He lights a cigarette and gets into the car. The road was dark, shaded by the silhouettes of trees. The moon was full.

His phone rang. He pressed OK. "Speak," he said coldly.

A deep, wounded voice trembled on the other end. "We... couldn't track him down..." Then the call cut off.

He gritted his teeth, suppressing his fury. He punched the steering wheel and pulled over to the side of the road, cursing under his breath.

Couldn’t find you again. The moon was full, and you had turned into a werewolf. The werewolf lineage... still existed. You would never truly die out.

But Dennis wasn’t one to give up. He wanted to catch you—desperately. He couldn’t, but he was trying his hardest to find you.

When he hit the brakes, his phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID—Unknown Number. Slowly, he pressed OK.

Silence.

A heavy silence filled the air.

He knew who it was. You.

"Where are you?" he snapped, his voice ruthless, harsh, undeniably masculine.

On the other end, you chuckled. "Guess." Your voice was icy. Then you added, "Get out of the car if you want me." The call ended abruptly.

Dennis’s cheek twitched. He wiped his face and stepped out of the car, scanning his surroundings. He was in the middle of a forest road when the sound of footsteps reached him. He turned left—there you were, approaching.

He smirked and strode toward you.

But—

Boom.

He looked down at his chest, staggering back in shock. His eyes, half-lidded, locked onto yours.

In your hand was the gun you’d just fired into his chest.

"I told you," you said. "Catching me won’t be that easy."