The last time I looked at the clock on my phone, it was 4:15 AM. I had finally fallen into a semi-restful sleep after that.

When I awoke, I pulled the blankets closer to my chin and groaned. My hair had fallen down in the night, leaving my loose waves to hang in my face. Half an hour later, I threw the covers back and finally decided to get up.

I brewed some coffee with the coffee pot I had found under the sink. Soon, the sharp aroma wafted through the house, the coffee pot making inviting bubbling noises. Digging around until I found a mug, I settled for the chipped red one, frowning at it. The others were covered in dust and I wasn't ready to wash dishes yet. I poured a cup, adding a bit of creamer and collapsing onto the couch.

I hated mornings. I hated how the birds screamed as soon as the sun began it's ascent, I hated how my body was stiff, I hated the frigid burst of unwelcome air that hit my skin as the blankets were removed. Suddenly, my phone began chirping and I audibly groaned. I picked it up and answered.

"What?" I snapped, my voice groggy and hoarse.

"Well, well, well. Our little ray of sunshine decided to wake up. Good morning to you, too." The greeting was laced with false sincerity. Shane was always too full of himself in the mornings.

"Tell me what you want or I'm hanging up."

"Cool it. I'm leaving here at noon. I'll be there sometime tonight."

"Alright. Don't bother eating dinner beforehand, I'm cooking."

"'Kay. See you then."

The line went dead and I groaned again. I was hoping for a little more alone time.

I grabbed the crock pot from under the cabinets and tossed in the pot roast and vegetables. I added a can of mushroom soup and the onion soup mix, put the lid on it, and left it to cook. I quickly dressed myself and grinned at the mirror. My new clothes looked great. The dark washed denim had a slightly grungy look to it, and the back pockets were decorated with silver buttons and matching intricate thread designs. The plain white v-neck I had chosen complimented my curves and I felt brand new.

I slowly stumbled around the house as I eagerly drank my coffee, picking up misplaced items and tidying the home. I cleared a place in the bathroom for Shane's toiletries. Good enough.

I skipped breakfast. By lunch, I was feeling a bit weak so I cut off a large chunk of the  pre-wrapped sandwich I had purchased and devoured it in only a few bites. In a small closet tucked by the desk, there was a washing machine and a dryer which I used to wash the new bedding I had bought for Shane, and to clean the pajamas and other clothes I had already worn. After that, I washed towels.

Once the laundry was done, I chose a book from the dusty bookcase and settled in on the couch. Fifty pages in, the light outside was fading and the story had fully hooked my interest.

The main character, a cop, had just discovered that her father was an outlaw. She was charged with bringing him in, but she had to find him first.

There was a quick rap on the door, causing me to jerk. I took a deep breath as Shane's voice carried into the house.

"Lucy, I'm home," he joked. I rolled my eyes as I hurried to the door. After unlocking the doorknob, the deadlock, the magnetic lock, and the chain, I yanked it open to reveal his smirking face. I had never been so happy to see him. Messy dark blonde hair, his hazel eyes that held large quantities of hunter green, the faint scars that graced his eyebrow and left cheek. His perfect lips gave way to straight teeth. His nose was angular, his eyes holding light purple circles next to the straight bridge of his nose.  At six feet and an inch tall, he towered above me. He gently pulled me into his chest. His dry, rough hand softly rubbed my arm. The cold metal of his ring sent goosebumps along my skin. His black tee smelled like cologne. I felt something small stir in my ribcage.

"Missed me?" I asked, surprised at the affectionate gesture. It was abnormal for him.

"Nah. Just wanted to make sure you were you." He flashed his silver ring at me, the engraved symbols glittering against the light seeping out from the house. He grinned as he saw my eyes roll. "'Course I did. Now, I smell that food and I haven't eaten since breakfast. You make plates and I'll grab my bags," he instructed. I happily padded into the kitchen and grabbed two plates from the cabinet. I loaded his up with tons of meat and potatoes. He wasn't a fan of vegetables. Usually I teased him for it but he was tired, hungry, and healing still so I let it go and indulged him. I pulled rolls from the oven and tossed two onto his overflowing plate. I glanced at my own and left it bare.

I heard the door shut and the springs in the couch squeak as he let himself fall into it. Grabbing a fork and knife, i shoved them under the food so they would stay and pulled his favorite soda from the fridge.

I was about to hand him his plate when he waved a cigarette butt in front of me, one that I had forgotten to throw into the trash. "Thought you quit."

"I did," I said sheepishly. "Nerves got the best of me."

"I'm not gonna lecture you. I started again, too. Better than drinking, I suppose. That looks great," he said, shoving the butt into his pocket and eyeing the plate of food. "Thanks. Haven't had a real meal since the last time we were all at the safehouse."

I trodded back to the kitchen and snatched a soda from the fridge. I cracked it open as I chuckled. "You mean the last time I cooked for you?"

"Bingo," he said around a mouthful of potatoes. He winced as he tried to straighten up. "Still sore. Dammit. Hank put some of that weird witch goop he got from Genevieve on it. As much as I don't trust her, it worked. Closed it right up. Muscles are just a little weak."

"How about Chris?" I knew how stubborn he was. He should never have been on that trip. He was thin and lanky and the cuts from the shapeshifter had been deep. He wasn't built for hunting. Research was his fortè. He should have listened. He should have stayed home. I choked down the lump in my throat. My brother. My baby brother, and I had let him get hurt.

"Little dude is tough. He's doing a lot better. He agreed to stay with Hank and Marie from now on. Dee is with her sister for a while. Hank needed a break. Her phone is off."

"And Marie?"

"She's Marie. She's still sulking over the break-up. I'm trying to convince Hank to transfer her to Eddy's." Marie and Shane had been an item for a brief few months. After she got drunk on a hunt and almost cost me my life and endangered the rest of the team, Shane broke it off. Since then, she's done everything possible to make being there uncomfortable for Shane and myself. Marie insisted Shane had feelings for me. She hated me because of it. Part of me secretly hoped she was right. The other part of me laughed at the idea.

"I'm glad you're here." The statement hung in the air for a moment before he met my eyes. He grinned softly.

"Me too." He was behaving differently tonight. Something about him was softer, more intimate. Maybe it was the way he spoke freely to me instead of in short, sarcastic quips. Maybe it was the way his eyes lazily followed me whenever I moved. Or maybe I was imagining things.

He finished eating, and I washed his dishes and placed them in the dish rack. Soon, Shane had become engrossed in an old western movie and I found myself in the bathroom, making a bath for him. He hadn't asked me to do so, but his body was sore and achy and I knew he would appreciate it. He could often be found in his bathtub at the safehouse after long hunts, soaking for over an hour as he listened to music or watched videos on his tablet. He deserved someone to notice these things, he deserved someone to care about him.

After I filled the tub, I pulled the small wooden stand-alone tray from beside the cabinet and placed a soft gray towel on it. I went to the living room and dug out his toiletry bag, grabbed his soaps, and placed them all on the tray as well. I lit a few candles, placed a glass bottle of soda on the tray as well. He was paying me no attention as I shuffled around the house, until the movie began to roll end credits. He turned to me.

"Go take a bath and soak for a bit. It's ready for you," I said, straightening my shirt. "I'm gonna go get ready for bed." He lifted his brow at me.

"Well, thanks. That's kind of you," he said quietly. He looked at his boots. "I know you were gonna settle in, but I need some help. I may not be bleeding to death anymore but I'm still super sore, and I have limited range of motion in my arm where the muscle was torn. My next dose of pain medication isn't for another hour. Could you help me get my shirt off and put on some more of that salve Hank gave me? Don't make it weird." His whiskey-on-the-rocks voice rumbled in what I assumed was embarrassment.

"That's not weird. Come on, I'll help," I assured him, walking to the bathroom. The black tile was cold against my bare feet. The candles made the room smell heavenly, the hot water from the bath had steamed up the mirror, and the warm air was soothing. I gave a small smile at my handiwork. I felt a large, rough hand on my shoulder.

"Ready?" asked Shane. "I got the salve."

"We should wait for that until after your bath, so it doesn't rub off, right?"

"Actually, yeah, you're right. Okay. So how are we gonna...?"

I put the lid to the toilet down over the seat. "Sit here, and we'll make it work." He sat down and before we started, his hand accidentally brushed my thighs as he adjusted his position. My cheeks turned pink. "Lift your arms as high as you can without hurting."

It was obvious that it wasn't going to work. He was a strong man with an extremely high pain tolerance but he was wincing and his breath was hitching.

"Okay, never mind. Tuck your elbows close to your sides, and put your forearms up, like a tight V shape," I instructed. He sighed as he did it. I slowly tugged and pulled the underarm area of his shirt down over his elbows, then pulled the bottom hem up and over his head. I tried not to stare.

He stood up and looked down, still embarrassed. My eyes were stuck to the long gashes on his sides, which extended around to his shoulder blades. They weren't open wounds anymore, there weren't even any scabs. Just shiny, raised, thick, purple lines that marred his skin.

"Shane..." I began, knowing that he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be hunting. He should be resting.

"I know. But I'm fine. We'll talk about it later." I nodded.

I exited the bathroom on that note. I found myself in the bedroom, changing into my pajamas. The bed looked inviting and I couldn't resist sprawling across it. I could smell the soap and cologne from the bathroom, a combination of crisp fresh scents and a musk that was unmistakably high dollar.

For a brief, ridiculous moment, I let myself imagine how it would smell on his skin.

This life was a lonely one. Constantly moving, never still. It was too dangerous to get close to people. Shane, Chris, Marie, and I were the closest thing to family that any of us had. I found myself reliving our pasts through memories and stories that were told to me. I let myself float in the pool of memories for a while.

Marie was a mystery. She was found in a vampire den in Minnesota, unconscious and near death. We knew we couldn't help her so Hank and I dropped her off at a local hospital, and Hank stayed with her that night. And the next. And the next. After multiple blood transfusions, she woke up. She remembered nothing. Not who she was, where she was from, or how she got there. For hours I drove her around the small town we were in, and when nothing looked familiar, she began to cry. We took her in as a precaution, really. In case she remembered what happened and realized who we were, we didn't want our secrets spilled. The only thing we knew was that her name was Marie Cruz, and that her home state was Arizona, thanks to her driver's license. The address listed on it, however, did not exist.

Chris and I were siblings. He was three years younger than me. We grew up together. When mom disappeared, we both ended up at my dad's house. Chris was his favorite. I endured beating after beating, kicks, punches, slaps, hair pulling, body slams. All of it. Chris would buy pills from an old lady down the street who really needed the money, and he would crush them up and put them in dad's coffee or tea, usually ending with dad passed out on the couch. Just so I could rest. Dad never laid a hand on Chris. Maybe because Chris wasn't his biological son, maybe because dad just hated women (insubordinate women especially) and that made me a prime target. But Chris protected me and I protected him. I told him never to get in dad's way when dad was angry. Chris would sit in his bedroom while I stood toe to toe with the devil and wait. Each time as I walked back to my room, I would tap lightly twice on his door before opening mine. To let him know I was okay. He ran with me when I left.

Shane's past was murky. His mom and dad divorced when he was at a young age. He had 3 brothers. His mom was a bit of a narcissist. She was a cold woman. She guilt tripped her children for the basic necessities that parents should provide. That wasn't usually an issue though, as she spent her time bar hopping and partying, leaving the brothers to fend for themselves. His dad was never part of his life. It wasn't until three years ago that he was told his dad was a hunter. It didn't make a difference to him. Dad was off hunting monsters while Shane was slinging drugs and "collecting" money from those that didn't pay, just so he could afford to eat and stay warm. His dad could have been President for all he cared. It didn't matter. He abandoned Shane. And Shane was never one for second chances.

I sighed at all of our stories. We had all seen such misfortune. It never ended. Just then, I was pulled out of my own head by the sound of my bedroom door opening the rest of the way.

"Hey, wanna step outside? I need a smoke." Shane stood in front of the bed, his hand now resting on my bare ankle. "Then I'll tell you what the plan is."

"Sure," I said. "Can you adjust the thermostat? It's burning up in here." I began to unbutton my pajama top, to reveal the black racer-back tank top I had layered under it. I tugged the pajama shirt off and threw it on the foot board. I caught Shane staring at me.

"Yeah," he murmured. I grabbed my old house slippers from my bag and shoved my feet into them.

After he lowered the temperature in the house, I grabbed a cigarette and my lighter and I found myself sitting on the hood of my car. Shane was standing closer than normal. He took a long drag off of his cigarette, and shuffled his feet. His eyes were focused on my knees, his mouth turning down in a small frown.

"This isn't an elimination job," he said softly. "We are here as bait. We have to go into town, make ourselves known. There's another small team of hunters up the road from here who have signed the contract for this job."

My eyes widened. "Bait? Why wouldn't we just help them?"

"All I know is that this thing that's killing people, it's related to one of us. Someone in the team. They wouldn't tell me who." His eyes met mine. They were sad. "It's either me or you. We're the only ones with family in Texas."

I couldn't speak.