Kit's attention strayed from the man sitting across from her. Her gaze flitted over the dimly lit bar and restaurant. Only eight o'clock and the place was busy, every table full. The tiny hairs along her nape stood on end, and she shivered as she assessed her surroundings. Her gaze roamed the dance floor, the tables, then back to the bar, checking each and every face, looking, searching for the source of her unease.

Her date's voice faded to a distant buzz. The music from the band playing onstage subsided to a dull throbbing of drums and guitars, the singer's voice lost entirely as Kit scanned the room. Awareness tightened the skin on her face, made her ears burn and cheeks tingle.

She knew what she was looking for. It had always been so with her -- this intuition, the deep sense of knowing. When it came to detecting lycans, her radar was dead on. Even better than her brother's. At least, he claimed this.

Her gaze lit on them then. Three of them sat at the bar, the drinks in their hands untouched as their silver eyes surveyed the room, searching for something besides alcohol to quench their appetites. Four days until the full moon, and they were hungry. Starving. They looked haggard, features drawn and tight. Their bunched muscles corded and flexed beneath their shirts. Even from across the room she sensed their impatience, their desperate hunger.

The closer the full moon, the more dangerous they became. Some hunters refused to hunt altogether so close to moonrise. Not Kit. Those hunters played it safe. Cowards, in her book, disappearing when mankind most needed protection.

They flirted with a waitress, their smiles seductive, enticing, as alluring as fire to a moth. And just as deadly. The girl