"I have a werewolf on the loose."

And that, right there, was the problem. Not even two days into her vacation and she was already on a hunt.

"A werewolf in London?" came Oliver's inquisitive voice, crackling through the reception of her cell phone. "Is it American?"

Grasping her tranq gun, Chloe blew the hair from her eyes and slid the phone between her shoulder and her ear. "Didn't get a chance to ask, what with it trying to rip my throat out at the time," she said, sliding the darts home as she heard Ollie laughing softly.

She scowled. So much for a sympathetic ear.

She didn't like dealing with werewolves, not after Dana. It was hard for her to forget that there was a person beneath all that teeth and fur, and the thought of ending another life made her queasy.

Ollie's voice was sober and low the next time he spoke. "You take care of yourself out there, Sullivan. I don't want one of my best getting herself killed."

With a flick of her wrist, the barrel snapped closed. "We both know that won't happen, Ollie. It's why I'm the best. Now is there is reason you actually called me? Because I have a job to do."

"It can wait. Call me when you're done."

"Will do, O Masterful One."

Snapping her phone closed, she slid it into her bag, along with her gun. Her hand hovered hesitantly over the silver hunting knife resting innocently on the bedspread, unsure and unwilling to believe things would progress that far. But she knew it would. It always did with werewolves.

With a huff, she scooped the knife up, slipped it into its scabbard and fastened it to her hip, letting her jacket fall to conceal it. Swinging her bag on to her shoulder, she headed for the door.

It was time to go hunting.

--

It came from the trees, pouncing from the shadows and throwing her on to her ass. Mammoth jaws moved to tear a chunk from her throat, and as a vision of Dana flashed before her eyes, instinct sent her grappling for her knife.

"No," she whispered aloud, and pulled her hand back at the same time she flipped her legs up and heaved the werewolf back with sheer adrenaline alone. She was on her feet in seconds, her hand gripping the tranq gun tighter, and she popped off two darts in quick succession, watching with shaky satisfaction as they hit home. The creature swooned, hind legs working unsteadily, and then it dropped, a black mass amidst the shadows.

She moved forward in long strides and crouched down beside it, watching its chest rise and fall. She slipped her gun back in her bag, but this time she allowed her knife to rest comfortably in her palm as she kneeled to study the elongated jaw and the sharp claws.

It was small for a werewolf, not that it made it any less dangerous. Predators were still predators, after all.

"Looks like you'll be taking a vacation, too, you poor bastard," she breathed.

She didn't have long to figure out her options. She really didn't want to use her knife if she didn't have to, but there was no other way to deal with them. They might be human for the rest of the month, but as werewolves... no, they were too big a risk.

The Winchesters were out. Wouldn't get here soon enough. And with Dean's ridiculous phobia of flying, they'd probably never get here at all.

Damn it. Why didn't she know any hunters in this area?

Ellen. She had to call Ellen. She would know someone, Chloe was sure of it.

Staring at the werewolf warily, she dug out her phone and flipped it open. Her legs jiggled up and down beneath her as she scrawled through her contacts.

"E. E. E. E. Ellen. Elllleeeennn. C'monnnnnn, c'monnnn, answer the frickin' phoooooone."

Ringing. Jiggling. Ringing. Jig--

"Hey!"

She frowned. That certainly wasn't the voice she'd been expecting.

"Hello?" she spoke into the phone.

"Hey! Hey!"

It wasn't coming from her phone. Raising her head, she peered out into the darkness to see a dark shape heading towards her. She groaned and snapped the phone shut.

This really wasn't her night.

--

This was why she planned her hunts down to the minute detail. This was why she didn't like surprise attacks or spontaneous adventures. They never, never ended well.

The dark shape heading towards her was actually a man. A rather tall man with unruly dark hair and spectacles. And he was very, very British. His accent flowed over her, sharper than most she'd heard today, and it took her a moment to realise he was talking to her.

Discreetly slipping her knife back into its scabbard, she squinted at him as he came to a stop in front of her, his green eyes flickering between her and the werewolf. And then, a second later, she found herself facing the business end of a... of a--

"Why are you pointing that stick at me?" she snapped, rising to her feet to stare at him with narrowed eyes. This was so not her night. Hell, this was so not her vacation.

"I'm really sorry about this," the man said politely, casting her a nervous glance as she stepped towards him. "Stup--"

She yanked the stick from his hand and watched his eyes widen in surprise. Obviously he hadn't expected her to fight back against his stick. "Are you calling me stupid? Because I'm not the one waving a stick in people's faces!" She waved the stick in his face for emphasis, partially amused by the flash of annoyance that tightened his features. Well, she was entitled to a little bit of fun, especially now he'd managed to completely fuck up her night.

"You are crazy, mister!" she screeched, flinching inwardly at her own dramatic flair. When in doubt, play dumb or play dead. "I was just out walking my dog--" She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at the werewolf. Yeah, so it was a really, really big dog. "--and you think it's okay to get all up in my face with your crazy-ass stick-waving! Who the damn hell do you think you are?! I have a mace, you know!"

The man stiffened in alarm. "You have mace. Mace," he dared to correct her.

"Nu-uh!" She bowed her head, pretending to search the contents of her bag as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Was he buying this? God, she hoped so. She was getting a headache.

Finding what she was looking for, she drew it out with a flourish, declaring, "I have a mace! A mace! So you better back your shit up, posh tot, before you lose an eye!"

She swung the mini-mace in the air just to watch him flinch, and smirked inwardly. Damn, she was enjoying this way too much.

Until she heard a faint growl behind her. She didn't have to guess what that meant. The man was no longer looking at her, but over her shoulder, having already picked up on the fact that she was no longer the bigger threat to his continuing health.

It also meant her cover was blown.

Lowering the mace to her side, Chloe rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.

"So not my night," she griped, and turned, tranq gun already in hand, to plug the creature twice more. It gave up with a whine and slid from a crouch into a hairy heap in the grass. Turning back, she fingered the gun hesitantly as the man goggled at her from behind his glasses.

And then, before she even had the chance to formulate an appropriately witty and scathing remark, the man simply shrugged and said, "That works."

--

"Oh, please," she murmured to herself. "You are way too weedy to be a hunter."

He rolled his eyes at her as he stepped forward. "And you're way too crazy to be let out in public. Now give me my wand." He snatched the stick from her hand and moved to kneel beside the werewolf, concern softening his features as he ran his fingers through its thick fur.

Swallowing heavily, Chloe kneeled down beside him. She had a feeling that the big ball of fluff lying comatose on the floor was either a relative or a friend. Either way, things weren't going to end well.

"What's your name?" he asked, hands still stroking the werewolf's coat. His eyes were trained on her and she felt suddenly uncomfortable beneath his intense scrutiny.

Old eyes, she thought. Never fails to creep me the hell out.

She narrowed her own in return. "Why the hell would I tell you?"

"Because you just shot my cousin in the ass with a tranq dart."

Oh. Well.

"It was four darts, actually. And it's Chloe." Silence. "And that's all you're getting!"

He smiled at her. "My name's Harry--"

"How quintessentially British."

"--and this is Teddy," he finished, smiling down at the sleeping werewolf.

"Well, Harry. You do realise that Teddy here has tried to rip my throat out on two separate occasions?"

His face darkened at that, and with a heavy sigh he nodded. "I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry... that wasn't meant to happen. We're all still new to this and he's learning--"

She scoffed. "Learning? You sound like your potty-training him. He's a werewolf. There is no training. There's only dinner time."

His eyes blazed angrily at that, his fist clenching around the thin stick he was still holding. "He's a person, you know! He's only a kid! None of us knew for sure that this was going to happen. His dad--" He swallowed and took a breath. "His dad isn't here to help him adjust and we're doing the best we can, okay? So back off."

She paused, brow creasing. "He was born this way?"

Harry nodded. "His dad was a werewolf. He had ways of controlling it, but we never... we didn't know if Teddy would inherit it. The changes happened before we were prepared. We thought we had a few years yet."

"How old is he?"

"Fourteen."

She exhaled. That was why he was so small. He'd barely hit puberty. And she'd been one decision away from killing him. Great. Just great.

"You said his dad had ways of controlling it," she said, and he nodded. "Did they work?"

He stared at her, gaze intense and knowing. He was well aware of where this was going. "Most of the time. Sometimes we had to keep him isolated. But he was still a person underneath. He fought to control it. And he always won, with a little help." He smiled sadly and she thought twice about asking why this man was no longer with them. She was sure it was a story she wouldn't like.

Despite herself, she felt her compassion stirring. It wasn't difficult. She hadn't wanted to do this in the first place. Killing was not her job and sometimes the necessity made her wonder if she was really made for this life. But then, she kinda loved it, too. She got to kick a lot of ass. But tonight it seemed she'd done her part. It was time to trust someone else to take care of the rest.

"Look, Harry," she said, as she rose to her feet. "I'm gonna make you a deal--"

"Oh, how very nice of you."

"--but if you're just going to be snarky about it, I'll just finish the job I came here to do." He was silent at that, rising to meet her gaze, and she noted the flicker of fear that passed behind his eyes. "Good. I have your attention." She dug around in her bag for her tranq darts and reloaded her gun, just in case. "I don't know what kind of werewolf your cousin is, and frankly, I'm a little worried. I get that there's a person in there under all that godawful fur, but that doesn't change the fact that every werewolf I've met thus far has tried to kill me or someone else. They don't have a conscience when they wolf out, and that makes the ethical dilemma of killing them a bitch."

She saw him blanch, his already pale skin turning a greyish-white that made his black hair and green eyes even more vivid. She noticed the lines around his eyes and mouth then, and the jagged scar flashing like lightning across his forehead. Hmmm. Interesting. He seemed older than she'd first thought.

"You can't be serious," he said hoarsely, and she noticed his hand tighten around his stick again. What was with him and that damn piece of wood?

"That's your answer? Killing them?" He sounded horrified.

No, not a Hunter, she thought. A civilian.

No Hunter would ever sound that disbelieving, that disgusted, by the thought of killing something, or even someone.

"I said I'd make you a damn deal, so either shut up and listen or let me do my job. Your choice." She stared at him expectantly and after a long, drawn-out moment, he finally nodded.

"Okay," she breathed, arms folded over chest, her tranq gun tucked against her ribs and pointing towards the still-sleeping heap. "You said you found a way to control his dad during the full moon and I'm choosing to trust your word on that. And I'm choosing to trust that you're gonna find a way to do the same for Teddy here. Now before you go thinking you're off the hook, I want you to be aware of something... I'm choosing to trust you right now, which means I can choose not to trust you at any point in the future. And if that ever happens, you can guarantee I'll be back. And Teddy, kid or not, won't be alive long enough to witness the next full moon. You get me?"

Harry stared at her and said nothing. She saw him considering his stick briefly, before he looked back at her.

"I get you," he said, through gritted teeth, eyes flashing behind his glasses. "But you should know... if that day ever comes, and I pray to Merlin it doesn't, you'll have a fight on your hands. He's family, and there are some of us out there who won't let him go quietly."

She took the threat as it was meant, deadly and serious, seriously deadly, and nodded. "I respect that. And trust me, I don't want that day to come anymore than you do. But I've got people to protect, too, and I'll do it at all costs. Don't forget that."

"I won't."

"I know," she said, and peered over at the oblivious werewolf napping peacefully in the grass. Sliding her gun back into her bag, she nodded her head towards Teddy. "You need help shifting him?"

Harry smiled at her and shook his head, his unruly hair falling into his eyes. "No. I got it. Thanks, though."

She smiled back. "Not a problem. Nice meeting you, Harry."

"I wish I could say the same, Chloe," he replied, and she laughed, heading towards the darkness of the trees.

It was time to go home and try this vacation thing again.

--

"This better be good. And it better be short. I'm supposed to be on vacation."

Shifting her cell phone to her left hand, she raised her cup of coffee to her lips with the other and took a deep swallow, sighing in satisfaction as it slid down her throat and settled warmly in her stomach. Damn, this was good.

"You solve your werewolf problem yet?" asked Ollie, his voice echoing over the sound of fingers tapping over a keyboard. He was obviously busy at work. Lucky Oliver.

"I think so." She paused. "I hope so. Find out soon enough."

He laughed. "I won't ask."

"Please don't."

"I have a job for you when you get home."

She took another swallow of her coffee, resisting a groan. This couldn't be good.

"I want hazard pay," she said, recalling the last mission she'd gone on for Ollie. She'd lost a damn good shirt during that little escapade.

"Won't need it. It's a simple recruitment. Shouldn't take longer than a few days, either."

Yeah, right. That's what he always said. Damn him and his Justice League. He always wanted to rope in the freaks.

She sighed heavily. "Where am I going?"

"New York."

"And who am I looking for?"

"Get this," said Ollie, suddenly sounding excited. "He's a Petrelli."

"As in Nathan Petrelli, the New York Senator?"

She could almost see Ollie nodding vigorously.

"The very same."

Snorting, she answered skeptically, "You want to recruit a New York Senator? Not likely, Ollie."

"No. Not him. His brother."

"Who?"

"His name's Peter Petrelli."

She considered it for a second. It really had been a while since she'd been to New York, and the potential lack of blood and mayhem was tempting. And it was only for a few days, after all.

"Okay, Ollie," she agreed. "You've got yourself a deal. I'll see you in a few days for the briefing."

"You're my girl, Sullivan."

"And don't you forget it," she said, and flipped her phone shut. Breathing in her coffee, she smiled quietly to herself.