A Hunter's Moon
The sidewalks were crowded with people.
Maurika's eyes roved the passing throng, searching for one familiar face. Her skin tingled, reminding her of her purpose: she was tracking a man. A very bad man. And when she found him—she was going to kill him.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out several multi-colored tablets. Mostly Valerian, they contained a mixture of herbs that kept her from changing. Without hesitation, she popped a handful into her mouth and chewed.
The prickling sensation she'd felt moments before receded. Confident it was safe to look up, she stared at the heavens. The full moon was beautiful. A blue hue covered the surface, dripping color onto passing clouds that shaded the night sky.
Maurika grinned with feral anticipation. Tonight was a hunter's moon.
~ ^ ~
Loud music pounded Maurika's eardrums as she exited yet another bar. The door banged shut, blocking the worst of the racket. It had been a long night. She'd caught her quarry's scent hours ago, but was no closer to finding him.
Frustration made her grind her teeth. Fear made her lengthen her stride.
She had to find him before he killed another woman—the non-human variety. This killer preyed on psychics, werewolves, vampires—even cupids. The otherworldly called him The Reaper.
Who else could hunt down and kill the most powerful preternatural women in the world?
Certainly not a mere human man.
But that's exactly what he was.
Maurika had known the instant she caught his scent. She'd been able to give the killer's description—because she was The Reaper's only surviving victim. The Reaper had been unprepared for Maurika. He'd never seen her kind before.
She was a lunate—an older cousin to werewolves. Unlike the werewolves' forced monthly change, lunates changed once in a blue moon—the second full moon in the same month. Humans gave the lunates mythical names like Yeti, Sasquatch, and Bigfoot—and when she found The Reaper, she was gonna put her big foot right down his throat.
An odor from the subway stairwell caught her attention. She froze. The Reaper was close. His acrid body odor permeated the night air. Ears straining, she heard a female's muffled scream. Maurika pivoted and raced down the stairs.
Following the nauseating scent, she turned into an alcove. There he stood, thin as a scarecrow, skin as white as a ghost-like cadaver. His fever-bright eyes and rictus smile made Maurika's skin crawl.
"Took you long enough," he jeered. The knife in his hand slashed the woman's throat. A fountain of blood sprayed the ground.
"NO!" Maurika screamed.
"Her pathetic mewling got on my nerves," The Reaper taunted.
White-hot pain burned through Maurika's veins, a signal she was about to shift. Her rage fueled the process.
"There's no moonlight to help you this time, werewolf." He stepped toward Maurika. "You're next."
Waves of hair rippled across Maurika's skin. Bones lengthened. Claws appeared. She smiled, flashing her razor-sharp teeth. "I'm not a werewolf."
