“Excellent,” Max affirmed to no one in particular. He went to the kitchen, poured the warmed blood into a mug and seated himself at the cracked Formica dinette table. With no time left to canvass the city, he decided to wait out daylight and start at dusk. Wherever Nathan was, he’d find him. He owed it to his friend to let him die at the hands of a vampire, not some werewolf assassin who reeked of dirt and campfire smoke. The only thing Max hated more than werewolves were hippies, and even he had a hard time telling them apart.

As the tempo of the music slowly picked up, he stood and wandered around the apartment, sipping his dinner. Everywhere he looked were books with creased spines, notebooks and scraps of paper, framed snapshots on the shelves. It was a home. Someone lived here.

He picked up one of the photos. It was a souvenir snapshot people buy at amusement parks, a freeze frame of a moment on a roller coaster, at night, of course. Never in the entire time he’d known Nathan had Max ever seen him look like he was having that much fun.

Carrie was good for him. An ache grew in Max’s chest. It would be hell on earth for her when Nathan died. Not just because of the blood tie. Whether or not they admitted it to themselves or each other, Carrie and Nathan were in love.

The constant, fevered wind-up of the song started to grate on Max’s nerves. He moved to change the track, and the floorboard creaked. Another creak echoed from the other end of the hall.

He straightened. So, it wasn’t the racing tempo of the music that set him on edge. Someone was there, lurking in the dark, empty rooms.

He hoped it was just a garden-variety prowler.

The only weapon at his immediate disposal was a wooden stake. He slipped it into his back pocket, just in case, and retrieved a knife from the kitchen. The plan was to charge in, knife waving, in full monster face. Whoever had broken in would go out the way they’d come and hopefully not break their necks on the way down the fire escape or drainpipe or whatever they’d shimmied up. He changed his face to feeding mode and ran down the hall.

Two steps into Nathan’s bedroom, a spike-heeled, leather boot caught Max in the forehead. The wicked thing cut across his face, and he stumbled back, the surprise flashing his vampire face back to human. Two more blows, a punch to the stomach and a knee to his groin forced him against the wall, doubled over, and brought the monster back to his countenance.

When he drew in a gasp of breath through his mouth and nose, he caught the spicy scent of her perfume. Werewolf. DeCesare.