If they were an ordinary pack, I could take them out one at a time, no problem. It wouldn't matter how many days or weeks would pass to do it. They would only be a threat to deer or rabbits or some animals. Then again, if the Blood Moon pack was like any other normal werewolf pack, I wouldn't be paid to take them all out.
The only good thing about the week-long venture to kill the second werewolf is that I had time to get my window fixed. I get my car back from the shop and return to the hotel. I’m shot. Tomorrow, I’ll come up with a game plan for the last werewolf whose name I have and then figure out how to locate the others.
The next morning, I wake and head to the hotel’s breakfast area. I tend to not wear my bounty hunter attire when I know I’ll be around a lot of humans, so I’m in jeans and a t-shirt. Once I start my surveillance work, I’ll change. I still bring along my gun, though, and I have the silver knuckles in my pocket. I’m not about to go anywhere unarmed.
I help myself to some eggs, extra crispy bacon, pass on the sausage that doesn’t look like it’s been cooked enough, and opt for some wheat toast.
Like always, I opt to sit in a corner so I can watch everyone come in and out. Force of habit. I have no reason to think that a werewolf would show up here, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let my guard down.
A guy enters. Broad-shouldered, built like a barrel. He has some weight to his mid-section, but I have a feeling he has some serious power, the kind from chopping down trees and hauling lumber. The practical kind of strength versus those who spend hours in the gym.
He piles a ton of food onto his plate, glances around, and makes a beeline for me.
Even before he entered, I have my legs propped up on the seat across from me. I don’t move them as he reaches for the chair.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asks.
“Actually, I do.”
He shrugs, picks up a piece of bacon from the top of his stack, and chomps on it. “What brings a girl like you to this small town?”
“I could ask the same of you,” I quip. “What brings a girl like you to this small town?”
The guy narrows his eyes, his face scrunching up, and that’s when I recognize him. His photo in the census isn’t the most flattering, but without a doubt, he’s the last werewolf I know by name. Frank Steiner.
“Who said you could insult me?” he declares.
“Who said that being called a girl is an insult? Girls are strong and capable and tired of being called less than. Tell me, does your boss treat you as a peer or as an underling?”
“I am no one’s underling.”
“Good. I don’t suffer weaklings.”
“Do I look weak?” he protests.
He doesn’t, but I’m not about to feed his ego.
I kick out the seat for him to sit.
The werewolf does and grins at me. “What are your plans for the day?”
“I have to work.”
“What do you do?”
“I help battered women.” I stare at him. “Sometimes, the husbands don’t like that, and they’ll assault me, attack me. It’s why I carry.”
He blinks a few times. “Is that why…”
“I’ll go to any lengths to keep my women safe, and if that means drastic measures, I will take them.”
He nods slowly. “If you work here, why are you—”
“You’re asking a lot of questions that are starting to make me feel uncomfortable.”
I’m making all of this up on the fly. I’ve had to come up with creative stories before, and it’s best when I do it off the cuff like this. Otherwise, it sounds rehearsed, and I got caught once before because of it.
The werewolf holds up his hands. “I don’t mean to pry. I think the work you’re doing… It’s a shame you need to.”
"I agree." With a sigh, I add, "I don't have a house. Battered women live across the country. I have to be up and ready to go to them at a moment's notice. If I think I'll be in a place away, I'll rent an Airbnb. Satisfied?"
“No husband?” He jerks his chin toward my empty left hand.
“After what I’ve seen from some guys’ love? No.”
“Not all of us are like that.”
Gross. A bloodthirsty werewolf is hitting on me.
Unless he’s playing me like I’m playing him. I can’t tell if he’s buying what I’m selling.
“I assume you have a woman you’re helping here. My advice? Get her as far away from here as you can,” he says, his voice suddenly gruff.
My eyes widen, and my heart begins to race. Is he threatening me?
“Why is that?” I ask.
“We’ve run out of homeless people to kill,” he growls in a low enough voice that no one else should be able to overhear him.
“Is that so, Frank Steiner?”
His eyes flash.
“You want to have a go? We can go,” I tell him.
He resumes eating and doesn’t say a word.
I so badly want to take out my gun and shoot the pompous werewolf right here and now, but there are witnesses, and I refuse to go to jail to nab just one of them.
“There’s six of you left, isn’t there? Unless one or more of you succumbed to wounds from the battle with the ogre. Which one has my dagger? As sweet as that dagger earring looked, I want my dagger back.”
Frank stands and rips off his shirt. A few of the women in the room look over appreciatively. The men look over too, but they're not amused. I get the appreciation. Frank's muscles are impressive, and his jeans hang so low I can see that he has the elusive and I thought impossible to obtain eight-pack. Honestly, eight abs is kind of freaky looking. I’ll take six for a thousand, Alex.
And then I see what Frank’s showing me, a long, faded scar down his chest and stomach. The werewolf I slashed as I slid under him. I hoped he died.
"Aw, I'm sorry. I guess the silver is why you didn't heal entirely. I'm sure the ladies love it, though, am I right?"
“You’re dead wrong, and soon, you’ll just be dead.”
Frank grabs his plate and walks out of there. I chase after him, but somehow, he’s gone.
Great. Wonderful. I mean, they know I'm hunting them. I left bodies for them. But now they know which hotel I'm staying in. They might be able to track my car, and the way his eyes flashed when I said six makes me think six is right. None of the wolves we wounded died, and they've had plenty of time to recover fully.
I check out of the hotel and sell my car for parts. I’m not about to sell it to someone else and risk the werewolves attacking an innocent.
Was Frank lying about the homeless? I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t want to know. I don’t know what the homeless population is like here, but I hate to think that so many deaths are the result of my not being able to track down the werewolves fast enough.
I just might be in over my head.
First things first, I head over to the apartment complex where Frank lives and knocks on the door. When he doesn’t answer, I begin to pound. I’m ready to start yelling for him when his neighbor pops out her head.
“He moved out a day or two ago,” she says. “No one lives there right now.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“No idea.” She shrugs. “He’s hot, but he kind of gave me the creeps.”
I force a smile. “Trust your instincts and stay away from all creeps.”
Without another word, I turn and leave. Frustrated, I book myself a different hotel and immediately get to work. I'm not super tech-savvy, but maybe I should learn how to become a hacker. I would so love to have access to traffic cams right now to try to hunt down Frank.
He’s the key. Find Frank, find the pack.
Try as I might, hours pass, and I'm not having any luck learning anything about the other werewolves. I can't even figure out who their new alpha is, if it's Frank or someone else. Frustrated, I rub my weary, watery eyes and opt to turn on the TV.
“—just in. Police have arrived at the scene of a brutal murder. An entire family—parents and three young children—were all murdered in what officers are calling the grisliest scene they have ever seen. Our report, Pamela Huse, has more. Pamela?”
I watch in horror as Pamela gives a few more details about the case. The werewolves did this. I’m sure of it.
“As for when the bodies were killed, the police estimate that they died just before the police arrived. It’s possible one of the victims died seconds after the police arrived.”
That means it happened after Frank and I spoke.
They’re upping the killings.
And it’s because I taunted them.
There really is blood on my hands.
Fine. Frank wants me? He can come and find me.
I change into my attire, arm myself with everything I brought, and head out onto the streets. People give me a wide berth. You want crowds to part? Walk with purpose. Oh, and the crossbow on my back might help too.
If someone sees my weapons and call the police, I don't care. The victims weren't shot with stakes. I'm sure they had been bitten and slashed.
Up ahead is one of the women who had been in the hotel. She pats her husband’s arm, and they approach me.
“The man at breakfast,” she says, “I told my sister about him. We’re here visiting her. Anyhow, that guy—”
“Frank. Frank Steiner.”
“Yes. He’s bad news,” she says. “He has a bunch of friends, and my sister thinks they’re behind the homeless people disappearing. She thinks they’ve been killed. The police might think it too, but they haven’t been able to find any bodies.”
“Where can I find Frank?”
The husband clears his throat. “Those people are dangerous.”
My eyes have to flash. “I’m dangerous.”
His gaze flickers to my crossbow. “You can’t—”
“No one tells me what I can and can’t do.” I ignore him and focus on his wife. “Where can I find him?”
“According to my sister, they’re constantly on the move.”
You mean on the prowl.
“She’s a police officer, so she can’t tell me much.”
“Are they under suspicion?”
"No, but only because there's no proof and also…" She bites her lower lip. "My sister has been pushing for them to at least question the gang, for lack of a better word."
Pack. You’re looking for the word pack.
"But everyone is blocking her. She's promised me she won't do anything rash, and she's too by the book to, but I'm worried. She wants us to go back home, but I don't want to leave her."
“So you’ll tell a random stranger whose dressed up in cosplay?” Her husband shakes his head. “If she dies—”
“Not on the to-do list,” I assure him. “She’s never mentioned where they frequent? Areas of town to avoid?”
The woman hesitates. "They tend to avoid museums. Historical Society Museum, Agricultural and Industrial Museum, the Bonham House… I don't think they go near the Colonial Complex either."
Her husband sighs. “Penn Park. It’s open twenty-four hours a day, but it’s quieter at night.”
“It’s such an amazing park,” the woman gushes. “Basketball court, volleyball, playground, splash park during the summer… They host a lot of events there, but people have been avoiding it lately. Did Karen say—”
“Yes, Cathy.” He glances at his watch.
“We do have a reservation,” Cathy says. “Please, be careful. I don’t know what you’re planning, but… be careful.”
“You too.”
Hmm. Penn Park it is.