• The Impala's engine rumbles to a halt right outside the gravel driveway. John’s journal had been a total bust this time—barely a footnote on this particular shifter strain—but Bobby swore up and down that the hunter living at this address had the missing pieces to the puzzle.

The garage door is thrown wide open, exposing a wall lined with serious hunting gear mixed with classic rock posters. Blaring through the space is Def Leppard’s Hysteria, the heavy bass vibrating right through the floorboards. Parked right in the center is a sweet Harley-Davidson, and sticking out from underneath it is a pair of toned legs in flared jeans.

Dean steps up first, rapping his knuckles hard against the garage door frame. "Hey! Anyone home?!" he yells over the music.

The figure slides out from under the bike and stands up. It’s a girl, about 5’6", with auburn brown hair hitting her shoulders and a dusting of freckles across her nose. She's rocking a cropped Metallica shirt, an eyebrow piercing, and a smudge of grease on her cheek.

---

Dean's POV

Holy hell.

I freeze right where I am, my hand still resting on the door frame. I’ve met a lot of women on the road, but this girl? She’s like something pulled straight out of my own head. The Harley, the Metallica tee, the Def Leppard ringing in my ears—it’s a damn near perfect picture. I glance over at Sam out of the corner of my eye, expecting him to be doing his usual professional, 'we’re on a case' routine. Instead, he’s just staring, totally speechless. For once, my giant geek of a brother and I are looking at the exact same girl and thinking the exact same thing.

I clear my throat, trying to find my usual charm, but my brain is firing on about two cylinders. "Uh, hey there," I call out, a little louder than I meant to. "Bobby Singer sent us. You must be the expert."

Sam's POV

I usually prefer a completely different vibe, but the second she stands up and brushes the hair out of her eyes, everything else just fades out. There's an intensity to her, a sharp intelligence in her eyes that tells me she knows exactly how to handle herself—and the arsenal on her wall proves it. I'm completely stunned, losing my train of thought entirely until Dean speaks up. I can feel my brother's energy next to me; he’s just as thrown off as I am. We never have the same taste in women, but looking at her, the rulebook just went right out the window.

"Yeah, what Dean said," I add, stepping forward and offering a quick, slightly nervous smile to cover up how hard my heart is suddenly thumping. "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean. We're dealing with a shifter, and Bobby said you're the only one who has the actual lore to kill it."*