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  I felt like shit. Here was a woman who had been fighting for her life and was fully expecting me to kill her for it.

  "What will happen to me?” she asked.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "No, I'm just ... shaken."

  "Then I suggest you go home."

  She looked around wide eyed at the bodies littering the ground.

  "I'll take care of this."

  Seeming somewhat reassured, she gave me a shaky smile and walked to one of the nearby cars. “Thank you,” she whispered before getting in the car and driving away.

  I sat there for a minute and cried.

  Of course, this was not the version of events I told Elijah. Fortunately, it turned out one of the men was a werewolf, the friend of Marco's I had recognized. He was the one who'd turned up at my house that night, and the only one missing from the pile of gore in the parking lot. I told Elijah he had instigated the attack on the woman and I defended her when they chose to attack.

  "They were torn apart,” he said, disbelieving.

  I had left out the part about the woman finishing them off.

  "Fine,” he said, when I offered no further explanation. “Fine,” he repeated. “I just don't know how much longer we can cover this up. We're writing it up as an animal attack.” He ran his fingers through his hair in irritation. “Do you know how many ‘animal attacks’ this county has?"

  "What do you suggest, Officer Jasper? Tell the public there are werewolves among them? We'd have a riot on our hands.” Alfred couldn't be quiet any longer.

  Elijah seemed to consider this for a moment, as if it had been a real suggestion. “No,” he said finally. He laughed half heartedly. “The south is full of enough prejudice without the general public knowing there's werewolves on the loose. That's an entirely knew species they could set on fire."

  I couldn't help but laugh. He was right. Never underestimate the stupidity of other people. Alfred looked at me like I'd lost my mind. After Elijah left, not satisfied, but not getting any more answers, Alfred turned to me.

  "What are you not telling me?"

  "What do you want to hear? That I wasn't going to kill an innocent woman for defending herself? She wasn't part of a resistance group. She was being attacked!"

  "How do you know? Did you ask her?"

  My patience had reached its limit. “No, Alfred, I didn't ask her. But I can tell you this, if someone tried to rape me, they damn sure better kill me, or I'm gonna kill them. I would rip them limb from limb, just like she did, for daring to touch me!"

  He put his hand on my shoulder and I snatched away as I said, “And I'd enjoy it."

  * * * *

  I walked down to the kitchen that evening, after I'd cooled off a bit, wondering what sort of mood Alfred would be in. I'd made a second report to my father just after talking, alright, after screaming, at Alfred. Considering my father comes from a planet that believes in eye for eye justice, he had no problem with my actions. Elijah was a different story, but I liked him. He had never looked at me like I was a monster.

  The systems of government on planet Terra are vastly different from that of Earth. There has been only one world war, even though they are far more technologically advanced. This might be due in part to the fact that remnants of the war have remained in play for thousands of years. There are no courts or juries on Terra. They have what are known as judges. These individuals have the ability to touch someone and tell whether or not they have committed a crime. They are clairvoyant to the extent that if the person is guilty, they may even see images of the crime upon touching them.

  The judges are never told what the person has been accused of. They merely tell what they see. If you are innocent, they will know. Most people confess. After all, there is no lying to a judge, and there's no telling what else they might see. The judges are periodically brought before the Wizard Council to see if for any reason they have been lying about what they've seen. Punishments are fairly stiff on planet Terra. To lie about the guilt of another is a crime punishable by death. It's easier to carry out the sentence if you know for certain the accused is guilty. At least, that's the theory.

  The smell of coffee greeted me as I crossed the foyer. When I entered the kitchen, I found Alfred standing at the counter. Without asking he took out my favorite mug and poured me some coffee. He turned around, handed me the deep purple mug, and sat down. Feeling awkward after the way I had spoken to him, I sat down, not knowing what to say.

  "Alfred—"

  "Don't,” he interrupted. “Just don't. You can't kill someone for self defense. Let's not argue over this. There are bigger issues."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as, Elijah's right. These so called animal attacks are getting harder to pass off as truth. People have seen things they can't explain ... they're just not buying it anymore."

  "You were serious today when you suggested making ... what, some sort of public statement?"

  "I don't know if I'd go that far, but something needs to be done. It's not just political extremists we're dealing with. There are innocent people at stake.” He waved his hand absently toward me. “You saw that yourself ... people are being infected at a growing rate and the fact is ... they're not the bad guys, just because they're lycanthropes."

  "You're right. I've thought so for years now.” I took a sip of my coffee, relieved he wasn't going to yell at me, but I wasn't entirely sure I preferred this conversation to being yelled at. “A lot of the people that escaped to this planet in the first place were innocent. It wasn't their fault the city they lived in was a target area."

  "To the first Hunter, that didn't matter, though."

  "So I've heard, but we're all over now. Why did they send just one? In the beginning, I mean. That just doesn't make much sense to me."

  He sighed. “It wasn't supposed to be this big of a problem ... they thought he could handle it."

  "What made them think one man could handle a viral outbreak that turns people into wolves? Who did he think he was, God?"

  Alfred laughed, but he didn't really sound amused. “No, but the guy who messed with his DNA did."

  "What do you mean, ‘messed’ with?"

  Alfred told me what he knew about the first Hunter sent to Earth. His name has long since been erased from the record books, but his story is legend. He was part of the original group of Hunters formed to control the virus on planet Terra. Shortly after the first year of infection, his family was killed by werewolves. All of them. This was around the time people were escaping to Earth in order to avoid execution. He volunteered to be part of an experiment to become the ‘ultimate hunter', a weapon against the werewolves.

  He was injected with a synthetic twenty fourth pair of chromosomes. These chromosomes would, in theory, make him super human. He would have superior night vision in order to hunt more effectively at night, when most of the werewolves were active. His strength would rival that of the monsters themselves. This individual was also rumored to have been blessed with many psychic abilities, as well as descended from wizards.

  The Terran people naturally age slower than people on Earth. Telomeres, the ends of chromosomes, are known as the ‘molecular clock’ of the cell. Cell division is directly affected by telomere length. After each cell division, telomeres get shorter. To explain the significance of this as quickly as possible, the Terran people have exceptionally long telomeres. This slows the aging process significantly. As an unexpected side effect of the introduction of the twenty fourth chromosome pair into his system, this ‘super hunter', had his aging process slowed even further, with the potential to even outlive wizards, whose life spans are close to one thousand years.

  "You never know how much to believe,” Alfred finished.

  "Whatever happened to him? Was he killed?"

  "Killed? No. He just disappeared ... somewhere around the middle ages, I believe. Heard he lost his mind."

  "Was that a side effect also? Insanity?"

  Alfred laughed. “Honey, insa
nity is a side effect of life. If you live long enough, something is bound to drive you crazy."

  I couldn't argue there. I sighed, absently stirring my coffee with the tip of my finger.

  "In spite of the obvious reasons to not look happy, I'm going to ask the stupid question. What's wrong?” Alfred said.

  I didn't know where to begin. My thoughts had drifted to a subject that had nothing to do with anything we had been talking about. I was thinking about my most recent failed relationship. Yes, I did have a life outside of being a Hunter. I'd just put it on hold for the past couple of months.

  I'd been dating a Hunter working in a neighboring state who happened to fit my ideal: tall, dark, and handsome. Alfred joked with me that my ideal comes closer to tall, dark, and creepy. He's right. The point is I dated this man for three and a half years, thinking I knew him. Turns out, the bastard was married all along. I had suspected as much. But, somewhere along the way ... I realized I loved him, despite my better judgment. I wanted desperately to believe the lies he told me. Sometimes, we think we've found something. We want so desperately to believe it's true, despite what our eyes might see. I longed for somewhere in someone's embrace that felt like home. It wasn't the first time I'd been hurt, and if I lived longer, it would not be the last. But that didn't make his betrayal any less devastating.

  To make matters worse, when he'd realized I'd found out the truth, he ran. I found out through a mutual friend that he was planning to leave the country, without so much as a goodbye. You tell your friends goodbye, you tell your family goodbye. How could he just walk away like I was nothing? So, I dumped him before he got the chance. I disappeared from his life, just like he had been planning to do to me. A few months later, I heard he had moved. That should have given him plenty of time to figure out he'd been dumped.

  I'd never found it easy to trust people, but I'd taken a chance. I had so much going on inside of me, so much going on outside, I hadn't taken the time to ... grieve. Since he turned out to be someone entirely different than I thought he was, I hadn't lost him. I had lost my ideal. I would always love the man I thought he was, and always be disappointed in who he turned out to be.

  "I asked you a question,” Alfred softly insisted.

  Alfred was one of the few people who knew what had happened. We lived together for crying out loud. I had to talk to somebody. When I didn't answer, he moved into the chair next to me. When he went to touch me, I backed away.

  "Don't. Please, don't ... if you touch me, I'll cry, and I really don't want to cry right now. I've got other things that I should be thinking about, other things I should be doing...."

  "Shh."

  Alfred and I didn't have much physical contact, for obvious reasons. I didn't think it was polite to accidentally read your friend's emotions. I felt that in not touching him, I was allowing him more privacy. I was surprised when he reached over and held me. Then, I did something I hadn't allowed myself to do for the past two months: I cried. I cried, like the world was ending, because to me ... it was. I mourned for the part of me that had been lost when I realized you really couldn't trust people.

  We'd known each other a long time, and I was comfortable with Alfred, but I usually didn't let him see that side of me. I didn't let anyone see that side of me. When I'd cried the day before after rescuing the woman in the parking lot, I'd been shocked. That wasn't like me. I cried, just not often, and not in front of people. I cried when I watched a really good movie, or when I went to the theater. But now, it was like a flood gate had opened somewhere inside of me and I didn't seem capable of shutting it off.

  I crawled into Alfred's lap, wrapped my arms around his neck and cried until I was most likely dehydrated. I was too caught up in my own turmoil to read what Alfred felt. Besides that takes direct contact with my hands, skin on skin. He held me as if I was falling apart and he was trying to keep the pieces together. When I finally pulled back from his shoulder, his lab coat, which he was seldom without, was soaked. I opened my mouth to explain, or at least apologize, but he stopped me with that charming half smile of his.

  "Why must you insist on dating assholes who make you lose faith in all mankind?"

  I laughed. “How did you know?"

  "I really didn't think you felt that strongly about genetic engineering."

  I laughed harder, and it felt good. I realized awkwardly that I was sitting in Alfred's lap. He didn't object to me being there, but he also didn't object when I slid back into my chair.

  He got up and refreshed my coffee for me. “You want some chocolate?"

  I smiled. “What makes you think I need chocolate?"

  "Well, I was going to have some, and I didn't want to be rude."

  Since he was nice enough not to mention the fact that I'd just had a minor breakdown in his lap, I decided to have some chocolate with him, and I felt better.

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  Chapter Three

  Several days passed and my mind kept drifting back to my most recent pain in the ass. Yes, he had broken my heart, but the pain seemed to be lodged a bit lower. So, I did what I often do when I feel like shit, I gardened. I got some tools from the shed behind the house and started with trimming my roses. My yard overflows with roses. There is a trellis over the gravel driveway out front, completely overgrown by a thornless climbing Queen Anne, a fragrant old English rose which hangs in clusters of tiny white blooms. There are many other roses scattered throughout the woods, but my favorite rose grows on the balcony. I made my way around to the side of the house, kneeling beside the roots of the climbing Don Juan.

  When I'd moved into the house seven years ago, I had the bright idea of planting the Don Juan underneath the balcony. Not only is it a dramatically beautiful climbing rose, but it is symbolic to me for two reasons. First, my favorite poem of all time is Robert Burns, My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose. Second, Don Juan was famous for entering his lover's apartments through their balcony windows.

  As I sat daydreaming of romance that had somehow passed me by, I found myself suddenly sitting in a large shade. I looked up and found Alfred standing over me. He sat down beside me and looked up at the rose, propping on his elbows to lean back on the grass.

  "I see you're still waiting for Don Juan to climb through your balcony window,” he teased.

  I shook my head, smiling. “I should never have told you why I planted this rose."

  He laughed, “Melodramatic, don't you think?"

  "A little,” I admitted. “But, great romance and great melodrama often go hand in hand."

  "Sometimes I forget you're a poet,” he said.

  I've had several poems published in different anthologies. I thought of having them published under a different name, but decided against it. Most of the people who know my name, do not read poetry. There's nothing wrong with being a romantic at heart. I'm just not fond of the idea of everyone knowing I have a heart. It could always be used against me.

  "If I didn't have a creative outlet, I'd probably go crazy,” I said. “Besides, I like to write."

  "And paint, and sketch, and dance...."

  "There's nothing wrong with being well rounded,” I insisted.

  Alfred laughed. “Yeah, but most of my family's idea of a hobby is becoming well round."

  Alfred is Italian. His father was a Hunter, stationed in Italy years ago, where he met his mother. They're both in their seventies and as far as I know, doing well. We sat under the roses and laughed while he talked about his fat aunt who had personal ‘issues’ too numerous to name, though he mentioned a few. And his psychotic cousin, who was at last report doing drag shows in London.

  "But ... you're cousin, Antonio, he's not gay. Is he?"

  "No,” he laughed. “It was the only job he could find that didn't require a criminal background check.” Alfred had laughed to the point of tears. “He has the nerve to be offended when someone comes on to him. I told him, you can't be homophobic and work in a gay bar!"

  I giggled. “I did
n't realize he was homophobic."

  "And I didn't realize how long it had been since you'd smiled ... you should do it more often.” He made a dramatic bow, which looked funny considering he was still sitting down. “If talking about my dysfunctional relatives helps you, then I'm more than happy to oblige."

  "How is it you know what I needed?"

  "Questa non e la mia prema volta," he whispered. I knew enough Italian to interpret, “This is not my first time."

  I smiled. “Are you coming on to me?"

  Alfred's smile grew wider, and if possible more mischievous. “If I were coming on to you, you wouldn't have to ask. I'm just trying to cheer you up."

  I could feel my expression changing again. I didn't realize how miserable I'd been a few minutes ago, until he reminded me.

  "Oh God, don't give me that face."

  "What face? I wasn't giving any face."

  "That face,” he pointed at me. “I know that pitiful face. Have you seen Kathryn lately?"

  "No, but what's Kat got to do with my face?"

  "Maybe she could help keep a smile on it. Call her, go out, do something. You're twenty four, for God's sake. You shouldn't look this pitiful."

  "I'm busy."

  "Liar. There's nothing we can do about anything that's going on in the world right now. We cannot change anything politically relating to werewolves. Someone with more authority than us has to make that decision.” He took a breath. “Furthermore, the world will not end if you take some time off."

  "You never go out."

  "I'm busy.” He smiled.

  "Asshole.” I got to my feet.

  "Well.... “Alfred stood up, towering over me. “Opinions are a lot like assholes, everybody has one."

  * * * *

  I called Kathryn later that day and we made plans to go clubbing and stay out of town one night that weekend, since all the decent clubs were at least two hours away. She agreed with Alfred. “It'll do you good."

  I'd met Kat four years ago, shortly after rescuing her then boyfriend from a pack of werewolves. We'd been friends ever since. Kat is six years older than me and a few inches taller. The first time I saw her, I knew her relationship with the man I'd saved would never last. Kathryn's an attractive, slender brunette, with wavy shoulder length hair, dark eyes, and fair skin. She was way out of his league.