Page 3 of Under A New Moon

PEACE in general and her division, in particular, had a mandate to avoid conflict when civilians were present. There were too many chances a bystander could get hurt when fighting a shifter. But she had a plan to put an end to him.

She'd been tracking him for two weeks, knew the route he took home and found the best place to set up an ambush. Some very effective snares would give her the chance to end this quickly and quietly.

She gave him her best smile as she filled his coffee cup.

"What can I get 'cha?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Since she started at the diner, he ordered the same thing every morning.

"Steak and eggs. Rare. Over easy," Galen said.

"Have you ever thought to try something new?"

"I like what I like." He covered his smile with his coffee cup.

Darla laughed, but her cheeks were starting to hurt from all the fake smiling. She liked that he was a creature of habit. Routines made surveillance and crossing him off her list a lot easier.

"I'll be right back with your order as soon as possible."

She checked on him occasionally, topping off his coffee and making idle chatter. She had to admit, if she didn't know that he had another face, she'd have found him handsome. But all she could see was the monster.

When she brought him his check, he handed her a twenty. It was nearly a fifty percent gratuity. Even the worst beasts could have a few good qualities. But being a good tipper didn't absolve him.

"See you tomorrow," he said.

"See you tomorrow," she replied.

He nodded and left, passing in between a large group of exhausted-looking nurses, some still in scrubs.

"Frank, I'm going on break," Darla said to the cook.

"You can't leave now, Shelly. Three tables just walked in."

"Lady problems."

Frank blanched and waved her off.

"Go. Go. Go."

Darla smiled. Men like Frank were far too easy to manipulate. She went out the side door and into the parking lot where the truckers left their rigs. She was about to turn the corner when a guy in a trucker hat blocked her path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, leering at her.

He reeked of cheap booze. She didn't have time for this.

"Get out of my way."

"That's no way to talk," he said, grabbing her arm.

There were rules against fighting shifters with civilians in the area, but none barring her from dealing with handsy civilians getting in the way of her mission. Darla wasn't particularly tall, and this guy had almost two feet and at least fifty pounds on her.

But she was fast and a lot stronger than she looked. In a swift maneuver, she used his momentum to slam him to the ground. She just hoped Galen hadn't heard the trucker's undignified squeal as the bones in his wrists snapped.

She looked around, and Galen was gone, but she knew his path home. If she hurried, she could get him when he sprang her trap. Quick and quiet, she stayed downwind of him. The last thing she needed was to give her position away because she smelled like the blue plate special. She saw him just as he was nearing the ambush point. Twenty yards and she'd have him. Her plan was still working, and then the wind shifted.

Three

Galen

Galen walked home, watching his feet as he put one in front of the other. It was surprisingly hard to do. Every day it got a little more difficult to keep moving. He felt the creeping depression grow more and more as he tried to come up with reasons to continue to get out of bed in the morning.

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