"Werewolves aren't that tough." His voice held a scornful note. Maybe not to a ex-hunter with enough kills under his belt to make a rug made out of werewolf skins. He failed to take into account the mentality of a shapeshifter who's only power was turning into a member of Rattus norvegicus.

"Used to hunt them every full moon," he said, the first time he'd mentioned to anyone in the house a piece of his past. Most of them had their theories on the past of the Hillingdon House ghost, but no one knew precisely where he had come from or who he was. It had taken them ages just to get a name that was obviously a pseudonym out of him.