Dumpster Diving for Werewolves

Tatiana Lang guessed the predawn temperature was in the forties. It would warm into the sixties later, but right now, laying naked behind a dumpster and splattered with crusted blood, it was downright cold. That was the downside of being a werewolf: when the moon set her dense fur vanished and she was left with only her skin to protect her from the elements. At least she’d found the relative shelter of the dumpster before she returned to human form.

She’d raised to one knee when the sound of an approaching car made her freeze. Chances were slim the car would stop at this hour, but even if it did, most likely someone would toss in their trash and leave.
Tati crouched against the sticky, stinking, greasy metal container and waited for the car to pass.

It stopped.

Well, nuts.

A car doored opened and Tati heard someone get out.

Toss your trash and leave, she thought.

“Ms. Lang, please come out,” a woman said.

What the—

Tati looked down at the dried blood on her hands and chest. How in blazes did she know?

She turned her head and glanced at the dark line of trees twenty yards away. She could make a break for it. Why hadn’t she stayed in the trees to transform?

“Here,” the woman said, and a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt landed three feet away.

Tati’s thoughts raced. How could anyone know she was here and that she needed clothes?

“His name was Angel Velazquez. That’s his blood on your chest. The authorities will find his body very soon, so If I were you I’d get in the car.”

Tati stood up. The first rays of dawn flashed on the windshield of a soccer mom-style minivan with dark-tinted windows. Standing beside the van was a slender woman in a tan jacket with an Advent Industrial logo.

Advent.

“Bloody hell,” Tati said, shaking her head. “Am I late for work?”

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