Come The Night
New York City, July, 1927
Ross Kavanagh contemplated the half-empty bottle of whiskey and wondered how much more it would take to get him stinking drunk.
It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. He'd never been a drinker before they threw him off the force. There hadn't seemed to be much point; even a man only one-quarter werewolf had a hard time becoming inebriated. And he'd been content with the world.
Content. Until everything had been taken away from him, he hadn't really thought about what the word meant. He'd given up on anything beyond that a long time ago. It was enough to have the work, the company of the guys in the homicide squad, the knowledge that he'd kept a few criminals off the streets for one more day.
Now that was gone. And it wasn't coming back.
He lifted the bottle and took another swig. The whiskey was bitter on his tongue. He finished the rest of the bottle without taking a breath and set it with exaggerated care down on the scarred coffee table.
Maybe he should put on a clean shirt and find himself another couple of bottles. Ed Bower kept every kind of liquor hidden behind his counter, available for anyone who kn ... read full excerpt from: Come the Night ebook
