" Clay smashed the butt of his revolver into the werewolf’s snout. It laughed again, only it wasn’t the sound of an animal trying to form human words, but a familiar cackle that chilled Clay to his bones.

Intelligence cooled in black eyes, snuffing out the feral rage that had once burned brightly. Jaw muscles moved mechanically, strings pulled from an unseen place. “Hello, McNab,” the voice of a woman crooned. “It’s good to see you. Everything has become so much more interesting. Who will you fail this time, I wonder?”

The werewolf dropped with a thud, wisps of gun smoke rising from its head. Clay stood over it and drove his boot into the face again and again. He didn’t stop until the body was mangled beyond recognition, a sponge to soak up the fury flaring inside his heart. "

― Jamie Ryder , At the Dead of Dusk