This is your official invitation to join the fun

Sonya rammed her fist against the rough fabric of the punching bag. It swayed violently on its chains. Keme was winning. The longer the draught of jobs continued, he’d only pull further ahead. And then she’d have to leave. Screaming to vent her frustration, she executed one of Thatcher’s kicks, sending the sack of sand swinging in the opposite direction. She wiped the her gloved hand across her forehead, relaxing at the wrong second as gravity yanked the bag back towards her, knocking her off her feet.

A man laughed.

Sonya jumped up, ready to face Isaac.

It was Thatcher.

“There’s a reason why you’re supposed to have someone brace the bag.” He sauntered over, arms across his chest.

“It’s my signature move to get myself hurt.” She rubbed her shoulder where the bag had smacked her. “If I didn’t mess up, everyone here would die of shock.”

He smirked, taking her hands and removing the gloves. “You’ve learned a lot since you got here.” He balled up her fist and set it against his palm. “You keep your wrist straight when you punch. You know not to aim for the face. And when you make a mistake, instead of walking away, you get right up and try again. Never met anyone as stubborn as you.” He grinned and nudged her in the side.

Sonya smiled a little. She didn’t feel like she’d learned much. She couldn’t even figure out what she was or why she’d been able to heal herself.

“Come on,” Thatcher took her to the middle of the empty training room and shifted into a power stance. “Attack me.”

“No.” Sonya crossed her arms, mimicking his body language from a few minutes earlier.

“Why not?” he asked, appearing genuinely hurt.

“No matter what I try, you always win.” And she was tired and sweaty and the last thing she needed was another failure added onto all the rest.

“What if I promised to not use my right hand?” He raised it in the air like he was hailing a taxi.

“Fine,” Sonya muttered. She moved her left foot back, bent her knees, and raised her fists.

Ten seconds later, Thatcher had her on the ground.

“I told you,” she shouted. She stayed there on the floor, hating how weak she was.

“Try again.” He nudged her hip with his boot until she stood up.

Sonya kept on the defensive. With his right arm up, Thatcher was using his legs to keep her at bay as she dodged from side to side. Feigning a punch, she shifted to her left, coming around to his back. She started to jab for his kidney when his leg moved out in a roundhouse kick. She tried to duck out of the way but he adjusted with her. His foot, huge and menacing, was a breath’s width away from smashing her face when her arms shut up and caught him around the ankle. Her body moved on its own as she forced Thatcher off balance, knocking his other leg out from under him and throwing him to the ground. She jumped on him before he could get up, driving his face into the floor as she pinned him.

Sonya stared down at her hands, fear clouding her vision. This wasn’t her. She had felt her body move but it wasn’t her in control. She didn’t have that much strength or skill. It had been too easy—like fluffing a pillow.

Her hands quaked after she let go, shuffling backwards until she hit the wall. Thatcher rolled over and stared at her like she’d just caught a bullet with a pair of chopsticks.

“That,” Thatcher started to say, “was awesome! Did you feel it all coming together in that moment? Isn’t it perfect when it hits you all at once and your body just flows?” He yanked her down into a large hug and ruffled her hair. “Time you moved up a notch.”

***

And it terrified her.

What else about her body had changed? What would happen to her if she used the book again?

“Good work today,” Thatcher ruffled her hair and told her to take a break as he left to do a job for Damian.

Sonya panted, surveying the empty room. With so few Hunters around, it was the perfect time to try a little experiment. Making sure that Thatcher was really gone, she stopped by the communal closet for one of Mark’s sleep darts before making her way downstairs. Unlike the others, Zoe’s job meant she had to stay behind and watch over everything.

Zoe waved her hand in front of her face, nose wrinkling. “Would it have killed you to take a shower before coming down here?” She grumbled about trying to keep things nice.

“I have a favor to ask,” Sonya said.

“Of course you do. No one ever bothers to visit me just to say hi. Would you tally up the points for me, Zoe? Who’s brought in the most this week, Zoe? Zoe, I don’t have time for dinner tonight, can I take a raincheck?” She sighed, almost marching back to the room that served as her office, ripping papers out of binders and slamming them down onto stacks.

Sonya sidled towards the stairs, intent of escaping before Zoe went on a full rampage.

“Wait. I—” Zoe rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry. Ask away.”

“I want to fight a Wendigo.”

Zoe stared at her with blank eyes before doing a double take. “I’m sorry. My ears must be going bad: did you just say that you wanted to a Wendigo? That’s insane. You know that, right?”

Before Sonya replied, Zoe continued, “I mean, that’s like wanting to fight a tank full of sharks with a gaping chest wound.”

“Please.”

Zoe shook her head the entire time as she led Sonya to the right cell. She opened the latch. Sonya watched the creature as it pawed lamely at the stone walls of its prison. Besting the Wendigo, the same monster Keme had brought down, would prove to herself she was as good as him if not better—at least, that’s what she hoped.

“I still think you’re crazy for doing this.”

“I know.” Sonya shifted her attention to Zoe. “But there’s no work. What am I supposed to do? Knit? Training with Thatcher only gets me so far. I need real practice if I’m going to have a chance.” And going home—she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I’ll have to lock you inside,” Zoe warned. “I can’t risk letting it loose.”

“I understand.”

Zoe unlatched the door. It swung open with ease. Sonya gave Zoe a smile, walking inside with the sleep dart tucked away in her pocket. The clang of her being locked in resounded like a death toll. Sonya stood there like the piece of bait she was and waited for the monster to attack.

The creature’s sunken eyes honed in on her face. Its emaciated form prowled closer as its too-long fingers stretched out towards her.

“I’m not scared of you,” Sonya said.

The Wendigo paused, its head turning at an unnatural angle before sinking into the shadows. Even in the limited space of the cell, she couldn’t spot where the creature had gone.

“Zoe, a little light please?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Sonya heard footsteps fading off and she instantly regretted the request. It left her alone.

“Come on, Wendy,” she said as she moved to a corner, her arms raising. “Bet you haven’t had a fresh meal in ages.”

A figure stirred in the darkness. A series of soft clicking bounced off the corners of the cell. Sonya slid out the dart and clenched it in her hand.

The Wendigo pounced.

Its teeth, slimy and smelling of rot, chomped towards her face as she held it off. She shoved it back with her foot and lunged forward with the sedative. It dodged left. Sonya swung back but it moved faster, throwing her up against the wall. She crumpled to the floor, rolling to avoid its second attack.

It reared about and pinned her down in the corner. Its tongue, a putrid pink, licked its tattered lips as it loomed in closer. Sonya kicked out but the angle was wrong and her kick was too weak to even annoy the creature.

“Zoe!”

The lights flickered on as Sonya’s hands trembled. What the hell had had happened to her?

“Did it work?” Zoe’s voice echoed from down the hall. “The electricity down here is always acting up.”

Sonya stood over the sleeping creature, retrieving the empty dart before shouting out of the slit in the door, “I’m done.”

The sound of running and her brown eyes popped up, wide with skepticism. “Bullshit.”

Sonya stepped to the side so the Wendigo was in clear view. The door swung open.

“But you’re not even hurt,” Zoe protested. “I mean, you always—” She cut herself off, her gaze dropping slightly.

“I always get injured, I know.” Sonya pressed a hand to her hip as she walked out into the hall. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll have a bruise the size of Thatcher’s face tomorrow.” What took you so long with the lights?”

“Um, someone brought in another catch.”

“What? Who?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, looking anywhere but at Sonya.

“Who brought it in, Zoe?”

“Isaac and Keme.”

***

“Yep.”

“Not yet.”

“You enjoy annoying me, don’t you.”

“It’s my new favorite reason for living.” Thatcher winked and Sonya’s temper lifted a touch.

“I’m not in the mood to train right now.” Frustration seethed beneath her skin. If Isaac had other Hunters he could contact for work, there was no way she’d beat Keme. She stopped and spun around to Thatcher. “Do you know anyone else in the business? Hunters who don’t work here?”

He shook his head. “Isaac was a Hunter before coming here. I wasn’t.”

Sonya gritted her teeth. She felt a half second away from punching a wall. “Big cities,” she said, latching onto his arm. “I remember. Evelyn said big cities almost always have monsters.”

“Yes, and Hunters to go with them. You’d have to fight just to go after the job.”

“That’s okay.” She turned and took off at a run. He called her back but she kept going, sprinting straight to Core’s office.

“Dude, the door was shut for a reason.” Core glared at her, her video game on pause. “Doesn’t anyone here to how to knock?”

Sonya panted, her hands on her knees. “Do we have any connections in a major city?”

“A few. Why?” Core’s blank expression turned angry and she shook her head. “No. No. No. I don’t list those because they never work. Every time one of our people has gone inner city, they end up brawling with other Hunters. Last time, Scott was almost killed over a freaking Goblin. The most fighting over a Goblin should be a thumb war.” Core started popping her knuckles, obviously still upset. “I’m not sending you out there, especially if you’re thinking of going alone.”

“It’s worth a shot, Core. And if I’m already in the city, I’ll be able to respond more quickly.”

“No,” Core said.

“Oh, come on.”

“No.”

“No!”

“That’s not a very good threat.”

“I’m not stupid enough to threaten a woman who can rip apart my entire life with a laptop.”

Core stared up at her before saying, “It’s not safe.”

“Nothing we do is safe.”

Core went over to a second computer, pulling up an oddly proportioned map of the United States.

“New York City is your best bet—it’s got the highest activity outside New Orleans—but the last report we’ve had from our contact was five days ago. There’s no chance it would still be there.”

“Then I’ll travel ahead of the next report.”

“If you go in blind, you might not take the right tools.”

Sonya shrugged. “I’ll risk it.” She made Core promise to immediately report anything new from the network before leaving to run up to her room. She turned the corner into the atrium, smashing right into Thatcher.

“Stay still,” he ordered with a scowl, fumbling through his pocket. He pulled out two metal hair sticks, each with a purple ornament on top with trailing beads.

“They suit you.”

Thatcher sent her a scathing look before handing them over. “They’re from Evelyn. I would’ve given them to your earlier if you hadn’t been running like a Hydra with its heads cut off.”

Sonya took the gifts, looking them over. Evelyn had been right: sitting in her palm, they appeared perfectly innocent. It was only when she felt the tips that she realized how razor sharp they were; blood welled up in thick drops on her fingers.

“Thanks, Thatcher.”

He grinned and bumped his fist against her shoulder. “You should use them next time we spar. See if Evelyn’s right about them being good for a weapon.”

“Yeah, about that…” She explained her plan to go off on her own but he didn’t seem surprised.

“About time you took the fight to him,” he said, approval in his voice even though he had his arms over his chest. “Take whatever you want.” He gestured with his head to the communal store. “Not like anyone else is using that stuff right now.”

“I will.” She ran past him and laid out everything on her bed: the handbook, her journal, the weapons from Evelyn, and a week’s worth of clothes. She stuffed it all inside her duffle before putting her hair up in a bun and sticking the hair spikes inside. An odd sense of urgency pressed her forward as she sprinted back down to the supply closet, grabbing several bottles of venoms and poisons, and a Glock 17 pistol with a couple of loaded magazines.

Sonya was in her car, pulling onto the main road when her phone went off. It was Core.

“Southern New Jersey,” Core said when the call connected. “Just got a hit about a werewolf; information’s still coming in.”

Sonya pulled sharply to the side of the road, ripping open her bag. No Wolfsbane, no silver bullets, nothing that could help her. “Damn it,” she muttered to herself. Returning to the garage, she left her car running and fled up towards the supply closet. Core was already there, tossing things into an old, green messenger bag.

“Catch.” Core tossed the bag. Sonya caught onto the strap, spinning on her heel; she could hear liquids swishing. “I’ll text you the information as I get it,” Core shouted over her shoulder. “Good luck!”
Chapter 12
Sonya shivered in her mother’s coat, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she pulled up to the address of the informant. It was well into the afternoon, and both Sonya and her car were running on fumes.

The snow, grey with yellow splotches, crunched under her feet as she walked up to the off-white house with a screen door. She knocked twice, bouncing on the balls of her feet to combat the cold, her duffle swinging against her leg. When no reply came, she rang the doorbell. A slight creak came from the hinges before the door shot open. A bucket of freezing water splashed in her face. Sonya spluttered, her arms raising against any potential attacks; the water tasted like salt.

Did the attacker expect her to melt?

“Who are you?” A woman demanded from the darkness of the house.

“Sonya Fletcher. I’m part of Damian Jaeger’s group.” She shivered, feeling like she was going to turn into an icicle soon. “You reported a werewolf, right?”

Deep red hair poked out. She was a full head shorter than Sonya and wore black glasses over grey-green eyes. She had a soft round face and full lips. Sonya would’ve thought she was pretty if the woman wasn’t holding a knife in her face.

“Silver, right?” Sonya asked, raising her hands palm-up to show she was unarmed.

“Not afraid of it, are you?”

“Only that you might stab me with it.” Sonya felt her teeth start to chatter. The water had seeped through her clothes and was draining what little warmth she had.

The woman studied her before saying, “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“Do it or leave.”

Slowly, like she was approaching a skittish animal, Sonya stepped forward. With her arms still raised and a growing sense of apprehension, she opened her mouth.

The woman, who was probably only a couple years older than Sonya, brought up her other hand and tossed several dime-sized spheres onto her tongue. Sonya grimaced, hoping they’d been washed since their last use.

She tasted iron, copper, and a few other metals. An easy way to test if she was really human. Shifters and werewolves reacted to silver, and so on. Sonya tried to talk around them, her words muddling, “You don’t expect me to swallow them, do you?”

The other woman picked up the now empty bucket and held it up for Sonya to spit them into.

“You can put your hands down now, Moses,” she said, setting her knife on a desk inside before stepping aside to let Sonya in. “I’m Becky, by the way.” She locked up the door—four deadbolts and a large wooden plank across the front.

The living room felt too normal. The walls and floor were a spotless white. Standing there in her wet clothes and worn bag, she felt like an invading disease.

“Through here,” Becky said, leading Sonya downstairs. Becky opened the door and ambled in while Sonya stayed on the last stair. Pictures of monsters, ranging from Banshees to Yetis hung on the walls with red notes markered around their faces. Each photo had a string connecting it to a map of New Jersey.

Sonya stepped lightly into the room. The other side of the otherwise normal door was covered in strange symbols and leather pouches nailed into the wood. The single small window had bars and locks across both sides of the glass. The room was designed to be a fortress.

Becky tossed her a towel and pointed out a second door—painted black to match the walls—which opened to a bathroom. Sonya changed, pulling out her hunting knife and tucking it into the back of her pants before going out again.

The other woman was pinning a blurred image of a werewolf on the wall, the same red notes already written around the edges. “Sorry about before,” she said. “But I’ve had more than one Changling try to get in here.”

“I understand. What can you tell me about the werewolf?”

“Jason spotted it near Trout River. He said it was running around, smashing into trees and stuff like it’d gone crazy.”

“Freshly bitten.”

“Probably.”

It was good news. A freshly bitten werewolf was erratic as the body adjusted to the change: it would keep shifting over the next few days when the moon came out. Of course, that also meant it was more dangerous, more likely to bite and turn others.

“Where’s Trout River?”

“It’s a state park.” She pointed out the green splotch on the map, not far from the house. “Jason lost it around Lake Absalom. It’s not the first time things have shown up there.” She gestured to a portion of the photos. “With all the snow, there’s not as many campers so it’s fairly secluded. Your best bet is to stake out the place.”

Sonya studied the map, memorizing how to get there. “Did you tell anyone else about this?” Her set up made Sonya feel like Damian’s wasn’t the only Hunter group she gave information to.

“I didn’t,” she promised. “But I can’t vouch for Jason.” She rubbed the back of her neck, checking outside the window each time a car drove by. “You can stay here until tonight. It’s safe.”

Becky left the room and Sonya rifled through the ratty bag Core had tossed her. There was a revolver with six silver bullets, a small vial of Wolfsbane, and a thin whistle. She brought it to her lips and blew lightly—she heard nothing but a dog barked madly outside. Pulling out the handbook, she flipped to the section on werewolves. The whistle caused irritation and a desire to seek out and destroy the noise. It felt like something Thatcher would use.

Sonya laid her weapons out in a row, cleaning each one as she formulated a plan.

“How long since you signed up with Jaeger?” Becky asked. She set down a couple cans of soda and a handful of energy bars before slumping down in her chair.

“A couple months.”

“And you’re already doing missions by yourself?”

Missions. Sonya smirked a bit at the term—very James Bond. “Yep.”

“Cool.” Becky swiveled in the chair, her head draped across the back.

Sonya watched her for a moment. The way Core had described her ‘network’ made Sonya envision secret agents and spies. When she wasn’t waving a knife in her face, Becky looked like normal. “What about you? How’d they convince you to join the network?”

Becky grinned. “I convinced them.”

“How?”

She kicked off the floor so her chair rolled next to Sonya. “I sort of stalked one of their Hunters on a mission.”

“Isaac.”

Sonya choked, coughing hard. “Isaac?”

“Yeah,” Becky said, thumping Sonya on the back. “Ginger hair, flat face, kinda hot.”

Sonya swallowed her scoff.

“Jason got me into the whole monster thing a couple years back. I didn’t believe him at first but he kept insisting. I finally joined him on one of his ‘scouting tours’—thought it would shut him up. But then I saw a chimera.” Becky let out a deep breath. “I just couldn’t let it go. I started going out on my own, trying to find things that other people refused to see.” She gestured to her wall of photos. “It’s not too hard to find other people who know the truth—once you’ve seen it yourself. Jason and I started posting what we found but most Hunters around here tend to hang around New York City.

“It was last winter, I was trying to pick up the trail of a Golem when I discovered Isaac. He liked what I’d done and offered me a job. Pays a damn sight better than scrubbing toilets, I can promise you that.” Becky laughed, a fondness in her voice. She jolted suddenly, her attention going to the window. “It’ll be dark soon. You should eat before you leave.” She nudged the energy bars closer to Sonya’s knee.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Becky said as she left. “Just get the job done.”

***

She kept to the worn out paths, trying to avoid making any unnecessary noise as she made her way to the place Becky described for the werewolf’s last seen location. She passed the occasional campfire with the savory smells of hotdogs and marshmallows cooking to perfection. Her stomach grumbled but she rushed on, putting the whistle between her lips as she got farther away from the campers. She blew softly at first, then hard enough to feel winded. It took twenty minutes before she got a response.

Howling pierced through the air off in the distant left in a thick set of trees. Sonya took off at a run. She blew the whistle again: the cry was closing in on her. She stopped in the middle of a miniature clearing. The responding howl had gotten too close for her to distinguish which direction it was coming from. Sonya tucked the whistle away and drew the revolver before cocking the hammer.

“Come on,” she yelled at the trees.

No response came.

Apprehension choked her lungs.

Not daring to take her hand away to pull out her small penlight, she relied on the moon to help her through the thicket. She crept across the snow, catching sight of scratched up bark before slinking closer. Enormous paw prints marked the snow along with tufts of black fur.

She reached for the whistle when two distinct howls cried out. Her heart chilled as the bellows echoed off the branches. Sonya held the revolver up, her head whipping from side to side. Two. Could she handle two? Maybe. Her entire body tensed as she waited for something to happen. She wasn’t exactly hiding.

Fleeing to a more open space, she broke free from a set of pines in time to see the creature bounding towards her. She got off two shots before it knocked into her chest. Her head collided with the harsh bark, making her ears ring.

The thing was more wolf than man: its teeth were sharp and dripped with saliva and the eyes were a dark brown with a ring of gold around the iris. He stood on his hind legs and the ‘front paws’ were large with fingerlike extensions. Course, dark fur covered the entire body and the face protruded out like a wolf’s. Dark blood dripped hot and thick from its shoulder. At least she’d hit it. She doubted Mark would’ve forgiven her if she’d missed completely.

He rounded for another attack. She brought her arm up, intent on using the gun, but her hand was empty. Getting on her feet, she wheeled around as the werewolf snapped his jaws at her neck. She grabbed his arm and used his own speed against him, flipping creature thing over her shoulder instead.

The werewolf smashed into the trees and Sonya dove through the snow, searching blindly for her revolver. She caught sight of the silver barrel only a few feet away when a clawed hand grasped her wrist. She spun into the beast and stomped down on his foot while jerking her elbow up against his chin. He whimpered and retreated several paces. A menacing growl came from behind her.

Sonya leapt to her side, her fingers wrapping around the handle of the gun. She brought it up and squeezed the trigger without thinking. The bullet embedded harmlessly into a nearby tree; a section of bark exploded into the empty air, far away from the incoming werewolf. This second one was massive and black with eyes like quicksilver. She waited for a closer shot.

Her finger started to tighten when the werewolf changed direction mid-stride. The two creatures clashed in the air before the second started pushing the first away.

Sonya scrambled up into a run as she chased after the two monsters. She pulled the whistle back out, blowing hard. The smaller, brown werewolf kept trying to turn back, his ears laid back against his head. He whined but the black one kept forcing him forward. Sonya stopped a few paces short as the black wrewolf glanced back at her, fangs bared. She raised her revolver and got off her fourth shot as it bounded off. She couldn’t tell if she’d hit it or not. Two bullets left.

“There’s no reason to be afraid, Jessie.” A man’s voice drifted across the snow. “I’m sure it’s just some hunters who’ve lost track of the season.”

“When you proposed a romantic weekend,” a woman responded, “I didn’t imagine gunfire.”

Her chest tightened with apprehension as she broke off her pursuit. The couple sat sipping coffee and toasting marshmallows over coals with multiple blankets draped across them.

“Get out of here!” Sonya barked at them.

The man wore a yellow and orange hat, and a black scarf covering up a wiry beard. His date wore powder blue and was staring at Sonya like she was the monster.

“Are you deaf?” Sonya demanded. “Get out.”

“No,” the man said. He sipped his steaming drink as though daring her to make him budge.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“This is our spot. Go find your own.” He settled down into his blankets with a scoff.

Sonya took a step forward, wanting to slap some sense into him, when the brown werewolf shot out behind them, straight into Sonya. She blocked the attack but it left the gun pointed towards the couple. Not that she wasn’t tempted to fire a round off above their heads.

“Come on guys,” Jessie said. “Halloween was weeks ago.”

Sonya was about to scream at them when a snowball smacked her in the face. She stalled, shocked and unsure as how to react. The creature on top of her just laughed, a deep resonating sound from his chest. Up until a second ball of snow plopped onto the back of his head. He snarled, twisting his neck until he glared at them, teeth bared.

Jessie paled. “M—maybe we should leave, Max.”

“They’re just playing,” he said.

The werewolf loosened his grip on Sonya, his attention completely diverted to the couple. She couldn’t bring the gun around but she did get the barrel right up to the creature’s ear before pulling the trigger. The couple screamed and the werewolf howled, his human hands covering his ears like a child scared of thunder.

“Run,” Sonya ordered. This time, they didn’t hesitate, trailing blankets behind them.

Free of the werewolf’s hold, she holstered the revolver, wanting to preserve the final bullet. Taking the hunting knife off her hip, she retrieved the small bottle of Wolfsbane. When the cork wouldn’t come out, she smashed the bottle on a nearby rock, coating the steel with the liquid, careful to keep the poison off her own skin. Dying because she mishandled her weapons would just be embarrassing.

Sonya raised the knife, intent on stabbing him in the leg or arm, somewhere non-fatal to allow the poison to spread. She wanted to drag the creature back to her car if she could. The brown werewolf crashed into her before she got the chance to strike, throwing her into a set of trees. Snow avalanched off the branches and buried both of them together.

Something sharp tore up her forearm and she struck out with her knife even as she fought to escape the snowbank. After a few swings, her knife sank in and the following roar of pain spurred her forwards. But by the time she got free, the werewolf was gone. Scrambling up, she caught sight of the creature running to the north, snow trailing off his fur, a dark mass running beside him.

Sonya took out the revolver, her hands shaking from the cold, and fired off the last round. The sound of his uninterrupted stride told her she’d missed—again. She panted softly before letting her hands fall helplessly to her sides. Her head throbbed from being knocked to the ground and she could almost feel bruises forming along her back. A failure, complete and utter.

Blood, hot and sticky, soaked through her shirt and hoodie, reminding her of the damage she’d taken. Heat left her face as panic settled in. Ripping off her outer layers, she peeled back her sleeve to expose the flesh of her arm. Trembling fingers pulled the penlight out of her pocket.

Dear God, please don’t let it be a bite mark.

She had to use snow to clean her arm off enough to see the gauge marks. No changing into a werewolf this time.

Relief mingled with frustration as she hauled herself back to the abandoned campsite. She ripped up one of their blankets for a makeshift bandage, layering snow around the wound to keep it numb. Gathering some of the other quilts, she piled them on for warmth before settling down.

“Probably saved their lives and didn’t get so much as a thank you.” She scoffed, wondering if it would always be like this. Taking the marshmallows they’d started roasting, she rummaged through the rest of their supplies, making a couple of s’mores to eat while her fingers stopped pretending to be icicles.

She’d almost started to relax when the sound of a breaking branch shocked her to attention. Turning her newly acquired blankets into a sort of shield, she kept a tight watch on the direction of the sound. Two men came bustling through the trees, staring down at the chaotic tracks she and the werewolves had made only a few minutes earlier.

Both heavily armed, they asked about what she’d seen with thinly veiled anger. She hid her face away as best she could and assumed the role of the woman who’d run off, saying there were some college frat boys playing around. “Scared me out of my wits,” she added at the end.

“I told you it was a waste of time to come here,” the taller of the two said. They stepped further away and lowered their voices to whispers. But they weren’t nearly as quiet as they thought they were.

“Cool your jets. We can just go back to (insert cool bar name), see if anyone’s hiring or if there’s any new postings. We’ll be fine.”

“That’s what you said about this job.”

Hunters. Sonya kept her head down, listening hard. Solo jobs weren’t working out so well; it would be a nice change of pace to go after something in a team. She counted out a full minute when they left before trailing behind.