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program. “Hi, I’m Monroe, I’m a predator...”
    He had to stay with his program. He was a Wieder Blutbad now. But still—he ached to just dive into the forest at random, get deep inside it and then let loose; just woge and explore... and hunt. It’d be sublime to take Rosalee there. She was a Fuchsbau Wesen. A fox-woman. She could relate to his urge to plunge into the woods; to take off his shoes and run through the trees in full-on woge. Foxes loved to stalk as much as wolves did.
    Rosalee. Was it crazy for him, a Blutbad, to be involved with a Fuchsbau? Like he cared. But if they had kids would the children be hybrid chimera? He wasn’t entirely sure. At some point he’d have to talk it over with her. Right now he couldn’t imagine breeding with any other woman, Wesen or human. If not for his long, happy history of living alone, making his house exactly the den he wanted it to be, he’d have asked her to move in with him by now. Eventually, when he was ready for the Big Commitment, he’d have to face up to her natural female desire to redesign the den the way she’d want—fewer clocks, maybe. She might say no to moving in with him, of course. But he doubted it. She was crazy about him. Which made perfect sense. At last. He’d always been puzzled that so many other women had failed to be crazy about him, after Angelina... Dating had been rough until Rosalee...
    The shadows deepened in the vast park across the street. They called to him. Another cool exhalation rolled across him, the woods giving out moisture, and fresh oxygen, cooling as the sun set.
    Come, Monroe, the forest murmured. Come, Blutbad. Run. Howl. Feed. Full moon tonight, Monroe. Vegetarian? Don’t be silly. That’s not what you need! I’ve got what you need. What you hunger for...
    Monroe sighed, shook his head, and turned away, going quickly into the house.
    Not going out there, not tonight. I’m not feral, I’m domesticated, now, and that’s a good thing. Gotta hold onto it, for Rosalee’s sake and for Nick and for the Perkins family and... just for me.
    He couldn’t run free, not anymore, not like that. Not since that day he and Angelina stumbled on the ranger...
    He shuddered, and his stomach lurched at the memory. The ticking of his clocks reassured him. He went quickly to his workbench. Working on restoring an old Swiss pocket watch—that was his refuge. It consumed his full attention to tinker with clockwork, to find the heart and soul of the mechanism and bring it to life. There was no room for restlessness, or temptation. Clockwork was soothing; so much simpler than organic life...
    Ridiculous, he thought, to think of clockwork mechanisms as alive at all. But secretly, that was how he felt.
    He picked up the jeweler’s loupe, held it over the mechanism, peered through it. Mainspring needs adjusting. He reached for a tool...
    And then his cell phone rang.
    Nick had made him get rid of the howling beast ringtone—he’d gotten Howling Wolf instead. “That’s evil, evil is goin’ on wrong...” sang Wolf’s gravelly voice.
    Monroe cursed under his breath. Wanted to be left alone right now.
    But then again, it might be Nick—or better yet, Rosalee. He suddenly felt like answering. Didn’t even look at the number.
    “Yo, it’s Monroe.”
    “Monroe?” The man’s voice was husky, familiar—and hesitant. “It’s Smitty.”
    “Smitty! My man! How are you, bro?”
    “Um—been better.”
    “Uh-oh. You have a little relapse? Listen, relapse is part of recovery.”
    Smitty was Blutbad, like Monroe, and one of the first Monroe had met as an adult. And like Monroe, Smitty was in recovery from “over indulgence”, as Monroe liked to put it. Which was his polite term for going crazy bloodthirsty feral.
    “Listen, uh—I know you’re busy, Monroe, but...”
    “You want to talk, bro, I want to listen.”
    “Could I see you in person? Rather not talk on the... I’d just rather talk in person. Right away.”
    “Huh.