Candy and Wyatt were back before I was. I had to stand outside muddy and wet while Candy carefully laid towels from the door to the bathroom. I wondered if we had any towels left for showers. There was a good possibility they might not bring us anymore. This wasn’t exactly the Hyatt.

“Take off your shoes and socks,” she instructed, “and walk across the towels to the bathroom. There you can shower and dry off. Leave your clothes in the sink. I’ve already put a clean set in there for you.”

“Why don’t I just take off my clothes here?” I asked. I’d drip less mud if the clothes stayed on the outside of our room.

“No. I don’t need to see anymore of your body, and the other patrons do not need to see your naked backside standing on the balcony here. Just try not to get anything on the carpet.”

I obeyed walking the tightrope of towels. Wyatt had wires and plastic things strewn all over the bed (not Candy’s bed), and barely grunted a hello. I wondered if he was still mad about not getting to drive my Corvette.

Nothing feels better than a hot shower after you’ve been wet and muddy for a few hours. Well, except for the parts of my inner legs rubbed into red raw chunks. Those stung like a motherfucker when I peeled off the pants and the water hit them. Hopefully I could stealthily fix the skin before I had to put clothing on.

Even though it was humid and sticky out, being rained on somehow makes you feel cold and damp. I got in with my clothes on figuring I could kill two birds with one stone and get them rinsed of their mud layer. After the water ran clean, I peeled them gently off and plopped the sodden mess in the sink. Candy was considerate enough to have bought shampoo, conditioner, soap, and even some razors. I hadn’t even thought of that since most hotels I stayed at had decent supplies in their bathrooms. Of course this one didn’t. So their guests didn’t take showers after their hour long rendezvous? Or just rinsed off? Or perhaps they brought their own little clean up bag with them, like I do to the gym. I let the water steam over me thinking about the similarities of Zumba at the gym and sweaty mattress aerobics on the first floor.

My warm feelings toward Candy faded when I saw the clothes she had bought me. A pack of cheap cotton underwear. Okay, no problem. It’s not like I needed slut panties for the next two days. Inexpensive jeans. Okay, although I resented that she bought me curvy/relaxed fit. The sports bra was Okay. The shirt was just revolting though. It looked like it should have come with a Mennonite cap and a long skirt. It was long sleeved. Perfect for these ninety degree days we were having. It was pink with little white gingham checks all over it. It buttoned up to a little peter pan collar with picot lace around the edge. The sleeve cuffs were edged in the same picot lace. I put it on and looked in the mirror. There was no fucking way I was even leaving the bathroom in this shirt. I walked out in my bra with the shirt in my hand hoping to see if I could slice enough of it off with my utility knife to tolerate wearing it until I washed and dried the muddy clothing.

Wyatt snickered as I walked out and Candy handed him a folded bill.

“I bet her a twenty that you wouldn’t even wear it out of the bathroom. She thought you’d slice it up and wear it frayed just to piss her off.”

“You’d have won if I’d brought my multi–tool into the bathroom with me.” I told Candy as I tossed her the shirt. “I’ll just do the bra thing until my clothes get through the washer and dryer.”

“No need,” Wyatt said grinning. “I bought you a present.”

He handed me a bag. It was glossy pink with an antiqued gold banner and a crest on it. Candy nodded approvingly seeing the designer logo.

I pulled out the t–shirt and unfolded it admiring the bold black and red colors. “Look,” I said turning it around and displaying it across my chest. “I’m ‘Juicy’”

Wyatt’s grin threatened to engulf his whole face and Candy choked a bit.

“It’s Juicy Couture,” she said, dismayed. “It’s a designer brand name.”

“Yes, but I’m ‘Juicy’,” I told her. “Do you think I’m ‘Juicy’, Wyatt?” I turned to him all innocent.

“I certainly hope so.”

“See, it says right here that I’m ‘Juicy’, so it must be true,” I said. “Wyatt, you’ll need to have one that says ‘Crunchy’. I think that you’re probably ‘Crunchy’. And Candy can have ‘Chewy’. Or possibly ‘Tough and Stringy’, if they have that one.”

“Can I have ‘Hard’?” Wyatt teased. “Maybe “Huge and Hard.”

I looked at the portion of his anatomy in question. “From this angle, I’d support that. Although I still like ‘Crunchy’. I’m very fond of ‘Crunchy’.”

Candy shook her head in exasperation and neatly folded the shirt I had thrown at her before tossing me a pack of plain white t–shirts she bought for me to wear.

“What did you find on your prowl?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.

I brought them up to speed on my pleasant visit with Craig Stottlemyer, although I left out the part on the off–the–grid werewolf.

“So nothing at his house. The one house is out since they are gone for weeks. We’ve got some time with this Robinson guy. We could check out his place tonight, get some sleep, and start surveillance tomorrow before he gets back.” Candy said, putting the hideous shirt in a drawer.

Wyatt and I agreed. I threw on a white tee so I didn’t get rain and mud all over my new Juicy shirt. Wyatt called shotgun as we piled into Candy’s car and headed out.

Robinson had a little one story house that looked like it was delivered on a flatbed. His garage was three times the size of his house, no doubt to accommodate his semi when he was home. The big garage was empty but for a monster–sized Ford 350. This must be where his money went. It had chrome all over, a custom painted Pittsburgh Steelers logo covering the back window, and pink rubber testicles hanging from the trailer hitch. Sheesh. The guy drove a big rig, had a huge truck, I was guessing his dick was the size of my pinky. Since he wasn’t home, I covered the ground outside his home in a grid pattern twenty feet out from his walls. Nothing. By the time I was done, I was starved.

“Do you think Althean got freaked out over killing a pregnant woman and is going to hold back for a while?” I asked, stuffing down a burger and fries at a local diner. “Maybe Gregory caught up with him and has pummeled his ass into submission?”

Candy shrugged. “I don’t think he can hold back for long. From the video we saw I think he’s snapped and gone crazy. He was pacing all over the place, and didn’t act like he was rational and in control of his actions. Still, if we don’t see anything in the next two or three days, then we’ll have to rethink our strategy. It could be that Gregory has caught up to him and stopped him, but I’m not convinced of Gregory’s intentions. It could be that he supports Althean and would only want him to be more stealthy in his kills.”

Three days. Shit. I had horses and Boomer, and a zoning hearing. Normally, Wyatt would make sure my animals were okay, but he was here with me. My neighbors weren’t on a friendly basis with me, so I called Michelle.

“You read those zoning documents yet?” she asked.

“No, and I’m probably going to miss the hearing. Can you sit in for me?” I asked in my nicest voice. “I’m out of state for a couple days, and I wondered if you’d please go by my place and check on my horses and dog. The horses are in the field, so you won’t need to do more than toss a bale of hay at them. Just dump some food in Boomer’s bowl. It’s in the barn by the tack room.”

“Sam, I’m a black girl raised in the heart of Baltimore. I’m not getting anywhere near those crazy animals of yours. Where is Wyatt?” She paused and I heard her gasp in excitement. “Oooo, are you both on a romantic trip? You’ve got to tell me what he’s like in the sack. I’ll get Darleen to check your farm for you. You just enjoy yourself and call me the minute you’re back in town.”

“Wait,” I said before she hung up. Who the fuck was Darleen? “Is Darleen your fat friend? The one with the curly hair who sings when she’s drunk?”

“She was raised on a dairy farm. Cows are the same as horses, so you can trust her.”

Crap, I hoped she wasn’t going to try and milk my horses. Especially since they were all geldings. I wondered if I should burst her bubble about my ‘romantic’ getaway with Wyatt. I was pretty focused on my hunt, and I’d hate to disappoint her with no lurid stories when I returned.

“We’re actually up here with Candy on some business. Just wanted you to know that,” I said looking at Wyatt and Candy. Maybe I should have waited and had this conversation in private.

Michelle was silent a moment. I squirmed. I might be bad to the bone, but I didn’t want Michelle to get pissed at me. She was the best property manager I’d ever had.

“I didn’t think Candy was licensed to sell outside Maryland,” she said in a very scary calm voice. “And I’m certainly not licensed to manage out of state properties.”

“It’s a real long shot, Michelle,” I said soothingly. “If I buy anything you can open a Pennsylvania office and hire someone already licensed here to manage under you. You’re the best, and I’m not about to deal with anyone else. If you would cover for me while I’m gone, I’d really appreciate it. I’ll call you the moment I’m back and let you know how things stand so you can get the jump on things.” How cryptic was that? I hated stroking egos. It’s not a skill I grew up with.

Michelle seemed reassured and chatted on, gossiping about local politics and prominent business owners in town. Finally, she announced she had to go as she had a date with some guy named Javier.

Candy rolled her eyes as I put my phone back. “That girl could be a powerhouse if she ever learned to focus.”

“She’s young. She’s bright. She seizes opportunities and takes calculated risks; she’s got a great future. I don’t entrust my business concerns to anyone but the best.” I replied. Don’t criticize my people.

We headed back to our motel room. Wyatt took a shower while I ran my laundry down for a quick run in the washer. I left it spinning, thinking I’d throw it in the dryer in the morning, and popped back in the room just as Candy was finishing a phone call of her own.

“I love you and I’ll see you soon. Call you tomorrow.”

“Your husband?” I asked as she hung up.

“No, my son. I’ve been divorced for seven years now, and we really don’t speak any longer. I did see my ex–husband at my son’s wedding last year, though.”

Wow, I must have caught her in a sentimental mood to reveal this kind of personal information to me. I was even more shocked when she dug in her purse and pulled out a vinyl album of pictures.

“Here’s my son and his wife at their wedding. The bridesmaid here is my daughter. She just graduated college this spring and is working up in New York. My son and his wife are in Philly.”

She continued to flip through the album. Her kids were attractive, smiling, happy. A lovely family. She even had a shot of the whole wedding party with her husband and his new wife.

“What happened with your marriage?” I asked. Was that a polite thing to ask? Humans asked questions and showed interest in each other’s lives, but I never knew where to draw the line.

Candy shrugged. “We were married fairly young. It’s not always easy to find a mate, so if you’re attracted to someone in your area and they’re available, you tend to jump on it and rush into commitment. As we both grew older, I became stronger, more involved in business and in werewolf politics. Especially after the kids grew up. I think he just wanted a mate who wasn’t so dominant, who was less of a mover and shaker, less ambitious. We don’t talk, but we’re not hostile toward each other. These things happen. I know his new wife. We’re not a huge community, so you tend to know everyone, especially if you deal in politics. She’s very nice. They seem happy.”

Her voice was pragmatic, calm and reasonable. She didn’t mourn his loss, but I think she mourned the loss of something. Maybe intimacy? Maybe companionship?

“You never found another mate? Never remarried?” She was on a roll, so I thought I’d ask.

Candy shook her head sadly. “There aren’t a huge amount of us, and with our existence contract we’re limited in where we can make our home. Even if I wanted to marry someone in, say Richmond, I’d need to petition to move there to be with him, or he’d need to petition to move to my city. Plus, I’m very involved in my business and in politics. It’s hard to find time for long distance dating.”

She showed me additional pictures of rounded babies and skinny adolescents. Her kids when they were young. They looked human. Kids with baseball bats, kids jumping in pools, kids making silly faces at the cameras. It was clear that parenting had been one of the most important parts of her life. I wondered how easy it was to move from one phase of your life to another? Candy was successful, but was she happy? Did she long for those days with a husband and her young children again, for a past her?

“I’m hoping for grandchildren eventually,” she sighed. “Werewolves live slightly longer than humans. Our average life expectancy is just over one hundred years, and we have a long window of fertility. We need it, because we don’t seem to get pregnant easily and we don’t always carry a child to term. I was so blessed to have two healthy children, but our numbers are dwindling because our fertility is low. Over the last five hundred years, it’s declined dramatically.”

“You need some hybrid vigor,” I told her. “Cross breed with humans. They are fertile like rabbits, and have a high live birth rate. You could interbreed with the hybrids then and strengthen your species.”

Candy shook her head. “It’s forbidden in our existence contract. No breeding with the humans. No sex with the humans at all. It’s been that way for thousands of years and it’s gotten to the point where we feel repulsed at the very idea. It’s just ingrained in our culture.”

There was something about that pronouncement that lit a spark in my memory. What was it with angels and cross species breeding with humans? They seemed to freak at the thought.

“Wait,” Candy said suddenly, a strange look on her face. “Didn’t Wyatt say there was a higher incidence of kills among females? I’d noticed that a few of the early kills had admitted to fertility treatment. I didn’t think anything at the time because that’s a real grey area in our contract. But now I’m wondering if Althean is targeting the more fertile among us. Can angels discern that sort of thing? It would really hasten our extinction if he picked his victims based on their ability to produce offspring.”

“I don’t know if angels can do that or not,” I said. “Either way, killing an already pregnant woman and her unborn baby is not allowable for them. I could see killing the father, assuming he’s the fertile one, and coming back to kill the mother after she gives birth, but not while she’s pregnant.”

“Do you think it could help us identify who the potential victims are?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I can’t sense someone’s fertility. I don’t think it’s going to help us catch him.”

I left Candy and scrolled through the TV stations. Candy had ruled out any porn while she was in the room, so I ended up watching NCIS reruns. Wyatt finished his obscenely long shower and emerged from the steam with sweat pants and nothing on top. The guy had the best chest ever. Slim, but cut and muscular, with arms Popeye would give his eye teeth for. I stared like a starving orphan. This was going to be the most torturous night of my life. Wyatt pulled the bedspread and top sheet down to the bottom of the bed and tossed himself on it holding the remote–on–a–chain. Damn, that was just sexy.

I was not allowed to change into my pajamas in the room and was banished to the bathroom to disrobe and brush my teeth. Candy had outdone herself on the nighttime wear selection. Normally I just slept in the nude. Tonight I would be sleeping in flannel shorts and a Tinkerbell t–shirt that could easily have contained three longshoremen. Yep, it was that big.

As I walked out of the bathroom, Wyatt caught sight of me and made a choking noise. I pivoted around to show him the entire glory of the Tinkerbell shirt that came well past my knees. I didn’t know why I bothered with the flannel shorts since you couldn’t tell I had them on under the tent of the shirt.

“Come on, baby, you know you want me,” I told Wyatt while posing seductively. I could have been three hundred pounds in this thing and you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

“Sorry, Sam, my libido vanished at the sight of that hideous nightwear,” he laughed.

I plopped down on the bed next to him and watched Candy take her toothbrush into the bathroom.

“Do you think we have time for a quickie while she brushes her teeth?” I asked Wyatt.

“I heard that,” Candy said over the sound of running water.

“That’s a no, then.” Wyatt seemed genuinely regretful. I wondered if he was still scared of me. I wondered if we’d ever have sex. Hopefully soon before he got old and less attractive. Humans have such short lives, and are not very appealing in the early or late stages of them. Wyatt was very appealing now, spread out on the bed before me like a prime rib buffet. I just wanted to rub my hands up his naked chest. And my mouth. Heck all of me, like a cat against a chair leg. Full of sexual frustration from my imagining, I turned on my side with my back facing him and squeezed my eyes shut trying to sleep.

Candy came out and the lights and TV went off as the others settled in. In spite of Wyatt’s claims that he never slept, he dozed right off. I could hear Candy snoring softly too. Just me, awake and horny with my head full of thoughts. How was I going to kill this angel? I didn’t know much about them, and Candy only knew a bit more than me. I wasn’t sure how to face off something that was at very least my equal and probably much more powerful than me. I’d killed a few of my own kind, but those were accidents. In spite of the propaganda painting us as evil murderous beings, we really didn’t battle or assassinate each other on a regular basis. Yeah, there was the occasional feud, but it was over pretty fast. Life was hazardous enough. We’re a pretty hardy species, luckily, so it would take a wallop of power to bring one of us down when we were in defensive mode. I’d just have to assume the same with the angel and maybe double it just to be safe. Overkill. When it just has to be dead.

About a half hour into my musings, Wyatt rolled over and grabbed me pulling me across the bed to him, squashing my back up against his chest and wrapping his arm and leg around me. I think they call it ‘spooning’. I froze and didn’t know what to do. I’d never slept with anybody. We just don’t do this sort of thing. It was like being in a straightjacket; one that breathes on you and wraps your legs up too. The whole thing was both uncomfortable and a turn–on. I was starting to get kind of hot having Wyatt wrapped around me like a blanket, and feeling him pressed against me like this wasn’t helping me fall asleep either.

It was a long night. I’d doze off, then move into a more comfortable spot only to have Wyatt grab me and jerk me in tighter. Plus I didn’t realize that male humans had erections off and on all night long. How the hell was I supposed to sleep with a boner pressed against my ass, reminding me of the enjoyable things I could be doing? It was fucking torture and I woke up to my cell phone beeping, sleep deprived and in a hideous mood.

It took me a few moments to extricate myself from Wyatt’s grasp. I thought I’d have to gnaw my limbs off at one point. Of course, my struggles woke him up too.

“What?” he asked groggily as I climbed over him to grab my cell phone off the bedside table. I made sure I smashed my boobs into his face on the way as payback for a night of dick on my ass. I looked at the phone. Craig. His text from a few seconds ago said “he’s here now.” I vaulted from the bed jabbing a knee in Wyatt’s stomach and knocking the lamp on top of Candy’s head. I had my keys and was out the door before either of them could say a word.

My Corvette screamed along the roads to Craig’s house taking up the entire road as I shot around the narrow curves. It was too early for traffic, but I narrowly missed a tractor and a fox. A squirrel wasn’t as lucky, and I was relieved to see it flopping around in death throes behind my car as I sped off. At least it hadn’t gotten hung up in my undercarriage. At the last moment I realized that I could hardly go rocketing up Craig’s driveway smashing into the angel like something from Mad Max. I whipped into the neighbor’s driveway, and dashed through their back yard toward the tree line that extended to Craig’s deer blind. If they were up, I’m sure the neighbor’s were startled to see an expensive sports car spinning out gravel in their driveway followed by a half naked woman darting across their back yard. Not something you see every day over your morning coffee.

My feet were scratched and bruised by the time I reached Craig’s deer blind. “Where is he?” I asked breathlessly.

Craig stared at me in amazement. I looked the ruthless killer in my nightshirt with a toddler sized Tinkerbell on the front, bloody bare feet, and bed head. At least my morning breath was fear inducing.

“He’s gone. He was only here a few moments around the side of the house. I didn’t get a really good look at him, so I can’t describe him. He just appeared out of nowhere around the side of the garage, walked over to the house, stayed there for a few minutes, then walked back and disappeared.”

“Maybe he crawled up the ditch by the driveway like I did?” I suggested. Stupid idea. I couldn’t picture a powerful angel scooting on his belly through the mud. Although it would be really funny to watch one do that. Really funny.

“No, he didn’t look rumpled or dirty. Plus, I can see the ditch from here, that’s how I saw you coming to the house.”

Another testament to my incompetence. This guy probably thought I was a total boob. I was beginning to think I was a total boob.

We walked down toward the house and Craig showed me where the angel came from and where he went to. By then, Candy and Wyatt had arrived, pulling in the driveway like civilized folk. They were dressed, and Candy had even combed her hair, although she had forgone the make–up in her haste.

“We missed him, he was only here a moment.” I told them as they walked over to us.

Craig put his hands on either side of a window, then straightened up and walked back toward the garage. “That’s exactly what I saw him do. It probably only was three minutes and he was gone.”

I looked carefully at the garage and along the path the angel took. Nothing. I looked at the house and at the window. No smudges, no marks, no energy signature, no DNA markers. I stared at the window in despair, and noticed a slight distortion. It was like the window had rippled under heat and a dull prism reflected back. Why would he have applied heat to the window? It didn’t appear to be enough to break or even weaken the glass. Was heat a byproduct of his presence? If so, why didn’t his energy signature appear to me, and why wasn’t the siding where he placed his hands warped or melted even slightly?

I’d done all I could do with my human senses, so I put a hand up and sent a tentative trickle of exploratory energy to the window making sure I anchored it firmly in myself so even the smallest of information would come through. The second my energy touched the window, I felt an explosion slamming me to the ground. Pain seared me, and all I saw was white. White, pain, and a screeching noise like roofing nails on a chalkboard. Was I dead? Was I dying? Or maybe blind and deaf. I wasn’t even sure I was still at Craig’s house. Definitely not dead since the pain was still excruciating. Pain. Pain. I couldn’t seem to find my way out of the sound, light and pain.

Finally the white dimmed a bit, and the sound began to recede. I realized someone was holding me and stroking my hair. “Sam, Sam.” Wyatt murmured in my ear as he rocked me like a human child with a boo–boo. I appreciated his calmness since I was pretty sure whatever injury I’d suffered it hadn’t been pretty. Things began to swim into focus around me, and I concentrated to identify where the pain was to cut it off.

Oh my. My left hand was melted up past the wrist. I removed my personal energy from the flesh, leaving it just a blob of melted fat, bone and tendon. It was as if a wax sculpture had been put too close to a blowtorch. It was pretty dramatic, but it no longer hurt now that I’d isolated it. I must have instinctively shut off my probe or whatever melted my arm would have continued and shot right through me. It would have killed me.

My kind tends to tear ourselves up pretty regularly, what with rough sex and our risky lifestyle. The key is to make sure the flesh has only minimal feeling and that your personal energy is safely away from the areas being ripped or torn, or chewed. Most accidental deaths happened from someone having their personal energy out and about during an unexpected trauma. My personal energy had been extended out and firmly rooted deep to my core. I was very lucky. This could have easily been the death of me.

Wyatt still stroked my hair and I heard Candy and Craig in hushed voices to the side.

“It’s going to kill her with one blow. This isn’t going to work. Is there some other demon you know? Maybe a better one?”

Great. I was going to be sacked in favor of a ‘better’ demon. One with red skin, a pointy tail, horns, and a goatee no doubt. They wanted scary? I’d show them scary. I struggled to my feet, pushed back the pounding headache which was fifty percent from lack of coffee, and staggered to the garage. The three followed me. Wyatt at least looked worried.

There was no hatchet to be had in the garage. What self respecting Pennsylvania country boy doesn’t chop his own wood? Even better though, I found a hack saw. I smacked my left arm up on a workbench, sending bits of melted flesh flying. Giving myself an inch past the melted part, I started to saw my arm off. It wasn’t easy since I hadn’t clamped it down first. I had to give myself enough feeling to hold the arm in place, but not enough that it would be agonizing. Still, I made it nice and slow, making sure to stick it in the bone a bit so I had to wiggle the saw blade loose. Bone is usually spongy and hard to cut through without power tools, but whatever melted my hand had made the bone more brittle than usual and somewhat easier to cut. Craig made retching noises; Candy stared with her mouth clamped shut; and Wyatt looked everywhere but my arm. Sorry, Wyatt. I hadn’t really wanted him to see this kind of thing. Guess we were back to square one, again. No sex for me.

After I had separated my arm from the rest of my body, I made sure to let it spurt blood a bit over the workbench. I left the melted arm there too. Let Craig clean it up himself, asshole.

Time for a new arm. Like I said before, I could convert myself a new arm in an instant. Wham, new arm. It’s not very impressive though to just make an arm appear supposedly out of thin air in a flash of light. I looked at my stump and slowly converted matter around me into a new arm. Bone first, nerves and veins snaking down out of the stump, muscles that grow outward and flesh crawling like a tan plague over the surface. It hurt like a bitch, but it looked horrifying.

“Okay,” I said, wiggling my new fingers experimentally in the air. “Let’s go back and take a look at that window again, shall we?”

“Don’t touch it, Sam,” Wyatt implored. “I can’t take all this again before breakfast.”

I approached the house and held my energy tight to myself as I looked at the window. I could see it now clear as day. That’s when I realized it wasn’t just the window. Whatever coated the window, coated the entire house. It was so clear and obvious, I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t see it before. I assumed it wasn’t made for human eyes, and it was not something I’d ever see done at home. I looked carefully at the dull rainbow of colors and heard the faint scratching noise. It made a pattern. A pattern I recognized from long ago. Far back in my memories o