The next several hours passed without incident. We made pretty good time, with only a few stops due to traffic.

At each of them, I thought Blair would burst a blood vessel or get out and physically move the cars from our way. Considering that she actually could, it was a bit more worrying than funny.

Bobby showed remarkable restraint, only asking, ‘Are we there yet?’ about three, maybe four times. Laurel showed equal restraint by only punching him once.

As traffic clogged and we inched forward, Laurel sighed. “It’s getting towards dinner, and we aren’t exactly breaking a land speed record here. How about we pull over at the next place that looks like it serves something we can categorize as food.“

“Why did you say categorized as food? That sounds needlessly verbose.“ Bobby nudged her.

She shrugged. “I was trying to think of a joke, but it failed halfway through.“

“Something that these people call food?“ Blair threw out.

I shook my head. “No, that just sounds racist.“

She cursed.

“Something a scientist might categorize as food?“ Simon offered. Bobby laughed. “So Laurel’s version but more verbose.“

“Hey, at least it makes sense that a scientist is categorizing something; I gave the joke context. Sprinkled in some lore.“

Laurel sighed.

~<>~<>~

We found the bar about 20 minutes later. It was a slightly rundown place with a half-full parking lot and an air of age about it. Thin wood painted yellow and brown made up its two stories, and I was guessing that the second floor doubled as a cheap motel.

While Tamara’s Tap didn’t seem exactly high-end, the sign promised beer, burgers, and fries. One of those things didn’t matter to me, but fries and a burger sounded pretty nice.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a line of 10 or 15 motorcycles—big hulking things of leather and steel with color schemes that ranged from black to black with charcoal and chrome. The lineup looked like it was straight from a show on biker gangs.

As we walked by, I noticed they all had an insignia patched into the back of the seat—a coin with a bullet punching through it.

The others all B lined for the door as their stomachs rumbled, not giving anything else a second glance. I started to say something. Those symbols itched at my memory, but Simon ushered me inside as Blair glanced back, realizing I was lagging behind, and I lost the thread.

The inside looked like every cheap bar you’ve seen in a movie. A pool table sat in one corner with an honest-to-God jukebox next to it, and a quiet hum of 80s rock and casual conversation filled the room.

Men and women hunched over the pool table, a line of bikers sat at the bar nursing beers, and a scattering of others sat at tables and booths.

Blair quickly grabbed us a booth, and a middle-aged waitress with suntanned skin and frizzy blonde hair walked up, a pencil tucked behind her ear,

and a notepad in her hand.

“What can I do you for?” She asked, her voice smoother than I was expecting. Everything else about this place seemed so… Cliché; I expected her voice to come out with a rasp of cigarettes and cheap whiskey.

The menu consisted entirely of fried food and alcohol, so it didn’t take us long to decide. Each of the Pack ordered two burgers and two fries, and I ordered one of each.

The waitress didn’t even blink at the size of our order before turning on her heel and marching back into the kitchen.

“Wowser, my legs are upset. I haven’t been confined for this long in months,“ Bobby groaned as he stretched out his legs.

I glared at him and made a kicking motion under the table. My leg wasn’t long enough to reach him, but it was the thought that counted. “I’ve been bedridden the last couple of weeks. A car ride and plane trip are fine.“

He stuck his tongue out at me and returned the kicking motion. His legs were long enough to reach, but he was merciful and just bumped my shin. “Yes, but you’re a weak and pathetic human, so it’s more of a tragedy when someone of my great status is confined.“

Laurel sneered at him. “Great status? If this were more feudal times, you would be a commoner.“

Bobby gasped, placing a hand to his chest as if struck. “Yes, but Blair here would be a princess, and since I am her right-hand man, that makes me practically a knight,” he said as he leaned against Blair.

She shifted and rested her arm on his shoulder. “Aren’t knights supposed to be stoic and brooding?“ She asked with a chuckle.

Bobby shook his head. “You’re both of those things, enough for both of us. I have to balance it out with my good looks and quick wit.“ Laurel glowered at him. “I’m more her right-hand man than you are,“ she harrumphed.

Bobby shook his head. “Incorrect. You’re her right-hand woman. I’m surprised you’ve never noticed before.“

Laurel considered this before seeming to accept the declaration. “What does that make Simon then?“

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Bobby cocked his head one way and then the other. “Maybe the jester? Or the wizard. He does like making things go boom.“ Simon paused and then shrugged. “Jester hats are funny.“

I scowled. “Hey now, if anybody’s the wizard of the group, it’s me.“

Simon shook his head. “You’re the old hermit the party meets in the woods.“ The others nodded immediately.

I burst out laughing. “You guys suck.“

As we continued to banter and laugh, our tension began to ease away—well, most of it. Blair looked more relaxed than she had in the last several days, which made everyone else loosen up in response. It seemed that things going mostly as we expected were soothing her, which didn’t surprise me. Things going according to plan is probably like crack to her.

A few minutes later, one of the bikers turned, and his back caught Bobby’s eye.

The relaxation snapped as Bobby’s smile cracked.

I followed his gaze, and unless I missed my guess, it was locked onto that insignia—that silver bullet punching through a medallion.

Bobby took a deep breath, and Blair tensed beside him.

We didn’t say anything, but her gaze snapped towards the biker.

She kept her hand over her mouth and cursed. I could barely see her mouth begin to move, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. The others all looked towards the bikers before glancing back to the table.

Appearing casual, Simon leaned close to me to whisper as if telling me a joke. “That biker gang, they’re members of the silver medallion. Werewolf hunters.“

I blinked. I hadn’t heard of them before. I knew of werewolf hunters as a concept, but not this specific group. “Human werewolf hunters?“

He nodded without looking over at the group. “Far as I’m aware.“

That made them certifiably insane in my book. At any age, a werewolf was physically stronger than a human in every way. But as they aged, that gap became something genuinely absurd. To actively hunt werewolves boggled the mind.

Sure, if you were prepared, smart, and a little lucky, you could fight a werewolf with silver weaponry.

Preferably, a large amount of silver bullets.

However, once a werewolf passed 100 their Bond became a doozy, and it started to get harder and harder. Eventually, it didn’t matter how prepared you were unless you had explosives set to go off with a dead man switch or a sniper with a very, very high caliber. You couldn’t shoot what you couldn’t physically react to.

“What do we do?“ I asked, my voice low and my eyes on the drinks menu.

Blair continued to speak with her hand covering her mouth, acting like she was resting her cheek on her palm.

After a few moments she stopped and glanced to Bobby, who shrugged, keeping his gaze on the table. “Nothing. They aren’t paying attention to us and have no reason to. We get our burgers, and we leave. And we warn any local Pack that they are moving in this area.“

Bobby was reacting differently than the others. It didn’t take a detective to pick up on it. They had all tensed and now put on a show of fake relaxation, but Bobby was different. He stayed loose, his easy smile back in place. But I could tell it was a hollow shell, like a painted-on version of his usual attitude. He was just as ready to spring into action as the others. But he was much, much better at hiding it.

I watched the bikers from the corner of my eye and wished the others were with me. Ben could keep an eye on them while Rodgers told me about the group's history. But they weren’t here, so I’d make do.

They seemed normal enough. They drank and joked with some of the older folks, who I tagged as locals, and they didn’t seem to mind them.

Though a few locals definitely did. I caught more than one sideways glance as we waited.

So, not locals themselves, if my instincts were right. But not new faces, either.

Werewolf hunters. Jesus, another thing to worry about.

I tried to strike up a conversation, to keep acting casual, but the others were making it difficult. They weren’t sneaking glances at the bikers, but I could tell they wanted to. I decided to sit and wait for our food in peace.

As another crowd bustled in, our waitress nudged one of the bikers. The man looked late 30s with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, laughed and nodded. The woman came out a second later and handed him a serving tray filled with food, then went to greet the newcomers.

The man headed our way with a grin. Blair, Laurel, and Simon tensed, and I started to. The only person who stayed completely relaxed was Bobby.

He flicked Laurel on the arm, stomped on Blair‘s foot under the table, gave Simon a hard stare, and then shot me a wink.

The others relaxed a little, doing the bare minimum to avoid looking like they were about to jump the guy.

I found my attention split between Bobby and the man. His reaction was so smooth, so practiced.

The man approached with a platter full of burgers and drinks. “Hello folks, my name is Brendan. Tamie has drafted me into this war on hunger. I don’t complain, though, because she gives me free beer.” He grinned at us, showing off slightly gapped but very white teeth. He smelled of leather and metal, but not overpoweringly so.

He started dispensing out the platters, and Bobby chuckled. “Thank you, soldier, beer’s as good of a motivation for war as any.“

Brendan tipped an imaginary hat to Bobby and grinned. “The best part about a life of travel is getting to see all the new sights, taste good food, and try good beer.“

He said it in the tone of a sage delivering wisdom, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Which was a bit strange; I wasn’t expecting a werewolf hunter to be charming.

“Where are you all from?”

I answered immediately as I got my burger. It was big and juicy, and I was ready to dig in. “Oregon, a small town in the trees.“

Brendan arched a brow. “Oregon? I haven’t spent much time in Oregon myself, but I hear it’s pretty.”

I nodded as I snatched my burger. “It’s beautiful.”

Bobby spoke up, pausing between bites of his burger. “I grew up in a place near Braitenvil, Idaho. Small place. Lots of green.”

While I hadn’t known Bobby for long in the grand scheme of things, I considered myself pretty good at reading people. And something in his eyes tipped me off. Bobby was looking for something—fishing for a reaction.

The biker didn’t give much of one. His eyes widened just a bit, and then he chuckled. “I grew up near there myself, no offense, but I find it boring. Hence why I’m quite a few miles away.“

Bobby laughed. “Fair enough. What direction are you headed in now? Got a grand adventure on the horizon?”

Brendan shrugged. “I think we’re heading east. We’ve been itching for some excitement, and Dolly, she’s a bit of a hunting enthusiast, always trying to track where big game is going and what not, has us pointed that direction.” He did another imaginary tip of his hat, then turned and strode away.

East. Which just happened to be where we were headed. Super

As we began to eat, I found my focus drifting back to Bobby, whose gaze was locked on the biker’s retreating back.

On that medallion pierced through with a silver bullet.