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"I see you doubt me," Lucinda laughed, showing another flash of her white teeth. "Dunnigan no doubt told you that the ageing process is slowed, but not ceased. He told you a partial truth. We can, if we choose, slow the process to the extent where it barely exists. How old do you think I am Mr. Collins?"

"You appear to be in your mid-thirties, but Henry told me he was one hundred and eighty three years old, and he looked to be in his sixties. I'd hesitate to guess.

"I became Were on a fine spring afternoon in 1658. In a town called Salem. I am over three hundred and fifty years old, and I have every intention of living forever. Oh I see the doubt in your face. But I do not lie Mr. Collins. We of the Strain can live indefinitely, have we the will and the courage to act. Those like Dunnigan are weak, falling prey to human morality that no longer applies to us.

For we are not human Mr. Collins. Not any longer. We are Were. We are of the Strain. And we are born to rule."

She grinned at him again, showing her white teeth, before rising to her feet in a sinewy motion.

"We will meet again soon, Mr. Collins. We have much to discuss."

Hunter watched her stride away, his skin prickling with unease as he stood up and left the plaza, heading back to his office.