# Moira Ashe

### Enemy Within

## Brendon Bertram
Copyright © 2018 by Brendon Bertram

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Find out more at brendonbertram.com

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

# Chapter 1

Hell.

Lincoln Clarke's last three weeks could be summed up in that one word. First with the mysterious outbreak of lycanthropy in his home country, and then his trek through the foreign country of Fotland. He hoped it was coming to an end.

Standing inside the pub The Midnight Hour in the village of Quinn, he gazed around the room looking for his query. The pub was dreary and obviously named after the fact the place had no windows—the rooms were cast in darkness, despite the fact that it was late morning. The space was illuminated by what Lincoln assumed were oil lanterns every few meters along the wall, giving the place a dark but cosy atmosphere, like being draped in a cloak of shadow. The pub was fairly empty save for some off-duty guardsmen near the door, the owner behind the bar, and a few other patrons of no particular distinction.

Lincoln frowned. He was told that he could find a hunter here known to be fairly adept at dealing with the werewolf population around the countryside. _Well_ , _may as well get a drink while I'm here_ , Lincoln thought to himself as he made his way towards the bar.

Some patrons regarded him with curiosity, some were cordial, but most were ultimately disinterested. This became more common the further east he travelled, which was saying a lot, considering his uniform marked him as a member of an army that had tried to invade them twice in the past ten years.

The owner of the pub acknowledged his presence with a smile and a tilt of her head as he approached her. "Good day, sir. What can I do for you?" she greeted him happily.

"A few things actually, but first I could really use a drink of that," he replied, pointing to one of the bottles on the wall.

"And do you have any rooms for rent?" he asked the woman as she pulled the bottle off the back shelf and poured its contents into a small cup in front of him.

"Yes, we do," she said, pulling a key out from under the bar.

Lincoln took a quick drink from the cup. He had never been much of a drinker, but he enjoyed the warmth of the liquid as it travelled to his stomach.

"So, what brings an Abalonian man all the way to the other side of Fotland?" the owner asked as she went back to tending the bar.

"I'm looking for a woman by the name of Moira. I have been led to believe she visits this establishment frequently."

The owner of the bar chuckled. "Visits here? She basically lives here." She pointed at a figure in the back corner Lincoln had not noticed before.

He was startled. There she was! His quest was almost over, all he had to do was walk a few more steps and it would be done. He was overcome with a sense of excitement as he downed the rest of his drink, slipped the key into the pocket of his jacket, and left an assortment of coins on the counter. Stopping for a second to adjust his clothes, Lincoln approached the figure in the corner.

Upon further inspection of Moira, he could forgive himself for not noticing her when he first walked in. She was sitting sideways against the wall. Shadow hid her from view excepted for her eye, an eye that shifted its focus to him as he approached. Lincoln almost froze, and instinct caused him to go for the pistol on his belt.

He chastised himself for even thinking about pulling a gun on the woman. He was here to ask for her help, not to kill her! But he couldn't deny there was something dangerous about her as he continued his approach. He felt like prey under her predatory gaze.

Moira swung her feet underneath the table and leaned forward as he stopped a few feet from her. She revealed her face in the light of the lanterns.

Lincoln had been told what he should expect when he saw her, but he was still stunned by her appearance.

The right side of her face was lovely by his standards, with only a small scar on her lip to upset her otherwise untouched features. But that scar was nothing compared to the left side of her face, which bore the remnants of massive claws torn horizontally across the skin, ending around her nose. This caused a terrible contrast between the ruined and untouched sides of her face. She wore an eye patch across her left eye.

"It was a bear."

"What?"

"That is what you're wondering, right?"

"Oh... no, I'm sorry. Please forgive me... I just..." Lincoln stammered before remembering his purpose. He reached into his coat. "I have something for you."

Her eye narrowed as she, too, reached into her coat. Lincoln quickly held up his hands in surrender. Clutching a letter in one hand, he slowly lowered the paper within arms reach of Moira.

Pulling her empty hand out of her own coat, Moira reached forward and accepted the piece of paper. She then noticed a seal imprinted into the wax that held the letter closed.

"What does King Eamon want with me?" Moira asked, tossing the letter on the table in front of her then relaxing back into her seat. The edge of her voice had yet to dissipate.

"A lycanthropy is spreading throughout Abalon," Lincoln replied, pointing vaguely at her. "We need help."

Moira's eye widened as her mouth fell open.

Lincoln couldn't blame her. If he hadn't seen it himself, he would have been shocked to hear this kind of news as well. Especially considering werewolves were not native to Abalon. Sure, you would hear about maybe one or two sightings every month around the shores—with people travelling between Fotland and Abalon all the time, sometimes things like that got through.

"How long ago?"

"Almost three weeks now."

"Three weeks!" Moira scoffed. "Most of them are probably taken care of by now."

"Most likely."

"Then why the hell would Eamon send you walking this far for this long just to talk to me?" Moira asked him.

"Well..." Lincoln hesitated. "You're not exactly the first I've petitioned for help."

Moira sighed. "Did you ask O'Connor?"

Lincoln nodded.

"Doyle?"

He nodded again.

"How many exactly?"

"A few others," Lincoln raised his hands to reassure her. "But you did come highly recommended from those I've talked to."

"I'm sure I did." She sighed. "I'm sorry you had to come all this way, but I can't leave here." Moira raised a piece of paper she had been studying before his arrival. "Quinn has its own werewolf problem."

A pit formed in Lincoln's stomach. He tossed a pouch onto the table, which landed with a hefty thump of coins. "I just need some information from you." Lincoln grinned. "And seeing how you hunt the beasts could be invaluable."

Moira eyed the pouch. "Listen, I'll tell you everything I know, but there is no way I'm letting you follow me around!" Moira stood up and reached for the pouch on the table, but Lincoln grabbed her wrist. She stopped and glared at him.

Lincoln released her and withdrew his hand. "Please, information is one thing, but to actually see how it's done... it could help save a lot of lives."

Moira's face softened. "All right. You can help me, but you'd better not get in my way!"

"Absolutely not!" Lincoln exclaimed, mocking offence at the notion that he would be a burden on her.

"And you'd better not get yourself killed, or Ryan will have me shot."

"I certainly don't plan on it."

Moira tied her dark hair back and pulled her hat onto her head, "Good. We start now. Follow me to my room, and I'll fill you in."

"Excellent! Wait... you have a room here?"

Moira stopped gathering her things off the table and looked up at him, "Yeah, Room 3. Why?"

Lincoln grinned as he held up his room key for her to see. "I guess we're going to be neighbours for a little while."

Moira frowned upon seeing the painted number two on the key as she made her way towards the back of the pub and beckoned him to follow.

# Chapter 2

She was only two seconds in, and Moira was already starting to regret her decision to let this foreign man tag along with her as she hunted this werewolf.

"What have I gotten myself into?" She muttered quietly to herself, shaking her head as she walked.

She just realized she didn't even know his name yet, and already they were making their way to her room at The Midnight Hour. What was she doing! Sure, being paid twice for doing basically the same job was fine, but just because someone mentioned saving some people's lives and suddenly she had agreed to lead some guy on a hunting trip. "I must be going crazy," she muttered to herself.

They climbed the stairs leading to her room and turned the corner. Moira paused briefly at the door with the number two as they passed it. "This will be your room for the time being, I suppose," she turned to look at the man, who seemed to be amused at the notion of having a room so close to hers.

She unlocked her door and stepped inside her room, the man quickly following behind her.

Morning light flooded the room. Moira walked past her bed and the window, stopping in front of the table at the end of the room. She turned around and leaned against it, her hands gripping the edge. The man stopped in front of her bed and excitedly examined the contents of her room.

"Before I tell you anything," Moira looked the man up and down, "what the hell is your name?"

The man's face turned red. "Oh... sorry," the man held out his hand, "Lincoln Clarke."

"Moira Ashe," she shook his hand. "Good," she turned back to the table and lifted her blunderbuss, swinging back around for Lincoln to see. "Now, when you're hunting any kind of creature, I suggest using one of these."

The weapon was shorter than your average, but it made up for it with mobility in tight spaces. It was well crafted with a bayonet affixed above the barrel. Moira had used the weapon many times over the years.

Lincoln held out his hands, but Moira pulled the blunderbuss back towards her.

"First rule: Don't touch my gear." Moira looped the weapons' strap over her shoulder, allowing it to rest across her back.

Lincoln nodded in acknowledgement but otherwise said nothing as Moira turned back to the table.

"But you're going to want some backups just in case." She pulled two pistols off the table and slipped them in holsters hidden underneath her coat. She intentionally opened her coat wider than she needed to in order to expose a third pistol that she carried with her at all times.

Lincoln smirked.

"Next, you'll want some of these." She pulled a number of knives off the table, leaving behind nothing but a few lanterns. There were three of them exactly, two small and one big. She began hiding them away as well when Lincoln interrupted.

"Where's the silver?"

"I don't have any."

Lincoln tilted his head.

Moira smiled. "What? Don't you know how expensive silver is? I do this job to make money, not shoot it!"

Lincoln chuckled. "Yeah, I guess that makes some sense."

"Anyway," Moira continued pulling out the large knife and turning slightly to expose the blunderbuss on her back. "The knife and the bayonet are silver, but silver bullets do help if you can afford them," Moira gestured around her rented room, "which I can't."

"So you don't need silver to kill one?" Lincoln asked, puzzled.

"Anything that can kill a normal man will kill most anything else, werewolves included—silver just seems to kill them easier."

"Why?"

"I don't know, maybe they're allergic."

Lincoln seemed satisfied with this answer and nodded his head in agreement. "Any poisons that are useful against them?"

"There are some, but I never use them."

"Why not?"

"Too expensive," Moira smiled. "Plus, I don't need them."

"Well then, I should be perfectly safe in your care." Lincoln smirked before adding, "Anything else?"

"Not really, other than using long weapons like spears to keep them at bay, but they only work for large groups."

Lincoln nodded again and sat down on the edge of the bed. "What about finding out who is one?"

Moira hesitated for a few seconds. She rested her chin in her hand as she studied Lincoln. She returned her hands to the table as she answered. "That's the tricky part. I just kill the werewolf and see who's missing afterwards."

Lincoln frowned.

"But," Moira started again. "I've found that people tend to grow about half their size in height after they," Moira paused, looking for the right word, "change."

Lincoln's head tilted as his brow wrinkled and his mouth shifted to the side. After a brief moment, Lincoln sighed and his features returned to their usual expression. "What can you tell me about the phases of the moon?"

Moira was surprised. "What do you mean?"

Lincoln pointed at the dates circled on her makeshift calendar hanging on the wall opposite the window. The day after tomorrow was circled. "Why are there three days circled?"

She had forgotten about her calendar, but Lincoln waited patiently for her response and didn't seem to notice her hesitation. What else had he noticed? She replied, "That is the date the full moon will rise."

"All right, but why all three?"

"Because people with lycanthropy are forced to change for all three nights of the full moon," Moira answered.

"But when the attacks began back home, there was no full moon," Lincoln said, confused.

Moira replied softly. "That's because the newly infected change every night until the first full moon arrives."

"So?" Lincoln asked.

Moira felt irritated by the man's constant questioning. "So, that means I..." she corrected herself, "I mean we, have until then to kill them before then, or the hunt will get a lot harder and will take a lot longer. So far the beast has been attacking every night, but after the full moon, they most likely will lay low until the full moon forces them out again."

"So after the full moon, the attacks will get less frequent. Isn't that a good thing?"

He wasn't improving her mood. "Not if you're trying to hunt someone who's infected."

"And how does someone get infected, exactly?"

She stared silently at her feet for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and returned her attention to Lincoln as she exhaled. After clearing her throat she answered, "From a werewolf's bite."

Lincoln seemed confused by her answer, but Moira disregarded him. "And that's why," she said, twisting her body to point at a picture on the wall behind her, "we have this problem."

The picture was a crudely drawn map of Quinn and the surrounding area. A magnitude of multicoloured markers was pinned on the map surrounding the town.

Lincoln stood up from the bed and walked over to the map for a better look. Moira moved to the side to accommodate him. Lincoln looked over the map and pointed to the markers. "Why different colours?"

Moira turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with him and pointed to the different colours. "A different colour, a different creature. All from the past month."

Lincoln turned to her. "So you leave the old ones to help predict future ones?"

Moira turned to face him. "Yeah, but they aren't all werewolves."

They turned back to the map, and she gestured to a group of green markers spread across the forest north of the town. "These green ones were from when a sluagh attacked some people on the road a few months back."

"What's a sluagh?"

Moira turned to Lincoln to explain but thought better of it. "That's not important right now," she replied and turned back to the map. She pointed to some black markers along the river that ran through the town's underground sewer system. "And these were from your run-of-the-mill problem bear."

"The same bear that did that?" Lincoln gingerly gestured toward the side of his face.

"Oh no... this was from a long time ago." Moira reached up and lightly brushed the left side of her face. "I wasn't even living in Quinn when this happened."

"So you're not from here?" Lincoln asked.

"Not originally, no," Moira barked, her nose crinkling.

Lincoln made a gesture towards the map. "So which one is our current monster?"

"The red ones here." Moira pointed at the cluster of red markers surrounding the outside of the town's walls.

"Any idea where it will appear next?"

Moira studied the map. There was no real pattern to the markers other than their proximity to the town. That was unusual compared to other werewolves she had observed, which left a pattern typically spread along farms outside the town.

Honestly, she really had no idea where it would turn up next. She made her best guess and was about to point at a location on the map when a knock came at the door.

Both of them turned towards the noise.

Moira walked over to the door quickly, knowing exactly who it is.

"Flynn," she greeted him before the door was fully open. Flynn stood with his hat in his hands against his chest.

"Come for him, have you?" she nodded towards Lincoln.

"Indeed, I have." Flynn looked between Moira and Lincoln. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

"No, nothing really." Moira pulled the door open as he stepped through.

"Conall Flynn." Flynn extended his hand to Lincoln.

Lincoln shook his hand. "Lincoln Clarke."

"Chief Ryan Quinn humbly requests your presence at his home."

"Is this really necessary?" answered Lincoln. "As I told the guards at the gate, I have no business with this... Ryan Quinn."

"Maybe not," replied Flynn as he gestured towards the door, "but he has business with you. If you would just come with me, please, I'm sure he won't take up too much of your time."

Lincoln threw his arms up. "Damn it... fine... Moira, I'll meet you back downstairs after I'm done with this nonsense, all right?"

Moira nodded her agreement as Lincoln lingered for a moment before turning and rushed out of the room to join Flynn. As she closed the door behind her, she pressed her back against it, letting out a sigh. Closing her eye, Moira took several long, deep breaths. After a few minutes, she pulled the door open again and strode through it as she went to face the rest of her day.

# Chapter 3

Lincoln was blinded by the morning sun as he followed Flynn out of The Midnight Hour. Nothing in the town of Quinn was natural; everything was built on a foundation of cut stone. The vibrant greens of nature fought against the hewn grey, but even they too were controlled. Ivy clung and draped over bare walls as trees stood defiantly among their square prisons that lined the back alleys.

"So why does this Ryan Quinn want to meet me?" Lincoln asked Flynn as they travelled to their destination.

Flynn didn't turn around. "It's simple. You're a person of interest from a foreign country, and he owns this town." Flynn paused for a second and then added. "I figured the name would have tipped you off."

Lincoln figured that the man's last name and the name of the town was no coincidence.

"So why is the place named after him?" Lincoln asked.

"It's not. It's named after his family, who built this town, so he really does own the place." Flynn halted and turned to face Lincoln. "Not that it's the only reason he's the chieftain." Flynn turned back around and continued marching. "He has done a lot of good as the leader of the community, and he's not afraid to get his hands dirty doing some labour in the quarry."

They rounded the corner and walked up the market street towards the tallest point in town, where Lincoln saw a large home. The market street was crowded when compared to the previous streets they'd passed. Seemingly hundreds of people were milling around the multitude of stalls and shops lining the street. Flynn tipped the brim of his hat and greeted almost everyone they passed in the street. These passers-by were polite to Lincoln, too. Most greeted him with a smile or a quick "How are you?"

The men passed by a clothing store as they came near the end of the market. Lincoln almost stopped completely as he spotted a tailor's shop. He was in need of fresh garments, especially considering the duration of his stay and the return trip home. He wished he could change now, considering he was about to be thrust into the role of foreign diplomat. Lincoln pulled and brushed at the dirt that dusted his coat as he hurried to catch up with Flynn, who didn't appear to notice Lincoln was lagging behind him.

Now aware of his ragged appearance, Lincoln could only guess how much worse his escort made him look in comparison. Fitted and pristine, Flynn's boots were even free of dust as he strode through the street with his clean-shaven chin held high. Lincoln's hand went instinctively to his own chin. "This is going to be rough." He grumbled to himself as he felt the repercussions of his neglected goatee.

They soon arrived at Quinn's house, and it was a spectacular building! The three-storey house loomed over its neighbours, elevated by a tall foundation. A wall quarantined the house from the rest of town.

As much as the property resembled a fortress, it was horrendously unprotected for such a facility. The large doors leading into the courtyard were left completely open, and not a soul was present. But Lincoln couldn't complain since it made entering the place quick and hassle free. They climbed a short set of stairs that led to a bright door. Flynn knocked quickly three times, and the both of them stood side by side in silence. They waited for several seconds until heavy footsteps approached the door . Flynn quickly stood at full attention as the door swung inwards.

When he caught sight of the prestigious Ryan Quinn, Lincoln didn't feel so bad about his attire.

He had met a number of high-class men and woman in his time as an officer in Abalon but they were almost exclusively descended from wealthy families. Few had actually clawed their way to that position themselves. Ryan Quinn, on the other hand, was not what he expected to see, considering the man inherited his fortune from his forefathers. Lincoln had no trouble believing what Flynn said was true. The man wore no shirt-only a pair of worker's overalls-so that his muscular arms and chest were clearly visible.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Flynn," said the man at the door.

Flynn was stone faced as he replied with a salute. "Good morning, sir. I have escorted Mr Clarke here as you requested, sir."

The man returned the salute and turned to face Lincoln, holding out his hand. "Ryan Quinn, chieftain of the town of Quinn."

Lincoln found that Ryan had the strength to match as the man shook him by the hand.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr Quinn," Lincoln said as his hand was released.

"And I you."

Lincoln could tell there was warmth in Ryan's smile as he greeted him, but not in his eyes. Ryan turned back to Flynn, who had not moved what seemed like a single muscle as he waited for Ryan and Lincoln to finish their introductions.

"Thank you, Flynn. You may return to your duties, but you can join us if you wish."

Flynn almost dropped his serious demeanour as he replied, "I would be honoured, but I have duties to attend to."

Ryan nodded his head. "Very well. Thank you again."

Ryan and Flynn shook hands before Flynn turned on his heel and marched out of the courtyard and down the street.

Ryan motioned for Lincoln to follow him as he turned and led the way into the house.

Lincoln kept pace with Ryan as he stopped in a sitting room, which appeared to be made for occasions such as these. Ryan stopped and motioned for Lincoln to move past him into the room. "Welcome to Quinn and to my home. Please take a seat."

Lincoln complied and sat in the middle of a coach facing a single chair in the middle of the room. Ryan followed and strode past him to a cabinet at the far side of the room. He opened it, revealing an assortment of beverages and glasses.

"Care for a drink?" Ryan asked as he selected a bottle out of the cabinet.

"Yeah, I could go for one," Lincoln replied, eyeing the bottle.

Ryan nodded, snatched two glasses out of the cabinet, and brought them over to the table separating the coach and the single chair. Ryan set the bottle and glasses on the table and then sat on the edge of the chair facing Lincoln as he poured them both a portion. He handed a glass to Lincoln then sat back in his seat.

Lincoln accepted the glass, and they both took a drink of the liquid.

"Good, right?" Ryan asked with confidence.

Lincoln nodded in agreement.

"It's Sleightstone whiskey. They are well known for it around here." Ryan passed the bottle to the other end of the table. "It shouldn't be too hard to find if you want to take a bottle home with you."

Lincoln picked up the bottle and inspected it. He did enjoy the beverage and would probably pick up a bottle for himself before he left, but he wasn't sure it would make it all the way home with him. Lincoln returned the bottle to the table.

"Why is this place called Quinn?" Lincoln asked.

Ryan's face lit up at the question. "Because my great-great-grandfather built this place, you see. He owned the quarry and the land and decided to build his own town here. His statue is at the entrance of the town."

Lincoln did remember seeing a statue of a man when he entered through the front gates, but he hadn't paid it much attention.

Ryan gestured at a pickaxe that hung along the wall. "He used that very tool there."

Lincoln interrupted him. "So he worked the quarry himself?"

Ryan smiled. "He did, and I do too—same as my father and his father before him."

"A strange decision. Most people with your kind of wealth wouldn't work a day in their lives."

Ryan gestured to the lavish décor surrounding them. "True, but it taught me to appreciate what I have and the people who work for this city."

Lincoln nodded. "So can anyone be the chief of this place?"

If Ryan was offended by the question, he didn't show it. "Sure, but they have to be chosen by the people, just like I was."

Ryan finished his drink and poured himself another one. "So, Mr Clarke, what business has brought you this far east of Fotland?"

"I've come looking for information on lycanthropy," Lincoln replied, doing the same.

"Eamon looking to try us for the third time, is he?" Ryan laughed. "Can't say I'm not surprised. It was damn nasty when your army started tearing itself to pieces."

Lincoln chuckled nervously. "No... no... Nothing like that. There has been a lot of cases popping up in a short period of time, so I'm hoping to find a way of dealing with them quickly."

Ryan composed himself. "Why travel this far east for that? There are tons of people who could have provided the information you're seeking, and they're a lot closer to your home than us."

Lincoln frowned. "I tried to, but I figure most people thought I was just gathering information for the king." Lincoln gestured toward Ryan. "Just like you did."

Ryan nodded his head and took another drink before talking. "Have you found someone who has agreed to share this with you?"

Lincoln nodded. "Thankfully, yes."

"Who?"

"Moira Ashe."

"Moira... what did she tell you?"

Lincoln smirked. "Enough... and she's letting me help hunt that werewolf that's been plaguing the town the last few days."

Ryan almost choked on his drink. "She told you about that?"

Lincoln nodded. "Just before I was stolen away to meet with you."

"And you're going to help kill it?"

"That is correct."

Ryan leapt out of his seat. "Are you both insane?"

Lincoln held his hands up in self-defence. "Hey now... Calm down. There's no need to get panicked."

Ryan flung his hands into the air and paced around the room as his glass shattered against the wall. "No need to panic? Do you know what will happen if you get killed?" He stopped and pointed a stiff finger at Lincoln. "If you don't return home, they'll send people looking for you, and they're going to come right here to my town. And then it will be Paleburg all over again." His heaving chest slowed, and his flaring nostrils calmed as he sat back down in his seat and rubbed his eyes. "What was Moira thinking?"

Lincoln replied. "To be fair, the mess at Paleburg was executed by men, not monsters."

"Hard to tell the difference after what they did." Ryan sighed. "It doesn't matter. All they're looking for is an excuse." He shook his finger at Lincoln. "I can't have Moira not kill the thing, and I can't afford to have you throwing yourself at death's door. You will be moved into my house, and guards will be posted at your doors."

Lincoln straightened his back and gave him a hard look. "I hope you aren't suggesting you'll hold me prisoner here?"

Ryan shook his head. "A prisoner? No, I simply plan to keep you safe until the matter is resolved."

"I don't think that's how I'll describe it when I get back home. And believe me, they won't take too kindly to what I have to say."

Ryan's eyes narrowed. "You would risk a war for this?"

"The better question is would you? I won't let you stop me from this. I do not want a room in your house. I do not want any personal guard. Let me finish my business here and we won't ever see each other again."

Ryan glared back at him with intensity. "Damn it, fine." Ryan's shoulders slumped. "I'm damned either way anyhow."

Lincoln bowed his head. "Thank you."

"Curse the both of ya." Ryan regained his composure as he stood up from his seat, extending his hand to Lincoln. "I'm glad we had this chat. Now I think it's time you leave."

Lincoln winced at Ryan's crushing grip. "It was an interesting experience. I just hope I didn't waste your time."

Ryan scowled and muttered. "If it wasn't for that damn..." His voice trailed off into muttering and the last of his hospitality evaporated as he escorted Lincoln out of his house. The door slammed behind him as Lincoln descended the steps.

Stopping outside the courtyard, Lincoln took stock of himself. The meeting hadn't taken up much of his time, and he still needed a change of attire.

"It's as good a time as any, I suppose," he mumbled. With a shrug of his shoulders, Lincoln strolled off to the market.

# Chapter 4

She didn't even need her memory to find this house anymore. As though reliving a moment in time, Moira marched along her path, letting blind repetition guide her as her mind wandered. She snapped back to attention as she spotted the woman outside the two-storey building. Moira let out a heavy sigh and banished her wayward thoughts as she sat down.

Sloane Moran spotted her and quickly crossed the street to sit beside her.

"Still wearing the same old coat?" Sloane asked.

"Still wearing the same old uniform?"

A playful smile crept onto Sloane's face. "Hold on now. You get to choose what you wear. The only way I'm changing up is if I get a promotion, and there's not much higher than captain." She pulled at Moira's coat. "Besides, I swear there's less coat every time I see it. Maybe it's time for a change, eh?"

She couldn't disagree with Sloane. Running her hands down her garment, Moira felt all the abuse her coat had suffered from the bullet hole in the chest to the rough patch jobs of her youth and the smoothness of her more recent work. She had been through a lot with this coat, and she couldn't bear to let it go.

Moira ignored the suggestion. "See anything?"

Sloane brushed a lock of her chestnut-coloured hair behind her ear as she responded. "And the same old questions, it would seem." She turned her head to observe the house before them. "I have three men posted here, and we've seen nothing—not James Nolan, and definitely no monster."

"Any word if Hugh will search him for bites?"

Sloane shook her head. "He won't allow James's privacy to be invaded like that unless James agrees to it himself."

"Has he?"

"Nope."

Moira sighed. Commander Murphy was a good leader, but he protected his guards a little too much for her liking. And in this instance, he was making her job almost impossible.

Sloane placed a hand on Moira's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I think this whole affair is a waste of time. We should be looking for Kelly William and not guarding Nolan—both of them were in that patrol. William is still unaccounted for, but I know Nolan is in that house. He even swears it was William."

"Sure, but where is he hiding? The attacks are always patrols and always close to town." Nothing about the situation felt right to her.

Sloane shrugged her shoulders. "All I know is that William hasn't left that house. Honestly, I don't know how you convinced the commander to post us here for this long." Sloane stood from the bench. "If that's all you needed, I have to get back to my post."

Moira pulled a smaller version of the map she made out of her jacket. "Speaking of patrols, do you know the routes for tonight?"

Sloane raised an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. "Don't you get that information from Flynn?"

Moira held the map out to her. "He's preoccupied right now."

Sloane opened the map and traced the routes out with her finger as Moira watched silently until she was done.

When Moira returned to the inn, Lincoln was already there, sitting at the bar talking with the bartender Bridget. She didn't initially realize it was him due to his change of attire and his newly trimmed goatee.

Lincoln tucked his notebook into his new coat as he spotted her moving towards her usual spot and called her name. Moira stopped and turned. Lincoln waved her over to the bar, and Moira reluctantly complied.

Not all of Lincoln's clothes were different. Only his boots and the silver locket he wore around his neck remained the same.

Moira sat at the bar with them. "How did it go with Quinn?"

Lincoln set his cup on the bar. "Good, but he's not very happy with us."

Bridget chimed in before Moira could talk. "And why shouldn't he be?" She pointed at Lincoln. "That king of yours is just looking for a reason to have a go at us again, and your death would give him a good reason to." She then turned and pointed at Moira. "And you're helping him do it!"

Lincoln held up his hands. "I highly doubt my life is that valuable to the king."

Moira responded. "No, they're right. You came here under his orders with peaceful intentions. If you were to wind up dead it wouldn't be good."

Lincoln scoffed. "That's absurd! I've been gone three weeks now. They could think me dead already and nothing has happened!"

The women exchanged glances but said nothing.

Lincoln continued. "Well, that's not going to stop me going after the thing," he gestured towards Moira, "with or without you."

Bridget looked at Moira. "Well, I guess someone has to look after you then."

Lincoln nodded his head. "That's right." He turned to Moira. "So, when do we get going?"

Moira got out of her seat. "We're going now."

Lincoln became excited as he stood and headed for the entrance.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Lincoln stopped and turned to see Moira standing in the doorframe leading to their rooms.

"We're going to sleep. You do remember these things only come out at night, right?"

Lincoln sighed as he sauntered off to his room. Moira placed her hand on his slender chest, stopping him in the doorway as he passed.

"Rule number two: Don't die."

She patted Lincoln on the shoulder as he nodded and continued to his room.

# Chapter 5

Lincoln woke up sweating. He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and sat hunched over. He picked the locket off the nightstand and opened it. Inside was a portrait of him and his wife, Angela.

Lincoln slowed his breathing as he tried to forget the contents of his nightmare. It was the same dream he had experienced over the last three weeks, ever since the outbreak. It had become less common the more time passed since that terrible night. Lincoln sat there for some time staring at the picture of his wife. He shook his head clear before snapping it shut.

He looped the locket around his neck as he rose from his bed. Getting dressed in his new clothes, Lincoln looked out the window. It was late afternoon from what he could tell past the tree outside his window. It should be time soon for his hunt with Moira, Lincoln thought to himself as he wrapped his belt around his waist. If he was lucky, this whole business would be over and done with tonight, but if he was being honest with himself, he did enjoy Moira's company.

His black notebook lay open on his windowsill, the freshly dried ink recounting Moira's divulged knowledge, amongst other things.

Lincoln finished buckling his belt when a knock came at his door. He hurried flipped the notebook shut and then opened the door. Moira stood in his doorway fully armed. He was relieved to see her. After she'd found out about Ryan's stance on their arrangement, he'd been a little worried that she would leave him behind.

"Ready to go?"

"Almost." Lincoln left the door open. He slipped the notebook into his coat and then grabbed his pistol. His body quivered but his hand was steady as he placed the weapon into its holster and returned to the door. "Lead the way."

Moira turned and strode down to the inn with Lincoln following close behind.

While he'd been asleep the inn came to life. No longer empty of patrons, the place was filled with noise. Some of it came from the musicians playing inside, but most came from the people themselves as the men and women laughed and talked after a day of work. The sight of it all confused him. All this joy and jubilation while death itself stalked their homes. He followed Moira through the crowds and out into the evening streets.

They said nothing to each other as they reached the front gates of the town. The guard on duty spotted their approach and yelled for the gates to open. The two large doors parted, allowing Moira and Lincoln to pass through without having to stop and closed again when they cleared the threshold.

Moira unslung her weapon and tossed her head to the right. "This way. Keep quiet."

Lincoln nodded and fell in behind her as they began their hunt through the forest. Moira constantly moved her head back and forth as they walked, compensating for her limited field of view. She also stopped whenever she heard a suspicious noise, holding up her hand to signal Lincoln to wait. But those occasions were few and far between as they travelled through the forest, and only served to startle Lincoln on an otherwise uneventful stroll. They travelled for a short time in complete silence.

Soon Moira stopped and turned to Lincoln. She gestured to a nearby tree. "Climb up."

Lincoln inspected the tree. There was nothing particularly outstanding about this tree when compared to the others around it.

Lincoln raised his eyebrow. "Why this one?"

Moira rolled her eye. "Just trust me, all right?"

Lincoln didn't like the idea, but he complied with her request. He reflected on the fact that he hadn't climbed many trees in his life as he attempted to pull himself up the tree's limbs. After successfully raising himself a few feet off the ground, Lincoln stopped and started trying to make himself comfortable.

"Higher."

Lincoln looked to the ground to see Moira pointing at a branch farther above him. "That one there."

Lincoln sighed and climbed to the branch above him. Achieving his goal, he looked down at Moira. "Good enough?"

Moira nodded and began her ascent up the tree.

Lincoln couldn't help but be impressed by her skills. Unlike him, she got to the branch on the opposite side of the tree's trunk in several seconds!

Lincoln was still very conscious of staying on his perch. He couldn't see Moira on the other side of the tree, but he turned his head to the right anyway. "Climb trees often?"

Moira responded. "When the occasion calls for it."

Lincoln turned his head forward. "So, what are we doing up here anyway?"

"We won't get ambushed up here," she explained.

They sat in the tree for some time. The only sounds heard were the creatures that called the forest their home. And the only noticeable change was the encroaching darkness of the night.

Lincoln yawned.

"Don't fall asleep."

Lincoln shook his head. "Any idea how long this is going to take?"

"No idea."

Lincoln rested his head back against the tree trunk. "You said you weren't originally from here?"

Moira responded with a quick. "Uh huh."

Lincoln closed his eyes. "Where are you from?"

There was no response for several seconds until Moira said quietly, "Brinn."

Lincoln had to strain to hear her answer. "Where's that?"

"It's several miles north of here."

"Why did you leave?"

He heard the sound of Moira shifting position. "Because I had to."

"But why?"

Moira didn't answer. Instead, she asked a question of her own. "What is your job?"

"I'm a medical officer."

There was some surprise in her voice. "A medic."

"That's right."

"Have you ever used that pistol of yours."

"I'm trained, if that's what you're asking."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I was worried you wouldn't be able to defend yourself." She then added. "I guess that's why they sent you."

Lincoln smiled. "That, and I volunteered."

Surprise crept into her voice again. "Why did you do that?"

Lincoln replied sadly. "Because I saw first-hand the destruction these things can cause."

Moira's mood darkened as well. "What happened?"

Lincoln touched the locket around his neck. "My wife, Angela, and I were out for the night when we witnessed an attack."

"You're married?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"I would rather not talk about it. But they took the thing down... eventually."

Moira replied, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I am too."

A few seconds passed before Moira asked. "Where's your ring?"

Lincoln rubbed where his ring had been, silently choking back his tears at the memory of his wife. Finally, he changed the subject in reply, "Any idea who this werewolf is?"

Moira shrugged. "I've narrowed it down to two people. James Nolan and Kelly William."

"Who are they?"

"They're two guards from the first attack."

"Why them?"

She sighed. "James swears that Kelly is the killer, but we haven't found him. And with the attacks so close to town, we would have found him by now."

"So you think James is the killer and is using Kelly's disappearance to throw suspicion off of himself?"

"I do, but the more I find out about James the more I'm convinced he's innocent." Moira sighed. "If I could find a bite on him, I could prove that he's the one. But it could also be some unknown person from the woods. A lot of the beasts come from the bandits that roam some of the roads."

Lincoln was about to respond when a scream shattered the calm. Lincoln bolted into a seating position and opened his eyes. Moira, on the other hand, had already jumped to the ground and was running towards the sound. Lincoln yelled for her to wait for him as he climbed down the branches.

The sound of yelling and gunfire joined the scream as Lincoln ran to catch up with Moira. New screams replaced the first, and as he came closer, Lincoln heard the inhuman snarls that had haunted his dreams for the past weeks. Lincoln could barely see anything as he tried to make his way through the darkness. His heart was still racing as he burst out of the foliage. A half dozen rifles swung in his direction as gasps and wails escaped the throats of the men holding them.

"Whoa! Don't shoot." Moira leapt between them. "It's okay. He's with me."

A collective exhale left the group as they raised their guns. Moira sequestered them away, all of them with their weapons shaking in their white-knuckled hands as their heads darted in every direction. The group began pointing and gesturing as Lincoln moved to examine the area.

The body of a mauled guard was spread near a thicker cluster of foliage. The guard's right shoulder and arm were almost torn from his body, and his chest had been shredded by the creature's claws. Another man, still alive, was sitting on the ground. He was shaking, taking long drinks from his canteen. Other men in the group talking with Moira followed his lead. The man's arm was wrapped with fabric that had turned dark red from heavy bleeding.

Lincoln rushed over to the man. "Can I see your wound, please?" He reached out to hold the man's arm. "I'm a medic."

The man winced and swore as Lincoln unwrapped the bandage.

"What's your name?" Lincoln asked the man.

The man's voice was shaky. "Kaleb, Kaleb Gallagher."

Lincoln finished unwrapping the bandage and exposed the wound. Lincoln gasped when he saw it. It was a bite, and it was bad.

Moira's eye widened when she turned to them and spotted the wound. She quickly stepped towards them, reaching into her coat.

The man turned to her, sobbing. He began pleading for his life as she drew the pistol on him. He held up his hands to defend himself. "Please, my family!"

Moira didn't hesitate. She fired.

Lincoln was speechless as Kaleb fell lifeless to the ground. He stared at Moira as she replaced the weapon back into its holster.

She looked back at him and pointed towards blood streaks leading away from the group. "He's dragged another body away from here. We need to find it."

He yelled at her. "What the hell is wrong with you!"

Moira was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Lincoln howled, "You just killed that man!"

"He got bit. He would have turned—given enough time—and the last thing we need right now is having two of them running around!"

Lincoln looked over at the other guards. All of them were standing around with their heads hung low. None of them joined the argument.

Moira growled. "We don't have time for this! Are you coming or not?"

Lincoln glared at her, "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Responding with only a glare in kind, Moira turned and ran after the beast.

# Chapter 6

Moira ran through the forest in search of the missing guard, and if she was lucky, the beast itself. She grew increasingly closer to the town's walls as she followed the trail left for her.

She stopped upon finding the body. The creature had carried it a great distance from the site of the attack, giving it the privacy it needed to feed in peace. Slowly she walked over to the corpse, keeping her head on a swivel as she approached.

She constantly swept around the area with her blunderbuss in hand. Satisfied that she was alone, Moira examined the remains.

She couldn't tell who the victim was. Other than the fact that he was male and a member of the Quinn guard, everything else was mangled beyond recognition or missing completely. It was odd for a beast of this calibre to steal away meals, considering it easily could have killed the entire patrol and eaten at its leisure. Odder still, the amount of flesh consumed by the beast was fairly modest compared to others of its kind. Moira pondered whether this was from fear of pursuers or if something else was at play as she swept her gaze around her. She spotted the tracks leading away from the body. Making a mental note of the location so the guard could bury the body later, Moira began following the prints.

She may not have been lucky enough to stop the beast tonight, but the prints would tell her where it was hiding.

She lost the trail at some points but was able to pick it up again once she correctly guessed where it might be leading. The trail continued to bring her closer to the town. As well as the river itself.

Moira became agitated once she saw where the trail lead. It led to the town's sewer exit! How could she not have seen it! All of the attacks occurred near the river's entrance and exit. The walls around this tunnel were thinner, lacking the walkways that adorned the rest of Quinn's walls. Moira cursed. As much as she wanted to chase after the beast through the sewer, she wasn't properly equipped for such an excursion. And with two ways for the werewolf to go, there was only a 50/50 chance that she would choose the correct entrance and be able to ambush it.

Moira kicked the ground and cursed again before slinging her blunderbuss over her shoulder and travelling back home empty-handed.

# Chapter 7

Lincoln still couldn't believe what had happened last night. The way Moira just killed that man without remorse, without mercy. It made him question just how safe he was with her around. When he first laid eyes on her, he could feel that she was dangerous; but after getting to know her, he thought her appearance had just spooked him. Lincoln shook his head. What a fool he was. After all, he hadn't even known her for a full day yet. He took a drink from his glass and sat silently by himself.

He was sitting in The Midnight Hour again. It was close to his room, and he enjoyed its atmosphere. Lincoln scrubbed his face with his hands. Growing restless, Lincoln decided to get some fresh air. He stood up, dropped some coins on his table, and left the inn to walk the soaked morning streets.

Alone with his thoughts, he had no idea what to do now, so he wandered aimlessly through the streets. The town seemed empty, with only the sounds of the soft prattle of rain and the faint rushing of water underneath his feet.

The town of Quinn was seemly unaffected by the deaths of the three guards from the night before. People continued on with their lives in the same manner as they had the day prior. The only exception being the Quinn flag—lowered down the pole, it no longer flew defiantly in the wind but instead hung limply against the flagpoles that bore them.

Lincoln continued to wander Quinn's streets, the rain seeming to highlight his sombre mood. During his stroll through town, Lincoln heard an unexpected sound. He stopped dead in his tracks. The sound was faint, but he could swear that he heard it. It sounded vaguely like people celebrating. He was confused—surely people wouldn't be celebrating, given the circumstances. He turned in a circle, trying to determine the direction the sound was coming from. Once he came to a decision on its origin, Lincoln hurried towards the noise.

It didn't take him long to find the source of the disturbance. It was a pub, much more in line with your typical building. For one, it actually had windows, unlike The Midnight Hour's bar. The sign hanging above the door simply read Sullivan's. Through the large windows surrounding the establishment, Lincoln could see a large gathering of guardsmen.

Despite the seemingly casual atmosphere that the gathering had generated in their area, there were a small number of armed and armoured guards outside the building. But as Lincoln began moving towards the gathering, the equipped guards left, waving goodbye to their fellows.

Lincoln slid into the pub. As he waded into the crowd, he received some looks of distrust, some even of disdain, but mostly of confusion at his presence. He was a speck of blue in a lake of green overcoats, but no one tried to stop him as he drifted through the pub desperately searching for a familiar face to ask the questions burning in his mind.

Lincoln turned to see Flynn seated at one of the tables. His fellow guardsmen dispersed from their seats, leaving Flynn alone calling for Lincoln's attention. When Lincoln spotted Flynn, the other man beckoned Lincoln over to him. Relieved to see a familiar face, Lincoln hurried to join him.

"What's going on?" Lincoln asked as he pulled up a seat at Flynn's table.

"It's a gathering for the men we lost last night," Flynn answered sombrely.

Lincoln looked around the room and spotted a group of individuals laughing in the corner. "I guess they weren't well liked around here?"

Flynn chuckled at Lincoln's comment. "No... no... this is a celebration of their lives. The time of mourning comes after they are avenged."

"Did you know any of them?"

"There aren't that many guardsmen in Quinn, so we tend to know each other."

Lincoln hesitated before speaking. "I saw Kaleb die. He was bit, and Moira killed him!" Lincoln felt the anger fill his chest.

Flynn only nodded without looking at Lincoln as he finished retelling last night's events, and after a moment he responded. "That's usually how it goes."

Lincoln's brow shot up as he felt the heat rise in his face. How could Flynn take the news of a man's death so casually? "She didn't even try to help him." Lincoln barely managed to keep his voice low in order to avoid drawing the attention of the crowd.

"There was nothing she could have done," Flynn answered, inspecting the bottom of his drink.

"There must be some kind of cure for it."

"There isn't. Believe me—we've tried."

Lincoln's mind raced, trying to come up with some kind of solution to the problem. Maybe there was some kind of undiscovered remedy, or maybe amputation!

"Even if there isn't. She should have at least let him say goodbye to his family first."

Flynn sighed. "We used to do a thing like that in the past, and it only made the situation harder to deal with. You don't know how hard it is putting a man down while his wife and kids cling to him, begging for his life. Even though, come night-time, that same man would tear his family to pieces. I know it's hard to accept, but Moira did the right thing."

The heat drained from Lincoln's face. He had only dealt with lycanthropy for the past three weeks. He could only imagine how many years people like Flynn and Moira had been dealing with it. He decided to trust in Flynn's experience with the subject.

"What's Brinn?"

Flynn became concerned. "Who told you about Brinn?"

"Moira said she was from there," Lincoln answered, growing curious of Flynn's reaction.

Flynn laughed. "Did she now!"

Lincoln nodded.

"I'm telling you—she's playing you for a fool! No one's from Brinn anymore, especially not someone like Moira Ashe."

Lincoln was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Flynn regained his composure. "Well, it is still inhabited, more or less, but the whole place was massacred," Flynn searched his memory, "about... fourteen years ago, I think. They erected a memorial with the names of all the village's inhabitants a few years back, after people began migrating to the area."

Lincoln was baffled by Flynn's story about the fate of the village. Both from the prospect of being lied to by Moira for no reason and by the thought of a whole population being completely wiped out.

"What happened to them?"

Flynn leaned back into his seat. "No one knows for sure, but they found most of the people near the front gate, which was found unlocked. Twenty-three people lost their lives that night." Flynn mumbled a prayer for the dead to himself when he was finished speaking.

The story of Brinn and the fate of its inhabitants sparked a morbid interest in Lincoln, so he inquired further. "Did they ever catch what did it?"

"Not as far as I know." Flynn leaned in to whisper to Lincoln. "But I wouldn't utter anything about the 'Beast of Brinn' to anyone else, especially to anyone who lives near there. It's the reason it took so long for people to start repopulating the village. And some of the people who live there are still afraid that it might come back one of these days." Flynn leaned back in his seat.

"So why can't Moira be from Brinn?"

Flynn held up three fingers. "Three reasons." Flynn dropped all but one of his fingers then continued. "One, she's too old—the whole place was massacred when she would have been... maybe... twenty-one then." He raised another finger. "Two. No one with the last name 'Ashe' has ever lived in Brinn." Flynn raised a third finger. "And three, she's from a city west of here called Kilmore. She told me that herself."

Lincoln's stomach cramped, and his head suddenly felt too light. He slumped into his seat as one hand fell to his side, the other went to his head. A mixture of emotions swirled in his gut as his mind tried to sort out the confusion.

Flynn put his hand on Lincoln's shoulder. "Don't feel bad—it took me almost a year to pry that bit of information from her. But, regardless of your opinion of her, I can promise you that she is still the best shot you have of getting what you came here for. Trust me, if there is anything I know about Moira for certain, it's that she truly cares about the safety of everyone around here. And having to put someone down is extremely hard for her, even if she doesn't show it."

Lincoln forced a smile and nodded. He wasn't sure what to think about Moira now, but he didn't really need to know who she was in order to get what he came for.

He decided to think about it later as Flynn removed his hand from his should.

Both of them turned to face the stage as a man stepped up to the small platform, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. A hush fell upon the crowd as he stood silently, sweeping the room with watchful eyes. Before speaking, he cleared his throat and buttoned closed the highly decorated coat that hid his gut.

"It is a real damn shame to see you all here again." His voice boomed through the room. "Last night we lost three more of our brothers in arms to a monster that has already claimed nine others."

Some members of the crowd muttered quiet prayers for the deceased and their families.

"As commander of the guard, it is my responsibility to protect all of you. I have failed in my duty."

Several guards began disagreeing with his statement and commended his service as their leader. He silenced them with a wave of his hand and a turn of his head.

"And while nothing can be done for those we lost, we will ensure that their families are cared for and that this bastard doesn't live to see another night. I'm going to do whatever I have to in order to make them pay for what they've done!"

The crowd cheered as the commander reached into the throng and retrieved a drink. He lifted the beverage to the crowd. Those with drinks of their own mirrored the action.

"For the fallen." The commander took a drink as the crowd echoed his words and did the same.

"Now back to work!" The commander barked as he saluted the crowd, passed the empty glass back to its original owner, and marched off the stage as he attempted to wipe the foam out of his beard. The crowd returned the salute and left.

Flynn pulled his hat onto his head and turned to Lincoln. "You heard Commander Murphy. Duty calls."

Lincoln left the establishment, but he lingered outside, leaning against the smooth damp wall of an empty street. He might have enough to return home with, and he might get himself killed staying here, but this was a golden opportunity he felt he couldn't pass up. It wasn't until he could feel the chill in his bones that he came to a decision. He wouldn't tell Moira of his choice, but he'd give her until tonight; if he didn't trust her, then he would leave with what he had. Satisfied, Lincoln pushed off the wall and began finding his way back to The Midnight Hour.

# Chapter 8

Moira returned to the opening to the Quinn sewers. She came prepared this time. Fully armed and carrying her lantern, she also wore a scarf over her face, leaving only her single eye exposed.

She frowned as she inspected the entrance to the sewer. The morning rain had erased any sign of the werewolf's tracks from the previous night. She wasn't bothered by the loss of prints, they'd served their purpose, and they were far from incriminating. What she needed now was some real evidence as to the beast's identity—something undeniable to ensure the right person was condemned. While killing the beasts during the hunt was cleaner and helped clear her own conscience, she also felt guilty for stealing the community's chance at retribution and closure.

Moira made her way into the dark tunnel of the sewer. She drew her pistol and held the lantern out in front of her to illuminate her path. As Moira made her way to her destination, she recited a mental map to herself, her hushed directions echoing back to her from the abyss. She took her time travelling through the tunnels, constantly illuminating each new pathway before moving on. The sound of the running river and of her boots on the stone walkways reverberated through the tunnels as she travelled.

Finally, she reached her objective. She slipped her pistol back underneath her coat and retrieved her small map. Holding it up to the light of her lantern, she tried to find out where she was in relation to the buildings above. Moira was trying to find her way to the tunnel that ran along James Nolan's house. After a few seconds of visualizing where she was, she was satisfied that she was in the right location and began searching the surrounding walls.

Sliding the small map back inside her coat, she ran her light around her. She wasn't even sure what to look for.

Giving up on using her eye, Moira decided to use her sense of touch. She set her lantern down nearby and ran her gloved hands along the wall.

Moira cringed as her hands brushed the slick substance that covered the stones. As she moved further down the tunnel, a brick shifted.

She stepped back and studied the wall in front of her. She applied pressure to the brick. It slid forward with a wet, slick sound. Careful not to push the bricks fully outside the other end, Moira pushed two bricks in slightly, allowing her to grasp the sides of the brick in between them. Peering through the hole, she could see that whoever had made the entranceway had removed a few layers of bricks in order to connect what Moira believed to be a basement to the sewer. Moving the bricks back to their original positions, Moira pushed slightly on the wall in front of her. She discovered that the hidden entrance was quite large. About two men could walk through the entrance side by side standing upright.

Moira smirked underneath her scarf. If she was right about her position, it would explain how James got in and out of the city without being seen. Unfortunately, this didn't prove without a doubt that he was guilty; paths like these were common to smugglers who would use them to move goods between houses or in and out of the town. The path could have been made before James had moved into the house. If she tried to bring this to the guard, James could just deny having any knowledge of the entrance. Not to mention the fact that Kelly could have been hiding underneath the town this whole time!

A wave of paranoia came over Moira as the notion of the missing man stalking her through the tunnels crossed her mind. She decided to keep this information to herself for now. As she stalked out of the sewer, Moira was hit with an intense craving, spurring her to quicken her pace.

When Lincoln walked into The Midnight Hour, Moira was already there. She was sitting at her regular table without her coat, gloves, or her boots. She was engrossed in the large serving of pork in front of her.

Lincoln stopped near the middle of the room. Flynn was right, it didn't matter what he thought of her as long as he got what he wanted; after that, they would never see each other again. Swallowing his pride, Lincoln turned and approached Moira's table.

"I'm sorry."

Moira was in the middle of eating a slice of meat when she stopped chewing, startled by his sudden heartfelt apology. She swallowed before responding. "What for?"

Lincoln sat down in front of her. "I'm sorry about last night. I'm new to all of this werewolf business. And I didn't understand what you had to do, but I do now."

Moira nodded, returning to her meal. "I'm glad to hear it."

Lincoln leaned back in his seat. "So what do we have to do now?"

"First, I have to do some laundry."

"Then I have to talk with Commander Murphy."

"I just heard him speak today."

Moira set her utensils on her plate as here eyebrow peaked. "Really, what did he say?"

"He was saying something about doing whatever he had to do to protect his guards."

Moira grinned. "Excellent!"

# Chapter 9

It was still midday. Moira adorned her newly cleaned garments and left with Lincoln to meet with Commander Murphy. After she had finished her meal, Moira had instructed a guard to deliver a message to the guard commander requesting a meeting. Lincoln fell in behind Moira as she navigated the streets of Quinn.

Moira hadn't told him exactly what she was planning, but he was used to being in the dark about her activities by this point, despite how much that irritated him. He trusted her at least to tell him what she needed him to do before he needed to do it, and that would have to be enough for now. But he was thankful that she brought him along for the meeting with Murphy, even though he was pretty sure she would have preferred to go alone, but she wasn't making a good case for him to stay past tonight.

When they arrived at the barracks Commander Murphy was waiting to meet them.

"Good evening, Ms Ashe and Mr Clarke," the commander greeted them as they neared the front gate.

Moira replied. "Did you get my message?"

The commander of the guard nodded. "Yes, I did, and I can assure you I'm very interested to hear your proposal." Murphy turned to face the building. "We'll talk in my office."

The distance to Murphy's office was short. The room was located near the front of the building on the second floor. When they entered, Murphy took a seat behind his desk and motioned for Moira and Lincoln to sit in the two chairs in front of it. As they sat down, Murphy spoke, "So what are you wanting to tell me?"

"The werewolf is coming from the city's sewers."

Moira's statement instantly grabbed both the attention of the commander and Lincoln.

"How do you know this?" the commander asked.

"I was able to track them last night," Moira replied.

"Damn it. It would take forever to find them down there, even with all the guards in the town." Murphy balled his fist on his desk.

"And in such close quarters, it would be suicide to send anyone into those tunnels," Moira said. "But, I think I have a solution."

Murphy leaned forward. "I'm listening."

Moira began explaining her plan. "There are two ways in and out of those tunnels. I suggest a large show of force at the west entrance to keep him from leaving from that direction. The beast will then emerge out the east exit, where I will be waiting for it." Moira paused and corrected herself as she looked at Lincoln. "Where Lincoln and I will be waiting to ambush them."

Murphy leaned back in his chair again. "And why don't I just post guards at both exits?"

Moira shook her head. "That would just guarantee that they would stay in the sewer. And I don't have to tell you what would happen if it found a smuggler's tunnel into someone's house down there."

Murphy stared towards the street as his thick brows dipped, and he began to rub his chin.

Lincoln chimed into the conversation. "Why aren't they using those tunnels already instead of attacking the guard?"

Moira turned to him and shrugged. "I'm not sure, but the tunnels are hard to find, and he's been having luck with the guards already." She turned to Murphy. "Sorry."

Murphy frowned. "I'm sorry too. I've lost too many men to this thing." He grabbed a plain box and placed it on his desk. "That's why I had these made this morning." He opened the box.

Inside were a few silver balls.

Upon seeing the bullets, Moira gasped and quickly shut the box. "Quinn agreed, no silver!"

Lincoln looked wide-eyed between Moira and the box.

Murphy's voice began to rise as his face reddened. "I know that you convinced Ryan that they weren't worth it, but I'm not going to let the price outweigh the lives of my men!"

Moira tensed. "How many did you make?"

Murphy took the box and returned it to his desk. "About two dozen. And I've put in a request for some hounds."

"I understand that you need to protect your people, but let me handle this. Stop production and stop that request."

Murphy crossed his arms. "I'm not sending my men out there unprotected."

Moira pleaded. "Then don't! Give the bullets to the men guarding the west entrance and keep the patrols behind the walls."

Murphy sat and thought about Moira's proposition. He eventually sighed and shook his head. "I don't like the idea, but if you can promise me my men will be kept safe. I'll do it... at least for now." Murphy slammed his fist on his desk. "But I swear—if a single man is hurt because of this, I'll see you hang."

"You have my word." Moira nodded her head as she stood unfazed by the sudden outburst. "Have your men ready by tonight, and leave the rest to me." She made for the door while Lincoln stood to follow her out.

Moira paused as the commander grumbled, "Good luck... to the both of you."

"No bullets, and no dogs!"

"Yeah... Yeah... Don't push your luck." Murphy waved them off as they left to prepare.

# Chapter 10

After spending the majority of the day resting, Moira and Lincoln were now waiting to ambush the beast near the east entrance to tunnels under the town.

The plan was simple—wait until the werewolf emerged from the tunnels, and then Moira would blow it away with her blunderbuss. But in case the plan failed, Lincoln knew what to do. Before they both settled into their ambushing position, Moira showed him a small alcove not far from their location, and Lincoln had committed the way to the alcove to his memory. It didn't build his confidence in her or in the plan, but he could defend himself if it came to it.

While the time dragged on as they waited, Lincoln shifted his sitting position, but he didn't dare make a sound or take his hand off his weapon.

Unlike him, Moira was focused on the tunnel entrance. She never broke eye contact with the opening or took her finger off the trigger of her weapon. Lincoln even dozed off for a few minutes before he was shaken awake. Before he could ask what was wrong, Moira held her left hand over his mouth and pointed to her ear then to the tunnel. Lincoln said nothing and turned his head to listen while Moira shifted her attention back to the tunnel.

Lincoln couldn't hear it at first, but after a while of waiting, the sound grew louder. The flow of the tunnel became weaker as a soft sloshing noise became stronger.

Lincoln's pulse quickened as the sound got louder. This was the moment he had been waiting for! His quest would be over after tonight. His body stiffened as he saw his first glimpse of the beast. The creature was slow to emerge at first, poking out its snout into the scant moonlight. Its nostrils flared, waving from side to side as Lincoln held his breath. It strode forward into the night, revealing a pair of massive shoulders only hinting at the beast's true size.

Flashbacks appeared in his mind as he watched the lycanthrope. It was large in stature, even in its hunched position. Thick reddish fur covered most of its body, and where it didn't, muscle could be seen bulging under the skin. But Lincoln knew that the creature could run much faster than its large frame let on.

The beast pulled itself onto the riverbed and scanned its surroundings. Rising to stand with its clawed hands bent towards its chest, the creature's wolfish head sniffed and searched as it stalked forwards, still dripping with water. It turned to where Moira and Lincoln were hidden. The creature's eyes burned in the night as it approached them, still seemingly unaware of their presence.

Lincoln's hands became sweaty, and his breathing turned into rapid gasps as the lycanthrope got closer and closer to their position. It took all of his willpower to control his breathing. Moira, on the other hand, was completely calm as she waited for the perfect time. Unfortunately, that time never came. The creature stopped and snarled at their position. Its ears flattened as it bore a massive set of pointed teeth. Moira pulled the trigger as the beast turned away.

The sound of thunder tore through the night as the weapon discharged, sending a dozen small balls speeding towards the beast. But instead of colliding head-on, most punched into the creature while the rest missed completely, tattering the beast's shoulder.

The werewolf was thrown sideways but was back on its feet in an instant. It glared at the two of them as blood streamed from its shoulder.

Moira threw her blunderbuss over her shoulder as she said one word. "Run."

Lincoln turned and bolted towards the small alcove as the creature growled and rushed them.

Lincoln didn't look behind him as he ran through the forest, dodging the thick brush and low-hanging branches, praying that he did not lose his footing. He kept running even after hearing the sound of three gunshots fired behind him. It was only when he reached the alcove that he checked to see how Moira was doing.

She was running for the alcove with the werewolf close behind her. Unlike Moira and Lincoln, the beast wasn't trying to avoid anything as it barrelled its way through whatever lay in front of it. The natural barriers helped slow the lycanthrope down, allowing Moira to stay ahead of the beast.

Lincoln quickly squeezed his way into the hiding place as Moira rushed towards him. He shuffled into the back of the hole as Moira reached the alcove. Unlike Lincoln, Moira didn't stop at the entrance. She slid full force into Lincoln, slamming him into the back wall of the hole.

Moira turned to fend off the beast. Reaching the alcove a few seconds after Moira, it too slammed at full speed against the alcove. It twisted sideways, attempting in vain to pull itself into the small space. Abandoning its efforts, the creature glared at the pair and stalked around the entrance.

Lincoln caught his breath as Moira pulled a number of paper pouches out of her coat. She turned to face him.

"Reload the guns. Pistols first—they're faster."

Lincoln accepted the pouches and began reloading Moira's pistols as she unslung her blunderbuss from her shoulder. It was hard reloading the weapons in such tight quarters and with barely any light, but Lincoln managed to slowly complete his task.

The beast stalked near the alcove as Moira and Lincoln worked. Knowing that they would not leave and that it was unable to get at them, the beast left.

"Ah, damn it," Moira muttered to herself.

"What's happening?" Lincoln asked as he finished loading one of her pistols.

Moira turned to him. "We have to keep the beast here."

Lincoln didn't like the sound of that. "What are you doing?"

"Wait here." Moira traded him the blunderbuss for her pistol and grabbed the pistol from his belt. "I'll be back in a second—trust me." Moira held the pistol up in both hands as she hurried to catch up with the werewolf.

Lincoln watched her exit the alcove and stayed where he was, instead focusing on loading Moira's weapons. Lincoln heard the twin snaps of the two pistols discharge, which was followed by a vicious snarl. It didn't take long for Moira to return, and she re-entered the alcove. She squeezed against Lincoln as the beast reached in after her.

Moira passed the two empty guns back to Lincoln as she stood just out of the beast's reach.

"There." Moira smiled as she caught her breath. "We're back in business."

Huge claws raked the walls of the hole as the enraged creature snarled and barked at them. Moira pulled out her large silver knife and slashed at the beast's hands. The blade cut the back of the creature's hand. The lycanthrope withdrew its hand as it let out a pained snarl.

The beast changed tactics. Using its powerful front limbs, the creature frantically pulled away large handfuls of dirt, widening the entrance of their hiding place.

Moira held her hand out behind her, never taking her eye off the opening. "Hand me the pistols!"

Lincoln passed the loaded pistols to her as she shot the beast one after another.

Despite being shot point-blank, the beast was only slowed down; its determination willed it to continue digging.

Smoke began filling the space.

Moira pressed closer to Lincoln as the beast shortened the distance between them. "Blunderbuss, now!"

Lincoln passed her the blunderbuss.

Moira didn't bother aiming and fired the weapon from the hip. After hearing Moira shout for the weapon, the werewolf attempted to move out of the entrance to the hole, but it was only able to avoid some of the shots as rounds punctured it.

Lincoln was temporarily deafened by the sound of the gun firing in such a closed space and blinded by the amount of dirt that exploded around the east side as rounds punched into the walls of the alcove. Moira passed him back the weapon as even more smoke filled the alcove. Lincoln didn't both reloading the pistol; he focused solely on reloading the blunderbuss as fast as he could.

Slamming into the alcove, the lycanthrope reached back into the hole. This time, however, there wasn't enough distance to protect Moira.

Moira let out a pained growl through her teeth as the beast's claws tore through the shoulder pads of her coat and into her right shoulder. Moira slipped as the beast pulled her towards it. She struggled out of the creature's grasp as she crawled towards Lincoln.

The beast snatched her left leg and retreated behind the outside of the alcove in an attempt to shield itself from harm.

Fortunately, this stopped the beast from using its full strength, allowing Moira to brace herself against the tunnel walls.

Lincoln was horrified, but he never stopped loading the weapon, even as Moira struggled against the beast's power and her blood soaked the ground beneath her.

As soon as the weapon was loaded, Lincoln shouldered the blunderbuss. He only caught glimpses of the creature's arm through the smoke as it jerked back and forth. With Moira in such close proximity to his target, Lincoln fired high into the entryway.

Bullets buried themselves into the walls, sending explosions of debris throughout the refuge, while others found their mark. The creature roared as rounds rendered flesh, forcing it to release its grip and withdraw its arm.

Freed from the beast, Moira scrambled to her feet as Lincoln loaded the weapon with the last of the gunpowder and bullets.

"Are you all right?" Lincoln asked Moira as he continued to load the weapon.

"I'm used to it," Moira replied, clenching her teeth, as she wrapped the cloth over the tattered shoulder of her coat.

Both of them froze as heavy steps above them heralded in a cascade of dust, creating a choking concoction with the smoke. They looked at each other and then to the ceiling. Moira drew her knife while Lincoln quickened his pace. The rain of dirt continued as the lycanthrope dug above them.

Lincoln pointed the barrel of the weapon to the ceiling, waiting for the beast to get close enough to fire the weapon. But the beast's labours ceased at the sound of gunfire and shouting. Rushed footstep took off towards the town as a stampede of smaller ones followed.

Moira and Lincoln remained inside the alcove as bullets buried themselves into the ground above. They didn't emerge until the pursuing guards had passed over them. Once outside, Moira and Lincoln took quick, shallow breaths of fresh air as smoke bellowed into the night behind them. Moira removed her hat, brushing off the dirt and debris before returning it to her head, while Lincoln was bent over, running his hand repeatedly through his short brown hair.

Flynn ran out of the darkness to meet them, as the night fell silent again.

Sweat shined upon Flynn's crinkled brow. "We lost it underneath the town. I don't even think we hit the damn thing." He inhaled sharply when he spotted Moira clutching her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He reached out to inspect her, but Moira waved him off. "I can handle it."

Lincoln moved to examine her. "You should let me look at that."

Moira shrugged him off too as she growled at him. "I've handled this kind of thing before. I don't need your help. I just need to get back to my room!"

Lincoln withdrew from her as he went to retrieve the empty pistols from the alcove.

Moira did not speak another word as she replaced her pistols, slung her blunderbuss over her good shoulder, and made for home.

Lying in bed later, Lincoln couldn't get to sleep.

Between the excitement of the failed hunt and the injury Moira sustained from it, his concern for her safety forbid him from his rest.

He could hear her faint cries, accompanied by the slight scent of singed flesh.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to ignore the suffering of his neighbour. It was no use. Lying on his bed, Lincoln counted the seconds as his mind wandered. Tonight hadn't gone exactly as he had hoped, but he couldn't fault Moira's bravery. Putting herself between him and the beast had been no small feat. Maybe it didn't change the lies, but he wouldn't repay such an act with abandonment. He contemplated going to help her, but she had refused his help before, and he didn't dare disturb her during such a delicate procedure.

Her muffled sobs ceased several minutes later, but it was only when the scent dispelled hours later, that Lincoln finally fell asleep.

# Chapter 11

Last night was the last chance Moira had to kill the werewolf before tonight's full moon, but it wasn't too late to find out who the beast was.

As Moira sat at her usual table, she contemplated how to expose the culprit. She sat alone in silence as she mended together the tattered shoulder pad, only stopping to place another strip of pork in her mouth before returning to work. Several other patch jobs covered the coat, mirroring the scars on her body. The newest of her scars still felt burnt from last night. It wasn't the first time she'd cauterized her own wounds either, and she hoped it wouldn't be the last. But Moira didn't look forward to.

Although Kelly was still unaccounted for, Moira's gut still told her that James was the beast. Without any real proof, though, she couldn't in good conscience kill him. She wouldn't be responsible for ending another innocent person's life. Not to mention Commander Murphy would probably execute her if she was wrong. She shook her head. If only she could find a bite mark on James, then this whole business would be over. No more people would die, she would get paid, and Lincoln could finally be on his way.

The thought of Lincoln leaving did upset her, though they'd only spent such a short amount of time together and though he was a pain in the ass. But he'd saved her life last night, and despite herself, she found he was starting to grow on her. She might even miss him for a few days after tonight. But she'd grown used to being alone over the years. Though she'd stayed in Quinn for seven years, she could still count all of her friends on one hand.

Lincoln walked into the inn and waved as he spotted her. Moira waved back then returned to her work. Lincoln stopped and conversed with Bridget for a moment before he approached Moira's table.

"How is your shoulder doing?" Lincoln asked as he took a seat.

Moira rolled her shoulder. "It's good enough."

"Any pain or loss of motion?"

Moira continued to sew. "It's still a little sore, but I've fought through worse."

Concern covered Lincoln's face. "Are you sure you don't want me to look at it?"

Moira looked at Lincoln. "Trust me, I'm fine. I'll be ready by tonight."

"If you ever need my help, just ask, all right?"

Moira was about to respond when an idea struck her. She gave her full attention to Lincoln. "Actually, there is something you could help me with," Moira said as Bridget delivered a plate of food to Lincoln.

"Really? Okay... sure. What do you need examined?"

"Not me—someone else."

Lincoln gave her a sideways glance. "All right... who, then?"

Moira leaned forwards. "James Nolan."

# Chapter 12

They didn't waste much time as Moira rushed him through the streets. Their pace only slowed once they reached James's house and a woman in uniform approached them.

"You get all the good-looking fellas, don't cha?" Sloane scowled as she looked Lincoln up and down.

Lincoln cheeks felt warmer as he reached out to shake her hand. "Why, thank you, I'm..."

"Oh," she folded her arms. "You're that Abalonian... well, I guess nobody's perfect."

Lincoln let his neglected hand drop as well as his mouth.

Moira took control of the conversation. "Lincoln, this is Sloane. She's in charge of guarding the house, and she's a friend."

"So, what is he doing here?" Sloane eyed Lincoln suspiciously.

Moira pointed to the house. "I want you to ask James if he would be willing to be examined by an Abalonian medic. If he's cleared, he gets to go free after tonight. But I really want you to stress the Abalonian part."

"Hmmmm." Sloane tapped her foot as she gave Lincoln a sideways glance. "Yeah, all right. I think that could work. Just give me a minute to talk with him."

Sloane left for the house while Lincoln whispered to Moira, "Hey... why is the Abalonian part so important?"

Moira put her arm on his shoulder and led him away and out of sight of the house. "I'm hoping that since you Abalonians know next to nothing about lycanthropy he might think you don't know what to look for and that you will be a safe bet for his freedom."

"What? I don't think that's fair. It sounds like you're saying we are a bunch of idiots!"

"You did come here looking for that information, didn't you?"

"I... I ah... Well... I um... Well, I guess that is true, isn't it?"

They stood in silence as they waited around the corner for Sloane to return.

She came back to them after a few minutes. From the grin on her face, they knew the response before she even spoke.

Moira spoke first. "He agreed?"

Sloane grinned even wider. "Oh yeah." She then motioned for him to follow her.

Moira grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Remember what I told you." Lincoln nodded and followed Sloane to the house.

Lincoln walked up to the door alone. He knocked on the door and waited. It was only a few seconds before the door opened.

James stared Lincoln in the eye and held the door open for him. "Come in." Lincoln stepped into the dark interior of the house, and James quickly closed it behind him. He then began undoing his belt.

"Wait!"

James hesitated. "What?"

Lincoln motioned to his surroundings. "I need to examine you somewhere with more light, and upstairs preferably."

The other man gave him a puzzled look. "Why the hell upstairs?"

"You don't want anyone else seeing you, do you?"

James glanced at a nearby window. "No, no, don't want that." Holding his pants up, he ascended the stairs. "Just make this quick."

Lincoln followed him up the stairs. They made their way to a small room on the east side of the house.

"Is this good enough?" James asked.

"Sure, there's fine." Lincoln replied as he walked over to the window. He opened the blinds, allowing the room to fill with sunlight. He briefly scanned the tree outside for Moira. Even though he didn't see her, he was confident that she was there somewhere, watching them. Lincoln stepped away from the window and instructed James to disrobe. He didn't watch him as he did so; instead, Lincoln examined the collection of bottles the man kept in this room.

There were many of them displayed along the walls, most of which Lincoln had never heard of. He picked up a few bottles to examine. Haymill Whiskey, Kilburn Brew, O'Brien's. Sorting through the bottles, Lincoln did find one from his home country. The bottle was from a brewery called Fairstables. He was studying the horse on the label when he was interrupted. "Do you like my collection?" James asked, standing in his underwear.

"It's very interesting. I've never heard of most of these." Lincoln put the bottle back where he found it.

James shrugged. "They're from here and there. I try to get my hands on whatever I can."

Lincoln motioned for him to step forwards. "Can you step in front of the window for me, please?"

James stepped into the light and stood there scratching his short red beard.

Lincoln then instructed him to turn around. James complied.

Lincoln frowned, this wasn't the man or the creature that had attacked them last night. First of all, the man didn't seem to recognize him when he opened the door. Moira did say that he wouldn't retain the wounds that they inflicted on him last night, but the man in front of him was in great condition; he had only a few small scars to speak of. And that was the most condemning evidence of all, none of the scars were bites.

Satisfied, Lincoln told James to turn back around.

James turned to face him. "Did you get a good enough look?"

"Yeah, you're cleared." Lincoln stepped forwards and held out his hand. "Thank you for your cooperation."

James shook his hand. "Oh, no problem. I drop my pants everyday anyways."

Lincoln left the man alone in the room as he found his own way out of the house.

# Chapter 13

The plan was simple. Lincoln would examine James in front of a window on the east side of the house while Moira hid in the tree and would be a third eye for Lincoln. She hid amongst the thick foliage of the tree's leaves. She got close enough to the outside of the tree to see the examination but was cautious not to break her cover.

The blinds in a second-storey window burst open, revealing Lincoln as he allowed light into the room. She could swear that he was looking for her as he lingered in front of the window for a moment too long. When James finally did step in front of the window, Moira did not like what she saw. From this distance, she could see them well enough, well enough to see that James had a scar on his right hand. What she told Lincoln was only partially true, while the wounds they inflicted on him last night would be healed this morning, the wound she inflicted with her silver knife would remain a scar.

Moira drew her pistol and pointed it at the window. Her grip grew stronger as James turned around. She just needed to see the bite and it would be over.

But she never saw it.

She couldn't believe it. Sure it was possible that he might have gotten that same cut somewhere else, he did have more than just that one mark. But she was sure of it. She refused to lessen her grip. It wasn't until James began putting his clothes back on that she pulled the pistol away. Without the bite mark as proof, she couldn't risk killing an innocent man. And if it was him, he would be dead tonight anyway, she would make sure of it.

Moira left her perch and went to rejoin Lincoln and Sloane. Lincoln, like her, was unhappy with the result. Sloane, on the other hand, seemed overjoyed regardless.

"So how did it go?"

Lincoln shook his head. "It's not him."

Sloane's mood dampened slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm sure the commander would be glad to hear it." She smiled again. "And I'm just happy I get to go back to my regular shift. Glad I could help."

Moira stopped her before she could leave. "Could you do one more favour for me?"

Sloane nodded. "Sure."

"Can you ask Commander Murphy to keep all of the guards inside the walls tonight?"

Sloane seemed puzzled by the request but agreed anyway.

Left alone together, Moira and Lincoln stood in the street for a few seconds before Lincoln spoke. "So what do we do now?"

Moira shrugged. "We sleep until tonight."

Lincoln nodded as they began walking back to The Midnight Hour.

As they both unlocked their doors, Moira stopped Lincoln before he entered his room.

"Is everything all right?" Lincoln asked.

"It's just... I wanted to thank you for all of your help the past few days."

Lincoln smiled. "No thanks necessary. I paid you, remember?"

Moira smiled and she hugged him. Lincoln was caught off guard by the sudden act of affection but quickly returned the gesture.

"No matter what happens tonight, I want you to know I consider you a friend." Moira said as she let go of Lincoln and backed away to her door as she carefully dropped Lincoln's door key into her coat pocket.

"It's good to hear you say that." Lincoln opened his mouth to say something else but thought better of it. "I'll see you again, later tonight."

Moira nodded and flashed him a sad smile as she entered her room and hoped that Lincoln wouldn't try to lock his door behind him.

# Chapter 14

Lincoln wouldn't like this, but she had to do it for both their sakes.

Waking up early, Moira rushed to get ready. Having slept in her clothes, she only had to grab her equipment before she left. Moira opened her door slowly and crept into the hall. Carefully closing the door behind her, she pulled out her stolen key. She locked Lincoln's door as quietly as she could in the hopes that the sound wouldn't rouse him from his sleep.

She held her breath as the lock clicked. Holding her hand against the door, Moira waited for a response. When none came, she let out a long slow breath but stayed motionless. She lingered there, letting the guilt gnaw at her before pulling herself away. Adopting her usual stride, she left Lincoln behind. As she entered the inn, she stopped and waited to talk to Bridget.

"Heading out, are you?" She peeked around the entrance to the rooms. "Where's Lincoln?"

Moira held up Lincoln's room key. "He's to stay in his room for the night." She slipped it back into her pocket. "Quinn's orders."

Bridget tossed her chin up. "Umph. About time he did something about that man. He was bound to get himself killed running around out there."

Her first stop was at the town's butcher shop, where she picked up her usual order of discarded pig parts, which she wrapped up in her white blood-stained sheet. Next was leaving the town's front gate. She waited for the front gates to be opened for her, the gruesome package slung over her shoulder. The guard on duty wished her luck as she left and disappeared into the forest; the gates closed behind her.

She was stalking through the forest when she stopped dead in her tracks. She spun around as she scanned her surroundings. She didn't see anything, but she couldn't help feeling like she was being watched.

She looked to the sky. She was running out of time.

As much as she wanted to make sure she wasn't being followed, Moira couldn't afford to. Instead, she called out into the illuminated forest.

"Is anyone there?" Moira waited for a response but was only rewarded with silence. She frowned, shaking her head. Moira strode forward at a quickened pace.

It only took a few minutes for her to reach her destination. Arriving at a wall of brush, Moira peered behind her before moving towards the tangled leaves. Carefully prying the branches apart, she slid silently through the blockade into a ring ensnared by overgrowth.

She stepped out into the clearing and dropped her package onto the ground. Stepping over to a tree, Moira placed her equipment against it. She hung her hat and coat on a branch above them before she returned to her package. She dumped the contents of the bundle onto the ground and draped the blanket over her shoulders as she took off her clothes, leaving her wearing nothing but the sheet itself. The sheet helped stave off the cold as she knelt in the clearing, as she had done many nights before. As the full moon bathed her in its light, Moira waited.

# Chapter 15

Lincoln woke in the afternoon. Still groggy, he pulled himself out of bed and began getting ready.

He wasn't thrilled to face the beast once again, but he had come too far to give up now.

Buckling his belt around his waist, Lincoln headed for the door. He turned the knob, but it stopped short of opening.

He tried it again; it still didn't open.

He didn't remember locking his door earlier, but he sighed and reached for the key in his coat pocket.

He was jolted awake as he fished and patted his pocket looking for the key he'd left there. Lincoln searched his other pockets and the floor of his room in search of his missing key. Finding nothing, he turned his attention to getting help.

Lincoln pounded on his door and yelled for assistance.

He waited a minute, but no one came.

Lincoln slumped to the floor with his back to the door. He clawed at his scalp as he tried to remember where he had the key last. He recalled unlocking his door earlier, but he couldn't quite remember if he'd locked it afterwards. Lincoln growled in frustration. If he didn't lock it then someone else would have had to, but who? His head sprang out of his hands as he remembered Moira's unexpected embrace.

"Damn her!" He slammed his fist into the floorboards. How dare she lock him in here! His blood boiled as he pushed himself to his feet.

His eyes searched the room looking for a target to unleash his fury upon but instead settled on the window. He rushed over and pushed the window open, eyeing the tree outside.

Lincoln climbed into the window frame and shut his eyes. After counting to three, he leapt, pushing off the windowsill as he reached for the tree branches. His heart pounded as he grabbed hold of one of the tree's limbs before he lost his grip and fell towards the earth below.

The landing was softened by the rain-soaked soil surrounding the tree's trunk. The wind left him as the pain found him. Sprawled out on the ground, he lay there a few seconds before he could begin moving again. He found he had no broken limbs, which he was very thankful for, as he got to his feet and began walking off the pain.

Moira had locked his door for a reason, but Lincoln couldn't fathom why. Was she trying to keep him safe? But he was the one who had saved her life last night. So why the hell would she face the beast alone?

Lincoln banished the thoughts from his head. He didn't care what her reason was, if she even had one, he would be there tonight whether she wanted him or not. But he would have to do it in secret, or else Moira would probably have him detained by the guard or something.

The problem was, he had no idea where she was, so he decided to go where he knew she would be.

He didn't wait long outside the town gates before Moira arrived. He had concealed himself in the forest's brush waiting for her, and now that she had arrived, Lincoln's curiosity was piqued.

He wondered at the contents of her bundle as he followed behind her. Her sight was compromised, but her other senses were not, so he made sure to keep as far away from her as he could without losing her.

He was caught by surprise when she stopped suddenly. He ducked behind a tree and covered his mouth to mask his breathing. He sat there silently even when she called out to him, even though a small part of him wanted to reveal himself to her, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had to know where she was going and what she was doing with her package.

He waited until he heard her footsteps continue before he crept after her.

He followed her as she approached a tangled mess of foliage. Quickly ducking behind the nearest tree, Lincoln peeked around the trunk as Moira disappeared into the wall of greenery. Scurrying over the brush, Lincoln found the clearing as he peered past the veil.

He was concerned by what she was doing at first. She left her guns, coat, and especially her hat on a tree, poured the pig parts on the ground, and then wrapped herself in the sheet. It wasn't until she began removing her other clothes that he became enthralled.

He didn't see anything of her, not really, except for Moira's thin body silhouetted through the sheet and the few glimpses of her skin he caught as the edges of the fabric were snatched at by the lustful breeze.

The nausea of guilt and disgust he felt were drowned out by the flood of heat. His fingers dug into the rough bark as sweat stung his eyes; he didn't dare blink lest he miss a moment of her. He had always found her attractive, dispute her injury, and his pulse raced faster with every new piece she stripped off herself, the blanket threatening to slip off her shoulders. It wasn't until she was finished and was carefully organizing her discarded clothing that he chose to leave. He couldn't bear the thought of revealing himself to her now, even if she did get in trouble. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree as Moira knelt in the clearing facing him. Once Lincoln's blood had cooled, he slowly began creeping away when a wheeze made him glance back.

Moira doubled over. She gasped as she rocked on her knees, letting out moans and grunts of pain as tears streamed down her cheeks, glinting in the moonlight.

Lincoln froze as he watched her.

Moira's sheet slipped off her shoulders. Lincoln couldn't believe his eyes.

On Moira's right shoulder, accompanied by the fresh scars of the previous night, was the unmistakable mark of a creature's jaws. He sat there horrified at his discovery but also amazed that she could survive such an ordeal. He was overwhelmed. Conflicting feelings went to war in his mind as he tried to make sense of everything. All the while, he continued to watch Moira with intense fascination.

Lincoln knew what was happening to her before he saw it. Before he saw her bones begin to reshape themselves under her skin. Before Moira's pained expression distorted into the snouted visage of a beast. Before her agonizing breaths turned to growls.

It was both terrible and beautiful to behold, both terrifying and morbidly interesting to Lincoln as he watched her metamorphosis into the form of a lycanthrope.

When the process was done, the creature formally known to Lincoln as Moira consumed the offerings she had left herself in a frenzy. Upon finishing her gruesome meal, she bolted off into the forest, leaving behind the sheet she had quickly outgrown.

Lincoln didn't know what to do. He sat there for a time as he contemplated what he had seen.

Should he turn her in?

Would they believe him?

Do they already know what she was?

Lincoln's thoughts turned to the information Moira had given him the first day they met. He couldn't understand why a werewolf would tell him how to hunt one. Unless she didn't. His fear turned to anger as he considered her motives and how she'd locked him in his room to protect her secret.

How much of what she'd told him was a lie?

He had to report her, but what reason would they have to believe him?

Lincoln stood. He slowly approached Moira's belonging. There had to be something there that would prove his accusation. His attention turned to her hat and her eye patch. She was never found without both those items in her possession. As compelling as the patch would be as evidence, Moira had replacements for those, but the hat was one of a kind.

Lincoln snatched the well-worn wedge-shaped hat and hurried back to the town gates.

# Chapter 16

Moira never did get used to the change. Despite the fact that she'd experienced it many times over the years, it still pained her to go through the process. At least she could tolerate the pain more than before.

After enduring the hellish experience of having her body broken and reshaped, she curbed her hunger for flesh by consuming the swine parts she had lain down before her. She would have to repeat the process for the next two nights. After finishing her meal, she used her newly enhanced sense of smell to seek out her foe.

It was difficult for her to fight through the haze of instincts that fought to control her, but she wrestled what control of her body she could from the _other_ that attempted to consume her will.

She caught the scent of the usual mixture of odours common with the nights before, but what really confused her was the awfully strong scent of Lincoln she detected. Was it because of how new he was that he stuck out to her, or was it her proximity to him early in the day? Moira disregarded the question as she picked up what she was looking for. It was faint, but it was fresh; her counterpart had arrived. Moira focused her efforts towards pursuing the scent as she reverted to running on all fours and bounded off to start the hunt.

# Chapter 17

Lincoln stood at the door of Ryan Quinn's house with Moira's hat clutched in his hand, waiting for the door to open. He leaned against the doorframe as he caught his breath. He pounded on the door. Time was dragging on longer than he could bear.

"What the hell is..." Ryan swung the door open and threw on his smile as he spotted Lincoln. "Oh, Mr Clarke, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this night?" Ryan's façade faded as he spotted the hat clutched between his hands. "What happened?"

Lincoln passed him the hat. "There is something you should know."

# Chapter 18

The other creature didn't get far before Moira caught up to it. With her increased speed and tracking abilities, finding it was easy.

Moira slowed as she approached it, trying to get as close as possible without scaring it off.

Just like her, the other werewolf seemed to sense her too.

The two beasts met each other amongst the trees, farther up the river from Quinn.

Moira's black fur shone in the moon's light in contrast with the other creature's dull reddish brown.

The other beast seemed curious about her. Moira didn't make any moves, as it slowly approached her. She noticed the realization dawning on her opponent as it recognized her identity.

The beast uttered a low snarl and bared its teeth.

Moira did the same as she crouched low, ready to begin the skirmish.

Moira attacked first. What she lacked in size and strength compared to her enemy, she made up for in experience and speed.

The two beasts fought like the animals they resembled as they slashed and bit each other.

Knowing she couldn't match the creature's size, Moira relied on her long front limbs to slash into its neck and stomach as she danced around it.

Her opponent, on the other hand, fought like a rabid beast. Slashing with abandon, it tried to overwhelm her with its attacks and size. It constantly tried to rush and grab her, snapping with its massive jaws.

Moira was taken by surprise as it leapt at her. Unable to escape, she slashed at it.

The creature pulled her into its embrace, and they tumbled to the ground as they fought.

Moira focused exclusively on her opponent's stomach as she dug into it. It tore into her back with its teeth and claws.

In the end, Moira won out. She opened a sizable hole in its gut. The creature kicked her away.

The two looked at each other as they calculated their chances and caught their breath. Their wounds were already beginning to heal.

Moira was in bad shape. Blood ran from her arms and back. Her adversary didn't have as many wounds as she did, but the ones it did have were substantial. Its neck was slashed in addition to the opening in its gut.

Moira would fight to the death, but the same couldn't be said about her foe. Deciding that it didn't like its chances, it turned and ran when Moira began her attack again.

As much as Moira would like to stop and lick her wounds, she couldn't allow the other beast to escape. If it returned to Quinn, there was a chance it would expose her. If it fled the town, it would be free to terrorize the countryside.

It had to end here.

Climbing the cliff along the river, Moira gained on her slower enemy and jumped on its back as they reached the top.

She was only on it for a second before it stopped and threw her off its back.

Moira landed against the large boulders that jutted out of the lip of the cliff like teeth.

Realizing that it couldn't escape her, the other werewolf turned to her, determined to end the fight. So was Moira.

Getting to her feet, Moira stood to wait, framed by the large rocks surrounding her.

The beast charged. It snarled as it slammed into her, driving them both to the edge of the cliff.

Moira hooked her claws into its wounded gut and pulled as she fell off the edge.

The beast braced itself against the stones in an attempt to keep from falling.

Aided by gravity, Moira ripped at her opponent as she fell towards the river below.

The beast screamed as Moira's claws tore free, spilling its gut.

Moira knew the injury wouldn't kill the beast immediately, and it would suffer greatly. But the threat would end, and that was what mattered to her most. She closed her eye and basked in the warmth of her victory as she plunged into the frigid water below.

She emerged naked in her human form as she pulled herself out of the water further down the river.

Carefully but quickly, she ran through the forest, avoiding several of the farms that surrounded Quinn as she rushed to the clearing.

She laughed to herself as she stood in front of her gear, snatching each piece one after the other. Her mouth hung open and her laugh died in her throat when she noticed the absence of her hat.

# Chapter 19

The loss of her hat was incredibly upsetting for Moira as she resumed her usual morning routine. Worry seeped into her mind as she thought about the possible ramifications from last night.

If her hat was stolen by someone last night, not only would she possibly never see one of her most treasured possessions again, it was possible that whoever took it had also discovered her secret.

She felt sick just thinking about the possibility of being exposed. If she even managed to escape with her life, having to flee the place she'd made her home for the last seven years scared her. But she couldn't risk getting caught. As much as she wanted to find the bastard who stole her hat, she valued living more.

Her mind made up, Moira left her table and ate the last of her breakfast as she left to her room. Luckily for her, she didn't have a lot of possessions. The only things she really owned were the things she needed to do her job, and those required her to travel light anyway.

As she left her room and loaded up her gear, she paused by Lincoln's door.

She'd forgotten about him this whole time. She pulled both their room keys out of her pocket and quickly unlocked the door. Not wanting to face him, Moira hurried down the stairs into the inn. She stopped in her tracks as she spotted Commander Murphy with six of his men.

The guards were fully equipped but kept their weapons aimed at the roof of the building. The commander held Moira's stolen hat in his hands.

Dread hammered Moira, but she kept calm as she slowly set both of the keys on the bar for Bridget to collect.

"Going somewhere?" Murphy asked, still standing with his men.

Moira stopped at the bar and turned to them. "I'm just going out."

He raised an eyebrow. "With all of that?" He pointed to her equipment.

She shrugged. "You never know what you might need out there."

He smiled. "In that case..." He held the hat out for her. "You might want to take this with you as well."

Moira slowly approached and accepted her hat from him. "Where did you find it?"

"It was given to me, courtesy of your friend Lincoln Clarke."

Moira's heart sank. No wonder she smelt his scent so strongly last night. He was there with her. She felt violated as she thought about how long he might have been there watching her.

"Why are you here? I know you didn't bring these men here just to deliver this to me."

Bridget spoke up. "What is this about, Hugh?"

The commander clasped his hands behind his back. "Mr Clarke has levied accusations against Moira here."

Moira's expression darkened as Bridget's voice filled with concern. "What is it? What do you think she's done?"

The commander raised a clenched fist. The guards lowered their weapons, aiming directly at Moira.

Murphy growled, "You are to be detained on suspicion of lycanthropy!" His fist wavered menacingly, threating to drop for the slightest reason.

Moira stood silently as two of the guards approached her and relieved her of her weapons. Bridget was left speechless upon hearing the charge.

Murphy continued. "You are to be escorted under guard to your holding. If you choose to defy my orders," he motioned to the multiple guns and bayonets pointed at her, "we will not hesitate to kill you." His voice inherited a dangerous tone as he announced the threat.

Moira didn't resist as they surrounded her and led her out into the street.

She was marched to the town's jail, where she was placed in a cell by herself, designed for just this occasion. Normally she would be accompanied by a firing squad ordered to execute her if she started to change, but instead she was left alone. She was tied to a chair in the centre of the room and deprived of her coat and hat.

It was only a short few minutes before she was visited by Ryan Quinn, accompanied by the commander.

The commander moved behind her as Ryan stood in front of her.

"I'm sorry about all of this." Ryan looked around the cell. "But these accusations against you are serious." He looked her in the eye. "And the evidence is compelling."

Moira looked up at him. "What evidence? My hat?" She said mockingly.

Murphy replied. "We have an eyewitness that claims to have seen you turn last night, and he brought us your hat as proof of that. Then there's the fact that you seem to have an issue with anyone carrying silver weapons. And..." He walked up behind her and yanked the neck of her shirt over her right shoulder, revealing her scars. "Most damning of all, the bite from a werewolf."

Moira sat defiantly without saying a word as Ryan closed his eyes and turned away from her. "Aw shit." He rubbed his hand against his face as he turned around to face her again. "Please tell me that's not what it looks like."

Moira said sadly. "It's from a bear."

"Pfft," Murphy scoffed at her lie from behind her.

Ryan crouched in front of her and pulled the shirt back to cover the scars. "If it's any consolation, I believe you."

"You have to be joking."

Ryan glared at him. He puffed out his chest as he rose to full height. "If I wanted your opinion, Commander, I would have asked for it!" His voice boomed as it bounced around the sparse cell.

The commander became silent and turned his gaze to the floor as Ryan returned his focus to Moira.

"If you believe me, let me go," Moira pleaded.

Ryan stood up and took a step away from her. "I can't do that, but just get through tonight and I'll have you freed immediately."

Moira begged, "Please, just let me go."

He shook his head. "Once everyone sees you haven't turned into a beast, this will be the end of it. You know how people are. If I released you now, rumour would start—and there'd be a whole matter of business I would rather avoid." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, eh? Everything's going to be fine."

His words gave her no comfort. She failed to meet his gaze.

Ryan signalled the commander to leave. "We'll post a guard on the door. Just let them know if you need anything."

Moira kept silent.

Ryan made for the door. "I'll see you again in the morning. All right?"

"Sure," Moira replied as the door closed behind them.

Moira sat alone with her thoughts for a time until they were disrupted by the cell door opening.

"And here I was thinking I was done guarding suspects."

Moira lifted her head to see Sloane smiling in the doorway to her cell.

Moira smiled. "You can release me if you want."

Sloane shook her head. "I would, but if I did that, then they would lock me up!" She chuckled. "And then some poor sod would have to look after me all day. I couldn't do that to them."

Moira shrugged. "At least it's only for today."

"Thank goodness for that." She tilted her head to the side. "So did you hear about James Nolan?"

Moira's interest was piqued. "What about him?"

"He was late for duty this morning. The guys sent to collect him found him dead, butt naked in his home on the basement steps this morning. A hole was smashed from the sewer into his basement. The poor bastard bled to death from a h—"

Moira interrupted her, "A hole in his gut."

Sloane was surprised by her interruption, but a sly look covered her face as she caught on. "Your handy work, I presume?"

"Never mind that. Did you find any bites on him?"

Sloane shrugged. "They didn't find anything. Other than the wound in his gut and a few small scars here and there."

Moira was confused. She was caught between the satisfaction of being correct all along and the bewildering nature of her unanswered questions.

If he wasn't bit, how had James contracted lycanthropy?

How had Lincoln discovered her secret?

She also wondered where Kelly was, even though she was certain that he was dead, hidden somewhere in the forest. But none of these questions mattered now. What she needed to focus at this moment was how she was going to get out of this place alive. Escaping the cell would be easy.

The room was built by people who didn't understand the curse like she did. The large window located to her left of her was used to expose the prisoner to moonlight, it was a common misconception, and not one she was going to dispel anytime soon. Moira knew she would turn, with or without the light. She could even turn at will now that she'd lived with the curse for so long. But the window would provide an excellent escape route for her nonetheless.

It was getting through the town and past the outer wall that was the problem. Although she could try escaping now, she didn't dare. In broad daylight and with the guards now armed with silver-based weapons, it would be suicide!

She had to wait for the cover of night if she stood any hope of leaving alive. But her troubles didn't stop there. If she did manage against all odds to escape the town, she would be left with nothing to her name. No money, no weapons, no clothes, and with her identity exposed. Her days amongst civilized company were numbered.

Moira prepared for her escape as Sloane left the cell and took her post.

# Chapter 20

The rain fell on Lincoln as he sauntered through Quinn's streets.

He was in no rush to see Moira again, but as awkward as the situation might be, he was compelled to visit Moira in her holding cell. Lincoln had questions that needed to be answered and maybe a grievance or two to air.

He had to ask twice for directions to where she was being held as he dodged in and out of the rain, but he made it there, although a little later than he would have liked.

He took off his coat as he entered the building. There wasn't a whole lot of activity happening inside. Two guards were conversing nearby, and a few others passed him as they travelled through the building to some unknown destination.

Lincoln approached the conversing guards and asked them for directions.

Lincoln followed their instructions as he traversed the grey stone structure. As he rounded the last corner, he saw a familiar face.

Sloane spotted him first. "You're here to see Moira are you?"

He nodded. "Is she allowed visitors?"

Sloane unlocked the large metal door. "Sure is." She pushed the door open and approached him. "I'll be around. Just yell if you need anything."

"Sure, thanks."

As he walked towards the open door, he noticed a bundle of belongings tucked away close by. He easily recognized it as Moira's. It looked as if it contained most of her clothes and her weapons, amongst other things. It was probably left there for her when they thought she would be freed in the morning, but Lincoln knew that wasn't going to happen.

He walked into the cell and closed the door behind him. The cell was basically a large stone box lacking in any sort of decoration, except the large window.

Seeing her in such a sorry state curbed his anger, but not completely.

Moira didn't look at him or say a word.

"I wasted three days here because of you."

She still did nothing.

"I came to you for help, and all you've done is lie to me!" He pulled out his notebook. "All of this is useless to me now. How am I to know that any of this is true or not?"

Moira responded without looking at him. "I didn't lie to you."

Lincoln's anger began to rise again. "Oh really? I know that you're from Kilmore, not Brinn like you said. And I also know you're a bloody werewolf." He pointed the book at her. "Now tell me why the hell would a werewolf tell anyone how to kill one!"

She kept her gaze firmly on the ground. "You said you wanted to save lives. That's why I do this. To save lives."

"Bullshit!" Lincoln threw the book against the wall near the door. "You shot that man who got bit, and I assume you killed James Nolan as well. Sure, James, I understand, but why kill Kaleb?"

"He would have ended up just like James."

"Because he would have been a werewolf?" Lincoln asked.

"Yes."

"Well, so are you! Why did he die, but you got to live? You

damn hypocrite. What makes you so special?"

Moira's head sprang up, her teary eye meeting his. Tears fell as her hurt turned to rage. Lincoln took a step back when she yelled.

"I'm not one of them! Don't you dare talk like you know anything about me. You have no idea what I've had to endure. What I've done over the years!" She gripped the edge of her seat and strained against her bindings. "I lived here for years and I've never hurt anyone."

"If that's true, why didn't you tell them that?"

Moira looked at him like he was an idiot.

"Have you forgotten where we are? This is what happens when people find out the truth. You either get the choice to die, or you can be hunted for the rest of your life! All of this is your fault! I don't deserve this!" She shook her head. "You can't honestly say that you've never told someone a lie to protect yourself?"

Lincoln honestly couldn't. Worse still, he told lies to protect his self-image, not to keep himself alive. He felt foolish. But how did he know she wasn't still lying to him. He's only been here for almost four days now! How was he supposed to know if any of this was true?

Lincoln's mind waged a savage civil war as Sloane came bursting through the door.

"Eh! What is all this commotion about?" she said, looking between them as she caught her breath.

Moira responded, "Don't worry about it. He's leaving now." She gave Lincoln a hard look.

Sloane opened the door for him. "You heard her. Time to go."

Lincoln still said nothing as he stormed out of the cell with Sloane following behind him.

The rain had only intensified during his stay. It soaked into his soul as he stomped outside. His shoulder slumped as he wandered the vacant streets, but it wasn't his waterlogged clothes that weighed them down.

"Urrrghhhaaa!" Lincoln yelled as he kicked an abandoned bucket, spilling its collection of rain as it bounced down the stone road. He had gone there for answers, not to be tormented with questions.

He couldn't make sense of any of this. The tips she supplied him seemed to ring true, but she'd lied about herself. Why tell the truth about one and lie about the other? Especially considering who and what she was. But wasn't she entitled to her secrets? He'd told his fair share of them. He slept with a lord's virgin daughter once, Lady Mallory was her name. He still couldn't believe that he convinced them he was just giving her a medical examination. Lincoln chuckled at the memory but quickly stopped as he let out a long sigh.

He waffled between guilt and suspicion as he continued his journey, but he settled on feeling ill as he cast his view to the darkened sky above.

Night was fast approaching.

# Chapter 21

It was almost time.

The strange but familiar sensation nagged at the fringes of her mind.

She had felt this sensation many times before, and although she dreaded the act, she hoped to experience it tomorrow night and many nights after.

Moira took a slow deep breath as quietly as she could in preparation.

She was luckier than she could have hoped. Sloane was too busy socializing with her would-be executioners for them to keep track of the time, allowing her the precious seconds of privacy.

Her luck didn't end there. The evening's rain had persisted into the night as the second phase of the full moon began.

Agony shot through her as the moon peeked over the rooftops, and the curse ravaged her body.

She didn't dare make a noise as was reshaped, in fear of alerting her captives. She bit the inside of her mouth to suppress a scream.

She heard the group laugh as the coppery taste filled her mouth, and her clothes began tearing at the seams. She barely noticed when the strap of her eye patch snapped against her skin.

The sounds of her clothes obliterating silenced the crowd outside.

Her expanding body fought painfully against her bonds, as they constricted her growth.

Using her morphing limps, she cut through the belt around her waist.

She stood with the chair still tied with the fraying rope as she heard the sounds of boots rushing towards her.

Reaching towards her chest with her elongated limbs. Moira tore the rope apart as Sloane burst through the door.

"Oh my God!"

Sloane stood in the doorway in shock and disbelief as guards pushed past her.

Hunger plagued her mind. Intense cravings bid her to feast, but she refused as she struggled to regain control of her body.

The guards were noticeably shaken as they formed a desperate firing line. Moira struck as the first guard tried to bring their gun to bear. She lashed out with a massive backside of her hand. The guard was slammed into the wall of the cell as Moira turned her attention to the other guards to the left of her. They're weapons discharged into the ceiling as Moira drove her shoulder into them. She sent them flying to the back of the cell with a sweep of her left arm. Sloane stood unmoved, frozen, and pale as she stared at the creature before her.

Moira wasted no time. She threw herself through the window. The wooden frame broke and glass shattered, slicing her skin. She slammed into the street two storeys below. The rain soaked into her fur as she began her escape.

# Chapter 22

He forgot his notebook.

If there was any chance that she was telling him the truth, he needed that notebook back. Lincoln had stupidly discarded it in his anger, and now he would have to face Moira a second time to retrieve it.

He hurried through the rain-soaked streets. He was nearing the building that held her when he heard the muffled sound of a gun firing. He froze as he looked towards the window of her cell. In spite of everything, he couldn't help but feel saddened at the sound of her execution.

The feeling was short lived as the beastly form of Moira burst through the window, showering the street beneath her in debris. Moira landed on all fours with a heavy _thump_. Lincoln stood in disbelief as Moira bolted through the streets.

It wasn't long before the sound of gunshots and screams filled the streets. Lincoln ignored the chaos as he continued towards the building. A column of armed guards passed by in pursuit.

He was surprised when he entered Moira's cell. He expected to find carnage but instead found Sloane and three other guards. The window was smashed outwards, allowing the wind to sweep rain into the room. Remnants of Moira's clothes were scattered around her chair, alongside the destroyed rope. Sloane was tending to the injured as Lincoln entered the room. Quickly spotting his discarded notebook, Lincoln strode over and picked it up off the floor and slid it into the pocket of his coat.

Guilt erupted in Lincoln's gut. The men were barely touched! Other then a few bruises, there were no visible injuries to speak of. He expected to see lacerations at least, if not a full-on mauling. Lincoln felt ashamed of himself. Moira was right. He couldn't fix this, but he had to try to help her escape at least.

He turned to leave when he spotted Moira's gear. He turned back into the cell and retrieved the broken eye patch. He then returned to the bundle. Swinging the blunderbuss over his shoulder, Lincoln haphazardly carried the heavy package into the streets as he hurried to find Moira.

# Chapter 23

Moira had no idea where to go. She couldn't recognize her surroundings as she tried to fight for clarity in her scattered mind. Panic mixed with bloodlust as she ran through the stone labyrinth, her pursuers close behind.

She stuck primarily to the back alleys. They may be more linear then she preferred, but the guards patrolled the main roads. Yells and gunfire erupted as she burst out of one alley only to vanish into another.

A guard stood near the end of this alley, arguing with a pair of workers trying to move crates out of the rain. She couldn't go backwards, so she sprinted ahead towards the unsuspecting crowd.

The guard noticed her first. He scrambled to bring his weapon to bear as one worker stood frozen beside him. The other man ran to safety.

He pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Moira continued to rush towards the two men as the guard cursed and swore, throwing the useless, rain-soaked weapon to the ground. He attempted to draw his blade but was too late as Moira barrelled into him. She stopped as her momentum sent the man into the surrounding barrels. The worker continued to stare as she towered over him. Her instincts told her to tear him apart, to howl fear into the hearts of her hunters, but she refused. Ignoring her temptations, Moira bounded off in search of freedom, leaving the worker dumbstruck in her wake.

Once again she entered the main streets, and once again she disappeared into the alleys. She rushed down the end of her path and made a left turn down the only way available to her.

She was greeted by a dozen guards headed towards her. They didn't wait for a formation before using their weapons. Those with powder dry enough to ignite fired at her. Those without fixed their bayonets forwards, letting out a battle cry as they rushed to meet her.

Moira retreated to the alley behind her as small silver rounds fractured against the walls. She was still alone here, but her pursuers were fast approaching from both sides. Moira panicked as she searched for her escape. The buildings that surrounded her were vacant of doors and windows and too sheer to climb unaided, but the tree that occupied the alley looked strong.

Climbing the thick tree, Moira lunged at the lowest building. She used her clawed hands to find purchase on its roof. Hoisting her weight upwards, she perched on the building before carefully peering over into the street on the other side. Finding it clear of anyone, Moira softly dropped herself to the ground. Cries of battle turned to shouts of confusion behind her as she snuck back into the town's alleys.

With the shouts of patrols far from her, Moira stopped. Closing her eye, she tried to calm herself. She couldn't sneak out in her beastly form, but she might be able to in her human one. She took several deep breaths as she felt her body begin to change back. She cupped her hand over her mouth as her bones snapped and reshaped themselves into her original form.

Naked, Moira ducked into another back alley as the guards searched for her. Next, she went in search of clothing. If her luck continued, she would be able to slip out of the city. She came across some dirty laundry left out in the rain near a washbasin. She hurried over to her prize. The clothes were soaked and dirty, but they were better than nothing. Moira slipped on a pair of pants. They weren't tailored to her form like her old clothes, but the wet fabric made them cling to her skin despite the ill fit.

Grabbing a length of clothesline, Moira tied the rope around her waist as a makeshift belt and tucked the excess rope into her pants. She was pulling on a loose-fitting shirt when she heard the familiar _click_ of a gun's hammer being pulled back. She froze for an instant with the shirt above her head. Moira then slowly finished donning the shirt before turning around.

# Chapter 24

Finding her was a lot easier than he initially thought.

The yells of the guards hunting her kept him informed of her location for a majority of the chase, but the real challenge was when they lost her, but even then he just had to search everywhere the guards were not.

He dropped his heavy package at his feet. He didn't know how she would act once she had been discovered. Would she trust him? Would she be hostile? To err on the side of caution, Lincoln swung Moira's blunderbuss over his shoulder and brought the weapon to bear on her. She heard the sound of the weapon despite the rain, and Lincoln saw Moira's movements slow as she pulled the stolen shirt down, obscuring Lincoln's view of her back. She slowly turned to face him. Her wet hair clung to her face as her eye and an empty socket stared at him. Lincoln didn't lower the weapon.

Lincoln almost whispered as he spoke first. "I went back to your cell. I saw what you did to those guards."

"Are they all right?" The darkness and rain hindered his ability to read her expression, but the concern was obvious in her voice.

Lincoln lowered the weapon. "Some bumps and bruises, but nothing some rest can't cure." Moira let out a breath of relief as he leaned the weapon against the wall. Lincoln gathered her belongings and moved towards her.

Moira made no attempt to flee or to attack him as he approached.

"What are you doing?" Moira asked, giving him a sideways glance as she slowly reached to pick her boots off the top of the pile.

"What do you mean?" Lincoln stood holding her belongings as Moira slipped her dirty feet into her boots.

"Why are you helping me?" Moira grabbed the holsters next.

"I think that you're a good person that's just trying to make the most of a bad situation. I wronged you. I can't fix what happened, but I can try to help you however I can." Lincoln dropped his head. "I'm sorry."

Moira gave him a sad smile as she took her hat and set it on her head. She touched his forearm. "Thank you."

Lincoln smiled back at her, but it vanished as the sound of the guards' shouting approached.

Panic engulfed Moira's face.

"Wait here." Lincoln passed Moira the rest of her belongings.

Lincoln left her, hurrying to intercept the guard. Turning the corner, he almost bumped into the other man. Lincoln held up his hands as the guard lifted his weapon.

"Identify yourself."

"Lincoln Clarke."

The lowered his weapon. "Abalonian?"

Lincoln nodded as he lowered his hands. "Did my accent give it away?"

"Something like that. Have you seen a woman around here?" The guard made a slashing motion across the side of his face. "She would have a large scar across her face."

Lincoln shook his head. "Sorry, I haven't seen anyone like that. And from the sounds of it, I don't think I would want to! Eh."

Lincoln let out a nervous laugh while the guard's bushy grey brow lowered.

"Hmph... thanks for the help. I would get indoors if I were you." He looked over both shoulders before adding. "Wouldn't want a stray bullet to find ya."

Lincoln snapped off a quick salute. "Will do."

The guard rolled his eyes before turning and shouting the all clear to his allies as Lincoln returned to Moira. He half expected her to run while he was distracted, but she was fully dressed and leaning against the wall near her weapon while she waited for him to return.

Lincoln walked towards her.

"That's him taken care of." He noticed her unimpressed expression. "What?"

Moira pushed off the wall. "Wouldn't want to see me, huh?"

Lincoln shrugged, "Sorry."

Moira rolled her eye as Lincoln's memory and was suddenly jolted.

"That reminds me." Lincoln pulled the broken eye patch out of his coat pocket. "I thought you might want this back. Not that you need it." He wasn't lying; her injuries didn't bother him.

Moira accepted the item. "Thank you." She inspected the broken strap. "I think I could fix this." Moira slipped the patch into her own pocket for safekeeping.

"You're welcome." Lincoln looked around the alley. "Now what?"

Moira picked up the blunderbuss and looped it over her shoulder. "Well, the walls are too tall to jump off of and are crawling with guards. They would see us coming before we would even reach the top." She was deep in thought as rain dripped from under her hat. "We could break into James's house and escape through the sewers."

"Why don't I open the front gate for you?"

The idea seemed to intrigue her. "They wouldn't be expecting me having help would they?" She turned to him. "That might work." Her expression changed. "The guards aren't going to let you just walk up and open the gate, though."

"I'll get that gate open for you," Lincoln said defiantly.

"How?"

He didn't know, but he was determined to help her. "I'll find a way. Trust me."

"Not much else we can do," she replied, sounding unconvinced. Lincoln wasn't totally convinced either.

Moira gazed around the alley. "It's better than wasting time here." She remarked as she pulled her scarf over her nose, obscuring the lower portion of her face.

Lincoln agreed. "Let's go."

Moira was genuinely surprised by Lincoln's change of heart. And she was glad for it. He might just be her ticket out of here. They held their heads down and walked quickly as they navigated the sparkling streets, shifting direction when a patrol appeared. They experienced a few close calls as they approached the front gates, but a quick dodge into cover was sufficient to keep them hidden. The near-constant shouting of the guards alerted them to their positions and kept them informed on the status of their search.

Moira moved in close to Lincoln as they tried to walk casually through the empty street. She whispered to him. "If the gates are too well protected, we head for the tunnel."

Lincoln replied. "Yes, ma'am."

They were only a few minutes away from the gate when they were spotted.

The patrol came into the street behind them.

Moira and Lincoln tried to continue as they had before, but they drew the guards' attention anyway.

"Hey, you two," they yelled after them as they walked quickly towards them. "Hey, I'm talking to you! Stop!"

"What do we do?" Lincoln asked her as they ignored the advancing guards.

Moira replied swiftly. "We run." They broke into a sprint as the guards yelled after them.

"Hey! I think we got her over here! She's not alone! They're heading for the front gate!"

They ran to the gates. There were no side streets, nowhere they could divert their course, there was only the way forwards. Their only hope was to get past the gates and continue to the tunnel before the guards could catch them.

Murphy and his guards were waiting for them. Taking position along the roads into town and on the walls, they formed a crescent shape around Moira and Lincoln.

Moira began to panic as they pointed their rifles at her. As two guards moved towards them, it only took her a split second to know what to do. To Lincoln's surprise and the guards', Moira pulled him against her and pressed a knife against his throat, retreating to safety under the cover of the gatehouse. Holding the knife with her left hand, she pulled Lincoln's pistol out of his belt with her right hand and pointed it at each guard as she frantically gazed over Lincoln's right shoulder. The advancing guards backed away from them as the commander called for the guards to hold their fire. While holding Lincoln's gun in her hand, Moira used her pinkie and ring finger to pull her scarf down from her face, allowing here voice to be heard clearly.

"Let me through the gates, or I kill him!" she yelled.

Lincoln didn't resist her, but she could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the heat off his skin, and the slight trembling in his limbs. The same trembling that entered his voice as he spoke. "What the hell are you doing?"

Moira whispered in his ear. "You wanted to open the door for me. Well, here's your chance."

"This isn't what I had in mind."

Moira pulled him closer. "Just trust me."

"You know they might shoot me, right?"

"Yeah, but they WILL shoot me!"

She felt him swallow. "Fair point."

Murphy interrupted their conversation. "There's no need for all of this. Just let him go."

More guards arrived and began taking formation. Moira noticed Flynn amongst them. He hadn't visited her during her time in the cell, and as he pointed his rifle at her now, he kept his gaze on the ground.

Tears began to trail down her cheeks. Using her shoulder, she attempted to wipe them from her face as she returned her attention to the mob gathered before her.

"You let me go, and I'll let him go."

Murphy shook his head, sending raindrops left and right. "You know we can't do that. You're a threat to everyone! You're not leaving here. Not here, not now, not on my watch."

Moira believed that he was determined to end her here and now, and with every passing second that outcome seemed likely, but she wouldn't stop trying until the bitter end. She just had to hope that they wouldn't call her on her bluff.

"No one needs to die today! Just open the gate and you'll never see me again!"

Again the commander shook his head in disagreement. "And why would I do a thing like that? So you can hide somewhere else? Terrorize some other town in secret?" He held his arms out and motioned towards the lines of guards to either side of him. "Why would I let you go when I have you right where I want you? Right at the end of two dozen rifles. Why would I let you attack more innocent people when I can put an end to your rampage here and now?" He took a step closer. "Why the hell would I do that?" Several guards voiced their agreement.

"Just let her go! She hasn't hurt anyone!" Lincoln replied as he tried to avoid contact with the edge of the knife at his throat.

Murphy was startled by his defence of Moira. "Are you mad? Have you forgotten about that knife at your throat? About her rampage through the streets? For God's sake, you're the one who condemned her in the first place!"

"I know, but I was wrong! She doesn't want to hurt anyone."

Murphy laughed. "Doesn't want to hurt anyone. Ha! People have lost their lives thanks to her!" He pointed in Moira's and Lincoln's direction. "And here she is threatening you, and you say she doesn't want to hurt anyone! Don't make me laugh!" Once again several guards agreed with their commander.

Moira replied this time. "James killed those people, not me!"

Murphy interrupted her. "And you killed him, did you not?"

Moira continued. "I did, but I did it to protect this town and its people!"

"Bullshit! You're a monster and you'll always be one!" More approval rose from the guards as Ryan Quinn burst through the firing line.

"Everyone calm down." He stood with his arms out, giving no notice to the rain soaking into his fine clothing. "There's no need for someone to die tonight."

His words encouraged her, but she was still weary of his intentions.

He turned to face Moira. "Look at yourself, Moira. Think about what you're doing! Don't make things any worse than they already are."

She did know the effect Lincoln's death could have. That was exactly why she threatened to kill him in the first place.

Moira didn't relax. "You know what would happen if I kill him! Eamon is looking for a reason, and I'll give it to him unless you let me walk out these doors!"

Lincoln chimed in. "I've heard that third time's the charm."

Moira whispered to him. "Shut it. You're not helping!" She pushed the knife against his throat for emphasis.

"Sorry." Lincoln winced.

The young voice of an anonymous guard replied. "Go ahead, we're not afraid of Abalonia. We kicked their ass two times before, and we'll happily do it again!" A couple of other young guards added to the first's sentiment with taunts of their own.

"Quiet!"

Ryan silenced them instantly with a single word. "Let Lincoln go unharmed, and I will give you till the count of three to leave once the gates are open before we open fire."

"What?" Murphy and a number of the guards standing at either side of him voiced their surprise. "If you let her go, who knows what she'll do! Think of the people who will suffer for this! The other counties!"

Ryan snapped at him. "And that will be their problem to deal with! I will not have needless bloodshed in front of my great-great-grandfather's memorial! This town is my family's legacy! And I will not have it tarnished by having a war started here!"

The commander was shaken by Ryan's outburst but remained silent. Ryan looked at Moira. "Do we have a deal?"

It wasn't ideal, but she didn't exactly have a lot of options, and this was probably the best chance she would get. She nodded behind Lincoln. "Deal... thank you."

"Do not mistake this as an act of mercy. I am letting you go to spare Mr Clarke's life. You are a beast, and you shall be dealt with as such!" His voice lacked any hint of compassion. "Everyone will be warned about you, and you will be hunted for the rest of your life."

Moira expected as much, but it would take time for news to spread. As long as she kept ahead of it, she should be all right.

She kept Lincoln close to her. "I understand."

"Good. Open the gates!" he addressed his men. "Get ready to fire on my mark!" He held three fingers out in front of him as the gates began swinging inwards and the firing squad took aim.

Adrenaline surged through her veins as she prepared herself.

She didn't wait for him to start counting, as soon as the doors were wide enough, she bolted. Throwing the pistol to the ground, Moira kicked Lincoln forwards as she turned around with her knife gripped tight in her gloved hand. She ran for the safety of the forest, careful not to slip in the mud that riddled the road before her. The sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears drowned out Ryan reaching the count of zero. It drowned out the telltale snapping of muskets and the curses of the men whose weapons misfired. It drowned out the pounding of her feet as she fled.

Pain exploded in her side as a lucky round found its mark. She staggered, but she didn't stop. She continued forwards as she disappeared into the forest, as she once again left her old life behind her.
