A/N: This takes place some time in the near future, after all this Klaus business has been resolved. None of the characters except Ari are mine, etc., etc.

Night.

The woods are lit by the nearly full moon. Nestled in a copse of bare beech trees is a small cabin Tufts of tall weeds sprout in the decaying plant matter caught in the shingles' rough cracks. To all appearances, the house is deserted. Dry leaves and twigs litter the front porch, and overgrown vines obscure its walls.

Five men prowl through the woods toward the small wood cabin, using more caution that ought to be necessary for an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. The one with short cropped hair and two days' worth of beard stubble catches the others' eyes and hand signals two left and two right to circle around and approach the house from the sides. They melt into the woods as he makes his way to the front porch. The old wood creaks and sags under his weight, despite his careful steps. He grasps the tarnished doorknob and carefully turns it.

Before he can push the door open, a girl dressed in spectral white glides through the door. Her skin glows a phosphorescent blue, and her dark eyes are wide, unseeing. The man jumps back, stumbling over his feet.

"Begone from this place," the girl intones. A phantom wind catches at her dark hair and swirls it around her face. "Beware the curse—"

The man regains his wits and whistles sharply through his teeth. The girl's eyes immediately lose their vacant stare. Fear flashes across her face as the other four men materialize out of the woods.

"We know what you are, honey," he says, leering at her. "Now, it'll be a lot less painful for you if you'd just cut all the ghost crap and come with us."

Her upper lip curls in distaste. "Werewolves," she spits. "I loathe your kind."

"Aw, now I'm hurt," he pretends to pout. "We think you're tasty, if you know what I mean. Now come on, princess." He is standing mere inches away and leans in to inhale deeply against her neck. "Mm, you smell delicious. I'd eat you any phase of the moon."

She recoils from his lips, which graze her skin as he speaks. "Don't make me do something I'd rather not."

Acting as if she hasn't spoken, he grabs her arm, only to have her yank it up, her flesh passing through his hand as if one of them were immaterial. He looks at his hand and then at hers in disbelief.

"I never thought those stories about your kind were true," he says.

"Why don't you and your packmates just go home? Forget you ever found me," she suggests, her voice dangerous and low. "I'm not worth the trouble."

"Oh, believe me, you are," he says. "And unlike the other werewolves, our pack has done some research and we know your weakness."

While he and the girl speak, the man's four packmates close in, surrounding the small porch. They pull silver nets from their belt pouches and shake them open. The soft rustling of metal chains catches the girl's attention and she turns her head just in time to see the werewolf to her right spring forward with the net.

Instinctively, she lunges forward, passing through the man before her as easily as she had through the closed door. The silver nets fall to the floor, empty. The man through whom she passed appears unharmed but clutches at his chest, all color draining from his tan skin. With one final, gasping breath, he falls to his knees and then topples forward. Behind his prone body, the girl remains standing, his still-beating heart clutched in her hand. She lets it fall to the wood floorboards and wipes her bloody hand on her white frock.

"Still think I'm worth the trouble, boys?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow.