He spat. He certainly had no trouble tasting or smelling the evidence of what had been here before him.

Both the benefit and curse of being a werewolf.

Caleb rubbed his hand over his mouth and studied the shadows that lined the narrow passage. Five people had died in this alley in the past week. They'd been found with their skulls cracked and their brains gone. Since then, two more people had gone missing.

Caleb was here to find the killers. He took a few quiet steps forward, deeper into the darkness, then stopped and sniffed.

The alley appeared to be empty, but Caleb knew better. He knew his prey was near. He just had to lure them into the open.

He slung the pack he wore on his back sideways so he could reach into its depths. From inside he pulled a vacuum-sealed metal container.

He paused to double-check his first impression before opening the thermos. Closing his eyes, he took another quick inhalation of the alley's cool, damp air. The scent of death was no stronger. No sound except his own breathing broke the silence. He cursed. He would have to spend his precious bait. The last he had.

He opened the lid. Air hissed free. He paused one last time, but there was still no sign of life—or death—in the alley.

Resolved that this time his prey wouldn't come to him easily, he returned his attention to his task and dumped the contents of the cylinder out onto his bare palm.

Zombie caviar—chunks of human brain. Looking at it, holding it, even stealing it from the recently deceased in hospitals and funeral homes, had stopped bothering him long ago.

Hoping what he held would be en