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Ethan swung around and raised his hands. “I’m outta here, Captain.”
“Good. Go home and rest, Morgan. Let us catch this bastard.”
He nodded and looked at Mark. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Morgan, I’m warning you—”
“It’s my wife’s birthday,” Mark cut in. “No business allowed.”
“Leave,” Benton said, stabbing a finger in Ethan’s direction. “Now.”
Ethan went.
KAT FLOPPED ONTO THE SOFA AND PLACED THE AROMATIC herbal pack on her forehead. Though the trembling had eased, every muscle still felt weak, and her head boomed. Right now, she needed sleep, she needed coffee, and she needed chocolate—and she was likely to get only one of those in the near future.
A soft sigh filled the silence. She cranked open an eye and looked across the room. Her grandmother sat at the laminate table, chin resting on palms, as she stared at the small crystal ball in front of her.
“No luck?”
“Not a damn thing.” Gwen leaned back and rubbed her forehead. Moonlight danced across the multicolored stones decorating her gnarled fingers.
“It’s been a long night. Maybe you’ll get something once you take a break.”
“Maybe.” She met Kat’s gaze and smiled. “I did see one thing, though.”
Kat had seen that smile before, and it usually meant trouble headed her way. Wariness edged her voice as she said, “What?”
“Your werewolf is on the way here.”
Kat frowned at her word choice. “Werewolf?”
“The man you met in the warehouse.”
“He’s a werewolf?” It would certainly explain the anger she’d sensed in him. And her own, somewhat surprising, attraction to a man she couldn’t even see. Werewolves were sexually alluring when the full moon was rising. “So why didn’t I sense that? I thought he was a shifter.”
“No, he’s definitely something more than a shifter. But the question is, what type of werewolf is he?”
Kat raised an eyebrow. “There is more than one type?”
Gwen laughed softly. “Of course. There are those who are born and those who are bitten.”
“Really? I didn’t know.” Mainly because they’d never actually come across any werewolves in their travels for the Circle. A couple of wolf shifters was as close as they’d ever gotten.
“Those who are bitten are the ones responsible for all the bad press werewolves get.” Gwen rose, her movements stiff as she hobbled over to the kettle. “They’re usually bitten well after puberty and don’t have the experience or knowledge to control the sexual and emotional turmoil the rising moon causes. And of course, the physical change makes most quite mad.”
“And those that are born?”
Gwen filled the kettle and plugged it in, then grabbed three cups and spooned instant coffee into them. “The werewolf born can generally control the worst of his urges. And they can generally shift shape anytime they want.”
“Does the moon still force the change?”
“Always. That’s part of the legacy that can never be escaped.”
Like the weakness and headaches she got after using her abilities to the fullest. Like the arthritis ravaging her grandmother’s body. “So why is he coming here?”
“He’s one of the cops on the special task force. And his niece is one of the missing kids.”
“Oh, great.” A werewolf seeking vengeance was not what they needed right now. The kettle’s shrill whistle sounded. She put the herbal pack on the coffee table and swung off the sofa. “And you didn’t answer my original question.”
