He was big-probably six-three, about 220, and dressed in loose black slacks, a black long-sleeved shirt, his hair covered with a dark knit cap. A man lounged against the nearest abandoned building as if he’d been there for hours.Įxcept he hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. You think shooting a dead man more than once will make him any more dead?Īlex spun toward the voice, beneath which she could hear the familiar trill of an inhuman growl. She certainly wasn’t going to let him kill her. However, Jorge hadn’t given her much choice. The powers that be wrote off barbecued beast a whole lot easier than barbecued man. Still, she probably should have waited for the change before she’d shot him. Jorge had led her here, and she’d followed gladly. Luckily they were in a section of LA where gunshots didn’t draw any notice. Then she emptied the rest of her clip into his body, just to be sure, and watched him burn. I always do, she said, and fired the gun she’d slipped from the back of her pants while Jorge was squeezing the melons.įire shot from the wound, a common reaction whenever a werewolf met silver.Īlex tore herself away from his still-clutching fingers and patted at the flecks of flame dotting her black blouse. Little girls who come looking for the big bad wolf usually find him, he muttered in a voice that hovered between beast and man. But instead of shifting into a wolf, he grabbed her, too intent on pawing her breasts, squeezing them as if he were checking for the best set of melons in the local produce section, to watch her hands. He growled, the sound no longer quite human.
Why would I wish that?īecause a cop wouldn’t know how to kill a werewolf. Since you killed her, I guess you’d know.Ĭonfusion flickered over his face. Werewolves drank the smell of fear like vampires drank blood, gaining both pleasure and sustenance. Her heart gave one quick, painful thud before she controlled the panic. Then she’d shoot him.īut, as usual, nothing ever went according to plan. Tonight she was just glad the moon was full and soon the guy would shape-shift. Seeing her father die at fifteen had turned any dreams Alex had ever had into nightmares. Well, she really couldn’t remember what she’d dreamed. Once she might have stared at the sky, dreaming about. Then they’d gone soft, and she’d gone rogue. Once upon a time Alexandra Trevalyn had been a member of an elite Special Forces monster-hunting unit known as the Jager-Suchers. They weren’t that easy to kill, either, but she managed.
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