Hellboy: Unnatural Selection(3)

But she had insisted, and he had relented, and now here she was sitting on Poe's grave waiting for a werewolf. She would recognize it when she saw it. She looked in the mirror every morning, after all.

Two young men entered the graveyard sporting identical black T-shirts, bald heads, and goatees. One was taller than the other, but other than that, they were peas in a Gothic pod. They even had the same look of reverence on their faces.

"Cool," one of them said. At first Abby thought he was staring at her, but then she realized it was the stone edifice behind her.

"She's pretty hot, too," the other one said.

"Well, boys, it is a bloody hot day." Abby smiled as she saw the effect her voice had on the men. The shorter one even stepped back a couple of paces as her throaty, sultry words faded into the street noise. She laughed quietly, knew the sound reached them, and she remembered howling at the moon and how that made her throat sore in the morning. But how wonderful it felt every single time.

She stood, stretched, looked around. Cant let my guard down! But there was no sign of the werewolf, and playing with these two would be fun.

The taller man was braver than his mate. "So you're hanging out with Edgar, too, huh?"

"Just somewhere cool to park my ass."

"Yeah, too cool."

The small guy asked, "Can you take our picture?"

Abby smiled and nodded. "Sure."

He stepped forward, probably totally unaware of the expression on his face: naked lust crossed with animal fear. He handed the camera to Abby. The taller man blinked at the length of her nails and the tattoos of claws along the lengths of her fingers. Self-parody, she wanted to say, but it would be lost on them.

The men skirted around Abby and positioned themselves on either side of Poe's tombstone. They looked nervous, their smiles forced, and Abby shook her head and turned away.

"Get yourselves natural, guys," she said. "Tell a joke. Ogle my ass. Remember the last time you got drunk together. I'll take your picture when you look like yourselves." She heard giggles behind her and took the opportunity to scan the street. Still no werewolf. Men and women, boys and girls, walking to and fro along the pavement. Abby sniffed. Smog, heat, sweat, but nothing like the wild musk she would recognize. Other than her own, of course. She could never shake that, however many baths or showers she took. She wondered whether the boys could smell her.

She spun around, ready to take their photo, and the werewolf was standing between them.

"Smile!" the man said. He was tall, pale, gaunt, yet his eyes were alive and strong, filled with exuberance.

He's just like me, Abby thought, amazed. Except ... he's not at all. Because he's tasted human flesh. She looked at the men in black and wondered what they tasted like.

"I need to talk to you," she said. The man shrugged and sat down.

"What about our — ?" the tall bald guy said.

"Scram," Abby growled. They ran off without their camera. She reckoned they'd run a long way.

"You're just like me," he said, smiling. There was utter confidence in his voice that even Abby found disarming. The way he sat, easy and graceful. The way he smiled, loose and friendly. Everything spoke of a belief in his own invulnerability.

First mistake.

"A little," she said. "But I don't kill people."

The man frowned. "Then what do you eat?"

"Deer."

"Holy shit!" He feigned disgust, stuck fingers down his throat as if about to vomit. "All that fur!"

"Some people are hairy."

"I rip off their skins first." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That's usually after I've torn out their throats ... usually. Sometimes I do it before. Fear adds to the flavor of that first bite, it really does. Something to do with the makeup of their blood."

"I'm here to stop you ... stop you killing." Abby hated the nervousness in her voice, but he had unsettled her.

"You're BPRD?"

Abby nodded. She thought she hid her surprise quite well.

"Why didn't they send the big red guy?"

"He's off fighting dragons."

The man leaned back, laughing so loud and hard that he startled a flock of birds from the church roof. He patted his knees, wiped his eyes, shook his head. She saw the animal movements in every gesture, and she could not help feeling attracted to him. His power. His grace. Both were richer than hers, more emphasized. Was that because he ate people? Tasted human flesh? She glanced out into the street at the people wandering back and forth, and she could not help her subconscious throwing up the word: cattle.