She crawled on top of him, naked and warm and soft, smelling like a miracle that had saved him from a lifetime of aloneness.
And thus Charles found himself wandering around a hotel, trailing federal agents as he held a cardboard coffee cup holder in each hand, instead of out killing misbehaving werewolves.
It is the way of mortals. They fling themselves at life and emerge broken.
Taking out werewolves, I gather and surmise, is akin to taking out a SEAL team.