Thief

"We are unique, little thief," it had said. "Every one of us a designer perfume. Now that I have your fear scent in my nostrils, there is nowhere to run; I could find you on the space station." The home intrusion had not gone as planned; something about how they always tracked phases and used the moon for bonus exterior light (and convenient interior high contrast shadows if they needed to hide), but werewolves were real and their full moon game was centuries old. "Go to the cops and break up the ring, or consider your dance card full," the beast had breathed out upon her neck. Its claws had left shallow perforations on both arms. She had done as she was told, ratting them all out (to save them, no matter how much they hated her for it) and entering the betrayer protection program. "We'll make sure you stay safe and get the do-over you deserve," the detective said to her, sliding the packet with fake IDs across the table. "I'll be dead in three months or less," she whispered, hopeless. The detective laughed and she looked up, shocked at his insensitivity. "Haven't lost anyone we didn't want to lose," he whispered in a deep voice, and his eyes flashed amber at their center.