All Hallows' Moon by S.M. Reine

ask you if you have homework? No. I told you to help me sort. Sit down.”
    He dropped his backpack and did what she ordered, making sure not to disturb her piles. “Why domestic violence?”
    “I got no other leads yet, so I’m working with the basics. Werewolves are often batterers,” Eleanor said by rote.
    Her husband—Seth and Abel’s father—was considered the expert on werewolves by most hunters. He had literally written the book on tracking and killing them, and he used to make everyone in the family recite passages until they had them memorized.
    Eleanor hadn’t stopped studying his work after he was killed.
    “What are we going to do for dinner?” Seth asked, separating the articles into two random piles. There wasn’t much point in reading them when he knew Rylie wasn’t a wife beater.
    His mom glanced at her watch, looking surprised to realize it was getting late. “I don’t know, and I don’t have time to worry about it. There are leftover tacos in the fridge.” They had been eating fast food for every meal since they arrived in town.
    Before Seth could say something else, Eleanor had refocused on the task at hand. She hadn’t wondered, even for a moment, why he was so late coming home. He wasn’t sure she even realized he was still going to school.
    He stared at the red pin on the Gresham ranch.
    Rylie’s aunt would notice if she was out late.
    “How long do you think this will take?” Seth asked.
    “Not long.” She finally gave him a smile. “Not long at all.”
    He pretended to sort articles for an hour, but when Abel left to go back to the ranch, Seth left too. Eleanor didn’t ask where he was going. She always hoped he would come back with something dead when he ducked out, like a good werewolf hunter should. Or maybe she just didn’t care.
    He found himself outside Rylie’s house a half hour later. Abel’s motorcycle was parked outside the barn, and the lights were on inside. He avoided his brother and went up the hill to the house instead.
    Seth watched Rylie and her aunt have dinner through the window. They were sharing beef ribs drenched in barbecue sauce, and the two of them sat close together at the table, smiling when they talked and looking happier than he could ever remember being with his own family.
    Anybody else might have thought they were completely normal—anyone who wasn’t a hunter. But Seth could sense Rylie the way he could smell trash rotting in a dumpster. All werewolves felt like that to him.
    The way she moved and looked at her aunt wasn’t normal, either. She didn’t look like she belonged in a house, a city, or anywhere near other humans.
    A rib bone almost fell off the table, and Gwyneth made a sudden motion to catch it. Rylie jerked. It was a small gesture, but she had to shut her eyes and take deep breaths before she could go back to what she was doing.
    Her prey drive had kicked in at the fast motion. Seth had seen it too many times before.
    Rylie was different from other werewolves. Seth believed it. He really did. But she was still dangerous. If his family didn’t get her, then it might be some other hunter putting a bullet in her skull someday. He had done it himself before. He could imagine the way Rylie’s blood would spray all too clearly.
    He waited outside until they finished dinner and Gwyneth went to bed. Rylie washed dishes in the sink by the open window.
    The wind shifted. Her head lifted, and she looked right through the shadows to where he stood.
    Seth tried to duck down the hill, but it was too late. Rylie stormed out the back door. “This isn’t camp anymore,” she said. “You can’t lurk outside my house.”
    “Come on, Rylie, I just want to—”
    He only had an instant to dodge. Rylie flung a cast-iron skillet at his head, and it smashed into the bushes behind him. “Go away!”
    “I came back because I want to help you!”
    She moved to throw a soapy sponge, but his words made her hand freeze in the middle of the motion.