In the days before the full moon, Jillian's senses sharpened. Sounds became clearer, smells stronger, colors more vivid. Her appetite grew wild, and she felt a burst of energy that pushed her to run, to work out—anything to burn off the restless power surging through her. It kept her slim, despite how much she ate. In those days, she felt unstoppable.
But after the turn, it all vanished.
She always woke up feeling drained, like something vital had been torn from her. The day immediately after the full moon, and the day when there was a new moon, is when she felt the most human. To anyone else, how she felt during those days may feel normal, maybe even good. But once one gets accustomed to having the wolf's influence, having a normal human's health, strength, and senses is downright miserable.
The wolf inside her—the part of her that only emerged under the full moon—was gone, tucked away again. But it never really left. It lingered, its instincts and moods bleeding into her own. Most of the time, she was Jillian. But not always. The wolf still watched from the dark corners of her mind.
That morning, she woke in the forest, cold and naked. Dirt clung to her skin, leaves matted her hair, and blood streaked her arms. No wounds, though. Werewolves healed fast.
"You must've had a great time," she muttered aloud to the wolf.
Then her stomach twisted. She doubled over and vomited, gagging on the bitter taste. Whatever the wolf had eaten, her human body rejected. She didn't look.
She stood slowly, making her way through the brush. Before long, she found it—a torn, half-eaten deer. Or what was left of one. Jillian turned away, trying not to throw up again.
She kept walking until she found the highway and followed it back into town, keeping hidden in the trees. When she reached her house, she slipped in through the back door unnoticed and headed straight for the shower. The water couldn't wash away the image of the dead animal. She was relieved it wasn't a person—but next time? She couldn't take that risk again.
She needed a new place to turn. The house next door was occupied now—no more using the empty basement. There had to be somewhere else. She had all month to search.
The man from the night before crossed her mind again. Olive skin, black hair, dark eyes. Handsome, but something about him felt… wrong. Her wolf had noticed it too. It had been afraid.
Shaking off the memory, Jillian collapsed into bed. Hamlet, her cat, jumped up beside her and curled at her feet. Sleep came fast.
She woke that evening to Hamlet's meowing. He wanted out. She let him go and watched as he sat on the sidewalk, grooming himself. Just as she started to close the door, a car pulled up next door.
She paused.
A blonde woman stepped out, dressed in something tight and short. Jillian didn't need to guess her profession. The woman knocked, and a man greeted her with a loud, cheerful voice. Not the same guy as before. Maybe a roommate? A partner, looking to spice things up?
The door shut, and Jillian couldn't hear anything more. But an uncovered upstairs window caught her attention. She went to an empty bedroom and peeked through the blinds. Her window looked right into theirs.
The woman began to undress. Jillian felt a twinge of guilt for watching, but something told her to stay. The wolf was uneasy again.
Then he walked in.
The man from the basement. Her pulse quickened. The wolf inside growled.
He moved behind the woman. She smiled and leaned into him. He kissed her neck, again and again. Jillian almost laughed—maybe he had a thing for necks.
But then his mouth opened.
She saw them—fangs. Long, sharp, unmistakable.
He bit her.
The scream that followed sent Jillian stumbling back from the window. Her chest tightened, heart racing. The wolf's alarm rang in her head like a siren.
Vampire.
After he'd had his fill, Jerry called for Billy.
He didn't bother to look at the body lying twisted on the floor. It was already behind him, a hollow memory with no more meaning than a stain on the rug. He gestured toward it with a flick of his fingers.
"Take care of that, will you, Billy?"
"Course," Billy said, without pause. He scooped up the remains and disappeared downstairs, the thud of his boots dull against the wood.
The night was still young. Jerry, full and unbothered, wandered into the kitchen. He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. He bit into it with a loud crunch, the sharp taste jarring against the warmth in his stomach. He drifted into the living room, lowered himself into the couch, and chewed thoughtfully.
No plans. No thoughts. Just the stillness and the aftertaste of something once living.
Outside, Billy's car engine hummed to life. Jerry barely blinked. He reached down, fingers brushing a soft strap. The purse. Her purse. Careless of him to forget.
He stepped outside just as Billy was pulling away.
"You forgot something," he called, tossing it toward the car. Billy caught it with a nod.
"So what now, Jerry? You've eaten. Got plans?"
"Probably not," he said simply.
Billy gave a two-finger salute and drove off into the dark.
Jerry lingered on the porch steps, watching the street. The night autumn air was crisp. Still.
Then—movement.
Across the street, a woman descended her front steps. She paused on the sidewalk and turned. Her gaze locked on him, sharp and heavy in the dark. She pulled her coat tighter around her frame and took a hesitant step backward.
He tilted his head, recognition flaring. It was absolutely her—the mystery woman from the basement.
She stared back at him, fear evident in her eyes. Then she turned and began walking briskly in the opposite direction, all the while stealing wary glances over her shoulder.
He stepped off the porch and followed, his strides long and unhurried. "Hey, wait."
She snapped around. "Get away from me!"
Her eyes were wide, glinting in the streetlamp glow, her voice trembling but loud. She stumbled back a step.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Jerry said, slowing down, hands slightly raised as if he could pull the tension from the air.
"Bullshit," she spat.
He stopped, ten feet away, close enough to read her expression—rage, fear, and something else. Defiance.
"Ma'am, I'd really like to know what exactly you're so afraid of, and maybe an explanation for why you were in my basement last night."
"You know exactly what I'm afraid of, you asshole," she growled. Her long hair was blowing into her face as she spoke, and she reached up to brush the strands away. She was shivering slightly.
Jerry was getting aggravated. "No, I really don't."
"I saw a woman die in your house."
The words hit with force. He blinked once, as if shaking them off.
"I don't know what you think you saw—"
"Don't gaslight me," she hissed. "I saw you do it. You murdered her."
"You might want to keep your voice down," he said. "We're not the only two in this neighborhood."
"And I'm glad for that," she snapped. "Let them hear. You're a killer."
His jaw tightened slightly, but his tone stayed calm. "Let's not make this worse than it is."
"Worse than murder?"
He took a step closer. "Well, yelling in the street won't solve anything."
She turned to walk again. He followed, not aggressively—but deliberately.
"Are you going to the police?"
Silence.
"You don't want to do that."
She stopped. "Why not?"
"Because I could kill you, too."
"You wouldn't," she said. "Two in one night? That's sloppy."
"I would if I had to. But I'd rather not."
She stared him down, unflinching. "You won't. I can see it. You don't want to kill me."
"I like your confidence, though it's not well-earned. Say you told the police about all this. What makes you think they'll believe you? With a story like that, they'll lock you up for sure."
She said nothing, but the flicker of worry in her eyes told him that he'd likely deterred her from contacting the authorities.
"Why were you in my basement last night?" he asked.
"I'm not telling you anything, leech."
Leech?
Well that's that, Jerry thought to himself. She knew what he was. Now, she definitely had to die.
The girl's emerald eyes burned. "You deserve to be exposed."
He sighed. Just a little longer…
"Just allow me to explain. A conversation is all I ask for. There's a sports bar a few blocks down, right?"
"A conversation?" she repeated. "Over alcohol?"
"In public. Safe for both of us."
"No chance."
Jerry's eyes narrowed darkly. "I'm not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, I already would have. I'll even get you a mocktail, if you don't trust alcohol. Just fifteen minutes of your time."
She hesitated. Watching him. Weighing him.
Finally, she said, "Fine. But we walk separately. Meet me there."
"Agreed."
She left without another word.
Jerry remained for a moment, then followed. At a distance. He wasn't worried. Not yet.
She knew too much. It made her dangerous… but also interesting. His secret being out so soon was a problem, certainly. But it was a manageable one.
This woman wasn't like the others. She was bold. Angry. Clever. She saw through him, and she was still standing.
But none of that would matter. Not in the long run. He'd lived long enough now to know exactly how people worked. And eventually, they all bent to fear, or desire. Or both.
She could be different.
But different didn't mean untouchable.
No one was.
He had spared her—for now. But truthfully, his own curiosity was the only thing keeping her alive. She was a mystery he intended to solve. And he'd toy with her a bit, before he put an end to her.
Was it risky? Of course it was. But Jerry was confident that one little woman couldn't undo centuries of survival. She was a mouse trying to intimidate a lion.
Whatever this was, it would be handled. He'd make sure of it.
Tonight wouldn't be wasted, after all.