Yes, very late

Author's note:

The story I'm trying to tell is more erotica and less smut. What I mean is that I have a story that I want to tell, and sex is certainly an important part of that story, but it's not the whole story.

You shift your weight uncomfortably from your good leg back to your cane.

The pouring rain couldn't make your mood any worse. Even your leg, normally the root of all irritation in your life, wasn't at the forefront of your mind right now. Right now it was Lauren, your cousin. She was a decent Hunter, and funny, but she was not good at keeping track of time.

You've been standing outside the Hamilton compound for nearly an hour now, your bags pushed up against the wall in an attempt to keep them dry. Of course she's also not answering her phone, either.

You sigh as you try to pace, but give up after only making it from one side of the overhang to the other. Now your leg is back on your mind. It doesn't hurt of course, the surgeons saw to that, but your injury was... bad. Very bad. Your leg just doesn't listen to you anymore. Your knee doesn't bend very well and your hip was... wrong. The physical therapy had helped of course, you could walk, just not well. And not without your damn cane.

A flash of lightning across the storm darkened noon-day sky interrupts your internal monologue.

Enough with the self pity, you scold yourself.

Your thoughts drift forward again, to Sara, your new roommate. She is 24 years old, and had inherited the family manor a few years ago. Her only other family is a brother who lives elsewhere. Well, and her ex-boyfriend who has a tendency to show up unwanted.

The town itself was old, but unremarkable. Moonlight, you smirk to yourself. There had been a small werewolf colony aligned with the co-existence movement there a few years ago, but it had mostly dispersed, there were less than 10 registered werewolves there now. And apart from a single vampire attack two years ago, there hadn't been any monster attacks in 10 years. That was one of the reasons you were so eager for this, the chances of seeing a Hunter again were slim.

Am I being rash? You ask yourself again, for the thousandth time. I don't know this woman, I don't even know what she looks like. What if this doesn't work--

You look up as the heavy gates swing open to admit a single black BMW. "Finally," you mutter.

The car stops under the covered entryway. Lauren rolls down the window and smiles at you, "You look cold."

You can't keep your frustration out of your voice, "Who's fault is that?"

She chuckles, "Fair."

You slowly start to descend the steps to the waiting car, careful because there is no hand rail to help you.

"You need help?" she laughs playfully.

"If you've got so much energy you can load my stuff," you motion to the half a dozen suitcases and bags sitting against the wall.

She jumps out of the car and starts loading. It only takes her a few minutes before she's back in the driver's seat, barely longer than takes you to get into the passenger seat. She puts the car in gear and begins to drive again without another word.

You watch through the window as the familiar world of Boston flies by, followed by the suburbs, until it finally begins to give way to the country. This has been your home for the last 27 years. It's where you were born and raised, and its where you did the job that you loved and were so good at. And it's not for you anymore.

A sigh escapes your lips.

"You don't have to go, you know," Lauren says seriously.

"I know," you answer quietly. "If you don't mind, I'm going to sleep for a bit."