Lonely Monsters

Thirty

Maeson Grey had been at an outpost out in Nevada for maybe another rogue shifter, a bear or something. It had gotten too close to humans, and since it had killed a handful of campers, they had given the green light to human hunters to dispose of it.

Frigga still wasn't talking to him since his last fuck up. Which had been months ago, but it wasn't his fucking fault. And he wondered quite honestly why he put up with her shit, and vice versa. Maeson had driven up to a dive bar at the edge of what was wilderness and rental campground. The motel across the street was his base of operations since he didn't feel like dealing with cabin fees out the ass. Nor did he feel like driving down the trail and illegally parking somewhere and sleeping in the car until he found his target.

And it's not like a few drinks and company ever got him killed.

When he unlocked he door to his room, to find someone standing in his room. She fingered the papers on his desk.

He drew his gun, pointing at her and aiming for a headshot.

"I didn't come here to fight bruh," she said with a tired sigh.

"What are you doing here," he snarled.

She shrugged her shoulders, turning slightly to give him an annoyed look.

"Mainly I needed to pee, but like going through your log books," she picked up a leather bound journal.

Maeson had been using it as a ledger for every job he had done in the past year. Better fund keeping.

"You really want to be hovering in the doorway with a gun? I mean, I get we're in Nevada, but Christ on a cracker, the manager is paid just enough to care about the happenings of their tenants." She flipped through the pages, and turned to the beginning of April.

Maeson stepped inside, gun still drawn and used his foot to gently kick the door closed.

Maeson could probably nail her a few times enough to get her down then slap on a antimagic brace on her or nail her with some silver nitrate he had kept in the desk drawer. He wondered if those even worked on her since the last time they met she had eaten a pack of vampires and consumed them like a child's juice pouch.

"Listen hear Sister--" he barked and she turned to look at him.

"My name is Meela Amana," she interrupted, golden eyes locking with his. Maeson fought to speak, but his jaw had locked. She frowned then tore her gaze from his.

She began skimming the pages again with long black claws. "Commit it to memory please."

"Answer me! Why are you here!" his voice cracked in the middle. No way in hell was he showing this monster an ounce of fear. He had seen and killed hundreds of her kind well before she was probably in elementary school.

The narrow frame of some college coed accented with fangs, cat eyes and Edward Scissorhand appendages did nothing. You could shoot off fingers, you could punch in teeth and gouge out eyes.

"Who did you pick me up from?" Meela asked, not looking up from the pages, "Because I'm wondering if I went into hiberation in February of 2015, I'm wondering why it took them several months to place me in a territory."

"That's not my fucking problem," Maeson said.

"I'm a wanted woman." Meela flipped through the pages of the ledger on last time before shoving it aside. "Me just talking to you is dangerous to both of us. Maybe even that girl you were sweet on. Ya know, your brother's fiancee?"

She barked out a laugh, reminded Maeson of a dog yawning.

"She was pretty cute. A real...." Meela stuck out her tongue to dampen her lips, "Snack."