, her breath hitching for a moment as she desperately wanted to cough, but she caught herself. She really wasn’t in the mood for any alpha dog bullshit, but at the same time wasn’t about to show this jackass any weakness. “You’re the last man standing and you’re in our way.”

The hunter trained his gun on Dean, then back again toward Ro.

From off to her side, Dean began to growl, low and deep in his throat. That caught the hunter’s attention and he apparently decided the wolf was the bigger threat.

“Eh-hem.” She cleared her throat, calling attention back to herself and hopefully cluing him in on the fact that she had him dead to rights. “Think about this real carefully.”

“Fuck you,” he replied, but she thought she detected a tremor in his voice. “We don’t let wolves walk.”

“Things change. And if you so much as twitch a finger, I’ll give you a few new holes to breathe out of.”

“There’s no shame dying in the line of duty.”

“Dying a hero doesn’t mean anything if nobody knows about it, and I can guarantee they’ll never find your body.”

“Won’t save the whelp.”

“That’s assuming you don’t hit my father by mistake. A dicey prospect in this smoke.”

His eyes got a wild look in them, and she could tell his resolve was crumbling. Time to give him an out and hope he took it. “Drop it and run. Nobody needs to know. Don’t bother stopping at your car, I already took care of that. Just keep going and don’t look back.”

“But...”

Ro put every ounce of steel she had left into her voice. “Last chance.” She found it was easy to do as she realized she wasn’t bluffing this time, something she wasn’t sure of until that moment.

Apparently the hunter, Buck Something, realized it, too.

He took a step back, tossed his weapon at her feet, and then turned tail and ran.

Judging by the heat rising behind them, it wasn’t a moment too soon.

* * *

They didn’t slow down until they were well away from the house, the cool fresh air a balm to Ro’s throat and lungs. Dean hacked as he walked next to her, still carrying her father, his barking cough strange to her ears.

The fire had spread from the basement to the first floor of the mansion. Several windows blew out, and smoke began to pour from them. It wouldn’t be long until the entire place collapsed.

They made their way to the gate quickly and silently. There was no sign of the other hunter. He’d run as she’d commanded. Good for him, because if he’d stood his ground, there would have been no mercy shown ... from either of them.

It was yet another of her father’s lessons. He used to tell her there was no way of knowing the true mettle of a man until his ass was between a rock and a hard place. It was a test most didn’t pass.

She considered this and realized she’d fared better than most on that test, but the thought left her sick to her stomach. In doing so, she’d done the unthinkable, turned on the Guild – the only life she knew. Not only that, but she’d injured her father and her actions had directly led to Kane’s death. Hers was indeed a trial by fire, although what that meant for her going forward, she had no way of knowing.

“Come on. We’ll leave him outside the gate, then drop 9-1-1 an anonymous tip.” The words left her lips without emotion. She was tired in so many ways, but the night was not yet over.

Dean chuffed in acknowledgment. He laid the old man down where she told him to, then stood tall, his eyes seeming to search for something in hers.

A cough from her father caught their attention before she could say anything, and they turned to find him starting to come to.

He opened his eyes and they settled upon Dean. He cried out, a mix of surprise and rage, and tried to scramble away, but Ro was by his side in an instant putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Dad. You’re safe.”

The look he gave her was enough to break her heart. “I’m not safe as long as that wolf is alive. And neither are you, but I see now you’re not smart enough to realize that.”

She shook her head and let out a long sigh. “Think whatever you want, I can’t stop that, but know that so-called monster saved you. That’s a truth you can never change.”

She went to check his foot, make sure it wasn’t bleeding too badly, but he pushed her away. “Don’t touch me. I’ll tend to it myself.”

She could see he meant it, too.

This wasn’t the time to argue, even if she thought she had a chance of swaying him. Sooner or later, someone would notice the flames rising high into the night sky. Besides, she wasn’t sure she had the right words to say. She straightened with a sad sniff and turned toward Coop’s car.

“That’s it? You’re just gonna leave me?”

“You know I have to go.”

“Yeah. That’s right. You and that dog of yours go run. To the ends of the Earth, if you want. It won’t matter. I will find you, girl. No matter where you go, I’ll find you and that mutt and, when I do, I’ll put him down like he deserves.”

“I know you’ll try.” Before she walked away, she added, “I’m sorry.”

Ignoring the curses he threw their way, Ro unlocked the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. She had difficulty maneuvering with her broken arm, but she managed to start the vehicle and put it into gear while Dean stuffed his considerable bulk into the back. He lay down on the bench seats, no doubt as tired as she was. That was okay. He needed time to rest, to heal.

Ro checked the rearview mirror and said a silent goodbye to her father. Then she pulled out onto the road and drove away, not knowing her destination, but satisfied in her heart that she’d done what was right.

* * *

Dean was awakened by the feel of warm sunlight on his skin. He felt groggy and every muscle seemed to ache. He was covered in dried blood but, thankfully, it appeared all his wounds had scabbed over, even a nasty gash in his side of which he had a vague recollection of digging out a bullet. Not an experience he cared to ever repeat.

His head cleared and he noticed his surroundings. Where am I? Where’s...?

A quick glance answered his questions. He recognized the car right away. They were parked in a large lot with some buildings close by. A nearby sign identified it as the New Baltimore Plaza. He knew the place, a rest stop on the New York Thruway about an hour and a half north of the mansion.

Ro was sound asleep in the driver’s seat, her fiery hair partially obscuring her face. The clock on the dashboard showed it was still early, just past sunrise if he had to guess.

Early or not, it was only a matter of time before someone walked by and saw the passed out redhead in the front and the bruised up naked guy in the backseat.

He considered how best to remedy that when he saw the clothes laid out for him on the passenger seat, tags still attached to them. He silently thanked her for everything she’d done, but especially her actions the night before.

He considered this as he got dressed, realizing he had full recollection from the moment she’d found him in the basement.

Dean smiled, feeling an overwhelming urge to kiss this woman, the one who’d started off as his enemy, but had become his saving grace ... his angel. Sadly, it would probably have to wait.

He got out of the car and opened the driver’s side door.

“Ro,” he said softly, gently laying a hand on her shoulder.

She stirred sleepily but didn’t awaken.

“Ro,” he repeated. “We’ve got to get going. Come on. I’ll drive. Move over.”

She moaned groggily, but then her eyes flew wide open and she sat up straight, a look of panic upon her.

“Relax,” he said. “It’s me.”

“Huh? What happened? Are they...?”

“It’s fine,” he answered calmly. “We need to get moving.”

“I’ll...”

“You’re exhausted. Move over and hand me the keys.”

For a change, she didn’t protest – just did as he asked her.

She let out a whimper of pain as she settled into the passenger side seat and cradled her arm protectively.

“We need to get that looked at,” he told her.

“I’ll be fine. Just drive. We’ll worry about it later.”

He nodded, shifted the car into gear, and pulled back onto the interstate.

After a few minutes, once he got his bearings straight, his mind began to settle from the trauma of the change. All at once, he sat up straight as thoughts from the prior day returned to him.

“What?” Ro asked, startled. “Are you okay?”

He turned to her, his eyes questioning. “This is Coop’s car! Did you...”

Ro laid one hand on his over the steering wheel. “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t need to say anything else. “Goddamn it!” he cried, slamming a fist into the dashboard. Tears began to muddy his vision and he was soon grateful the road was mostly empty.

After a few minutes of tortured silence as the miles slid by, he again turned to her. “Was he...? Did he die...?”

“I was there with him at the end,” she told him. “He didn’t go alone.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to rage, to scream, to curse the name of the man whom he knew to be responsible, but he held his tongue. He knew she was hurting, too, and anything he said in anger would only wound her more. He didn’t want that. So instead he focused on the good, all she’d done for him. “Thank you.”

She nodded knowingly, her hand still on his. Its warmth reminding him that they were still alive.

After a time, he felt strong enough to speak again. “Everything he did. Everything he sacrificed. All for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Ro said. “He did it for you.”

He looked at her, a sad smile on his lips. “I know, but at what cost? We lost so much and for what? The mansion is gone. All my work, my research. There’s nothing left.”

“I wouldn’t say nothing. You’re still here ... and so am I.”

“But everything I was hoping for. Me ... you ... us having normal lives. All of those victims we could have helped...”

“We’ll make our own hope. Speaking of which, I almost forgot. It might not be anything, but I saw this lying on your desk when the fire broke out. Don’t know why, but I had a feeling about it.”

She reached her good hand into her front pocket and produced something. When she held it up, Dean saw it was a USB thumb drive ... the same one he’d been using to back up his research.

“Oh my God.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked warily.

“You have no idea,” he said, his grin broadening. “I could so kiss you right now.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but then her gaze softened and she grinned before turning back toward the road. “You might just get the chance. But for now, keep driving.”

“Where to?”

“For now, wherever the road takes us. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

He wasn’t sure what their next step would be, how they were going to survive the coming days, but he did know one thing. He was grateful for the woman sitting beside him, who had risked everything for a man who had a monster lurking within.

He reached over and took hold of her hand. Her face was set, her eyes on the road. But when she didn’t pull away, as a sad smile appeared on her face, he felt the faintest glimmer of something between them, something that went beyond the pull of the moon or that of a hunter and its prey.

It was the understanding that whatever challenges they faced next, they would not do so alone.

Epilogue

Strike sat in his club, tumbler in hand. He regarded the amber liquid, swirled it slightly, and watched how it caught the lights from the dance floor.

The previous night had been a roaring success. A dozen new whelps were just now waking up to begin their new lives while his men cleaned up the mess from the resulting carnage.

The liquor went down easily. He enjoyed the burn in his throat, then poured himself another. Despite how much he drank, he knew nothing would be able to mask the taste of fresh meat lingering in his mouth. He touched his tongue to his teeth and almost expected to feel the sting of razor sharp canines.

He took a deep breath, the coppery scent of blood in the air almost sensual. As a wolf, blood ruled, but as a human he still appreciated it almost as much. Besides, the wolf’s time would come again soon enough ... perhaps sooner than even the Guild suspected.

For now, he had the memories of the prior night, fresh and full in his mind – not dulled in the slightest – to bolster his mood.

He still lamented the loss of the two from the month before, but he had no doubt that his fresh recruits could bring new life to the pack. They would be confused at first, looking to him for guidance, but that was as it should be. He was the alpha, their leader. And they would obey him. Why wouldn’t they? They were of a superior breed – other wolves mere dogs compared to them – and it was all thanks to him.

A new dawn was approaching for his kind, and he would lead them toward it with shining teeth.

THE END

About The Author – Ruby Cruz

Ruby Cruz is an author with varied interests in post-apocalyptic fiction, urban, fantasy, and romance. A night shift nurse by trade, she spends her non-work hours caring for her husband, two young daughters, and rambunctious dog, all while ignoring/despising any form of housework. In her non-existent free time, she foregoes sleep to type maniacally on a laptop and hope that whatever she writes is comprehensible and enjoyable to readers.

By Ruby Cruz:

The Nanotech Series (Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction)

The Infected (Book One)

The Recovered (Book Two – coming soon)

Meryton Medical Series (JAFF)

First Impressions: A Modern Retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice

Second Opinions (A Lizzy and Dr. Darcy Story)

Broken Heart Rehab: A Modern Georgiana Darcy Story

Love’s Recovery (coming soon)

New Adult Romance

My Nemesis

With Rick Gualtieri:

The Lycan Evolution Series (Urban Fantasy)

Lycan Moon (Book One)

Lycan Dawn (Book Two – coming soon)

Follow Ruby on Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/RubyCruzAuthor

About The Author – Rick Gualtieri

Rick Gualtieri lives alone in central New Jersey with only his wife, three kids, and countless pets to both keep him company and constantly plot against him. When he’s not busy monkey-clicking words, he can typically be found jealously guarding his collection of vintage Transformers from all who would seek to defile them.

Defilers beware!

Rick Gualtieri is the author of:

Bill the Vampire (The Tome of Bill - 1)

Night Stalker: A Tome of Bill Series Companion

Scary Dead Things (The Tome of Bill - 2)

The Mourning Woods (The Tome of Bill - 3)

Holier Than Thou (The Tome of Bill - 4)

Sunset Strip: A Tome of Bill Series Companion

Goddamned Freaky Monsters (The Tome of Bill - 5)

Half A Prayer (The Tome of Bill - 6)

The Wicked Dead (The Tome of Bill - 7)

Shining Fury: A Tome of Bill Series Companion

The Last Coven (The Tome of Bill - 8)

The Tome of Bill Series: Volume One

Bigfoot Hunters

The Poptart Manifesto

Sign up for Rick’s Newsletter:

www.rickgualtieri.com/newsletter

Follow Rick on Facebook:

www.facebook.com/RickGualtieriAuthor

Follow Rick on Twitter:

www.twitter.com/RickGualtieri

Bonus Chapter

LYCAN DAWN

The dark streets of the rural town were a far cry from the ever burning lights of the city. Nighttime in Manhattan was more of an illusion than reality. If one stuck to the main thoroughfares, one might never even need consider what might be lurking unseen in the shadows. Out here it was vastly different. The new moon offered no solace to those daring to venture forth from the shelter of their homes. The stars above shone bright and clear, but they were too far away to offer more than the barest pittance of illumination.

The one advantage these streets had to the city, though, was that there was nothing to ruin her night vision, now well-adjusted to the gloom and aware of any movement that threatened to break the stillness around her.

There! Further down the quiet block, she saw her quarry step from the unassuming building that served as the small town’s library. He locked the door, as if closing up for the night, and walked away.

She smiled from her vantage point. The library had closed to the public over four hours earlier. She knew quite well that whatever was going on inside since then had little to do with cataloging returns or donations to their collection.

That was her hope, to gain some insight into those secret workings – insight that she hadn’t the rank to view before, and was certainly forbidden from now. A bitter grimace played at the corners of her mouth, but she swallowed it down. Now was not the time for ruing the hand fate had dealt her.

She turned and raced down the adjoining street, parallel to the one her quarry now walked on. She’d mapped out her course well in advance, plotting her way, step by step, while it was still light out – learning every potential pitfall that could trip her up or, more importantly, alert her prey to her presence before she was ready.

A lifetime of training paid off as her muscles nimbly carried her the way she’d planned, sidestepping anything that could have given away her position.

She doubled back to the other street through an unfenced yard, and lay in wait behind a large front porch. It was the perfect ambush point. The home to her right was owned by an old lady in her eighties. She went to bed early and was quite deaf once she turned off her hearing aid. An unoccupied bank foreclosure lay to her left, giving her an ideal place to do what needed to be done in a manner that was unlikely to be seen or heard by anyone else.

Footsteps alerted her that her quarry was closing in. As expected, he’d crossed the street to this side, and was moving at the unworried stride of one walking a well-traveled path. This was a quiet town. There was little to hinder the man’s progress and, even if there was, she knew he was well equipped to deal with it.

There were few things that could surprise a well-trained hunter, but she was willing to bet she was one of them.

Now!

The man stepped past her hiding spot and, even in the darkness, she saw his muscles tense, no doubt his honed instincts alerting him that something was wrong. Pity they were a fraction of a second too slow.

She sprung at him from behind, grabbed hold of his neck, and pulled him off balance.

As he reached up to try to pry her off, an amateurish move obviously borne more out of surprise than anything else, she dragged him back between the two houses.

“Relax,” she hissed in his hear. “I’m just here to ... OOF!”

An elbow caught her in the midsection, his training finally coming into play. She released her grip and quickly backpedaled two steps out of his reach.

The man spun toward her, simultaneously drawing a hunting knife in one fluid motion. Had the moon been full, she knew it would have glinted in its light, the silver in the blade practically glowing. On a night like this, however, it was merely a shadow, albeit a lethal one. Regardless, she’d been ready for his counterattack.

With a quick move of her own, she drew the tactical flashlight from her side and flipped it on, shining the light directly in the man’s face and temporarily blinding him.

He cried out and backed up a step, allowing her to turn the light on herself and pull back the hood she’d been wearing, revealing her long locks of brilliant red hair. “Carlos, it’s me!”

The man blinked several times, no doubt still dazzled by the light, but then he paused and stared at her. “Rowan?”

* * *

“Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing here? Are you trying to get killed?”

“Quite the opposite,” Ro replied, eying the knife in the man’s still raised hand. “I’m here because I’m trying to avoid dying needlessly. Speaking of which, are you planning on using that?”

“I’m not sure that anyone in the Guild would blame me if I did. Hell, there’s a few folks who would probably give me a medal.”

Ro grinned. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Carlos glared at her for a few seconds, but then lowered the knife. “Son of a bitch.”

“Good to see you, Los.”

He glowered back at her, but then said, “Fuck it. Come here, you!” He stepped forward and grabbed her in a tight hug, which she gratefully returned.

Carlos Botelho was one of her oldest friends from the Guild, her training partner when they’d both been little more than snot-nosed apprentices. Though it was risky to approach anyone, now that she’d been labeled as a rogue, she was counting on their long hours spent training together to stay his hand. And she was counting even more on him remembering how she’d saved him during their first live mission, a wolf hunt that had almost gone very badly for the two rookie hunters.

He pulled back after a moment. “I reiterate my question. What the hell are you doing here? And please tell me all this shit I’ve been hearing about you is just that, bullshit.”

Ro stepped away and leaned against the side of the unoccupied home. “What have you heard?”

“Just rumor mostly. Some are saying you lost your nerve on a hunt. Others are saying you lost your fucking mind and ran off with a wolf.”

Ro almost smirked on hearing that latter, but decided to play it coy. The truth was, his answer had caught her by surprise. “Rumor? Are you saying there isn’t an official sanction out for me?”

“Are you saying there should be?”

“Just answer the question, Los.”

He let out a sigh. “I see the years haven’t done much for your personality. To answer your question, no. There’s lots of talk, and your name’s been scratched from all the assigned rosters, but so far as I’m aware there hasn’t been an official sanction issued. If there was...” He glanced down at the sheathed knife by his side.

“Would you?”

“We took an oath, Ro.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged, then folded his arms in front of his chest. “So spill. What happened and why are you here? Gotta be something important going on. And don’t hit me with any “just popping by to see an old friend” bullshit. It’s after ten, long past taking me out for lunch.”

Ro let out a chuckle. Carlos hadn’t been the most impressive hunter in the field, but he definitely wasn’t stupid, something attested to by his current position. “I heard you got reassigned to the archives. How’s that going?”

“Can’t complain. Long hours, but nothing down there is trying to eat me.”

“Good, because I was hoping you could check a few things for me.”

“Do I look like I work for Google? There’s shit in there that’s highly classified, and that’s even if you weren’t currently persona non grata.”

“I know that. Listen, I’m gonna lay my cards out on the table and let you decide: help me or shank me.” He gestured for her to go on. “The rumors are true, but only in a sense. I didn’t lose my nerve on a hunt, but I did side with a wolf.” She quickly held up her hands as he tensed. “Hold on, let me finish. The guy’s a bio-chemist. I wound up in a ... situation, where my father was bitten and we needed to use my blood to save him.”

“Yeah, yeah, the treatment. Get to the point.”

The treatment? Somehow he seemed to know what had taken her over an agonizing week to figure out. She was tempted to ask him about it, but realized her time was most likely short. Better to focus on what she needed than what she already knew. “Fair enough. Anyway, this guy thinks he can use the antigens in our blood to synthesize a cure and, before you say anything, he’s not just blowing smoke either. He’s smart. I think he’s on to something.”

“Let me guess. Not everyone there agreed with your assessment?”

Ro raised an eyebrow. She remembered both her father’s and Kane’s reaction to talk of a cure. They met her with ridicule and anger. Carlos, however, had just brushed off her revelation with barely a bat of his eyes. “Yeah, something like that. Call it a difference of opinion.”

“A difference of opinion?”

“During a full moon.”

Her friend sighed as if that answered everything. Hunter blood ran through his veins too, so chances were it was answer enough.

“That’s my story,” she said. “Now tell me what you know.”

“What makes you think I know anything?”

“Because we didn’t just have a similar difference of opinion.”

Carlos let out a deep breath as if realizing he’d been caught. “Nothing gets past you, does it?” She stared at him patiently. “Okay, fine. But you didn’t hear this from me. I’m serious. If I hear that you ratted me out, I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.”

He muttered, “Bitch” under his breath, then said in a louder voice, “Back when I first got this job, I was doing a deep dive, trying to modernize some of our older history, hoping to put it all into a searchable database.”

“Are you sure you don’t work for Google?”

“Fuck you, Ro. Most of it was boring crap. Dusty old parchments detailing family names, who begat who, that sort of shit. But I found this one account, buried deep in one of our vaults, so deep that I doubt anyone even remembered it was there.” He stopped and looked around, as if suddenly unsure they were alone.

Ro’s interest was definitely piqued. “What was on it?”

“I didn’t take a long look. I’m not stupid. I know when I see something that’s not meant for my eyes.”

“What was on it?” she repeated.

“Damn thing was in old Germanic. I’d just started translating it, but it told about someone who came back.”

“Came back?”

“Yeah. Bitten, whelped out, and then became human again. I thought it was some kind of parable or fable, an ancient hunter nursery rhyme or something like that. I brought it to the elder counsel, showed it to them. They took one glance, confiscated it, and told me they’d look into the matter.”

“And?”

“And that was it. Never heard a peep back from them. Problem was, it got me thinking.”

“How so?”

“It didn’t read like no fable. The small part I translated sounded more like a historical account.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Wait, are you telling me they know of a...”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and stared at her hard. “I’m not telling you anything of the sort. I don’t know.”

Ro’s mind was already racing with the possibilities. While it was likely this was nothing, little more than a story from the past, it was exactly what she’d been hoping to find. She knew it was a long shot coming here, fully expected to be told there was nothing more to be learned, but she had to try. Anything to help Dean. Now, suddenly there was a potential lead. “I need you to find that scroll again. See what the whole thing says.”

“Are you crazy? You don’t just walk up to me and ask me to spill our deepest secrets.”

“You said it yourself. It might be nothing.”

“If it was nothing, I doubt it would have disappeared.”

“Exactly.”

“I can’t do this. They’d sanction my ass in a second.”

“Only if they found out.”

“And you think they won’t?”

“Well, I’m not gonna tell them. Come on! I can see it in your eyes. You know they’re hiding something.”

“Even if I did, that would be like an army deserter demanding open access to the Pentagon’s files.”

She stared at him hard, refusing to lower her gaze. It was time for the ace up her sleeve. “You owe me.”

He backed up a step. “Really, Ro? That’s low even for you, calling me on that. That was years ago.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos, but I wouldn’t do it unless I had to. You have to believe me. We’re on to something here, something that could change the game for us all. Think about it. Haven’t you ever wanted a life away from this? A chance to live without wondering how close the next moon was?”

He was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“Good then...”

“But even if I wanted to,” he said, “I couldn’t.”

“Come on, man, you just...”

“You’re not listening. You’ve been out of the loop. This is not a good time. The entire Guild is currently on edge. They’ve been running us all ragged.”

“They have?”

“Yeah. I mean, why do you think you haven’t been sanctioned yet? Hell, I’ve seen hunters put down for far less, for just speaking their mind. It’s because you’re small potatoes right now. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“What happened?”

“Last week, they found some fresh bodies down in Central Park. Pretty obvious it was a whelp attack.”

“So?”

“So, they were fresh. Less than a day old.”

Ro’s eyes narrowed. “That can’t be right. The last full moon was...”

“Two weeks ago. Trust me, we noticed.”

LYCAN DAWN

COMING SOON!