Welcome home, Bob.

I knew the night was going wrong the second the jukebox started playing the same damn song it had been stuck on the last three Tuesdays.

That, and the fact the demon was already on his third pitcher.

The bar was one of those places that only exists after midnight—sticky floor, bad neon, a bartender who looked like he’d died in ’92 and never got the memo. We liked it because the lights were dim and the regulars minded their own business. Easy hunting. Drunks, drifters, lonely idiots who wouldn’t be missed.

Perfect for monsters like us.

The vampire was at the end of the bar, pretending to sip beer he’d never actually drink. The witch perched on a barstool, looking twenty and being several centuries older. The demon took up an entire booth by himself, boots on the table, arms spread wide like he owned the place.

Me? I nursed a cheap whiskey and tried not to listen to my conscience.

“Tonight feels wrong,” I muttered.

The witch flicked her eyes at me. “Everything you say feels wrong, Bob.”

“I’m serious.” I stared into the amber. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The vampire snorted. “You grow a conscience since last full moon?”

I shifted on my stool, my shoulders itching with that restless, pre-change energy that never quite left, even when the moon was a thin nothing in the sky.

“It’s not conscience,” I said. “It’s him. I keep thinking about him.”

The demon groaned loud enough to rattle glasses. “Oh my god, not this story again.”

I ignored him. “He could’ve killed us, you know. All of us. Two years ago? We were already dead. He just decided not to finish the job.”

The witch rolled her eyes and took a shot like it was water. “Bob, please. The Old Man isn’t our problem anymore.”

“I heard he’s gone,” the vampire added lazily. “Vanished. Dead. Dust. Poof. Old gods fade. We survived him. End of story.”

I could still see the Old Man’s eyes in my head. Stormy. Ancient. Pissed off in that quiet way that tells you you’re three inches from being erased.

“He told us to change,” I said. “Told us it was our last chance. Maybe… I dunno… we should take that seriously?”

The demon slammed his empty pitcher down. “F*** him,” he growled. “If he was still around, he’d have come for us already. He didn’t. So screw his speeches.”

“Exactly,” the witch said, slapping the demon’s arm. “Tonight we drink. Tomorrow we hunt. Philosophy hour’s over.”

I shut up, but the knot in my gut stayed.

The bar door opened, cold air washing in, thick with sweat, exhaust, and something that smelled like cheap cologne and protein powder.

He walked in like he owned the place.

Big. That was the first thing. Not just tall—big. Built like someone had decided “refrigerator” was a personality type and committed to it. Thick arms stretching a T-shirt that read LIFT HEAVY, SLEEP OFTEN. Hair buzzed short, jaw square, nose crooked from too many breaks. Human… probably, I thought. But damn.

He strode to the bar, grin already in place.

“Evening, weirdos!” he boomed, way too loud for the room.

The bartender glared. The guy didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Hey, boss man,” he said, slapping the counter hard enough to make the bottles clink. “Gimme the strongest thing you got. And some peanuts. Salted. Not that unsalted crap.”

My hackles rose out of habit. Loud humans meant attention. Attention meant trouble. But there was something else that bothered me—a faint hum at the edge of my senses, like a radio station tuned just off frequency.

The witch glanced over, then smirked. “Well, that’s… a lot of man.”

The vampire sneered. “Meathead.”

“Snack,” the demon said, eyes narrowing. “If he’s mouthy enough.”

The big guy downed half his drink in one go, wiped his mouth, then spun on his barstool to face the room.

That’s when he saw the witch.

“Oh,” he said, bright and delighted. “Hello.”

She gave him a bored, dangerous look that’d made more than one mortal forget how to speak.

He didn’t.

“You,” he said, pointing. “Have the prettiest eyes I’ve seen all week.”

The witch blinked—blinked—thrown for half a second. “All week, huh?”

“And the week’s not even over,” he said with a grin.

I couldn’t help it. I huffed a laugh. He had guts, I’d give him that.

He noticed me then, like I’d shouted instead of barely exhaled.

“Hey, big guy!” he said, clapping a massive hand on my shoulder. “You lift?”

The world tilted. For a second, I had to fight not to shift on the spot.

“A bit,” I managed.

He thumped my shoulder again—a chest-bump without the chest. “Nice! You got that ‘I carry fridges for fun’ vibe. Respect.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed. The vampire’s smile sharpened. The witch looked irritated now—dangerous territory.

The big guy didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care.

He downed his drink, banged it on the counter, and yelled, “Another! And fries if you’ve got ’em!”

The witch’s lip curled. “You’re loud.”

“Thank you,” he said cheerfully. “You smell like incense and bad decisions.”

Her eyes went cold.

The vampire grinned.

“That’s enough,” the demon said, standing. “Back off, human.”

The guy turned slowly.

There it was again—the hum just under everything.

“Human, huh?” he said. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go with that.”

My stomach dropped.

“Look,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m having a good night. Let’s not ruin it.”

The demon stepped closer. “You ruined ours.”

“Ah,” he sighed. “Sorry about that.”

Then, casually, he chest-bumped him.

The demon rocked back half a step.

Everything stilled.

“We shouldn’t—” I started, but the witch silenced me with a flick.

Smith slapped some bills on the bar. “I’m gonna go outside, eat my fries, try not to punch anybody. You all stay here, we all live to regret our life choices later. Cool?”

He walked out.

The demon stared after him. “We letting him walk?”

The witch slid off her stool. “Oh, absolutely not.”

The vampire drained his beer. “He wants to avoid a fight. I want entertainment.”

I hesitated.

“We shouldn’t,” I said again, quieter. “That old man gave us a chance. We shouldn’t screw it up.”

They all looked at me like I’d suggested we take up knitting.

“Bob,” the witch said, “you’re still hung up on that?”

“He said stop,” I insisted. “Stop hunting. Stop treating people like toys.”

The demon growled. “He’s gone. We’re still here. And fridge-boy out there is tonight’s stress relief.”

I should’ve run. I followed them instead.

---

The alley behind the bar smelled like grease, smoke, and bad decisions.

Smith leaned against the wall, eating fries.

“I was hoping,” he said, “you’d make the right choice and stay inside.”

The demon cracked his knuckles. “We did. For us.”

The witch’s eyes glowed. The vampire’s fangs slid down. I felt my wolf pushing forward, hungry.

Smith looked at me.

“You should’ve stayed inside,” he said softly. “You smell like someone who’s already been warned.”

Before I could ask—

The demon lunged.

His fiery fists slammed into Smith’s chest.

Smith didn’t move.

The demon’s eyes widened. He swung again. Smith leaned aside. The fist smashed into the wall, showering sparks.

“Ow,” Smith said mildly. “The building didn’t insult you. I did.”

Then he punched him.

One punch.

The demon flew backward into the dumpster and didn’t get up.

The vampire stared. “What the f—”

Smith tossed his fries aside and sighed. “Great. Now my night’s ruined.”

The witch cast a spell. Purple lightning slammed into Smith’s chest.

He flinched.

“That tickled,” he said.

The vampire blurred forward. Smith caught him mid-air by the ankle and swung him into a parking sign. Metal bent. The vampire hung there, dazed.

“You guys suck at this,” Smith said.

My stomach twisted. “You know what we are?”

“Yeah, Bob,” he said. “I know exactly what you are.”

I hadn’t told him my name.

Something glinted on his wrist—a cheap leather bracelet.

He followed my gaze and sighed. “Damn. I liked this one.”

The witch whispered, “Who the f*** are you?”

Smith shrugged.

“Me? I’m just Smith.”

He hooked a thumb under the bracelet.

“This,” he said, “is the problem.”

He slid it off.

The world dropped.

Pressure slammed into us—ancient, heavy, furious. I hit my knees. My wolf tucked tail.

The witch gasped. “No… not another one.”

I remembered Marion County. Two years ago. The Old Man and his not-dog.

“You smell like him,” I whispered.

Smith laughed. “Yeah. We go way back.”

The vampire staggered forward. “You’re dead—”

Smith flicked him.

His head came off.

I swallowed a scream.

The witch panicked, ran. Smith grabbed her, lifted her easily.

“You survived John,” he said. “You got lucky.”

Her eyes widened.

“You got lucky with John. He gives second chances.”

His hand tightened.

Her scream cut off.

He dropped her.

Then he turned to me.

“Y-you don’t have to—” I started.

He grabbed me by the throat, lifting me like nothing.

“You got lucky too, Bob,” he said. “Two years ago. He told you to stop. To change.”

“I—” I choked.

“But you didn’t,” he said. “And now—”

His fist drew back—

“SMITH!”

Prudence appeared at the alley mouth, shadows shifting around her.

“Don’t,” she said.

Smith didn’t turn. “Go away, Prudence.”

“John’s watching.”

He froze.

“He always is,” Smith muttered.

“The others deserved what they got,” she said. “But this one? He can still be redeemed.”

I could barely breathe.

Smith’s fist trembled.

Prudence stepped closer. “Let him go.”

He swore.

Then dropped me.

I hit the ground gasping.

“You’re lucky she showed up,” he growled.

“And you’re lucky,” Prudence said. “John’s tired of cleaning up your disasters.”

He slid the bracelet back on. The pressure vanished.

“Come on, Bob,” he said. “You’re my problem now.”

I followed him.

It was dark. I hurt everywhere. But I followed him.

---

Smith’s apartment building looked like it had survived three fires and a tornado.

Inside, the living room smelled like candles, coffee, and magic.

A blonde girl slept on the couch. A black cat with a white star on his forehead sat watching us like a disappointed professor.

“Rough night?” the cat asked.

“The cat talks,” I whispered.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’re observant.”

“Mr. Whiskers,” Smith said, “this is Bob. He’s a werewolf. John says give him a chance.”

“You spoke to John?” Whiskers asked.

“Nope,” Smith said. “Message relayed by the Reaper chick. You know, the dead girl who grabs my ass.”

Prudence’s voice drifted from the hall: “One time!”

I barely heard them.

A smell cut through everything—old, wild, ancient.

I turned.

A large mutt lay in a dog bed.

She stood.

Came closer.

My wolf flattened itself in terror.

“I’ve smelled that before,” I whispered. “Two years ago. That… wasn’t a dog.”

Matilda huffed, warm and smoky.

Whiskers nodded. “Matilda belongs to herself. But yes—she and John go way back.”

Smith slapped my back. “Relax! She likes you. Or she hasn’t decided how she wants to cook you yet.”

“COOK—?!”

“In this house,” Whiskers said, “you’re one of the dogs.”

“I’m NOT a dog!”

Smith shrugged. “We got two dogs now. You’re competition.”

Matilda stared at me, eyes full of ancient storms.

The blonde girl snored.

I sighed.

“I swear,” I said, “I thought my last crew was nuts.”

Smith grinned.

“Welcome home, Bob.”