The rest of the week had been quiet and I had not once seen Tristan's shadow darken my door—which was great—because I didn't really want to see his face ever again.

On Thursday though, I walked into the bakeshop and into some alarming news.

Old farmer Duds Packett was found dead in the back of his barn.

"They said his body was so badly mangled that they couldn't recognize him at first," Pearl Rickman, owner of Pearl's Bookstore and the town's biggest gossip, was saying to a group of people who pulled their seats up and huddled around her table shared with a couple of other older women.

"If it weren't for his bright red pajamas that his wife recognized, they wouldn't have known it was him," she added and everyone murmured their shocked comments.

"I haven't heard of an animal attack around here for a long time," Walter chimed in. "And I know Duds was quick with the gun. I don't know how it could've gotten him."

"They did find his gun but it was badly crushed a few feet away. It was in terrible shape," Pearl said. "That's the only thing that's holding them back from declaring it as a simple case of animal attack."

"Here's the chief," Mary Anne muttered under her breath to me as the bakeshop door opened and in came Sheriff Dick Ball. He's the town's police chief and even with a funny name, no one would dare poke fun at him for it because they didn't want to get ground up by this big, burly man with a hefty, gray chevron mustache and a stern glare.

Everyone straightened up at his arrival with another police officer, Amelia Ruck, who was in her late thirties and didn't appreciate being cut some slack for being the only female in the squad.

"The usual?" I asked them both as they stopped by the counter. They often stopped by for lunch and always ordered a pulled pork sandwich with a side of herbed onion rings and a tall glass of sweet, iced tea the only difference being that the sheriff always got a second sandwich.

"Yes, Ollie. Thank you," the sheriff said in his big, booming voice before putting down his hat on the bar. I handed each of them their cold drink as Mary Anne hurried to the kitchen to give Patrick the order.

"How's it going for you today?" I asked them as I started bagging a couple of caramel-filled nut cookies into little paper envelopes with Belle's gold, scripted logo on it. We have daily cookie specials where we hand out samples of the featured cookie to customers. It's popular, trust me.

"I heard it's been a busy morning for you," I added as I handed them each their bag and Amelia beamed at me and mouthed a thank you.

The sheriff glanced at the expectant crowd and sighed loudly. "Yeah, it's been busy, alright. It's not often you get a dead man at four in the morning. We had to bring Dud's wife, Pamela, to the hospital. She passed out at the news and I don't blame her for it."

"Did they track down the animal that did it?" one of the patrons asked. "If it's rabid, it could hurt more people."

Dick didn't even blink. "We don't know for certain yet if it is an animal attack. We've got the medical examiner from the city coming down tomorrow afternoon to look at the body. We do want everyone to be vigilant though. You never know what's out there."

I tried not to shudder physically but I felt sick.

No, not just because of all this talk about dead bodies and gore but because Sheriff Ball was certainly right about one thing—they didn't know what was out there—I did.

I didn't even make the connection until the sheriff's statement. I didn't want to think that Tristan was involved in this, as much as I hated his guts right now, but the timing was right and the kind of friends he kept around certainly made it more possible. Sure, it could be a pack of coyotes but who or what would have enough force to crush a gun without running it over with a tractor?

More questions came up for the two police officers and I eased out of it before I could open my mouth and say something stupid like, 'You've got monsters living in this town so no surprise!'

Half an hour after they and most of the lunchers had gone, Mary Anne nudged my by the arm.

"Here comes your best friend," she snickered and I looked up to find Heather Crowley walking into the cafe in her typical pair of tight white jeans, a bright pink halter top and high heels. Her make up was impeccable and her blond hair was swaying around her in precise movement as if she'd trained every individual strand. 

Heather owned Style Magic, the biggest and best hair salon in town and she also happened to be my high school nemesis who was now dating my high school boyfriend Scott Hanson. 

Mary Anne put a hand on her waist and glared at Heather but I put on a civil face for her.

"What can I do for you, Heather?" I asked without a smile. Hey, I'm not a mean person but you should've heard the things she called me. They'd make your grandma turn in her grave.

"Scott is sick and wants a potato and cheese pie," she said with a purse of her lips. "I told him no because he really should be watching what he's eating but he's whining like a baby so here I am."

"Your man's sick and wants his ex-girlfriend's comfort food?" Mary Anne said with a snort and Heather glared at her. I eyed Mary Anne and she got my hint and headed for the kitchen to pack up the pie.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked as I got a paper bag and started going through the pastry display to bag up a variety of Scott's favorites.

"A flu of some sort," Heather replied, yawning, I'm not sure if purposefully, while looking around the now-quiet bakeshop. "He came home last night in almost with delirious fever that I thought we had to drive out to the hospital but he got better and seemed okay now."

Mary Anne came out with a warm pie in a box and I handed it to Heather along with the bag of pastries.

My first instinct was to refuse her payment. I always sent something to friends and patrons who were sick but I've done something similar once for Scott and she all went and accused me of trying to get back in his favor. I've learned my lesson after that.

"I hope he gets well soon," I told her as she slipped her wallet back in her heavily embellished white purse and flipped her hair over her shoulder. 

"He will," she said before heading out to the door. "I'm a good nurse."

When she was gone, Mary Anne sighed and shook her head. "Apparently not a good cook if her man's still looking for some other woman's food."

I grinned. "Hey, maybe my potato and cheese pie is just really good especially if Heather was willing to bear the embarrassment of walking in here to get one."

"I don't know what's wrong with that girl," Mary Anne said as she straightened some of the napkins by the bar. "She's been living with Scott for years now and she's still paranoid about you. Scott doesn't mean anything to you anymore, does he?"

I shook my head. "No more than a friend. We had a pleasant break up. He wanted to get out town, like Jesse, and I wanted to stay here. When he came back three years later, we stayed friends but Heather thinks I still carry a torch for him which is definitely not the case."

Mary Anne nodded. "Scott's a good-looking guy but he doesn't hold a candle to your new flame."

"What new flame?" I asked her in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" she said with a roll of her eyes. "That hunky new guy in town Tristan who looked like he could strip you naked with his eyes."

I cringed. "No, he's not my new flame. I just met the guy and I'm just trying to be nice, okay?"

Mary Anne looked at me directly, her eyes unconvinced. "Be straight with me, Ollie. There's something going on between you two. You both look like you have a little secret."

Because we do, I answered mentally, looking away.

"And I know you went with him last time he was here when you said you were going to step out and get some air," she continued. "You came back in that ridiculously nice car that someone in here was talking about and said it belonged to Tristan."

"We just went for a little drive," I told her, unable to lie completely now. But I could only give her parts of the truth. "He asked me to cook for the restaurant in the Mansion and I turned it down."

Mary Anne's brows rose in surprise. "Oh. Wow. So why did you look like you were about to cry when you came back in? Did he do something to you that I should know about so I can kick his beautiful ass?"

I shook my head, trying to keep my expression consistent with what I was going to say.

"I wasn't going to cry," I assured her. "I just got a bit frustrated because you know how I've always wanted to cook in a real restaurant but with the bakeshop, I don't think I'm ever going to have that opportunity."

Wow. I was becoming really good at these partial truths and white lies. Not a good thing.

"Oh, Ollie," Mary Anne said, her mouth turning down in a sad frown as she gave me a brief hug. "You know Pat and I can manage this place if you want to go do your own thing for a little bit, right? I don't think your mother ever wanted to you feel trapped in her dream. She's going to understand if you want to do something else."

"Oh, it's alright, Mary Anne," I told her with a sniffle and a smile. "I do love this place on my own. We all think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence but it's hardly ever true. I'm happy with all that I have."

And it was true—I loved my life in Willow—and I was going to make damn sure Tristan wasn't going to take that away from me by killing off my neighbors one by one.

As soon as I dropped off Mary Anne after we made our nightly deposit at the bank, I headed out towards the mansion.

The gate was closed so I got out of my truck. I got my good old, Remington 870 shotgun from the back of the truck and made sure it was loaded before I slipped around the gate posts. 

My hands sweated as I gripped the gun along my march towards the mansion. 

My father was fascinated with guns and as a young girl, he taught me how to use them and enjoy hunting with them. I inherited all of his guns after he died as Jesse didn't want to have anything to do with them and they're all well-kept at home. I just carried this one around in my truck in case anyone or anything wanted to mess with me.

I knew Tristan and his gang had special capabilities given their supernatural nature but standing behind a gun that can fire from good distance gave me a sense of security.

The grounds were dimly lit by some of the outdoor fixtures and through the windows, I could see the darkness inside the mansion. 

I went up to the door and tried to find a doorbell but there was none. There was no door-knocker either so I rapped my knuckles against the shiny surface of the huge French doors.

When no answer came, I yelled for Tristan.

"Come out! I need to talk to you!" I yelled when I got no answer.

Don't ask me what possessed me at that time but I was emboldened—either by having simply lost my mind or by molten fury at what I suspected he and his gang were responsible for.

"Tristan!"

I kicked the door when there was still no answer, hopping around a bit in pain when I realized my sneakers weren't thick enough to protect my toes.

Muttering under my breath, I walked down the steps and looked around for a sizable stone around the patio. I found one and threw it with all my might against the door but it was about a foot short.

Committed to my cause, I held the shotgun up and pumped it, poising it towards the door.

"Tristan! I'm giving you one last chance. If you don't come out, I'll shoot!" 

Only silence and crickets answered me.

Why the hell was he not answering? What if he's not home? What if he was out on the prowl hunting for their next victim? It was just eight o'clock.

Brazen with determination, I fired.

After the kick of the shot nudged me backwards and sent a tremor all the way through my arm to my shoulder, I lowered the gun, now conscious of the other possibility that I may have shot someone innocent.

Five seconds later, all the lights turned on inside and outside the mansion. The French doors swung open and in a few more seconds, the two vampire ladies literally zipped to a post on either side of the doorway, Tristan stepped out and Cage and Stigger were right behind him.

Growling in a loud, thunderous sound, Cage stretched his body upward and started morphing into something very large with thick, dark fur, bursting through his clothing that quickly got shredded into pieces.

He lunged forward, now a fully-formed wolf of some type, his yellow eyes beady as he zeroed in on me, his mouth snapping open with another growl, his sharp teeth bared.

I gasped and backed up a bit, levelling my gun towards Cage who started slowly moving my way.

"Stop," Tristan said, putting a hand up to stop Cage. The wolf growled a grumble but stopped, his eyes still fixed on me.

"Put the gun down, Ollie," Tristan told me, his lips set in a tight line. "If you don't, I can't guarantee I can stop everyone else here from ripping you up to shreds."

"Just like you did poor, old farmer Duds Packett?" I snapped, keeping my gun straight. 

"What is this woman talking about?" Irina said in exasperation, her head tilting dramatically as if I said something pestering. "And why did she put a hole in the door?"

Tristan exhaled sharply and glanced over his shoulder to inspect the damage. 

"Please explain what's going on," he said patiently, his arms crossing in front of him.

"Duds Packett. He owns the farm just north of my house. He was found dead early in this morning behind his barn, mutilated in such a way that no one could easily pin it down as an animal attack," I told him, locking in on his eyes to see if guilt would flicker in them. They remained exactly the same way.

"Willow is out on the country but we don't get brutal animal attacks like that," I continued. "So if it isn't animal, you can guess there was only one thing that came to mind."

"So you suspect we killed this farmer?" Tristan asked slowly, as if paraphrasing the sentence a four-year-old child rambled out. 

I shrugged lightly, my gun still hoisted up. "Well, you've got two vampires and a wolf and God knows what else. There's plenty of literature out there that point this kind of attack to you."

Tristan exhaled again, his shoulders rising, and looked around at his pals.

"Anyone here know anything about this?" he asked.

The two vampires shook their heads innocently, Stigger shrugged and Cage the wolf howled in what seemed like protest.

Tristan turned back to me, his arms held out helplessly. "It won't be me either since I don't actually eat humans. We've coexisted with humans for longer than you can imagine, Ollie, and with very little incident. I can assure you we wouldn't harm anyone in Willow because we don't want to call attention to ourselves."

"Then who did it?" I demanded, somehow relieved inside that none of them did it because I wasn't very sure what would've have happened if they confirmed it and wanted me to shut up about it. 

Tristan held a hand out to his left and a black lump of an object flew out from behind one of the French doors.

I watched in astonishment as he grabbed it and slipped what now looked to be a dark jacket over his gray shirt which he wore with his jeans.

"Where are you going?" Arabella asked, her voice excited and envious at the same time as Tristan started walking down the steps. "Can we go too, please?"

"No, you all stay," Tristan said as he quickly shot a hand out and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, yanking it away from me before I could react. In a matter of seconds he folded the barrel in half and crumpled the rest of it before discarding it like scrap metal on the ground.

"Hey, that was my father's gun!" I protested as he grabbed me by the wrist and started walking towards the driveway.

"Well, that was a very expensive door you just put a hole in so we're even," he answered caustically, pausing to glance over his shoulder at his minions. "I'll have a look at the body and see if I can figure out who it is. Take care of the door and if it's anything we need to look out for, I'll call you."

"Where are we going?" I demanded as he dragged me behind him along the dim driveway.

"We're going to your truck so you could drive us to the morgue," he answered patiently. "I can hear the rumble of the engine which by the way is begging to be replaced."

"I can't take you to the morgue!" I argued, trying to yank my hand back. "People can't just walk in there and peek under the covers. We'll be arrested if we get caught."

"Then we'll make sure we don't," he said as we arrived at my truck which I'd left running. "I don't know why you're so concerned about possible legal consequences when you just marched up to someone's property and shot at their door. What if you killed someone?"

"I knew no one was standing behind the door because if anyone was, they would've already heard me yelling and knocking for you to come out," I bristled as I slipped into the driver's seat. "I thought you have very good hearing. I spent a good five minutes just yelling outside the door."

"The secret basement is sound-proof. It's an integral part of this two-sided business," he explained, trying to stretch out his long legs in front of him. I remembered for a brief second that Tristan was spoiled rotten in luxury but I chided myself for worrying about his superficial inconveniences. "Besides, we were in a meeting."

I sighed in resignation, the last of my anger draining away. "Sorry about your door. I'll offer to replace it but you destroyed my father's gun. Speaking of guns, another reason the police has a hard time concretizing the case as an animal attack is because Duds's gun was found smashed on the ground just a few feet away from him. Animals scratch or gnaw if they had indeed been wrestling it away from him but the rifle was crushed into pieces. Unless it was an elephant that stomped its foot on it, the police has no other explanation."

"Have they examined the body more closely?" he asked as I drove back through the unlit rural road.

"The medical examiner from Greyhart is coming tomorrow afternoon," I answered, glancing at his expressionless profile. "I'm glad it's not you but I'm still not happy we have one dead man in town."

He barely glanced at me. "People are bound to die at some point in their lives, Ollie. The way they go is just simply a means to an expected end. It shouldn't matter."

"It matters to the people who care about you," I said acidly. "If someone murdered you, it's going to haunt your family for the rest of their lives."

This time, he turned his head to me, his mouth curved in a half-smile, half-sad shape. "Then wouldn't they just rather not know?"

I opened my mouth to give an instantaneous and indignant answer but I stopped myself at the thought of his question.

I closed my mouth and decided to just drive ahead.

The downtown streets were empty—we rolled up the sidewalk here at five in the afternoon—except for a couple of the small bars stayed open until ten on weeknights.

"The morgue is just on the end of the hospital's west wing and has its own entrance which I'm sure will be locked," I told him as I pulled up into the empty parking lot. "How are you planning on getting in?"

"We'll manage," he said as he got out of the truck and looked around. It was the first week of June and there was still quite a bit of light outside. "Park you truck behind that utility shed so no one driving past could see it."

I followed and within a few minutes, was hopping off the truck and walking up quickly to Tristan who was surveying the one-story building. 

It wasn't really a full-featured hospital. It had an emergency room, a small nursery, about a dozen wards, a few offices and labs and a small, walk-in clinic. It was the only medical center within this section of the county, servicing four small towns and the surrounding rural areas. We had the land so they built it here and if anything needed specialized treatment, a helicopter from Greyhart, which is the largest city in the county of Bellemont, would fly in and pick up the patient.

"Come on," he finally said, taking my hand without argument. He started leading us towards the garage door of what looked like the loading and unloading area—yes, loading and unloading of dead bodies—and felt around the concrete wall. There was no access from the outside so he walked up to the door right next to the garage where there was a little gray box on the panel on the wall that looked like a reader for an electronic badge.

"How are you going to get in?" I whispered although no one could hear me. 

He put a hand over the reader, his eyes closing very briefly before a click registered and the door loosened.

"How the hell did you do that?" I demanded, still in a hushed voice as he quietly stepped inside. "You just make things do what you want them to do for you?"

"There was a manual lock behind the door and all it needed was a little nudge," he answered simply, turning to me and offering a hand. "Are you coming?"

I clasped my hands together and peeked around from behind him at what was inside. "I'm not sure this is a good idea, Tristan. Call me superstitious but I think we should leave the dead in peace."

He looked irritated. "I thought you wanted justice. You're not going to find it unless we figure out who did this. Come on, you're wasting time."

Before I could argue any more, he grabbed my hand, yanked me inside and closed the door softly.

Inside the room was clinically bright with the white and pale green tiles on the floor and walls and the stainless steel equipment that filled it.

My nose picked up the acrid smell of antiseptic products, formaldehyde among them, and the slightest hint of decomposition.

"We'll be fine," he assured me as I backed against the wall opposite the one where a large, stainless steel mortuary cooler stood, showcasing six compartments, three stacked on each side. 

My stomach turned at the fact that I knew who was lying dead inside of it.

Tristan didn't seem fazed at all as he did a quick scan of the labels for each compartment. "Well, we've only got one guy in here so D. Packett, I'm assuming, is the unfortunate fellow."

I didn't appreciate the lightness of his conversation and as he pulled what looked like a dolly towards him and leveled it against the middle compartment, I turned away.

"Don't throw up, Ollie," he said in a cool voice as I heard one of the compartments slide open. The temperature in the room cooled down a couple of degrees.

I lifted the collar of my shirt and pressed it against my nose and mouth. 

I heard him smirk. "I don't want to have to mop it up."

I shut my eyes as I heard the rustle of a flimsy sheet. I lifted my free left arm, pressed the inside of it against my left ear and cupped my right one with my hand.

It felt like forever as I waited for Tristan to finish.

Then I felt the swishing sound of the compartment being pushed close and the sound of water gushing out of a faucet.

I didn't move.

Finally, damp but warm hands touched me by the shoulders and gently turned me around.

I looked up at Tristan expectantly and lowered my hands to my sides. "So, what is it?"

He didn't look too troubled but his mouth was a grim line.

"Were-demons," he said. "The marks are about the same as a regular werewolf except the cuspids, or the fangs, are much larger and deeper. The saliva left behind also has the right texture and smell."

"What are were-demons?" I asked in incredulity. "Werewolves gone mad?"

A hint of smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "They're a type of demon that can morph into a wolf but yes, they are much more savage and they hunt their prey and take what they can of it. Their saliva sends the victim into a feverish, disoriented state which lets them move in for the kill. They've been actively banned from the human realm due to their lack of civility, to put it mildly."

I shook my head, overwhelmed. "If they're banned from being near humans, why are they here then?"

His eyes narrowed in thought. "Good question. I intend to find out."

He headed for the door. "Let's get you home. Were-demons travel in packs. We're going to track them down tonight."

I paused by the door. "Can you handle them?"

He turned to me with a raised brow and a crooked smile. "Your lack of confidence is insulting but to assure you, yes, we can handle them. I have a feeling they're here for us anyway so we'll have to deal with them at some point."

I followed him back to the truck and we both got in. 

On our way to my house, he dialed from his cellphone for his gang to meet us there.

"Nice house," he commented as we pulled into the long driveway that led to my family's two-story, country-inspired lake house. "Do you live here alone?"

I turned off the engine after parking by the car pad just outside of the garage on the side of the house. "Yes. My parents died when I was a teenager. I inherited it from them, same thing with the bakeshop."

He got out of the car and walked me to the door. "Make sure to lock up before you go to bed. Stigger and the rest will be here in a few minutes. We'll check out the area as well."

I paused on the front porch as I fished out my keys. Tristan stood there, his right shoulder leaning against the wall. 

I struggled with the right thing to do because even though he was innocent of Duds Packett's death, he still kissed me and then withdrew as if it had been a horrible mistake. It probably was—well, it really was—but I still felt a bit humiliated by it.

"Do you want to come in and wait for them inside?" I finally asked, my manners winning over my lingering resentment.

He looked at me and in the dimly lit front porch, his face's fine bone structure stood out beautifully. He smiled. "I think if I step past your front door, I'll have difficulty keeping myself from carrying to the closest bed. I may be a little different but I'm a man, nonetheless, Ollie."

My cheeks burned hotly and the strangest sensation pooled between my legs at the quick flash of imagination of mine and Tristan's naked bodies entwined in bed.

I was going to bite his head off for that but I didn't trust myself to say the right thing so I turned away and pushed the front door open. All I said was a hasty goodnight.

I was making a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner when I heard a car pull up in the driveway. Through the sheer white curtains, I could see the flash of headlights and a door opening. After a quick, murmured conversation outside that I couldn't make out, I heard a couple of car doors slam and tires screech out of the driveway and into the night.

I ate my dinner quietly, playing Norah Jones's music from the CD player in the living room. I found her music very soothing and tonight, I needed a calm mind.

I took a quick shower and slipped into a pair of yellow cotton lady boxers which I preferred over pajamas and a loose, white tank top. I alternated between that and a cotton night dress. As I let my hair air-dry across my back, I climbed into the queen-sized bed I replaced my old bed with in the same bedroom I've had since I was about five. Jesse's bedroom was the same as he left it after high school graduation and my parents' one still has their bed and furniture in it but we've packed away most of their stuff in the basement. Jesse told me to just use their bedroom but I never felt right about it.

Speaking of Jesse, I reached for the telephone on my night stand and dialed his number. It would be about three hours earlier in California and he may be out to dinner but I decided I could at least leave him a message. I just wanted to hear his voice even if it was just his voicemail recording.

After the third ring, he picked up.

"Ollie, how are you?" he asked and I could hear him smile on the other line. "I've been meaning to call. I haven't talked to you in a while."

I smiled back. "I know, I'm sorry. Things have been a bit busy here, you know, with the warmer season coming in and all the tourists it brings. I'm doing well though. How about you?"

After Jesse got his business degree in finance, he'd been working in an accounting firm. I've been out twice to see him since he moved there—on his graduation and two Christmases ago. He's never been back to visit.

"Busy too with work," he answered and I could hear him stretch. I'm not really sure if I could hear him stretch but I could feel it as if I just had my eyes closed and he was right next to me. It's that whole twin-bond thing, I think.  "There's also been a few other things going on but nothing you should worry about."

I frowned. I could feel the tension in his voice. "What's going on, Jess?"

"Nothing. Just a few personal things," he answered again but this time I could feel the exhaustion seep out of him along with another emotion that felt distinctly like anxiety bordering on fear. 

"Jess, you're lying to me," I told him flatly. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No. Christ, Ollie," he snapped, irritated now. "It's just work and my bosses and I'm just stressed out of my mind, okay? If I'm in some kind of trouble, you'd know, like you always do."

He was right. I had an uncanny sense of empathy when it came to my twin. One time, when we were twelve and we went camping, Jesse wandered off and got cornered by a cougar. I bolted and grabbed my Dad and his gun, and as if I had a built-in GPS to locate my twin, we were there in minutes just as the cougar was closing in on him. Another time was when he got into a brawl out on the high school parking lot after the football game they just won. Another time was when he was on a plane heading for New York and got caught in some serious turbulence. I was shaking with fear in the bakeshop until Jesse called me after they were able to safely land because he knew I would've been as terrified as he was.

"If you say so," I finally said, letting him off the hook. "You'll tell me if you need me, right?"

His irritation ebbed away and he was smiling again. "Of course, Olls. And you'd call me if anything's going on there, right?"

I bit my lip in hesitation and hoped that Jesse didn't catch it. Something was definitely going on in Willow but for his sake, I couldn't tell him. Besides, I also promised Tristan I wouldn't say anything to anybody and that included my twin whom I tell everything.

"Of course," I said cheerfully, toying with the curly cord of the phone. I decided to change the subject. "How's Miranda?"

"Oh, she's doing okay, I guess," he answered unsurely. Miranda was a stylist he'd been seeing in the last couple of months. "I haven't seen her in nearly a month."

I smirked. "Didn't work out then, I assume. I've never met her but she'd sounded like a sweet girl."

"She was but I just wasn't that interested in a relationship with her," Jesse answered casually. 

He was the male version of me and we shared the same oval-shaped face, big, dark brown eyes that had the slightest upturn at the outside corners, making us look a bit Eurasian, the long, straight nose that rounded just a bit at the tip and the same honey shade of hair. Our looks have always gotten us noticed but while I was modest and reserved, Jesse used it guiltlessly to pick among the swarm of girls who were always vying for his attention.

"Don't you feel bad for letting a girl get her hopes up so you can crush it?" I asked bitterly. "If you weren't really that interested in her, why didn't you just leave her alone in the first place?"

Jesse was quiet. I could almost see in my mind that he looked like he was caught off guard. 

"Well,'" he began slowly. "Adult relationships tend to start with physical attraction. She was hot and we hooked up to explore the possibility of it being more than physical attraction and when we realized there wasn't anything else in there, we moved on."

I rolled my eyes. "So it's like buying a pair of shoes that you thought looked nice and then you try them on when you get home, wear them to a nice party and then later when you've really decided they weren't worth what you paid for them, you bring them back to store. You've finally decided how you feel about them but you've already worn them."

He was quiet again and I imagined he was scratching his head. "Ollie, why do you sound angry?"

I was going to instantaneously reply that I wasn't angry but I caught myself and did a rewind of the conversation in my head. He was right. I sounded angry and I knew why.

"I'm not. Sorry," I said with a sigh, shaking the annoyance out of me. "You're an adult. You can go about your relationships however you want to."

He didn't sound convinced but he let it go. 

After a few more minutes, we hung up.

I felt better after talking to Jesse.

My hair had also mostly dried. With one last inspection of all the locks in the house and a quick peek outside to make sure the night was undisturbed, I climbed back to bed, turned off the lamp and pulled the covers up to my chin.

For about an hour, I tried to clear my mind and let the drowsiness in. But my mind was full and busy with all the things that had happened this week and Tristan kept cropping up in between them.

Finally, after another half an hour of tossing and turning, I turned the lamp on and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen.

I poured myself a glass of milk and stuck in the microwave for a minute.

I was just taking out an oatmeal raisin cookie from a jar when a knock came on the door.

Startled, I dropped the cookie but instead of picking it up, I dashed to the front closet where I hid another one of Dad's shotguns. It was loaded and I held it up vertically against me as I pressed my side to the door.

"Who is it?" I demanded. I glanced at the wall clock. It was about one in the morning.

"It's Tristan."

Unlocking the door, I kept my shotgun close as I twisted the knob open slowly.

Through the slight opening, I could see Tristan standing there with an amused look on his face. "What is it with you and guns? Do you sleep with one?"

I narrowed my eyes and backed away as he pushed the door open and strode in without waiting for an invitation. "What are you doing back here at this ungodly hour?"

I locked the door behind and put the gun back in the closet. He was standing in the middle of my living room, looking around in appreciation. "Tristan. Pay attention."

He finally focused his eyes on me and they darkened and became dazed for a bit.

I looked down at myself and realized I was practically in my undergarments. My cheeks warmed and I crossed my arms in front of my chest, my chin held up indignantly. 

"Um," he finally started, forcing himself to look away. "We tracked the were-demon back to your house. It had been in the area before tonight but when we headed back here, we saw fresh tracks in your backyard. Did you hear or see anything?"

My gut twisted. "No, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Why would it go here? What does it want with me?"

Tristan shrugged. "Probably information. I think it came to Willow to scout us and must've seen you come out of the Mansion with me that night you wandered down into the basement. We saw older tracks in the mansion's property but it was a good distance back so it's just been watching. There seems to be a couple of them based on the set of tracks we've seen but we can only distinguish one scent."

I bit my lip. "Will they come back here?"

"Not if we can get our hands on them first." He started for the door again but he paused and his eyes closed for a few seconds. Then he straightened up. "It's Irina. They found newer tracks towards the farm just west of here. I have to go."

"Okay," was all I could say as I watched him reach for the door. Before he stepped out, he turned around and handed me an unlabeled, white spray bottle. "Use this if necessary."

"What's this?" I asked dumbly. 

"It's wolfsbane. It's not going to kill a werewolf but it could deter them enough so you can escape."

He took a few steps back towards me and lifted my chin up. He had a small smile on his lips. "I'd like to see your beautiful face unmarred when this is all over."

I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes away from his lustful stare.

Before I knew it, he was out the door, the lock clicking into place on its own.

Clutching the spray bottle, I turned off the kitchen light, forgetting my milk and cookie.

I was just crossing the living room when the silence of the night was shattered by the same force that sent the glass from my front window spraying all over the room. 

I screamed as a large, black mass of a body hurled itself towards me. A loud, thunderous growl filled my ears as I stumbled back against the staircase. My hands tightened into fists and that's when I remembered the spray I was clutching. Yanking the cap off, I held it up against the giant wolf's ugly face and sprayed.

It yelped in pain and staggered back, morphing back into a human form. It was tall and naked with bristly black hair matting most of its body but its face could only be described as demonic with its glowing orange eyes, gnarled features, a large mouth foaming with saliva and very pointed teeth.

It knocked the bottle off of my hand in one angry swipe, my wrist snapping that I was sure I'd either sprained or broken it. 

I pushed my feet in front of me to drag myself further away but the demon towered over me, its large hand shooting forward and grabbing me by the throat.

"What are you doing with Tristan and his company?" it barked out at me, its face leaning so close I could smell the rotten stink of its breath.

"Nothing!" I screamed at him even though my voice was coming out hoarse from having the air cut off. I pummeled and scratched at its arm but my efforts weren't strong enough.

It laughed, its yellow teeth showing in its full repulsive glory, and howled. "Then I guess you're just going to be tonight's meal."

I screamed as it opened its mouth to sink its teeth on me when an unseen force suddenly lifted him off of me and hurled it against my dining room wall.

Tristan stood there with Cage and Stigger. He cast a glance at me. "Are you alright?"

All I could do was nod and watch as his eyes flash that fiery, deep amber color I've once seen.

The demon recovered from the impact of having been squashed against the wall and it sprung up to its feet but Tristan, in a speed that made his movements blurry, was instantly in front of him, his hand pinning the demon's throat against the wall. Tristan raised his other hand and the demon's arms and legs flattened against the wall as if invisible nails were driven in to keep him in place.

Then another flash of black fur leapt through the broken window but before it could get anywhere near me, Cage and Stigger both grabbed it. It growled but Stigger slipped out a large, silver dagger from under his tan vest and slid it into the wolf's chest and pushed it all the way up to its neck.

I watched it morph back to its human form and realized he looked exactly like the demon Tristan held captive except for the big gash in front of it, pouring blood out on my rug.

Tristan cursed under his breath and I turned to see that the demon he was holding also had an identical gash in front of him and I looked back and forth between the two demons as life seeped out from both of them.

The one Cage and Stigger were holding started to disappear into thin air while the one Tristan had started turning into a blue-gray color, the blood darkening to almost black.

"What the..." was all I could manage, looking up to them in confusion.

"It's a splitting demon," Tristan explained, walking to the door and hurling the dead body out to my front yard. "Were-demons don't come with the ability naturally but powers can be bred or stolen. Killing one half of it kills the entire thing."

"It's unfortunate it died before we could get some answers," Stigger said as he regarded his bloodied dagger in disgust. "As far as we can tell it's the only one that's been around town. The scent is right."

"What do you want us to do now?" Cage asked Tristan who had stepped towards me and offered a hand.

He pulled me up to my feet and I staggered to the kitchen to grab several sheets of paper towel which I handed to Stigger who looked surprised but pleased. 

"Irina and Arabella are outside and they can't find any other leads," Tristan said, rubbing his chin. "Could you dispose of the body? We'll need to burn it."

"Where?"

Tristan glanced at me. "Ollie, would you mind if we make a nice bonfire in your backyard? We'll do it at the farthest corner and it'll be completely gone, ashes and all. Arabella will make sure of that."

I swallowed hard at the idea of cremating a dead demon in my backyard but I nodded. "Do it."

Then I glanced down at the pool of blood on my floor that was now seeping nicely into my blue-green rug. Then I glanced at my broken window and light blood splatter on the front of my clothes, arms and legs. I felt dizzy and nauseous but Tristan quickly grabbed a dining chair for me to sit on.

"I'll have a cleaning service come in tomorrow to vacuum all the glass out and someone will come in to replace the window. We'll clean up down here, don't worry," he told me as he rummaged through my cupboard and my fridge. In a matter of seconds, he had a glass of water held out to me. 

I took it with a shaky hand and drank half of it.

He squatted in front of me, his eyes searching my face. "Ollie, will you be okay?"

I nodded, biting my bottom lip so he wouldn't see it tremble. 

"Come on, let's get you back to bed," he said. 

Before I could protest, he picked me up in his arms and carried me up the stairs. I remembered what he said earlier that evening about taking me to the closest bed but my nerves were too frazzled and every part of my body was exhausted. I hung on to his neck as he slowly made his way up, seeming comfortable even with my weight on his arms.

"You should probably wash up first," he said as we got to the second floor landing. "Where's your bathroom?"

I pointed to the door just across my bedroom and he walked towards it, holding out a hand out to push it open. He flicked the switch on as if he knew where it was and gently set me down to my feet.

"Will you be alright on your own?" he asked as he watched me study my reflection on the mirror. 

I nodded again.

I put my hands down on the counter and winced at the tenderness on my right wrist. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, picking my hand up and examining it. He frowned. "It's only sprained and it doesn't look too bad. Give me one second."

He disappeared in that dizzying speed he sometimes displays and a minute later, was back with an ice pack which he pressed down on my wrist. 

"Do you have any bandage to wrap around it?" he asked and before I could answer, he reached for the bottom drawer and took out a roll. He read my mind, I'm sure.

He fussed over it for a few minutes until it was nicely bandaged up. 

He took a step back to exit but I finally croaked out, "Thank you. For saving my life."

He forced a grim smile. "Well, it wouldn't have been in danger if not for us. I apologize for the trouble."

He moved again and uncertain why I was bothering, I asked, "Where are you going?"

He stopped and looked at me, his own expression unsure. "I'm leaving you to have some time to recover and go back to bed. We have some cleaning up to do."

"Oh, okay," I said, turning away and pretending to bother with a clean towel from the basket on the end of the counter. 

I thought he'd gone but he suddenly spoke up. "I don't trust myself to stay here alone with you, Ollie. You're exhausted, traumatized and terrified. You don't want me here to take advantage of the situation."

I met his eyes on the mirror and said nothing. I just nodded in understanding.

"Damn you, woman," he muttered under his breath before closing the distance between us with one step and pulling me into his arms, his mouth claiming mine with an almost desperate hunger.

He cradled my head in one hand and touched the curve of my neck and shoulder with another. 

I didn't fight back. His kiss, despite the ferocity, was comforting and gave me a sense of security. He was here, solid, warm, able and ready to protect me when danger arose even if the greatest hazard to me right now was the consequence of my own passion.

Finally, the kiss slowed and gentled. 

He cupped my face with both hands, his lips brushing the tip of my nose all the way up to my forehead where it stayed for a few, breathless moments.

"You're all right," he whispered, his arms wrapping around me. "That's all that matters. You're all right."

For a brief second, I wondered if he was telling himself instead of me but I didn't have time to explore the idea because he stepped away and stood by the door. 

"Do you have a cellphone?" he asked, whipping out one from his back pocket. 

"Yes," I answered, my voice still with a quiver that I was now uncertain had come from either the attack or the kiss. 

He asked me to recite my number out for him and then he held the phone to his ear before snapping it close. "Okay, I called it so you can save my number. Call me if you need anything or something's not right. Okay, Ollie?"

He was withdrawing again. Why, I wasn't sure. He certainly felt like he could drink me in from the way he kissed me. But I didn't ask. I could only handle one kind of trauma tonight.

"I'll be fine," I assured him softly, turning on the faucet. "When you're done with what you have to do, just lock up."

"We will," he said, pausing by the door as if he wanted to say more but he didn't. In a matter of seconds, the bathroom door swung shut and footsteps padded down the stairs.

I looked myself at the mirror and grimaced at the dots of blood on my clothes.

I was at least alive. 

It could've been so much worse.