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Chapter Text

Raylan slipped on the protective ear muffs he usually wore at the gun range and pulled his weapon. Federal law dictated that preternatural US deputy marshals had to carry stakes in their vampire execution kits, but it never said they had to use them. So Raylan didn’t, but Tim did.

For that alone, he knew that Dr. Lillian’s staff was more than ready for Tim to come back to work. They were getting tired of Raylan firing his weapon in their morgue and liked to remind him that Tim made do with a mallet and a stake. Raylan preferred to punch a few silver bullets into the hearts of those who didn’t want to rise as the undead.

Even though Raylan and a fair number of other vampire executioners across the US preferred bullets, preternatural marshals still called them morgue stakings. Some humans left advanced directives spelling out what should happen to them after death— if there was any question that their bodies could rise as vampires, then vampire executioners were required to step in and put a stop to that possibility. The dead man on the slab was a perfect example. Raylan didn’t know his story, but his advanced directive was clean and clear: he did not, ever , want to become a vampire—despite the old and new bites on this upper body. And those were the ones Raylan could see.

“Three shots,” he yelled before pulling and hammering silver into the dead body’s heart.

The gunshots reverberated through the lockbox room where the coroner’s staff contained the deceased with advanced directives until the vampire executioner showed up.

Raylan never heard his cell ring.

“Raylan, I heard the gunfire and knew you were still on the premises. Do you mind driving?” Dr. Lillian asked, pushing her way into the conversation Raylan was having with one of the lab techs. He liked to make sure the coroner’s staff would remove the head if the deceased’s family didn’t have plans to begin cremation before the third night after death. The dead took three nights to rise.

“We’ll get there faster if you use a siren and emergency lights,” she added.

Raylan paused, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “Get where?”

She frowned. “Didn’t they call you?”

Raylan shook his head and pulled his cell out from his back pocket.

“Come on then, we need to hurry.” She turned and headed out—the expectation for him to follow was clear.

He grabbed his kit and nodded to the tech. “Just make sure you take off the head by morning if the mortuary doesn’t start his cremation before tomorrow night. He’s been dead a day.”

Raylan took off after Lillian, who was heading for the back exit. As the Fayette County Coroner, she normally made sure he and Tim checked in and out the front of the house when they came to perform morgue stakings. But Lillian was more than a medical examiner. As a member of the Lexington lycanthrope community and a medical doctor, she ran a were-animal clinic out of her basement. If she was dragging him off in a rush, then the odds didn’t stack up that she was in a rush for a good reason.

He thumbed his cell screen open and saw that he’d missed a called from Winona and felt a stab of panic for the baby. His ex was eight months along, and the pregnancy was complicated, to say the least.

He caught up to Lillian at the back door. “Is the baby okay—”

“Cherry has him settled for the moment, but I need to examine him and make sure his eyes are clear if he wants to keep his eyesight.”

“Wait, what him?” Raylan punched the key fob, flashing the lights  and unlocking the doors on his assigned vehicle.

“Come on,” she urged, walking toward the black SUV he’d been driving. Art, his chief, had sent Raylan’s Town Car to Pikeville a week or so ago. Last time Art sent his wheels off to another office in the district, it was at least local. Pikeville was as far away as Harlan, and Raylan was sure he’d never get it back. At least the SUV Art gave him had emergency lights. Raylan followed Lillian to the truck.

“Just hang on there. Are you talking about Tim?” Raylan asked. “He’s at your clinic?”

She nodded. “I do think he’ll heal when we remove the contaminant,” she said. “But we might want to hurry. It’s not unheard of for humans to lose their eyesight when their corneas are compromised by metal shavings. I can’t say how prolonged contact with pure silver will affect werewolf eyes.”

Raylan keyed the ignition and turned the engine over, but didn’t shift the truck into gear. His mind jumped through scenarios… Winona was the one to call him. Tim was sticking close to home today... around the house where Winona was working from home on transcriptions for the last few weeks of her pregnancy. What the hell had happened to them?

“How was he attacked? Is Winona and the baby all right?”

“There was no attack, Raylan,” Lillian said. “Did you want me to drive?”

Raylan shifted gears and checked the mirrors before taking off down the alley behind the morgue. “How did he get silver in his eyes then?”

“You will have to ask your mate. From what I understood from Cherry, it was some kind of home improvement project,” Lillian said.

“Huh,” Raylan sighed. Being a werewolf—one on medical leave while he learned control—left Tim bored and more than a bit surly. Raylan had no idea what the hell his partner had been up to that left him with silver wedged into his eyes but he could damned well guess the reason was probably based in boredom.

Lillian tsk-tsked him. “I thought we covered this after Tim turned,” Lillian lectured. “If you’re going to live with lycanthropes, I strongly discourage you from installing pure silver anything in your home, Raylan. I would have thought you’d know that.”

Raylan found Winona sitting in the clinic’s waiting area and sent her home, promising to call her if there was news. She shot a look to the back of the clinic, to the room where Tim waited and shook her head. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

His gaze followed hers and caught her eye roll. “Oh, is he in a mood again?”

Winona pressed her lips together for a moment. “Again?”

Raylan groaned. “Still. He didn’t happen to share how he managed to get silver shavings in his eyes, did he?”

She shrugged. “He’d been out in his shed again. Something to do with bullets,” she said, making a grabby-hand gesture at him. He’d caught on a while back and offered her his hand to help pull her up from the chair. She was about four weeks away from her due date. “You two deserve each other,” she said, smoothing her maternity shirt down over her hips.

“I usually agree with that. But why bullets I wonder?” Raylan asked more to himself than Winona.

She half-smiled and shrugged. “Call me if Lillian decides to keep him tonight. And it’s his night to cook, so plan on bringing home dinner.”

“Could be late,” Raylan murmured, his eyes drawn to the back of the clinic for a moment before he turned back to her.

Winona ran a hand over her stomach. “Yeah, late doesn’t really matter. Maybe Thai?”

Raylan winced. Thai would make Tim happy but Raylan would rather have some chicken or even barbecue. “Really?”

“Craving. Your kid’s got freaky taste.”

“Not my taste. She gets that from you,” he said. It’d be a tub of Chaney’s if the kid really had his taste.

Raylan propped a shoulder against the doorjamb of one of the examining rooms at the clinic watching Lillian apply fluorescent dye in Tim’s eyes with a little slip of paper. Tim’s eyes were already red and irritated.

“Does it hurt?” Raylan asked.

“I said as much when you got here,” Tim snapped. Winona hadn’t been kidding about his mood. “I can barely see out of my left eye.”

Raylan knew that the fear of losing his sight would throw Tim. He might be a lycanthrope now, but he was still a sniper in the US Marshals Service P-SOG division. A blind or half-blind sniper wouldn’t be employable. Tim was already sensitive about anything involving his job. He was officially out of work on a combo of worker’s comp and medical leave due to his injury in the line of duty. He was supposed to be using the time to learn control so he could come back to work. Only, the months of leave had stretched out and Tim was getting bored—which made him either surly or led to him doing god-knows-what with silver bullets in the shed.

Raylan would get to the bottom of that later.

“Tim, hush,” Lillian said. “I need you to be still. Raylan, if you don’t stop provoking him, I’ll send you out of the room.”

Raylan tried to shoot Tim a perturbed look but he wasn’t at all sure his partner could see well enough to pick it up.

“Oh, I can smell that you’re pissed off,” Tim murmured, and Raylan fought back a laugh.

“Raylan…” Lillian warned as she moved to the light switch. “One more word and you’re out in the waiting room. Cherry, can you hand me the cobalt light?”

The clinic nurse, Cherry, moved to hand Lillian a light that lit up the dye in Tim’s eyes. She was a wereleopard hoping to get into med school the next year. They’d gotten to know her better as Tim, Winona, and Sheeba had been in and out of the clinic in the past few months.

Lillian had said both she and Cherry could smell the silver in Tim’s eyes—though Raylan couldn’t, but then, his senses weren’t as acute. Cherry shined the blue light in Tim’s direction making his eyes glow orange while Lillian performed her examination.

“All right,” she said. “I see some scratches on both corneas—probably from rubbing your eyes. Those are in addition to the shavings we picked up on the X-ray Cherry took when you came in. You’ve got one speck of silver in your right eye and two small metal shavings in your left eye. The bad news is one’s penetrated the cornea.”   

“What were you do—” Raylan couldn’t help asking. He had to know.

“I wore protective eye gear,” Tim interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“That’s it,” Lillian harrumphed. “Tim—don’t roll your eyes right now, please. And Givens, out.”

“But—” Raylan argued.

“Now. You can wait in the front while I finish up. Cherry, shut the door behind him, please.”

Raylan stretched his legs out in front of him with his ankles crossed. He pulled his hat down over his face and settled in to wait. He wasn’t worried about Tim’s injury so much as he was about his lover in general. The transition from human to lycanthrope seemed easy at first. From Raylan’s perspective, Tim had great control—but they were coming up on four months and Tim wasn’t back on the job yet. From what Raylan could tell, it wasn’t Art or the Marshals Service holding him back. Tim was dragging his heels, and Raylan didn’t really understand why.

Tim insisted he didn’t have enough control to come back to work yet. Further, he hadn’t touched Raylan sexually in months. After Tim’s patience with Raylan following Bo’s death, Raylan was the last person who’d push Tim into something he wasn’t ready for. But the void left between them from their lack of sexual intimacy was unfurling into other parts of their lives.

If asked, Raylan couldn’t say if his partner liked being a werewolf or not.

He heard someone clearing their throat so he pushed his hat back and shifted to a more alert position. Lillian sank down into the chair next to him.

“We had to anesthetize his eyes five times because his metabolism kept burning off the effects of the medication. But I finally got the shavings out and he’s already started healing,” she said. “Which is a sign his system is probably clear of the silver.”

“His eyesight?” Raylan asked. He knew that would be what Tim would worry about.

“Fine in his right eye and already returning to normal in his left,” she said.

“Can I take him home?” Raylan asked.

“Let’s give it another hour just to make sure we got it all,” she said.

“Wouldn’t the X-ray show that?” he asked.

“It would. And the new one we took was clean. I don’t smell any silver, and his healing response is bearing that out. But if there’s any silver left in his eyes, they won’t heal which would endanger his eyesight. He’s a new wolf. I’m not sure how fast his natural healing rates are yet. I’d just like to be sure before you leave,” she explained. “You can go on back now.”

Raylan nodded. He really wasn’t looking forward to heading back down the hall.

“I picked up some tension between you two.” Lillian was nothing if not blunt.

“Hm-mmm.” Raylan nodded, pulling his hat to his lap. He rubbed his thumbs over the beaver fur on the brim.

“It’s not uncommon for couples in mixed marriages between lycans and humans to seek counseling during transition periods,” she offered. “Jamil should have suggested as much to Tim. The pack has… well, resources to help with some transitions dealing with couples and intimacy.”

Raylan had heard about some of the pack’s “resources” for new wolves from Tim, and they’d decided they were better off muddling through on their own.

“We’re fine,” Raylan lied. “He just needs to go back to work. All this free time—he gets bored. It’ll be better when he’s back on the job.”

Lillian’s eyes narrowed, then she knocked her knuckles twice to the top of his knee. “It’s a bad idea to lie to your doctor.” She tapped the side of her nose, then stood up. “Go on back. Cherry will tell you when you’re free to go. I am going upstairs to see what my mate has planned for dinner.”

He couldn’t help looking up at the ceiling, curious. In all of their trips in and out of the clinic with Sheeba, Winona, and Tim, he’d never met Lillian’s mate.

Raylan rapped a knuckle against the open door of the room where Tim lay on an exam table waiting, wearing one of those open-back hospital gowns. Either Lillian or Cherry had left the lights in the little exam room dimmed. He paused until Tim nodded up at him. Raylan hated that he felt like he had to approach him carefully; he moved slowly into the room.

He pulled a chair closer to Tim. Raylan took one of Tim’s hands between his own, rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, then idly massaged his long fingers. Tim had never actually said he liked it when Raylan touched him like this; but he always yielded to him. Raylan took the way Tim’s body turned pliant under his touch as acceptance, maybe even enjoyment. His skin was warm, smooth between the knuckles on the tops of his fingers, but more rough and calloused on the palm side. Raylan knew Tim’s many textures by touch, by heart. He traced one of Tim’s wide fingernail beds with a fingertip. Tim used to carry a bruise under the nail on his middle finger that had been growing out over their months together. After he was exposed to lycanthropy, the bruise disappeared. Tim didn’t acquire another; he never would. Raylan normally liked that idea. The man he loved was physically a lot more resilient than he had been. The problem was that they were finding out that resilience came at a cost.

“How’re you feeling?” Raylan asked.

“Better. I can see now,” Tim replied, his voice tight.

“Where are your clothes?” Raylan asked.

“Doc took them. Said they had silver all over them.”

Raylan shook his head. “What the hell were you thinkin’?”

Tim’s hand grew rigid and he pulled it away.

“You wanna get into that here?” Tim’s Air-Force blue eyes met his head-on, then he tugged on his earlobe.

Raylan understood Tim was telling him that Cherry—and probably Lillian and her husband—were listening, or could at least hear them if they wanted to listen. He pursed his lips and nodded. “All right. I’ve got a go-bag in the SUV.”

“Not wearing your jeans,” Tim said.

Raylan nodded. “Don’t have to. Got some boxers and probably a T-shirt.”

Tim flipped up the edge of the gown over his thigh, flashing Raylan his briefs.

“So you can wear my boxers like shorts.”

Tim shrugged. “Where’s Sheeba?”

Raylan fought the urge to wince, because he could already hear Tim’s argument: if he couldn’t be in the field with Raylan, then Raylan needed to take Sheeba as backup. They’d been over this before. More than a few times.

“Um. With Art?” Raylan answered, trying to sound hopeful but attaining uncertainty at best.

“Dammit Raylan! She’s supposed to go with you where—”

Raylan held up a hand to stave off an argument they’d had before. “Wherever I go,” he finished. “I know. I was doing a morgue staking when we heard you were here.”

He raised his eyebrows at Tim hoping he’d pick up on the context. All he got back was Tim’s hard empty stare. At least the red irritation had nearly healed, making the frosty streaks in the blue of Tim’s eyes seem cooler than they normally did when he shut Raylan down and out.

Raylan sighed. “You know how she feels about the… uh… morgue, so I left her with Art. It’s too warm to leave her in the car anymore while I’m performing an execution.”

At the first week in May, Lexington was already too warm for Sheeba to sleep in the car while Raylan executed a dead body—no matter how fast the work went. So, he’d left her asleep on Art’s couch. The chief seemed more than happy to keep her. Raylan suspected their boss liked Sheeba more than him and Tim at times.

Sheeba had begun to see the coroner much like some dogs viewed their vets. The Trollhound was intelligent enough to figure out that the morgue wasn’t the clinic but was definitely another space belonging to Doc Lillian. Raylan and Tim agreed they respected Lillian enough not to tell her that Sheeba pretty much hated her.

Raylan watched realization dawn on Tim’s face. “Ahhh,” Tim murmured, his eyes tracking to the ceiling.

“We can go after her when Lillian clears us,” Raylan offered. “If we get out of here before Art leaves for the day we can swing by the office and pick her up from the courthouse. If not… well, you’ll have to fight Leslie for her. Might be better if I collect her tomorrow from work.”

He could see Tim mulling it over. “She’ll be with Leslie?”

“Last time I talked with Art, he said Leslie put off her afternoon walk with her girl group so they could take Sheeba after Art brought her home.”

Tim’s face scrunched up in distaste. “Uh-uh. No way I’m taking on a bunch of women while I’m wearing just our skivvies. Not even for Sheeba.”

Raylan pressed his lips together, frowning to keep a smile from his face and nodded, his eyes on Tim’s, enjoying his snark.

“I think you’d look good in our undershorts.” Raylan’s voice was low and suggestive. He couldn’t help himself after Tim planted the image in his mind of him taking on Leslie and her middle-aged cohorts wearing very little.

Even before he saw Tim’s reaction to his tone, Raylan knew he’d nudged too close to one of their emotional landmines. Tim grew still and looked away sharply. His face emptied of emotion and he swung around so his legs hung off the side of the exam table. He hopped down and headed for the door leaving Raylan looking at the crinkled and torn paper covering the table.

Maybe Lillian was right about couple’s counseling. Anytime the subject of sex came up, Tim shut down. If Raylan couldn’t smell the odd spike of Tim’s arousal now and then—like when Raylan put on a button-down shirts for work or the nights that Tim did sleep with him, slipping under the covers behind him when he thought Raylan was already asleep—Raylan would doubt Tim even wanted him that way anymore.

Lillian had given Tim his socks and boots back, saying Cherry took the boots outside and brushed them clean and his socks hadn’t been exposed. Raylan clicked the key fob and Tim stalked out ahead of him wearing a faded Henley that was too broad for his shoulders. The sleeves hung down to his fingers.

Lillian handed Raylan a plastic bag of Tim’s clothing on their way out.

“The shirt, especially, is riddled with silver shavings. It might be best to drop them by a dry cleaner unless you feel like you can launder them yourself,” Lillian said. She considered him a moment and Raylan wasn’t sure what she saw him doing in her mind. “Just remember if you try and shake them free of the shavings, wear protective eyewear and try not to do it where Sheeba runs. Let Tim scent them to make sure they’re clear of silver before you dump them in your washing machine.”

“They’re just specks of silver on them, right? I’ve seen lycanthropes wear silver piercings,” Raylan said, thinking back to some kind of werecat he’d met once during a vampire hunt in California.

She frowned. “Not without continuous pain.”

Raylan nodded, thinking that had made sense now that he thought about it. The guy worked for a lycan BDSM club.

“The silver won’t hurt you, but even with three vampire marks to speed up your healing, you won’t heal as quickly as your partner if you’re shaking out the shavings and one ends up in your eye, too,” Lillian cautioned. “He drove in with Winona, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Raylan said.

“Might want to get her car detailed. Her bloodwork is still so questionable I’d feel better not running the risk.”

Raylan thanked her and headed for the SUV, dreading the ride home. He stowed the bag of contaminated clothing in the trunk and wondered how he’d gotten to the place where he’d dodge being alone with Tim if he could get away with it.

The ride home would have been short, but they needed to stop for takeout.

“Winona wants Thai for supper.”

Tim nodded. “That place in Richmond is closest,” Tim said, swiping his phone open. “You know what you want?”

Raylan screwed up his face. “They’re the ones with that chicken thing… with the pineapple?”

“Dish with the yellow sauce?”

“Yeah, that, if they have it with pineapple. If not, the chicken deal that tastes like peanut butter,” Raylan said, relieved Tim knew what he meant. Their sex life might be on the rocks, but Tim still understood some of his tastes.

But then, Tim was a detail man. He knew what Winona wanted without even having to ask, so Raylan wasn’t sure how great a measure of intimacy his partner’s acumen with a Thai menu really was.

Tim called the restaurant and ordered god only knew what for Winona and himself. Raylan didn’t know or care. These days, between Winona’s pregnancy and Tim’s lycanthrope metabolism, they both out-ate him.

They still had a good ten minutes before their take-out order was supposed to be ready when they pulled into the parking lot. Raylan turned the ignition off and drew in a breath.

“So, you ready to tell me what you were doing in the shed with silver bullets?” Raylan asked quietly, shifting in his seat to watch Tim.

Tim’s jaw set, clenching and unclenching visibly. “I was repurposing ammo.”

Raylan didn’t understand. No one made their own silver bullets anymore. Bounty hunters and executioners might have three or four decades back before ammo manufacturers cottoned to the idea that bounty hunters, vampire executioners, and law enforcement would pay, and pay well, for accurate, consistent silver rounds. Homemade silver ammo was notoriously hard to make, hard on your weapons over time, and downright unreliable in terms of accuracy at more than a few feet’s distance. Tim had to know this.

“Why would you even bother trying to make silver rounds?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t making silver rounds. I was drilling out the tips of silver bullets to make modified hollow-points. I had on protective eye gear. It always worked before.”

Raylan tamped down a spike of anger. Tim knew better than to mess with loaded ammunition. If the altered rounds didn’t blow up in his face while he was drilling into them, then the chances were just as high they’d backfire when Tim tried to fire them in a weapon. “You were drilling into live ammo?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Tim snapped. “I was drilling out just the silver bullets. I was going to reload them into their jackets with the powder and… well, a little something extra.”

“Extra?” Raylan was almost afraid to ask.

Tim licked his lips and hunched his shoulders a little. “Phosphorus.”

Raylan was at a loss. “But… are you insane? Why would you even try that?”

“To make incendiary rounds,” Tim said, shrugging.

Phosphorus would hit a target and burn—and keep on burning. If Raylan wasn’t so pissed off, he’d probably see the attraction in such a weapon for fighting vampires or ghouls. He pushed the thought from his mind.

“Tim,” Raylan began. “Just because you’re harder to kill now, doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt.”

“I’ve made these rounds. You know. Before.”

Before Tim became a werewolf. It wasn’t the first time Raylan noticed those unsaid words floating between them.

“Why now? Is it the boredom?”

That earned him a flat-out stare. At least he had his partner’s full attention. “If you must know, I was making them for an old Ranger buddy who’s headed down to South America to smoke out a vampire nest.”

“Do you mean to tell me there’s no one in the entire US Army who can’t hack a bullet other than you?”

“Well, no…”

“Are phosphorus weapons even legal?”

Tim’s lips quirked and he half-lifted a shoulder. “They’re legal enough. In the right hands,” he paused. “And I’m not bored.”

Raylan tipped his head. “Aren’t you?”

Tim didn’t answer, so Raylan got out of the truck to collect their supper. He paused in the open door to peer at his lover.

“Tim, you need to decide if you’re coming back to work sooner rather than later. This—” Raylan circled his finger in the air between them. “—can’t go on.”

Chapter Text

Tim was out in his “shed” when he heard Raylan’s car turn off the highway toward their house. Raylan and Winona called it a shed—but Tim considered it more of a workshop with a walk-in-closet-sized gun safe where he kept the bulk of his weapons cache. Raylan once liked his toys, but lately, after Tim contracted lycanthropy and shifted—Raylan had become downright touchy about all his weaponry. Tim stashed away the rifle he’d been cleaning in the safe so he could go meet Raylan.

Tim wanted to think Raylan’s tetchiness was because he had a kid on the way. But he knew it was because of the limbo Tim’s life had become. He heard the car pull into the carport and flipped the inside of his wrist up. The watch face’s display was pushing three in the morning. Raylan was home late.

Everything was spotless after the episode the week before with the silver and phosphorus bullets. Because his buddy had to have that ammo, Tim finished making it with Raylan, who kicked him out while he drilled out the remaining silver bullets into hollow-points. Then he went over the shed with a wet-vac. Tim looked for the vacuum later but hadn’t been able to find it anywhere on the property. He suspected Raylan took it to work with him and tossed it in one of the courthouse dumpsters. Tim would be surprised if even a forensics tech could find any silver swarf left in the shed, on their grounds, or in their cars.

After they’d finished the bullet project, the tension between them seemed to ease a little. Tim even admitted to himself that he liked sitting close to Raylan, their heads together, measuring gunpowder, then reloading the rounds into their jackets.

He’d missed the intimacy of shared tasks with Raylan. Now that they weren’t spending their working time together, Tim had begun to wonder if he and Raylan really had anything in common. He flipped the light off over his work table and headed out to meet his lover.

Sheeba gave him away, wiggling when he stepped out of the darkness into the carport to join them.

He held out a hand for her to press her head into his palm.

“I could smell bananas as soon as I got out of the car,” Raylan said, as Tim joined him at the downstairs door. “Been cleaning guns, huh?”

Tim fought back a wince and shrugged in reply. When Bo, then Boyd, laid vampire marks on Raylan, his sense of smell had heightened. Tim knew that intellectually. But now that he’d become a werewolf his own senses were so much more acute, and Raylan being able to scent his gun oil at a distance drove home to Tim that neither one of them was what they once were. That Raylan now carried the third mark from Boyd, especially irritated Tim. He could hear Raylan mumbling in his sleep some nights and Tim knew it was because Boyd had found a way into his partner’s dreams. Raylan never complained about it. But he’d gone back to taking on more zombie animation jobs to keep his necromancy leveled out.

“You’re home late tonight.”

Raylan unlocked the door and headed into the house, stopping to hang his jean jacket on a hook near the door. “Yeah, Rach and I went to Louisville to inspect The Bowery.”

“What’s that?” Tim hated not knowing all the office gossip, that he constantly had to be brought up to speed.

“What they’re calling their new Monsterville.”

“No shit.” Tim followed Raylan inside. He ducked into the downstairs bath, so Tim headed up the stairs to put food down for Sheeba.

Tim climbed the steps to the kitchen fighting back irritation. Sheeba was on his heels—knowing somehow he had her meal in mind.  

He hadn’t known that Louisville’s new preternatural tenderloin district was up and running. Last year, the Kentucky legislature followed along in the footsteps of some of the other conservative states in the country by legalizing the creation of areas within interested counties where preternatural prostitution could be legalized. The legislation cropped up in response to a study ordered by the US Senate Appropriations subcommittee on Preternatural Services. They’d published statistics that up to seventy percent of humans known to be infected with lycanthropy, and forty percent of recently turned undead, file for some kind of state and national welfare assistance. Often, when humans were turned, they lost their jobs and livelihoods if they couldn’t find a way to pass for human like Lillian did. Most packs provided some support but there were a few rare forms of lycanthropy out there—like their friend Nahtoo. She was the only weredragon Tim had ever heard of—and he grew up as a third-generation bounty hunter. Without a pack to support them, some had no choice but to turn to government assistance.

While some right-wing politicians ranted about preternaturals overusing the country’s welfare system, The Washington Post had reported a growing percentage of solicitation and prostitution arrests included preternatural citizens. It didn’t take long for pro-human pundits to put two and two together to come up with seven: instead of addressing the bias and discrimination in society at a legislative level, they suggested that states legalize preternatural prostitution—as long as it happened within designated areas. Kentucky was one of the first states to add what the press called “Monsterville” laws to their books.

Some of the preternatural groups lobbied against the idea on the basis that the tenderloin districts didn’t create employment for lycanthropes or vampires but instead forced them into prostitution, therefore limiting their options.

So yes, Tim had heard of Monstervilles. He’d known at some point preternatural deputies would perform initial inspections when counties opened businesses in their designated tenderloin districts. He just hadn’t realized that Kentucky was so far along in the process. He felt out of the loop and probably unjustifiably irritated at Raylan for not keeping him up to speed.

Scooping Sheeba’s food into her dish, he moved to drop it beside her water bowl, which he picked up to refill. She sat on her haunches staring intently at his face until he put the water bowl back and gave her the signal to go ahead and eat. She had a short list of people in this world who she would accept a meal from. Much to Tim’s dismay, that group seemed to be growing as she was spending more time with Raylan, Art, and Leslie. Winona even fed her some nights. Tim rubbed his forehead and heard the water shut off downstairs. Raylan would be done with his shower.

Tim grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam and a glass tumbler from the kitchen cabinets and headed downstairs.

Naked, but for a towel wrapped around his hips, Raylan dug through the top drawer of their dresser.

“Do we need to do laundry?” he mumbled.

Tim switched the glass to the hand carrying the booze and pressed his palm to the bare skin of Raylan’s back, his thumb catching a water droplet on his warm skin. The breadth of the man’s shoulders still surprised him. He set the bottle, then the glass, on the top of the dresser.

“No, but it’s your turn to put it away. What are you looking for?”

Raylan turned into Tim’s space and dropped a kiss to his mouth, then whispered against his lips. “Boxers. But I could be convinced I don’t really need ’em.”

Tim smiled against his mouth and backed away. “Bottle’s for you. I’ll get your shorts.”

He heard Raylan’s resigned sigh clearly as far away as the carport door where the washer and dryer were installed in the hallway. He knew what Raylan wanted. Hell, he wanted it too. But he couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not yet.

The full moon was only days away. But even when it wasn’t, every time Tim decided he was going to give in and take Raylan up on what he was offering, he froze up and backed away.

Tim felt trapped.

He was downright terrified of what he could do to Raylan if he lost control during sex. As afraid as he was to touch Raylan, he also feared that if he didn’t try to soon, he’d lose him.

Tim grabbed the entire basket of folded laundry, took a deep breath, and headed back into the bedroom.

“So how was the Bowery? Will it be as bad as everyone says?”

Raylan had moved to sit on Tim’s side of the bed. He had the glass filled with a good two fingers of amber bourbon in his hand and a serious expression on his face. “Can we talk about work later?”

Tim paused in picking out a pair of plaid green boxers. “Sure,” he said, then tossed the underwear to Raylan responding to yet another attempt at seduction on Raylan’s part: no need to bother going to bed naked; nothing is going to happen.

Tim dropped the basket on the top of the dresser and started putting their clothes away—more for something to do with his hands than anything else. He saw Raylan in the mirror’s reflection as his partner stowed the now empty glass on the bedside end table, then drew off the towel. Tim furtively watched as Raylan’s lean hips turn away from him, then the flash of his ass as he bent and stepped into his boxers, eventually tugging them up into place. Just that little glimpse of skin had Tim tied up again—warring between want and fear.

Tim focused on the laundry and didn’t realize that Raylan had come up to stand behind him. They eyed each other in the mirror and Tim realized from his own expression how little he really hid from his partner.

“How come you smell like fear every time I bring up sex?” Raylan’s words were quiet.

Tim closed his eyes. “Walt McCready.” When he opened his eyes, Raylan was still there—his expression thoughtful. He scented the air and didn’t pick up anger so he turned around.

“You aren’t a weak man, Tim,” Raylan said.

Tim felt one of his eyebrows pop up on its own. “When it comes to you, I damned well could be.”

Raylan pressed his lips flat together, down into a frown. “I doubt that. But you should know… I don’t have it in me to push you. Not on this. Not after the year we had. Not after Bo,” Raylan said quietly, his voice hoarse. “But Tim, I feel like you need a push.”

“Maybe. Not tonight though. Full moon’s almost on us. I… can’t. Don’t ask me to do that…”

Raylan’s eyes softened. “I told you I wouldn’t… now. But if you don’t try, how are you ever gonna know you’re ready?”

Tim looked anywhere but at Raylan because he knew the answer to that question but hated it. They both did.

Wolf packs had a way of teaching new wolves control of their emotions during intense situations like sex—most packs did anyway. Had Harlan had a healthy pack with wolves acting in the roles of Eros and Eranthe, Walt McCready might not have killed his wife.

Tim’s stomach churned at the idea but he made it anyway. “I could talk to Jamil about the Eros and Eranthe again,” Tim offered.

“Shit,” Raylan muttered, grabbing the Jim Beam from the dresser and turning away. He didn’t bother finding his glass but twisted off the lid and slugged straight from the bottle. He deflated into a spot on his side of the bed, his elbows on his spread knees, the bottle hanging down where he gripped it in his fist. “I hate the idea of you being with either one of them.”

“You think I want that?” Tim said. “I told Jamil no twice already.”

“But if you need to fuck some wolf in order to prove you won’t kill me, then…” Raylan trailed off.

The Eros and Eranthe were the equivalents of hands-on sexual therapists for newly turned werewolves.They helped new wolves practice their limits so when they resumed a sexual relationship with their human partners they didn’t end up like the McCreadys. But it meant Tim would have to practice having sex with the Eros.

“I’ll talk to Jamil tomorrow,” Tim said, resigned.

Raylan rubbed his face in response. He pulled back the sheet and blanket and settled on his side with his back to Tim’s half of the bed.

Tim went to the door and flipped off the light switch. His wolf senses made it easy for him to find his way to the bed, to Raylan. He crawled under the covers and curled up behind Raylan. His lover’s body stiffened at first, then relaxed against him. In the past couple of months, there’d been too many nights when Tim slept on one of the couches upstairs in the living room or the sunroom.

“Hmm,” Raylan sighed.

Tim’d never answered his earlier question. He slid an arm around Raylan’s waist and buried his nose in his neck.

“You smell fear because I’m afraid I’m losing you.”

Raylan’s hand covered Tim’s, twining their fingers together and holding them over his sternum. He turned his head just enough for Tim’s nose to rub against his jawline.

“Not gonna happen,” he whispered, his breath smelling of whiskey and white lies.

***

Tim pulled his truck up outside Jamil’s the next evening. Jamil was the Ulfric, the head of the Lexington werewolf pack, who’d been helping Tim transition from human to lycanthrope by granting Tim the status of “friend of the pack.”

The pack would meet at the next full moon—another two days off. But Tim went ahead and called Jamil asking for a private meeting with the Ulfric. He’d informed him he’d like the assistance of the pack’s Eros and Eranthe.

Tim thought there’d be more cars in front of Jamil’s house. When he got to the door, he found Jamil home, but alone.

“I thought that the others would be here…” Tim said, following Jamil into his kitchen.

The Ulfric waved at the table. “Coffee? Water? I have some beer. Won’t get you drunk but it still tastes good.”

“I’m fine. I just…”

“Let me get a beer first. Then we can talk.”

Jamil settled at the table across from Tim with a beer. He’d brought a second bottle that he nudged in Tim’s direction. Tim stared at it. “News is that bad?”

Jamil snorted. “I like that you’re quick.” He twisted off the cap and Tim followed suit. Jamil wasn’t technically his Ulfric, but Tim was a guest of his pack and Jamil was acting as his alpha, his leader, his protector, and mentor.

Tim took a drag on the beer and waited.

“I talked to Marcus—the Eros—and he declined your request.”

“Can he do that?” Tim asked. “I thought that was his job.”

Jamil shook his head. “So much for quick,” he said, then reached over and thumped Tim’s forehead. “Think about what you’re asking.”

Tim stared at Jamil, shocked.

“Okay, sound it out to me…,” Jamil encouraged. “In words, what you are asking me for…”

“For Marcus to… fuck me. So I can make sure I won’t kill Raylan when we… are together.”

“And do you think Marcus should have a choice in who he fucks?”

“Of course.”

Jamil held out his bottle. “Well, there you go.”

“Ahhh,” Tim said. “Sorry. This has just made it… hard at home.”

The Ulfric nodded. “Lillian said you and Raylan were having some trouble adjusting.”

“How would she know?” Tim bristled.

“Maybe because she’s not blind,” Jamil said. “When are you going back to work? I heard you’ve been… bored, is it?”

Tim sipped his beer. “Why did Marcus decline?”

Jamil shifted in his chair, without answering.

Tim stared at him—his eyes on the Ulfric’s, waiting.

Jamil shook his head, his dreads moving with him. “See, it’s shit like that right there that puts me in such a tight spot with you.”

Tim threw up his hands. “What?”

“You don’t stare down your Ulfric.”

Exasperated, Tim sighed. “I was waiting on your answer.”

“You were making it clear you expected me to answer.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I thought you were military once. Ranger, right? You should be better at following rank and file than you are.”

“If you were my Ulfric and this was my pack, then I might consider following your orders with a ‘yes sir,’ but you’re not. Are you?” Tim demanded.

Being packless had begun to bother Tim. He wondered if he would feel more control if he had pack bonds. When he was hunting wereanimals, lycanthropes who ran into problems were more often than not on their own—disassociated from their packs. Tim had begun to realize over the last few months that he had to find a pack somewhere. As far as the Marshals Service was concerned, Art had paved the way for him to stay in Lexington assuming he picked a date to come back from medical leave. When he did, he’d be assigned to Lexington. But he couldn’t stay in town indefinitely as a “friend” to Jamil’s pack.

“When are you going back to work?” Jamil repeated.

Tim shrugged. “Soon. Maybe. We’ll see.”

“Why haven’t you gone back? You don’t have trouble with your control when we’ve trained together.”

Tim didn’t like not knowing and liked admitting it even less. He’d rather lock his jaw and grind his back teeth than answer Jamil’s question.

“If you were part of a pack, you’d feel more grounded,” Jamil said carefully.

Tim looked away. “I know that. But I’m assigned to the eastern district of Kentucky for the foreseeable future.”

When Tim was turned in the line of duty in January, Jamil’s initial response was that Tim was too much of a threat to take on as a member of his pack. First, his background executing preternatural creatures would always be a problem for him with other wolves. Second, he was one of the few wolves in the country to keep his job in law enforcement after contracting lycanthropy.  Pack laws weren’t always the same as human state and federal laws. But lastly, Tim thought the primary reason Jamil didn’t want him in his pack was because he was afraid Tim would take over. Tim was what lycanthropes considered a dominant, an alpha, as a human, and that hadn’t changed any as a wolf.

“Did you want to petition to join the Lexington pack?” Jamil offered.

“You’d consider that?” Tim asked, dubious. The solution was too perfect, too easy, just too damned pat for Tim to trust it at face value.

“I no longer think you’ll kill me to take over the pack. Or make me put you down. And I suspect you might have some value others don’t understand yet.”

“And what’s that?” Tim’s gut churned a bit at the wolf’s comment.

Jamil shrugged. “I’d rather not say. It’s too soon to tell. You should bring your mate with you to the lupinar for the full moon if you do decide you want to join the pack. The pack needs to see him, know him.”

Tim didn’t recall seeing other human mates attending previous full moon ceremonies, such as they were. “Do all mates have to petition the pack or just mine?”

“Just yours.”

Tim let his head fall back. “Great.”

“Not everyone’s mate is notorious for killing vampires,” Jamil said.

“I need to talk to Raylan.”

“You do. But before we go any further you need to know what you’re joining. Marcus did not want to help you transition because you’re gay.”

“Nice.”

“He said he just doesn’t want to sleep with men. I don’t think he’s necessarily homophobic. Lexington might have an openly gay mayor, but this is Kentucky. Some of the pack are still… narrow-minded. They’ll have a problem with you and your mate—not only because you’re law enforcement, but because you’re renowned executioners. And gay. When I became Ulfric, we lost some wolves who couldn’t adjust to a mixed-race leader.”

“Lost how?” Tim narrowed his eyes.

“I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jamil answered. “But I would have done what was necessary.”

Tim nodded. He didn’t doubt Jamil in that.

“You need to know what you’re asking to be a part of,” Jamil said. “And understand that you’ll need to expect challenges.”

“Yeah, you said as much.”

“Formal challenges. Probably every full moon unless…” Jamil didn’t finish and seemed lost in thought.

“Unless what?” Tim pressed.

Jamil swallowed a swig of his beer. “Well, we’ll see about that. As I said, Marcus is not interested in helping you adjust as a wolf in his role as Eros. But Raina, as Eranthe, is.”

Tim was stunned. He hadn’t entertained the idea of sleeping with a woman since he lived under his father’s roof. The irony that both ventures involved some measure of duress did not escape him.

“You do know that your mate is welcome to be present. Even involved. Raina suggested that actually.”

Tim swallowed. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary since I can’t… not with Raina.”

Jamil frowned. “I know she’s brash but…”

“Oh, no. That’s not the problem,” Tim said. “I’m gay. No desire whatsoever to be with a woman. I guess Raylan might have some interest if the mood hit him.”

“Perhaps she and Raylan together with you?” Jamil offered.

“Uh-uh. Not happening,” Tim said. “I think if Raina touched Raylan—well, pretty sure I’d have to tear her throat out.”

Jamil huffed a laugh. “And isn’t that what we’re trying to avoid.”  

***

That evening Raylan didn’t take the news well when they sat down to eat—late again. Winona had eaten earlier and had gone to bed, but Tim had waited on his partner to get home from the office.

“And why do I have to go?” Raylan asked, pushing a green bean around his plate as if it offended him somehow.

“They want to meet you.”

Raylan stared up at Tim. “And joining this pack is something you want?”

Tim shrugged. “I want to go back to work. I want us to go back to… feeling like I can touch you again. I want to feel… my wolf settled. Don’t have any other way to describe it.”

“And the sex wolves?” Raylan looked back to his plate, his attention back on the offensive green bean. “Where did that end up?”

Tim’s half-laugh had a bitter edge to it. “Well, Marcus doesn’t do men. And Raina’s willing, but I don’t do women… She offered to work with both of us.”

Raylan’s head snapped up. “The hell kind of pack is this?”

Tim shrugged. “Is that something you’d be into?”

He watched Raylan’s face screw up. He didn’t smell aroused by the idea; rather Tim picked up the burnt smell of anger off his lover. “Are you askin’ me if I want to have a threesome with you and some woman?”

“I’m really not,” Tim assured him.

Raylan closed his eyes and shook his head, then finally stabbed the green bean and popped it into his mouth.

“Good. I’ll let Art know I need that night off,” he answered, the words garbled as he chewed the vegetable.

Chapter Text

Tim found Raylan in their bedroom changing from his slacks, button-down and tie into a T-shirt and jeans. He sat on the bed next to him while Raylan tugged on his boots then watched him stalk to the dresser and reach for his Glock.

“Before you try and stop me, there’s no way I’m goin’ into this thing tonight unarmed. I know you think—”

Tim ignored him, heading to the closet to pull out a bag he’d brought in from his shed earlier.

“Oh, you don’t know shit about what I think. Here,” Tim said, tossing the bag onto the bed. “Put those on. I’m thinking maybe a flannel over them. That jean jacket you like so much’ll be too tight in the sleeves.”

Raylan frowned a half-smile and went for the bag. “Whatcha got here?”

“Toys.” Tim wiggled his eyebrows drawing Raylan’s eyes from the bed for a moment.

Raylan pulled out the forearm sheaths that Tim liked to wear with his favorite silver throwing knives. He dumped a couple different knives out of the bag.

“Nice. You sure you want to give these up?” Raylan placed one sheath flat to the inside of his left arm.

“Did I say you could keep them?” Tim smiled. He was pretty sure he’d still be able to wear them since the sheaths separated silver from his skin. He pulled Raylan’s arm straight out. “Like this,” he said, showing Raylan how he strapped them on. He tugged them down closer to his wrists adjusting the straps. Raylan’s arms were long and lean compared to Tim’s.

“If they’re down here, you don’t have to shove the sleeve up as far to pull the blades.”

Raylan nodded.

“Can you throw knives with any accuracy?”

Raylan tilted his head to the side and winced. “Can’t say as I could, but I’ve slit more than a few chicken throats in my time.”

Tim scowled. “Always with the damned chickens,” he muttered. “That’s with a machete. Let’s skip the throwing knives.” He used the bag to nudge the knives around the bed separating the throwing from the combat knives. “Use these. Their blades are more suited to slicing. Just keep in mind, if you try to use these in close combat, you’re just as likely to get killed as to get a good strike in.”

“Hm-mmm,” Raylan replied, turning his arm one way then the other.

***

About a half hour before sunset, Tim pulled his truck onto the road leading up to where he’d told Raylan the Blue Grass Clan’s Lupinar was located.

“Jamil said since the sun goes down later ’round this time of year we won’t start shifting until after nine. There’s a meeting kind of deal first,” Tim said. “I guess that’s when my petition to join the pack’ll come up.”

He parked on the side of the road where other pack members had left their vehicles, then got out of his side of the truck and peeled off his jacket, which he threw into the back seat. He stretched across the front seat to stash his wallet, cell phone, badge, and watch in the truck’s console. He looked up to find Raylan watching him.

“I’ll give you my clothes before I change,” Tim said. “I left the Kindle in the backseat if you want something to read, along with some bottled water and a few protein bars. I haven’t seen other wolves bring their human mates. So, you might want to wait in the truck until we finish the run.”

Raylan crinkled his nose at the idea of the reader and the protein bars. He’d prefer a paperback and a thermos of coffee.

“I downloaded the ebook version of True Grit for you,” Tim said, then he shut the door on the driver’s side of the truck.

Raylan nodded approval, then followed suit and met him around front.

“Thanks. Got any Ellroy on there?” He didn’t want to admit it but now he was interested.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” Tim answered cagily.

Raylan knew that meant he’d find most of his favorite crime authors downloaded. “How long you think you’re gonna be out tonight?” Raylan said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Hours,” Tim said, clicking the key fob and locking the truck doors.

Raylan pressed his lips together, unhappy with the answer. Tim held out the keys and Raylan reached over to take them.

“Sorry,” Tim said, pressing the keys into Raylan’s hand. “Take these. You can always leave and come back around dawn. We should be done for sure by then.”

“Hell no. You been home well before dawn the last two full moons. You might be able to talk me into reading your little doodad or maybe taking a nap in the truck, but I’m not leaving you all the way out here in the middle of the night naked without both your wheels and a weapon.”

Tim leaned into Raylan’s space and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then turned and led the way into the Lupinar. Raylan was so surprised by the gesture that it took him a long moment to realize he should be following Tim.

Raylan knew when they crossed into the territory of the pack’s Lupinar. He could feel the buzz of the Munin. It took him a few minutes to sense the direction from where the dead were resonating, but he found it in a gnarled old ash tree off to the far left. Before the tree was a circular clearing with the grass worn away. If Raylan had to guess, he’d bet it was their ceremonial space from the way the pack gathered around the area but didn’t cross into it. But more than that, the place reeked of blood and magic.

Two carved wooden chairs sat empty under the tree. Tim had told him they were for the Ulfric and his Lupa.

Apparently, Jamil wasn’t yet holding court.

As if to prove it, the Ulfric came walking up to greet Tim, then he turned to Raylan.

“Deputy, you don’t smell of Munin any longer. Is that a good or a bad thing?” Jamil held out a hand.

The last time Raylan had met Jamil, he’d been working with his cousin Marianne, who used her pack’s Munin magic to seal over his vampire marks to help him block out Boyd Crowder. Since then, the seals had been cracked and the magic lost, opening up the connection between Boyd and Raylan as his human servant.

“It’s just Raylan. We’re not here on marshal business tonight,” Raylan said, reaching out to take the Ulfric’s hand. He allowed Jamil to subject him to his bone-crushing grip with an amused hike of his eyebrows and a smile of indulgence. Jamil was the man of the hour—Raylan could let him have that.

“And yet you wear your badge and weapon,” Jamil pointed out.

“Well, we might not be here on marshal business but that doesn’t mean we stopped being deputy marshals, now does it?”

Jamil nodded. “Excellent point. Though I think you’ll find that a few of the Blue Grass Pack are unsure if that is a point in the pro or con column when considering your mate here as a member of our pack.”

“Never got the impression that a wolf pack was much of a democracy,” Raylan replied.

“Me neither.” Jamil’s teeth shone white in the darkness reminding Raylan of Boyd. The Ulfric breathed in through his nose.

“So what do you think of your mate joining our pack?” Jamil asked.

“Fine by me,” Raylan said, honestly. He needed Tim to feel settled. “We appreciate you taking the time and all to help him through the transition.”

“He’d be tied to Kentucky,” Jamil said.

Raylan nodded. They were both tied to Lexington until Tim settled back in with the Marshals Service. He was hoping Dan would transfer them both down to the Miami office once Raylan found some way to separate himself from Boyd’s marks. If he could manage that, they’d be free to leave Kentucky behind for good.

“Well, it seems we’ll be here a spell. Jobs. Family,” Raylan said, knowing the mention of Winona would distract Jamil’s line of questioning.

“Oh yes. Your wife… when is the wee one due?”

Raylan crossed his arms. “Ex. In a few weeks. I think Doc said she’d help us get in touch. We might need a little assistance come next full moon.”

Jamil’s eyebrows narrowed and he turned to Tim. “You didn’t mention this.”

Tim shrugged. “It’s not a sure thing. You know the lab work has been up in the air,” he explained.

Winona had been exposed to lycanthropy by the same wolf who gave it to Tim. Only whatever made Raylan what he was—his mama’s family history as animators, that presented in him as necromancy—turned out to be a trait Doc Lillian and a hematopathologist at the university hospital thought he’d passed on to the daughter his ex-wife was carrying. As long as Winona was pregnant, she seemed to have the same immunity that Raylan and their baby carried. Lillian had begun warning them that her immunity might give way to the lycanthropy once she gave birth.

Jamil clapped Tim on the shoulder. “We’ll chat more about that later.”

The first part of the gathering was like any community meeting Raylan had ever been to—pointless minutiae. Raylan scanned the crowd. He began to notice that very few of the other wolves seemed willing to meet his or Tim’s eyes, and they’d physically cleared a path for them. He’d always heard that lycanthropes were physical and big on touch but this pack went out of their way not to bump into Raylan or Tim.

Raylan shot Tim a look. “Do we smell funny to the pack or somethin’?” he whispered.

Tim worked his mouth like he did when he was holding back a smile and sidled up to Raylan so he could speak softly in his ear. The other wolves would hear anyway, but Raylan figured Tim saw the gesture as token politeness. “When wolves want the protection of a particular dominant or alpha, they bump up against them. They’re recognizing us both as dominant or alpha among them,” Tim said.

“And the reason they’re clearing a path?” Raylan asked.

“They recognize we’re dominant but don’t trust us enough to want our protection,” Tim said.

Raylan’s lips pressed together into a frown. “Fair enough. Their loss.”

Tim grinned at him in the gloaming.

When Jamil moved the meeting on to new business and announced that Tim had petitioned him to join the pack, a spattering of surprised gasps echoed in the Lupinar. Raylan couldn’t figure if they saw the news as good, bad, or just shocking.  

Raylan scented the air and picked up a fair amount of fear and anger and decided his sidearm and a silver blade seemed like poor planning on his and Tim’s part.

“Ulfric,” a man called out from the other side of the circle. “May I speak?”

Jamil nodded his head. “Go ahead, Wayne.”

“I think some of the pack members find it concerning that someone who’s so famous for killing our kind that the wereanimal groups have a special nickname for him, wants to join our pack.”

“What nickname is that, Tim?” Jamil asked, turning to Tim.

“They call me Death.”

Jamil smiled. “And they have a name for your mate, too, don’t they?”

“The Executioner.”

“And why is that?” Jamil pressed.

“My mate holds the record for the most legal vampire executions.”

“And why do they call you Death?”

Tim shrugged. “Honestly Ulfric, I never asked.”

“Raylan? Do you know why?”

Raylan tilted his head. “Don’t think I ever heard why. Expect it’s because the kill count from his time in the military and working with the Marshals Service is awful high,” Raylan said. “It’s the usual reason they decide we need nicknames.”

“Well, Wayne,” Jamil continued. “I have a question for you. If our pack was attacked, ended up in a pack war, or in danger from some other threat, on which side would you want either of these men fighting? For your pack or against it?”

The wolf nodded. “Our pack, Ulfric.”

“I thought as much. Does anyone else have any objection to Tim Gutterson joining the Blue Grass pack?”

Raylan still smelled fear and a hint of anger floating on the wind, but the pack held their objections.

Jamil called Tim forward.

“Kneel before me,” he ordered.

Raylan was instantly on edge when Tim fell to his knees in front of his new pack leader.

“Do you, Tim Gutterson, pledge loyalty to the Blue Grass Clan and fealty to its Ulfric?” Jamil asked, as his voice seemed to grow larger and more dimensional.

“Yes Ulfric,” Tim said.

“Bare your neck in submission,” Jamil said.

Tim tipped his head to his right shoulder and Jamil’s hand partially shifted—claws replacing his fingernails.

The werewolf leader laid his finger to the soft skin of Tim’s neck—one of Raylan’s favorite places. He pulled his finger down along the line of the corded muscle in a deep scratch, drawing blood that beaded up and visibly contrasted against Tim’s pale skin in the near darkness.

Raylan’s right hand automatically found the butt of his Glock. On one level he understood that blood and magic went hand-in-hand, but instinctually Tim’s bleeding set him on edge.

“Easy Raylan,” Jamil said.

Raylan tipped his head back in acknowledgment, and Jamil bent to run his tongue along the blood at Tim’s neck. When Jamil stood straight, Raylan could see the wound at Tim’s neck was already closing.

Jamil ran his claw along his inner arm, drawing his own blood to the surface and offered it to Tim—who took the Ulfric’s arm and finished the ritual, lapping the blood from Jamil’s sacrifice.

Tim’s head fell back and Raylan felt a rush—not unlike the first time he stole Arlo’s whiskey or when Boyd took Raylan to smoke a purloined joint to hide behind his mama’s trailer at Audrey’s.

What Raylan couldn’t figure was why he felt what Tim was experiencing. After the initial heady rush quieted down, Raylan decided what he was feeling wasn’t all that different from how his necromancy picked out the dead from afar. Since he was a kid, he’d been able to tell when vampires were close or a grave contained dead.

Earlier that year, he and Boyd had rolled Gio, the vampire master in South Florida, and soaked up his power and through him, that of his people. Raylan knew what it felt like to funnel power through a specific being. What he felt now at the Lupinar, he knew he was feeling the sparks of the pack through Tim, through his mate. Their living energy was warmer than the cool electricity of the dead. But energy all the same.

As the rush died down, he realized the initial high was from the influx of all their energy at once. For a moment, Raylan worried how his necromancy would respond to the rush of power. His death magic had a tendency to back up on him when he connected with vampires’ power. Being tied metaphysically to Boyd had forced Raylan to hone his shields or suffer his necromancy pulling the dead out of the ground on its own, to come and commune with him.

Raylan also now understood on a whole different level why Tim needed a pack. Their combined energy would make his wolf easier to control, the same way Raylan’s energy combined with Boyd’s allowed them to roll Gio earlier that year. Compounded power led to increased potency. He tried not to be concerned that everything always came down to power with preternatural creatures and now Tim was as tied up in a power structure as a wolf as Raylan was carrying Boyd’s vampire marks.

But he did wonder why he was picking up the pack bonds so clearly. He’d known Tim was his mate since Nahtoo whispered it in his head, but he had never attached any great consequence to that knowledge until now.

So far the pack’s warm energy he felt flowing through his mate didn’t provoke his necromancy, rather his necromancy felt allayed by it. But the Munin was a different story.

Outside the pack bonds, Raylan could feel the dead calling him. He’d pinned down the source of the pack’s Munin earlier to the towering blue ash tree. Since the meeting began, he’d sensed that the Munin had some connection with Marla, Jamil’s Lupa, but it didn’t flow through her to him. While Raylan could feel the pack’s energy flowing through Tim, the Munin’s power was direct. His necromancy allowed him to skip the Lupa and go straight to the source of the hum of the dead. The more he thought about that hum, the louder it resonated under his skin until it felt like the Munin’s power was pulsing for him.  

And it was this pulsing that drew his eyes to where Marla was staring daggers at him from her chair in front of the tree. She rose regally and marched toward him.

Everyone stopped and watched, including Tim, who hadn’t yet risen to his feet. Instead, he turned crouching, ready to pounce at Marla as she approached Raylan.

She stopped before him.

“You feel our Munin, don’t you?” she demanded.

Raylan sized her up. She was a good foot shorter than he, maybe more. But she felt powerful. “Ma’am. I do, yes.”

“Why?” she hissed. “It’s the Lupa of a pack who communes with the Munin. Not some human… ergi .”

“Marla!” Jamil chastised her.

Raylan’s eyebrows popped up. He didn’t know what she’d called him but the menace behind the words was enough for him to curl his hands into fists at his sides to keep his right hand from wandering over to his weapon. He knew a slur when he heard one.

“Don’t know what to tell you. I don’t have any designs on your Ulfric or your Munin, if that’s what you want to know,” he said.

“As if you could,” she spat.

“Could… what?” Raylan asked.

“Seduce Jamil or our Munin,” she stated, proudly.

“Marla, don’t,” Jamil warned, again.

“It’s my right.” She threw the words over her shoulder at Jamil.

Raylan nodded, waving his left hand in a conciliatory manner. “Jamil’s a handsome man. I’ll give you that, but I already have a mate.”

He met her angry glare. Raylan decided he would not submit to her as he had Jamil.

“As for your Munin…” Raylan began and closed his eyes. He didn’t have to stretch his necromancy out to reach the Munin—he realized he’d been holding his death magic back, letting the pack’s warmth pacify it. He let it go and it found the dead from the tree ready to commune with him. All it took was one mental push of his death magic, and he felt the Munin wash over him as voices inside his head, in the memories of pack members who’d gone before telling him their secrets.

“You’re not Jamil’s first Lupa, are you?” he said.

“Someone told you that,” she dismissed. “Gossip.”

“No,” Raylan said. “Her name was Elise.”

Raylan talked to the dead all the time when he animated and raised them as zombies but this was nothing like that. Elise was in his head, whispering to him, showing him the day she met Jamil. He could feel her memories of how she loved him, saw how she loved him. And then another day flashed through his mind, a screech of metal as a semitruck rammed into the car Elise was driving, her death attended by EMTs who were afraid to touch her to stop her from bleeding out at the scene. Her advanced immune system could have kicked in and healed her had they not been afraid they’d catch what made her wolf, more than human. Then later, he saw the pack descending on her body, physically consuming her into their pack memory.

“A tragedy,” he whispered.

“Again, gossip.”

Raylan flattened his lips into a thin line; his impatience with her stubbornness pushed him to show his hand.

“Jamil’s uncut and has a white birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon right—” Raylan pointed to his lower abdomen just to the left of his appendix “—here.”

“Ergi,” she hissed, then reached back to slap him, but Jamil appeared behind her just before Tim rammed into Raylan, shoving him aside so he could shield his mate from the Lupa with his body.

Jamil held her clawed hand by the wrist, then grabbed her by the upper arm. “Marla,” he bit off the word and it crackled with power around them. She cowered under his touch and voice. “Are you insulting your Ulfric? Your alpha?”

“No but he—”

“When you call him ergi in that context, you’re painting me with that same brush,” Jamil said.

“But I know you’re not…” Marla trailed off, her voice turning plaintive.

“What the hell is she calling me?” Raylan whispered to Tim.

“Later. Nothing good.” Tim waved him back from the subject and the Lupa.

“He’s a necromancer,” Jamil said, his eyes sliding to Raylan. “He has power over all dead—even our Munin. They speak to him.”

She narrowed her eyes at Raylan, a low growl rumbled in her throat, and Jamil shook her by her upper arm. “Stop.” Again he used his Ulfric voice, the power lingering after the word.

Jamil sighed. Tim still stood between the Lupa and Raylan but his stance had relaxed.

“Well, Deputy. I hate to break it to you but you smell like Munin all over again.”

Raylan nodded, his lips pressed together. He expected as much, since Elise was still whispering in his head. Tell him I love him. That I’m sorry. She won’t do it. She can’t control the Munin and even if she could, she is too jealous to tell him.

“Elise said she is sorry and she loved you.”

Jamil’s eyes softened a shade and he nodded.

Tell him they never stopped.

Raylan thought back, Stopped what?

JUST TELL HIM.

The spike of her urgency and anger made Raylan wince.

“She also says ‘they never stopped’,” Raylan reported. As soon as he said the words, he felt her draw away from him and retreat back into the twisted cords of the tree trunk with the rest of the pack’s Munin.

“Stopped what?” Marla demanded.

Raylan could tell that Jamil knew what he meant because his expression turned stormy and his eyes moved from Raylan to Tim, then away. The hair on the back of Raylan’s neck stood up the way it did when he knew he’d toed up against trouble.

“No idea,” Raylan replied. “And now she’s gone.”

“Thank you, Raylan,” Jamil murmured. Raylan thought he looked relieved that everyone else was in the dark about Elise’s last comment.

The Ulfric pulled his Lupa away from Raylan and Tim.

Raylan laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder to communicate that he was fine—that Tim could stand down.

“Anyone else have any new business?” Jamil asked. “Or can we move on? The moon is full and I can feel some you younger wolves getting restless.”

No one spoke up, so Jamil continued. “Let us run with the moon, Lukoi,” he called out.

Raylan felt the excitement from the pack through Tim. He noticed that the pack members around them began to start undressing. Some of them had bags and stuffed clothing away as they disrobed. Others drifted away back their parked cars.

Tim nudged Raylan’s arm and started walking back to the truck. “Come on, I’m gonna change at the truck.”

“Why? I thought you…” Raylan waved behind him toward the Lupinar but followed his mate.

“Can you unlock it for me?” Tim asked, pulling his shirt off and standing by the crew cab back door in his boots and jeans.

“Right, sure,” Raylan said, digging the keys from his pocket. He’d forgotten he had them.

Tim folded his shirt, then rolled it the way he did when he packed his go-bag, as if he were still an active Ranger. Raylan watched him unlace his boots, then toe one off, followed by a sock. The other boot and sock followed next, then his jeans. Raylan raised an eyebrow when he realized Tim had gone commando—something he’d never done to Raylan’s knowledge in the time they’d been living together. Tim always had on a pair of boxers, briefs, a jock, or even those damned Ranger panties that made Raylan so crazy. Though, the silky PT shorts had been conspicuously missing in the last few months. Tim might not have thought Raylan noticed, but oh, he had.

“When did you start going without your undershorts?” Raylan asked, watching Tim stow his boots and socks in the truck. He didn’t want to look away from the naked form of his lover but also he felt the need to make sure no one was watching.

He craned his neck around and Tim laughed. “They don’t care, you know. They have a whole different attitude toward nudity.”

“I think I’ve heard that,” Raylan said. “I’m surprised you’ve gotten used to it.”

Tim shrugged while he rolled his jeans up with his back to Raylan. He admired the curve of Tim’s bare ass, pale in the growing moonlit night. “Who says I have?”

“Doesn’t seem to bother you,” Raylan said, moving closer to him so he stood next to him in the open door. He ran a hand lightly down Tim’s arm. He could hear other wolves beginning to howl. They must already be changing.

“Raylan, that’s really not a good idea.”

“What, touching you?”

Tim snorted. “My skin is already crawling because I want to change so bad and you—you smell like sex and want and…”  Tim shoved Raylan back into the open door and growled. Tim pressed his mouth to Raylan’s jawline—not even bothering with kissing his mouth. He dragged his lips along his jaw to his ear and growled again, inhaling repeatedly in quick repetition at Raylan’s neck.

Raylan could feel Tim pressed against him, his cock rigid against the rough denim of Raylan’s thigh. Tim hadn’t shown this much interest in him in months—since before. Before Tim became a werewolf. It took all the control Raylan had not to press their bodies together and rut until they both came all over Raylan’s jeans. He knew he couldn’t risk it, but oh, how he wanted…

“Well, well, if it isn’t our newest pack member and his lovely little mate.” A female voice purred out behind Tim.

Tim froze and turned toward her, keeping his body between Raylan and the wolf.  “Raina,” Tim bit out. “What do you want?”

“Just doing my job, Timmy,” she said. “Jamil told me you decided you didn’t need my services… but it looks to me like you were going to tear out your pretty mate’s neck.”

“He was fine,” Raylan said.

“Well, you are right about that,” she said. Her laugh might have sounded seductive to Raylan once upon a time. That night, it sounded crass and grating. “You don’t even know what you’re dealing with, Pretty.”

“Don’t call him that,” Tim snarled.

“You know, I can help you boys,” she said, moving forward into Tim’s space.

Raina laid a hand on his cheek and he growled, turned into it and tried to bite her.

She yanked her hand back and her anger rumbled back at Tim.

“Stay. Away. From. My. Mate.” Tim gritted out each word, his upper lip pulling up as he bared his teeth at her.

“You whelp.”

Raylan grabbed Tim’s arm—hanging on tight to keep him from lunging after the woman.

“Raina, that’s enough.” Jamil appeared behind her.

She huffed. “He needs my help, Jamil.”

“That may be, but he doesn’t want it, and you’re only making things… worse. Now go.”

“Fine, but when he tears his marshal to shreds one night, don’t blame me.” She stomped off.

Tim was breathing heavily, turning to look at Jamil and then Raylan, his eyes wider than Raylan had seen them.

“The women in your pack are a handful, Ulfric,” Raylan muttered.

“Your pack now, Necromancer,” Jamil said. “I felt you when Tim completed his oath.”

Raylan nodded. “Is he all right?” He was getting worried that Tim was going to hyperventilate.

“He’s holding off the shift and there’s no reason for it, Tim,” Jamil said to his partner. “Raylan, I think it’s time. Well past. You might want to stand back.”

Tim turned to Raylan. “Stay in the truck. Lock the doors.” He breath was beginning to sound like panting.

“No one will harm your mate, Tim,” Jamil said.

“In the truck,” Tim demanded.

Raylan shut the back door. “Will do.”

“Promise me,” Tim said.

“Promise. Now go,” Raylan said, climbing into the front seat. He locked the doors, put the key into the ignition and lowered the driver’s side window. “Happy?”

Tim nodded, his eyes locked on Raylan.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Raylan said.

Tim moved away from the truck and a mass of clear goo exploded from his body as he shifted forms. Raylan winced because he was pretty sure Tim didn’t clear enough distance from his truck not to have splashed his paint job with the precipitate of his shift from human to wereanimal. Tim brought home jeans so covered with sticky gloop after his second full moon that they took three full washer cycles on hot before the stuff broke loose. Raylan fully expected Tim would have the power-washer out tomorrow afternoon blasting that stuff off his precious as soon as he finally slept off tonight’s hunt.

A black wolf with silver eyes turned to look at Raylan. He’d only seen Tim’s wolf once before and both times he’d been taken by his eyes. The color of his wolf’s eyes was the same as the crystalline streaks in his human eyes. As a wolf, the cool white-blue took over his irises and the effect made them seem eerily silver.

Tim howled, long and mournful into the night, and Raylan could feel the notes reverberate in his belly and his toes curled down tight in his boots. He knew that was Tim’s voice… how, he had no idea. But even if he hadn’t been watching him raise his lupine voice to the moon, he’d have known Tim’s howl.

Raylan’s gaze shifted to the Ulfric. “Jamil.”

“He’ll be fine and back in few hours.”

“Don’t kill anything tonight that I wouldn’t,” Raylan said to Tim.

Tim stared at him with his silver eyes, then loped off toward the Lupinar.

Chapter Text

Raylan made his way back from the break room with another cup of burnt coffee when he realized something was up with Rachel and that orange-haired asshole who specialized in computer crime. She’d been in and out of Art’s office more than four times in the last fifteen minutes and now Chris was hooking his laptop up to the monitor in the conference room.

Even Sheeba picked up on the buzz in the office. She’d abandoned the couch in Art’s office for her dog bed behind Tim’s desk. Raylan raised an eyebrow at her as she tracked his attempt at nonchalantly sauntering into Art’s office. Not even bothering to lift her head, she followed him with her eyes, then huffed, closed her eyes, and dismissed him.

It was almost like having Tim back at work.

Chief Deputy Art Mullen was hanging up the phone when Raylan paused in his open doorway.

“Something up?” Raylan said.

He rubbed his face. “Ah, Raylan. You might as well get in on this. Chris and Rachel finally got a hit on those dirty movies they’ve been monitoring.”

Raylan squinted while he pulled on the memory of that investigation: Harlan, a pack-run porn website, some video recovered from Bo Crowder’s files. How come he didn’t know more about this?

He couldn’t help the stab of worry that his coworkers were keeping something from him because of his metaphysical connection to Boyd Crowder. Raylan had become Boyd’s unwilling human servant when the vampire had marked him three times—the first two marks kept him alive and the third allowed Raylan and Boyd to defeat a rival vampire with plans to kill them. He and Tim had been able to keep a lid on Raylan’s connection with the vampire while they tried to find a way to break the marks, but they’d come clean with Art and Rachel just before Tim has been turned into a werewolf.

“I thought the videos we took from that little leopard with the RV on the back lot of Boyd’s church, checked out.” He snapped his fingers but still didn’t come up with the name. “You know, the purple-eyed guy who ran the porno website.”

“Ah, right, those did check out. Little kinky but nothing illegal. They gave that kid his toys back a couple months ago,” Art said. “Tennessee office got a tip from that some gorehounds were reblogging snuff films that’ve been circulating on the dark web.”

“Gorehounds?” Raylan interrupted.

Art shrugged. “Rachel says they’re folks who spend all their time looking at gory pictures and videos online,” Art explained. “Chris looked into the Tennessee tip and connected the background in a couple of the new videos to the material he’d run through from Harlan—both from the pack’s website and the files we found in Bo’s old storage unit.”

“Really?” Raylan said, interested.

“Yeah, Chris is setting up in the conference room. I called Vasquez. He’ll be up in a few. Was going to tap you next to see if you recognize any of the folks starring in this monstrosity. Rachel says it’s rough stuff.”

“Oh good,” Raylan said, relieved that this boss hadn’t planned on cutting him out.

“Huh?” Art raising a concerned eye to meet Raylan’s.

“Good that y’all are movin’ fast on it,” Raylan said, clarifying. “Pulling Vasquez in from the start and all.”

“When’s Tim coming back work?” Art asked. “His FMLA ran out weeks ago and we’re deep into extended medical leave… injury in the line of duty and all. He needs to come back soon. Vasquez says that’s key in maintaining his status. We’re worried someone in HR is going to push for retiring him on disability. If they retire him, I don’t think there’d be much we could do to bring him back on.”

“Soon I expect,” Raylan said, hoping he wasn’t lying. “We wrapped up some werewolf stuff last night with Lexington pack so he can stay in the area longer.”

“Full moon last night,” Art said, picking up a couple file folders from his desk.

“Don’t I know it,” Raylan replied, sipping his coffee even though it was well after noon.

“Something I need to know about?” Art asked, heading for the door connecting his office to the conference room.

Raylan followed him. “Tim joined the local pack last night.”

Art paused and looked back at Raylan. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

He shrugged. “Good for the most part, I think. Should speed up him stabilizing his control. Get him back on the job sooner than later.”

“Much later, I’m afraid he won’t have a job.”

Raylan nodded. “I’ll let him know.”

“What’s the part that’s not good about it?” Art took a chair in the conference room.

Raylan shrugged. “Pack bullshit. I expect it’ll be as complicated as vampire power plays.”

“Great,” Art muttered.

Raylan took a seat at the table.

“Chris,” Art said, nodding.

“What?” The IT specialist turned to Art.

The boss shrugged. “Just Chris. You know, like a greeting.”

Raylan thought Chris almost rolled his eyes but he couldn’t be sure because he’d turned his back to peck on his laptop making the big monitor on the wall flicker to life.

“Where did Rachel run off to?” Art asked.

Chris didn’t answer.

“Chris, where is Rachel?”

He stopped typing. “Went to pull the backup drives we filed the evidence in from the church seizure.”

Raylan cocked his head to the side. “If you haven’t pulled the evidence yet, how do you know that the setting is the same in the Tennessee videos?”

Chris turned to Raylan like he just noticed him. “Eidetic memory. And I took screenshots from each video as I reviewed them. FBI has a database of hotel-room interiors they use in trafficking and prostitution investigations.”

Raylan nodded his head, impressed. “Huh. Who knew?”

Chris’ expression seemed baffled. “Everyone,” he muttered, then turned back to his laptop.

Raylan’s eyes found Art’s before he rolled them. “Uh-uh, deputy,” Art said, pointing a finger at Raylan. “Not a word. You’re just as much of a pain in my ass.”

When Vasquez got there, Rachel pulled the doors shut and closed the blinds.

“Let’s start with what you found today,” Vasquez said.

Rachel nodded. “Just a warning, this is graphic.”

Chris hit play and the scene unfolded in a rustic motel room. Raylan didn’t recognize it, but it had all the trappings of a cheap Kentucky motel room—two double beds and a bad print on the wall of mountain wildlife. He couldn’t see the carpet, and the bedspread had been stripped away. But the wall paneling and headboard gave Raylan the impression the room hadn’t been updated since the 1980s.

The opening shot was centered on the bed where a blonde was having loud sex with a greasy-haired brunet. Her moans sounded as they were meant to: pornographic. Raylan hadn’t seen enough to judge if the actors were actually enjoying themselves or faking it.

“Can we skip to the relevant parts?” Vasquez asked. “We can go back and pick it apart frame by frame later.”

Chris tapped on his laptop and dragged the video forward.

“You can tell from the production value, this is basic. However, this video has cut-ins and closeups,” Chris said. “Someone else was running the camera and someone did some editing of the final product.”

The next scene shifted the camera’s position to a view of the pair from the side.

The brunet had partially shifted—his hands, arms, ears, and some of his skin were clearly werewolf. Parts of him had changed shape, while others were covered in fur. The blonde started writhing underneath the wolf, getting louder if that was possible. Raylan saw his claws catch her skin as he ran them over her body, leaving scratches behind on her limbs and torso. If she didn’t have lycanthropy before they’d started the scene, she could well have it now. Not that she seemed to mind. Raylan was pretty sure he could now tell that she was enjoying herself.

“This is the part where it all goes wrong,” Chris said.

Chris dragged the video forward again. The wolf had shifted positions, and the woman on screen was on all fours. She’d dug her fingers into the sheets and was meeting his thrusts. Raylan knew some people out there had a lycanthrope kink. He suspected this woman was among their number. Raylan didn’t recognize her, but he knew the man taking her from behind.

“Delroy Baker,” Raylan said.

“Pause it,” Vasquez ordered. “You know him?”

“Sort of. Know of him. Me ’n Tim talked to him once about a dead girl, one of Boyd’s transplants killed a girl a while back. Delroy runs the house of ill repute down in Harlan. Audrey’s.”

Rachel nodded. “Nice catch.”

Vasquez nodded and made a roll-it gesture with his finger to Chris, who hit play.

In the video, Delroy orgasmed and as he came, he transformed. At first, the blonde under him seemed as aroused as she’d been in the last shot. Then, Delroy’s face shifted, his teeth lengthened and his body transformed into a wolf complete with the liquid by-product of his shift exploding over the blonde underneath him. When he fell forward and sank his teeth into the side of her throat, she began to scream, clawing the sheets to try and pull herself away from him. Her cries turned into wet gurgles as the shot faded.

“Shit,” Vasquez said. “Can she live through that?”

Rachel told Chris to move the video forward again.

The screen changed to a scene of the same woman lying flat in a pool of blood, the camera panned over her face—over her open eyes, then down her body. She was covered in so much sticky fluid that Raylan winced at the thought of how many times she’d have to wash her hair to get it out.

“Is she dead?” Vasquez asked.

“We think so,” Rachel replied. “We’re waiting on a couple reports from the coroners in Harlan, Bennett, and Bell counties. All three have had Jane Does turn up that aren’t far off her general description.”

“She’s not dead,” Raylan said.

“What?” Rachel turned on him, shocked. “How—”

“She’s lycanthrope and they faked her death,” Raylan replied. “Can you turn it back to the bit where the camera runs down her body?”

Chris dragged the cursor back while Raylan stood up and went over to the monitor. The video panned down her body from her face. “Now stop right here,” Raylan said.

Chris paused the playback and Raylan tapped the screen. “See this here,” Raylan said. “Before they changed positions, Delroy scratched her arm with one of his claws. But at the end of the video, her arm is healed.”

“Well, I’ll be…” Art said.

Rachel propped her hip on the conference table, her arms crossed. “I should have known. They faked it.”

“Looks like it to me,” Raylan said.

“You said you had two videos?” Vasquez asked.

Rachel nodded grimly. “Since this one’s just smoke and shadows, maybe the other is too. But the… victim… in the other video seems to bear out a whole lot more damage.”

Raylan took his seat back and sipped from his cold coffee. He winced but swallowed. He needed the caffeine. Tim hadn’t come back to the truck until close to three in the morning. Raylan had managed a two-hour nap when they got home. Leaving Tim to sleep off his full moon hunt alone in their bed that morning had been hard to do. Exhaustion had made him malleable enough in his sleep to not mind Raylan curling around him.

Chris queued up the video.

“The nature of this video is less… overtly sexual than the last one,” Rachel said. “But I don’t think that the victim could have lived through this.” She nodded to Chris to hit play.

The first thing Raylan noticed was that the victim splayed out on the bed was male instead of female. But the difference that struck him was that the setting had changed.

“Is that the same room?” Raylan asked.

“No,” Chris said.

“Then how do you know this one is connected to Harlan?”

The camera panned up to catch Delroy’s face. He was holding the man’s arms above his head. A second figure walked in front of the camera, but it only captured the back of his head. His height was hard to guess but he was solidly muscled and had white-blond hair. He knelt in front of the camera obscuring the view.

The video’s sound picked up some of Delroy’s words. “Relax. He’s just taking a little…”

The blond stood up and backed away. The camera picked up the two fang marks on the man’s inner thigh. Raylan watched as the bite healed.

“And that’s why I should have known,” Rachel whispered to Raylan.

Raylan nodded. The victim was a lycanthrope.

On the screen, the vampire in the video ordered Delroy hold the man up for him.

Delroy dragged the victim to his feet out of the camera range.

After the cut, Delroy stood behind the man, gripping his forearms and pulling them back behind his body. The blond vampire moved so Raylan caught glancing views around him, but never his whole profile or face. The vampire then proceeded to alternately pummel the lycanthrope with his fists, then lash at him, backhanding him between punches.

The camera view was partially blocked by the vampire’s body, but the sound was clear enough to pick up squelching savage blows.

After a round of blows, the blond vampire would step back behind the camera and zoom in on the man’s wounds as they healed.

Then he’d stepped into the frame again obscuring the view. Anyone could guess what he was doing as his head dipped into the victim’s neck.

As the man started to sag, the vampire ordered Delroy, “Hold him up.”

“Geez,” Vasquez said. “Where did you find this?”

“Tennessee got a tip. It’s been on the dark web. Some gore sites. Turned up on some lycanthrope porn sites—which is probably how the Tennessee office got ahold of it. The lycan porn seems to be more… about kink than cruelty,” Chris said. “This vid goes beyond kink.”

“We’ve been digging into the difference between sites after we found they were running that lycan porn website out of Harlan,” Rachel explained. “Some of Bo Crowder’s old files pointed us in this direction. We were hoping to find something that would connect him and other vampires to the preternaturals we recovered from their trafficking organization.”

The comment drew Raylan’s attention from the video. “You mean Nahtoo and the harpies?”

Rachel nodded. He was annoyed she hadn’t already mentioned it. “Have you found anything?”

She shook her head.

“Trafficking is a RICO crime,” Vasquez murmured.

“It is,” Rachel agreed.

“We know who this guy is?” Vasquez asked, pointing to the monitor.

“No—to the victim and the vampire,” Rachel said. “We never get a good look at the vampire’s face and we’re waiting on John Doe information from several county coroners down south.”

“Do we even know if he died? This could be like the last one,” Vasquez asked. “Is there even a crime here?”

Rachel indicated with a twist of her finger to Chris that he should fast-forward. Delroy was gone from the next scene, but the victim was crying softly while the vampire violated him. Then the vampire bit him again.

“That looks like rape to me,” Art said, his face screwed up. Raylan could smell anger in the room. He wasn’t sure who it was coming from; maybe all of them.

When the blond vampire left the frame, the young man was no longer healing from the abuse.

“How many bites in this video?” Raylan asked. He’d seen three so far. If there were many more than that, even a lycanthrope wouldn’t be able to heal wounds with that kind of blood loss.

“Six more?” Rachel asked, looking to Chris for confirmation.

He nodded. “Give or take.”

“Go ahead to the next marker, Chris,” Rachel said.

Chris dragged the cursor forward again. In the scene, the vampire was holding the camera over the man now lying on the bed. He’d recorded himself stroking off, them coming on the man’s chest—his ejaculate slightly pink from all the blood he’d consumed. The man was heavily bruised and beaten—deep cuts and vampire bites riddled his body. The vampire panned over the damage, up to the man’s face.

“Christ. Surely, he’s dead, right?” Vasquez asked.

He and Art looked at Raylan. “Looks like it to me. But with lycanthropes—”

“There’s one more scene,” Rachel said.

Chris hit play again and Delroy used his claws to tear open the man’s chest. The vampire must have been holding the camera again—with his left hand. A hand appeared and ran down the gashes before digging into the man’s chest and pulling out his heart.

“Shit,” Raylan said.

“I’d say that’s dead.” Art rubbed his forehead.

Raylan tapped his finger on the rim of his coffee mug. “What kind of warrants can you get me on Delroy Baker and the vampire?”

“An execution on Delroy Baker, easily, as an accessory to death, if not murder.” Vasquez was already standing up and pulling his folders together. He had his cell phone out. “Not sure on the vampire because the warrant would be double-blind. We don’t know the name of the vampire or the victim. Judges will go blind one way or the other but not both ways. If you can get Baker to roll on an ID for the vampire or the victim, we’ll have a shot at a blind warrant.”

“Looks like I’m going to Harlan,” Raylan said.

“Don’t you mean we’re going,” Rachel said, her face stormy. He now knew some of the anger floating around the room had to be hers.

Raylan scowled, but he couldn’t find the balls to fight her on it.

Raylan called Tim and woke him up.

“We’ll be by to pick up my go-bag and drop off Sheeba. We have to run down to Harlan,” Raylan explained, then told him about the videos and that he expected he’d be serving an execution warrant on Delroy Baker.

“You need to take Sheeba with you.”

“Tim…” Raylan started.

“Fine, then I’m going with you,” Tim said.

He brought Raylan up short. “You think that’s a good idea?” Raylan asked.

“Best idea I can think of,” Tim said.

“What about Sheeba?”

“If you’re not taking her, send her home with Art. Leslie can’t spoil her any worse than she already has.”

Raylan rolled his eyes. “Art’s never going to go for you riding along.”

“Call it unofficial capacity then.”

“Right. Unofficial capacity,” Raylan said. “Art was pressuring me to get you to come back before someone in HR tries to retire you on disability.”

“Fine. Then tell him to call this trip a test run.”

“Really?” Raylan asked. “This trip goes okay, then you’ll come back?”

“Talk to Art. I’ll pack our shit,” Tim said. “We’ll drive my—”

“No. We’re driving my vehicle. If you’re unofficial, there’s no way we’re taking your truck.”

“Listen Art, how about you and Leslie keep Sheeba while Rachel and I make this run to Harlan?”

Art stared at him evenly. “Is Gutterson gonna come after me if I let you go down to Harlan without his guard dog?”

“Nah, he’s doing werewolf stuff,” Raylan lied.

“You asshole,” Art said. “The full moon was last night.”

Art crossed his arms and stared at Raylan while he tried not to squirm, then the chief relaxed. “Oh, I get it. This is because you’re taking Tim to Harlan with you. Aren't you?”

Raylan toed the floor tiles with the tip of his boot. “Never said that.”

“Didn't have to. You're lucky the grandkids are in town.”

“Oh yeah?” Raylan said.  

“Uh-huh,” Art said. “Just don't let him kill anyone. Observer only.”

“Got it. Unofficial capacity.”

Rachel and Chris got their evidence together for Vasquez, then the AUSA and Raylan met with Judge Reardon in his chambers. Raylan suggested that they call Dr. Lillian in to testify. She told Reardon, in her expert opinion as the Fayette County Coroner, that no lycanthrope would survive as many bites as the man in that video had. She added that by pulling out the heart, they’d clinched the deal.

Her testimony put a concern Raylan had in the back of his mind to rest.

Had Delroy and the vampire been two humans torturing a lycanthrope, the court would have forced them to provide a body and more ironclad evidence in order to try the guilty parties. Raylan wasn’t sure if it was because Tim was now a werewolf or if Raylan had just grown jaded by the blatant bias built into the judicial system against preternaturals, but he felt himself exhale after Lillian said her peace.

Outside Reardon’s chambers, she touched his forearm. “You’re doing the right thing, Deputy,” she said.

“How did you know—” Raylan started.

She just smiled. “You’re going to Harlan then?”

“As soon as we get this wrapped up.”

“Good,” she said, opening her oversized red pleather purse. “I brought you these for that project we’ve been discussing.” She handed him a white paper bag stapled at the top. “There’s a card for a clinic that can assist you and instructions inside the bag. The lab will package them for you but you’ll need to deliver them within six hours.”

Raylan nodded and took the bag, thanking her aloud and cursing her in his head.

He could smell Rachel’s anger before he opened the glass doors of the Marshal's office. Even with the heads-up, he got the reason for her anger all wrong.

“Good news, Reardon signed off on the warrant for Delroy,” he said, thinking that’d appease her with the good news first. “Doc Lillian testified and between the video and her expert opinion and mine as an executioner, Reardon didn’t have a problem with it.”

He smiled at Rachel, who set her jaw and stared back.

Raylan started shutting down his computer and packing up to leave for the day.

“He assigned the warrant to me,” he said.

“Well, he sure as hell didn’t assign it to me,” she snapped.

Raylan turned and sat on the side of his desk, setting down Lillian’s bag. He crossed his arms. “You’re mad.”

“You think?” she retorted and started closing down her computer.

“Well, Reardon did what Vasquez expected with the fully blind warrant. Until we know more—have a name of the dead guy or the vampire, he’s not going to assign a warrant,” Raylan said. “But we expected that.”

She huffed. “You think that’s what I’m pissed about?”

Raylan eyed her. She clearly wasn’t angry about the warrants—well, not only the warrants. “Maybe.”

She shook her head. “You really are an asshole sometimes, Raylan.”

Raylan stood up and grabbed his white paper bag. “Fair point. Do you have your go-bag in the car or do we need to swing by your place?” Raylan asked.

She shook her head. “In the trunk of my vehicle where it’s supposed to be.”

Raylan shrugged. “Mine’s at the house. We can pick it up on the way out of town.”

In the SUV, Rachel was still quiet.

“You’re gonna stay ticked off the whole trip?” Raylan said.

“I might.”

“Come on, Rach,” Raylan said. “If it’s not the warrants, then what is it?”

“It is the warrants, Raylan,” she said. “Chris and I have been working on this case for months and you stride in and pull it out from under us without even a thank-you.”

“Execution warrants go to preternatural deputies, you know that.”

“It was our case, Raylan,” she said.

“Thank you?” Raylan ventured.

She shook her head. “How Tim puts up with you 24/7, I’ll never know.”

Raylan shrugged. “Not been 24/7 lately.”

“It was. It will be again.”

“You’ll have to ask him how he manages it, then,” Raylan said, deflecting and letting silence settle between them.

After a few moments, Rachel tried again.

“What hurt,” Rachel said, seriously, “was that you didn’t even think I should go along to Harlan to investigate a case after we put all that groundwork into it.”

Raylan shifted in his seat and looked over at her. Twice. She was quiet again.

“Rachel, I’m sorry,” he said. “On executions, I’m just used to taking…”

“A man?”

“No,” he denied. “Don’t normally take anyone, but if I do, it’s been Tim. I’m used to taking him as backup on executions.”

“We’ve been working together for the last four months. We’ve done the Monsterville inspections. You’ve been my partner as much as you were his. I thought that went both ways.”

“You’re right,” Raylan said quietly, “I am an asshole.” His eyes fell to the white paper bag Lillian had given him. “But I come by it honestly.”

When they got to the house, Tim had their bags sitting on the tailgate of his truck.

Rachel got out and hugged Tim.

“You look good,” she said, checking him out and squeezing one of his arms. “Are your biceps even bigger?”

Tim grinned. “You tell me.”

“Werewolf looks good on you,” she said.

“Lots of time to run and work out.”

Raylan picked up their bags and shut the tailgate. “I told you we weren’t taking your truck.”

He moved around to the back of the SUV and heard Rachel approach the back of the vehicle from the other side.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “Tim’s going?”

“What the—” Tim said. “Why are you mad?”

“Art knows. Said it was all right,” Raylan said in his own defense.

She shook her head, turned, and stomped away from him. “I’m riding shotgun. I am not sitting in the backseat.”

Raylan followed her and offered her the keys. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you’d drive,” Raylan said. “I’ll take the back. I was up most of the night while Tim chased the moon.”

Rachel took the keys from him, looking slightly mollified.

“I can drive,” Tim said. “I slept late.”

“You’re observing,” Raylan said. “I think Art thinks if we take you on a glorified ride-along, you’ll come back to work.”

“That might actually work.”

“I hope so,” Raylan said under his breath.

When they finally got rolling down I-75, Raylan slouched down in the backseat and contemplated a nap.

“So, why didn’t we bring Sheeba?” Rachel asked.

“I’m his Sheeba this trip,” Tim said.

Raylan snorted. “I can’t believe you just compared yourself to a K-9. If I said that…”

“You’d be sleeping on the couch,” Rachel said, laughing at her own joke for a moment until she stopped abruptly. “Oh. Ohhh.”

Raylan could smell Tim’s apprehension and he wondered what Rachel was picking up on. She had finally relented on some of her anger toward him. The truth of the matter was that there’d been more than a few nights in the last few months when one or the other ended up on a couch upstairs instead of in their bed. No slouch, Rachel guessed a much.

“Or maybe one of you already is,” she muttered.

Chapter Text

Tim knew Raylan was asleep in the backseat; he could hear him snoring.

“So what did he do that pissed you off so bad?” Tim asked Rachel.

Rachel spared him a glance, then sped around a semitruck.

“Seems like it’s not just me,” Rachel countered. “You first?”

Tim listened again to Raylan’s breathing, broken with intermittent light snoring.

“He’s dead to the world,” Rachel assured him.

“You can feel that?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It’s more like I can feel the blankness coming from him. It’s peaceful and quiet.”

“Can you feel dreams from people who are sleeping?” Tim asked, turning from the window to watch how she reacted to the question.  

“If the person dreaming feels strongly enough about the dream, I can pick up their emotions, yeah.”

Tim’s eyebrows popped up. “How’s that go over with your other half?”

Rachel licked her lips. “Didn’t go over all that well. One reason why I no longer have a half at home—I’m the whole, now.”

“Oh man Rach, I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” Tim said. “Fuck. Raylan never tells me anything.”

“I thought you two loved to gossip,” Rachel said.

“Pfft,” Tim huffed. “I thought we did too.”

“So, it’s more than just sleeping on the couch?”

Tim sighed. “We just need time to adjust to… me being…” Tim held his hands out in front of him. “…this.”

“Mind if I make an observation?”

“Would that stop you?”

“You really don’t seem any different to me.”

“How can that be?”

She shrugged. “You both feel the same as you always have to me.”

“Huh.”

Rachel stopped to buy gas outside London and Raylan woke up.

Tim trailed him back to the SUV, each of them carrying a cup of coffee and Raylan, his road food. Raylan beat him back to the SUV and climbed into the front passenger seat.

Tim tapped on the window and Raylan smiled at him through the glass.

“Shotgun,” he said. “I know you can hear me.”

Tim frowned.

Raylan shrugged. “Cup holder is better up here.” He tipped his Styrofoam coffee cup to Tim. “Besides, Rachel and I need to plan where we’re going first.”

Tim gave up and got into the backseat pulling himself across the seat so he could lean forward between them. “Because you can’t possibly hear from the back seat?”

Raylan shrugged.

“Asshole,” Tim muttered.

“Thanks, baby,” Raylan answered as Rachel opened the door to the driver’s side.

“Baby?” She sounded dubious looking from Raylan to Tim.

“He’s being an asshole,” Tim said as if that alone was explanation enough.

She got behind the wheel. “I thought that was just his MO.”

“I’m right here.”

“Oh, we know,” Rachel said.

Raylan sighed. “I said I was sorry.”

“What for?” Tim asked. Rachel never had told him why she was ticked off at Raylan.

“Where are we going, Raylan?” Rachel asked. “You’re the Harlan expert.”

“Probably should go straight to Delroy and execute the warrant,” Raylan said.

“Will everyone else connected to him take cover?” Rachel asked.

“That is a concern,” Raylan said. “Just because we put him down doesn’t mean we need to advertise why.”

“Huh,” Tim grunted.

“You think they’ll clue in?” Raylan asked.

Tim shrugged. “Hard telling.”

“Need to catch up with that little wereleopard who ran the porno website,” Raylan suggested. “He’s the only person we know of who handles putting those kind of movies together.”

“Nathaniel Graison,” she clarified.

“Yeah him,” Raylan said.

“I remember that guy. Leopard. RV,” Tim said.

Raylan turned his head and peered back at Tim. “Yeah, I bet you do.”

“Gentlemen,” Rachel cut them off.

“Do we have an address on him? He was staying at the back of Boyd’s property last time we ran into him,” Raylan said.

“That could be a problem,” Rachel said. “We had to return his equipment when we voided the church seizure since we never charged him or Boyd with anything. He came up to Lexington to collect it. Gave us an address of a campground.”

“Great,” Raylan said. “Better execute the warrant first then.”

“Probably best,” Tim said. “You’ll avoid questions if they come up later.”

“What do you mean by questions?” Rachel said.

Tim sighed, remembering that Rachel was a traditional deputy US marshal—used to catching smaller fish and turning them in custody to land even bigger fish.

The preternatural division had a different approach when serving warrants on criminals who’d taken human lives, like Delroy. Typically, the US Marshals service arrested perps, then sometimes turned them into federal witnesses once they had them in custody. When the Marshals Service first took over vampire executions and warrants on lycanthropes from the old school, freelance vampire and bounty hunters, the non-preternatural divisions of the service quickly realized that the dead preternaturals couldn’t testify against preternaturals higher up the food chain. Part of the execution process was making sure they couldn’t be brought back—even as zombies. For a while, some chiefs pushed their preternatural deputies to put off filling some warrants while they investigated until that proved to be a danger to the public.

“When the judge signs the warrant off to a deputy, it’s up to us how we go about serving the warrant,” Tim explained. “That’s not a bad thing when there’s still some question of guilt. We have the… um, leeway, you might say, to take the time and dig a little. But that can bite you in the ass.”

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“Arizona?” Raylan asked Tim.

“Uh-huh,” Tim said.

“A deputy out in Arizona a couple years back gave into pressure from his office and dragged his heels serving an execution warrant on a vampire,” Raylan explained. “Problem was the vamp killed another two people—humans—before the deputy got around to fulfilling the order. The media blamed the deputy. The deputy blamed the Marshals Service.”

“And so did the families,” Tim said. “Sued. Preternatural perps and fugitives aren’t like their human counterparts. No chance of turning them once there’s a warrant out for murder.”

“Oh yeah,” Rachel said. “I think I heard something about a settlement but didn’t realize it was a preternatural division case. So we go after Delroy first.”

Raylan nodded. “He was running Audrey’s when Tim and I last ran into him.”

“If we go in there, we’re going to spook him,” Rachel said. “Odds are there could be a lot of civilians around at this time of night.”

Raylan eyed her. “You got any ideas on how to approach him?”

“I do, actually,” she said. Tim watched her eyes dart over to Raylan and then back to him in the reflection of the rearview mirror. At least she didn’t smell pissed off any longer.

“What’re you thinking?” Raylan asked.

“We haven’t inspected Harlan’s Monsterville yet,” she noted.

“You didn’t tell me Harlan has one of the new tenderloin districts,” Tim said.

Raylan ignored him.

***

Raylan and Tim came in through the front door of Audrey’s, business as usual, and ran into Delroy in the front of the house.   

Tim clocked the room, including Delroy who’d stopped in his tracks when their eyes met.

Tim had to fight the need to swing his head around the room following scents. He picked up the scents of bile and blood and soured arousal. He instinctively knew the better part if not all of Audrey’s clientele were human. No way would a preternatural be able to get it up, much less keep it up, with the stink hanging in the room. Lycanthropes might be selling, but they sure as hell weren’t buying. If this was an example of Kentucky’s new preternatural brothels, then legislators were going to be in for a shock when they finally figured out who all was doing the consuming.

Tim saw Raylan’s hand slide to his hip, flash his star, and rest on the butt of his weapon. He guessed that his partner thought Delroy was a runner.

Tim’s attention was drawn back to Delroy and he froze in place. He couldn’t say he’d gotten used to the smell but it’d faded into the background of his priorities as he focused on their quarry. He wasn’t sure Delroy was a runner as much as he thought the man was taking their measure, suspicious of them, especially of Tim. The other wolf eyed him the way some of the Lexington wolves had when he first started hanging around their pack. He’d seen Sheeba and the other Trollhounds posture like this when they were sorting out exactly who was the biggest dog in the room.

Finally, Delroy approached. “Marshals?” Delroy sounded like he doubted they were law enforcement at all.

Raylan pulled out his badge. “US Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens.”

“Yeah, I remember you. That one’s still a marshal?” Delroy asked. “Even with the…” He waved his hand up and down his body. “...Wolfiness?”

Tim pulled his badge and flashed it, hoping Art didn’t hear about it. They’d agreed that the less they said, the better, so Delroy didn’t pick up on any lie.  

“Delroy Baker?” Raylan asked.

“Yeah?”

“We need a word,” Raylan said.

Delroy’s eyes tracked between Raylan and Tim, frowning at Tim. “What for?”

They would inspect the property, or start to. They just didn’t plan on finishing the inspection that night.

“Deputy Gutterson and I are here to do a walk through of your establishment,” Raylan said. “All the new districts require an inspection from a US Preternatural Deputy Marshal.”  

Tim nodded approvingly. Nothing Raylan’d said had been a lie.

“I thought we had one planned for next month,” Delroy replied, his eyes narrowing on Raylan instead of Tim.

“Well, we had to come down on other business so we thought we’d just sniff around now.”

“All right,” Delroy said, sounding dubious. “I’ve got the paperwork in my desk…”

Raylan and Tim trailed Delroy to his office, Tim hanging back in the doorway listening to Delroy ramble about how his place was on the up-and-up now, while he pulled the licenses for Audrey’s. The county magistrates voted to create their Monsterville around Audrey’s.

“Does this mean if you inspect Audrey’s now you won’t have to do it again when the other houses open in the Stew?”

“Stew?” Tim asked. “Is that what you’re calling the Harlan district?”

Delroy’s brow furrowed. “Just a name that’s better than ‘Monsterville’,” he said. “I’d think you’d get why some folks down here aren’t real crazy about that name.”

Tim nodded. He wondered if Raylan had already known preternaturals were using the term.

“Got our solicitation and prostitution licenses here,” he said, handing them over to Raylan. “Oh, and the alcohol license.”

“How’d you manage that in Harlan?” Raylan asked, handing the paperwork to Tim. “City’s been dry longer than I’ve been alive.”

“County pushed ’em all through. As long as it’s in the district, they don’t care.”

Tim looked through the paperwork, then eased into the office. He swiped Rachel’s tablet open and snapped images of the licenses. He handed the paperwork back to Delroy. “Looks good.”

“That’s it?” Delroy asked, sounding pleased.

“About it,” Tim said. “Need a look-around.”

“I’ll give you a tour,” Delroy said to Raylan, keeping his distance from Tim.

“Actually, we’d like to start out back,” Raylan said. “We need to make sure your employees working the back are wereanimals or vampires. It’s been a problem in some of these districts.”

“No shit,” Delroy said. “Humans trying to get by with turning tricks?”

“Been known to happen,” Raylan said.

Delroy led them to the back.

When they’d all cleared the back door, Rachel stepped out of the darkness with her weapon drawn. “US Marshals Service. Put your hands in the air.”

Delroy stepped back, his hands up. “What the hell?”

Raylan pulled his weapon.

“Delroy Baker, I have a duly sworn warrant for your execution for contributing to the death of a lycanthrope. Also, you are charged with dissemination of obscene material.”

Tim could smell his panic. “If you run, they will shoot you,” Tim warned. “Both have weapons loaded down with silver bullets. If those don’t kill you, they’ll slow you down enough that I can take my time catching you and dragging your ass back here.”

“What the fuck did I do?”

Tim swiped Rachel’s tablet open. “Let’s talk about this man.”

“Aw hell. I knew nothin’ good would come of that.”

“What’s his name?” Rachel asked.

“You don’t even know his name and you’re gonna kill me?” Delroy turned from her to Raylan.

“You facilitated his death,” Raylan said.

“No. No. He’s alive. Moved to Florida,” Delroy lied. Tim could smell it.

“Try again,” Rachel said, clearly picking up on the deceit. “You tore his chest open so that vampire could rip out his heart.”

“Fine. I didn’t have no choice. That vampire… he calls wolves.”

“What about Boyd?” Raylan asked.

“What about him? He can’t do nothin’ to stop him.”

“What’s the vampire’s name?” Tim demanded.

Delroy looked back and forth between the marshals. “If I tell you, will you let me live?”

“Warrant’s got your name on it, Delroy,” Raylan said. “Give us the vampire’s name. If he coerced you…”

“You gonna let me live long enough to figure that?” Delroy asked. “Gonna get me a jury trial of my peers?”

Raylan smile was flat and grim. “You know that won’t happen.”

“Didn’t think so,” Delroy said. His hands started to shift into claws, and he stepped back to redistribute his body weight as he pulled his arm back. Tim knew his next move would include a swing at Raylan. “Then fuck you.”

Tim’s first instinct was to dive in and take him down so he didn’t tear through Raylan.

But Raylan had his weapon out aimed at Delroy. “Don’t do it,” he warned.

Delroy didn’t listen and Raylan’s shots rang out in the night. Over and over until Delroy collapsed on the ground, his chest riddled with bullet wounds.

Raylan stood over him, took aim at his head, and hammered one more bullet into the wolf’s brain.

Rachel called the coroner, and Raylan called the state police, while Tim barricaded the back door because curious patrons of the bar and club kept attempting to stick their heads out.

They began to secure the scene and wait for the authorities to come and collect Delroy’s corpse. Rachel was ordering both prostitutes and their clients to stay in their trailers when Tim heard a voice he recognized.

“Holy shit!”

Tim turned to see the little wereleopard they’d met at Boyd’s hanging out the door of a trailer off to the left.

“Sir, you need to stay put,” Raylan ordered, advancing on Nathaniel holding up his badge. Tim had no problem hearing them.

“Not while you’re out here shooting up the night,” Nathaniel said, craning his neck and leaning out his doorway gracefully. He had one hand on the door and seemed to be able to hang on it and swing out far enough to see around Raylan.

“You killed Delroy?” Nathaniel let go of the door and jumped down.

“I executed Delroy,” Raylan pointed out. “Duly sworn warrant.”

“Why in the hell did you do that?” Nathaniel demanded.

“Official Marshal business,” Raylan answered.

“What’s gonna happen to the club now?” Nathaniel asked.

“We’ll probably shut it down and sell the property off at auction,” Raylan said.

“You can’t do that. All these people—this is all they have,” Nathaniel said. “This is the only thing between them and the streets and starvation. Hell, it’s bad enough you took my computers and put me out of business for months on end, but now you’re gonna put the better part of the Harlan were community out of work. You think the humans around here will give them jobs at McDonald's?”

“What are you doing here? I thought you made dirty movies for a living,” Raylan challenged him.

Tim watched the leopard cross his arms. “I do, or did, but had to stop when some asshole marshals took my equipment and werewolves tore my house to pieces,” he answered.

“So what? You’re working here now?” Raylan waved at Nathaniel’s trailer.

“Why is that such a shock to you? I’m pretty. Know my way around the poles, too.”

Tim heard Raylan cough. “I’m sure you do.”

“Dancing poles, asshole,” Nathaniel retorted. “Delroy’s got a gay night now… or did.”

“Huh.” Tim didn’t need to smell Raylan’s disbelief. He could tell by his tone that he didn’t believe the leopard.

Even if they did have one, it must not be gay night.

Tim watched from his sentry point at the back door as scantily dressed women spilled out of the trailers in the back. Even though Rachel had ordered them back into their trailers, she couldn’t keep a john or two from sneaking out and running off half-dressed into the night.

Just because they’d made sin legal didn’t mean that the good Christian men of Harlan wanted to be caught with their pants around their ankles when law enforcement started showing up.

Other LEOs filed in and Tim watched Dr. Goodacher start to clear Delroy’s body from the scene. When he heard Rachel say she was going to go and interview Nathaniel about the videos, Tim conned one of the Kentucky State Troopers into taking over watching the back door for him. They hadn’t gotten anything out of Delroy, but if he recalled correctly, that little cat liked to talk, especially to him.

Maybe they could get the name of that vampire yet.

Chapter Text

Raylan banged on the side of Nathaniel’s fifth-wheel RV trailer. “US Marshals Service,” he shouted.

“Is that necessary?” Rachel asked, shaking her head. “What’s the point in scaring him off when we just want to ask a few questions?”

“I—” Raylan started. “Habit?”

The door to the trailer flew open with Nathaniel standing on the other side of the inside screen door. He closed the slide contraption in the middle of the door that allowed him to open the trailer’s outer door with the screen door shut tight. His purple eyes glared at them through the black crosshatch.

“Mr. Graison, we’d like to ask you some questions about an ongoing investigation,” Rachel said, edging in between Raylan and the door. “May we come in for a few minutes?”

Nathaniel frowned. “Do I have a choice?”

“No, you don’t,” Rachel said. “We served an execution warrant on the owner of this property, Delroy Baker, which means the Marshals Service will take possession of his assets.”

“Great. You’re not just going to put me out of work, but the whole district, too,” Nathaniel replied.

Tim watched Rachel exchange a look with Raylan.

“Well, maybe we can work something out there,” Raylan said.

Nathaniel unlocked the screen door and pushed it open. “Come on in. It’s not like I can really stop you.”

He held his screen door open and Rachel crossed the threshold first, followed by Raylan and finally Tim.  

“New digs,” Raylan said.

“New to me anyway.” Nathaniel shrugged, clearly unhappy with their presence until he saw Tim up close and smiled.

“Holy shit, you’ve upgraded,” Nathaniel said, inhaling. “Not my flavor but you smell delicious. Even better than before. Wolf, huh?”

The wereleopard bumped into Tim, and Tim backed away from him with his hands in the air. “Listen Mr. Graison, we’re here on marshal business.”

Nathaniel’s eyes lit up in a way that made them seem lavender. “Really? You’re still a marshal even though you’ve turned all wolfy?”

Tim sighed. “That’s the plan.”

Nathaniel stared at him as if taking his measure once more. “C’mon,” he said, shifting his head toward a sitting area a little deeper into the back of his trailer.  

Rachel headed back toward a couch with a swivel chair across from it. Raylan followed more slowly.

Tim lingered, looking around at the area above the step-up where the primary bedroom was located in most fifth wheels. Nathaniel had a curtain drawn across the space.

“What’s back there?” Tim asked. Before, he would have cleared the space upon entering the trailer. Before he was a werewolf. Now, he couldn’t smell anyone else in the trailer and didn’t hear anyone breathing behind the curtain.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nathaniel asked, coyly.

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Do you have a warrant?” The cat crossed his arms.

“Tim?” Raylan called.

“Just curious about the curtain,” Tim said.

“You hiding something from us, Graison?” Raylan asked.

Nathaniel sighed, stalked over to the front end of the camper, and pulled the curtain open. He’d done something with the bed and turned the area into what Tim guessed was a work area—like an editing bay. All the equipment he’d crammed into the previous camper was spread around the repurposed bedroom.

“Back in business, I see,” Tim said. “What’d you do with your bed?”

He could have sworn the guy purred at him. “Oh, don’t you worry. I have another one in the back.”

“Given the way the place smells, I guessed as much,” Tim said. The trailer smelled like stale cum.

Nathaniel frowned at him for a moment then shrugged. “Now that you’re sturdy enough to really throw around, we could give it a try.”

Raylan cleared his throat. “You finished Tim?”

Tim ignored Nathaniel’s offer and nodded at his partner, moving toward Rachel.

Nathaniel sighed, following them. He bumped into him again and Tim again backed away, holding up his hands.

Raylan must have picked up on the exchange, finally, because he grabbed Nathaniel’s elbow and tugged him toward the couch. “Cut it out. He’s not gonna to be your protector, or your anything for that matter. Sit here and answer Deputy Brooks’ questions.”

Nathaniel pouted prettily. Tim watched him put on a sad face for Raylan and had to admit that even his pout was pretty. His auburn hair was down this time hanging loose around his shoulders and down his back. There was tons of it. Tim cut off his thoughts right there. Between Rachel’s empathic senses, Raylan’s nose, and the scent of Nathaniel’s obvious interest noticeable in the RV over the stale cum, Tim knew he’d set off a bomb if he even half-entertained the idea of tugging Nathaniel around by all that hair or laying him down on it and fucking him until he was compliant.

From the way the cat smelled, Tim didn’t think compliance would take all that long to reach.

And that thought was all it took.

Tim knew his partner noticed because the look Raylan shot Tim hinted at betrayal, but the scent he gave off was worse. Raylan smelled like the dry and dusty summer afternoon heat of anger. Nathaniel lifted his eyes from Raylan to Tim, lingering on him long enough for Tim to know the little leopard would be up for whatever Tim wanted. The scent of Raylan’s anger, heavy and relentless, squashed those thoughts.

Rachel’s eyes widened a little bit, then she rolled her lips under. Tim figured she was trying to hold back her words.

“Ray…” Tim started.

“Just. Not now.” He waved at Tim and closed his eyes. “Rachel, show him the pictures and ask your questions so we can get out of here.”

“Awww,” Nathaniel said.

Rachel didn’t waste time, diving right in. “Have you made any pornographic videos lately Mr. Graison?”

Nathaniel gave her a funny look. “I don’t make movies… well, except for that one.” He winked at Tim. “I edit them and package the content for the website.”

“All right. Have you edited any pornographic videos lately?”

“Of course,” he said. “You know that. They’re on the up and up.”

“Is there anyone else in town making videos?”

Nathaniel frowned. “Not that I know of.”

“We’d like to show you some pictures and a clip of a video we’re looking into,” Rachel said. “Would that be all right?”

“Jesus. What the hell kind of video is this if you’re treating me with kid gloves? Is this why you killed Delroy?”

“Would you be all right with answering some questions about these videos Mr. Graison?” she repeated.

“Fine. Sure. Show me.”

“All right,” she said. She pulled out the tablet she’d taken back from Tim after Raylan shot Delroy and flipped to screen captures from the videos they’d collected from Nathaniel’s computer earlier in the year. On the drive down, Tim had looked through the evidence on her tablet while Raylan and Rachel explained what they had on the case to date and what they were hoping to get from Delroy, and now Nathaniel.

“Is this a video that you worked on?” Rachel asked.

Nathaniel frowned at the screen. “It looks like it could be but I can’t really tell from just one frame. That’s the motel out on 840. The pack likes to use it to film because the manager doesn’t raise a fuss about lycans renting rooms.”

“Okay, that’s helpful,” Raylan said.

“You know this man?” Rachel asked.

“C’mon. That’s Delroy Baker. You know, the guy y’all just shot? Who owns Audrey’s. Uh, owned.”

“And this man?” Rachel showed him the back of the vampire in the second video.

Nathaniel shook his head. “Hmmm, no. Nice ass though,” he noted. “Pale. Oh. Vampire?”

Rachel shrugged. “Can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Nathaniel watched her face.

She sighed. “Can’t.”

“Well knowing if he was vampire, human, or other would help narrow down the field a little, wouldn’t it?” he retorted.

Rachel smiled, thinly. “We believe he is a vampire.”

“He looks familiar.”

“From where?” she said.

“Audrey’s. But there’s been a whole lot more faces around here since Harlan rezoned us into the Stew.”

Tim watched Rachel look up and meet Raylan’s eyes, then she swiped at her tablet.

“Do you know this woman?” She showed Nathaniel the photo of the woman who made the fake snuff video with Delroy.

“Shit. Is she even alive?” he asked. “Wait a minute. I know her.”

“What’s her name? Where did you see her?” Rachel asked.

“I just saw her yesterday,” he said, looking at the image. “Is she dead? Is that why you killed Delroy?”

“We don’t believe so. You said you know her?”

He shrugged. “Goes by JJ. She works here at Audrey’s… in the back,” he said, his eyes moving from Raylan to Rachel. “That’s all legal now.”

“What kind of wereanimal is she?” Raylan asked.

“It’s rude to ask,” he said primly.

Tim pressed his lips together. “No, it’s not,” Tim said. “Since we’re asking as law enforcement.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Wolf, I think.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said, taking back her tablet. “Which trailer is hers?”

“She shares one with another girl on the back row on the other end.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said. She swiped to the next image of the male victim.

“Do you happen to know this guy, too?” She handed the tablet back to Nathaniel.

“What the hell kind of videos are these?” he asked looking up from the image of what they all believed was a dead man.

“Pretty rough ones,” Rachel said.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

No one answered him.

“But you know that already, don’t you?” Nathaniel said, looking from Rachel to Raylan before finally turning to Tim. “How can you be a marshal and put down your own kind like that?”

“Marshals are my kind,” Tim said.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

“Good while, I expect,” Tim replied.

“Uh-huh,” Nathaniel said. “Seen him around a while back. Don’t know him. I think he used to work the poles. Delroy said he moved to Florida.”

“The poles?” Raylan echoed, sounding lost.

“You know, a dancer,” Nathaniel explained slowly, “on a pole?”

“You sure?” Raylan asked. “He’s male.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

“I already told you Delroy’s got a gay night now. Or did.”

Tim watched Raylan’s confusion fail to fade.

Rachel took her tablet back from Nathaniel.

Raylan narrowed his eyes at him. “There’s a gay night at Audrey’s?” Raylan’s disbelief was clear in his voice and Tim wondered what was holding him up about the idea.

“Preternatural sexuality is a helluva lot more fluid than the likes of Harlan has ever seen,” Nathaniel pointed out.

Tim didn’t think Raylan believed him. Finally, his partner just shrugged. “Not that way in my day. Tough life down here.”

“Since the Monsterville laws passed, the pole’s good money,” Nathaniel said, shrugging. “I moonlight. Now and then. Y’all took my equipment and the pack tore a hole in my trailer. I had to rebuild and lost more than a month of revenue while you all held my computers as evidence. A cat’s got to make ends meet somehow. Shit, even Boyd’s vids have dropped off.”

“You turning tricks out back too?” Raylan said.

“Why?” Nathaniel asked, smiling coyly at him. “You interested?”

Rachel cleared her throat, shooting Raylan a hard look. “Cut it out Raylan. You too, Graison.”

Raylan huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. Nathaniel sat back on the couch.

“Mr. Graison, you said the first video was filmed at a motel. Can you look through some stills to see if you recognize anything about the location where this other video was shot?” Rachel asked.

“Sure,” he said, taking her tablet back. He flipped through the images. “Sorry. Doesn’t look familiar.”

“Mr. Graison, we’re going to need to take your computers in,” Rachel said.

“No way. I answered your questions,” Nathaniel said.

None of the marshals in the room seemed moved by his argument. “When y’all took my equipment, it took me months to catch up. I just got back up on my feet.”

Raylan coughed. “Looks like you been spending a lot of that time on your back.”

Nathaniel turned to Tim. “Is that guy always an asshole or is it just me?”

Tim smiled. “Not just you.”

Raylan glanced over at Tim with his brow furrowed.

“Great,” Nathaniel said. “If you take my computers and shut down Audrey’s… where am I supposed to live? And on what? I was serious when I said none of us here are going to get jobs anywhere else in Harlan. They know who we are. What we are. People around here… they’d be too afraid to hire someone like me, even to flip burgers at Hardee’s.”

“But they’re not afraid to have sex with you,” Raylan pointed out.

“Me turning tricks bothers you a lot, doesn’t it?” Nathaniel said.

Raylan started to protest and Nathaniel cut him off. “See, what you’re missing is that there’s a difference between them creeping up into the Stew to get their rocks off with their righteous peckers all wrapped up tight and publicly eating where known lycanthropes are back in the kitchen preparing their food.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Tim said.

“It doesn’t. But y’all left Bo Crowder’s mines open when y’all put him down,” he said. “Why can’t that happen here? Gotta be a way.”

“What are you vying for here, cat?” Raylan asked.  

“He wants to run it,” Rachel said. “He’s not wrong. Someone is going to need to do it.”

“Smart and beautiful,” Nathaniel said.

“I thought you were gay,” Rachel countered.

“Equal opportunity.” Nathaniel grinned at Rachel, who rolled her eyes.

Raylan just sighed.

“Maybe get Art to send Clive down to see about pre-seizure and arrange management?” Tim asked.

“The bean-counter?” Raylan said, scrunching up his nose.

Clive was the deputy US Marshal with the expertise in accounting who coordinated seizures, working in asset forfeitures for the eastern part of Kentucky.

Rachel nodded. “Raylan, a word outside. Tim, can you stay with the equipment?” Rachel said, getting up.

“Why don’t you take Tim instead?” Raylan suggested.

“Seriously?” Tim said.

“Well, you’re unofficial, right?” Raylan said.

Rachel sighed. “It doesn’t matter which one of you stays behind, but we need to retain chain of custody with the equipment and someone needs to back me up when I pitch this insanity to Art.” She stepped out of the RV.

Nathaniel reclined back on the couch, crossing his legs, and stretching out his arms. “Either one of you can stay as long as you want. But sure, leave me that tall one. Gotta be some reason you’re so worked up about me turning tricks back here. Maybe we can get to the bottom of that, Deputy?” Nathaniel patted the cushion beside him.

Tim barely held back his growl because he didn’t think Nathaniel was wrong. He didn’t understand Raylan’s irritation with Nathaniel turning tricks or pole dancing. The idea of tugging Nathaniel around by his hair was a lot less appealing when Tim considered Raylan could be the one throwing the cat around instead.

“Behave,” Tim ground out, pushing the screen door open.

“I don’t answer to you,” Nathaniel said, smiling.

“Not, but he does,” Tim said, turning back to them. “Or should.”

***

The staties had cleared out the club itself so they made their calls at a table inside Audrey’s.

“You’re telling me you want the Eastern District of Kentucky to operate a brothel?” Art said.

“Art, if we seize Delroy’s business and shut it down, we’ll be putting all the people working here out of the street. They really don’t have any other options than this,” Rachel said. “How is this any different than running Bo’s tourist traps last fall for the Harlan City Council? The state and the county legalized prostitution here. Hell, they even have a liquor license that isn’t attached to a restaurant.”

“Isn’t there another brothel opening down there in a few weeks? You and Raylan pushed Harlan down on the inspection list because of that, right? Can’t they just work there?”

“That one’s vampire-based,” Rachel said. “Crowder’s operation.”

Tim huffed. “What’s Boyd Crowder’s church people gonna think of him opening a vampire whorehouse?”

“Not Boyd,” Rachel said. “Ava.”

“Does it being a vampire brothel really matter?” Art asked. “Can’t they just hire the folks from Delroy’s?”

Rachel looked at Tim. “I don’t think so, chief,” Tim said.

Art sighed. “You don’t think so Tim? Thought you were supposed to be my expert on this.”

“Turning furry once a month hardly makes me an expert on whorehouses.”

“Even if we did keep it open, who’d run it?” Art asked. “You want me to send Clive down to be the madam.”

Tim half-laughed and Rachel smiled. “Knowing him, he’d probably like that idea,” Rachel said.

“I don’t think the johns would though,” Tim said.

“Actually, Art, I was thinking we’d make Nathaniel Graison the manager,” Rachel said.

“That’s the porn movie guy, right?  Aren’t we investigating him?” Art countered.

Tim gauged Rachel taking a deep breath. “We are. But we interviewed him and I don’t think he has anything to do with the videos we’re looking into. I didn’t pick up any deceit. We’re still going to take his editing equipment in for Chris to go over again. There might be something in the background of a movie he’s edited that he didn’t remember.”

“What’s your take, Tim?” Art said.

Tim saw surprise on Rachel’s face, then a flash of a puzzled look. He guessed that Art usually took her word as law when it came to parsing truth and lies in interviews. Now that Tim was a werewolf, Art could seek a second opinion. “Rachel’s right. He didn’t know anything about the snuff vids. He’s worked up about us putting him out of business again. If he’s working for us, he might not work against us.”

Art sighed. “Let me clear this with Vasquez and I’ll get back to you. I’ll send Clive your way. He’ll have to work with Graison. You going to be there a while?”

“We’re going to take Nathaniel’s computers into evidence first,” Rachel said. “And we need to talk to the woman from the video with Delroy. Turns out she’s werewolf and works a trailer out back.”

“We probably need to hit up Crowder, too,” Tim said, sighing. “Delroy said the vampire who killed the kid called wolves. If there’s another vampire in Crowder’s territory, then Boyd should know who it is. Or should be trying to stop him.”

When Rachel hung up, Tim moved for the back door. “Let’s go break down Graison’s equipment. Raylan’s been back there with him long enough, and we still need to talk to Crowder.”

“You go ahead. I’m going to find this JJ and see what she knows,” Rachel said.

Tim really didn’t think Raylan would be tempted by the leopard, but then it’d been a long time since either he or Raylan had had anything close to sex. The sooner they put space between both of them and Nathaniel’s flirting, the better he’d feel. Even if that meant a visit to Boyd Crowder.

Chapter Text

Raylan, Rachel, and Tim left the scene at Audrey’s in the hands of the state police with Nathaniel’s computers secured and the bordello shut down until Clive could meet with Nathaniel and start the pre-seizure process. Dr. Goodacher had cleared Delroy’s body from the scene. Since it was well past nightfall, they headed out to Boyd’s church to feel him out.

“Do we have any idea if he’s actually there?” Rachel asked.

“I could open up the marks to get a feel for where he is but I’d rather not kick that snake if you don’t mind,” Raylan said.

“Best bet is to head to his church and hope for the best,” Rachel said. “His televangelism ratings have dropped off since January. He’s been posting fewer and fewer sermons online. The ones he does post are less… enthused.”

“You watch him preach?” Tim asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel said. “Keeping an eye on where his head’s at.”

“How do you mean he’s ‘less enthused’?” Raylan asked.

Rachel was quiet for a moment. “If I had to put my finger on it, I’d say he’s lost his fire and brimstone. Be interesting to watch him preach in person and see what I could pick up from him.” She shook her head as if dismissing the idea. “The other people’s emotions would probably muddy up anything I could pick up though. My take—I’m not all that sure he’s a true believer anymore.”

“Huh,” Raylan said.

“I think you broke him,” Rachel said. “Are you picking up anything off him?”

“What’s that?” Raylan asked.

“Are you picking up anything through the marks? Any dreams?” Rachel said.

Raylan sighed and his eyes darted up to the rearview mirror to check how closely Tim was listening. His partner’s eyes were on him, knowing. Shit, Raylan had hoped Tim hadn’t noticed when he’d been joined by Boyd in his dreams—or that maybe it’d happened on nights when Tim had chosen not to sleep with him.

“Well, Boyd added the third mark and cracked the munin seals and I thought that would have made me more open to him. But we all—Boyd, me, the whole kiss—leveled up when we rolled Gio. It’s just easier to keep him out now,” Raylan said. “Dreams though… don’t know if I can put it into words. I’m in control when he tries to check in. What do they call that?”

“Lucid dreaming?” Rachel offered.

“Sure. I’m able to keep him out of my mind in my dreams the same way I do the rest of the time.”

“You been raising the dead though,” Tim said. “A lot.”

“Have to,” Raylan said. “I can feel the buzz otherwise and the last thing we need at home is more zombie roadkill trying to tear its way into the house.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad at home,” Tim muttered.

Raylan winced, catching the wounded look on Tim’s face before his partner turned to look out the window. Raylan’s gaze tracked between the road and Tim’s profile in the mirror, watching his jaw tick.

“I didn’t mean that… so much,” Raylan whispered. He noticed Rachel was also looking out her window like she was trying to lean out of the conversation both mentally, physically, and hopefully psychically. “Winona never took too well to the whole necromancy deal, you know. With her pregnant… if we added a zombie raccoon to that mix… uh-uh. Just can’t see that going over well at all.”

Rachel cleared her throat signaling that she was changing the subject. Raylan hoped she picked up on his relief.

“So we know from Delroy that there is a vampire in the Harlan area that Boyd either doesn’t know about or can’t do anything about,” Rachel said.

“He said the vampire can call wolves and control them,” Tim said. “Which means that whoever it is has to at least be a master. Either he’s old or he powered-up somehow like Boyd did.”

Rachel nodded. “What exactly did he mean by calling wolves?”

“Most master vampires have an affinity with specific wereanimal groups and can call, like summon or control them. Some masters use the power to form stronger community ties. Others… well, others use the animals they call to do their bidding, whether they want to or not,” Tim said. “Unless the group has a powerful enough leader to stop them. Even when that’s the case, the master vamp can call pack members and control individuals even though the leader can resist them. The Ulfric in Lexington told Raylan and me once that he could resist a master vampire that’d been hanging around, but he wasn’t sure his pack members could.”

Rachel shifted in her seat. “Then was Delroy in control of himself when he helped kill the man in that video?” She asked the question so carefully that Raylan knew she was upset at the idea.

Neither Tim or Raylan answered her.

“Raylan,” Rachel said, a hint of warning in her voice.

“Rachel, I just can’t say,” Raylan answered quietly.

“Did you murder someone back there?” she asked.

Both Tim and Raylan answered together.

“No. No, no, no, no,” Raylan said.

“Hell no.” Tim’s reply was louder. “Rachel, even if Delroy was under the control of the master vampire when he helped kill the wolf in that video, he would have ripped Raylan in half if he hadn’t put him down.”

Raylan nodded.

“He was poised to attack,” Tim said. “We had a warrant, but there was also a direct threat against a US Deputy Marshal.”

“All right,” she said.

“You saw his claws?” Raylan asked him, peeking at him in the mirror.

“Still surprised Delroy had that in him,” Tim replied.

Raylan shrugged. “He’d partially shifted in the video.”

“Still. It was a clear threat tonight,” Tim said.

“What?” Rachel asked.

“For him to be able to partial-shift just his claws without entirely changing into a wolf means he was a pretty strong werewolf,” Raylan explained. “I expect that he played a part in putting that young werewolf into the position where he could be controlled and killed by that vampire.”

Rachel nodded and Raylan thought maybe the relief filling the SUV was now emanating from Rachel.

The lights were on inside Boyd’s church but the parking lot was nearly deserted.

They approached the door and found a vampire with a shock of red hair down to his shoulders guarding the door.

“Welcome to The Modern Eternal Life Church,” he said.

Tim and Rachel flipped out their badges and Raylan flashed the star clipped to his hip.

“We need to have a word with Boyd,” Raylan said. “He around?”

The vampire turned to Raylan and cocked his head to the side, growing still and quiet.

Raylan could feel the vampire wasn’t all that old and he looked familiar. More, he felt familiar. Even his necromancy seemed to know him.

“What’s your name?” Raylan asked.

“Martin.”

“Do you know me?” Raylan asked.

“No,” Martin said. “But I know of you. You’re Master Boyd’s human servant.”

“That’s right,” Raylan said. “Is Boyd around?”

“I’m not supposed to say,” Martin answered.

Raylan realized where he knew the vampire from. “How long have you been working here?”

“A few months. Since the first of the year.”

“Used to work at the tourist mine, didn’t you?” Raylan asked.

“I did,” Martin said.

“Why’d you leave?” Raylan asked.

“I… it scared me. I couldn’t… couldn’t be there anymore,” Martin said, shaking his head. “Don’t know why I told you that,” the vampire muttered.

Raylan and Rachel shared a long look.

“Martin, you don’t look like much of a tie guy.” Raylan decided he’d test him. The vampire was decked out like a Mormon ready to knock on doors in his crisp white shirt and simple black tie. “Boyd make you wear that?”

“Master Boyd says we need to make a good impression on parishioners,” Martin said.

Raylan nodded. “Take off your tie and give it to Deputy Brooks here,” Raylan said, waving at Rachel, then pushing his power toward the vampire. He could feel Martin’s spark… the force inside him felt a little bit like one of Raylan’s zombies.

Martin removed his tie and handed it to Rachel, doing exactly what Raylan ordered him to.

“Shit,” Tim said. “How did that happen?”

“I think you were passed out at the time,” Raylan murmured, shooting Tim a pointed look. “Getting a makeover.”

“Ahh, now that you mention it, I don’t recall that at all,” Tim said.

“Martin, I think it’s time you escort us to Boyd.”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone Master Boyd is in.”

“Martin, take us to Master Boyd.”

“Come this way,” Martin said, turning and leading the way into the church.

“Raylan,” Rachel whispered, handing him the tie. “How did this happen?”

“Can we figure that later, or maybe work it in when we can get Boyd alone?” Raylan said.

Martin led them upstairs to one of the rooms where they’d searched the year before. Boyd Crowder and the others in the room stopped talking when Martin opened the door and showed the marshals in. Raylan recognized Devil, the Ulfric of the Harlan County werewolf pack, and Boyd’s second-in-command Wynn Duffy.

“Martin, I thought I told you—” Boyd stopped when he saw Raylan.

“Why Raylan, this is a surprise,” Boyd said, when he saw Raylan, Rachel, and Tim. “And by that, I don’t mean a welcome one. How come I didn’t realize you’d come to call?”

Raylan shrugged. “Guess my shielding is better than I thought.”

“You, you asshole,” Devil shouted, he started to move toward Raylan. “You got a brass set on you showin’ up here after killin’ Delroy—”

“Now Devil,” Boyd cautioned. Raylan could feel Boyd’s power rise as Devil stopped advancing on Raylan, but the Ulfric still looked fit to be tied.

“Devil,” Raylan nodded, pressing his lips together. “Delroy did a very bad thing and a judge sent me to Harlan to put him down.”

“Boyd, you can’t just let him kill my wolves—” Devil yelled.

Martin stood in the doorway waiting.

“Martin, you can go.” Boyd waved his hand at the vampire.

The redheaded vampire didn’t move, but his eyes found Raylan. He pushed his necromancy out and could feel Martin’s uncertainty and under that, a layer of something close to terror.

“Martin, go on back and watch the door,” Boyd repeated.

Martin looked back and forth between Raylan and Boyd.

“Go on Martin,” Raylan said.

The vampire turned and fled, pulling the door shut tight behind him.

Raylan wadded up the black tie Rachel had handed him and tossed it at Boyd, who caught it and stared at it in his hands. Raylan waved his thumb in the direction of the door. “We’re going to talk about that after Deputy Brooks asks y’all a few questions.”

Boyd frowned. “I’ll take it this is not a social visit, then.”

“Right,” Raylan said, shaking his head. As if he’d ever come to see Boyd socially. “We’re here on official marshal business,” Raylan said. “Y’all remember Rachel and Tim?”

Boyd nodded. “You’re in a bit better shape than the last time I laid eyes on you, Deputy,” Boyd said, looking at Tim.

Raylan could feel the cold brush of vampire power.

“Wolf?” Boyd said, smiling at Tim with way too many teeth.

Raylan saw Tim stiffen and frown. “Sure. Not that that’s any of your business, Crowder,” Tim answered tightly.

“You okay, Tim?” Raylan asked, reaching over to touch Tim’s arm.

Tim shook his head like he was clearing it and then finally looked up at Raylan. “Yeah, fine,” he said.

Raylan let his hand fall from Tim’s arm and his partner edged in closer to him, with their arms brushing together. Raylan wasn’t sure which one of them was protecting the other from Boyd, but something was up, heightening his attention on everyone in the room.

Raylan quickly zeroed in on a scent of fear in the room: it wasn’t coming from Tim and Martin had taken his terror with him.

Boyd seemed nonplussed. Devil radiated anger, staring at Raylan, then Tim and clenching his teeth, even if his ability to act on it was stifled under the yoke of Boyd’s control. Neither seemed at all fearful.

He side-eyed Rachel and she seemed fine, too, which left Wynn Duffy. Raylan let his eyes land on Boyd’s second-in-command, sitting at the end of a love seat on the other side of the room, his legs crossed. Raylan realized he’d found the source of the fear floating around room.

Wynn Duffy was trying to appear unshaken, but he was scared shitless of something.

When Raylan looked over to Rachel again, she met his eyes with a tight nod. He shrugged.

“Deputy Brooks has a picture of a vampire,” Raylan said. “We’re hopin’ y’all can help us ID him.”

“All right,” Boyd conceded.

Rachel swiped her tablet to one of the images they had of the vampire. It was the one taken at an angle.

“Do you know this man?” Rachel handed over the tablet Boyd.

“Can’t say I do,” Boyd lied.

Raylan could smell the lie, so he knew Rachel would pick up on it. Sure enough, Rachel pressed her lips together into a frown. Since they’d been careful not to let Boyd know that Rachel was an empath, he left her out of pushing Boyd.

“You sure about that Boyd?” Raylan took a step toward Boyd.

“You calling me a liar, Raylan?” Boyd challenged him.

“Would I do that?” Raylan answered with a smile.

Devil snorted. “Boyd—”

“Devil, shut up.” The wolf clamped his mouth closed, his eyes angry.

“Do you recognize him, Devil?” Rachel said, turning to him and showing him the tablet.

Devil set his jaw and his nostrils flared. Boyd turned and looked at the Harlan Ulfric and Devil shook his head sharply.  

“Mr. Duffy? Do you know this vampire?” she said, crossing the room to show him the image.

Duffy tore his eyes away from Raylan to glance quickly at the screen, then looked back at Raylan. “No. Don’t know him.”

“You sure Mr. Duffy? You hardly looked at him,” Rachel said.

Duffy shrugged, still watching Raylan. “I saw enough to know you can’t even see a face.”

“All right,” Rachel said. “But I wouldn’t have thought there’d be many white-haired vampires running around Harlan.”

“What’d he do?” Boyd asked, he nodded to Devil. “This have something to do with poor Delroy’s fate?”

“We need to speak to this vampire about an ongoing investigation,” Rachel said.

“What investigation is that?” Boyd asked. “What was Delroy into?”

Rachel didn’t answer him.

“Devil?” Raylan asked. “We heard tell this guy can call wolves. Any idea if he’s been messing with any of your wolves?”

“I said I didn’t know him.” Devil bit off the words.

Raylan moved toward Boyd. “Now Boyd, we have it on good authority that this vampire is a master. How is it that you’re the City Master of Harlan, hell the master of all of Harlan County and you’ve got master vampires you don’t know running around Harlan?”

“I’m hardly a mind reader, Raylan.” Boyd shrugged.

Raylan huffed. “From my view, that’s exactly what you are. Aren’t you concerned you’ve got an interloper sniffing around your flock?”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “My flock is fine.”

“Speaking of your flock, where are they tonight?” Raylan asked.

“Even the Lord took a day to rest.”

“You know Boyd, I’ve been following your church, your sermons. Seems like you’ve been taking quite a few days of rest lately,” Rachel pressed. “Something wrong?”

Boyd stilled in a way that only the dead can. “Deputy, my flock is fine.”

“Now Boyd,” Tim said, “as a werewolf I can smell that you’re lying. You’re all lying, actually.”

Boyd stared at Tim and Raylan felt Boyd’s power rise again.

“What was that you were saying, wolf?” Boyd asked. “Were we lying?”

“Uh…” Tim started. “No, not lying at all.”

Raylan turned to his partner, shocked. Tim looked confused, with his brow furrowed so the dent between his eyebrows was heavily creased. His eyes had a vacant cast to them. Raylan knew that Boyd was influencing Devil, but this seemed so much worse. Devil had clammed up, but Raylan picked up his underlying anger still.

Raylan waved a hand in front of his face. “You with us there, Tim?”

Tim didn’t respond and Raylan had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what was happening and what this would mean for Tim’s career as a deputy.

“Boyd, I know your animal to call is the wolf and if you don’t stop fucking with Tim—”

“You’ll do what?” Boyd asked.

“I’ll shoot you,” Rachel said, her weapon drawn in her right hand and aimed at Boyd. She waved her tablet at Raylan who took it from her. She then steadied the butt of her weapon with her left hand. “I won’t kill you because I’m not risking Raylan’s life, but I’ll sure as hell slow you down, Boyd. Break whatever spell you have on Tim or my silver bullets will.”

When Boyd had raised his power earlier and Raylan touched Tim, his mate seemed to come out of Boyd’s control. He had no idea if it would work but Raylan pushed his power into Tim, around him, mentally trying to wrap Tim up in his necromancy.

“I got it Raylan,” he said, rolling his shoulders as if he was shaking off an unwanted touch.

Raylan turned to Tim in shock that he was picking up on his necromancy. “You can feel that?”

“Yeah, I can feel you pushing your power on me—same way I can feel Crowder doing it from over there,” Tim said.

Raylan turned back to Boyd. “Goddamn it Boyd, stand down,” he snapped.

“Boyd,” Rachel gritted out, “don’t think I won’t shoot you.”

“Guys, I’m fine now,” Tim mumbled.

Something worked—whether it was the necromancy, Boyd letting up under the sights of Rachel’s SIG-Sauer, or Tim fighting him off on his own.

“I’m all right,” Tim whispered. “Raylan I got this. Really.”

But Raylan and Rachel were both focused on the potential threat Boyd posed.

“Boyd,” Raylan warned. “You will leave Tim alone.”

“Or?” Boyd challenged.

“I’ll put you down,” Raylan said.

Boyd laughed. “No, you won’t. Besides, it’s only fair, don’t you think? That I should take what’s yours when you took some of my flock, took over what’s mine ?”

“What do you mean?” Raylan asked.

“Martin. And all the other vampires in the mine in January. They’re mine… to a point. But I lost three of them.”

“Lost how?” Raylan asked.

“Revenants,” Boyd snapped.

“What’s a revenant?” Rachel asked.

“Revenants are vampires with no control,” Raylan said. “They don’t know what sire or master to answer to.”

Sometimes when a vampire was turned from the bites of more than one sire, the newly turned vampire rose conflicted as a revenant and responded to only its basest urges to feed. Apparently some of the vampires that Raylan raised as zombies in January suffered from that same kind of dissonance. They no longer had allegiance to Boyd, and Raylan wasn’t around. He was worse than not around. He spent most of his time blocking out Boyd and the power that seeped through the marks. He wondered if his shielding himself from Boyd was harming the vampires he’d raised, too.

“Shit. Boyd, I’m sorry,” Raylan said. “Did you try to rebind them to you? Try a new blood oath?”

“No Raylan, we thought we’d just let them scourge the countryside killing humans. Of course, I tried to blood oath them again. Nothing worked. They were soulless creatures, Raylan. Soulless. ”

Raylan could feel the fury coming off Boyd in cold, electric waves. This close, no amount of shielding blocked Boyd’s power and emotions.

“Thanks to you, Raylan, I know my flock are all just animated shells.” Boyd bit off the words.

Raylan didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t understand. But Rachel did.

“Ahh,” Rachel said. “I get it.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“You’re having a spiritual crisis,” she said. “That’s what’s wrong with your sermons. You lost your faith. You’ve been promising vampires that they and their souls can still seek salvation, and you’ve been turning humans on the guarantee that they’re not going to be damned to hell when they finally do die.”

Boyd grew still again.

Rachel cocked her head. “Whatever happened in that room in January shook your faith to its core Boyd Crowder,” she said.

Raylan suspected Rachel knew exactly what happened. She was there before Raylan raised the vampires in the mine like they were normal, human zombie animations, and she was there when he put them to rest. But Devil didn’t know and Raylan and Boyd forced an oath out of Duffy not to share how powerful Raylan really was. If the preternatural community knew Raylan could raise any vampire as a zombie while they were sleeping, it would be open season on Raylan. They’d kill him outright.

Boyd didn’t respond at first but Duffy did. The room filled again with the scent of fear. “And can you blame him?”

If Raylan had to guess, he’d say Duffy was still rattled over the way their parley fell apart.

“Wynn.” Boyd held up a hand to caution him. “Marshals, I can’t help you with your hunt,” Boyd said, turning away and dismissing them.

“You mean you won’t.” Tim threw out over Raylan’s shoulder.

Boyd shrugged one shoulder in answer.

“Boyd, is Martin safe?” Raylan asked.

“Safe for whom?” Boyd replied, turning back to Raylan.

“Himself. Other people,” Raylan said.

“And what would you do if he wasn’t, Executioner? Kill your own vampire?” Boyd asked.

Raylan swallowed then answered quietly, “If I had to.”

“Soulless or not, maybe you should steer clear of him,” Boyd said.

Raylan grabbed Tim by the arm and held onto him as they made their way to the front of the church.

When they got to the door and found Martin, Raylan sent Rachel and Tim on out to the SUV.

He stopped by Martin’s side.

“Martin.”

The vampire turned to him. Raylan could feel the cold spark inside Martin the way he felt any other dead, but Martin’s spark still felt familiar. “I order you to follow all of Master Boyd’s orders. He is your master.”

The redheaded vampire nodded. “I will,” he said, softly, frightened. “But he isn’t.”

“Isn’t what?”

“Isn’t my master.”

Raylan hated hearing Martin say the words. “How do you know that?”

“Because you are.”

Raylan wanted to panic. “Martin, you can’t tell anyone that. If you do, they’ll kill you and probably me. I order you never to tell anyone that. Do you follow me?” Raylan said as if he was speaking to a zombie.

“Yes,” Martin said.

“Boyd’s your master. You will follow his orders.”

“If you say so.”

Raylan climbed into the car and rubbed his forehead. He worried about Martin—that Boyd would kill him or worse, that Raylan would have to put him down one day.

“What the hell was that about?” Rachel asked.

Raylan started the car and headed out, wanting distance between him and Boyd’s church before they talked about the interview if they could even call it that.

“What are the chances we can head back tonight?” Rachel asked.

“Not good,” Raylan answered. “Got an errand tomorrow. You booked something through Fedrooms in town, didn’t you?”

“Comfort Inn,” she said. “On US 421.”

“Ah, yeah, I know it,” Raylan said, remembering that he and Tim had stayed over there last year before they’d started staying in one of the houses seized from Bo Crowder. “What happened to Ava’s house?”

“Clive sent it to auction last month,” Rachel said.

“Hm-mmm.” Raylan’s eyes slid back to Tim. He was too quiet. “You all right back there?”

“Yeah,” Tim said quietly.

“What happened to you, Tim?” Rachel asked.

“It felt like he rolled me.”

“What?” Alarmed, Rachel turned in her seat to look back at Tim.

Raylan eyed him in the rearview mirror.  “Were you ever rolled before—” Before you were a werewolf. “—back when you were human?” Raylan asked.

“Once.”

Raylan nodded. “Which scar?” He knew Tim’s scars well and Tim didn’t have a lot of vampire bites.

“None of them. She rolled me with her eyes—master vampire in South America when I was with the Rangers.”

“She dead?” Raylan asked. If a vampire rolled a human, the vamp could come back and call the human whenever they wanted. This was one of the reasons why rolling humans was illegal.

“Oh yeah. Injected her with silver nitrate and beheaded her.”

“You can’t do that to Boyd, you know,” Rachel said.

“Not today, no,” Tim said. “Besides, I don’t think rolling humans and calling lycanthropes works the same. I can put down a vampire for rolling a human illegally. Calling lycanthropes… no law against that.”

“Mmm,” Rachel murmured.

A silence settled over them. Raylan didn’t want to talk about any of it, but he knew they’d have to.

“It’s not far to the hotel,” Raylan said.

“Good,” Tim added. “Bourbon first. Discussion later.”

Chapter Text

“Where are we?” Tim asked, stopping to nudge Raylan at the check-in desk where he and Rachel were securing their rooms.

Tim was weighed down with their bags he’d unloaded from the SUV, not that it really bothered him much. He’d gotten to the place that he’d even admit to himself now and then, that he liked the increased strength that came with being a lycanthrope.

Raylan handed over a key card to Tim and then another to Rachel.

“Both on the second floor,” Raylan said, then turned to hand his credit card over to the clerk.

Tim took the room key card and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. “C’mon, I’ll carry your bag up.”

Rachel gave him a cool look but followed him.

“What’s wrong with the elevator?” she muttered.

Tim just smiled to himself.

Tim had unpacked his dopp kit, putting it in the bathroom, then was digging around for the bottle of Jim he’d shoved down in Raylan’s bag when he heard Raylan’s card in the door.

Lifting out the bottle, he waved it at Raylan as he made his way into their room.

“You remembered.” Raylan smiled wryly, pulling his hat from his head.

“What? That you’re a bit of a lush or that Harlan’s drier than the Sandbox this time of night?”

Raylan tipped his head in response. “Except in the Stew.”

“The Stew,” Tim said, frowning. He wondered how the legalized prostitution districts were set up in the larger cities. Harlan’s district was already a mess and he didn’t see any kind of economic solution or advantage for the preternatural community in that kind of work. The bald reality made him realize how lucky he was that Art wanted him back at work—how rare that his chief was even willing to let him keep his job. Tim had family money—and bounty-hunting money along with other funds tucked away from his government work. But what would he have done to get by if he hadn’t? Nathaniel was right. No one wanted to hire lycanthropes.

“Rachel will be along in a few to hash over what happened at Boyd’s, I’m sure,” Tim said.

Raylan yawned and scratched his stomach. “Why’d you bother putting it off for after a drink? Won’t do you any good.”

Tim pulled the two glasses out of the bathroom and poured two fingers into one before handing it to Raylan.

“Sure it will,” Tim said, pouring more booze into the second glass. “Just ’cause it doesn’t work on me, doesn’t mean it won’t work on you. Or her.”

He cocked his head and walked to the door, opening it before Rachel could knock. She looked shocked with her left hand poised in the air.

“Oh! I was—”

Tim interrupted her, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I heard you coming.” He handed her the bourbon.

“How’d you know it was me?” she said, taking the glass off him and moving into the room as he stepped aside.

“And don’t tell me you smelled me coming,” she said, grimacing.

Tim huffed. “Your gait, actually.”

“You smell fine, Rachel,” Raylan said. He set his glass down on the bedside table and sat on the side of the king-sized bed facing a little area where a couch and desk were situated around an AC unit. Tim had already turned it up in volume and down in temperature.

“So I smell okay but I walk funny,” she murmured, finding a seat on the little couch. She rested her glass on the coffee table.

Tim settled into the swivel chair at the desk, as Rachel pulled out her tablet.

“So what’s next?” She asked. “Delroy gave us nothing. Boyd and his group are obviously lying about knowing the vampire.”

“Well, there’s gotta be something or someone who knows the male victim,” Tim said.

“Clive’s coming down to work out the seizure of Audrey’s. We could have him set up Nathaniel as the on-site manager such that he’s obligated to provide us information like a CI,” Raylan said.

“Like a CI is a CI,” Rachel pointed out.

Raylan frowned. “Then the question is, can we trust him?”

Tim did not want to touch the subject and swiveled his chair a little more in Rachel’s direction than Raylan’s.

Rachel pressed her lips together. “I know you don’t like Nathaniel—” She spoke directly to Raylan but waved at Tim. “—for obvious reasons. But I didn’t pick up any deceit off him. I honestly don’t think he’s connected with the production of either video. Chris will have a run at his equipment, but I think he’ll be most useful to us as a set of on-site eyes than anything else.”

“What did you get from the girl, JJ?” Raylan asked.

“Delroy paid her—and some of the other girls—for that performance. She said it pays better than turning tricks in the back lot. She was actually upset Delroy was dead,” she said.

“She know why we took him out?” Raylan asked.

Raylan shook her head. “No, but I am sure she put two and two together given the line of my inquiry. She might be in a bad place, but she wasn’t stupid.”

“The Stew.” Tim shook his head. “They’re all in a bad place.”

Rachel nodded.

“Raylan, I’m just trying to understand your process here,” Rachel asked. “We obviously tipped our hand to Nathaniel and JJ about why you executed Delroy, so why did we have to go through all that cagey bullshit with Boyd Crowder? Why not just ask him what vampire is killing people on his turf? Just pin him down.”

“I wanted to take his measure when he didn’t have any motivation to tell us who this guy was,” Raylan said.

“I have to ask you this,” Rachel said, frowning. “Are you going easy on him because of your metaphysical connection?”

“Oh no. No, no, no no,” Raylan said. “I expect he’ll figure out soon enough why I put Delroy down. I want to see if he comes and finds me when he realizes the stakes are higher.”

Tim nodded. “Well, six months ago he was willing to shoot down one of his vampires who murdered a woman,” he said. “Covering for any vampire in these parts is a turn-around for him. Seems something’s changed on Boyd’s front.”

“I have a theory about that,” Rachel said.

“You mean that whole ‘losing his religion’ thing?” Raylan asked.

Tim could tell from his tone that Raylan didn’t think too much of Rachel’s theory.  

“Exactly that. Boyd was all fire and brimstone six months back. Like Tim said, even killed one of his own vampires for not following human law. Now though… now he’s lying about knowing this vampire. And Wynn Duffy is scared shitless of you.” She pointed at Raylan, then continued. “His church is unraveling. Even Nathaniel said that the work he was doing for Boyd’s evangelism site is down. If Nathaniel’s cash flow from the church is down, that’s got to mean Boyd’s is too.”

Raylan tipped his head. “May have a point there. Money’s one thing, but power goes with it… and power is vampire currency. If he’s losing his base—financially or otherwise, I can see old Boyd being open to exploring other options. Legal or otherwise”

“I think he’s lost his faith,” Rachel said.

“What?” Raylan scoffed.

“I think he was a true believer before… before whatever went down in that room between you and Gio and his people during the parley.”

Whatever went down.

Tim was pretty sure he knew what had gone down in Harlan in January, but for most of it—he’d been lying on the floor bleeding to death. He’d had to rely on what fuzzy memories he had of that afternoon: Raylan using the weight of his body to staunch Tim’s bleeding… and a lot of pain.

Apparently, when Tim got cut down Raylan lost it and raised a zombie hoard from the nearby sleeping vampires. Raylan took out the vampires and wolves who’d attacked them using his own little zombie army.

All while Tim slept.

Boyd had made a deal with the Marshals Service at the time, in exchange for protection, he would turn on several vampires involved in an interstate preternatural trafficking network who’d been pressuring him to become part of their crime network.

Tim got why the bigwigs wanted the meeting. The US Attorney and their local AUSA thought they’d land evidence for a vampire RICO case. But the meeting—the parley—had gone severely sideways. The master from Miami’s henchmen kidnapped Raylan’s pregnant ex-wife for leverage. When Tim saw the opportunity to free her, he’d been attacked by a werewolf and exposed to lycanthropy.

Sure, he hadn’t exactly been happy to end up a werewolf and it’d played hell on his home life—not to mention his professional life. But after everything was said and done, he was still a little bitter he’d missed the sight of Raylan raising a zombie hoard to defend him.

Tim worked to swallow a smile. Some men sent flowers. Not Raylan.  

So, he didn’t know exactly how much Rachel understood about what’d gone down. He thought she probably knew most of it or had pieced it together, but maybe not the part about Raylan’s rage. Or the kind of power it’d taken to pull off a vampire zombie army—even just a small one.

“If you recall,” Rachel said, “Boyd didn’t take too well to the idea of you raising his vampires that day. And he didn’t seem to like it any better tonight. What was it he called the revenants? Soulless?”

“Shit,” Raylan said.

“I think you’re right about him exploring other options,” Rachel said smoothly.

“So, Boyd’s in bed somehow with this vampire,” Tim concluded.

“Or protecting him for some reason,” Raylan added.

“Raylan, you know I have to ask you…” Rachel asked softly.

“Rachel, don’t take me off this case. I already told you I’m not going easy on him.”

“No… This is… Well, what if it comes down to one of you needing to put Boyd down?” she asked.

“It’s not going to come to that,” Raylan said.

Tim shot Raylan a hard look, angry that Raylan would just dismiss the question and devalue his life that way. He didn’t know why it should surprise him: Tim had been asking the question for the better part of a year. Raylan had been the one to kill Bo Crowder when the vampire had marked him as his human servant. Raylan had known that killing Bo would take his own life. The only reason he was alive now was because Boyd had marked him.

Rachel shook her head. “Raylan, I pulled my weapon on him tonight and I wasn’t sure I could take him out if I needed to, because I knew it could take you with him.”

A silence settled over the room.

Rachel had nailed one of Tim’s fears. He didn’t think it would be Rachel, or even Tim, who took Boyd down, but he wouldn’t put it past Raylan.

Raylan downed his drink and got up to find the bottle from the top of the refrigerator.

“It won’t come to that,” Raylan said, pouring another generous splash into his glass, carrying the bottle back to the bed with him.

“Tim…” Rachel’s tone gave her shift in focus away to him.

Tim had known this was coming. “I had it under control.”

Raylan coughed and Tim knew it wasn’t the bourbon catching in his throat.

“Does Boyd have some power over you, too?” Rachel asked.

“Boyd does not have power over me—” Raylan’s voice hiked in anger.

“You hush,” Rachel said, pointing at him before turning back to Tim.

“He can call wolves,” Tim said. “But once I figured it out, I could stop him.”

“How?” she asked.

Raylan rubbed his forehead.

She turned to him. “Why are you throwing off so much guilt?”

“I pushed my necromancy at him,” Raylan admitted, waving his hand at Tim. “To fight off Boyd.”

Tim smirked. “I felt that, by the way. But that wasn’t what stopped him, you idiot.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes at Tim. “Can you come back to work if a vampire can control you, Tim?  That’s what I need to know. That’s what I need to be able to tell Art, one way or another.”

Tim set his jaw. “Did he let me ride along this trip so you could find that out for him?”

“No,” she said.

Tim stared at her but didn’t pick a hint of the scent of deceit or a falter in her expression. She was good. As good as he could be when he wanted.

“Okay, maybe,” she relented. “But he didn’t ask me until we were already down here. Tim, he’s putting his own career on the line to keep you with the Marshals Service. It’s not fair to him, or Leslie—”

“Not the Leslie card…” Tim groaned under his breath. Wasn’t it bad enough she’d commandeered some campaign for spoiling Sheeba rotten?

Rachel ignored his interruption. “—if you come back to work when you know you’re not fit for duty and he ends up losing his job.”

Tim ground his teeth together and felt his jaw tic. “Boyd didn’t control me. He tried. But he can’t,” Tim said, curling his lip.

Raylan belted his whiskey and sat back down on the side of the bed.

“He did at first,” Rachel said.  

“That was before I figured out what he was doing,” Tim said.

Raylan looked up at him, the surprise clear on his face. “How’d you break his control?”

Tim shrugged. “I just did.” He honestly didn’t know how he’d done it. He’d done what he’d always done when people around him pushed too damned hard at him. “I just locked myself down, blocked him out and… his control fell away.”

Rachel smiled, then pursed her lips together as if to squash it. “Well, you always have been good at blocking me out when you set your mind to it.”

“Really?” Tim asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Even back before you were a werewolf.”

“Huh,” Tim said, shocked. “Who knew bein’ a stubborn asshole would come in handy one day?”

***

Rachel poured herself another bourbon then left with it for her room, stealing one of the glasses half full of their booze.

Raylan was in the shower and Tim wondered if the missing glass would show up on Raylan’s credit card.

Tim flipped through the channel guide on the television for the third time in a row: scrolling through the menu down, up, down, up—and nothing looked remotely interesting. He’d had the same problem with books lately. But only since… January. Before he became a werewolf, he’d been able to fall into sci fi and fantasy. He’d swear those books got him through the months after he left the Rangers.

Now, when he was brutally honest with himself, his lack of interest in reading anything he’d once enjoyed bothered him. He suspected being a creature of fantasy had ruined what had been his favorite means of mental escape.

And then there was Raylan.

Tim was tired of feeling unsure and estranged from him. He was tired of wanting to see the man, then hating it when he showed up.

As if Raylan sensed his thoughts, the bathroom door opened spilling steam and Raylan’s lean length into the room. Tim wanted to groan when he saw he had only a towel wrapped around his hips.

He watched him move toward his go-bag and dig around for his undershorts, his back to Tim.

He bit his lower lip as Raylan unwound the towel, draped it around his neck and bent down to step into his boxers.

“Bathroom’s free,” Raylan said, turning to him. He started to towel-dry his hair while Tim mentally beat his libido into check, begging his cock not to give him away. He just needed to make it less than ten feet to the bathroom, then he could stroke off in the shower and hope he didn’t lose control.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, rushing into the bathroom.

***

Tim padded over to check the door jammer bracing the door shut when he finished his shower. He didn’t feel as paranoid as he used to when he was human, but he still wanted the extra time the device would give him if someone tried to come through the door.

Only a bedside lamp lit the room from the side closest to the bathroom. Tim’s side of the bed. After their first time together, Raylan always slept on his left.  

Tim sometimes wondered if it’d been that way when he was married to Winona, too.

Raylan lay on his side with his back to Tim and he listened to him breathe. He could tell Raylan wasn’t asleep, but he didn’t see any point in throwing rocks at that wasps’ nest if the wasps wanted to be left alone.

Rachel had booked them a single instead of a double—not knowing Tim was coming along. He wondered if she would have gotten them a double for “propriety’s sake” if she had known he was coming—since they became a couple, he and Raylan hadn’t used the Federal system to book a room. It was one thing for Art to know they were sleeping together, it was another for some pencil pusher processing their travel reimbursements to realize that.

He clicked off the light and slipped into his side of the bed that was bigger than the one they shared at home. Just what he and Raylan needed, more space between them.

He felt and heard Raylan roll over.

“You feel better?” Raylan asked.

Tim scowled, not that the measure did him any good in the pitch dark of the room. His night vision was better than it had ever been, and he thought Raylan’s had improved some but Tim was pretty sure Raylan couldn’t see his expression.

“Sure. Easier to sleep if I wash off all the scents I pick up over the day.”

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Raylan said.

“Um,” Tim bit his bottom lip. “What do I know?”

Raylan edged closer to him, closing the space between them.

“Who were you thinking about when you were pumping your rocks off in the shower just now?”

Tim felt a kick of desire in his stomach.

“Did you hear…”

“I can smell it. I can always smell it.”

Tim’s mind rolled back through the months of long showers, stifled moans, and semen splashing against their shower tiles. He thought all those moments had already been washed clean away.

“Didn’t know that.” Tim swallowed.

“Were you thinking of that cat?” Raylan asked, his voice stark.

Tim pushed down a surge of panic.

“When?” He hoped Raylan wasn’t thinking of the RV.

“In the shower, asshole.”

That brought Tim up short.

“No—”

“Oh, you want to talk about the RV?” Raylan asked. A hint of threat wound through his voice reminding Tim of Arlo’s tone.

“You smelled that, then,” Tim said.

“I did.”

“Um…” Tim bit his bottom lip to keep quiet. He wasn’t afraid of Raylan, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make everything worse. “Ray, I didn’t mean…”

“You might not have meant it, but he turned you on, didn’t he?” Raylan’s tone turned dangerous in its even neutrality.

“Christ,” Tim muttered. “It’s been such a long time. A fly landing on my dick would give me a hard-on.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Raylan asked.

“Come on, you know I wa—”

Tim’s words were cut off when Raylan crushed their mouths together.

The kiss was hard and angry, with Raylan shoving his tongue past Tim’s lips and driving into his mouth. And Tim just yielded. Hell, they’d been dancing around this for months. Raylan tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Tim could taste the mint from his toothpaste, lingering bourbon, and Raylan’s arousal tinged with such anger.

And the latter just pissed Tim off. Like hell, he was going to have angry sex after such a long dry spell.

Tim tugged on Raylan’s wifebeater and rolled onto his back, taking Raylan with him.

He tore his mouth from Raylan’s kiss.

“Ray… stop.”

Tim could see well enough in the darkness to pick up his lover’s disappointment. But more than that, he tasted it on Raylan’s exhale—a sharp tang of sadness.

“No, dipshit. It was you. It’s always you.”

“What?” Raylan shifted his weight so he wasn’t lying full-out on Tim.

“You.” Tim wiggled his hips, rocking Raylan into a position he liked. He shifted his legs so he could wrap them around Raylan, his calves and feet pressing into the back of Raylan’s knees.

“Me?”

“I thought of you in the shower.”

Raylan slowly smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But if we’re gonna finally do something… I need us to start out a lot less worked up… emotionally, anyway.”

Raylan stilled. “Oh, your control? Do you think you can…?”

Tim had seen the video of Delroy shifting over JJ when he came. But he also felt more level since the full-moon pack ceremony. He’d been in control enough to shake off Boyd—which was more than Delroy could say about the vampire who’d been controlling him.

If he and Raylan started slow enough… kept things simple… then maybe…

“What do you want to do?” Raylan asked, but his tone betrayed his interest. “Can you…” Raylan cleared his throat. “I mean can we try and do something without losing control?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah… I think so. I want to.”

“You sure?” Raylan took Tim’s hand in his and twined their fingers together.

Tim shrugged a shoulder. “Joining the pack kind of settled me. Then pushing Boyd out… that felt right too. But let’s start with something easy. Just… no more anger.” He squeezed Raylan’s hips with his thighs to make his point.

“I can do that,” Raylan whispered, leaning in to kiss Tim again.  

Tim knew he was semi-hard already, and he was beginning to feel Raylan’s length pressing against his lower abdomen. He lifted his hips, bracing his weight with his feet hooked to the back of Raylan’s legs, and shifted positions until their cocks lined up.

He canted his hips, rocking against Raylan’s cock.

Raylan sharp intake of breath urged him on.

Tim rocked against him again and he felt like his eyes wanted to roll back in his head. Normally, he liked his cock slick when he rubbed off but with Raylan on top of him, smelling like heat and hunger, Tim didn’t care that he was humping against cotton.

He shoved his nose into Raylan’s neck. Tim wasn’t a narcissist. But knowing how much Raylan wanted him, turned him on. The way Raylan’s scent carried his need, his arousal, Tim wanted to come from breathing him in alone. “C’mon Ray…”

Raylan got the message and pumped his hips in time with Tim’s. He wrapped his forearms up underneath Tim’s arms and buried his face in the other side of Tim’s neck. Tim growled softly, liking the idea that Raylan could smell his naked want, too.

The two layers of material between them didn’t matter. Tim was focused on the pressure against his cock, Raylan’s hot breath on his neck, and his lips dragging against a sensitive spot under Tim’s ear.  

“Can you come like this?” Raylan whispered.

“Tonight I can,” Tim gritted out. “Holding back now.”   

It’d been too long and Tim wanted it to last longer than a few minutes rutting against each other but he didn’t think he could hold off.

“Don’t wait,” Raylan said as if he knew. Maybe he did. Maybe Tim had moaned the words instead of thinking them. Maybe Raylan could smell his vain attempt at restraint. “Come for me.”

Tim cried out, his voice sounding rough and worn even to himself, as he started to come in his underwear like a teenager.

Raylan shifted to stare down at him and Tim tried to meet his eyes, sure he’d break contact the second his orgasm hit. Tim still wasn’t sure what Raylan could see and didn’t care at this point. He threw his head back and for half a second the blind, blissful release reminded him of letting go, of the way he freed himself to change shape and Tim was afraid he would shift. But Raylan’s cock rocking against his kept his mind, his body grounded.

“Whoa,” Raylan said, his voice tight. He froze over him and Tim jerked his eyes to Raylan’s face.

“What?” Tim’s words were slow as he came out of the haze.

“You okay?” Raylan asked, his voice cautious.

Tim dropped quickly out of his post-orgasmic bliss because Raylan’s tone told him something was off.

“Uh… yeah. Why?” Something was wrong. Raylan saw it but Tim had somehow missed it.

“Sec,” he said, shifting and reaching across the bed to flip on Tim’s bedside lamp.

They both blinked at the light breaking through the darkness. Raylan settled back on the bed, this time rolling off to his side next to Tim. His hand ran up the side of his face, his thumb tracing Tim’s eyebrow, then moved between his brows, massaging the little crease Tim thought was already becoming a wrinkle.

“What?” Tim asked. He was aware he’d come in his briefs, but he wasn’t sure about Raylan. He reached for Raylan and felt an initial dampness—probably from pressing up against the mess in Tim’s briefs. But under the material, his partner was still hard. “You didn’t come.”

Tim slipped his hand through the slit in the front of Raylan’s boxers and wrapped his fingers around Raylan’s cock. He could feel precum so he knew that Raylan had been into it. Hell, he could smell that Raylan was still into it.

“Don’t worry about that,” Raylan said, sucking in air as Tim tightened his fingers around him. He was visually checking Tim over, running his hand down his arm, then to his chest.

“Ray, you’re scaring me,” Tim said. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re in control?”

“Damnit Raylan,” Tim warned, squeezing his grip on Raylan. “What did I miss?”

Raylan dropped a brief kiss on his mouth and Tim started to stroke Raylan’s cock. “Your eyes turned all light like they do when you are in your wolf form.”

“Really?” Tim was surprised but didn’t particularly care at the moment.

“Yeah.” Raylan’s breath hitched as Tim started to pick up speed.

“That all?” Tim asked.

“Hmmm. Mm-hmm,” Raylan murmured, his pupils growing wider.

“I can work with that.”

Tim leaned up to kiss Raylan fully on the mouth, capturing the back of his head with his free hand, and speeding up his rhythm with the other.

Raylan gave Tim his way, then whispered against Tim’s lips. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good.”

Tim watched the bronze flecks in Raylan’s eyes as he came apart and chastised himself for not doing this for Raylan all along.

Chapter Text

Tim and Raylan found Rachel downstairs in the hotel lobby drinking coffee and working on her tablet while she waited on them.

She narrowed her eyes at their approach, then turned back to her screen with what Raylan thought was a hint of a smile. He’d like to know what the hell she’d picked up on. He didn’t feel any different this morning. Maybe his worry about Tim has eased a tad. But her smile made him paranoid that there was some huge difference in Tim that he’d not picked up on.

“I need to meet Clive and Vasquez this morning to set up the seizure and confidential informant paperwork with Nathaniel,” she said. “This errand you need to run… can it wait until after that or can you do it while we’re working out the details at Audrey’s?”

“I need to go see my Aunt Helen,” Raylan said. “I’ll drop you and Tim off, then finish what I need to do with Helen.”

Rachel frowned and Tim didn’t look any more pleased with him than she did. “You do realize that your father is out of jail now,” Rachel said.

“No way you’re heading up there on your own,” Tim said.

Raylan laughed bitterly. “I grew up there all on my own. I can handle myself now.”

“Kinda of what I was getting at,” Tim muttered. “You weren’t carrying a Glock on your hip back then.”

Rachel frowned. “Raylan. Please don’t shoot your father.”

Raylan spread his hands in front of him and shrugged. “Not making any promises. Sometimes it can’t be helped.”

Raylan pulled into Audrey's. Rachel said Clive was on his way to Harlan with Vasquez to meet her.  The AUSA had wanted to come along because of the possible complications with an arm of the Federal government running a house of ill repute.

The bordello was still shuttered—yellow crime tape running its perimeter. As he approached, Raylan nodded at a trooper sitting in his squad car watching the property. Tim walked around back with Rachel to check out who was still living there.

“Y’all here to wrap up the seizure?” the trooper asked.

“Got an AUSA on his way,” Raylan said, hands on his hips.

“They gonna shut it down?” the trooper asked carefully.

Raylan shrugged. “Don’t think so. Think we’re gonna find a way to keep it running. Lots of political pressure around the Monstervilles at the moment. Wouldn’t sit real well to shut one of them down soon as they got ’em up and running.”

The trooper seemed to relax a bit. “Smart. Already had to chase a reporter off. Afraid they been out takin’ pit’chers this mornin’.  Expect that’ll draw more of that kind around in the next day or so.”

Raylan nodded. “Local media?”

“Newspaper, I think.”

Raylan shrugged. “It’ll take some wind out of their sails when they come back around and find business as usual.”

The trooper shook his head. “Can’t believe they legalized prostitution. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Raylan pulled his hat forward a bit. “I agree with you there.” He tapped the top of the car. “Deputy Brooks will be in charge of the scene and will come clear you. Just a few more hours,” he said.

“Obliged. I’ll let the next shift know. Night shift wraps up in an hour.”

Raylan wandered back behind Audrey’s. The back door to the bordello was shut up tight, sealed with crime tape. He looked around and saw that outside door to Nathaniel’s RV hung open. Several other trailers showed signs of life with open windows or doors. AC units hummed in the quiet morning. Raylan had to admit—if nothin’ else, legalizing the business on hand had cleaned up the place some. He remembered more junk lying about when Boyd’s mama worked the back of the house.

The scene where he’d taken Delroy down was taped off, his blood had seeped into the dirt and stained the wooden slats of the back porch. Raylan frowned—the Harlan coroner hadn’t identified the blood as a biohazard. Had the man just assumed the whores would be scrubbing the blood away? He made a mental note to remind Rachel to call in a biohazard crime scene cleanup unit. It would delay Audrey's reopening but it had to be done.

For all practical purposes, the US Marshals would now own and run a whorehouse. Well, until Clive could sell it off to a new owner at auction some time down the road.

Raylan scanned the area for other issues and he felt something off with his necromancy. He took a few minutes to look around the courtyard and the outside perimeter of the building. It didn’t take him long before he found the trouble floating in the corner of the porch awning behind the building—not far from where he’d shot Delroy the night before.

With his power, he could feel something tingling, but when he squinted up at it, whatever it was, the object had a translucent quality at times—other times opaque. He thought it looked like a cobweb slowly moving in on itself, then expanding and shrinking again.

“Holy shit,” he said, his hand on his weapon. He didn’t think that his weapon would do him any good but it was instinct.

Tim burst out of Nathaniel’s trailer a moment later, running toward Raylan. “What? What’s wrong?”

Raylan held out a hand of caution to Tim. The cobweb didn’t seem to react to his approach though.

“Raylan?” Tim demanded.

He pointed up to the floating silken webs. “Do you see something right about there?”

Tim’s eyes had been clocking the scene, scanning for whatever threat he’d picked up from Raylan. He shook his head. “Nothing. Where exactly?”

Raylan approached and the cobweb continued to flex and move but didn’t react to his proximity. Standing directly underneath it, Raylan pointed up to it. “Right there.”

Tim joined him, looking up. “Nothing there. Can’t smell anything that shouldn’t be here. Just a lot of Delroy’s blood.”

Raylan’s mind stopped on that thought. Delroy. “Huh. You know, I think I’m gonna make a call.”

Tim looked worried. “Whatever it is, is it safe?”

Raylan nodded. “I think so. It is now anyway.”

When Raylan described the object to his second cousin, she told him to wait for her.

He leaned against a pillar and watched the web float while he waited for a second opinion. Clive and Vasquez were still an hour out.

Tim went out to tell the trooper watching the front to let Marianne through, then went looking for what that side of Harlan had to offer in terms of coffee. Raylan was tempted to break the seal on the back door of Audrey's and just make some, but he’d tested Vasquez’s patience enough in the last six months.

Clive and Vasquez arrived before Tim or Marianne.

The AUSA stared up at where Raylan was looking. “What is it?” he said. He turned pointedly to Rachel. “Can you…?”

“I can’t see it,” she finished firmly before Vasquez could give her away as an empath in mixed company.

Nathaniel stood behind them. “I don’t see it either.”

“Then what the hell is it?” Vasquez asked. “A ghost?”

“Maybe,” Raylan answered cagily. “I have an idea. Getting a second opinion, though.”

“Can it hurt us?” Vasquez asked.

“Not anymore, I don’t think,” Raylan replied.

“Hey Rach, can you call in a biohazard crime cleanup unit for the blood out here?” Raylan asked. “Harlan’s coroner just left it.”

“Your phone not working?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Uh… fair point,” Raylan mumbled, pulling out his phone.

Rachel rolled her eyes, then split the seal on the back door and headed into the building with Clive, Vasquez, and Nathaniel to begin their paperwork, effectively dismissing Raylan.

A short while later, Tim walked up loaded down with coffee cups.

“Guess unofficial is synonymous with gofer,” Tim said as he approached.

Raylan smirked to keep from laughing. “Come back to work or stop complaining.”

Tim shrugged. “I’ll talk to Art when we get back. I left a coffee with the trooper. Day shift up now. She said Clive and Vasquez got in. No cousin though?”

“Marianne was coming from Bennett County. She’ll be along.”

Tim pulled a cup out of a take-out cup carrier and read the side. “This one’s yours,”  he said, handing the coffee off to Raylan.  

“Thanks,” he said, stepping forward to open the back door for Tim. Raylan propped it open with his hip and let his free hand fall on Tim’s shoulder, then slide down his back as Tim crossed the threshold into the building.

Marianne Grant Bennett found her way around the side of the building escorted by the trooper Tim had mentioned.

Raylan met her with a gentle hug; he’d developed a fondness for the woman in a way he typically didn’t for family members outside his Aunt Helen. Even so, after she’d married Arlo, he wasn’t all that sure about Helen.

Marianne was the mate of the Bennett County Ulfric. He’d learned a lot of family history from her—most of it too late to help him. The most surprising bit of history was that his mama was supposed to have married into the Bennett pack but for some reason, for love, some said. But she eloped with his daddy instead, breaking with centuries-long tradition.

Raylan had a hard time understanding it. He’d never seen a lot of love in the Givens home growing up. Lately, he’d begun to wonder if his mama had just traded the frying pan for the fire. Mags Bennett had married Davis Bennett, the Ulfric, when his mama turned him down. He finally figured that explained a lot of the tension between him and the Bennett boys growing up. They’d hated him, hated the Givens family.

But Marianne was blood first, Bennett last. When he came to his kin last fall, she’d helped him get a grip on his necromancy when the power had grown too much for him to handle with the increased push from Boyd’s vampire marks. She’d explained to him what his mama, Frances, had never bothered to. His mama, assuming he was free of Kentucky and not realizing he was more than an animator, never told him vampires would be drawn to him and his necromancy. His aunt, Helen, was an animator like Marianne and his mama—all strong enough to raise zombies but not powerful enough to be necromancers. Helen had banked on the same odds his mama had: that as a man living outside Kentucky, Raylan was free of Grant traditions: he’d never be stuck in an arranged marriage with a wolf pack leader.

Raylan had also come to understand he’d just been lucky his reputation as the Executioner had preceded him in his work. Eventually, a master vampire would have tried what Bo Crowder had—to try and mark him to yoke his power. As much as he’d initially hated being exiled to Kentucky, at least he’d had Marianne to explain what was happening to him. He’d have been dead or worse if one of the Florida masters had bound him like Bo and Boyd had.

“So, where is your ghosty?” Marianne asked, treading carefully around Delroy’s bloodstains.

“Up there in the corner.” Raylan pointed to the web still gyrating around on itself.

She shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

Raylan sighed. “I think I was afraid of that.” He’d hoped he wasn’t the only one who could see it. Since he was, seeing it was probably connected with his necromancy.

Marianne closed her eyes. “Who died here?”

Raylan pulled his hat forward shading his face, unsure of how she’d take the news that he’d put down a local wolf. Delroy wasn’t part of the Bennett pack, but he was still a wolf shot dead by Raylan’s hand.

“Delroy Baker,” Raylan said. “I had a warrant.” He didn’t feel sorry he’d taken Delroy down, but it surprised him that it bothered him seeing the act through her eyes.

“Hm-mmm,” she murmured. “Heard of him. No loss. There’s a reason Loretta stays with Mags.”

Raylan’s eyes flew to her face. “He didn’t—”

“Oh, not him. But the Harlan pack has its problems.”

“So the web up there… you think it’s what I think it is?”

She closed her eyes again and Raylan could feel a brush of power from her as the Lupa of her pack. “Ah, wow. I’ve never felt something like this… outside the munin,” she said. “And those are just pack memories. This is something else altogether.”

“A soul?” Raylan suggested.

She nodded. “You’ve ever seen one before now?”

“Never.”

“Me neither.”

She walked the area again. “I wonder what changed. The munin seals are gone… and you taste more strongly of vampire…” Marianne stopped and considered him again. “You taste like pack, too. And not mine. When did that happen?”

Audrey’s back door swung open, and Tim appeared in the doorway.

“I joined the Lexington pack a couple nights ago,” Tim said.

Marianne seemed surprised. “Ah, that would explain the pack connection. Congratulations. You feel better?” she asked Tim.

He nodded. “More grounded.”

“Hm-mmm,” she murmured. “Pack bonds will do that.” She waited a beat. “Loretta’s fine, by the way.”

Tim smirked at her. “I know.”  

She nodded, looking satisfied. She walked around the bloodstains again, eyeing them. “Raylan, when was the last time you killed someone?”

“How do you mean?” He didn’t just go around killing people. Did he? Is that what she thought his job was, he wondered.

She waved a hand. “Performed an execution or put down any kind of creature.”

Raylan thought about it. “Don’t even use chickens for animations anymore.” Before he and Marianne worked together, he used to sacrifice live chickens in order to raise zombies, but Marianne had shown him he could use a drop or two of his own blood to achieve the same purpose without taking a life.

“So…” she asked. “When did you last take a life before Delroy?”

Raylan met Tim’s eyes. It’d been a quiet spring.

“January?” Tim suggested.

Raylan nodded. “I agree. The last time was January.”

She nodded. “So not since you gained the third vampire mark and had a heavy influx of power?”

“Sounds about right,” Raylan said.

“I agree with you. I think it’s Delroy’s soul. I was always taught you can’t raise a zombie until three days after its death,” she said. “Maybe that’s so that—” She pointed at Delroy’s soul. “—has the time to find its way.”

“Me too, but then we had the same teachers. Or teachers who’d been taught the same ways.”

She nodded. “What happened to Delroy? Will he be given back to his pack for…” She paused. “For the traditional death practices?”

“He’s probably already been incinerated,” Raylan said.

She winced. “A loss to his pack’s munin,” she said.

“Is there a way for me to put that—” Raylan gestured to Delroy’s soul. “—into the Harlan munin?”

Marianne frowned. “Different parts.”

“I don’t get that,” Tim said. “Aren’t souls what Raylan puts back into the zombies to animate them? Or is the munin made of the wolves souls?”

Marianne was quiet a moment. “Well, this is his soul. The munin is connected to his memory… the physical consumption of his body’s memories on this plane. And animation—well, that’s consciousness.”

“Does this mean your zombies are soulless?” Tim walked around the area where Delroy’s soul was floating, squinting up as if he could see or sense it if he tried hard enough.

“I think so. Marianne?” Raylan said.

She nodded. “I’d have to agree.”

“Then, do vampires have souls?” Tim turned and looked at Raylan.

“Huh. Wouldn’t Boyd like to know,” Raylan murmured. “Guess I’d have to kill one to find out, wouldn’t I?”

The corner of Tim’s lips pulled down into a frown of consideration as if that was an idea worth a try. He was still watching the soul, his stance making Raylan think Tim was concerned the diaphanous material might attack them. Then, his brow furrowed. “What do we do with him?” His question sounded troubled.

Raylan frowned because he’d guessed at Marianne’s answer.

“Nothing we can do. Give it time… to go where it needs to.”

Raylan walked Marianne back to her Jeep.

“Why did you put Delroy down?” Marianne asked.

He walked with her in silence for a moment. “Can’t really say,” he said. “Marshal business. You happen to have heard of any master vampires in these parts swaying wolves?”

“Other than Crowder?” she snorted.

Raylan nodded. “Other than Boyd, yes.”

Marianne sighed. “We don’t have much problem with that in our pack. The mate bond between me and Doyle protects our pack from vampires meddling with our people.”

“So nothing?” he asked.

“Not in our neck of the woods,” she said. “Sorry Raylan.”

“I’m about to head out to Arlo and Helen’s. Any chance Eunice or Mary changed their minds about the blood tests?”

She laughed. “Hell no. I told you it’d go that way. They trust the government less than they do vampires.”

“It’s not the government—it’s a study at the university.”

“That study might not be governmental, but you are,” she patted his cheek. “Your mate’s impressive, Raylan.”

He frowned as she climbed into her vehicle. He agreed with her but about Tim was unsure how she’d come to that determination.

“Keep that one close,” she said out the open window, then pulled away.

***

Rachel elected to stay behind with Clive and Vasquez, then ride back with them when they finished at Audrey’s.  

Raylan took Tim with him to his childhood home.

The last time he’d been there, it was to dig up his mama’s grave to keep her from rising as a ghoul or worse.

This time, he needed to speak with Helen.

Raylan put the SUV in park and dreaded the path he would have to take down the sidewalk running along the side of the house. Things were looking up: at least this visit Arlo wasn’t waiting on them with a baseball bat aimed at one of their heads. Of course, when Arlo tried, it hadn’t taken Tim but a minute to incapacitate his daddy. As a wolf… Raylan wondered if that would change how Tim would approach Arlo charging them with a baseball bat.

He opened the car door and Tim met him on the driver’s side of the SUV.

“You don’t need to come with me. I’m just going to see if she’s willing, then I’ll either be back with her or I won’t,” he said.

Tim nudged his shoulder, reached down and twined a couple of their fingers together. “Like I’d let you walk in there alone.”

“They can’t hurt me…” he started, squeezing Tim’s fingers.

He sighed and let go of Raylan’s hand. “I know,” Tim whispered, his palm found a flat plane between Raylan’s shoulder blades, and he knew Tim’d read his lie.

Raylan noticed an RV in the yard that’d seen worse days than even some of the campers tucked behind Audrey’s. Ignoring it, he stepped up onto the little porch and knocked on the screen door. The inside door was open so he called out. “Aunt Helen? You home?”

She appeared from the direction of the kitchen drying her hands on her jeans. About the time she got to the door, he heard his father behind him.

“What are you doin’ here, boy?” Arlo demanded. “And why’d you bring your faggot boyfriend with you?”

Raylan turned to see Tim’s stance shift slightly, enough so that he knew Tim was ready to pounce in Arlo’s direction if he needed to.

“Arlo, he didn’t come for you. He came for me,” Helen said. She stood on the other side of the screen door with her arms crossed taking them all in. “And you might think about payin’ the boyfriend some mind—he coulda killed you before, but now I’m pretty sure he’d eat you when he finished.”

Raylan turned a surprised eye on Helen. “You picked that up?”

“I’m a Grant,” she said. “Always know a wolf when I see one.”

Raylan pulled his hat off and tipped his head to the side. “Funny you mention that, Helen,” Raylan said, “that’s just what we’ve come to have a word about.”

She shook her head and pushed open the door and turned to move back into the house.
“C’mon then.”

They followed her into the living room. She sank down into a chair in a way that told Raylan this was her favorite spot in the house. He didn’t recall the recliner from his time at home.

“Why do you have an RV in the yard?” Tim asked.

“Arlo lives there,” she said. “Just because y’all let him out of prison doesn’t mean I’m letting him back into the house.”

The screen door slammed shut and Arlo walked in. “Still my house.”

“Arlo Givens,” Helen warned.

“And still my whiskey.” He stomped into the dining room to pull a bottle from the pass-through. “Don’t s’pose she offered you a drink?”

Tim quirked an eye at Raylan and he shrugged.

Helen just shook her head.

“What do you need Raylan?” she asked.

“A favor, Aunt Helen,” he answered, his eyes traveling from her to Arlo.

“What’s that?”

“This might go more smoothly with more privacy,” Raylan suggested.

Helen sighed. “Well, I assume your mate already knows, and Arlo will just find a way to listen in.”

Raylan rubbed his forehead.

“Thing is… my ex-wife Winona is pregnant,” Raylan said.

Helen paused, her eyes on Raylan with interest and a light in them he’d not seen since he was younger. Much younger. It was the light of the ghost of a woman who’d once loved, protected, and harbored him. “Yours?”

He nodded. “Little girl.”

Helen smiled softly.

“That so?” Arlo said, smiling. Only Arlo’s bared teeth hit Raylan as predatory compared to Helen’s. “Calls for a drink for sure then.”

He poured Raylan a drink and brought it over. Raylan took the glass but didn’t drink from it.

Raylan turned back to Helen. “Thing is… my blood and her blood… the doctors can’t tell if we’ve been exposed to lycanthropy or not.”

Helen nodded, then looked at Tim. “I expect not.”

“Hey, it’s not me…” Tim protested.

“No, no. It’s just that we had some trouble a while back and both Winona and myself were exposed to lycanthropy so one test shows up positive, then the next inconclusive. Been positive for months, but we don’t shift.”

“That’s your Grant blood working for you.”

“Doesn’t explain Winona,” Raylan murmured.

“Probably the babe,” Helen said.

“Does that mean we’re immune…” Raylan let the question trail off.

Helen shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe. Maybe not. Just the way we’re made.”

“That’s what we’re hoping you can help us with,” he said. “I asked some of the Grant kin…”

“But they’re afraid of the government.”

Tim coughed to swallow a laugh.

“You shoulda come to me first.”

“Have you ever been exposed to lycanthropy?” Raylan asked.

She pursed her lips. “No. Frances was the one promised to the Bennetts. When she and Arlo eloped, Mags moved into her place so I was free. The Harlan pack—they were already in bed with Bo back before he turned, so they didn’t have an interest, or understand that they shoulda had an interest in listening to the stories about the Grants and our old hill magic.”

“Will you come with us to a clinic for a blood test?” Raylan asked. “The doctors need another family member to compare with our results who’s not been exposed.”

Helen was quiet for far longer than a moment. Too long for Raylan to feel right about it.

“I…” she started when Arlo stepped in.

“What’s in it for us?” he demanded.

Raylan was so shocked that Tim replied. “What do you mean, for you?”

“How much is this test worth to you?” Arlo said. “She’s not stepping foot outta this house until you make that real clear.”

“Arlo,” Helen warned.

“It’s worth me not tearing your throat out,” Tim said.

Raylan took them in, his eyes moving from her to Arlo.

Helen sighed again. “Raylan, things are awful tight around here.”

He pulled out his wallet, unfolding all his cash. “Four hundred? Tim, what’s in your wallet?”

Tim sighed and opened his wallet, handing Raylan what he had.

“So Arlo, is eleven hundred worth a vial or two of Helen’s blood?”

His father waved his hand toward the door, giving them the go-ahead.

“Helen,” Raylan said, mimicking his father’s gesture. She grabbed a purse and headed for the door. Raylan and Tim followed.

“What about my money?” Arlo said, coming up behind Tim.

Tim turned and stared at him until Arlo backed away.

“Helen’s blood. Helen’s money,” Raylan corrected, then turned on his heel to leave.

Chapter Text

Lillian arranged for a lab in Harlan to draw Helen’s blood, using the sample tubes she’d procured from the University of Kentucky pathology lab. After Raylan and Tim dropped Helen and her money at the house, they headed to Lexington with the blood samples. Lillian warned him he needed to turn them in within a few hours.  

Tim waited in the car while Raylan stopped at Dr. Lillian’s clinic to drop off a set of Helen’s samples. Then they drove over to the pathology lab at the UK hospital to hand in the other set to the hematopathologist Raylan and Winona had been working with.

“You think that’ll do any good?” Tim asked when Raylan climbed back into the SUV.

He shrugged. “Be nice to know what my kid has to face.”

“Could be the same as you,” Tim said carefully watching Raylan.

Raylan’s eyes tightened. He kept them on the road and lifted a shoulder feigning a nonchalance that Tim knew he didn’t feel. “Hard to tell. Maybe we have an immunity…”

“Then what?” Tim asked. “They use your blood to find a cure?”

Raylan huffed. “I doubt that. Not my blood. Helen’s maybe. Probably not a cure. But maybe it could lead to a better vaccination?”

Tim thought about that. He wondered if he would have taken a vaccination if a better one had been developed. He didn’t take the one they’d offered him before he joined the Army—in fact, he’d turned it down many times. The chances of getting lycanthropy were fifty-fifty with the existing vaccination. Some people became immune; others contracted it from the shot itself.

He tried to imagine a world with an effective vaccine and suspected that people like him—like Nathaniel and all the others working in the Stew in Harlan—would end up even more shunned than they already were.

Or maybe people would become less afraid of lycanthropes if they understood they could interact with them without being turned. He’d never understand why so many people were afraid of casual contact which was safe, while lawmakers legalized one of the surefire ways of catching it: sex with a lycanthrope.

Rachel, Clive, and Vasquez somehow beat them to the office.

Tim trailed after Raylan through the doors. It was his first time back in the office in quite a while. He’d not been assigned to the Kentucky office long and he felt a wave of uncertainty walking through the glass doors with the Marshals Service emblem etched into them. He worried that maybe the people he’d been working with wouldn’t want him back now that he was a werewolf. Art might want him there, but that didn’t mean everyone would be good with it.

“Hey Tim,” Nelson called to him. “You back to work?”

Tim nodded to the other deputy. He didn’t have much in common with the man and didn’t hold much patience with the way he just punched the clock. But Tim felt some of that uncertainty settle. If Nelson wanted him around, then maybe he was worrying over nothing. “We’ll see. That’s all on Art.”

“Don’t you go tryin’ to blame me for your slacking off,” Art said, striding out of his office and offering Tim his hand. He took it, allowing the chief to shake his hand warmly—a gesture he’d not expected.

Art broke the surprising contact and turned to Raylan. “Rachel said we’re running a whorehouse now?”

Tim watched the way Art’s eyebrows hiked higher and higher into his forehead and then how he meandered over to Raylan’s desk. Tim decided right then and there, he was going to let Raylan take the heat for the seizure of Audrey’s.

Raylan sighed and turned looking for Rachel, who was standing in the doorway of Art’s office smirking at him.

“I thought we agreed that it was best for the people working there…” Raylan took his hat off and dropped it behind his desk.

Art waved a hand at Raylan. “Yeah, yeah. She told me all that. Good politics and all that. Hardship for the employees if we don’t step in. So, you didn’t get anything from Delroy?” Art pushed.

Raylan shook his head. “Had to take him down before he would say anything. He’d partially shifted and didn’t back down. Tim agreed.”

Art turned to Tim. “Did you now?”

“He would have torn Raylan’s throat out if he hadn’t shot him when he did,” Tim said. He knew Rachel knew it was true. What she didn’t know was that Tim would have torn Delroy to pieces before he got a claw close enough to Raylan to draw blood. If Raylan hadn’t killed Delroy, Tim certainly would have.

“Tough break,” Art said. “Rachel said Crowder was lying about knowing who’s been sniffing around his territory.”

Raylan nodded. “He knows something. Hoping he’ll come around when he realizes this isn’t just an idle inquiry. We didn’t advertise why I took down Delroy but word’ll get around quick enough.”

“Vasquez says we can’t get any kind of warrant on the vampire until we know him or the victim. This kid you put in charge at Audrey’s as the manager—he couldn’t give you any kind of name for the victim?” Art asked.

Raylan turned to Rachel. “Rachel worked with him.”

Art nodded. “She did. While you ran off to… what?” The chief crossed his arms. “‘Run an errand’?”

Raylan pursed his lips. “Personal business.”

“On my time,” Art said. “C’mon this way and you can explain it to me.” Art turned to pace toward the conference room. He pointed at Tim. “You too, Wolverine.”

Tim scowled then muttered, “I am nothing like Wolverine.”

Art took a seat at one end of the table and leaned back in the chair, folding his fingers together behind his head, letting his elbows fall open wide to support its weight.

Tim, Raylan, and Rachel filed into the room, taking seats around the table.

“First off. Personal business? We’re not gonna run this shit like we did last fall with you two running off and keeping Rachel and me in the dark.”

Raylan nodded. “I needed to collect a sample of Helen’s blood. We still don’t have a conclusive answer on whether or not Winona or the baby have lycanthropy. They think it might have something to do with the family… gift? Seems we carry it. We just don’t change.”

Art frowned. “Baby all right?”

Raylan spread his hands. “As far as we can tell. Progressing normally.”

“When she due?” Rachel asked.

“Couple weeks,” Raylan said.

“Would it have killed you to tell Rachel why you had to run off?” Art asked.

“You didn’t ask,” Raylan answered directly to her. “I would have said.”

“All right, then,” Art said, turning to Tim next. “You about ready to return to work?”

“Think so. This trip went all right,” Tim said.

“Good, good,” Art said. Tim thought he looked uncomfortable.

“You getting any flack about keeping me on?” Tim asked.

Art shrugged. “Oh, a little. Few other chiefs ribbin’ me a bit. Vasquez is sure there’s case law out there on your side of this thing if anyone tries to push you out once we get you off leave and on active duty. But you gotta be on the job before they can try take it from you.”

“Point taken,” Tim said.

“And we have an assignment for you,” Rachel said.

Tim jerked his head as if her statement packed a wallop. “What assignment?”

She took a breath and tipped her head to the side like she did when she was about to deliver news he wouldn’t like.

“Aww Rachel…” Tim started. “Am I gonna hate this?”

She smiled. “Actually, I don’t think so. But Raylan is.”

Tim’s eyes shifted over to his partner then to Rachel. “What?”

“Nathaniel will run Audrey’s, and he’ll work as a CI, but only if he can work with you,” Rachel said.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no,” Raylan said. “That guy can report to anyone—hell, Clive should have a hard-on about seizing an actual whorehouse.”

Rachel sniffed. “But Clive’s an accountant. He doesn’t have the field experience that Tim has,” Rachel said. “Besides, as a lycanthrope, we think Tim will be able to get more information from Nathaniel—and anyone else willing to talk within the district.”

Art tapped the table with the tip of his forefinger. “Until we get a name on the vic, Vasquez says this snuff vid investigation is dead in the water. You’re not going to get a warrant from any judge on a double-blind case. Nathaniel’s our best shot at that.”

Raylan rubbed his face. “No way. That guy…”

Rachel took a deep breath trying to reign in her frustration. “I know you don’t like him Raylan, but this makes sense.”

Tim could smell anger floating around the room from a few sources: Raylan, Rachel, Art… and probably himself. Could he even smell that? Smelling your own emotions had to be like body odor or bad breath; he couldn’t smell his own, could he? He got that Raylan was jealous of Nathaniel’s interest in him, but it’s not like Tim could help that or would even act on it. In fact, Raylan’s attitude kind of pissed him off.

“You don’t trust me to work with this guy?” Tim turned to Raylan.

Raylan whipped his head in Tim’s direction and he could almost hear the protest before it reached Raylan’s lips.

“Uh-uh,” Tim said. “I thought we covered this last night.” Tim stared evenly at Raylan.

He watched Raylan lick his lips. “Well… it’s just that…”

“It’s just that what?” Tim demanded. “You think I’m gonna fuck my CI.”

Raylan’s eyes circled the room past Tim and landing on either Art or Rachel. Both were definitely getting an earful.

His eyes found Tim’s again, narrowed just slightly, then he sighed. “It’s just… fine. Rachel has a point. The kid likes you, so he’ll probably tell you more than any of the rest of us, right?”

“Nice lip service, deputy,” Tim said.

Raylan squinted at him. “I’ll show you lip service,” he mouthed, barely audible. Tim picked up the words and the intent clear enough.  

Rachel cleared her throat. “Uh-uh. None of that shit in the office.”

Raylan shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Tim left Raylan hunched over his keyboard filing the paperwork on Delroy’s execution and wandered over to the breakroom. He picked up the industrial pot off the burner and could smell the burnt stink of it.

No way. He didn’t even get a kick off the caffeine anymore. No way was he drinking that swill.

He could hear Clive in the conference room with Rachel going over the seizure of Audrey’s. The accountant was way too excited about them taking over the bordello.

“I just can’t believe it. A genuine tenderloin district,” he said, again. Tim had lost count how many times that was now. “Do you know the profit margin on a place like that?”

Tim set his jaw and wandered over to Raylan’s desk.

“Gonna go find some decent coffee. You want?”

Raylan’s eyes popped up from the screen to land on Tim.

“Sure. You okay?”

Tim lifted a shoulder. He was less enthused about their in with Nathaniel and Audrey’s than Clive was. He thought if Clive had to spend one night working the trailers he’d be a lot less excited about the prospect.

“Just need to get out of here for a while,” Tim said.

He could tell Raylan didn’t quite believe him.

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Raylan ventured, his voice suggestive. Tim knew Raylan’s tones well enough to understand he wasn’t being suggestive in the way Tim hoped.

He grinned anyway. “Quite a few things come to mind, actually.” Tim let his eyes rake down as much of Raylan’s body that he could see, then up to his face.

Raylan shifted his jaw as if to hide his smile. “Gonna keep that in mind. But for now, I was thinkin’ it’s been a while since we pulled out Emmit Arnett’s evidence.”

That wasn’t at all the direction that Tim thought Raylan was going.

“Why would we do that?”

“Well, one of us might be able to look at it with… if not fresh eyes, a fresh set of senses,” Raylan said.

“Huh,” Tim said. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that.”  He waved his hands at Raylan. “Gimme your evidence locker keys and I’ll go sniff around.” Tim popped his eyebrows at Raylan once.

“Uh-uh,” Raylan said. “Go talk to Art and get on the clock and we’ll go down together.”

“I said I was coming back, didn’t I?”

“You did. Now go make good on it. Get us some decent coffee. Then we’ll go sniff a dead man’s personal effects.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at Raylan once more. “Coffee first.”

Dropping off a cup at Raylan’s desk, Tim moved on to Art’s door and tapped on the glass wall.

“Tim, c’mon in,” Art said. He eyed the coffee. “That for me?”

He pressed his lips together. It actually wasn’t, but he didn’t see any way around handing over the cup to his boss.

Art took the offered paper cup and sipped from the white plastic lid. He crinkled his nose.

“Huh, you forgot the cream,” Art said. “No sugar either.” He pushed the coffee across the desk to Tim.

“Have a seat.”

Tim sat but didn’t say anything.

“Must want something bad if you’re willing to give up your coffee to the boss man,” Art said.

Tim opened his mouth.

“Let me guess… your dog?”

“Uh…”

“Not Sheeba then. Maybe your job?”

Tim nodded.

“About time. So you’re ready to do this?” Art asked.

“I said so. Can we get the paperwork started?”

“Sure. I’ll talk to HR. Probably best if you start Monday.”

Tim nodded. The were running into the weekend.

“Good,” Art said. “Rachel said Boyd threw you for a loop for a minute there. That gonna be a problem?”

Tim sighed. “No, I shook him off.”

“How’d you manage that?” Art asked.

“Honestly? Don’t know,” Tim said. “But if there’s one thing I’m good at—other that being a decent shot—”

“Better than decent,” Art interrupted.

Tim smiled with one side of his lips, then finished, “—it’s shutting people out when I see fit.”

Art nodded. “I wondered how you could stand to live with Raylan.”

Tim couldn’t hold back his smile on that one. “Not touching that.”

Art nodded. “Sure, sure. I get that. So you planning on picking up Sheeba tonight?”

Tim hadn’t thought that far ahead and apparently, didn’t need to, yet.

“The grandkids head out tomorrow. Wouldn’t mind keeping her another night,” Art said.

Tim thought about the way Raylan came on top of him the night before and considered that it might be good to have him to himself one more night without Sheeba underfoot. Winona was still off at her sister’s—or Raylan would have had Sheeba at home watching over his ex-wife and her precious cargo.

“Your wife is stealing my dog one weekend at a time,” Tim said. “Don’t go thinking I haven’t noticed.”

Art leveled a look at him. “You give any more thought to retiring her?” Art asked.

Tim huffed. This was not the first time he’d heard the question since she got shot almost six months ago. Peter, his ex who still bred and trained Trollhounds for the K9 services, had brought it up nearly every time they talked.

“She’s got another ten or more good years in her,” Tim argued.

“But not in service,” Art said.

“How do you know?” Tim suspected Pete was trying to get to Art.

Art snorted. “Just ’cause I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t Google.”

“Jesus Art, don’t believe everything you read online.”

“I’ve also talked to some folks in law enforcement on this,” Art said.

“Did Peter tell you that? That she needs to retire?” Tim demanded. He felt himself getting angry and worried for a moment about his control. He took a deep breath, then released it. He was in control of himself, just ticked off.

Art watched him, and ignored his question about Peter. Tim wondered for a moment if Art was serious about pushing for Sheeba’s retirement or if his chief was just trying to test his control.

“You think you’ll retire her?” Art asked again.

“Maybe,” Tim finally relented. “Eventually, but not today.”

“You can scent now, better than she can,” Art countered.

“Yeah, I can. But when I can’t be in the field with Raylan, she can,” Tim finally admitted.

While he’d been off with the pack, Sheeba had been trailing Raylan, protecting what Tim couldn’t. Knowing his girl was covering Raylan’s back had given him the peace of mind he’d needed to get through the last few months.

“Good enough. For now,” Art said, pointing at Tim. “She’s a deputy, too, Gutterson. I’m just looking after my people here. And Sheeba’s good people.”

Tim nodded. He realized he’d have to make the call eventually but he honestly didn’t want to yet. Tim wasn’t even officially back to work and the touchy subject of Sheeba’s retirement had already come up. It’d been a bone of contention at home, too. A couple weeks before, he’d been cleaning out a drawer in their bedroom. Raylan caught him with Sheeba’s marshals star in his hands, running his fingers over the pattern in the metal. Raylan took one look at Tim’s face and thought the star was Tim’s and accused him of wanting to quit the Marshals Service. They’d managed to have not one but two fights that night. One that started about Tim’s job and the other that ended with the question of Sheeba’s retirement.

Tim picked up his coffee and took a long drag from it. He smiled thinly at Art.

“Let me know when the paperwork goes through. I’m gonna go wait for Raylan, then we’re going to go peek at the Emmitt Arnett case again.” Tim tapped the side of his nose. “See if a fresh set of senses shakes anything loose. You know, unofficially.”

“You do that,” Art said.

Raylan unlocked the cage in Evidence. By that time of night, Charlie had gone home. They strolled through the shelves until they found the right box.

Tim nudged Raylan and pinned him against the metal shelving unit.

“I thought we were…”

“Going down to evidence to catch up on a few things…” Tim buried his nose in Raylan’s neck, “...that we been neglecting lately.”

Tim realized the night before he’d missed watching Raylan come apart. He felt like he was still testing his own control. It wouldn’t be a good idea if he turned because he’d been having sex with Raylan in the evidence cage. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get Raylan off down here in a dark corner.

Tim inhaled Raylan’s scent and picked up on his arousal. He ran his nose along his jawline to his mouth. “You wanna make out in the evidence locker, deputy?” Tim whispered against Raylan’s lips. He pressed his body against Raylan’s. “I could show you what real lip service is.”

He could hear and feel the groan and knew a “no” was coming so Tim preempted it by pressing his lips to Raylan’s, tilting his head and sliding his tongue into Raylan’s mouth.

Raylan tasted a little like coffee and maybe ice cream. He reached up and held Raylan’s face in his hands, his fingers weaving into his hair. He felt Raylan’s grip his hips, catching on his belt. Tim wanted to grind against him, instead, his partner pushed his hips back putting space between them.

“When and where did you find ice cream?” Tim whispered against Raylan’s lips. Resigned, he let his hands fall to his sides.

Raylan smiled against Tim’s mouth. “You stepped out,” he whispered, then kissed Tim lightly, his facial scruff brushing against his lips and chin. “I have my secrets.”

“You seriously have an ice cream stash in the office?” Tim asked.

“Hm-mmm,” Raylan murmured. “Say we wrap up this evidence shit. Then we can pick up where we left off when we get home?”

Tim met Raylan’s eyes and saw the interest lingering. “You sure you don’t want me to blow you?” Tim leaned in to kiss Raylan once more, then let his tongue trace his bottom lip. “Could do it right here. Now. And then later, too. No law against doing it twice.” Tim nipped the lip he’d been tracing. “I checked.”

Raylan groaned, letting his head fall back. “C’mon. Rachel’ll know. Probably come down in middle of…”

Tim laughed and stepped away, letting him go entirely. “Yeah, yeah, point taken.”

Raylan ran his hand over his chin as if he was smoothing down ruffled hair. Raylan’s face was fine, but his hair was all over the place. Tim reached up and ran his hand through the hair at his temple that he’d royally mussed up. “Here,” Tim said, combing Raylan’s hair into place with his fingertips.

They pulled the box and took it up to the conference room. Since it was a preternatural case, Tim didn’t think this evidence would ever end up in a courtroom with experts testifying on its validity or matching fiber samples. Preternatural criminal justice didn’t work that way.

“You think you can pick something up off this?” Raylan asked.

“Not sure,” Tim said. “If there’s something there, maybe I’ll recognize it if we bump up against it again.”

He and Raylan laid out the evidence bags on the table. They’d drawn Rachel’s attention in the process.

She was standing in the doorway. “What are you doing?” she asked, curious.

“Come on in and shut the door behind you,” Raylan said. “Tim’s gonna scent the Emmitt Arnett evidence. See if anyone he knows is attached to it.”

“Fun,” she said and slipped into one of the conference chairs. This wasn’t one of her cases, but Tim got it—this was new to all of them.

Using a pair of scissors he sliced open the top of a bag that looked like it contained a bloody shirt. He breathed in and picked up several scents. “Vampire. Werewolf.”

“That it?” Raylan sounded disappointed.

Tim breathed in again. “Maybe more than one vampire? Maybe not. I don’t know Arnett’s scent well enough to separate him from the vamp who sucked him dry.”

Raylan nodded. “Well, it was an idea.”

“I’m still going to scent them all. Maybe there’s something in here that’s not Arnett. A scent I’ll know if I come across it again.”

Raylan had grown bored with the process well before Rachel’s interest waned. At least he was helping her relabel, reseal, and initial the bags after Tim finished with them to preserve the chain of evidence.

“This one.” Tim stopped and held it out to Raylan. “There’s something… familiar with this one. Someone I’ve met.”  

“Damn,” Raylan said. “Can you place the scent?”

Tim inhaled the air around the fabric again. “No. But I need a sample of this material—like we’d take and use with Sheeba on a search. Can we do that?” He looked from Raylan to Rachel.

“I don’t see why not,” Rachel said.

She went to work on it, then handed him a plastic evidence bag containing a section cut from the shirt for him to use as a scent sample if he needed it later.

“Search Timmy,” she said, rolling her lips under to hold her smile.

He exhaled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Chapter Text

Tim had just dropped their bags by the dresser in the bedroom when Raylan crowded in behind him, one hand on his hip and the other sliding up his chest. He next felt Raylan's lips on his neck.

“What was that all about in the cage?” Raylan whispered near his ear.

“Well, I thought…” Tim trailed off, leaning back into Raylan’s body. He could feel Raylan’s scruff on his neck and shivered, thinking about what it felt like in other places.

“You saying you’re ready to try now? After all this time?” Raylan asked, rubbing his lips to Tim’s skin.

“You don’t want to?”

Raylan’s soft chuckle sounded sanded down. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t say that at all.”

Tim swallowed. “I just figured that since it went all right in Harlan. I thought I could… well, there’s not much risk to my control if I get you off. Right? Just because my control’s kind of off doesn’t mean you... I shoulda been doin’ something for you all along.”

Raylan nipped at the skin under Tim’s ear. “You’re a knucklehead. You’re not the only one who’s been sneaking to the shower to get off,” Raylan said, then raked his teeth over Tim’s neck again working at the skin, sucking hard for a moment. “You serious about fooling around?”

As he spoke Raylan’s breath hit the damp, sensitive skin he’d been concentrating on and raised goosebumps across Tim’s body.

Tim pressed back into him and took the hand that Raylan’d been holding against his chest and dragged it down to where his cock strained against the material of his jeans. “Feel that? How serious do you figure I am?” Tim whispered.

He let his head fall back and turned his face into Raylan’s, where he was trying in vain, again, to give him a hickey. “You can do that all day and you’re not gonna leave a mark. You know that, right?” Tim said, pressing his forehead as close as he could to Raylan’s.

“Maybe not. But not a bad way to pass a day,” Raylan murmured.

“Maybe put a pin in that? I can think of better things we can do tonight.”

“Yeah?” Raylan said. He rubbed Tim’s cock through his jeans, his fingers tracing its length. “I’m picking up that you’re ready for the rodeo. Maybe we should… um, talk about how you wanna get back on this particular horse?”

Tim sighed. “If I couldn’t smell that you’re turned-on, I’d swear you didn’t want to do this.” He pulled away from Raylan to head for the bathroom.

Raylan grabbed his elbow and hung on. “Hey now, hold on there. I’m not saying I don’t want to. Just think maybe we shouldn’t rush into this headlong without a plan. We’ve barely kissed for months now. We just figured out last night that we can come together, or close to it, without you shifting. Maybe we should take a moment, figure out the next step.”

Tim licked his lips. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say we start with how you thought this was going to go tonight,” Raylan said.

Tim rolled his eyes, annoyed not so much at Raylan but at the entire situation. “Sex has never been anything we had to think about before. Much less talk out.”

Raylan frowned. “Well, now it is.”

Tim sat on the bed feeling defeated. “Pretty sure it takes the fun out of it if we have to plan it out before we start.”

Raylan sank down next to him, his thigh brushing against Tim’s. “You sure about that?”

“Uh…” Tim started. But from the tone of Raylan’s voice and the way his thigh pushed against Tim’s, it occurred to him he might be wrong on that point. “Maybe?”

“So you were thinking blow jobs in the cage.”

“No reason for you to be hung up while I’m working my issues out.”

“So your big plan was that you were just gonna service me for the next few months until we get the gumption up to try something more?”

“I should have been doing that all along.”

“Bullshit. We did what we had to do. We both saw the McCready’s bedroom.”

“Yeah.”

“Hate to break it to you, but if our sex life turns into you servicing me, we won’t be having one much longer.”

“What?” Tim’s voice broke at the idea of Raylan leaving him.

“I felt what you’re carrying around in those jeans, baby. Hardly fair to you. This,” he said, waving between them, “is a partnership.”

“What do you want to do?”

Raylan smiled wickedly, his eyes twinkling. “You wanna fuck?”

Tim swallowed, feeling a sudden thickness in this throat. “You think I’m gonna say no to that?”

Raylan huffed a laugh. “You think you can handle it?”  

Tim thought about it for a moment. Could he handle Raylan inside him? They’d switched up and Tim mostly bottomed since the incident with Bo Crowder. It seemed important to let Raylan have control during sex after what was essentially rape, so Tim let him lead the way.

“Don’t know… maybe if I ride you? Then I could extract myself quickly if I need to?”

Raylan pressed his lips together like he did when he was thinking the word “maybe.” “Well, I was thinkin’ maybe you’d take the reigns tonight.”

“You mean you want me to top?” Tim’s whispered the last word as if saying it too loudly might change Raylan’s mind.

“Hm-mmm,” Raylan said.

Tim nodded, silent because he couldn’t seem to come up with some way to say yeah, yeah, he’d be into that.

“Where are the condoms?” Tim asked. He’d been through two drawers already and come up with nothing. He pulled out the lube from the drawer. “I guess I could get one outta my rifle bag but I swore we used to—”

“Um… Lillian said we don’t need them.”

“She said that was before… um, before I turned.”

“No, she said we don’t need them now,” Raylan said.

“You asked?” Tim was surprised and also a little disappointed in himself that he’d not thought to ask her himself.  

“I did. She said we’re good.”

He turned a hard eye on Raylan.“You sure about that?”

“We’re both clean. You can’t contract HIV or any other sexually transmitted disease now, so you can’t pass me anything. Sure, you could transmit lycanthropy, but I’m already positive for it. Hell, we were exposed together. From the same strain. If I was going to change, I’d have changed already.”

“But sometimes you test negative,” Tim said.

“I test inconclusive or positive.”

Tim nodded trying to wrap his head around the idea.

“Are you gonna be able to relax enough to do this without a rubber?” Raylan asked. “Or do I need to run out and buy some?”

“Rifle bag, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Raylan said. “Your call. I’m… I’d kinda like to try going without.”

“I’ve just never… not used one.”

Raylan squinted. “I did when I was with Winona. But never done it with a guy without one.”

Tim grinned. A part of him liked that—being some kind of first with Raylan—liked it a lot.

“Before… well, before you became a werewolf, we never got a chance to try it after we got tested.”

“Sounds like we’re overdue.”

Tim started off with Raylan naked beneath him. He'd kicked the sheets and blankets to the end of the bed and slid off Raylan to lay to his right. Slipping his hand underneath Raylan's balls, Tim broke off their kiss so he could watch Raylan's face as he slid a second finger inside him.

“You’re tight,” Tim whispered.

“Been a while.” Raylan shifted his hips to accommodate the rhythm of Tim’s fingers, letting his left leg fall open wider. Tim searched with the pad of his long middle finger to find Raylan’s little bundle of nerves. Finding it, he nudged and rubbed at it, listening to his lover groan then twisted his fingers and pumped them in and out enough to feel satisfied that Raylan was ready for him.

Tim had his palms planted on either side of Raylan, his cock fully seated inside him. He needed to stop moving for just a second. Getting this far… he had to close his eyes to calm down against the tight heat gripping his cock. Just that feeling of Raylan entirely wrapped around him added to the smell of Raylan under him, on him, all around him… Tim was afraid he was going come before they even got started.

“You okay?” Raylan asked. He’d wrapped his legs around him and Tim could feel Raylan shifting under him, squeezing and relaxing around his cock. “Hey… remember our deal. Open your eyes so I can see if you start to lose it like you did in Harlan.”

“This feels so…” Tim’s breath caught as Raylan bore down on him again.

“Good. I know. But you know what’d feel better?”

“Huh? What?” Tim couldn’t imagine what could feel better than this.

Raylan’s hands slipped down and grabbed his ass, pulling at his hips. “If you moved already.”

Tim grinned. “You asked for it.”

Tim wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. He’d given over to the urge to literally possess Raylan. He couldn’t describe it. He’d been pegging the shit out of Raylan’s prostate and he hadn’t gone over the edge of orgasm yet. From the amount of precum and cum oozing out of Raylan’s rigid cock sliding between them, their bellies were both slick from what Raylan couldn’t hold back. The scent of it drove Tim out of his head, into his head, both at once. The words echoing in his mind were close to becoming a mantra.

Mine. Mate. Take him.

Over and over, the words rang in his head as he rocked in and out of Raylan. He’d have to ask Raylan later if he’d said them aloud. He honestly wasn’t sure.

Tim dug his fingers into Raylan’s hair and buried his face in his neck. God, he smelled amazing. Better than normal—even when the were both aroused, Raylan never smelled this good. Tim wanted to cover himself in Raylan’s scent, leaving his own behind.

He could feel Raylan’s cock pressed between them, the sucking sounds of Tim’s pumping in and out of him was the soundtrack of their love. It’d always been good, but this was so much better. Tim thought he was close again and pulled back to look at Raylan’s eyes.

“How close are…” Tim stopped when he saw his hands. “Fuck, oh Jesus fuck.”

Tim wanted to tear himself away from Raylan but he’d wrapped his legs around him tight.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Raylan asked, his hand on Tim’s chin forcing him to look at him. “Your eyes look okay…. Do you feel like you’re gonna shift?”

Tim felt Raylan’s legs slide to either side of him, giving him the space to bail if he felt like he needed to.

“No, just… look,” Tim said. He gently pulled one of his hands free of Raylan’s hair to show him. “I… well, part of me already shifted.”

He held his hand—no his claws—out for Raylan to see.

“Whoa,” Raylan said. “That’s it?”

“That’s enough. We have to stop,” Tim started, but Raylan wrapped his legs around him again and held on, bearing down hard on Tim’s cock.

“Try again, pardner. Finish up.” Raylan started pumping his hips, rocking along Tim’s cock. It was everything Tim could do to extract his other set of claws from Raylan’s hair.

“C’mon. You got this,” Raylan urged, his hips canted at just the right angle.

Tim did the only thing he could do, he slammed his claws down into the mattress on either side of Raylan’s head. He smiled up at Tim and reached up to wrap his hands around Tim’s forearm on one side and wrist on the other. Raylan anchored himself by pushing Tim’s claws deeper into the mattress, and if anything, the maneuver allowed him to speed up the rhythm of his hips.

“See? You got this,” Raylan said. “We’ll go slow.”

“You call this slow?” Tim’s voice cracked.

Raylan laughed weakly. “I’ll hold onto you. But soon.”

“What if I scratch you, you’ll get…” Tim started.

“A scratch. That will heal. Quickly. Can’t get any more wolf lycanthropy than I already have. Now finish fucking me already.”

They’d showered and made their way up to the deck to lay together in the cool air of the early summer night, naked—taking full advantage of Winona’s absence. Raylan picked at a rotisserie chicken he’d found in the refrigerator, feeding Tim with his fingers.

“Jamil said shifting takes lots of protein, right?” Raylan asked.

“This was just… a partial shift,” Tim said. “Don’t think it’s the same.”

Raylan smiled. “You’re a bad-ass wolf, aren’t you? Shaking off Boyd and shifting your hands at will.” He shoved a piece of chicken breast against Tim’s lips.

Tim took the chicken, sucking on one of Raylan’s fingers. “Dunno that I’d call what happened ‘at will’,” Tim mumbled around the food in his mouth. He’d actually been worried about how to shift his claws back into hands, but it’d been as easy as just relaxing and thinking of it.

“Do it again,” Raylan urged, taking Tim’s hand by the wrist. He didn’t think he could do it again, but Raylan seemed so fascinated that Tim tried and watched his long pale fingers grow thick black fur while his nails shifted into weapons.

“Okay, that’s cool,” Tim said. He wiggled his fingers thinking of how handy it might be to have built-in weapons. Maybe he’d pass his silver throwing knives off to Raylan after all. Well, most of them.

“Can we sleep on that?” Tim asked.

He’d pulled the top sheet and blankets off the bed. What was left of it was a mess. The fitted sheet was as shredded as the mattress’ top. White foam and cottony material stuck up through the tears. Some pieces of the mattress itself were scattered around the gashes.

“Don’t know why not,” Raylan answered.

“Somewhere in there is a wet spot,” Tim pointed out, crinkling his nose. He hated the wet spot.

Tim could see Raylan trying not to laugh. “Probably a few. Can’t we just flip it?” Raylan asked.

He tipped his head. “It’s memory foam. The bottom of the mattress isn’t the same… Wouldn’t be comfortable.”

“Huh. Guess we’ll need to get a new one then,” Raylan said.

“Looks like,” Tim said. “I’ll drag it out to the truck in the morning. Find a dump that’ll take furniture and drop it off.”

“Hold up there.” Raylan circled the bed.

“You want to keep a shredded mattress?”

Raylan shrugged. “I’m just thinking that before we replace it, maybe we should see what else we like to do that’ll set off those claws of yours.”

“What?” Tim choked over the word.

Raylan shrugged, reaching over to pick at the gashes. “Like to know if you’ll claw-out when I get you on all fours, is all,” he said, then raised his eyes to meet Tim. “Well, maybe not all .”

Chapter Text

Raylan was sure that no one was happier than he was when Tim got back to work the following Monday—though Dr. Lillian’s staff and Sheeba ran a close second and third.

“I’ll even let Sheeba hang out with me while you do the morgue stakings,” Raylan said, as he sent Tim out the door that Monday when the call came in from the coroner’s office asking for a preternatural marshal.

Tim scowled at him on his way out to a staking waiting at the morgue. Raylan nodded and smiled at him as he left. Tim could make all the faces he wanted, but he was still glad to have him back.

***

Time passed quickly, and Raylan realized in quiet moments how much he’d missed Tim at his side.

One afternoon it was a smart-assed comment from across the glass partition between their desks.

“You know, you don’t have to type ‘Google’ in the Google search field,” Tim said, peering through the glass at Raylan’s monitor.

“Huh?” Raylan turned to look at him. “Then how am I supposed to find out how to babyproof the house?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “We have time before she’s big enough to run around putting her fingers in sockets. Besides, I worked on that before I came back to work. Did you miss all those outlet covers I installed? The ones that just slide open and shut?”

“You did?” Raylan hadn’t noticed. He would now though. He was beginning to notice a lot of things about Tim he’d taken for granted.

***

Raylan was disappointed that they hadn’t heard from Boyd in the last week or so. After he’d put Delroy down, he really thought the vampire would reach out through a dream if not more directly. Instead, all he’d gotten was radio silence. He’d found Boyd’s church website and there hadn’t been a new sermon posted in two weeks. If Boyd wasn’t gathering a flock, he was out there gathering something else.

That idea made the back of Raylan’s neck itch.

***

On the Tuesday night after the Memorial Day holiday, Tim got a call from Harlan. Nathaniel said he needed to see him. When Tim started making travel arrangements and packing up to head down to Harlan, Raylan volunteered to ride along. By that time it’d been a little more than two weeks since Tim had come back to work.

“I’ll go with you,” Raylan said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rachel said.

Raylan held out his hands. “Why not?”

“Maybe because the last time you were at Audrey’s, you shot its owner. Let Tim go in this time, talk to Nathaniel and some of the other people working there. Maybe let things cool off,” Rachel said.

“I can sit in the car while Tim goes in and talks to the cat,” Raylan argued. “I’m not gonna cramp his style.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly your intention,” Rachel pointed out.

“I could go see Boyd while I’m there,” Raylan said.

“Why?” she crossed her arms.

“Rattle his cage a little?” Raylan suggested.

Rachel just shook her head. Raylan thought he might get his way after all. She was close to giving in; he could just feel it. What he didn’t expect was for Tim to dump on him.

“You think you hauling off down there’s a good idea?” Tim asked.

“Sure,” Raylan said.

“Thought maybe you’d want to stick close to home this week,” Tim prompted.

“We’d just be going down to Harlan,” Raylan said. “Quick trip.”

“That I can make on my own,” Tim said. “Seein’ how any day now Winona’s gonna need a ride to the hospital. Might be nice if one of us was closer than three hours from the house when that goes down.”

“She’s not even due until…” Raylan trailed off realizing Tim was right.

“Tomorrow.”

“Babies come late, too, Tim.”

“And early.”

He knew a defeat when he saw it. He wasn’t going to win this argument.

Art told Raylan to work from home for the rest of the week. He took home some files on the snuff videos and some of the loose ends they were still working on from the parley and Emmitt Arnett’s murder. They never had gotten a line on the vampire who hadn’t shown up representing Detroit.

***

Turned out that Raylan’s daughter had his timing—Winona’s water broke in the middle of the night on Wednesday. Tim wasn’t back yet and wouldn’t be until he’d checked in Loretta on Thursday. Raylan had talked to him before he’d gone to bed and found out that Tim had gotten a name from Nathaniel for the kid who’d been killed in the video, but still nothing on the vampire involved.

He’d barely gotten to sleep when Winona tapped on his door about one in the morning. She was already dressed, a bag in her hand.

“Raylan, it’s time.”

He woke up and reached for his gun from the bedside table.

“Hey. Whoa there. It’s me,” she said, backing out the doorway.

“Okay, okay… I’m awake.” He pushed his feet to the floor. She stepped into the room.

“We need to go,” she told him. “My water broke.”

“Shit.” He scrambled into his jeans and fumbled with his boots while she watched, rolling her eyes.

“I’m going to go wait in the car,” she said.

He was awake enough to catch the impatience in her tone and grabbed his keys off the dresser. “SUV. It’s got a siren.” He tossed them her way and she caught them.

“I don’t think we’re in that big a hurry,” she said, not moving.

He grabbed the first T-shirt he touched and pulled it over his head. He realized it was one of Tim’s and that it barely reached his waist but he just shrugged not wanting to take the time to find another. Pocketing his wallet and clipping his badge to his waist, he picked up his sidearm.  

“You think you’re gonna need a gun at the hospital?” she asked.

He holstered his weapon. “C’mon then,” he said, following her out into the hallway. He grabbed his jean jacket and hat off the hooks by the carport door. “Always think I’m gonna need a gun,” he mumbled.

She shook her head. “And you wondered why I left you.”

Winona walked past him and out the door, clicking the key fob to flash the headlights and unlock his Marshals Service unit.

***

Raylan had been drinking hospital coffee at the UK Birthing Center for hours when they finally came to him midmorning to tell him Winona was dilated enough for him to scrub up if he wanted to be in the room when the baby came.

He really didn’t.

He’d been in and out of the room all night… walking his very pregnant ex-wife up and down the hallway. His daughter wasn’t going to budge until she was good and ready.

But he bucked up and followed the nurse and put on the designated medical scrubs.

“Your wife is positive for lycanthropy,” the nurse said, the distaste clear on the man’s face.

“Ex-wife,” Raylan answered.

The nurse gave him a complicated look that fell somewhere between judgemental and sympathetic.

“You can hold her hand and you’ll probably be safe. But there will be blood and a chance of contamination,” he said. “You need to understand that. Everyone’s at risk.” The guy shook his head and mumbled, “Don’t know why they let them in here…”

Raylan decided this nurse was a dick. “It’s not a problem.”

“We’ve never had a pregnant woman with lycanthropy give birth here,” he said, sounding like he was somewhere between utterly appalled and just shooting the breeze.

Raylan nodded. “It’s not real usual, I understand. Excuse me, I need to make a call.”

“Now?” the nurse turned on him, exasperated. “Cell phones aren’t allow—”

Raylan pulled out his badge. “Quick call and I’ll be right in.”

Raylan looked for the head nurse. Lillian had told him over the phone to pull the nurse out of the room. If the guy was that biased, he didn’t want him anywhere near Winona or his child. He’d hoped Lillian would come over herself—but she was a coroner. How would they explain it?  

“I can’t barge in there giving orders, Raylan,” Lillian had said. “But you can fire any nurse who you feel isn’t giving Winona the care you think she deserves. I’ll head in your direction. But as a visitor. Family friend only.”

The head nurse escorted Raylan into the room where Winona was a hell of a lot less composed than she’d been for the first few hours of her stay. She didn’t even notice the woman pulling the nurse aside and out of the room. He wouldn’t be back.

“Where the hell is Tim?” Winona nearly shouted at Raylan.

Raylan reared back.

“On his way back from Harlan,” he answered, stepping forward. “Why?”

“He’s better at this than you are.”

Raylan didn’t laugh but he wanted to. “Haven’t even really got this started yet. How do you know he’s better than me?”

“I just know,” she gritted out.

Raylan grabbed one of her hands and entwined their fingers together. “Just hang on to me. You can’t hurt me.”

He wished he hadn’t said that after the first time she knuckled down on his hand. She might break his gun hand. When the hell did Winona get that strong? “How come you’re in so much pain? I thought you were going to have the epidural.”

She shot him a dirty look. “Doesn’t work.”

Raylan was confused. “But we got here early enough, didn’t we? I mean, it’s been hours.”

“Lycanthropy.”

“Damn,” he said. “We knew there was a chance of that but...”

Lillian had helped them find an obstetrician who was at least sympathetic to Winona’s special circumstances. Babies weren’t often born with lycanthropy—Raylan had learned that weres who did manage to give birth did so at dedicated lycanthrope clinics like Lillian’s and she’d told him those were few and more than far between.

He would have preferred to have been at Lillian’s now.

But the coroner refused to deliver their baby at her clinic. Winona’s case was too well-known locally: the pregnant human with lycanthropy. If she mysteriously delivered outside the existing medical community, Lillian was afraid it would draw difficult questions.  

Raylan would have thought the epidural would have worked. He didn’t understand where the line fell on lycan tolerance. Carrying Boyd’s marks, Raylan didn’t have a problem with a shot of bourbon taking the edge off a long day, but booze did nothing for Tim now. Understanding Winona’s pain threshold was a shot in the dark. Since she’d been exposed in the middle of her pregnancy they hadn’t had the opportunity to test her tolerance for liquor, much less painkillers.

“Son of a bitch!” Winona cursed and gripped Raylan’s hand tightly again.

“Contraction?” he asked.

She shook her head, no. “Just hurts.”  

“Raylan,” their doctor interrupted. “We’re going to need you to go.”

“What? Why?”

The head nurse was back and tugging him in the direction of the door.

“We’re going to do an emergency C-section,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of bleeding here and a placental abruption.”

“A what?” Raylan asked.

“See?” Winona said. “Tim would know what that meant.”

Raylan nodded. “He would.”

“The placental wall is pulling away and it can suffocate the baby,” the nurse explained to him. “We need you to go so we can anesthetize your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Winona hissed.

He still had Winona’s hand in his. He pulled away from the nurse and kissed Winona’s forehead. “We knew this could happen, right? Just hang in there,” he said.  When Raylan bent over, Tim’s T-shirt rode up flashing the room. He could feel the cool air on his bare skin.

“What made you think that was an appropriate shirt to wear to your child’s birth?” Winona said, smacking his stomach.

Raylan smiled thinly. “By the time you wake up, Tim’ll be here.”

He didn’t know if that reassurance was more for him or her.

Raylan was scared.

If Winona didn’t take well to an epidural, then what kind of anesthesia would they have to give her to put her under? They’d managed to put Tim under to stitch him back together after he’d been infected with lycanthropy, but he wasn’t carrying a child. If they had to increase the anesthesia dose to put Winona under, how would that affect the baby? It was too late to pull her out of this place and send her to Lillian.

He was pacing the surgical waiting room when Tim and Sheeba arrived. On his tail was the nurse Raylan had fired from Winona’s care.

“You can’t have that animal in here,” the nurse shouted. “Sir, you must—”

Tim turned on the guy and Raylan missed the look the nurse got, but he stopped in his tracks and backed up two steps. Tim pulled out his badge, then handed over a second document he carried for Sheeba. Raylan had one too, that he carried in his wallet for when he worked with Sheeba in the field.

“‘ That animal ’ is a law enforcement officer—she’s a K9, which makes her a deputy US Marshal,” Tim said calmly. “She can go anywhere she damned well needs to. And right now, she needs to be here.”

The guy held up his hands, then his eyes slid over to Raylan and he could see him making the connection. “Fine. Whatever,” he said. “Fuckin’ were-lovin’ cops,” he mumbled under his breath as he walked away, not realizing that it was loud enough for both of them to hear quite clearly.

“Did you hear what that guy just…”

Raylan waved his hand at the question. “Don’t worry about it. I went a round with him already and pulled him off Winona’s case,” Raylan said, grabbing Tim’s hand and tugging him in. He kissed him and breathed him in, satisfied somewhere in the back of his mind that Tim didn’t smell at all like Nathaniel. “Missed you.”

He turned to Sheeba, running a hand over her head and digging his fingers into the thick mane of fur around her neck.

“How is Winona? Why aren’t you in there with her?” Tim wandered over to a chair and sat down. Raylan noticed how tired he looked.

“Surgery. Emergency C-section,” he said. Sheeba pressed against his leg, picking up his anxiety.

“Why? What went wrong?” Tim asked, concerned.

“A lot of bleeding. Placental abruption…”

Tim nodded. “Jesus. Did it just happen?”

“Huh?”

“Her placenta pulling away. Did it just happen? I don’t think she’s been bleeding. At least not before I left for Harlan. I’d have smelled it.”

“She said you would know,” Raylan said, dropping into the chair next to Tim. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles.

Sheeba circled in front of them and laid down on top of one of Tim’s feet with her back pressed up against Raylan’s legs.

Tim held out his hand up and Raylan took up his offer, weaving their fingers together.

“Yeah, I read all her pregnancy books this spring,” Tim said. “How long have they been at it?”

Raylan shrugged. “Not sure. Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes?”

Tim squeezed his hand with his fingers. “That’s good. It shouldn’t take long.”

Raylan shook his head mostly at himself. When would he stop underestimating Tim?

“C-sections are quick,” Tim said. “They want to get the baby out as quickly as possible or they wouldn’t go in to begin with.”

“Worried she’s in a lot of pain. Kinda concerned about the anesthesia.”

Tim met his eyes with a searching look.

“The epidural didn’t take.”

“Lycanthropy,” Tim said, sighing. “Lillian might be right about Winona changing after she gives birth.”

He’d known that was a possibility—hell, a probability—but the impending reality still kicked him in the gut. Raylan wasn’t all that sure Winona would take to becoming a werewolf with the relative ease Tim had, if they could call the last few months easy . He decided it was best to just not mention any of that to Tim. “Guess we’ll see soon enough.”

Her name would be Willa.

Raylan hadn’t had much say in choosing it, but after what Winona’d gone through, he wasn’t going to voice any complaint—if that was the name she still wanted when she woke up.

Besides, his daughter was perfect. By any name.

Lillian had gotten there by the time they put Winona into a private room and called the family in. Raylan, Tim, and Sheeba had already met the baby while Raylan held her to his chest until Winona awoke.

They’d collected a blood sample from the umbilical cord but came back for another sample from Willa’s heel to test for lycanthropy and Kentucky’s mandated newborn screening tests. The obstetrician performed one more heel stick that they sent up to the pathology lab for the hematopathologist to look at. He’d found a gene marker in both Raylan and Helen’s blood that was missing in Winona’s. Lillian’s theory was that Winona would change as soon as the next full moon hit, but Willa would be like Raylan: a silent carrier of lycanthropy or, eventually, a necromancer. Or maybe both.

The heel sticks left Willa upset, which in turn seemed to set off Sheeba’s protective instincts. Her agitation increased the more Willa cried.

“Give her here,” Tim said, taking the baby. “Take off your shirt. Or my shirt? Why are you wearing my shirt?”

“You don’t think I can pull it off?” Raylan smirked.

Tim rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you—take it off.”

“This something else you read in the baby books?” Raylan asked, but he peeled off his jean jacket and pulled the black T-shirt over his head. Tim handed him his daughter. Once she’d settled against his chest, she started to quiet down. “Your mama will be up soon and you can get something to eat, how’s that, baby girl?” Raylan whispered to her.

He kind of rocked her from side to side, unsure if it would work.

“Don’t suppose you’re gonna want your pound of blood from her, too,” Raylan asked Lillian, not looking up from the baby. The doc had taken more of his and Winona’s blood than any physician he’d ever had.

“Later,” she said. “Maybe when she’s got more than seven pounds of flesh to her?” Lillian pointedly raised her eyebrows at him.

One of the nurses who came in to check on Winona had news for Raylan.

“We’re going to try to bring Mom around. I’m sorry to tell you this, but the lycanthropy test for the baby came back positive. The bright side is she’ll be able to breastfeed as soon as her mama’s ready.”

Raylan nodded. It was news he’d expected.

“I’ve never known a baby with lycanthropy,” the nurse said. “Do you know how her… pack, is it?”

“Sure, pack,” Raylan said.

She nodded. “How will they handle her shifting? Can she even…?” the woman trailed off.

“Guess we’ll find that out,” Raylan replied. Personally, he hoped that Lillian was right—that Willa would never shift.

He was saved from the next question when Winona came around. Soon enough, Willa was wrapped in her arms having her first meal.

The staff had cleared out.

Tim had left to take Sheeba home. While Winona was strangely relieved when he’d finally shown up, she wasn’t as pleased to have Sheeba around. She wasn’t alone in that sentiment. One too many nurses had given the Trollhound the stink eye for Tim or Raylan to be comfortable keeping her in the room with them any longer. Besides, Sheeba tended to want to position herself between Willa and anyone she didn’t consider family. And she clearly didn’t seem to feel that any of the attending staff—or Dr. Lillian—were family.

Raylan took a chair on the other side of the room while Lillian spoke with Winona.

“You know that you’re probably going to need to make the transition to formula?” Lilian said to Winona.

Lillian had spoken with Winona’s doctors, Raylan standing alongside, assuring them she was a family friend with a medical background who was trying to help them understand a complicated situation. Now, she was sitting in the chair closest to Winona and talking quietly.

“I know,” Winona whispered. “You think I’m going to change.”

“None of your physicians here are going to tell you this, but yes,” Lillian said. “Do you mind if I look at your incision? How quickly you’re healing will be a strong indicator. Your obstetrician just couldn’t say.”

Winona bit her bottom lip. “Go ahead.”

Lillian pulled  Winona’s gown aside and Raylan tried to look away for privacy’s sake, but his eyes were drawn to the incision anyway. He’d not seen it before so he couldn’t tell how well it was healing. It still looked pretty fresh to him. Lillian would know more.

“It’s healing well, Winona. Too well,” Lillian said. “The good news… I doubt you’ll even have much of a scar.”

“The bad news?” Winona asked.

“The full moon is only a week away.”

“Which means?” Raylan asked.

“We’re going to need to call Jamil and make contingency plans in case you and Willa change,” Lillian said. “We’ll have a better idea about Willa if she has the gene marker that Raylan and his aunt have. Either way, Winona, you probably won’t have the control to be around the baby for a while after you do turn.”

Then she turned to directly address Raylan. “So you, Deputy Givens, need to look into taking some maternity leave.”

“Federal employees don’t get maternity leave,” Raylan muttered.

Chapter Text

“Everything still all right in here?” Jamil stuck his head into the Lexington pack’s safe room. Again.

He’d been floating between the safe rooms where Winona and Tim, then Raylan and Willa were waiting out the pull of the full moon—the Strawberry Moon. The other wolf Raylan’d been waiting with told him that was the name of that particular moon because supposedly the June moon marked their harvest. He thought it was actually kind of late for strawberries when he got to thinking back on the time of year he’d been sent out to pick them growing up. The memory brought with it a yen for strawberry shortcake like his mama made, with pie crust instead of that spongy shit he’d found everywhere else once he’d gone out into the world. For a while, he wondered why she’d made it pie crust. Though once he married Winona, she tried to tell him it was because the crust probably cost less to make. No milk. No eggs. Just flour, lard, and a little sugar. Frankly, he preferred it.

Maybe he could talk Helen around to making him some.

Jamil slipped into the room and clicked the door shut behind him bringing Raylan around to the present. He thought Jamil seemed a tad harried tonight—even more so than the night Tim changed for the first time.

“Same as before,” Raylan said.

He’d been holding Willa to his chest in one of the pack safe rooms. She wore only her diaper and was wrapped in a blanket—so he wouldn’t have to worry about clothing constricting her if she did change. Needless to say, he was hoping against the change happening at all. Neither Jamil nor Lillian had ever dealt with anyone as young as Willa actually shifting, so their precautions were all guesswork. Aside from some high-protein formula on hand as per Lillian’s advice, they were playing it by ear.

Jamil approached with his hands out for Willa. “Can I?”

Raylan handed Willa over to the Ulfric. He watched Jamil hold the back of his fingers to her forehead and then down her cheek. “She doesn’t feel any warmer than usual.”

He tweaked her nose to get her attention, then moved his finger back and forth in front of her face. “Responsive, too. Pupils look normal. You still think she won’t shift?” Jamil asked Lillian.

“I don’t think so. Her blood chemistry is the same as Raylan’s,” Lillian said. “I’m going to have to go soon either way. Willa might not be getting warm, but I am and I don’t think I’d like to spend the full moon in the middle of a wolf pack.”

Lillian was a wererat. Raylan had never seen her shift so he didn’t know what her rat form looked like, but a wolf certainly topped a rat on the predatory scale—especially when the ratio was hundreds of wolves to a single rat. Maybe if the ratio was flip-flopped to the rat pack’s advantage Lillian would feel more secure.

“None of my people would dare touch you…” Jamil said.

She took his upper arm in her hand and squeezed. “Oh, I know.” Her tone was motherly. She patted his shoulder. “You two know what to do if she does shift, right? Get as much of the protein formula down her as you can—hand feed her if she won’t drink from a bowl. Jamil should be able to force her back into human form closer to morning if she doesn’t shift back on her own,” she paused. “And no quick shifts back and forth. That takes a lot of energy she just doesn’t have no matter how much protein she manages to lap up.”

Raylan winced at the idea of his daughter drinking formula from a dog bowl. Funny, the idea of Tim drinking water in that manner hadn’t bothered him as much as Willa being forced into that position.

He’d never been as grateful for his bloodline as he was that night—hoping it protected her from having to deal with what the world saw as a curse. He’d face whatever power came with that protection when it happened, whether that meant Willa ended up an animator or facing the complications of being a necromancer.   

“How’s Winona?” Lillian asked Jamil, shouldering her big red purse in preparation to leave.

Jamil shook his head. “It’s a matter of time before she shifts. Showing all the signs. Tim’s with her. She seems to respond to him. Or she’s afraid of him. I’m not sure which it is. Might be his alpha personality,” Jamil answered. “She keeps asking to see Willa. Wants to hold her.”

Raylan winced. Winona had had to move out of the house that afternoon and in with one of the pack families while she learned control.  

The past week had been her honeymoon period with Willa before the full moon. Winona’s cesarean scar was all but gone after only a week. Tim had carried her up the stairs when they’d got home from the hospital because she’d not been able to manage them with her abdominal pain. But the next day, she was up and down them on her own thanks to her accelerated healing and the fact that the baby’s room was downstairs. They all knew she only had so much time before the full moon and Winona wanted to be with Willa as much as possible.  

Lillian nodded. “She’ll have to register as a lycanthrope. There’s no way to avoid it since her case is so well-known and her tests are on record. What did you say she did? Court reporter? Is that a Federal position?”

Raylan nodded. “I think so.”

Lillian met Jamil’s eyes. “After Tim… she might be able to keep her job.”

Jamil slowly nodded. “One bright spot in all this for the lycanthrope community—breaking down some barriers.”

Raylan frowned at the idea. I guess to Jamil it could be seen as progress. But every day they expected someone to challenge Tim’s job on the basis of his status as a lycanthrope. He hated that Winona now had that to face that hurdle. He seriously doubted Vasquez would help her like he had Tim. It dawned on Raylan he’d have to find her an attorney to keep on retainer; she wasn’t quite as destitute as she’d been when Gary left, but she wasn’t financially secure by any means. She definitely wasn’t secure enough to hire an attorney or to afford to lose her job. Raylan and Tim—even Art and Vasquez— all thought it was a matter of... not if but when someone decided to challenge Tim’s job. He couldn’t see it being any different for Winona.

Not long after Lillian left to join her pack, Raylan heard Winona scream. Jamil and Lillian were right; she was changing.

He didn’t recall Tim screaming like that.

The Ulfric had drifted back to oversee Winona’s progress because it seemed likely that Willa was clear of the chance of shifting. As a precaution, Jamil had left Rayan and Willa with Graham, the werewolf who’d watched over Raylan in case he’d changed that first full moon after he and Tim had been exposed. Graham could help Raylan keep Willa in control if she did happen to change at the last moment.

“Should she be screaming like that?” Raylan asked.

“It’s really not unheard of,” Graham said, shrugging.

“When Tim shifted the first time, I didn’t hear anything through the wall,” Raylan murmured.

“Yeah, well, your mate is a pretty strong wolf,” he said.

“Why do you think that?” Raylan asked. “What does that mean?” Raylan really did want to know what other wolves picked up off his mate.

But Graham didn’t have time to answer before they were distracted by a ruckus in the hallway: a few distant barks, an approaching whine much closer to the door, and then the snarling and thumping began. Finally, Raylan heard scratching at their door.

Willa could hear it too and started to cry. At her cry, the intensity of the scratching increased as he and Graham looked at each other wide-eyed. Raylan rubbed circles on Willa’s back in hopes of quieting her and walked over to the door, with Graham shadowing him. Through the silver crosshatch wire embedded in the reinforced glass window, he saw two wolves and Jamil still in human form.

He easily recognized one as Tim’s wolf. Black with his icy blue eyes focused on a much smaller light gray wolf with a white chest and belly. Tim held his ears back and circled her as she tried to tear into the metal door.

Winona.

She looked up at Raylan through the glass. No, he decided; she wasn’t looking at him but Willa—she howled. Her howl was mournful and gut-wrenching, not at all the free, joyful howl he’d heard from Tim at the full moon ceremony the previous month.

Then she growled heavily again.

He could hear Jamil calling her name, but she ignored him and started to throw herself against the door.

Tim, who was at least twice her size began to growl at her. He bared his teeth and lifted his ears straight up. Winona didn’t seem to hear him at first, then he barked at her. One sharp, loud bark seemed to break through to her.

The command in the bark certainly broke through to Raylan; he could swear it reverberated in his back teeth and down his spine.

Winona turned to Tim and crouched while he growled, then he advanced on her with his brushy black tail high in the air.

She tucked her own tail in and moved toward Tim, trying to lick his face.

Raylan’s brow furrowed. “Why is she kissing him?” he said. Was it possible for Tim to be straight in his wolf form… would Winona try and… Raylan imagined for a moment where the entire Gary-scenario played out again, only much worse. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to take Tim and Winona leaving him for each other.

“Wow, you really are the jealous type,” Graham said, sniffing. His comment brought Raylan’s line of thought to a halt as Graham interrupted his paranoia. “She’s not kissing him. She’s submitting to him,” he said.

Raylan watched Winona lay down in front of Tim and roll onto her side. “Huh, how is that any better?” Raylan asked.

Graham snorted. “Well, it’s got nothing to do with sex.”

“Huh,” Raylan said. “Why’s she submitting to Tim?”

“Like I said, your mate’s strong. Usually, it would take the Ulfric commanding a new wolf like her to get her under control, especially when there’s young involved.”

“Young?”

“The little one,” he said, nodding to Willa.

“She was after Willa,” Raylan said. He should have recognized that straight off. Tim came to check on Raylan immediately after he’d changed. Why would Winona be any different in her desire to see Willa safe?

Graham confirmed it. “She probably could smell her young as soon as she shifted.”

Raylan was getting ready to ask more about Graham’s take on it, when Tim drew his attention by barking at Winona again. She stood up. Tim turned once to check on Raylan, his eyes falling on him then Willa. Then the black wolf turned and trotted away, with Winona in his wake.

“Damn,” Graham said.

Jamil unlocked the door to let himself into the room with them.

“You saw that, then,” Jamil said.

“I did.”

“Did Graham explain what was happening?” Jamil asked.

Raylan nodded. “For the most part.”

“Graham, you can go shift. Can you hang around outside instead of joining the run? I don’t think the babe’s going to shift, but if she does, Raylan can come get you and then you can find me.”

“So, we’re staying?” Raylan asked. That had been the plan if the outcome ended the way he’d hoped. He’d put Willa down for the night in her car seat, then wait for Tim, and now Winona, to come back.

Graham left with a wave to Raylan. “Good to see you again, Raylan.”

Raylan raised his chin a bit in a good-bye nod.

“You understand Winona was coming for Willa, right?” Jamil asked.

“That was apparent.”

“She wasn’t in control of herself. And your mate somehow managed to force submission out of her,” he said. “Is that common with their relationship?”

“You know, I can’t say,” Raylan answered, swaying to keep Willa quiet. “Don’t think they’ve always rubbed each other the right way, but he’s the one who brought her to live with us when she fell on rough times.”

“And you would have rather done what?” Jamil asked.

“Probably woulda set her up in an apartment or something.”

Jamil’s expression read as blank but Raylan felt like he was being judged nonetheless.

“She is my ex, after all,” Raylan said. He arranged Willa in the crook of one arm and bent to grab the diaper bag. He tossed it onto the one comfortable chair in the room. Graham told him they’d brought the big chair in for him in case he ended up sitting out the night there. Normally they didn’t keep furniture in the safe rooms that could get shredded by newly shifted wolves. Raylan began the process of laying out a onesie and the items he’d need to change Willa on the chair.

“Why did you ask about Tim and Winona?” he asked, again wondering about why she licked Tim’s face in wolf form. Tim collected women, but as a rule he didn’t sleep with them.

Jamil frowned at him. “You know that I was initially against your mate joining the pack.”

“I remember.”

“What he did tonight—he forced another wolf into submission. He shouldn’t be able to do that as a relatively new wolf. That’s something an Ulfric usually does.”

“Is that a problem?” Raylan asked. “You know he doesn’t want your job... position. Whatever.”

“But that he can do that… that’s exactly why I was concerned about bringing him on,” Jamil said. “He’s not fought a challenge yet but someone will test him if we aren’t proactive about finding him a position within the pack hierarchy where he’s submissive to me but high ranking enough for other wolves to leave him be. They’ll hear about what he did tonight. If we don’t find him a place—the other wolves are going to expect him to challenge me and if he doesn’t, they’ll try to take us both out.”

“Shit,” Raylan said. “Why does it always come back to power with the preternatural? I knew the pack thing was too good to be true.”

Jamil narrowed his eyes at Raylan. “True about power. But I’m willing to take your wife in—”

“Ex-wife,” Raylan reminded him.

The Ulfric nodded. “All right, I’m willing to make your ex a pack member—tonight. Otherwise, it’s going to be months before she’ll be able to be around your child.”

“That long?”

“Look at how long Tim needed to find his footing without pack bonds—and his reaction to you upon changing was much less severe, far more controlled, than hers. She’ll need the pack bonds if she wants to learn enough control to be a mother to your baby anytime soon.”

“All right. Talk to Tim… about whatever. I’ll support what y’all need to do.”

***

Even as a full-fledged member of Lexington’s Bluegrass Pack, Winona was afraid to be around Willa on her own.

Raylan found himself in the role of single dad for the moment. A single dad who would really rather be back at work.

Tim went into the office every day. He brought Raylan files and kept him up-to-date on their open investigations. Meanwhile, Raylan stayed home with Willa. Winona would visit once a day if she could, with either Tim or Jamil present. She was living with one of the pack families and working on control.

They’d had a family meeting—the three of them, Raylan, Tim, and Winona—where they’d agreed that Raylan would hire her an attorney to keep on retainer. The attorney told her that since the federal government didn’t provide maternity leave to her or Raylan, her leave was categorized under the Family and Medical Leave Act. His opinion was that they’d probably be better off letting her office think her leave was related to Willa, rather than lycanthropy.

The rub was that Raylan needed to go out on the same FMLA. Art approved intermittent leave for him, but given that they were both federal employees working through the courthouse in Lexington, somewhere up the line someone was bound to notice they were both out of the office. While it wasn’t unusual for both parents to take time off for the birth of a child, Raylan and Winona were divorced. Art knew Raylan wanted to be in the office and expected Winona to be home with Willa. Raylan didn’t want to justify being off the job on leave when Winona was already out for the same reason—she just couldn’t actually care for Willa.

Raylan was starting on a second week of sick leave and would have to find a way to deal with his job and taking care of Willa. Family wise, he might trust Helen with Willa, but not Arlo. Winona’s family wasn’t an option either, now that they’d learned that she’d actually shifted into a werewolf. Willa’s immunity had been keeping Winona in her human form but once Willa was born and the lycanthropy had had its way with Winona, her family was less than accepting.

Good riddance, Raylan thought. They’d never liked that he was an animator, and he always thought that Winona’s narrow-mindedness during their marriage about his power and his job working with the less than mundane was something she’d been brought up to believe.

So, it would be Tim, Raylan, and Winona raising Willa. Raylan thought it would have been nice if either he or Winona had had some family they could rely on to help out. He’d found out that most day care centers didn’t enroll babies until they were six weeks old, and Winona’s attorney warned them many centers wouldn’t take children with lycanthropy at all.

Willa might not change into a werewolf, but she’d tested positive at birth. Raylan had thought that since it was his blood that kept her from changing, that protection would extend to shelter her from the stigma connected to lycanthropy. He was now realizing that she’d have to deal with that on top of whatever eventual power came with her immunity.

Raylan was beginning to understand why Tim never used the word “Monsterville” once he’d heard the weres in Harlan calling their district the Stew. And he’d be good-god-damned if his little girl would work in one of those districts.

About a week after the full moon, Jamil showed up with Lillian and Winona for her Willa visit.

“Doc, what’re you doing here?” Raylan asked.

“Just wanted to get a blood sample from Willa.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Is that a good idea with Winona around?” Winona didn’t take well to anything she perceived as a threat to Willa.

“Oh, I’ll wait until Winona and Jamil leave.”

“Uh-huh,” Raylan said. He suspected something was up.

“Care to take a walk with me?” she asked. “Give mom and baby a little one-on-one time. Jamil can supervise, don’t you think?”

Now he knew something was up. They walked far enough away from the house that Raylan was sure Lillian couldn’t hear Winona and Willa any longer, which meant Winona couldn’t hear whatever Lillian planned to say.

“Jamil and I are concerned that Winona is depressed,” Lillian said.

Raylan could understand that. She’d lost a lot in one fell swoop. “Wouldn’t be surprised,” he said.

“Is that something that she ever experienced when you two were married?” Lillian asked.

Raylan shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “Can’t say as I know… or noticed. Didn’t even know she was unhappy with our marriage until she’d gone off with the realtor.”

Lillian shook her head. “It could be some postpartum depression or it could develop into it. Add the stress of being separated from Willa, the estrangement from her family, and the new reality that she’s a werewolf…” Lillian said.

“Seems likely. But shouldn’t you be talking to her about this?”

“I have. It’s not like I can give her a prescription for an antidepressant. It just wouldn’t work. Jamil has people who are helping her with learning control, but if she becomes depressed, that’s only going to draw that process out. He said Tim knew of a marshal who Winona felt close to?” Lillian was asking him a question but to Raylan her tone sounded more like she was telling him her plans to do something she’d already decided on.

Raylan drew a blank. “I don’t follow.”

“I think his name is Bernardo?” Lillian said.

He rolled his eyes. It was not like Lillian to beat around the bush. “C’mon Doc, just spit it out.”

“We think this Bernardo should come visit,” she said, holding up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “It’s not a clinical treatment, but I believe it would help her. It’s unlikely she’s going to open up to you or Tim. Your mate seems to think she might be more comfortable talking to Bernardo. Besides, I understand he’s more than capable of handling himself with werewolves.”

“Sure,” Raylan said. He didn’t have anything against the guy. Bernardo just had a girl at every hunt, so Raylan wasn’t all that sure he was the first person he’d pick to try and bring Winona around. But as a new wolf, she wasn’t going to be sleeping with anyone anytime soon, anyway. “He’s assigned out West. Don’t see how you’d clear getting him here.”

Lillian smiled. “I think Tim has some ideas about how to handle that.”

Raylan threw his hands up. That was news to Raylan. He was never going to get back to work. He couldn’t be on sick leave indefinitely. Yet, apparently, Tim was thinking of bringing in a third preternatural marshal when they didn’t have an open warrant or case big enough to need one.

“Besides,” Lillian said, “I understand he’s the practitioner who warded your property?”

“That’s right,” Raylan said. “He did.”

“Well, given that the inhabitants of your home and your visitors have changed in nature—drastically—it wouldn’t hurt to have him shore them up a little.”

“Fair point.”

Raylan and Lillian found Winona in the living room feeding Willa a bottle. Lillian went to join her.

She didn’t look depressed to Raylan, but maybe a little sad. He smiled over at her and she nodded back to him. He couldn’t say he missed having her living with them, but then he and Tim were hardly alone now. Most nights, when Tim and Sheeba got home Raylan was too wiped out to want to do anything but hand his child over.

Jamil was looking out the windows of the French doors off the kitchen area upstairs. Raylan peeked out the kitchen window to see if there was something in the yard or woods that caught the werewolf’s eye.

Raylan poured himself a cup of coffee. “Coffee, Jamil?”

The Ulfric turned toward Raylan, moving into the kitchen. “Sure.”

“Milk is in the fridge. Sugar by Tim’s coffee-maker thing,” Raylan said, waving at the contraption on the counter. The sugar had been Winona’s. Raylan wondered if she was ever coming back to live with them. Should they put the sugar away since no one else used it, or would she notice its absence and be upset?  

Shaking his head, Raylan went over to the table to sit down. He had a mess of files laid out with Tim’s laptop that Raylan worked on when Willa was napping.

Jamil joined him at the table and Raylan started stacking the files together. One slipped out of his fingers and the photos inside slid out across the table.

“Shit. Sorry,” Raylan said, noticing it was the file from one of the snuff videos. Great, the one with the dead kid. “You might not want to look—”

But it was too late. Jamil pulled the pictures out of the file folder and was looking through them.

“What is this?” he asked.

“An open case we’re working on,” Raylan answered. “You really shouldn’t—”

“This guy—” Jamil placed the photograph of a frame in the video flat to the table top and rotated it with his fingertips so the view was upright to Raylan. He tapped on figure of the blond vampire they’d been looking for. “—is the guy you were asking me about when we first met.”

“You know his name?” Raylan asked, leaning in.

“Nope. But he calls wolves—that I can tell you.”

“Did he sway any of your people?” Raylan asked.

Jamil was quiet. “Think you asked me that once already. You have to know I’m not going to be able to answer that if it means you’re going to try and put one of my wolves down. But this…” Jamil trailed off and then spread out more pictures and pointed to the wolf tied down. “I’ve seen this kind of were porn before. Not lately. We nipped it in the bud in Lexington.”

Raylan processed that information and wondered if Tim would have more luck with Jamil.

“How come you don’t know his name?” Raylan asked.

“Never met him.”

“Then how—”

“I explained that. We had a problem with some pack members and porn; now we don’t,” Jamil said. “I will work on what you and I talked about regarding your mate’s place in the pack, but I can’t give you any names.”

“All right,” Raylan said, seeing that Jamil wasn’t going to budge on this. “Can you tell me anything else about this vampire?”

“He’s from Louisville or Detroit. With that bunch,” Jamil paused, then added. “He wasn’t right.”

“How do you mean?” Raylan asked.

Jamil pointed his finger at his temple and circled it. “Not. Right.”

After Winona and Jamil left for the day, Lillian blood-tested Willa, pricking her heel and blotting several samples down a test sheet.

“What’s this for again?” he asked.

Lillian wrapped the heel up and handed Raylan the fussing baby who promptly spit up down the back of his shirt. Great, Winona hadn’t burped her.

“I want to run some tests independent of the pathology lab,” she said, crinkling her nose at either the smell or the mess itself on Raylan’s shoulder. “I’ll be on my way. Talk to Tim about pulling in your marshal friend. A deep depression will prolong Winona’s ability to learn control.”

Raylan changed his shirt and packed his daughter into her car seat to head into the office. He wanted to talk to Tim about what Jamil had told him. He knew from Tim that Nathaniel had finally gotten a name for the dead wolf from the snuff video—but it was the kid’s stripper name. Vasquez was dubious about them getting a blind warrant on the death with an alias, saying that it was no different from using the name John Doe. If a judge was going to approve a warrant on a John Doe, Reardon would have done so already.

Raylan secured Willa car seat in the crew cab of Tim’s truck. Art had taken his Marshals Service vehicle when he went on leave. Tim told Raylan one night that Art had complained that Tim taking the Marshal’s SUV defeated the purpose. But it freed up Tim’s personal vehicle for Raylan.

When he made his way into the Marshals office, the first person he ran into was Tim, who scowled at him, but kissed Willa’s forehead.

“Why did you bring her out?” Tim reached for Willa, giving the general office area a dirty look and headed for Art’s office. Sheeba, who quickly caught on to whom Tim had with him, trotted at his heels with her tail wagging.

“Good to see you too,” Raylan mumbled.

“I heard that.”

“That was the point. The doctors said we didn’t have to stay home,” Raylan complained following his partner. “They said we could go out.”

“Outside. In the fresh air. S’posed to stay away from poorly ventilated, public places,” Tim said.

“Lillian has more than assured me of her impossibly strong immune system,” Raylan said under his breath knowing that Tim would hear him. But then Lillian was still running blood tests. Maybe Tim had a point.

Raylan caught up to him in Art’s office but wasn’t going to admit Tim was right.

“Still.” Tim said. “Tell me you have a good reason other than boredom for pushing it.”

“Raylan,” Art said. “What are you doing here? Awww, she looks like Winona, thank god. How is Winona doing?”

He didn’t see Rachel around so he lied. “Good,” Raylan said. “Napping, I think.”

They’d all decided they’d just keep a lid on the fact that Winona was using her leave to adjust to lycanthropy rather than taking care of the baby and recovering from her C-section. He didn’t think that Art would raise a fuss since he’d been so supportive of Tim, but if word got around the courthouse, they were all afraid it would eventually cost Winona her job.

“I got a line on that vampire from the snuff videos,” Raylan announced.

“How’d you do that?” Tim asked, shifting the baby.

Raylan reached for Willa and took a seat at the far end of the couch, propping his right boot up on his knee. Sheeba jumped up beside him and partially curled up. She took up most of the rest of the couch, pushing the curve of her neck into the side of Raylan’s left leg with her body stretched out over the other two cushions. Sheeba’s unspoken message to the world was obvious: anyone who wanted at Willa had to come through her.

“Sheeba—” Tim started, but Art interrupted him. Tim usually reprimanded her for being on the couch and it was a long-standing conflict between him and the chief. She wasn’t allowed on the furniture at home.  

“Oh she’s fine there.”

“You spoil her,” Tim said, pulling a chair sideways and taking a seat near the window.

“Where’s Rachel?” Raylan asked.

“Out on a prisoner transfer with Nelson,” Art said.

Raylan was relieved. If she wasn’t around, he could be a little more creative with how he explained his source. Tim would understand but he didn’t think Jamil would appreciate the US Marshals Service at his door wanting him to explain what he knew about the vampire in the video. He and Tim were going to have to tread carefully when it came to the Lexington pack. He’d like to keep that news from Art a little longer. Their boss wasn’t crazy about Raylan’s ties to the vampire world; he’d be less than pleased to find out that Tim’s werewolf ties seemed to be murky, too.

Art pulled the other chair around and sat down.

“So, what’s your news Raylan?”

“Where are we with the warrant on the snuff video?” Raylan asked. “Anything new?”

Tim scowled. “Nothing. We got a name on the victim, but it’s an alias—Woodly Moon.”

“Woodly? Isn’t that the cowboy from that cartoon movie with Tom Hanks' voice?” Raylan asked. “No wonder Vasquez is holding the warrant.”

Tim coughed. “Um, I think that one’s called Woody .”

Raylan rolled his eyes. “What kinda stripper name is that? Woodly. Woodsy. Woody. Idea doesn’t even sound sexy.”

Tim slowly shook his head no, rolling his lips under to clearly swallow a smile.

“I hafta agree with Raylan,” Art said, smiling a bit, unable to hide his amusement. “Nothing sexy about a man in a pair of boots and a cowboy hat.”

Tim reached over to Art’s desk and grabbed a Sharpie from his pen mug. He pulled the cap off with his teeth, then leaned forward and scrawled T-I-M on the sole of Raylan’s right boot.

“Dammit Tim.”  Raylan stretched to see how much damage he’d done. These were expensive boots when he’d bought them. “The hell does that mean?” he muttered.

Tim grinned. “You’ll figure it out when Willa’s older. I’ll get her a copy of “Toy Story .”

“All right,” Art said, his tone growing impatient.

Tim pulled a straight face. “The point is, Vasquez turned red when we asked him to put the name Woodly Moon on the warrant.”

“Hated to see him turn down the warrant, but the look on his face was worth it,” Art agreed, laughing before clearing his throat and going on. “But until we have a name for the vampire, a real name for the victim, or a body, he doesn’t want to move forward. He thinks that having a body’ll make the difference. He doesn’t want to file for an execution warrant with so many unknown variables. Delroy’s warrant was clear-cut. His face was in the video.”

“Rachel and Chris are looking for more videos. If there’s two out there, there are probably more,” Tim said. “Vasquez is also concerned that if we get the warrant now and don’t serve it because we can’t, then, if more people die at this guy’s hand... we’ll end up culpable.”

“I got a line on where we can start fishing for a name,” Raylan said.

“Where?” Tim asked.

“Louisville and Detroit. I have a source who said that the guy in the video was in the area around the time of Arnett’s death. The vampire is known to sway wolves. My source confirms there’s been a history in the state of lycanthrope porn. Nothing local in a while though.”

“Who’s your source?” Art asked.

“Someone with the local pack,” Raylan hedged. “They’re not real excited about the idea of local law enforcement knowing they’re a lycanthrope.”

Art scowled at Raylan, then said nothing for few moments. “Is this someone you trust?” Art asked.

Raylan wanted to lie to him. “Enough. I trust him on this,” he admitted.

Art exhaled slowly coming close to a sigh as if he was weighing Raylan’s admission.

Raylan could feel Tim’s eyes on him. He slid his eyes over to meet Tim’s and did everything he could to hold his expression blank.

Art tapped his foot. “You coming back to work soon?”

Raylan shook his head. “Don’t know, Art. Winona needs help taking care of Willa for now.” There, he’d told Art the truth.

“Tim and Rachel could head over to Louisville to start asking around,” Art said. “Might want to see if you can find out anything on that vampire who ditched out of the parley and funded Pilar’s rampage while you’re over there. What was that name? Carls?”

“Quarles, I think,” Tim confirmed. “And actually, I have an idea on how to get Raylan back to work.”

“What’s that?” Raylan asked. This was the first he’d heard of any light at the end of the tunnel. It wasn’t that he wasn’t amazed by Willa and falling a little more in love with her every day. He just… it bugged him to be out of the loop. From the job. From Tim. He’d felt like he’d been spinning his wheels for months carrying out the morgue stakings then hauling Rachel along to inspect the new Monsterville districts as they’d opened throughout the year. Now that they’d finally gotten some breaks on their open cases; he hated being left out.

“I got a call from Pete. He and Nahtoo are going to come help with Willa for a while,” Tim said.
“They should be here by the first of the next week.”

Raylan smiled. “That’s great news, right? We can go to Louisville then.”

“Sure, Raylan,” Tim drawled, his tone wry. “It’s just great.”

Raylan was sure even Art could pick up on that lie.

Chapter Text

Tim stood with his arms crossed and his face set in a stony glare out of the sunroom windows. This time of year, the evening was still light for a spell longer, not that Tim couldn’t see just as well in the dark. He heard a truck pull off the highway and into the long drive up to the house. Peter and Nahtoo had made good time. He couldn’t make out their voices yet, but he could wait. A matter of a few feet now was all that Tim needed to be able to listen in over Pete’s diesel engine. He’d driven one of the ranch’s trucks and was pulling a small trailer. Tim wondered for the first time just how long they were planning on staying.  

“He’ll never agree to—” Peter said.

“ Cállate ahora ,” Nahtoo cut him off. “You will not know until you ask him.”

Tim saw Nahtoo climb out of the truck and stretch her long arms above her head extending her neon-yellow fingertips wide. She was wearing dark sunglasses and Tim wondered if her eyes were still stuck in her dragon form from the two years she’d been in captivity and not allowed to shift. Then he saw Peter climb out and immediately open the crew cab door on his side of the truck. A Trollhound bounded out—a big one that Tim didn’t immediately recognize. “Shit,” Tim cursed. That’d better not be a replacement for Sheeba.

Raylan came up behind him with Willa. “They’re here? Why didn’t you say something?”

“What the hell did I ever see in that guy?” Tim muttered quietly hoping Nahtoo wouldn’t hear.

“Don’t recall you mentioning it,” Raylan said. “Not that you’ve ever said what you see in me.” Raylan gave Tim a searching look.

“You need me to tell you?” The comment surprised Tim, pushing the thought of their visitors from his head as he tried to figure out how serious Raylan was from the glint in his eye. He sounded almost insecure, but he smelled… amused? On Raylan, that tasted like a stick of clove gum. Ironic but serious.

Raylan didn’t answer him, just shifted Willa to the arm furthest away from Tim and leaned into him, pressing his nose under Tim’s ear, kissing him once. Tim turned into his face, rubbing his cheek against the top of Raylan’s head.

“C’mon, let’s head down,” Raylan whispered.

“They want something from us,” Tim barely breathed the words aloud. If he could hear them, they could hear him.

Raylan stood straight and met his eyes again, then nodded. “Yeah, well, so do we, right?” His eyes shifted over to Willa then back to Tim.

Tim tipped his head in silent agreement and headed out of the French doors onto the porch. Sheeba had clued in by that point that Peter was out there and rushed past him racing around the second-floor wrap-around porch to the steps down to the yard. He didn’t think there’d be a problem between her and the Trollhound Peter had brought with him, but he didn’t want to chance it. He’d already gotten too much flack about her from Peter.  So he ran for the porch rail approaching it like he was jumping a fence: one hand to the rail and he sprang up, then tucked his legs and went over the side. He heard Raylan cuss behind him as he sailed down to the ground landing in a crouch.

“Jesus Tim,” Peter said, turning to him in shock.

Tim grinned then stood and gave an order to Sheeba, who’d just about caught up to them. “Sheeba, stop.”

She did, but whined looking over at Peter, then back to Tim. After all, they were both her Dads .

“Stay,” he said, walking over to her.

The other Trollhound trotted over to Peter. “Ollie, heel,” Peter ordered. Ollie was as big as Sheeba but much lighter in color. His undercoat was mostly white with black woven through it making his fur appear as if the tips had been dipped in ink.

“Who you got there?” Tim asked.

“This is Ollie,” Peter said. “He’s… a rescue, I guess.”

“Not St. John again.”

Peter frowned, then nodded.

“We’re going to have to do something about that guy,” Tim said.

Denis-Luc St. John tracked weres with a pack of Trollhounds, using the hounds as his expendable muscle as if they were no more than weapons and ammo. Tim had rescued Sheeba from him when he tossed her away after she was injured during a hunt.

“Teem,” Nahtoo called. She came around the back of the truck loaded down with a couple carry-on bags while dragging a sizeable suitcase. He wondered how heavy it was if she looked like she was putting effort into it.

“Hey Nahtoo,” he said, stepping forward to grab her case. “Let me have that.”

She dropped it and reached over to hug him, kissing his cheek. “Where is your mate?”

“He took the long way down,” Tim said. “You know, baby and all. He’ll be along.”

She nodded like that made sense. “And mis queridos pajaritos ?”

Tim winced, realizing he hadn’t been to run with the harpies in a while. “Hunting more than their fair share of deer, last time I heard. Haven’t made it over there in a few weeks.”

“We will fix that soon,” she insisted and nodded at him as if the decision had been already made. “You’ll bring them here to me.”  

Tim opened his mouth to protest then decided not to bother and turned to Peter. “Ollie play well with others? Can I release Sheeba?” Tim asked Peter. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was showing off that he was still in command of her, silently communicating to Peter that there was no need for any more talk of retiring her.

Peter smirked at him. “Sure. I’ve been working with him for about six months now.”

“Sheeba, release,” Tim called.

She immediately ran for Peter, her back end swaying with the force of her wagging tail. Sheeba jumped up and put her paws on his shoulders. “Ooof,” he grunted, then hugged her neck to neck. “How you holding up Sheeba-baby?”

She wiggled away from him, then sniffed Ollie. “Ollie, release,” Peter ordered.

The two hounds had begun inspecting each other when Raylan poked his head out the door in the carport. He still had Willa with him and eyed the dogs. “Come on in,” he said. “I think I’ll take Willa upstairs until you get Heckle and Jeckle situated there. Sheeba’s been a little protective of the baby.”

Peter frowned again and Tim winced. “Dammit Raylan.”

***

After Tim and Peter got Sheeba and Ollie off on a perimeter run of the property to burn off some of Ollie’s energy from the long trip, they headed upstairs after Raylan, Nahtoo, and Willa.

“Tim, your house is weird,” Peter said as they cleared the steps into the open upper level.

“It’s just upside-down,” Tim explained. “The bedrooms are downstairs and the living areas are up here. Only two rooms closed off—the bathroom and the office, but that kind of got turned into Winona’s room.”

“How is she doing?” Peter asked.

“It’s an adjustment,” Tim said.

Raylan and Nahtoo were on the far side of the upstairs living space with Willa, talking about the following week. He and Raylan planned to leave Willa with Nahtoo and go into work. Tim listened to them for a moment.

“Do you know how to take care of a baby?” Raylan asked.

Nahtoo laughed at him. The sound was baritone and hearty, filling the room.

“Do you?” she countered, and Tim bit back a smile.

He headed into the kitchen but sneaked a glance their way. Raylan looked a bit dumbfounded.

“I mean, I thought you grew up kind of sheltered,” Raylan said.

“I do have human siblings. Stepbrothers and stepsisters on my father’s side,” she said, picking up Willa properly and shooting Raylan a betrayed look. She’d pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and Tim could see that her eyes were still stuck with the golden color and the reptilian pupils of a dragon. He wondered why she wasn’t wearing contacts; Peter told him they’d had some success with them when she had to work with the public. Her eyes were a dead-giveaway that she was more than human.  

Tim pulled open the fridge door and offered Peter and Nahtoo something to drink.

“Got anything stronger?” Peter asked, frowning at the non-alcoholic options.

Tim nodded and opened the cabinet containing all Raylan’s booze. “We’ve got whiskey… and more whiskey.”

Peter smiled. “Guess it’ll be whiskey.”

Tim pulled down a glass and slid it over to Pete, then got down a second shot glass for Raylan. He poured Raylan’s drink and grabbed a couple bottles of water before heading over to the living room area.

Peter followed a few minutes later with his glass in one hand and the bottle of Knob Creek in the other.

“Can we talk? Maybe out there on your deck? Privately?”

Tim took in Peter’s grasp on the bottle and the request then noticed the way he was looking past him to Nahtoo. Tim’s eyes tracked over to the weredragon who was nodding at Peter.

“Gonna be that kind of talk then?” Tim asked. He was afraid they were going to end up fighting over Sheeba. He’d been afraid of this conversation since Sheeba had been shot.

“I think so.” Peter led the way and Tim followed behind, noting that the long drive hadn’t done much for his limp.

***

“Your house is still weird, but it has a nice view,” Peter said, lowering himself down into one of the deck chairs. He rested the bottle on the wood slats beside him and sipped from his glass.

Tim scanned the horizon where the sun had nearly dipped down to the tree line coloring everything in warm light.

“It’s defensible,” Tim said, taking the chair next to him. He twisted the cap off his water bottle.

Peter nodded. “Sounds like a reason you’d pick a house. What’d your guy have to say about that?”

Tim winced.

Peter let his head fall to the side. “Awww, you just bought it and didn’t ask him, didn’t you?”

Tim tipped his water bottle up and drank from it instead of answering.

Peter waited. He’d had lots of practice waiting Tim out.

“Pete, I’m not retiring Sheeba,” Tim stated, cutting to the chase.  

“Okaaaay,” he said, drawing out the word. “I don’t think I suggested that. And I never said I wanted to retire her.”

“Uh… what then?” Tim asked.

“Say we get into that later, huh? ’Too’s gonna talk to her first.”

“Talk to who?”

“Sheeba. Find out what she wants before we make any decisions,” Peter said.

Tim scowled. “Wants about what?”

Peter sighed and tossed back his drink. He picked up the bottle and sloshed another two fingers into the glass.

“Later,” he repeated, clearing his throat. “I need a favor.”

Tim’d been annoyed before but now he was concerned. He watched his ex, one of his closest friends, slowly roll the glass between his palms managing not to splash booze over the rim and into his lap. “What’s that?”

“I need you to change me,” Peter whispered avoiding Tim’s eyes.

“Change you how?” Tim didn’t understand.

“Not how so much…”

Tim was more confused than ever; Peter couldn’t be asking him for what he thought he was. “Into what?”

Peter’s eyes jerked to meet Tim’s, clearly annoyed with him. “A unicorn, what’d you think, dumbass?”

Tim just stared back, unimpressed.

Peter sighed. “A werewolf.”

“Why the hell would you want that?” Tim blurted out.

“Because I want my leg back.”

Someone had been filling Peter’s head with rumor and bullshit; lycanthropy didn’t do shit for old injuries. “What was that again?” Tim ground out.

“When Sheeba got shot, then you were exposed, we met this nurse at Dr. Lillian’s clinic… name’s Cherry? You know her?”

“Leopard. Yeah.” Tim remembered her from the night he’d had to have his eyes looked at. She and Tim would be talking again, though. Soon.

“Did you know she lost her leg when she was human?” Peter asked.

“You’re shitting me,” Tim said, stunned. “I thought that weres healed new injuries but scars were scars. Old injuries are a done deal.”

Peter took another sip of his whiskey. “Well, they had to amputate again above the scarring on her leg. Then, she said, it grew back.”

“Jesus Pete. Why would you want to go through that? I thought you were happy…” Tim said.

“Happy? No.” Peter’s tone was sharp and angry. “Resigned to my reality, yeah.”

“Why now though?” Tim thought Peter was one of the healthiest Army vets he knew.

“Nahtoo’s beautiful. I want to be whole for her.”

Tim’s eyebrows popped up, surprised. Not that that wasn’t insulting to some small degree. When he and Pete had been together, he’d never cared about the wholeness of his lover’s leg. He thought that Nahtoo was more pragmatic than to push Peter into this. Becoming a wolf was one thing but the pain involved with purposely amputating his stump as a werewolf—it would be excruciating at best. He couldn’t help remembering Winona’s failed epidural.

“Does it matter that much to her?” Tim had always liked Nahtoo but was willing to second-guess that fondness tonight.

“No, but I want to be her equal. I want to be worthy of her.”

“You’re more than worthy of her,” Tim whispered.

“Tim.” Peter sounded like he was pleading with him and it hurt Tim’s heart.

“What about the hounds? Can you even train them to hunt lycanthropes if you are one?” He knew he was grasping at straws by throwing up practical issues but training Trollhound K-9s had been part of what gave Peter back a sense of purpose after he’d been discharged.

“Why not? Nahtoo talks to them—the same way she talked to Sheeba. If anything, they’ll be more comfortable around lycanthropes, less skittish.”

Tim took a drink of his water. Peter’s logic wasn’t off.  “Why a wolf? Why don’t you become a dragon like Nahtoo?” Now that at least made a little more sense to Tim.

Peter laughed bitterly, then poured himself another drink, making his third. Tim reached over and took the bottle away from him. He looked up into Tim’s eyes then nodded his assent.

“Don’t you think we tried? It just doesn’t take,” Peter said, miserably.

“What doesn’t take?” Tim asked.

“Exposing myself to dragon lycanthropy. We’ve been trying to get pregnant.”

“So, you’ve been…”

“We dumped the condoms months ago. And no baby for ’Too, no lycanthropy for me.”

“Wow.”

“I can’t even marry her until they get her legal bullshit straightened out. Her identity isn’t even real.”

“Give it some time,” Tim said. “And we can… work on the paperwork if we need to.” He still had the connections in the government that set Nahtoo up with the ID she was currently using. He’d go back to them again, even if it meant owing them another favor. That was something fixable. What Peter was asking was… unprecedented between them.

“I don’t understand. Why me?” Tim asked. He really didn’t understand why Peter wanted this from him. “Why didn’t you get Marco from the Santa Fe pack to do it? He’s cool with us. Sends us pack members to train the hounds with.”

“Because Marco isn’t my family. You are.”

“Shit, Pete. Do you even want to be a wolf? It’s…”  Tim trailed off. He couldn’t even say he hated being a werewolf anymore. He might not love it yet, but he was coming to terms with it.

“Is it that bad?” Peter asked.  

Tim sighed. “No, not really. Not anymore.”

“Is it worse than losing a leg?” Peter asked.

“Christ, Pete,” Tim said. “I don’t know. I never… put it in those terms.”

“Well, I have,” Peter said.

“You’ve thought about this though?”

“I have,” he repeated.

“And you’ll do it even if I say no, won’t you.” They both knew Tim’s words weren’t a question.

Peter didn’t reply to him at first. Finally, he simply said, “You’ll do it?”

“No, not now.”

“Tim,” Peter said.

“How’d you see this going?” Tim stood up and started to pace. “You expect me to just pop a claw, slice open our palms and make a blood pact, like 10-year-olds? Become blood brothers after all this time.”

“No. I was thinking we’d go to Dr. Lillian’s, she’d draw your blood, then expose me in a medical environment. Not that I don’t think of you as…” Peter swallowed. “Well, my brother, I guess.”  Peter’s eyes met Tim’s then wandered down his body.

Tim didn’t smell arousal, but he picked up regret and some sadness.

“Nahtoo’s not forcing you into this?” Tim asked, needing to be sure.

“God no. We’ve been talking to your doctor… she’s going to see what we can do about Nahtoo’s infertility. Same kind of corrective surgery as with the leg. Seems that vampire down in Florida who enslaved her for so long…” Peter swallowed and Tim picked up a sharp spike of anger. “The one your guy in there put down a while back…”

“Bucks?” Tim asked.

Peter’s head hung, then bobbed. “If he hadn’t, I would’ve.”  He smelled sharply of more anger than Tim expected.

“If he hadn’t I would have before you even had a chance to,” Tim assured him.

“He had silver S&M devices. He’d threaten the harpies if she didn’t…” Peter choked up. “Let’s just say she didn’t spend all her time in dragon form and Bucks did some damage that’s getting in the way of her conceiving.”

Tim thought about the festering wounds around the silver bolts he’d had to cut from her wings when they found her near Harlan, prone and furious. He cringed at the thought of her bearing that kind of damage internally—not to mention the violation. Too bad Raylan had dismantled Bucks’ body and burned it. Even though he knew animation didn’t work this way, Tim wouldn’t have minded if Raylan could raise Bucks as a zombie so they could kill him all over again.

“Pete, are you sure she can have a baby? One of the problems we ran into with Winona was that no one knew how to deal with pregnant lycanthropes because they don’t normally have babies. The shifts cause the mothers to lose their fetuses.”

“Nahtoo doesn’t have to shift.”

“Not even during the full moon?” Tim asked, dubious.

“We’ve tested it and she spent at least a year in one form. If that woman has anything in spades, it’s control,” Peter said, swallowing down the last of his whiskey.

“Is it a human-dragon thing maybe?” Tim asked.

“No. Her mother was a dragon. Her father human.”

Tim nodded. They grew quiet with each other in the fading light. After so many years, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“So will you do this for me?” Peter asked.

Tim rubbed a hand down his face. “Can I think about?”

Peter pressed his lips together. “You can. But know that just because you’re my first choice doesn’t mean you’re my only one.”

“C’mon Pete—”

“Tim, Peter, hate to interrupt. But Nahtoo says she wants to shift tonight. Something about questions she has for Willa and Sheeba,” Raylan said.

Tim turned in his chair. “What? Why Sheeba?” Tim shot Peter a look. “And Willa… can she even talk to a baby?”

Raylan shrugged.

“My mother’s tribe would do it when I was young,” Nahtoo said. “Before she died and my father kept me from them. Willa and I need to come to an understanding before next week.”

***

Nahtoo said she would shift in the yard and then fly up onto the deck. She squeezed Peter’s arm.

“You boys stay here. I will undress, then change in the dark.”

That was fine by Tim. He’d seen more than enough of Nahtoo naked the day they’d found her setting fire to the outskirts of Harlan. When he heard her open the outside door downstairs, he remembered her shifts were as messy as his now were.

“Hey Nahtoo, can you veer away from my truck when you shift?” Tim called down. He hated power-washing shifter-goo off his vehicle.

“Okay Teem.”

Her English had gotten a lot better but she still mangled his name. He kind of liked it.

A few minutes later she flew out of the darkness and landed on the deck that ran the length of their carport, settling her wings to her sides.  Tim noticed the chipped yellow polish on her claws. None of the women in his pack showed up at the full moon wearing cosmetics so he’d always wondered what happened to things like nail polish and lipstick during a shift. He’d planned to ask Winona after she’d gotten a few moons under her belt.

“Raylan, you’ll translate for us?” Peter asked.

“Sure,” Raylan said. He was sitting in one of the deck chairs with Willa snuggled in a blanket even though the night was warm. “You do this with the dogs, don’t you? How do you do it when there’s no one there to translate?”

Tim had wondered the same thing. He propped his ass against the deck rail and crossed his arms and ankles. He still wasn’t happy that Nahtoo was going to talk to Sheeba and knowing that she could already be doing so at that moment made the night feel ominously quiet.

“What’s happening?” Tim asked.

“Nahtoo’s talking to Willa,” Raylan said.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Tim asked.

Raylan shook his head. “She says Willa doesn’t really communicate with words. They’re passing images and impressions back and forth,” Raylan said, looking down at his daughter with more awe than usual.

“What? Like emojis?” Tim asked.

“No. No, no, no, no. No emojis,” Raylan said to Tim with a stern look, then his attention shifted abruptly back to Willa. “Aw hell.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“Willa doesn’t understand where Winona is.”

“Shit,” Tim said. He looked over at Peter. “Maybe we should stop—”

“Shhhh,” Peter said. “Just hang in there. She talks to the hounds all the time and they don’t know language to start with. It’s why we could break away so early to come and stay. We’ve got the staff working with the pups from last summer and their new LEO partners. ’Too teaches them basic commands and everything else in a third of the time it used to take us.”

Tim thought about how much faster a little person would pick up language compared to a Trollhound and chuckled drawing Raylan’s eyes.

“What’s so funny?” Raylan asked. “Oh. Oh, wait. Wow. She likes it when you laugh. Nahtoo says she leaks? Yeah, ‘she leaks happy’ at you.”

Tim pushed off the rail and wandered over to Raylan. He bent and kissed Willa’s forehead, then straightened up. “I was just thinking that Nahtoo’s gonna teach her to talk circles around you by the time she can walk.”

Raylan lifted his shoulder once in a nonchalant shrug. “Laugh now, Tim. But she’ll be running rings around you too. Happy Father’s Day.”

“Hey, you’re the…” Tim protested.

“I am, but she’s got a couple it seems.”

Tim sighed, feeling a little overwhelmed. “What’s happening now?”

“Nahtoo says they’re talking about Willa staying with her when I go back to work.”

“Willa can get that?”

“I don’t think Nahtoo’s explanation is all that complex. I’m just hearing her summary…”

This went on awhile and Tim was getting ready to excuse himself to hit the head when Raylan told them that Nahtoo and Willa were finished.

“I’ll go get her formula ready,” Tim said.

“Hang on. Nahtoo’s talking to Sheeba, she says.”

“About what?” Tim stopped and turned to look at Peter and pointed at him. Ollie was curled up at his feet. “You know something about this, Pete.”

“It’s just an idea we’re going to run by Sheeba. See what her feelings are on the matter,” Peter said. “Let her weigh in.”

“Before I do?” Tim shook his head. He was angry.

“Tim,” Raylan interrupted. “Hear them out. I think he’s right.”

“You know too?” Tim asked. He really wasn’t beyond whining that this just wasn’t fair.

Raylan tapped two fingers to his temple.

“What already?” Tim asked, exasperated.

“Nahtoo said she was feeling her out to see if she wants to have a litter of pups with Ollie,” Raylan said.

Tim felt all the anger and frustration that he’d built up in anticipation of a fight with Peter over Sheeba’s retirement unravel. Now, he just felt like a dick. He’d never thought about asking her if she wanted to breed—or even if she wanted to keep working for that matter. She’d been pregnant with a litter of Trollhounds when he’d found her abandoned by St. John after a hunt because the pregnancy kept her from healing. He had no idea what the circumstances of that pregnancy were. And then he and Pete had bred her again after that…

“She’s afraid you don’t want it,” Raylan said.

“How?” Tim asked, looking to Sheeba, then Nahtoo. “That’s so complex.”

“It’s how Nahtoo is interpreting it. She keeps throwing up images of you,” Raylan said. “Angry.”

Tim shot Peter a hard look. “I don’t hate the idea. A heads-up would have been nice.” He went over to her and fell to his knees, stroking her fur. “Do whatever you want, girl.”

While he wove his fingers into her mane, he side-eyed Peter and the Trollhound at his feet.

“Did you ask Ollie?” Tim said.

Raylan laughed.

“What?” Tim turned to his partner.

Raylan held up a hand. “Nahtoo’s laughing at you. Let’s just say that Ollie is... um... willing.”

Tim scowled and turned back to Peter. “Who is Ollie? Do we know enough about him to even know… I mean, if he came from St. John, they could be… siblings or something.”

Peter half-laughed. “We ran DNA—same as we did with Sheeba. Ollie’s pure Trollhound. Completely different bloodlines. No way of knowing the exact lineage since there’s not a database of all Trollhounds out there. I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise. Our best guess is he’s probably a couple years younger than Sheeba. ”

“Are you sure she’s not too o—” Tim cut himself off.

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “What was that? Too old?”

Tim shook his head. “I never said that.”

“Because if you’d said that,” Peter said. “If she’s too old to have pups, then she’s too old to be running down lycanthropes in the field, right?”

Tim pressed his lips together. “Then it’s a good thing I never said old .” He looked up at Nahtoo and thought his question. She could read his thoughts, even if he couldn’t hear hers.

Raylan cleared his throat a moment later. “Yeah Tim, Nahtoo says Sheeba likes Ollie enough.”

“Enough to...?” Tim couldn’t finish that sentence but Nahtoo must have picked up his thoughts because Raylan laughed at him.

“Enough for that, yeah,” Raylan said.

Tim pressed his lips together, frowning with just the corner of his mouth. “Well, tell her she’s free to change her mind,” he said directly to Nahtoo.

Raylan covered his mouth to hide his chuckle.

“Her last heat was last summer, wasn’t it?” Tim asked Peter.

“July. One before that was fourteen months earlier,” he said.

“So we have a while,” Tim said, feeling like he could breathe a little easier.

“If things work out, we can stick around Kentucky awhile,” Peter said.

Tim blanked out his mind. He didn’t want to think about any doubts he had about Pete’s plans to recover his leg or about Nahtoo pressuring him into it. Not when she was privy to his mind.

Chapter Text

Raylan watched Tim negotiate with Art and wasn’t surprised to see it not really going Tim’s way.

“Now tell me again why I need to bring this guy in from out west?” Art asked. He’d leaned back in his chair and was rubbing the back of his head with his palm.

Tim was trying to talk Art into signing off on an order to pull Bernardo Spotted-Horse in from Wyoming. Raylan knew the whole thing sounded fishy when Dr. Lillian brought it up. He didn’t know why Tim thought he’d be able to get it past Art.

“Well, with Raylan out now and then on maternity leave…” Tim started.

And Raylan watched Art shoot him down. “But he’s back now, right? Seems like I’ve got two of you preternatural division boys on the payroll now—and Rachel’s up to speed on these snuff videos. Not that that investigation’s going anywhere.”

“It will be,” Tim said. He waved a hand between Raylan and himself. “We got an appointment tonight with the City Master in Louisville to follow up on the tip that this guy’s connected to Detroit.”

“Still… don’t think we need another one of you cowboys underfoot,” Art said.

“I ain’t a cowboy,” Tim muttered.

Raylan tipped his head down to hide a smile under the brim of his hat so neither of them would see it.

Apparently unsuccessfully.

“Somethin’ funny, Raylan?” Art asked.

Raylan pressed his lips together into a thin frown. “Not at all, Chief.”

“Huh. When’s your meet?” Art asked.

Raylan reached over and checked the watch face on the inside of Tim’s wrist. Tim said nothing in response but slid his eyes up to Raylan’s face letting them linger there. Raylan ignored the stare knowing Tim wasn’t really going to push him about the casual gesture, even in the office. When it came down to it, he knew Tim liked being touched as much as Raylan liked touching him.

“Couple hours now,” Raylan said. “Thought we’d head out and show Tim around their new preternatural district.”

“The meet is with Tarron, the Louisville city master and his mate. I called Nikki his human servant to set it up,” Tim said.

“Who now?”

“Nikki. She handles all the ‘day business’ for the city masters for Louisville and Lexington, Tarron and Sabine,” Tim explained.

The Louisville Metro Council had voted the previous fall to build their district around the established vampire tourist business area in the city—lumping Tarron’s vampire “family-friendly establishments” into the city’s new preternatural red-light district.

When Raylan and Rachel initially inspected their district that spring, Tarron and his mate Sabine had not been happy that a lycanthrope-owned brothel was now only a block away from their vampire clubs and that adult-themed restaurants would be peppered through the district. Raylan had just shrugged and told them to open a vampire bawdy house next door to compete. He’d earned a hard elbow jab to his ribs from Rachel for that one. The vampire masters hadn’t been amused at the time. But now he reckoned that’d changed some.

“You gonna inspect them while you’re there?” Art asked. “Didn’t I see a permit come through for a vampire whore house out their way?”

Raylan winced. They’d acted offended by his suggestion but that hadn’t stopped them from taking him up on the idea. “Thought better of it, actually,” he said. “We’re just hoping to ID the vampire in the snuff vid to finally nail down a warrant, and they can be a little… um… touchy.”

Art frowned. “When are you heading out?”

“In about an hour,” Tim said. “Raylan’s got to meet some professor at a graveyard.”

“You’re animating tonight ? While you’re on marshal business?” Art asked.

Tim snorted. “More like geiger-counterin’ for the dead.”

Art looked confused.

Raylan let his head fall back. “I’m just walking the cemetery for her. Since last year, the Anthropology Department agreed to let me walk the grounds before they dig. I can tell them if there’s someone buried where they want to excavate.”

“Uh-huh,” Art said skeptically.

“It’s more of a favor than a job,” Raylan explained.

Tim shook his head at Art. “He’s still getting paid for it.”

“What are you complaining about? It’s not much, and it keeps the zombie raccoons away.”

Tim shrugged.

“How much is ‘not much’?” Art asked.

Raylan shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “This is more community service than about the fee,” he said.

“Five grand,” Tim said.

“Huh,” Art said. “Buy a lot of diapers with five grand.”

Raylan rolled his eyes and swiveled his head to stare at Tim who gave him a “what’d I do?” look. Raylan sighed and answered Art’s question. “Compared to the usual fee—this is community service.”

Art squinted, his nose crinkling up. “Never did ask… what is the going rate for animating the dead?”

Raylan didn’t answer. Art shifted his eyes over to Tim whose eyes slid over to Raylan, then he held his hands up and tipped his head toward Raylan.

“Raylan? You can either tell me or I’ll call Vasquez and get him to tell me what your agent charges the court system every time you raise a witness or the subject of a will dispute.”

He pursed his lips together. “About twenty grand per animation. More or less depending on how long the deceased has been gone.”

Art studied Raylan for a long moment—longer than Raylan was comfortable with. “Why are you still with the Marshal’s Service? If you’re pulling down that kind of money as a sideline, why bother with this?” Art waved his hand around.

Raylan pulled himself up straight in his chair, a little angry with the question. “What kind of question is that, Art? You think I’m in this for the money? Are you in it for the pay? Don’t see you askin’ Tim why he’s in the Marshals Service when he’s got a helluva lot more money than I do.”

Art shot Tim a surprised look. “Fair enough. You’re right. Leslie’s clamoring for me to retire.”

Raylan narrowed his eyes at Art. He wasn’t as much irritated by Art asking him the question as he was that he didn’t really know why himself.

Now that he thought about it, the job just seemed to fit into his life. He’d have been satisfied enough hunting vampires but by the time he came of age, US vampire and bounty hunters had been grandfathered into the Marshals Service’s Preternatural Division. The “monster squad” as folks still called it was just lawless enough to suit him, and most days made him feel like a marshal of the old West. If he had to do Rachel’s job, he would retire to raising the dead to get by. With the way he was drawn to the dead and how attractive his power was to vampires, he’d have been going after the lawless undead with little to no regard to his official job title: animator, necromancer, vampire hunter, or US Marshal. They’d have eventually come after him anyway. Having a badge just made hanging onto his human side, his moral center, a whole lot easier.

“I’m exactly who I want to be.”

Art looked at him evenly. “Boyd Crowder’s human servant?”

Raylan tried to set his jaw to keep it from jutting forward. “Maybe not that part.”

“Huh.” Art huffed a sour laugh and the room grew quiet.

Tim sat stock still but his eyes moved between Art and Raylan. “So, we clear to head to Louisville, then?” Tim asked.

“Sure. Go shake some trees in the Detroit camp and see if any names fall out.”

If only getting out the door had turned out as easily said as done.

Raylan shut his computer down, and Tim got Sheeba together to leave when Rachel stalked in through the office doors.

“Where are you two off to this evening?” she asked Raylan. “Nelson could use one of you as backup on a prisoner transport. Human, but we need the coverage.”

He ran his tongue along the back of his bottom teeth gauging how he should answer her. About that time, Art strolled through the office heading toward the break room.

“They can’t. Going to Louisville to see if they can pin down a name to put on that warrant for Delroy Baker’s accomplice,” Art said. “Call in someone from the Frankfort office or offer OT to one of our guys.”

Raylan winced at the way Rachel’s face tightened up. “All right,” she said, following Art’s orders and going to her desk to begin pulling folders but clearly chafing under them.

“Y’all were going to just leave me here?” She looked at Raylan and then Tim. Finally, she turned to Art and raised her eyebrows, stopping to let her hands fall in front of her and her fingers fold together. She rolled her thumbs around each other and Raylan knew it was one of her tells for how much she was reigning in her frustration.

Art must have seen it too. Raylan could have sworn he actually stumbled before he stopped and turned to Raylan.

“Yeah, Raylan, you were just going to leave Rachel here?” He had the stones to stare straight-faced at him. He wondered what Rachel was picking up off Art because Raylan couldn’t get a scent of anything but Rachel’s ire.

“After all, I put in a lot of work into this case?” Rachel added, her voice taut. His eyes fell down to her thumbs; they were still circling.

“Yeah Raylan, why not? You’re just gonna leave her behind?” Art repeated.

Raylan heard Tim snort and risked sliding his eyes in his partner’s direction to see him working his mouth to hide a smile.

Raylan shrugged. With everything going on at home with Winona and Willa, he’d closed ranks around Tim and himself. He’d been a marshal coming on twenty years. He wouldn’t have even included Tim before—he’d have just gone off to hunt down this Nikki and her masters on his own. But now his natural inclination was to take Tim wherever he went.

“Rachel, you want in? Tim and I are gonna go and interview the Louisville city masters. Show them the stills from the video and see if we can get a line on the vampire who blew off the parley. Name was Quarles, right?” Raylan asked Art who nodded in agreement.

Rachel should be able to feel that Raylan and Tim hadn’t meant to exclude her intentionally. But he didn’t exactly want her plumbing the depths of their emotional wells either. Not that he really thought she’d invade either his or Tim’s privacy like that, but they’d been playing Winona’s status close to the vest for a while, and apparently Tim hadn’t anticipated Art vetoing his idea to bring in Bernardo. They’d had a new set of secrets of late, and he wondered if she’d pick up on that.

Rachel tapped her foot. “They didn’t know anything about Quarles when we asked this spring.”

Raylan sighed. He remembered. When Tim’s contact and Chris had traced the hit on Raylan and Boyd back to one of the masters in the Detroit organization, they’d questioned Tarron and Sabine in Louisville and he and Rachel had flown up to Detroit to question Theo Tonin. According to the master of Detroit and corroborated by vampires in his outlying territories, he’d cut all ties with Quarles.

“Well, are you coming or not?” Raylan said.

Rachel folded her arms across her chest. “Sure, since you asked so politely.”

Tim drove and Raylan rode in the back with Sheeba because Rachel gave him the hairy eyeball when they walked out to Tim’s truck. “I am not riding in the back with that dog,” she said.

Tim huffed at that. “That dog’s a Deputy US Marshal, thank you.

Rachel had just climbed into the front seat. “So what are you two hiding from Art?”

Tim turned and stared at her with a dumbfounded look on his face and Raylan just rubbed his forehead before pushing his hat back a bit.

“Why do you ask that?” Raylan said.

Rachel turned in her seat and looked at him with narrowed eyes and disbelief. “Are you gonna make me say it?”

Raylan tipped his head to the side and pressed his lips into a frown.

“Dammit. You two even feel sneaky.”

Tim looked back at Raylan and shrugged. “She’s your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong with Winona?” Rachel asked, concerned.

“Nothing. She’s just having some problems with the part of adjusting to being a werewolf that means she can’t be with Willa,” Raylan admitted.

“That seems logical,” Rachel said. “What’s the problem? Why do you two feel all cloak and dagger?”

“We’re concerned if word got around the courthouse she’d lose her job. Being out on maternity leave is a lot more acceptable than being off work while she adjusts to lycanthropy.”

“You really think Art would do something to betray that?” Rachel asked, sounding disappointed.

Raylan met Tim’s eyes in the rearview mirror and watched them crinkle just a bit and Raylan read that as maybe Tim didn’t want him to bring up his failed attempt to bring Bernardo into the office for a spell. “No, we’re just bein’ overly cautious,” Raylan said, trying to emit as much earnestness as he could. He knew Tim could hide his emotions from Rachel when he wanted to, so Raylan concentrated on his worry for Winona’s future. “We met with a lawyer. Told us to volunteer as little as possible.” That was true.

Rachel frowned and turned back to face the road ahead.

Tim turned into the darkening cemetery to meet Dr. Dallas. Once night fell, Raylan could feel the dead more acutely. This pit stop would give Tarron and Sabine the chance to get up and around for the night as well. They figured the city masters would be more cooperative if they’d had a chance to eat and settle in for the night.

“You can drop me off at the cemetery if you want, then you and Rachel can go get a bite to eat,” Raylan said.

“We can wait,” Tim said.

“Hey, I’ll even keep Sheeba with me,” Raylan offered.

“Actually, I didn’t have a chance to grab lunch—” Rachel started.

“Nope. Last time I let Raylan and Sheeba loose in a cemetery together, Sheeba ended up in surgery,” Tim said. He parked behind Dallas’s car and opened the center console. He pulled out a protein bar and tossed it to Rachel.

“So you two are just going to sit here?” Raylan asked.

“No, we’re gonna hang around and Sheeba is gonna run a perimeter,” Tim said.

“That’s how she got shot last time,” Raylan said.

“And saved your sorry ass,” Tim muttered.

Tim was right. “All right then. We’re just walking the stones. Gonna suggest where to dig and where not to.”

Dr. Dallas hadn’t changed much since he’d met her the first night when she’d brought a cow to sacrifice. She said that her dean wouldn’t approve raising any more zombies for a while, but they did like the idea of Raylan walking the sites before they started a dig. He could feel if there was more than one body in a single grave—many of the graveyards more than a century old ended up with multiple bodies in most of their designated plots or between them. The dead in this graveyard tasted at least that old if not older. Dr. Dallas told him they city planned to build some kind of shopping mall on the land and had given her department an impossibly short turnaround time to clear the land. Making the impossible deadline was where he came in.

Raylan walked the graves while Tim and Rachel floated in his proximity. They didn’t come close enough to interfere, but they also never strayed too far either. Periodically, Sheeba would appear beside him before taking off again when Tim whistled.

“Your marshal’s much more protective of you than he was when we first met,” Dallas said.

“You think?” Raylan asked.

“If you were a woman, I might be concerned he was overbearing,” she countered. “Maybe wonder if that ran as far as being abusive?”

Raylan chuckled wryly. “Kind of a double-standard there, don’t you think? You think just because I’ve got a penis he can’t what? Hit me?” Raylan adduced, then tried to throw her a red herring. “Do I seem like I’ve been abused?”  

Recently, anyway, he acknowledged to himself but not to her, never to the likes of someone nosy like her . The suggestion that Tim was anything like Arlo was sickening. Arlo never sought to protect Raylan from anything—hell, it hadn’t even been a year since his father traded him to Bo Crowder to pay off his debts to the vampire.

She looked at him evenly.  “I meant no offense. You don’t seem like the kind of man who’d allow his spouse to abuse him.”

“He’s not my spouse.”

“Your partner, then, your significant other?”

“Yeah. I got yer meaning,” Raylan said. “I think the word you’re looking for here is ‘mate’.”

“He’s…?” she trailed off.

“Lycanthrope, yeah.” Raylan laid a hand on a headstone that was a hundred years old if it was a day. “You got three dead here.” He pointed down in a general circle at their feet. “And there’s another over there between this grave and the next.”

She made a notation. “Fascinating,” she murmured.

“The dead?” Raylan asked.

“No, your mate. As a wolf, does he—”

Raylan could smell her curiosity. “Dr. Dallas, Deputy Gutterson isn’t up for discussion.”

She nodded at him once and moved ahead to the next headstone.

When Raylan finished the cemetery survey sooner than he expected, they had some time to kill before he and Tim thought that Louisville’s vampires would be ready to receive them. Tim decided they should just take the time and get something to eat.

Raylan was fine with a drive-thru burger. Rachel drew the line at attempting to eat a fast-food salad in Tim’s truck, and Tim won the argument from the driver’s seat.  “You need the protein after expending all that energy,” Tim said, his eyes on Raylan in the rearview mirror.

“I didn’t raise the dead, just poked at them a little. And ain’t the whole point to burn off power?”

They ended up in the worst fast-food establishment out there in Raylan’s opinion: Subway with no vanilla soft serve machine in sight and a pimply kid behind the counter scowling at Sheeba while they ate and she drank water from an empty salad container he’d made them pay a whole dollar for.

“So, we’re not inspecting their new vampire establishment at all?” Rachel asked between bites of her salad.

Tim shook his head, his mouth full.

“Figured that we’d keep it nice and friendly since we’re showin’ up hat in hand, so to speak,” Raylan said.  

Rachel tipped her head in agreement and stabbed at cucumber slice with her plastic fork.

Tim pulled into the parking lot next to Lugosi’s, the club where Nikki had told Tim that Tarron and Sabine would meet them.

“Run this down for me again,” Rachel asked. “Tarron is the Louisville city master and he has a vampire mate, Sabine, who was or still is the Lexington city master?”  

“Both of ’em are blood-oathed to the Detroit city master Tonin,” Raylan said. “It’s a downright unnatural arrangement for vampires.”

Rachel turned from Raylan to Tim. “You agree with Raylan?”

Tim nodded. “Pretty much. I haven’t heard anything about what the Indianapolis’ city master thinks of the situation, but Auggie in Chicago is pretty vocal about it. He didn’t approve of Boyd’s spread of power and I don’t think he’s a real big fan of this setup at all.”

“Detroit seems to be moving south,” Rachel said. Raylan thought she was musing over the thought.

“Honestly, I’m surprised someone hasn’t forced their way into Louisville and Lexington by now,” Tim said. “Tonin must have put up a show of power that we’re just not seeing to keep the ambitious masters at bay.”

Lugosi’s, like much of the red-light district in Louisville, was vampire themed. The lycanthropes were lagging behind because the vampires were already so well established. The new laws allowed the Metro Council to draw the district lines around Tarron and Sabine’s existing vampire tourist restaurants and clubs. They’d had to put age limits on their restaurants and clubs and moved one year-round “Spook House” that catered to teenagers out of the district altogether.

Lugosi’s was supposedly Tarron’s first restaurant, and Raylan thought of it as dinner theatre. Dinner, drinks, and a show. He knew that this was where the city master’s central office was located since Tarron played host, wandering through the crowd dressed up as Bela Lugosi’s Dracula with his dark blond hair slicked back while wearing the prerequisite flowing black cape. The rest of his getup was a helluva lot tighter and more revealing than the real Lugosi would have ever attempted. Raylan had intentionally not taken notice of the vampire’s pale collarbones in the open-necked white shirt he wore at the club or how round his ass looked in his pants whenever that cloak flipped around his hips. He’d been glad that Tim hadn’t been around the night he and Rachel first inspected the district in the spring. Raylan wasn’t looking forward to interviewing the vampire with his partner present.

In the entryway of the club, a young woman—Raylan sniffed the air and picked up a hint of leopard—stopped them.

“You can’t bring a dog in here,” she said, pointing to Sheeba.

Tim flipped open his wallet and handed her a card with Sheeba’s credentials on it, then flipped his badge over for her. “She’s with us. K-9. We have an appointment with Nikki.”

The woman seemed a bit perturbed but reached for the phone and made a call. When she hung up, she pointed to the sign on the wall that declared the club rules: “All Holy Items Must Be Checked at the Door.”

“Uh-huh,” Rachel said, flipping out her own badge. “See this badge here? This is my exception to that rule.”

“Lady, I can’t let anyone into this establishment if you’re wearing… what is that?” The woman reached out to pull Rachel’s shirt aside to display her cross. Raylan didn’t even see Tim’s hand move. The next thing he knew the leopard’s wrist was tight in Tim’s grip and Sheeba was growling.

Rachel met Raylan’s look and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. He was relieved at that—he’d been afraid that she would react badly to Tim stepping in for her.

“Hey there Ana,” Nikki said, slipping into the foyer taking in Sheeba’s stance and Tim’s grip on her hostess’ arm. “What’s going on?”

Ana had been trying to twist her wrist away from Tim, but he evidently was much stronger than she—even lycan to lycan. “They don’t want to check their holy items,” she said. Tim released her wrist abruptly and she ended up nearly punching herself in the face when the force she’d been working against to free herself was suddenly absent.

Rachel raised her eyebrow at Nikki who just shrugged.

“Ana, I think we can make an exception just this once—assuming they promise to behave themselves. These are Deputy US Marshals from Lexington—Deputies Brooks, Givens and Gutterson.”

“Death?” Ana whispered, staring horrified at Tim and rubbing her wrist. She backed away from them.

“And the Executioner,” Nikki said, tipping her head to Raylan.

“Tarron is expecting you but Sabine is running late. If you could follow me?” Nikki turned on her heel and led them into the club.

Rachel shook her head at Raylan. “I feel like not having a terrifying nickname should give me an inferiority complex,” she said.

Raylan dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me Rach, if the monsters knew any better, they’d realize you’re just as terrifying.” When she looked up at him over her shoulder, he squeezed her tense muscle softly before letting his hand fall away. “Maybe more,” he added under his breath.

Rachel smiled.

Nikki led them back to Tarron’s office to leave them with the city master who was sitting behind a boat of a desk.

He waved them into chairs and eyed Sheeba suspiciously. “Who do we have here, Nikki?”

“You’ll remember Deputies Givens and Brooks from this spring. I think the Executioner was the one who gave Sabine the idea to open the new club.”

“Ah, yes,” Tarron narrowed his pretty blue eyes at Raylan. He still wore his hair slicked back like Bela Lugosi making it look darker than his blond eyebrows. Tarron still wasn’t buttoned up to the neck like the famous Hollywood vampire. His white shirt hung open half way down his chest. As he swiveled to and fro in his executive chair, Raylan was half-sure he caught a glimpse of a dusky-pink nipple. Tarron’d eaten well that night; giving him and his mate time for dinner before they arrived had been a good plan.  

“An inspired idea you had Marshal,” he said, his eyes lingering on Raylan too long, making him want to guard his reaction. Soon enough though, Tarron turned his eyes to Sheeba and sniffed, as if the Trollhound smelled bad. Raylan knew she didn’t. There was no way Tim would tolerate that—even before he’d turned. Tarron then moved on to Tim and his face cleared. “But this is a face I don’t know, do I?” He turned to Nikki with the question in his eyes.

“Perhaps not. This is Deputy Tim Gutterson,” she explained.

Tarron ran his forefinger across his lower lip. “Gutterson. Gutterson. Now, why is that familiar, Nikki?”

“Some prefer to call him Death.”

Tarron’s face lit up. “Oh yes! Wait. Both of you are in Kentucky?” His eyes tracked between Tim and Raylan.

“We are,” Tim confirmed.

Tarron’s expression became more perplexed as he focused more closely on Tim, but he didn’t ask. “Sabine is finishing up some details over at Cabaret, then we can head over to begin the inspection.”

“Actually, we’re not here to inspect your club,” Rachel said.

Tarron spread his hands wide. “But I don’t understand…”  His fingers weren’t as delectable as Tim’s but they’d long reminded Raylan of his partner’s. The vampire wielded them in the same way. Raylan shifted in his seat and crossed his leg, propping his boot on his knee. He could see where his partner had scribbled his name across the sole in Sharpie. Tim’s eyes slid over to meet his and Raylan felt something settle in him that if he had to name, he’d call relief. It bothered him to find himself loving Tim and then still finding other men and women attractive—especially men like Tarron who he shouldn’t want at all. But one look from Tim put that attraction into its place—inconsequential.

“We’re here about another matter,” Rachel said.

“But—”

The door swung open and Sabine swished into the room cutting Tarron off.

Raylan had no idea what the hell kind of getup the vampire was wearing but it looked complicated and maybe a little bit lethal. He thought parts of it on their own were supposed to be sexy. He recognized something that might be considered lingerie here and there, with a girly silky skirt in black and red open in the front to show off stockings and thigh-high boots. Her breasts looked like they were pushed up into her neck. He’d always thought she’d been too scrawny to have that kind of rack. But the whole thing was tied together with lace so stiff he was sure that if he touched it, he’d get a hand caught—or cut. And was that a bullwhip at her waist? What did a vampire possibly need with a whip?

Sabine propped her hip on Tarron’s desk. “We’re ready for inspection. Did you show them the paperwork for Cabaret, love?”

“What’s Cabaret?” Raylan asked.

Sabine smiled at him, flashing her fangs.

“A vampire burlesque revue, with a little twist of BDSM,” she said. Her voice sounded melodic and Raylan felt his necromancy rise and tingle at the hint of vampire power she was pushing. Sexual flavor, maybe. Her power had no effect on him, but still, the taste of it turned his stomach a little.

Her eyes lit on Tim, then Raylan, and then she winked over at Rachel, grinning and showing her fangs again.

“Sabine. If you’re using vampire powers…” Raylan warned.

Tarron interrupted, his voice breaking through with his tone serious. “There won’t be an inspection.”

“Oh poo.”

Poo? Tim’s eyes found Raylan’s again and Raylan refrained from rolling his eyes back at him.

She pushed herself off the desk and walked a circle around Tim’s chair, stopping at Sheeba and backing away and circling back around him the other way. “Why, you’re new.” She flirted with Tim.

“I’m not new.”

She leaned close to breathe him in. Raylan thought she was going to lose her breasts out the top of the black contraption she had on. “And a wolf!”

Sheeba growled and Tim reached down and dug his fingers into her scruff. “Down, Sheeba.”

Sabine returned to the desk to lean against it and turned to Raylan, then Rachel. “Well now, hasn’t the Marshals Service gotten even more forward-thinking on us?”

“Even more?” Rachel asked.

“Well, Deputy Givens has always been a little bit bent for my Tarron here, hasn’t he?” she said, winking at Raylan. “First y’all support gays, now lycanthropes. Who’s next?”

Raylan drew in a long breath.

“Ohhh, that makes you mad.”

“Sabine—” Raylan started.

“No, not you, dear,” she said, dismissing him. “Him.” She pointed a shiny lacquered nail in Tim’s direction. “Interesting.” She looked at Tim, then Raylan. “He’s jealous.” She tsked. “’Fraid you've got some ’splainin’ to do later Marshal Givens,” Sabine said to Raylan. “So sorry.”

Raylan didn’t think she looked a bit sorry.

“This is Deputy Tim Gutterson, my dear,” Tarron said, unamused.

“Gutterson…” She tapped that same long black fingernail against the cherry wood of Tarron’s desk. “Why do I know that name?”

“Well, you remember Deputy Givens, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, she purred. The Exxxecutioner…”  She drew out the x in a long insouciant hiss. “I remember you, my dear, you who just zinged with the power of death.”

“Well, his partner here goes by a similar name.”

She snapped her fingers. “Oh, Death! My, my, my. Aren’t you two just the scariest.” She said it like they really, really weren’t. “And you boys are working out of my territory, now, aren’t you?”

“You still hold that territory then?” Tim asked.

Her brow furrowed, her tone serious. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I do.”

Tim shrugged. “It’s not the usual arrangement for a city master. To hold a territory and not live there.”

She crossed her booted heels in front of her and leaned her weight back on the desk, her hands grasping the edge. The effect made her chest seem even more pronounced, which amused Raylan. He knew that would have little effect on his partner. “Doesn’t seem like a whole lot in Kentucky is all that usual these days, does it?”

“You and Tarron are blood-oathed to Theo Tonin out of Detroit?” Tim asked.

Sabine stood up and crossed her arms. “We are.”

“Well, that’s actually something we came to speak to you about,” Rachel said. “We are looking for a vampire who was representing Tonin earlier this year, Quarles. He was supposed to show up at a parley down in Harlan and never did.”

Sabine cocked her head and turned, propping a hip on the desk. She looked back to Tarron and then to Rachel again. “We spoke with you about that this spring and nothing’s changed. The last we heard, he was working in and around Kentucky. Sometime last year. Since then, I hear he and Theo have parted ways.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”

Raylan was surprised to hear Rachel tip her hand that openly.

Sabine raised her eyebrows. “Are you callin’ me a liar, Deputy Brooks?”

“Now Sabine, no one’s saying that,” Raylan interjected. His impression was that since she seemed to think she could read his libido, she thought he was harmless. “The thing is… you and Tarron work for Tonin. This Quarles works for him too. Or did, as you say. They parted ways, right?” Raylan spread his hands and shrugged, sending her a conciliatory smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him in reply.

“Now let’s say Theo’s more forgiving than most city masters. Seems like you might hear where he’s been working lately if anything’s changed.”

“Nothing has,” Sabine insisted. “And we haven’t.”

“All right. All right,” Raylan said, holding up his hands. “Well, we’re pursuing another matter. Got a few deaths—lycanthropes and humans—and we’re looking for a vampire. Word on the street is that this vampire has connections with Tonin’s house, too.”

Sabine didn’t say anything, but Raylan watched her practiced inhale and exhale. She was good; vampires didn’t need to breathe. They just tended to in order to fit in. The younger dead did it from a lifetime of habit and the older dead like Sabine from decades of passing for human before the preternatural community went public. She and Tarron both felt to Raylan like they were a good hundred and fifty years dead. If he had to put money on it, Raylan’d say Sabine was about twenty years older than Tarron.

And yet when the younger vampire joined her in front of the desk, she deferred to him.

“Ask your question,” Tarron said, nodding to her. She dipped her head to him in acquiescence.

Rachel pulled out her tablet and handed it over with the photos displayed. “We discovered snuff videos with this vampire in them. We believe he is killing primarily male lycanthropes, but we have one recorded human death.”

Sabine swiped through the still images and blanched. Raylan thought she lost her rosy pallor from her evening meal.

“We have a witness who believes that this vampire works for Tonin,” Raylan said. “Do you know him?”

Sabine laughed bitterly. “Oh yes.”

Raylan looked over at Tim, then Rachel. “Well, who is he?”

“You really don’t know?” She was incredulous. Tarron’s demeanor had grown into a stony shadow of his mate.

Tim sighed. “Sabine? The name. You don’t know me. So, you don’t know how serious I am when I spell out for you that we didn’t drag our asses all the way over here to look at your tits—” then Tim pointed to Tarron. “Or his ass. We came for a name. If you don’t know it or won’t tell us, someone in your organization does know and will tell. We can go on out there into the district and hang out every night with our gory pictures asking every John, Jane, and Joe, every working stiff and every lycan in this here Stew who this vamp is until someone coughs up a name.”

She choked on the word “but” trying to interrupt him.

“In…” he said over her words repeating himself to shut her down. “In the meantime, how many customers are going to decide that maybe they don’t think a little bump and grind is worth being questioned every night by a deputy US Marshal? Raylan, take a bet we can clear this district in a night,” Tim said.

Raylan squinted out of one eye as if seriously considering it, then winced. “Dunno Tim. I think if we gave it a full week we could shut the district down for good.”

Sabine sighed.

“I—” Tim started.

“Wait,” Rachel said.

“What?”

“Let her talk,” Rachel added.

“You’ve not been to our new club. The Cabaret.”

Raylan shook his head.

“ You’d like it,” Sabine said, and nodded at Tim.

“Me? Why?”

She smiled at him and shrugged. “Come on then. I’ve got someone you need to meet. Get your inspection forms… Tarron, pull the permits. We’re not doing this again. And if Tonin asks why you were here, y’all inspecting us gives me an out.” She sighed and ran her eyes over them. “I’m going to need it.”

They ran through the paperwork in the office of Cabaret. They’d traipsed through the club that Raylan thought matched Sabine’s outfit.

The main part of the club was dark and throbbed with sound and energy, glowing green with fluorescent lights in some areas and red in others. Vampires danced on a stage and in cages. There was an elaborate sex scene playing out on a second stage with a naked vampire restrained face-down across the top of a coffin while another had her way with a crop and his backside.

“What is hell is this place?” Raylan had asked.

“It’s a Goth Burlesque BDSM club.”

“I said ‘open a bawdy house’ and you got this from that ?” Raylan looked around.

“We’ve got private rooms upstairs and a huge web presence. That’s an entire second stream of revenue,” she said.

Raylan was appalled. “What makes her think you’d like this ?” He said to Tim, bending his head down to speak quietly in his ear. He knew Sabine could probably still hear him but with the ambient noise, he hoped against it.

Tim turned his head toward Raylan while he was still bent close enough to hear Tim’s reply. “What? You think I don’t have layers?” He said, smirking. “Just because you’re a vanilla ice cream kind of guy…”

Sabine smiled back at them and eyed Tim, then Raylan watched her hand land on the whip clipped to her waist. “I bet Marshal Gutterson knew exactly what I meant.”

“I did actually,” Tim whispered to Raylan and he stopped in his tracks letting Tim stride ahead of him.

“The day you bring a bullwhip home for sex is the day you call someplace else home,” Raylan said more loudly.

Tim stopped and twisted his head around to look at him. “It’s not about the whip.”

“Pretty much my point there,” Raylan said.

Tim narrowed his eyes at him. “She’s just talking about dominance. Not the…” he waved his hand around at the entire club… “toys.”

“Toys?” Raylan looked around and didn’t see anything that qualified as a game to him.  

Rachel put a hand on Raylan’s shoulder. “Guys, is this the place for this?”

Tim just lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“She’s not wrong,” Rachel said, lifting her eyebrows at Tim pointedly, then turning to Raylan. “I think becoming wolf has made Tim even bossier. But maybe this isn’t the place to hash that out?”

Rachel was right. About Sabine and Tim. He was bossy. Raylan had begun to notice that since he’d become a werewolf and they’d resumed their sex life. Tim sure liked to top lately...

“Sabine,” Rachel said, cutting off Raylan’s train of thought. “We’ve done your inspection. Now we need to know the name of the vampire.”

She sighed. “All right. I think he should be finished with his aftercare now.” She left the room.

“His what?” Raylan asked.

Rachel shrugged.

Tim waved his hand. “After… when they do scenes, it’s the part where the submissive comes down from… like a high. The dominant takes care of them. Applies lotion, ice, whatever.”

Raylan narrowed his eyes at Tim. “How do you know this?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I know how to google, Raylan.”

“I do too,” Raylan mumbled.

“Barely,” Tim interrupted.

“But I never had call to google that.”

Tim just stared at him blankly raising Raylan’s ire.

“Are you into this?” Raylan hissed, his eyes circling around the bare walls of Sabine’s office.

Tim grinned flashing his crooked front tooth at Raylan, like it was a fang.

“Hush, you two,” Rachel said just as the door opened.

Sabine came in with the vampire Raylan had seen on stage earlier, tied to a coffin. He was dressed now and clearly freshly fed from the pink tone of his skin. He had on a loose silky black shirt and ridiculously tight pants.

“This is Phillip,” Sabine introduced him. “Phillip, these are deputy US marshals from Lexington. Deputy Brooks, Gutterson, and Givens.” She waved at each of them.

Phillip took a seat. His eyes landed on Sheeba sitting next to Tim and widened. “What is that?”

“K-9,” Tim said.

“Yeah but…” Phillip countered.

“Trollhound,” Tim explained. “She’s harmless as long as you are.”

Phillip nodded like that made sense to him.

“Deputy Brooks has some questions,” Sabine said.

Rachel pulled out her tablet and handed it over to Phillip.

He took the device and began swiping through the images.

“We’re looking for a vampire who we believe killed a couple young men,” Rachel said. “We believe he had sex with them either for pay or for some other reason… filming it with or without their knowledge and then killing them.”

Phillip gasped. “Sabine?” The word caught in his throat and Raylan thought he sounded wounded.

Sabine took the computer away from him.

“It’s him. The one who took me.” Phillip’s eyes swam with red tears—the blood from whomever he drank after his scene spilled over and down his cheeks.

“Who?” Raylan asked, incredulous.

Phillip turned to him, confused. “Quarles.”

Phillip told them about the night Quarles had talked him into leaving the Louisville district with him. Rachel took notes. At the end of their conversation, Sabine pulled Phillip aside and sent him out of the room. “Go to your room and pack a bag.”

“You’re sending me away?”

Raylan thought he sounded heartbroken.

“Not for forever,” Sabine replied. The words tasted true enough to Raylan but something in the way his neck itched told him they weren’t. Raylan thought to he’d try to remember to ask Rachel later if Sabine was lying.

“But you are.” Phillip was apparently no fool, either.

“You need to go with the marshals tonight. Do what they say. You’ll be back to me soon enough.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

When Phillip had left the room and a moment had passed, Sabine spoke. “You’ll find him somewhere safe. Isn’t that what you do?”

“WITSEC?” Tim asked, his tone incredulous.

“You’re after an execution order on Quarles, aren’t you?” Sabine asked.

“Yes,” Raylan said. “How did you know?”

She waved at the tablet by Rachel as if that was self-evident. “Tonin is not going to be happy if you execute his man. It’s not just Quarles you’ll need to shelter Phillip from if he testifies for you to get your kill slip.”

“Quarles is still Tonin’s man, then,” Tim concluded.

Sabine licked her lips and paced the office in her tall boots, seeming to choose her words carefully. “He was. He could be. Theo won’t be happy,” Sabine said, “Either way—Quarles is, or was, Tonin’s. An execution for something this heinous will stain him, too.”

“Aside from these snuff vids, Quarles took a hit out on Raylan,” Tim said. “He took a hit out on Boyd Crowder, too. We find out either hit was on Tonin’s order, we can put Tonin down too.”

She paused, as if shocked, then laughed. “Boyd Crowder, that infant. What a shit show, that one. A vampire saving souls.” She rolled her eyes.

Rachel raised her eyebrows. “How so?”

“Well, you know word out is he betrayed Tonin the moment he got turned. Quarles was supposed to put that whole”—she waved her hand again—“Crowder house in order. In vampire terms, he’s just a baby. So young to have so much power. It was just a matter of time before some Big and Bad came and took it from him.”

“Sabine, are you telling us Quarles is down in Harlan?” Raylan asked.

“I thought you didn’t know where he was,” Tim said.

“I don’t,” she said. “Just rumors.” She rubbed the pad of her forefinger and thumb together. “Ain’t there just a tiny kernel of truth in most rumors though? Besides blood and power, there’s little else vampires love more than a good dose of gossip with a side of rumor. Probably more than old church ladies.” She tilted her head to the side for a moment. “Huh. Maybe that makes Crowder less of a shit show than I thought.”    

Chapter Text

Tim pulled up to the back of the courthouse about two in the morning. Rachel had tagged Art on the way back and he said he’d take care of calling Vasquez into the office.

Both the chief and the AUSA were waiting on them in the conference room.

“I’m not waking up a federal judge unless this is the real thing,” Vasquez said, sounding dubious.

“Oh, it’s real,” Rachel said. “He independently identified the vampire we’ve been looking for from the videos as Quarles—Tonin’s man who ordered the hit on Raylan and Boyd Crowder earlier this year.”

“He’ll testify?” Vasquez asked.

“His city master sent him back with us. Asked us to put him in WITSEC. Protect him from Tonin if he testifies against Quarles.”

Vasquez sighed. “Tonin disavowed Quarles. We can’t connect him to Tonin.”

“Yet,” Rachel said.

“If we don’t execute Quarles, he could roll on Tonin,” Vasquez said, considering.

“No way,” Raylan said. “Don’t even think about making a deal with him.”

“This guy’s a nutjob,” Tim said, agreeing. “He’s not going to stop killing until someone stops him.”

Art shook his head. “Gotta say, I’m throwing in with the cowboys on this one. You can’t try and deal this one out for a bigger fish.”

“All right. So we wake up a judge and have your witness testify, get your warrant and you two can head off after your nutjob.” Vasquez paused, then leaned back in his chair. “Nice job. Wasn’t sure we were ever going to nail this one down.”

Vasquez made his call and Rachel walked Phillip out to the office to start on paperwork.

“Art, can you hang on a sec?” Tim asked. “I need to run through something with Vasquez.”

“What’s that?” Art asked.

“Nahtoo and the harpies.”

Raylan floated in the doorway at first, then moved back into the room, taking a chair on the far side of the table.

Art rubbed his face. “Does this have to be tonight?”

“I think so. This is Vasquez in a good mood.”

Art shot Tim a dark look and Vasquez narrowed his eyes at Tim.

“You brought a protected witness back to Kentucky? What the hell were you thinking?”

Raylan shrugged. “That she’d be a good babysitter.”

Vasquez’s mouth dropped open.

Art winced.

The attorney turned to stare at the chief pointedly. “He brought back a protected witness to be his babysitter ?”

Tim shrugged, enjoying how much Raylan had pissed off Vasquez with the joke—well the half-joke. They had brought her out of WITSEC to babysit. “To be fair, I think most of the remaining vampires we were protecting her from were wiped out in January.”

“No. You— you don’t decide that.” Vasquez jabbed his finger at Tim as he made his point.

“She wants her life back,” Tim argued.

“Then give it to her,” Vasquez replied, indignant. “You’re the one who pulled the strings to set up the identity she has now.”

“Don’t know where you got that idea,” Tim said. “Never said I did that.”

“You didn’t have to. Is she even safe in Kentucky?” Vasquez demanded.

“She’d better be since she’s staying in Kentucky for the time being. I don’t think either one of us has much choice in the matter,” he said.

Vasquez shook his head. “I thought you hid her away out west somewhere.”

“I did, too,” Tim said, resigned. “But doesn’t look much like she wants to stay hidden.”

“And if she doesn’t need to… why should she?” Art pointed out. “Vasquez, are we going to need her or the harpies to testify against anyone Raylan and Tim haven’t already killed?”

“Well…” Vasquez seemed to be counting off dead vampires in his head.

“Bucks held her. He’s dead,” Raylan said.

“Bo Crowder tried to hold them. He’s dead,” Tim added.

“Gio?” Raylan threw the name out. “Also dead.”

“Tonin?” Vasquez suggested.

“If she was headed that way, she never made it,” Tim said. “Which makes him a lucky vampire.”

“Fact is, we don’t know where she was headed,” Raylan added.

“She reads minds, right?” Vasquez said. “Maybe she ran into others along the way in the network who’ve now stepped up since you cleaned house. Think she could pinpoint them?”  

“Who?” Tim demanded. “If there was someone we could put a name and face to, don’t you think Raylan and I would have already hunted down and put an end to them? Not to mention her what her fiance would do?”

“She’s got a fiance now?” Vasquez asked.

“David,” Art said directly and more quietly to Vasquez, as if Tim wouldn’t hear him from the next room much less across the table. “The woman just wants to get on with her life. From what I can tell, she’s had a shitty one up to this point.”

“Fine.” The attorney stood up. “Are you going to be back here in three months wanting this vampire we’re stashing away tonight pulled out of WITSEC too?”

Raylan looked over at Tim, then back to Vasquez. “Depends on how long Tonin’s around, don’t it?”

“Great,” Vasquez mumbled. “The dragon and the birds first. We need to bring her and the others in and clear them.”

“As soon as Raylan and I get back from Harlan,” Tim replied.

Vasquez woke Judge Mike Reardon since he was the judge who’d ordered the execution on Quarles’ accomplice, Delroy Baker. He’d be the judge most familiar with the case and therefore least likely to hold the early hour against them—knowing how long they’d been looking for a solid lead on this particular warrant.

Phillip testified that Quarles kidnapped him and nearly killed him during a prolonged BDSM scene. He said the only reason Quarles didn’t terminate him was that his master pulled some strings with Tonin and got him back from Quarles. He then identified him as the vampire in the videos Rachel and Chris had run down.  

Satisfied by the witness testimony that he was no longer issuing a double-blind warrant, Reardon finally signed off on Quarles’ death.

“Who am I assigning this to?” Reardon narrowed his eyes at Raylan and then Tim and let them fall back on Vasquez.

“I’ll take it,” Raylan said.

Art coughed, then cleared his throat. “I think Deputy Gutterson’s gonna take this one.”

Reardon paused with an impatient tilt of his head at the AUSA. Vasquez waved at him to hold a moment, then he looked at the chief and nodded reluctantly as if he agreed with him.

“Yes, Deputy Gutterson,” Vasquez confirmed for the judge.

“Death it is then,” Reardon said, then slammed down his gavel unnecessarily. “Good hunting, soldier.”

Tim took his time signing off on the paperwork. He didn’t need to be in the hallway to hear Raylan and Art bickering over the warrant.

“Art—I’m the expert when it comes to vampires,” Raylan argued.

“Now Raylan,” Art tried to reason with him.

Tim understood Raylan’s perspective. Even before Tim was wolf, he came from a long line of bounty hunters. Lycanthropes were Tim’s area of expertise; vampires were Raylan’s. Tim nodded curtly to the clerk and folded away the paperwork. He headed toward the doors, still listening.

“Jesus Art, this asshole can call wolves. Tim is a wolf if you haven’t noticed,” Raylan hissed, but Tim could hear him more clearly than he needed to. He felt a spike of betrayal that Raylan had given that information up to Art.

“I know what Tim is, Raylan,” Art said. “That’s exactly why he’s got the warrant. Tim needs this execution. Shit, the whole Lexington office needs it. We pulled in more than a few favors to keep him on the payroll. Having him bring off a high profile execution will only help him keep his position. I’d think you’d be up for that.”

Tim reached for the door handle.  

“Jesus Art. You think I don’t what.. support him? He’s my mate.”

“Then what is it? You worried about this Quarles’ calling him. You don’t trust him?”

“’Course I do… I’m just…”

“You’re just an idiot who’s used to swaggering in on your own to stake all the bad vampires?”

“I never use a stake—”

Tim decided that was his cue. “And then relying on me to show up to drag his ass out of the flames.”

“Once,” Raylan grumbled. “That only happened once with the fire.”

“I resisted Boyd,” Tim said.

Raylan’s eyes were sharp and drawn quickly to his and crinkled at the edges in worry. Probably guilt. He definitely smelled some guilt and a little remorse. “Heard that, did you?”

“Art’s right. You’re a fucking cowboy.”

Raylan frowned at him but his scent lightened up to something closer to amusement. They began to move toward the elevator.

“How about we go home and get a few hours of sleep. If we haul ass down to Harlan now, we’ll get there maybe by dawn. Might as well get some sleep and start off tomorrow.”

“It’s your hunt,” Art said.

When they stepped into the elevator to head down to the Marshals’ office, Tim dove in. “Then I’m going to request Bernardo Spotted-Horse for backup.”

“Tim,” Art growled in warning.

“Art,” Raylan started. “It’s Tim’s call.”

“You trying to tell me you want some guy from out West backing you and you’re gonna leave this one—” Art thumbed Raylan “at home?”

“You aren’t thinking that, are you?” Raylan said, turning to him.

Tim rolled his eyes.

“Quarles hired Pilar to hit Raylan and Boyd six months ago. Now we’re hearing noises he’s snooping around Harlan, Boyd’s basically lied about having him around when we’ve asked… do we know he’s not going to go after Raylan again?” Tim asked. “I don’t think it would be a bad idea to have another pair of boots on the ground with experience hunting vampires.”

“Fine,” Art grumbled. “Call in your cowboy.”

Tim raised an eyebrow and let it fall, doubting that Bernardo, as a Native American, would appreciate that analogy.

Sheeba had padded off upstairs when they got home with Raylan on her heels to check on Willa. The Trollhound had eaten in the office so Tim figured she was either checking on all her people or planning to cavort with or square off against Ollie. He wasn’t sure yet when it came to Ollie.

And she wasn’t the only one he was unsure of when his partner slipped back into their bedroom with a shot of whiskey hot on his breath.

Raylan pushed him against their shut bedroom door. The lights were still off but Tim could see well in the dark now—better than he’d ever been able to before. This close he could smell that beneath the booze Raylan was sober—but he was angry and aroused. Tim just wasn’t sure which emotion was ruling him.

“’The hell was that about tonight?” Raylan muttered. He ran his hands up Tim’s body, grabbing his wrists and holding them above his head against the door.

“Which part?” Tim asked, tipping his head to the side.

Raylan took him up on the invitation and his mouth trailed to Tim’s neck and up to his ear. His body pressed into Tim’s, slotting their legs together. Tim could feel the length of Raylan’s filling cock against his leg. His lover wasn’t quite there yet, but then neither was he. Tim rubbed his own half-hard cock against Raylan’s thigh.

“All of it. The whip bullshit. Dominance… what’s up with that?” Raylan whispered in Tim’s ear and tugged on his earlobe with his teeth. He squeezed Tim’s wrists and dipped his knees to better line up their hips, then ground his cock damned near on top of Tim’s. “That stuff turn you on?”

Tim’s breath caught. “What? You don’t want to talk about you outing me to the chief. ’Bout Boyd calling my wolf?”

“Not right now, no.” Raylan stilled against him. “’Sides you did that, not me.”

Tim laughed bitterly and took advantage of the moment to push Raylan, twist him and flip their positions so that Tim had Raylan pinned facing the adjacent wall, his head to the side, looking at Tim over his shoulder.

“We can talk about dominance,” Tim said, holding one of Raylan’s hands against the wall and the other behind him. He was up on his toes so he would speak softly into Raylan’s exposed ear.

Tim breathed Raylan in, just to check the barometer of his partner’s arousal level. He never would have dreamed of doing this last fall. Raylan smelled turned-on but Tim also picked up a bitter note of uncertainty.

He stepped back, freeing Raylan. Maybe parsing out what the hell dominance meant or didn’t mean to them didn’t need to happen when Tim had Raylan pinned to their bedroom wall. He removed his weapon, stowing it by the bed and flipping on a lamp. “C’mon, let’s get ready for bed. Talk about it before we go to sleep.”

Tim sat on the bed and bent down to untie his boots. He saw Raylan roll his shoulder and Tim felt a stab of guilt, concerned that maybe he’d tugged his arm too hard. While Raylan was harder to harm than most humans, due to Boyd’s vampire marks and whatever his necromancy did for him, Tim was much stronger than he used to be.

“You okay? I didn’t hurt your—”

“S’fine Tim,” Raylan murmured, moving to his side of the bed to remove his weapon, turn on the lights. Much the same as Tim. “Just stretching.”

Tim heard the thunk of his partner’s boots and smelled his annoyance filling the room.

“Why are you mad at me now?” Tim asked, standing to shuck his black BDUs and toss them on top of the dresser. Standing there with his cock still thick in his briefs, he peeled off his T-shirt and tossed it on top of the pants.

“I ain’t mad,” Raylan said, bare-chested, having lost his button-down and tie. “You’re just…”

Raylan shook his head and dropped his own dress pants. He hung them in the closet, then passed him to get back to his side of the bed. Tim was gratified to see that his boxers were still tented.

“Just what?” Tim pressed.

Raylan got into his side of the bed and clicked off the light. “A tease sometimes. Just make up your mind.”

Tim turned off his own lamp but could still see easily in the darkness. He slipped into bed behind Raylan. He pressed himself to Raylan’s back under the sheet.

“So, my being a tease… is that why you’re attracted to assholes like Tarron.”

Raylan sighed and rolled into Tim pushing him further back onto his side of the bed. “That was when you were out on leave and we weren’t sleeping together.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“C’mon Tim,” Raylan groaned.

“Did you?”

“You know I didn’t.”

“Yeah, I know. But why that asshole?” Tim asked.

Raylan ran a hand over his face. “Close as I can tell? He reminded me of you.”

“What the fuck?”

Raylan wiggled his fingers in front of him. “The eyes. His ass. He uses his hands the same way you do.”

Tim tried to bite back the urge to laugh. “Oh, I don’t think so,” Tim said, his voice low.

“Huh?”

“I guarantee he does not use his hands the same way I do,” Tim said.

“Do you now?” Raylan whispered.

“Oh yeah,” Tim whispered the words to his lips. He kissed Raylan, tilting their mouths to accommodate enough space for him to roll his tongue around Raylan’s. Tim stretched across Raylan to pull the drawer on the bedside table open and retrieve the lube.

He kissed Raylan once more and slid down his body, trailing with his mouth. He paused at his nipples to suck at them and work their edges with his teeth until Raylan’s spine bowed a bit, then he moved on down his body.  

Tim tugged Raylan’s plaid boxers down his hips with his one free hand, freeing his ruddy cock, but binding up his thighs. Raylan shoved at them with one hand, then kicked loose his ridiculously long legs. Tim heard them land softly on the carpet. There was no question about Raylan’s level of arousal now as precum glistened from his slit. Tim hadn’t touched him yet, but, God, he wanted him. He took a long breath in through his nose, sucking in the scent layers of Raylan laid out before him.

He decided he’d start with his tongue and lapped, sliding his tongue along the opening to suck at the precum pooled there. He could smell it easily on Raylan’s warm skin, in his pubic hair. Sniffing it out, he lapped it up there, too. Since he’d turned, everything about Raylan smelled so much better to him—his sweat, his blood, even his cum. Especially his cum.

Tim wrapped his hand around Raylan cock and pumped it a couple times.

“Hand me my pillow,” Tim said.

Raylan’s head lifted off his own. “What’re thinking’?”

“Don’t you be worryin’ ’bout that and hand me my damned pillow, Ray,” Tim said.

“Fine,” Raylan mumbled and tossed it at Tim’s face.

“Hmmph,” Tim said, half-catching it but mostly just keeping it from falling off the bed with his head. He laid the lube aside and patted Raylan’s hip. “Lift up for me,” Tim said.

He stuffed and shoved the pillow under Raylan’s hips until he was happy with the angle. “You comfortable?”

Raylan was splayed before him. “In what manner?” Raylan asked, lifting his head and propping himself up on his elbows.

“Physically,” Tim said. “You just lay on back now. Now which do you wanna talk about first? My fingers or dominance? Or do you just want me to move straight onto the main event?”

“The main event?” Raylan echoed.

“That a question or your answer?”

“Not sure.”

Tim rubbed Raylan’s stomach. “Spread your legs for me… just let them fall to the sides.”

Tim let his hand trail down to Raylan’s balls and then lifted them to find his ass. He patted the opening. “You and me,” Tim said, “we’re not about dominance and submission.”

“Then why are you such a bossy son of a bitch?” Raylan huffed out.

Tim tried not to laugh. “Am I? Really Ray. We’re more partners—equals—than anything else.”

“Beg to differ, Tim,” Raylan said, waving his hand up and down his body.

“Don’t hear you complaining,” Tim said softly, his fingers rubbing at Raylan’s opening.

“’S’not like it feels bad,” Raylan said, arching his back.

Tim could feel Raylan relaxing against him and he didn’t want that tonight. Not yet.

“You know how to do this, don’t you? You know exactly what to do with my fingers.”

“Huh?”

“Squeeze down,” Tim ordered.

“Hmmm,” Raylan moaned and did what Tim said. Raylan knew this game. Tim had been training him since they’d first started sleeping together to take his body in willingly, wantonly. Raylan bore down and then a few seconds later physics did the rest, untying Raylan and sucking just the tip Tim’s finger into him. Cautious since he’d not broken out the lube yet, Tim just let it rest there.

“Tarron’s fingers’ll never do this.”

“Oh no. No, they won’t,” Raylan moaned. Tim could feel him trying to work himself down on his fingers and he gently pulled his hand away from him. “Tim—”

“Shhh,” Tim said, sliding down to lay between Raylan’s legs. He lapped at his cock, then his balls, taking them and rolling them in his mouth. Tim sniffed at the scent of sweat and man on Raylan and ran his tongue from his perineum to his cock and up to the tip. He’d stop periodically and collect the precum dripping from his slit with his tongue.

Tim worked his way south, letting Raylan wiggle and moan. He’d taken to digging his heels in Tim’s shoulder blades and if Tim could carry a bruise for any length of time, he would have been bearing marks the next day from Raylan digging into him.

He rubbed his tongue into Raylan’s taint, pushing in hard in hopes of knocking into his prostate from the outside. He wasn’t sure he hit it but he got a few prolonged cries from Raylan that were satisfying enough for him to move on.

His tongue was just circling Raylan’s ass when he stopped him. “Tim… wait,” Raylan said, his voice thin.

Tim had Raylan’s ass in his hands now, his thumbs spreading his cheeks open.

“You okay?”

“We just never did nothin’ like this…”

“I know,” Tim said. “But I want to taste you. Bad.” Tim knew Raylan could hear he wasn’t lying.

“You sure about that?” Raylan asked. Tim didn’t think Raylan disbelieved him. He thought he was afraid to hope Tim was telling him the truth about what he wanted. Maybe he still thought this was some game—a holdover from their trip to Louisville and Sabine’s assertions about his tastes.

“Yeah. All that dominance shit aside. I want you to do that thing where you open up and suck me in.”

“Christ, you’re dirty.”

Tim worried he’d gone too far.

“Too much? We don’t have to.”

“Do it already, Gutterson.” Raylan’s fingers dug into Tim’s hair and pushed his head down further between his legs.

Tim delicately circled Raylan’s ass again with his tongue. “Squeeze real hard for me,” Tim said.

Tim pressed his tongue against Raylan as he squeezed down and locked him out and then thirty seconds later, Raylan opened and swallowed him. Tim stabbed at Raylan with his tongue, fucking him maybe not as deeply as normally did but the intimacy of the act tied Tim’s abs into hard knots. His wolf wanted to rise up and howl at the primal way that Raylan tasted—just a bit coppery, not unlike blood.

Tim wrapped an arm around one of Raylan’s legs and torso to take his cock into his hand. He stroked him while he worked him with his tongue until he felt him spasm around him, his heels digging into his shoulders, his ass tight on his tongue, his cock jerking and spurting in his hand.

Tim knelt between Raylan’s legs and ran his finger through the hot cum on his stomach. His wolf wanted it. Always. Raylan’s gaze was lazy, his eyes half-mast.

“What did that have to do with dominance and that bullshit in Louisville?”

“Not a damned thing. Told you. That’s not us,” Tim whispered, his voice hoarse. “But I’m gonna lick you clean, then I’m gonna roll you over and fuck you into this mattress.”

“Damn.”

Tim left Raylan sleeping on his side of the bed. They’d managed to create a wet spot on both Raylan’s side of the mattress and Tim’s pillow so they’d ended up entwined together sharing Raylan’s pillow and Tim’s half of the bed.  

He’d slept late for him. It was almost nine.

After a shower, he headed up the steps for coffee and to check on Willa and Sheeba, then with Nahtoo and Peter. He and Raylan would need to head into the office after noon, then down to Harlan.

First, he needed to find his Trollhound and let Nahtoo know there was a light at the end of her tunnel of seclusion.

He climbed the steps two at a time and found Nahtoo with a cloth diaper on her shoulder and Willa with sleepy eyes. The weredragon put a finger to her lips, then slipped from the room. Tim shrugged and got his coffee started. Sheeba raised her head to check on him from where she was curled up on the floor by the couch, then he heard her soft snores as she fell back asleep. She’d been up all night, too.

Tim was leaning against the counter when Nahtoo returned carrying a laundry basket full of tiny clothes. Tim would never understand how a mini human could generate so much laundry. It wasn’t this bad when he and Raylan were still living in the “night of the living dead” motel running out of laundry at an alarming rate. Tim didn’t think he could wrap his head around how one tiny baby generated as much laundry as two grown men and a minced-up zombie or three.

“Willa down?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” Nahtoo said, sitting down at the table with the basket of laundry. “You and your mate were late.”

“Yeah, sorry about that—”

“And loud.”

“Heard that, did you?” Tim licked his lips and took one of the other chairs at the table. He set his coffee down and pulled out a white cotton diaper they used when burping Willa. They’d tried the cloth diapers for all of one day but the smell nearly drove both Sheeba and Tim from the house. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the disposable ones were created by preternaturals.

Nahtoo’s silence spoke volumes and Tim thought that he and Raylan were never going to have sex again as long as they lived with or around lycanthropes.

“How was yesterday with Willa?”

“Fine. She’s a good girl,” Nahtoo said. Tim wondered if the unsaid was, unlike her fathers.

Tim just smiled.

“So, I talked to Vasquez about your case…”

“Did you?” she asked, laying out tiny socks in a row on the table that someone would eventually have to pair up. Tim saw his future in socks mismatched on that table and mentally decreed that Willa would only wear white socks from now through… at least college. He’d buy stock in them if he had to, staring at the tiny pastel bits of madness on their table.

“What is the result?” she asked, drawing his attention back to the present.

“Raylan and I have to go to Harlan today. When we get back, we’re going to bring the harpies up and the AUSA is going to clear your status.”

“I’ll be able to marry Peter?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Tim said. “Both you and the harpies will be clear to do what you want with your lives.”

“Gracias, Teem. You are a good man.”

He cleared his throat, unsure how long she’d think that. “Um, where is Pete?”

“He is out with Ollie.”

Tim took a deep breath. If he was going to bring this up with Nahtoo, it was now or never.  

“So this thing with Pete becoming a werewolf…”

“You will do it for him?”

“Not so fast, Nahtoo,” Tim said, anger weaving into his voice. “Where is this coming from? Isn’t he good enough as he is for you?”

He watched the expressions gather on her face.

“He wants to be whole for me,” she said. Her words were measured and even.

“You don’t think he’s whole now?” Tim asked.

“What I think is no matter,” she said, “when he does not think he’s whole.”  

“How will becoming a wolf make that any different?” Tim countered.

“Well, he will have his leg,” Nahtoo said.

“But, he’s still the same man,” Tim explained.

“I know this. I tell him, ‘I love you this way. I will love you that way. Do what you need to do to feel like a whole man’.”

“But if you loved him…”

“I do love him. You do not believe that.”

It wasn’t a question and they both knew it. Tim sighed.

“Yeah, I do. I mean… I believe you. I just… I have doubts.”

“Doubts,” she said, as if trying out the word.

“It means uncertainty,” Tim offered.

“It means fear,” Nahtoo countered, her eyes flashing at him.

“All right. Fear for Pete. Sure. If you love him, why won’t you talk him out of this?” Tim asked, his voice harsh. “Do you have any idea the kind of pain he’s talking about taking on?”

“You are angry with me because I do not stop him,” Nahtoo said, simply.

“I am. Yeah.”

“Do you want him to feel like less than a man? You loved him once,” Nahoo said.

“I still do. Just not the same way as you,” Tim said.

“But you loved him once like I love him.”

Tim no longer thought love worked so interchangeably, but he didn’t want to insult Nahtoo or Pete. He’d come to realize from the way he loved Raylan that one love just wasn’t exactly like another.  “Probably a lot like it.”

“If you could have made him whole when he came home, would you have?” Nahtoo asked. Tim thought back to those first months, then to that first year when Pete was adjusting. If it hadn’t been for finding Sheeba and starting their Trollhound K-9 program, Tim wasn’t sure Pete would have made it. He’d known others who hadn’t.

“Yeah. Of course,” Tim said.

“Then why are you fighting it now?” Nahtoo asked.

“Because he was okay,” Tim said.

“Was he?” she asked.

Tim felt like he was missing something. Even if Pete wasn’t all right. He just didn’t think he could do this to him.

“I just… can’t,” Tim said.

“If you won’t do it for him, do it for me,” Nahtoo said. “You owe me, Teem.”

“What for?” Tim straightened up. “How do I owe you?”

“For finding your mate before he died,” Nahtoo said simply.

“Shit. I didn’t know we were keeping score,” Tim said. He would have thought saving and harboring her would have covered some of that debt.  

“We weren’t but if that is how you want it to be, we can start?”

That one was a question. And they both knew it.

“Ugh, no,” Tim said, holding his hands up. He recognized a losing battle when he saw one.

She laughed at him. “Come, Cheeba.” Tim watched as his dog rose to her feet and wandered off with Nahtoo, ignoring him.

Tim took his coffee out to the deck and called Bernardo to get him started on making travel arrangements.

“Need to call in that favor,” Tim said.

“Which one?” Bernardo replied.

“The one we talked about,” Tim answered. “Wards, divorcees, I even landed an execution warrant for the vampire in those vids.” He’d called him before he lost three rounds with Art trying to get Bernardo called in as backup to their district. So the marshal knew they needed his help with Winona, in addition to re-warding Tim and Raylan’s home now that at least half of its occupants were no longer human.

“The hitter from January—he’s the same guy in these videos. Raylan and I are going down to Harlan tonight with a warrant,” Tim said.

“No shit,” Bernardo said. “I can get a flight out this afternoon.”

“I’ll send the paperwork through,” Tim said. “We got some friends with a Trollhound staying at the house with Willa at the moment. You might want to call Winona and shack up with her,” Tim said.

“Pushing Gutterson,” Bernardo said.

“Am I?” Tim asked, not intimidated by Bernardo’s blustering.

The man laughed. “Not really.”

“Yeah. Didn’t think so. Just don’t… fuck with her. Raylan’ll take that shit out on me.”

“Really?” Bernardo sounded surprised.

Tim replied in the same tone that Bernardo had used, “Not really.”  

Chapter Text

Tim tried to get Raylan up at noon and couldn’t rouse him. A couple of hours later, he was past the point where he needed to get into their bedroom to pack so they could get on the road. Tim was organized but it took time to pack for two men and one Trollhound to head off on what could be a prolonged out-of-town hunt. He needed in their bedroom. Finally, he had to force Raylan to wake up. When he did, he seemed hung over. Or sick.

Raylan dragged his legs around to the floor and dropped his head into his hands—his elbows on his knees. “’Time is it? Why’d you wake me so early?”

“It’s pushing 2:30. We need to pack and get moving,” Tim said. “Rachel’s going to think we forgot her as it is.”

Bleary eyed, Raylan looked up at him. “’Sure about that?”

“Are you sick?”

“What?” Raylan scoffed. “We don’t get sick.”

“We who?” Tim asked. He knew logically that he, himself, would no longer catch a cold or have to worry about flu shots or allergies but he’d not been werewolf long enough to feel safe testing that yet. He also didn’t exactly see how that included Raylan.

“We… me. Mama.” Raylan spoke slowly like he was a bit drunk. “Hardly ever. Well, except for cancer.”

“I highly doubt this is cancer,” Tim said, recalling that Raylan’d told him once his mother died of breast cancer. It seemed grossly unfair that their family’s blood chemistry would protect them from lycanthropy but not cancer. “You never told me you never get sick.”

“Hardly ever,” Raylan corrected. “An’ ya never asked,”

Tim moved closer to Raylan and laid the back of his fingers against Raylan’s forehead, then ran them down his cheek. “You don’t feel like you’re running a temp.”

“That’s what I just said.”

Tim could feel his lips quirk as he bit back a smile. “All right. How do you feel?”

Raylan seemed to think about it for a moment. “Starving,” he said, looking up at Tim with some surprise in his eyes that Tim actually understood. Raylan tended to eat like a sorority girl suffering a breakup, especially in the morning: coffee and maybe a spoonful of vanilla ice cream purloined when he thought no one was looking.

After a late lunch, or brunch in Raylan’s case, they swung by the office around four-thirty to pick up Rachel and prep for their trip to Harlan. Art had already put his foot down on any idea of not taking her along; she’d been part of the investigation at every step. Even though the executions were Preternatural Division operations, she had a vested interest. And Tim couldn’t argue against Art’s logic. Besides, Rachel’s emotional barometer was better than his sense of smell. He could pick up emotions from scents but Rachel’s talent went past that. If Art had ever asked him, Rachel could have been a marshal in the Preternatural Division if she’d wanted. But had she been in the monster squad, her empathic abilities would have been widely known and she would have lost the edge that flying under the radar gave her. Tim liked that Boyd Crowder had no idea Rachel could tell when he was lying to them. The vampire might be able to skunk Raylan and Tim, but he couldn’t squeak past Rachel.

Tim stood at the copy machine.

“What are you doing?” Rachel asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Making copies.”

“Of?”

“Our quarry.”

“I thought you preternatural guys just went in, killed your guy, then moved on,” she said, crossing her arms and looking at the stack of wanted posters with the reward, piling up in the output tray. They’d had Phillip work with a police artist to come up with a facial composite of Quarles since they didn’t have a full shot of his face from the video.

“Did Art okay that?” Rachel eyed the posters skeptically.

Tim shot her a sharp look. “Nah, I thought I’d just offer up fifty grand of the federal government’s money using just my own judgment.”

Rachel raised her eyebrows at him.

“Who do you take me for?” Tim asked sternly, then grinned. “Raylan?”

She licked her lips and tried not to smile.

“Art’s fine with it,” Tim said, more seriously. “This amount of money is nothing in Tonin’s world but by way of Harlan… and the Stew down that way…”

“It is the world,” she finished.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“You don’t think we’re going to find him tonight,” Rachel said, stating the obvious.

“No ma’am,” Tim said. “But maybe someone will bring him to us if we’re lucky. We float enough of these around the Stew… it just might shake things loose in Harlan and a bad vampire’ll fall out.”

She nodded at him approvingly.

They hit Harlan around dusk.

Tim was still not convinced Raylan wasn’t ill because he slept most of drive down to Harlan after sleeping half the day away. Tim knew he was dreaming because he could see Raylan’s eyes darting around when he glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

Sheeba was pressed up against him in the backseat as if she was trying to force something stable into the man.

“You can read people when they’re asleep, right?” Tim had asked Rachel on the drive down. Raylan didn’t feel right to him; he wanted a second opinion.

“Mmm hmm,” she murmured cautiously. “Why?”

Tim tipped his head to the back seat. “How’s he feel to you?”

“You’re asking me to invade his privacy?” she asked.

Tim sighed. “I’m worried about him. He seems off but he’s claiming he doesn’t ever get sick.”

Rachel pressed her lips together and rubbed the side of her neck. “Men never handle being sick very well,” she mumbled.

Tim swallowed a shot of irritation. “I don’t think it’s stubborn male bullshit. Today anyway. Can you just feel him out and see if he’s okay?” Tim asked.

Rachel stared at him. “Can’t you smell him and tell?”

“Rachel,” Tim said, turning and looking back and forth between Rachel and the road. “Why the hell do you think I’m asking for a second opinion here?”

She looked shocked and a bit taken aback. He didn’t hold back on his own anger—making sure she could feel how pissed off she was making him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s fine. Just…”

“He’s unsettled. I don’t think he’s having nightmares but he’s not in control of whatever is happening in his dreams. And he’s not happy about it, either. Did he smell sick to you?”

Tim exhaled. “No. Just felt off.”

“I’m not a doctor, Tim,” Rachel said. “I just pick up emotions. He feels… fine. Just not real happy.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tim said. They rode in silence for a few minutes, then Tim decided to wake up Raylan.

“We’re just about to Harlan,” Tim said, reaching back behind his seat to squeeze Raylan’s leg.

Tim eyed Raylan as he blinked heavily, then straightened in the back seat, adjusting his hat that had fallen askew.

“Are we heading to Boyd’s church first or the Monsterville?” Rachel asked, drawing attention away from Raylan.

“Hmm. Could inspect Ava’s club there, but odds that Boyd would be around are pretty slim,” Raylan said, sleep still in his voice. “More likely, he’s at the church.”

“If we start at the church, we can call it due diligence, right?” Tim said. “Let Boyd know this Quarles put a price on his head in January and now because of these videos, we’ve got an execution order out on the guy. Just informing Boyd as the Harlan County master.”

Raylan shrugged. “Don’t know that approach is gonna change his story any. I expect he’ll probably just lie to us again,” Raylan said.

“Probably,” Rachel agreed. “But not that long ago, he shot one of his own people just to send a message to his following that he wanted them to go along with federal investigations.”

“This is still   Harlan, Rach,” Raylan reminded her.

“She’s right though,” Tim said. “He lied to us once about knowing Quarles. Is he going to keep doing it knowing we’re going to put this guy down the first chance we get?”

Tim pulled up to the dark church.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Tim said.

“He barely preaches anymore,” Rachel added. “Maybe twice a month.”

“I could open up the marks and see if he’s in there,” Raylan said.

Tim growled in disapproval, and Rachel looked at Raylan in the backseat with Sheeba. “Is that a good idea? If you look in at him, can’t he look back at you?”

“Sure,” Raylan said. “He’ll find out we’re looking for him. I can feel with my necromancy that there are maybe two—no, make that three vampires inside that church.” Raylan closed his eyes.

Tim felt the hair rise on his arms and the back of his neck. He inhaled and the scent reminded him of the Munin. Raylan was raising his necromancy. Tim had been around it enough now to recognize the cold roll of his power. He exhaled in relief. Just because Raylan was feeling around the church with his power didn’t mean he was opening up his marks to Boyd.

“What are you picking up?” Tim asked. No point in beating around the bush, he thought.

“A few vampires inside,” Raylan answered, distracted. “All of ’em seem a bit shocked. Oh wait. Shit.”

Tim turned in his seat. “What?”

“Um,” Raylan started, “You recall that red-haired vampire, went by Martin?”

“The one you raised at the mine?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, the revenant,” Raylan said.

“What about him?” Tim asked. He could smell that Raylan’s scent had changed. He’d stopped using his power and Tim swore he picked up a hint of sour fear. Tim knew that Raylan wasn’t exactly comfortable that some of the vampires he’d raised as zombies in January still held some allegiance to him instead of Boyd, but Tim hadn’t realized they rattled Raylan enough to scare him.

“Still a revenant,” Raylan answered.

“What does that mean?” Rachel asked.

Raylan ignored her. “Boyd’s not there.”  

Tim narrowed his eyes on him in the rearview mirror. “How can you tell?”

Raylan lifted one shoulder with a nonchalance that Tim didn’t believe. “Didn’t feel like him,” he said. “The vamps in the church were shocked or scared when I reached out. Boyd woulda been pissed off or curious.”

“Or happy,” Tim said.

“Maybe once,” Raylan’s eyes landed on Tim’s. “Don’t think so. Not lately. He’s all clammed up.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Rachel asked. “You shield him to keep him out, right?”

“Sure,” Raylan said. “But you know how you never trust a child who’s gone too quiet? Boyd’s about the same way. A quiet Boyd Crowder is a one who’s most likely up to no good.”

“So where do we go?” Rachel asked.

“Let’s inspect their bawdy house,” Raylan said. “That’ll bring ’em out of the woodwork quick enough.”

Tim pursed his lips as if the idea had measure.

“If that doesn’t work, I say we try Tim’s idea for Louisville,” Rachel said quietly.

“What was that again?” Raylan asked.

“We set up shop in their tenderloin district with the likeness of this guy until someone gives us a lead,” she said. “We’ve got the writ and the price on the guy’s head.”

“Huh. And here I thought you weren’t listening.” Tim popped an eyebrow in Rachel’s direction along with a quick glance and pulled his truck out of the church lot heading toward Harlan’s preternatural red-light district.

Tim pulled into the Stew and parked in front Audrey’s, the seized club Nathaniel ran for the marshals service.

“When is this going to auction?” Raylan asked, unlocking his door and opening it.

“Clive said he thinks they’ll have it ready to auction early fall,” Rachel said. Clive Perry was the deputy in their office assigned to the Asset Forfeiture Division.  

“Good,” he said, letting Sheeba out before he slammed the door.

Tim got out and shut his own door. “Little bit jealous still?” Tim asked.

Raylan responded by crowding Tim into the side of the truck and rubbing his nose into the side of Tim’s neck. “Ray, we’re working.”

“Yeah and you just teased me about that damned cat right before we go in there when you know he’s going to throw himself in your path. Least you could do is smell like me.”

Tim grinned. “After last night,” he said, with his voice low, “pretty sure there ain’t much of me that don’t smell of you.”

“Are you two coming?” Rachel said, standing with hands on her hips at the front of Tim’s truck. Sheeba trotted over to her, ready to go.

Raylan slowly stepped back, freeing Tim. “Sure.”

Tim followed the faint scent of cat through the club and found Nathaniel in the courtyard out back, sitting on the top of a rickety picnic table smoking a cigarette. It’s presence was an incongruity to Tim, making him wonder who’d had call for picnics in these parts.

Even before the preternatural red-light district was established here, Audrey’s was the area whorehouse going back decades. From what Raylan said, Boyd’s mother lived back here when they were kids. Tim tried to push away an image that crept into his head of Boyd and Raylan as boys coloring or eating hot dogs at that table, or maybe one like it, in the afternoon before it got dark enough for the johns to show up.  

“About time y’all showed your faces down here,” Nathaniel said, grinding the cherry on the end of the smoke into the side of the weather-beaten wooden tabletop.

“How so?” Tim asked.

The cat just shook his head. “Is this grand—” he waved his arm in the direction of the club “experiment of y’alls about done?”

“Why Nathaniel?” Rachel asked as if she already knew the answer. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“Yeah, someplace nowhere near Harlan real damned soon,” he mumbled, standing up and tossing his braid over his shoulder.

“Why the rush?” Tim asked.

Nathaniel turned on his heel and strode toward his trailer. He turned to them and made a “come on” movement with his hand.

They filed into Nathaniel’s trailer. He ushered them into the back and turned on some loud classic rock, then beckoned them close.

“Nathaniel, what is wrong?” Rachel asked.

“Shhh,” he said, placing a finger against her lips, then whispered. His words were barely audible to Tim. He wondered if Rachel could hear him at all. “Just never know who’s listening nowadays. What’re y’all doin’ down here? Please say I’m fired.”

Tim shot a concerned look from Raylan to Rachel then back to Nathaniel. It wasn’t good that his CI was this shaken and that he had no idea why. Tim squashed back guilt as he realized he’d cut his Harlan trip short a couple weeks back when Willa was born, then never really caught back up with Nathaniel.  

“We’re down here for a couple reasons. Got an execution order for this guy,” Tim said quietly. Rachel pulled a stack of fliers out of her bag and handed one over to Nathaniel with Quarles’ facial composite on it.

“Oh fuck me sideways,” Nathaniel whispered seeing the picture. “Take me back to Lexington with you. You always wanted your own kitten, right Marshal?” He batted his lashes at Tim.

Raylan coughed and took another one of the fliers.

“You know this guy, don’t you,” Raylan demanded, waving the paper at Nathaniel. It wasn’t a question.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us?” Tim hissed.

“I’m telling you now,” Nathaniel hedged.

“You knew we were looking for someone with his description…” Rachel’s voice started to rise above a whisper. She looked at the flier, then back to Nathaniel. “We even showed you a photo.”

“Not of his face ,” Nathaniel hissed, then put a finger to her lips again. “Listen. He’s powerful. I’ve started to see him around. Now that I know that’s who you’re lookin’ for.”

“Since when?” Tim whispered.

“Couple weeks now.”

“In this club?” Rachel asked more quietly this time. “How come you didn’t call—”

“I called you once,” Nathaniel said.

“I explained I had to go,” Tim said. “Family emergency.”

Rachel closed her eyes. “Where’ve you seen him, Nathaniel?”

“All around the Stew,” Nathaniel replied. “He likes the male dancers. We do what we can to keep ours away from him. He’s bad news. He’s tight with the wolves. Real tight. So tight that I don’t even think they’re in allegiance with Boyd anymore.”

“You do work for us Nathaniel. You know that right. CI? Remember that?” Rachel said, her voice soft but stern.

He dipped his head down. “That may be so. But I gotta live here and word is… I ain’t so sure Boyd can hold the reigns, ya know? Y’all are gonna sell this off sooner than later. And it’s not like any of you are in here every night keeping me ’n mine safe from the likes of that…” Nathaniel tapped the paper. “... monster . So, where does that put me?”

“Nathanial, we can—” Rachel started.

He tapped the page in Tim’s hand with his finger again. “If this guy’s in charge in these parts, who’s to say I’m not the next kitty he hauls off into the night? Hmm?”

“You tell us where this—” Tim shook the page. “—guy is and he’s dead. Then you don’t gotta worry about it, do ya?”

“Where the hell is Boyd?” Raylan said. “He supposed to be in control of this area.”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows and let them drop. The doubt was clear on his face. “Might wanna start with Ava’s flop house. Place is a goddamned mess.”

“Flop house?” Raylan repeated.

Nathaniel crinkled his nose in distaste. “Blood whores. It stinks down there.”

“Seriously?” Raylan asked. “He’s s’posed to be a preacher.”

“Been ages since Boyd’s done any serious preachin’,” Nathaniel said. “I’m saying, start with Ava’s flop house.”

“Tell me that is not what they’re calling it,” Rachel said. “All we’ve got is the legal title for its DBA on its incorporation and licensing paperwork. B&AC Inc.”

Nathaniel pressed his lips together. “No, I mean that ain’t its name. But that don’t change what it is.”

Even Rachel thought the place smelled from the way she covered her nose with her hand as she walked carefully through the discarded trash, then sidestepped an actual abandoned saw horse and various empty five-gallon plastic buckets. Tim suspected some of what Rachel smelled was due to the fact that someone had been using the buckets as toilets. The smell of urine was pervasive.  

Located down the road a half mile from Audrey’s, they’d begun the conversion in what had once been a two-story home but it didn’t look like they’d come close to a hope of finishing it. There was a bar on one side of the first floor, littered with dirty glasses and empty beer and liquor bottles. There were a few mismatched tables in what Tim guessed might have been intended to be a dining area. But not nearly enough of them as it turned out.

It would have been nice if the work had been completed. Now, it was just a hell hole.

“Dewey Crowe,” Raylan said, by way of greeting.

“Well you gotta lotta nerve showin’ yer face ’round here, Raylan,” Dewey said.

Raylan looked surprised and shot Tim a look. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“The way you done Boyd,” Dewey said, then spat on the bare wood floor. Tim eyed the loogie with distaste.

“Are you open for business, Mr. Crowe?” Rachel asked, her voice even.

“Well, ’course I am,” Dewey said. “Boyd said I had to clear out. To stay at Ava’s cat house and inn’t that what it’s for? Runnin’ whores? So, I’m runnin’ ’em.”

Rachel nodded. “All right. Well, I am here representing the Eastern District of Kentucky office of the US Marshals Service with two Preternatural Division deputy marshals to inspect your establishment to ensure it meets Title 22 of Chapter 313 of the state statutes governing the operation of Preternatural Districts within the State of Kentucky,” she said, raising her voice. “Where are your licenses, Mr. Crowe?”

“Boyd said I don’t gotta—”

“Where the hell is Boyd?” Raylan interrupted.

“Raylan,” Rachel warned.

He stepped back. “Dewey, better give Deputy Brooks here what she’s looking for so she can complete her inspection.”

Dewey never did produce more than a liquor license for a restaurant. “Why didn’t Boyd and Ava apply for the specialty bar license?” Rachel asked Dewey. “The state cleared the Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control to offer the red-light district exemptions for specialty bar liquor licenses.”

Dewey laughed at her. “That bar license was four grand so Dewey Crowe got Boyd and Ava a bargain with the restaurant one for seven hundred and eighty bucks,” he said, proudly.

Rachel rubbed her face. The restaurant license required them to have a minimum of seating for fifty at their tables and 70% of their revenue had to come from food sales. There was no way a preternatural club, even if they cleaned it up, would meet those requirements.

To make matters worse, Dewey had no clue where the solicitation and prostitution licenses were located. The more questions Rachel asked him, the less he seemed to know.

They found girls upstairs—some were vampires and others were human, including the blood whores Nathaniel had mentioned. Both species had been selling their blood to area vampires—something that no license under Kentucky law covered. Tim called the EMTs for the prostitutes—human and vampire alike, while Raylan called in the Kentucky State Police.  

Gathered together outside with Tom Bergen, they discussed where to send the occupants. The girls who were dehydrated—vampire and human—had been sent to the hospital. The rest were huddled in the downstairs bar area awaiting their fate.

“None of these girls have licenses,” Rachel said.  

“I can run them in if that’s your call,” Bergen said.

Tim scowled. “How long has this been going on?”

Bergen spread his hands. “Not sure. We’ve been encouraged not to poke our noses into the Mostervilles unless y’all request backup.”

“Great,” Tim said, walking away a moment, then returning to where the group was concentrated near the front of his truck.

“We’re shutting this establishment down tonight,” Rachel said.

“Can’t say as I’d blame you there,” Bergen said. “But you want me to charge these girls?”

“It’s not the girls who are the problem,” Rachel said. “It’s the ownership.”

“Well, they’re not really around, are they?” Tim said. “That’s the problem.”

“We’re talking about Boyd Crowder?” Bergen asked. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Raylan said.

“Wasn’t going to mention this but… we’ve been hearing some rumors about a power shift in these parts,” Bergen said, his eyes darting to Raylan as if the trooper was embarrassed.

“Go on,” Raylan said, his voice tight.

“Well, it’s not much of a secret that you share some kind of magical—” Bergen waved his hand at Raylan “—thing with Boyd. That you’re his human servant?”

Raylan pressed his lips together, frowning at the corners. Tim got a whiff of the sour-milk scent of shame off Raylan… as maybe his partner thought that Tom knowing about Boyd’s marks on Raylan diminished Raylan somehow in the trooper’s eyes. Raylan’s reaction made Tim wonder if Raylan was ever ashamed of Tim’s new status among other LEOs. He pushed the thought away.

“Your point?” Raylan said, defensively.

Bergen cocked his head. “Just that the word on the ground is that there’s some other vampire who wants to displace Boyd. And I ain’t never heard of a peaceful transition of vampire power,” Bergen said. “My understanding is masters die and take their human servants with them.”

“Well, there’s Louisville and Lexington,” Tim said.

“What?” Bergen frowned.

“The masters in Louisville and Lexington blood-oathed to Detroit instead of dying badly,” Tim said.

Bergen frowned. “That’s just odd behavior for vampires.”

“See?” Tim held out his hand then looked over at Rachel and Raylan.

“We know,” Rachel said, “it’s unnatural.”

Raylan tapped fingers against the hood of Tim’s truck. “We need to find Boyd.”

Raylan grabbed Dewey by the arm and pulled him from the back of one of the cruisers where the Staties were detaining him. “Need a word with this one,” Raylan said. He dragged Dewey back into the house, and Rachel shot Tim a worried glance.   

“Just give us a second, Tom,” Tim said. “Looks like Deputy Givens is gonna interrogate a witness.”

“You want me to—” Bergen started.

“Better wait.” Tim waved him off as he headed into the house with Rachel after Raylan.

Dewey clearly had no clue where Boyd was. And worse, Raylan was starting to feel downright itchy to Tim. He felt irritated to the point of frantic.

“Where the hell is Boyd?” Raylan circled Dewey.

Tim had gotten there in time to watch Dewey hem and haw around Raylan’s question before Raylan finally fisted his hand in Dewey’s shirt and dragged him against a wallpapered wall covered in stained cabbage roses and unknown bodily fluids.  “Dewey Crowe, you know damned well who I am and you know who I am to Boyd. You will tell me where the hell Boyd Crowder is.”

Dewey’s eyes darted around. “I can’t. I tell you anything —they’ll kill him.”

“Who Dewey? Tell us and we’ll help him,” Rachel bargained.

“Can’t tell you . That’s fer sure.” Dewey shook his head, trying to wiggle out of Raylan’s grasp.

“Well, where’s Duffy?” Tim asked.

Dewey turned red. “Gone. He’s just gone.. Boyd’s gone. Duffy’s gone. Ava’s gone. All of ’em are gone.”

Raylan tipped his head back in confusion and shot Tim a concerned look. He released Dewey and let him slide down the dirty wall. “How can they all just be gone? Where’d they go?”  

“If I knew that, then Boyd wouldn’t be gone, would he?” Dewey retorted.

Raylan closed his eyes and Tim thought he might be counting to ten.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Tim asked.

Dewey looked like he was considering the question. “Couple days back. Crazy son of a bitch from up north was sniffin’ ’round the church again.”

Tim pulled a folded flier from his back pocket. “He look like this?” Tim unfolded it and held it out.

Dewey’s eyes got big as they landed on the image. “Can I collect that money?”

“You know that guy?” Raylan demanded.

“Well, sure,” Dewey said, “that’s the asshole who…”

“Who what?” Raylan cocked his jaw to the side and rolled his eyes over to Tim. He could feel the anger simmering off Raylan.

“Where’s Boyd?” Rachel asked, sounding frustrated herself.

“I told you, I can’t tell you,” Dewey whined.

“What is his problem?” She turned to Raylan, but her eyes landed back on Dewey to indicate who she was talking about.

Raylan shook his head. “Vampire bride. Boyd rolled him too hard that night Bo died and Dewey’s sole concern is Boyd’s safety and desires. Dewey, you got it in your head that tellin’ us where he’s at will result in Boyd’s death, right?”

Dewey whimpered. “Yeah, I told you Dewey Crowe can’t say.”

“But what if telling us is what saves Boyd?”

Dewey looked unsure.

Raylan pulled Tim aside. “I could just open the marks and find him that way.”

Tim and Rachel shared a look of concern. Tim didn’t like the idea of Raylan opening himself up to Boyd and Rachel didn’t seem any happier about it either. “You were sick before—” Tim started.

“Told you I don’t get sick,” Raylan interrupted. “Well, not hardly.”

Tim stared at Raylan a moment. “You been off all day. Boyd might already be hurt. Hurt enough that you’re feeling it. If you open them up, will he drain you before you can get your shields back in place?”

“Dewey, you tell me where Boyd is,” Raylan said, “I swear we’ll go and dig him out of whatever trouble he’s in.”

Rachel glowered. “Raylan…” Tim could nearly read the unspoken words floating above her head that read something along the lines of “the US Marshals Service doesn’t exist to save Boyd Crowder’s ass.” Contrary to what the vampire seemed to think.

“Not now Rachel,” Raylan said.

Tim saw her point but actually agreed with Raylan.  

“Since you swore and all… that guy in your picture there took him and wouldn’t tell me where.” Dewey said, turning to Rachel. “Can I get my money now?”

She just rolled her eyes and shoved him out the door back into the custody of the Staties.

“I have to open the marks,” Raylan said.

“Can you at least hold off until we get to the truck?” Tim asked Raylan, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Raylan shrugged off his hand but agreed. “Fine.”

Tim looked at Rachel. “Why don’t you bring Tom Bergen up to speed on the open warrant on Quarles? Email him the file with the composite and give him some wanted posters? We’ll touch base about the hunt when we get rolling.”

“Are we letting the girls go?” Rachel asked.

Tim looked at her blankly, not understanding.

She waved impatiently at the women corralled outside with the Kentucky State Troopers. “What’s the point of holding them?” Tim said. “Give them each a flier, send them to a shelter, and maybe one of them will call us about Quarles.”

Sheeba trailed Tim and Raylan, jumping into the backseat when Tim opened the door for her. Raylan started to follow but Tim stopped him.

“Rachel can ride in the back this once,” Tim said. “If you’re gonna open a channel to that asshole, I want you up front with me.”

Raylan eyed him. “Rachel’s not gonna be happy.”

Tim shrugged. “She’ll understand.” He thought she probably would get it and if she didn’t, he really didn’t care.

Raylan was already buckled into in the front seat when Tim climbed in. He had a vacant look on his face for a moment, then he turned to Tim.

“Boyd’s trapped.”

“What?” Tim nearly shouted. He hadn’t even felt Raylan’s power rise. “You did it already?”

Rachel opened the back door and climbed in. “What’s happening—”

“Raylan’s got a line on Boyd,” Tim said, catching her briefly in the rearview mirror as he shoved his truck into reverse and pulled it out of the parking lot.

“Where are they keeping him, Raylan?” Tim asked.

“Ransom’s Holler,” Raylan said.

“Which way?”

Raylan pointed.

Tim followed Raylan’s directions to a mountain road following twists and turns up, then down into a hollow and up again, then sharply down once more and finally into an area Raylan called Ransom’s Holler.

“How’d you know he was here?” Tim said.

“He knew. Told me.”

“What, they just kidnapped him and gave him an address?” Rachel asked.

Raylan squinted. “Not quite that but pretty close.” He closed his eyes, then pointed. “Take a right on that dirt road.”

“Up there,” Raylan said, pointing at a decrepit pink-and-white trailer.

“Here?” Tim asked, dubious but still slowing his truck down to a stop in front of the mobile home—if it could be called that. There wasn’t much that could be considered mobile about it any longer, propped up on cinder blocks. The windows were boarded up and part of the roof was covered with a faded blue tarp. Tim wondered how they’d trapped a master vampire in such a puny excuse for shelter.

“He’s in there,” Raylan said, sure.

Tim shoved the gear into park and got out. “Hold up, Raylan.” He was afraid Raylan would go charging in before he, Rachel, and Sheeba were ready.

“I’m going to take a look around out here,” Rachel said, pulling her weapon.

“Take Sheeba with you,” Tim said. Rachel sent him an odd look but then shrugged.

“Sheeba,” she called, and the Trollhound trotted along beside her.

“Guard Rachel, Sheeba,” Tim called.

Rachel did shoot him a semi-dirty look at that point but he just smirked at her.

Tim breathed deeply trying to pick up the scent of any wereanimals or other threats in the area. He thought maybe he picked up a faint hint of wolf but the scent itself was stale. No one was waiting in the bushes to jump out at them.

Even so he pulled his own weapon and followed Raylan to the door of the trailer. “You lead going in, then go high?” Tim suggested. Raylan was already on edge to get to Boyd and Tim wasn’t crazy about the idea but the sooner they got to the bottom of this and freed Boyd Crowder, the sooner Tim thought he’d get Raylan back to normal.

Raylan shouldered the door, forcing it open and Tim followed him, sweeping the room from a crouched position from one side to the other. Almost immediately, he clocked Ava Crowder tied to a chair to the left. Deeper inside the trailer, he could see a cross-wrapped coffin that had to be holding Boyd Crowder.

The space was tight—long and narrow. He eased into the room certain there was no one behind him to the right of the door and then moved into the larger part of the trailer. Ava was bound and gagged—tied to a chair bumped up against a wall in the small dining area.

Raylan reached her first, slipped his fingers under what looked like a dirty bandana, and pulled it free of her mouth, letting it fall around her neck.

She coughed, her throat trying to work but failing.

“Shhh,” Raylan said, “take it easy.”

“I’ll go get bolt cutters and some water,” Tim said.

Tim pulled a bottled water from the back seat, then slipped his fingers into the print lock on the sideboard of his truck to grab bolt cutters from his executioner’s kit.

He got back to the door as Rachel and Sheeba finished their perimeter check. They slipped in just in time to hear Ava Crowder finish cussing Raylan out.

“…if you weren’t such a shitty excuse for a human servant, Boyd would have been free three days ago.”

Her voice was ravaged from dehydration and disuse but it didn’t stop her from tearing a strip off him. Tim breathed in and picked up a hint of something else in the air, besides the tang of her sour jealousy. A scent he’d come to know well from so many months of living with it in close proximity.

“Raylan,” he called and tossed the water in his partner’s direction.

He got out his phone and dialed 911.

“This is Deputy US Marshal Tim Gutterson. I need an ambulance down at Ransom’s Holler. We’ve got a severely dehydrated pregnant—” Tim heard Ava gasp behind him and Raylan shush her. “—human and a starving vampire male. We’re going to need a lot of fresh blood on site and a bus to take the woman to the ER.”

Ava was trying to slam back the bottle of water while Raylan held tightly to it. “Go slow, now. You’re just gonna make yourself sick,” he said.

She’d pulled away, having swallowed enough to lubricate her vocal cords.

“I am not pregnant,” she said. “And you—” Ava pointed at Raylan “you’re just now coming to help. You need to get him outta there.”

“We need some blood on hand when we break those chains and pull those crosses off,” Raylan said. “You say he’s been in there how long?”

She licked her lips and reached for the bottle of water. Raylan handed it to her. “Go slow.”

She nodded agreement and took a long drink from it. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday night,” Tim said.

“Then three days,” she said. “And you, Raylan Givens, three days you blocked him and left him in that coffin to starve. You are a sorry excuse for a human servant.”

“You did mention that,” Raylan said.

“He’d been better off with me,” Ava said.

Raylan frowned. “I’m not disagreeing with you there, Ava.”

“And you—what was your name again?” Ava said, pointing at Tim.

“Deputy Gutterson, ma’am,” he said.

“Ma’am,” she laughed. “Well, you’re full of shit. I am not pregnant. Boyd’s not even alive . He can’t… His sperm don’t even…”

Tim held up his hands and his eyes tracked back and forth between Ava and Raylan. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I take it this means you haven’t had the tests yet…”

“I’ll go down to Harlan Drugs and pick up an EPT when we get out of here,” she said.

Raylan and Tim exchanged another pained look.

Raylan cleared his throat. “No, the tests Tim is talking about are for Vlad Syndrome. You never heard of that?”

Ava looked around the room from Raylan to Tim to Rachel, her eyes landing on Sheeba. “No,” she said, exasperated. “I thought he was shooting blanks. What are you going on about? And now? You’re just gonna leave Boyd locked away and lecture me on… what? Sleeping with a vampire? While you and he—”

“Ava,” Raylan warned her, “you don’t wanna go there. This ain’t about who’s sleeping with whom.”

Rachel’s eyebrows furrowed and Tim wasn’t sure how much Rachel knew about vampire birth defects. “Listen,” Raylan said, “Boyd’s not been dead all that long but he’s been gone long enough that… well, Ava, it’s a concern. Vlad Syndrome’s a birth defect that affects women impregnated by newly turned men. When babies test positive for it, it almost always kills the child—and usually takes the mother with it. Pretty quickly, too. You’ll be wanting to check it out.”

“Fine,” she bit the word off. “But for now? You just get Boyd out .”

Rachel finally suggested that she take Ava out of the trailer to wait for the ambulance and help her find a place to take care of “girl business.”

“I’ll get her another bottle of water and a protein bar, then we’ll sit in the back of your truck and wait out the EMTs,” Rachel said.

Tim eyed the condition of Ava’s clothing and the smell of stale urine in the trailer. “I think there’s a table and some chairs out there…” Rachel could find Ava a place to pee in the woods for now but three days tied to a chair had already done its damage. He didn’t want that in his truck.

Rachel caught on and nodded back to him.

“When they get here with the blood,” Raylan said, “send them in. If Boyd’s not had blood in three days… he’s going to need to feed.”

Two EMTs took Ava into the ER at Appalachian Regional in Harlan while two others stuck around to work with Boyd. They seemed shocked by the prospect of a starving vampire in a cross-wrapped coffin. One of them put down a soft-sided cooler with bagged blood in it. Tim was relieved to see they hadn’t just brought in two pints of blood thinking that would carry them through.

Raylan opened the cooler and started pulling out bags of blood and handing them off to the EMTs. “Can you put a couple of these in your pockets? Maybe against your skin? Warm them with your hands and body heat?” Raylan asked, handing bags to each tech.

They looked at each other and then to Tim as if they were appealing to him to help them with the crazy marshal.

“Why?” One of the EMTs was older and a bit more confident. His shirt tag said Webster.

“It’ll warm the blood so it tastes more natural,” Tim said. “I doubt he’s gonna turn it down after three days going without… but it’d be like you drinking a hot beer or cold French Fries.”

The younger EMT with Ives stitched into his shirt crinkled his nose in distaste. “Gotcha,” he said, slipping one of the bags into the front of his shirt. If Tim had to guess, he’d put him in his early twenties. He figured Ives hadn’t been on the job all that long. Or any job for that matter.  “How long has he been in there?” Ives asked.

“A few days,” Raylan said.

“He gonna lose control when you set him free?” Ives asked. To Tim he smelled nervous and a little scared.

Tim moved over to the front of the casket with the bolt cutters. He inhaled and smelled the silver in the chain and holy objects.

Webster crossed his arms and waited. Even though he’d struck Tim as the more experienced EMT, he was still uneasy—just better at hiding it.

“Maybe,” Raylan said. “But I don’t think so. I think he’ll be weak but in control of himself.”

Tim looked over at Raylan. “You sure about that?”

Raylan nodded. “He’s all right. Just not real happy with certain parties at the moment.”

“You one of those parties?” Tim mumbled, snapping one of the chain links open and letting it slip free of the cross it was looped through.

“Seems so,” Raylan replied, having heard him.

“Great.” Tim cut through another link.

“Raylan, can you… the cross is silver,” Tim explained.

Raylan jerked the other cross loose, letting the silver chain fall away. Tim tipped his head toward Webster, and then tracked his eyes over to Ives then back to Webster. Raylan nodded in understanding. The less they had to explain to the EMTs the better. If Raylan could convince them to step out, that would be ideal.

“The vampire can’t be in here with these,” Raylan said. “Can you take them outside for us? It’d be doing us a favor.”

Raylan gathered both crosses and traded them off to Webster for the blood he’d been warming up.  “Sure, sure. Do you need me to come back?”

Tim shook his head. “Nah, I think we got it. We’ve done this before.” Tim looked over at Ives. Curiosity didn’t always override fear. “You want to go with him?”

“You sure you don’t mind?” Ives shifted from foot to foot. “Technically, we’re supposed to supply lifesaving support but since y’all are experts with vampires…”

Raylan waved him off. “We’re fine. Go on with your partner.”

When both EMTs had handed off the blood they were holding and had gone, Tim cut links from the last of the chains letting it fall free. “Got the blood ready?”

Raylan had a bag in each hand. “I do. He’s not rabid though.”

“You’ve been talking to him?” Tim asked, worried.  Either Raylan wasn’t trying to shield himself from Boyd or he wasn’t able to once he’d opened himself through the marks. Not to mention, Tim hadn’t picked up the first hint of Raylan using his power so whatever communication was happening between Raylan and Boyd wasn’t connected with Raylan necromancy.

“Yeah. He was… it’s why I felt sick before. He was starting to tap my energy, to drain me. He’s in control. He’s just pissed off.”

“At you?”

“Um… Duffy. Quarles. Devil and about every other wolf in Harlan.”

“But not you?” Tim pushed.

Raylan avoided his question.

“Because Ava seemed to think…”

“Tim, just open the coffin already,” Raylan snapped.

Tim pulled open the coffin lid and found Boyd was shackled with silver chains wrapped around marks rubbed raw on his pale wrists. He didn’t have enough blood in his system to either bleed or heal the damage.

“Why Raylan Givens,” Boyd said, blinking. “It’s high time you decided to darken my door.”

“Shit, more silver,” Tim said. “I’ll cut the links, but I need you to unwrap the chain.”

“Not right now Boyd,” Raylan said, shoving a bag of blood in front of the vampire’s mouth. “Here, bite down on this and shut up while Tim and I get these last chains off.”  He bit down sinking his fangs into the bag. The angle was bad and the seal was poor, allowing blood to leak down Boyd’s chin.

Raylan unwound the chains and pulled them free while Tim held the bag of blood to Boyd’s mouth.

When his hands were free, Boyd tapped Tim’s hand and he pulled away, letting him take over squeezing the remaining blood from the bag.

He pushed himself out of the coffin and Raylan handed him another bag of blood.

“Take your time,” Raylan said. “EMTs are outside. They brought blood and put Ava on an IV. One of the buses already ran her into Harlan for tests.”

“Tests?” Boyd asked.

Raylan looked over at Tim, who shrugged at him.

“What aren’t you telling me Raylan?” Boyd said, his voice quiet and deadly.

Tim didn’t even mind Boyd’s threatening tone. If Raylan could hold information back from Boyd, then he’d had no problem with throwing his shields back up after they’d freed Boyd.  

“She’s fine,” Raylan said. “The rest of it really isn’t our business.”

“Ah,” Boyd said, sucking on dregs of blood in the second bag. “You mean the baby.”

“You knew?” Tim asked.

“My sense of smell may not be as acute as yours, wolf, but I assure you it’s more than sufficient.” Boyd reached for a third bag of blood from the cooler, but Raylan handed him one instead.

“This one is warmer,” he said.

Boyd took the proffered blood. “Thank you, Raylan.” Tim watched Boyd eye his lover as he sank his teeth into the bag of blood as if it were more than what it was.

“All right, all right.” Tim held up his hands. “So, do you wanna tell us how you ended up detained in a cross-wrapped coffin in the ass-end of Harlan County?”

Boyd didn’t answer but kept sucking on his bag of blood. Soon enough he finished it, then dropped the empty container with the others.

“You didn’t tell him, Raylan?” Boyd asked.

“No. No, I didn’t.”

“Someone want to let me in on the secret?” Tim asked.

“This—” Boyd waved his hand around. “—was all a test.”

“A test of what?” Tim asked.

“A test to see how long it would take for me to summon Raylan or one of my people to come free me,” Boyd said. “In the meantime, Quarles is out there in my county—my territory—putting the word out that there’s a power change coming and anyone who frees me will be on the wrong side of the new Harlan vampire master.”

“So, we just walked into a big power play?” Rachel said, standing in the doorway.

“Deputy Brooks,” Boyd said, his teeth red with blood when he smiled at her. “It’s always a pleasure.”

“Why did you lie to us when we asked you if you knew who Quarles was when we first came to you?” Rachel said. “If you’d handed him over then, he’d be dead.”

“Wasn’t any of your business,” Boyd said, “ then .”

“Yeah, Boyd, it was. And if we’d been able to take him in, then , you wouldn’t have ended up in a coffin,” Raylan said. “Quarles put out a hit on both you and me back in January? You do get that he wants you dead, don’t you?”

“Oh, I understand that, Raylan, I surely do,” Boyd said, his eyes traveling over to the open coffin. “But what I don’t understand is why he didn’t just kill me.”

“You know, Boyd, that’s a damn good question,” Tim said. “Why keep you alive?”

Boyd spread his hands in answer.

Raylan pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “What happened to Duffy? I thought he was your second. Why didn’t he come for you?”

“Another good question,” Boyd said. “I don’t rightly know. I assure you I’ve put out a call.”

“And?” Tim said.

“No answer. He could be dead. Or...,” Boyd said, with thinly veiled anger. “Like all the other calls I put out, I got no answer . Raylan .”

“I’m not at your beck and call, Boyd,” Raylan said.

“You’ve made that more than apparent,” Boyd said.

“So if Duffy’s not dead and say…  jumped ship…” Raylan started.

“Yes Raylan?” Boyd said.

“Everything that happened at the parley… Would that stay between us?”

Boyd sent Raylan an amused look. “A new master could order him as he wished.”

Rachel huffed a laugh and then rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. As scared as Duffy was of Raylan after the parley, there could be little doubt that Duffy would disclose to Quarles or Tonin that Raylan was a necromancer, powerful enough to raise vampires during the day. If Tim wasn’t already going to kill Quarles, Tim had no doubts in his mind Raylan would regardless.

“The parley was Duffy’s idea,” Rachel said, a small bit of wonder in her voice. She shook her head and looked at Tim, then Raylan. “He was a plant all along. I never caught the first whiff.”

“None of us did,” Boyd said, sinking his teeth into another bag of blood that he’d picked up from the cooler. He winced when he bit down.

“So where’s Devil and the rest of the Harlan pack?” Tim asked.

Boyd grimaced around the bag of blood and withdrew his fangs, letting the blood pool over onto his hand, drops falling onto the floor. “They answer my call no longer.”

Tim held out his hands. “What does that mean? You can’t call wolves anymore…?”

“No, they follow another master,” Boyd said, lapping at the blood on his hand, then squeezing the blood from the bag and letting it spray into his mouth.

Rachel winced as she watched. “Quarles controls the Harlan wolf pack, then?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Boyd murmured, closing his lips over his blood bag.

Tim thought that lined up with what Nathaniel had tried to tell them. Quarles was laying the groundwork within the preternatural community to take over. Duffy no longer answered to Boyd. Now the wolves failed to respond to his call.  

“Well, Boyd,” Tim started, “if you can manage to stay alive long enough for us to hunt Quarles down, you might manage to keep your territory. At least until someone else stronger comes along.”

“What do you mean?” Boyd asked.

Rachel handed Boyd a wanted poster for Quarles. “We really didn’t come to Harlan to save your worthless ass. We came to execute this killer and degenerate. You just got lucky our priorities aligned,” Rachel said. “But then, you always seem to be, don’t you?”

Boyd took the wanted poster and studied it. “I think y’all are gonna need a bigger reward if you want to bag this albino piece of shit.”

Chapter Text

Tim had dragged Raylan’s and Bernardo’s asses over all of Harlan and Hell’s half acre in the past two and a half weeks. Rachel tossed in the towel three days into the hunt returning to Lexington ‘to interface’ with them from the central office, she’d said.

Raylan had seen more of Harlan than he’d ever hoped to again in his lifetime.

He was sure they’d turned over every rock in Harlan twice. He even looked under the bleachers behind Evarts High School when they got a tip Quarles might be hiding in the abandoned school. Raylan pointed out to Tim where he’d once hid from Arlo while getting a blow job from a baseball player from some other team.

“How was it?” Tim asked.

“Wet. Sloppy.” Raylan eyed the bleachers, then scowled at Tim. “Um… all told it’s all a lot smaller than I recall it.”

Turned out that even an excessive price on a bad vampire’s head in a depressed economy like Harlan had come to nothing. They’d run down every call they’d got from circulating Quarles’ wanted posters. If Quarles was in Harlan County, the US Marshals couldn’t find him.

And Art had come to the same conclusion. So, two weeks and change after he’d sent them south, he called them back to Lexington. They hadn’t made it back home in time for the July Fourth holiday. That’d come and gone. But they were heading back for the weekend and Tim would be back in time to run with the Lexington wolves—which was just as well. He had personal business to take care of and Raylan had a bad feeling about sticking around Harlan this full moon.

Because Quarles wasn’t the only monster missing in Harlan.

They’d looked for the Harlan wolf pack high and low and could find neither hide nor hair of them. Literally. Raylan was concerned, and he knew Tim was downright worried. Nathaniel reported most of the wolves in his employ at Audrey’s were MIA. A few of the women were still reporting to work but didn’t know where the rest of the pack was, including JJ—the woman who’d been in one of the original lycanthrope porn videos Rachel had found, performing with Delroy in which they faked her death.

Tim had asked her where the other wolves had gone.

“No idea,” she’d said. “Good riddance.”

“Your pack is missing and you’re not concerned?” Tim asked her, a little shocked.

“Have you met Devil? He’s so far up that weird albino vampire’s ass…” she trailed off.

“You mean Quarles, right?” Raylan asked. “The vampire we’re looking for.”

But JJ seemed to only have eyes for Bernardo’s dark looks. He smiled at her. “Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your Ulfric, no,” Bernardo said.

JJ smiled at Bernardo and softened. Women liked him—responded to him well. Raylan noticed. Much like they once had with Raylan. He wondered if being with Tim had made him lose his touch or if word had just gotten around that his tastes weren’t aligned as they once were.

“You’re sweet,” she said, smiling back at Bernardo. “Not a lot of pleasure in knowin’ Devil though.”

“We’ve met Devil,” Tim added, waving a hand between Raylan and himself. “Have you had any word from him at all?”

She laughed bitterly at Tim. “You gonna promise me a big fat chunk of money, too? Just like Delroy and all the rest?”

“No. I’m not,” Tim replied.

“Too bad,” she said. “If Devil’s gone, I don’t gotta tithe him no more, now do I?”

“Harlan pack tithes are high?” Bernardo asked. Raylan actually thought the concern in his voice was genuine and not part of some ruse to pump her for info. Some were group leaders collected “taxes” in the form of tithes from their members to pay for group expenses like land, its taxes, and upkeep. It wasn’t unheard of for some less scrupulous leaders to abuse that power.

“Worse now that we got the Stew,” she said, disgusted. “Devil says we ’uns with ‘the opportunity’—like it’s an opportunity to spread my legs for a bunch of hypocrites—got to support the rest of the pack.”

“Surely, the whole pack’s not all bad,” Bernardo said.

“No,” she admitted. “But Devil’s Ulfric. And ‘Ulfric is law’.” She made air quotes with her fingers around those last few words.

She’d said them like she’d heard them many times before, and Raylan could see in the set of Tim’s mouth how much hearing her say them that way bothered him.

“Did that albino guy try to… you know, call you, by chance?” Raylan asked.

She cocked her head at him. “You mean on my cell? Did someone give him my number?” She looked between them, landing on Bernardo. Raylan could see the idea pop into her head. “Do you have it? Do you need me to give it to you?” The smile she’d been directing at Bernardo grew wide.

“Oh, no,” Raylan said. “No, no. Don’t think so at all. We’re just checking.”

She pouted a little and Bernardo frowned at Raylan. “Gutterson, you carry that little notepad. Don’cha? Can’t you write down JJ’s number? You know, in case we need it?” Bernardo smiled at the woman.

Tim kept a straight face. “I think Deputy Brooks has it on file. We’ll be in touch.”

Raylan waited until they’d cleared the side of Audrey’s to elbow Bernardo in the ribs. Hard.

“Umph!” Bernardo grunted. “What the hell was that for, Givens?”

“You know,” Raylan said.

“I was just working the witness so she’d be more responsive—” Bernardo started.

“Winona will have your balls in a vice—” Raylan interrupted.

“And you’re gonna tell her?” Tim finished.

That brought Raylan up short. “I don’t guess so.”

“I think you said it, Ray, Winona will put his balls in a vice if she decides she wants ’em there,” Tim said. “If not, not our business, is it?”  

Raylan had even asked Boyd to take a stab at calling the wolves to no avail. Wherever Quarles was, the running theory was he was hunkered down with the local pack.

They had staked out the Munin rock of the Harlan pack’s Lupinar only to find it deserted—not that that was surprising. Wolf packs didn’t hang out around their sacred spaces outside the full moon.  

Raylan knew Tim wanted to come back down to Harlan for the night of the full moon on Sunday and frankly, he was relieved that Art had pulled them back to Lexington and that Jamil had basically ordered Tim into attendance at the Lexington Lupinar up north.

He and Tim would find Quarles eventually but taking him on in the middle of a full moon with just Bernardo and Sheeba for backup when Quarles had a full wolf pack at his back and under his control seemed like shitty odds.

Wynn Duffy had finally crawled out from under a rock and was back in Boyd’s graces—good or otherwise. Since the master vampire was so short of support, he hadn’t turned Duffy away. Boyd was less than willing to hear words of caution from Raylan about his second-in-command, and Ava had no qualms about pointing out that Raylan didn’t have a leg to stand on if he wanted to protest how Boyd ran his kiss, church, or life.  

“What do you care? It’s not like you’re here for Boyd when he needs you?” Ava demanded.

“My partner and I did cut him out of that coffin,” Raylan said.

“After you left us there for three days,” Ava huffed.

Raylan wanted to argue the point further, but Tim dragged him out.

“You beginning to take this human servant role a bit too seriously, don’t you think?” Tim hissed at Raylan as they left the church that day.

“Duffy’s bad news,” Raylan insisted.

“And Crowder’s not?” Bernardo asked.

“Fair point.”

Tim told him that Ava still smelled pregnant. Raylan wanted to ask her about the Vlad’s Syndrome test but was afraid she’d blow up at him again, especially when she found out the state had pulled all the licenses on her bawdy house after Rachel failed her inspection. Raylan tried to explain the state of the place under Dewey’s management but it fell on deaf ears.

He started to open the marks so he could ask Boyd about the test for Vlad’s Syndrome. Maybe he could suggest Ava find a different manager than Dewey Crowe for her house of ill repute.

Or maybe not.

“Raylan, what are you doin’?” Tim growled at him when they were pulling out of the parking lot.

“You can feel that?” Raylan said shocked that Tim picked it up as he slammed his shields back into place. He’d just started to open them and raise his power to poke at Boyd.

“Sometimes,” Tim said, narrowing his eyes at him. “ This time. Why are you raising your power now?”

Raylan shrugged. He’d waded in already with Bernardo and Winona and got smacked back for it. He didn’t think Tim would take it well if he found out Raylan opened the marks to shoot the shit with Boyd, especially to give Boyd advice about how to run his organization.

“Just itchy, I guess.”

“Liar,” Tim said, shaking his head. “Next time you see Boyd, just ask for his cell number.”

“I’ll do that.”

The one positive result from the prolonged hunt for Quarles was that the marshals service had established enough of a presence in Harlan to settle fears in the preternatural community about a shift in power—the missing wolf pack notwithstanding. It turned out the wolves were generally disliked so much that no one seemed to care that they were gone.

The marshals got plenty of calls on leads, and they’d rolled in and out of the Stew so often that the regulars no longer cleared out—or even set their drinks down—when they saw an LEO step into Audrey’s. Art was just happy that Rachel didn’t think he was going to have to raise the price on Quarles’ head any higher than it was already set.

All that was left was to pack up back at the motel. Odds were they’d be back the next week after they regrouped, but they were pulling up stakes for the weekend.

“We need to get the harpies,” Tim said, resignation in his voice.

Raylan wanted to groan but he knew that Tim was right. Nahtoo and Peter were holding down his home fort, watching his little girl. Tim and Raylan called at least once a day to check on Willa—and Raylan was ready to see her again. But once a day when they made that call, Nahtoo asked when she’d see her birdies again. Collecting them for her was the least they could do.

As soon as Tim delivered them to the dragon and the group to Vasquez, the AUSA could clear them and they could make their own decisions about how they wanted to live. Raylan wondered how much would change.

Raylan finished packing and shouldered his bag. He eyed Tim’s bag and Sheeba. They still had Tim’s truck and Bernardo had a marshal-issue SUV. “What are we driving?” Raylan asked.

“My truck, I guess. Unless you want to swing by London and try to talk them out of one of their prison transport vans,” Tim said. When they’d driven the harpies down to Kelly, they’d used a van.

Raylan shook his head. Last time he and Tim had borrowed a van from London there’d been zombie parts involved. He was still catching shit about it around the district.

“I was going to send Sheeba back with Bernardo,” Tim added.

“You want me to ride with him, too?” Raylan offered, hoping Tim wouldn’t take him up on it. He’d learned that when he sent Tim off to play with the harpies on his own, they either played too rough or Tim came back with a prophecy on his head that Raylan didn’t know near enough about.  Besides, they worked together and lived together but driving home finally—even stopping off to carpool a truckful of mythical creatures was nigh on as close to personal time as Raylan got with Tim.

Short of sex.

Raylan looked longingly at the hotel bed. He would miss their alone time. Tim mentioned that Nahtoo said she’d heard them that night they got back from Louisville. Raylan fought the urge to blush when he thought about her listening to him and Tim doing… well. He was going to miss the privacy of their hotel room.

“What’re you thinkin’ ’bout?” Tim stared at him.

Raylan put his hat on. “Why?”

“Because you smell weird. All turned-on but kind of… guilty at the same time,” Tim said, narrowing his eyes at Raylan.

Raylan moved forward to drop a kiss on Tim’s mouth, his hand at his waist. “Just thinking it could be a spell before I get you alone on a regular basis again.”

Tim kissed him, stretching up to meet him, then he groaned. “Not fair.”

“No. No, it ain’t.”

Tim called ahead to the Gargoyle Preserve to give Elizabeth a heads-up they were coming since they’d be rolling into Kelly after dark.

“When are you bringing them back?” Elizabeth asked, meeting them at the truck before the harpies flew out into the clearing in the center of the preserve.

“Depends on what happens with the AUSA,” Raylan said.

“You are bringing them back though, aren’t you?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Again, that depends on what they want,” Tim interjected. “That’s the whole point of them meeting with the AUSA to clear WITSEC and their protected status. Then they can do what they want. Live where they want and how they want.”

“It’s just… the ’goyles have been better off with the harpies here than they have in years. We’ve had fewer complaints from the local farmers and Fish and Wildlife has been off my back about the deer population,” she said. “Plus I think the ’goyles like them.”

The harpies were better suited to hunting where the indigenous gargoyles in the preserve were carrion feeders. They scavenged from other hunters. Elizabeth had been bringing in her pard of wereleopards to hunt for the gargoyles from time to time but it wasn’t culling the burgeoning deer herds enough to satisfy the local farming community who wanted the state to allow more hunting in the area. Sheltering the harpies with the gargoyles had solved a lot of problems between them and the local farmers. But now that they didn’t have to stay here, would they really want to? As immortal creatures they weren’t at risk of death, but they could be imprisoned or tortured again. Was keeping them in the preserve just another kind of captivity for them? At least if the harpies went through the process of clearing themselves from protected custody and they ended up back in the gargoyle preserve, it because they’d had some choice in the matter.

And Raylan knew from the way Tim went on about it when they were alone that it was paramount to him.

“Glad to hear it,” Tim said. “Guess we’ll find out if the harpies like them back, huh?”

The harpies didn’t seem to give two shits about Raylan but were happy to see Tim. At least one of the sisters was less than pleased about the prospect of getting into the backseat of his truck.

Aello eyed the open back door of his truck. “No,” she said.

“Just no?” Tim echoed.

Raylan took his hat off and buried a hand deep in his hair. They’d had a long drive from Harlan and it’d be at least three more hours before they’d be home—depending on how much time Tim could shave off if he ran hot on the straight-aways with flashing lights.

She folded her wings tight around her and repeated herself. “No, Teem. Not there.”

Tim looked in the backseat and then at her sisters, Ocypete and Celaeno. “C’mon guys. I promised Nahtoo I’d bring you back with me tonight,” he said, trying to appeal to them. He turned big eyes on Celaeno and Raylan almost felt bad for the prophetess. Maybe if she hadn’t marked Tim with some indecipherable curse the year before, he might have been swayed a bit more toward some sense of sympathy.

She told prophecies and when Raylan wasn’t around, she’d given Tim one—telling him he’d submit his life for a necromancer. He shook his head. He’d filed that prophecy as checked off in his mind by Tim’s transformation into a werewolf. Raylan didn’t know if the fates would count it as fulfilled if Raylan believed hard enough that Tim had already met that price, but he’d keep on believing it. Otherwise, he and Tim could spend their lives trying to second-guess the prophecy. Tim had already tried that once when he came up with the idea he should become a vampire in order to replace Boyd as Raylan’s vampire master. That hadn’t panned out. As far as Raylan could tell, any idea they came up with to outthink the ‘prophecy’ would just dig them into something worse further down the line.

But Raylan watched Calaeno bite the hook. “Nahtoo? She’s… here?” she asked.

The professor the harpies had been working with had obviously made some progress with their language. “Well, she’s not here,” Tim said. “She’s at our house. Mine and Raylan’s. Waiting on you. But you have to get in the truck if you want to see her.” He looked inside his truck then back at them. “Just watch the leather with your talons, will you?”

“Leather?” Ocypete said, trying out the word.

Tim ran his hand over the seats. Raylan rolled his eyes. If a Trollhound’s nails didn’t mar his precious truck, what harm could a few harpies do?

Ocypete was convinced and hopped in the backseat. Calaeno followed behind her.

“No,” Aello insisted.

Tim sighed.

“You want to stay here then?” Tim asked.

“No, I will come,” she said.

Tim looked at Raylan.

“There,” she pointed at the front seat. Didn’t it just figure that she’d want to ride shotgun? Raylan counted himself lucky that Sheeba let him ride in the front when Rachel wasn’t in the truck.

Tim looked over at Raylan, the appeal was plain on his face.

“Fine, I’ll ride in the back with the girls,” he said, then murmured. “I shoulda gone with Bernardo and Sheeba.”

Do you have mis pajaritos Raylan?

Nahtoo was in her dragon form. They weren’t home yet but close. Raylan could hear her in his head and knew that the harpies had picked it up as well. Ocypete was chittering in Spanish to Celaeno and Aello, their tone excited.

Tim’s eyes found his in the rearview mirror. “What’s going on?”

“Nahtoo shifted. She’s waiting on them,” he said. “Just a little less than patient.”

Almost home, he thought back to her.

Tim didn’t bother with the carport, and Raylan just opened the back door as soon as the truck’s tires stopped. He saw Tim stretch across the seat and open the front door for Aello.

Raylan saw Nahtoo perched on the railing of their porch and figured she probably hadn’t been there all that long. Maybe flew up there for the vantage point, because he eyed a puddle of clear shifter goo in their yard where she must have changed forms.

She flew down as the harpies flocked to her.

“Wow,” Peter said, coming up behind Raylan. “So, those are her birdies.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Raylan said. Willa was in Peter’s arms, and Raylan reached for his daughter taking her from the man and resting her head just over his heart where he could run his nose along her ear and across the top of her head. She smelled right, and something he hadn’t realized was unsettled inside him unwound itself. “Thanks.”

Tim started to unload their bags from the truck.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Peter asked.

“I can hear Nahtoo sometimes,” Raylan said, “if I’m not blocking her.”

“You’re blocking her now?” Peter said, turning to look at Raylan.

“She gets a little… loud when she does her mental thing with the harpies,” Raylan said. “Besides, I think if they wanted us to listen, she would have remained in human form.”

“Makes sense,” Peter said. “She didn’t explain.”

Tim came up behind them and put a hand between Raylan’s shoulders, as he moved to stand between them. He kissed Willa’s head.

“Pete.”

“Tim.”

“Looks like the girls are all happy,” Tim said.

“You can tell that?” Peter asked.

Tim stiffened beside Raylan, then relaxed and sighed. “Yeah, they all kind of have a light scent to them they didn’t have before.”

“What does that smell like?” Peter asked.

Tim cocked his head to the side. “Lemony maybe. Kind of citrusy.”

Raylan inhaled. “With a hint of pepper.”

“Which one is it?” Peter asked. “Lemon or pepper?”

“Both.” Raylan and Tim answered together, then Tim half-laughed and Raylan’s lips quirked at small smile in Tim’s direction.

Tim licked his lips. “Emotions are never straightforward or simple,” he explained. “They smell as complicated… um… layered, maybe? As they feel.”

“And I’ll be able to smell that on Nahtoo? Her happiness?” Peter asked, his eyes followed the dragon as she and the harpies moved off toward the treeline of the woods bordering the house.

Tim’s arm dropped away, and Raylan grabbed his hand. He twined their fingers together. He could smell Tim’s worry, sadness… some hope and a little bit of guilt under that, but knew Peter probably wouldn’t pick up on any of that. Not yet anyway.

“When is Lillian dropping by?” Raylan asked.

“Soon as we call her,” Peter said. “Unless you changed your mind.”

Tim dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

Lillian was there within the hour.

She joined them upstairs on the deck. Raylan offered her a drink and she took him up on a cup of coffee.  

He handed Willa off to Tim while he went in to get Lillian’s drink. When he came back, Willa was asleep with her head cradled in the crook of Tim’s left arm. Lillian had a piece of rubber tied around his right bicep while he pumped his fist prepping his vein for her to draw his blood.

Raylan scowled, handing Lillian’s coffee off to Peter. “’The hell Tim?” Raylan said, preparing to reach for Willa.

Tim’s eyes slid up to Raylan. “Relax there, Daddy. She just got to sleep. It’s not like she can get any more lycanthropy than she’s already carrying, can she?”

Raylan pressed his lips together at Tim using his own logic against him. But it worked. Once he thought about it, he realized that Tim was right, and he was being an asshole. 

“She and Tim have the same strain, Raylan,” Lillian said. “Same strain you carry, actually.” She said as she slid a syringe into Tim’s arm and pulled back the plunger drawing some blood up into the barrel.  

Raylan knew all that logically. Seeing his little girl there was a different matter altogether. He saw Tim’s eyes narrow in his direction as if he was onto his train of thought.

“So, you’re just going to what? Inject Peter with Tim’s blood?” Raylan asked.

“Pretty much,” Lillian said.

“Are they the same blood type?” Raylan asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lillian said. “The lycanthropy in Tim’s blood will go to work on Peter’s immune system immediately.”

“I’ll change on Sunday with Tim, right?” Peter confirmed.

“Yes,” Lillian said, nodding. “Unless you’re a medical marvel like Raylan here. Peter a long-lost cousin you don’t know about?”

Raylan lifted a shoulder and let it fall without care or reply. It wasn’t like he really knew for sure. Peter handed him Lillian’s cup of coffee back to Raylan so his hands would be free when she injected him with Tim’s blood exposing him to the same wolf lycanthropy that the rest of Raylan’s immediate family now carried.

Even if Peter wasn’t family before, he would be now.

Jamil warned them.

He’d tried to tell Raylan that a man like Tim, who had such a dominant wolf would pick up challengers. When they’d asked the Lexington pack’s Ulfric to take on a third of their group as a pack member, he’d named his price.

Gathered in the holding cells waiting for Peter to change, Jamil pulled Tim and Raylan out into the hallway.

“I talked to your mate about this a month or so ago. You’re going to get challengers and that’s unavoidable,” Jamil said.

“I don’t want anyone’s place in the pack,” Tim said.

“But you need your own place in the pack,” Jamil corrected. “One that’s not mine so pack members know what to do with your… power.”

Tim scoffed, and it took everything Raylan had not to roll his eyes at him.

“No, don’t make light of it,” Jamil chastised him, and Raylan saw the soldier in Tim respond. It was a response reserved for few in Tim’s life—men like Art. “You are a wolf not to be trifled with.   Even before you were a wolf, the pack feared you. Both of you. My Lupa is scared of your mate—he speaks to our Munin. The Executioner and Death of our kind.”  

Tim was silent until it was clear it was time for him to answer to his superior. “All right. What do I do?”

“The fact is, the other wolves still fear you. They hate that you’re gay—” Jamil held up at hand at Raylan’s intention to protest. “I’m not apologizing for them. It’s still Kentucky. They hate that you and your mate are law enforcement officers. You need to realize that your wolf is so dominant that unless you are high enough up the food chain, every month some wolf is going to challenge you and keep challenging you until you are in a place where they can’t. Namely, dead. Tonight, I’m going to make you the Bolverk of our pack since all the wolves hate and fear you anyway. We’re going try to use their fear to keep you safe and the pack secure.”

Raylan didn’t pick up anything suspect from Jamil. “What is a Bolverk?” Raylan asked.

“Translated, it’s the evil-doer—”

“No way—” Tim interrupted.

“Tim,” Jamil cautioned, his voice resonating and Tim quieted down again. “The Bolverk metes out punishments. It’s an old position that most packs don’t have anymore since Ulfrics are powerful enough to handle their own dirty work.”

“Jamil, I’m not your enforcer,” Tim said.

“No, you’re not,” Jamil said. “You know the Sköll and the Hati are my enforcers. You, however, are uniquely qualified to hand out punishment, are you not?”

Raylan had to think that Jamil had a point.

Tim let his head fall to the side and winced like he did when he couldn’t see a way through an argument that let him win. “I’m not going to break the law,” Tim said simply.

“If you think you can do the job that way, fine,” Jamil said. “But you asked me to take on one more wolf and I agreed. For this price.”

Peter’s wolf was gray and missing a hind foot from the hock down.

He didn’t take long after dusk to turn. He followed Tim, Jamil, and Raylan up the stairs to the Lupinar where the pack was already beginning to gather. In wolf form, he walked with a with a three-legged gait that he seemed born to—which in wolf form, he was.

“Stay with Tim or Raylan until it’s time to run for the night, Peter,” Jamil ordered. “You’ll swear fealty to the pack on the next full moon when you’re in human form.”

He left the new wolf with them and took his place on the throne. Raylan couldn’t keep his eyes from being drawn by the Munin tree. It sang with death that night, and his necromancy wanted to commune with it so badly he found it hard to hold back. Tim reached down and grabbed his hand.

“You can feel that?” Raylan whispered.

“Mmm-mmm,” Tim said. “Your power’s itchy tonight.”

Raylan cocked his head in agreement.

Jamil opened the meeting and went through the formalities then moved to new business. He announced the new pack member Peter Parnell, who sat on his haunches just behind Raylan and Tim. Raylan scanned the crowd and saw in the faces what Jamil was talking about. He picked up Winona in the crowd, standing with the people she’d been staying with while she adjusted to her transition to wolf. Now he understood why Lillian was going to be taking Peter in during his transition instead of another wolf pack family.

Raylan wondered if they’d worn out their welcome with the Lexington pack. If that was the case, he was glad Winona stood apart from them. The majority of these people either feared or resented them—from the general swell of scent he picked up.

He hated this for Tim because as a wolf, he needed a pack.  

“We have a new position in the pack,” Jamil announced. “As Ulfric, I am bringing back the position of Bolverk, which will be filled by Tim Gutterson.”

Silence met the announcement.

Raylan again scanned the crowd of faces; the shock was apparent. A brief calm before a storm of emotion that oozed out in fear and anger this time around. They began to whisper to each other and then a voice rose above all the others.

“I challenge Tim Gutterson for the position of Bolverk.”

Raylan scanned the crowd searching for the challenger and found him.

“Who challenges?” a tall Asian wolf called out.

“Who’s that?” Raylan whispered to Tim.

“He’s Shang-Da, the Hati—one of Jamil’s enforcers.”

“I, Marcus Fletcher, challenge Tim Gutterson for the position of Bolverk,” Marcus said.

“Isn’t that the guy who didn’t want to fuck you?” Raylan whispered.

Peter growled. Raylan agreed there was no accounting for taste. Marcus was the pack’s Eros, who helped wolves transition sexually so they didn’t end up killing their human mates. He’d declined to work with Tim based on his sexuality.

“Shut up,” Tim ordered. “Both of you.” He peeked back at Peter shooting the wolf a pointed look.

“You are abdicating your position as the Eros, then, Marcus?” Shang-Da asked.

For a moment, Raylan thought that Marcus looked uncertain, but then he stepped forward into the clearing in the center of the Lupinar. “I am.”

“Tim, do you accept his challenge?” Shang-da asked.

Tim turned to Jamil and didn’t find the answer he needed so he looked back to Raylan, who read the reluctance in his lover’s expression. Raylan thought about what Jamil had said, time and again. The pack was going to keep pushing Tim until they learned not to.

“Show them,” Raylan said. He grabbed Tim’s shirt and yanked Tim to him and kissed him full on the mouth. He heard the shocked gasps, as if they were making out in the middle of a Pentecostal Sunday morning church service instead of a werewolf pack full moon run.

Tim stripped off his shirt, tossing it to Raylan, who in turn tossed it over his shoulder. He took a moment to admire his lover’s Death tattoo and knew that not many people had seen it. Maybe the pack had as Tim had changed back and forth from man to wolf—but now, here, it sent a message that Tim was Death. The skull with the machete, sniper rifle, and stake was clear: he knew many a way of delivering death. And that was as a human. Now he was even more powerful.

“This is a challenge. You can fight in either human or wolf form. Your choice. No weapons. No assistance from anyone in the pack or you forfeit the challenge.”

The pack backed up making room for them.

Marcus shifted into a huge gray wolf. Everyone turned their attention to Tim and he stood there waiting in human form.

“What is he thinking?” he heard a woman say.

“Marcus will tear him apart,” a man to the left followed.

Raylan was just about to question Tim’s strategy, but he understood. Tim had been fighting as a human longer than he had as a wolf.

And Raylan knew what no one else did about Tim, after all. They’d dragged more than one mattress to the dump.

Marcus growled and charged. Tim crouched and just as Marcus reached him, he extended his claws in a partial shift and dug them down into Marcus’ shoulder and side in a scrape meant to discourage but not kill. Tim sidestepped the wolf as if he were a bullfighter using his claws as a  lance to weaken Marcus’ major muscle groups.

Raylan heard the gasps and the phrase “partial shift” from all around the Lupinar as Tim’s claws sprang free and the pack realized Tim’s capability and strategy.

Tim backed away from Marcus and the wolf charged again, meeting another debilitating laceration of Tim’s claws. Over and over, they danced.

“Marcus should submit,” a woman said.

“He won’t. This fight,” another woman replied. “is to the death.”

Raylan recognized her from the first night he’d come out to the Lupinar. Raina. He pushed through the pack ignoring etiquette and niceties to grab her arm. No one in this pack was going to accept a brush against Raylan as an acceptance of protection tonight.  

“What do you mean it’s to the death?” Raylan demanded.

“Marcus plans to kill him,” she said. She smelled proud.

The pack members around them turned to her, looking as appalled as Raylan felt. “Are you watching the same fight I am?” he said, he shook her arm.

She tugged her arm free from his grasp easily. “Marcus will win.” Her eyes were too bright to qualify as sane.

“You’re crazy,” he said, and she just laughed at him.

He wound his way back to find Peter, not wanting to leave him alone long in this crowd. Raina was wrong. Marcus was not winning. But she was also right. He wasn’t giving up. He’d done some damage of his own, his teeth tearing into Tim’s thigh at one point and his forearm at another. Raylan was pretty sure that Tim took one of Marcus’ eyes when he bit Tim’s forearm. When it came down to it an Army Ranger with ten sharp knives extending from his fingers versus a wolf with equal strength… the Army Ranger was eventually going to prevail.

Raylan thought it was almost over when Raina charged the circle with a silver dagger. She was  coming up quickly behind Tim. Raylan reached for his weapon drew it, shooting her in the middle of the back over and over. The weapon fire echoed into the night. Raylan saw as Tim turned to stare as Raina fall. In the silence following her death, Marcus snarled then sprang at Tim’s back. Raylan screamed at Tim. “Watch your six, Gutterson.”

Tim ducked low and came up piercing Marcus low in the abdomen. He dug his claws up from Marcus’ belly to rib cage disemboweling the wolf, then Tim shook his hand free. He backed away from the fallen wolf, moving quickly to meet Raylan.

Shang-da stepped forward. “Tim Gutterson wins the challenge by forfeit.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tim said.

“Raina Wallis interfered,” Shang-da said.

“No shit,” Tim said.

“You won the challenge,” Shang-Da declared. “You shift first.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“You heard me,” the enforcer ordered.

Tim’s eyes fell on Raylan and he knew Tim was worried about him—that he’d wanted to take the time to tuck Raylan away in his truck.

“Go on,” Raylan said. “I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you back at your truck when you’re done runnin’.”

Tim barely had time to nod before the pack pulled him away.

Shang-Da stared at Raina, dead on the grounds of the Lupinar. “Silver bullets?” he asked.

“Well, she’s dead, isn’t she?” Raylan said. “That a problem?”

Shang-da shook his head and extended his own claws. He knelt down and began to dig into the wounds.

“What are you doing?” Raylan asked, but he was distracted by Raina’s soul floating over her body—similar to how Delroy’s had hung around the rafters at Audrey’s after his death. Raylan turned to see if he could find Marcus’ soul and saw it hovering a little further off. He’d never seen souls before his necromancy had leveled-up at the parley earlier that year. He wondered if he could see the souls of just wolves; he guessed he would have to wait until he saw a vampire, human or another kind of lycanthrope die.

“Silver could interfere with our Munin ritual,” Shang-da explained, bringing Raylan back to the tasks at hand.

Raylan’s mind blanked for a moment. “Munin ritual?”

Shang-da looked evenly at Raylan but didn’t elaborate. “Yes. Ingesting silver is unwise.”

His gears churned and then dropped into place and Raylan recalled Devil and his pack at the Harlan Lupinar consuming Walt McCready’s body after his death. Given what they’d learned about Devil as a pack leader in the last few weeks, Raylan was unsurprised that the Harlan Ulfric didn’t take any measures to guard his pack against silver exposure when McCready died.

Raylan eyed the mangled bullets Shang-da had already dug out of Raina’s back with his claws so he didn’t have to touch them and shoved into a pile.

“Did you want me to take those?” Raylan offered.

But Shang-da was digging a hole as they spoke and burying them. “I’ll take care of them properly in the morning.”

Raylan looked around at the dead bodies on the ground and started to move away from the center of the circle over to the Munin tree, understanding what would come next.

After that, the pack began to shift in a sort of melee. This was nothing like what Raylan had seen in the past from the pack. They’d been organized, folding their clothes and leaving them in their vehicles. This was clothing tearing and explosions of fur from smooth skin in puddle after puddle of viscous goo.

Raylan nodded to Jamil as he made his way to the Munin tree.

“You sure you don’t want to wait in the bunker or maybe in Tim’s truck?” Jamil asked.

Raylan death magic was tingling. His specialty was the dead, and he wanted to see what happened to the pack’s dead. His necromancy needed it. Seeing, no feeling the Munin tree consume Marcus and Raina, was too tempting to walk away from. “Oh no, I’ll be fine here,” Raylan answered.

Jamil laughed. “I’m sure you will,” he said, then he turned serious. “When you screamed at Tim, why didn’t you use your mate bond to warn him of Raina’s attack?”

“My what?” Raylan asked.

“Mate bond,” Jamil repeated. The Ulfric tugged Raylan’s shirt to one side and then the other, knocking Tim’s shirt off his shoulder. Raylan shoved it into his back pocket and let the T-shirt hang down from his ass. Jamil touched the scar on Raylan’s collarbone from Tommy Bucks. “This is a vampire bite,” Jamil said, confused. “Not wolf?”

Raylan shrugged that shoulder, uncomfortable. “No… I hunt vampires more than weres. Bites are a job hazard.”

“You do carry lycanthropy though, don’t you?” Jamil asked.

Raylan tipped his head to the side. “I do.” He was confused. Jamil had waited around with him earlier that year to see if he would change. He knew Raylan and Tim had been exposed together.

Jamil narrowed his eyes at Raylan, then rubbed the pad of his thumb between Raylan’s eyebrows.

“The hell Jamil?” Raylan said, trying to pull away.

“Just wait,” he ordered. “I know you two are mates, but your bond is… it’s just messed up.”

“Define ‘messed up’,” Raylan said.

“Just that,” Jamil replied. “Never seen the like.”

“All right,” Raylan said, slowly. “What do you propose I do about that?”

“Well, our pack doesn’t have a vargamor. But you say you know one, right?”

“My cousin,” Raylan said. Well, a distant cousin, somewhat removed. His cousin was the magic practitioner for the Bennett County Wolf Clan. As a Grant, she was mated to their Ulfric and protected their clan from vampiric interference from the likes of Quarles or Boyd Crowder.

“Start with your cousin,” Jamil said. “I’ll… um… have a word with Tim about your shoulder.”

“My what?” Raylan asked.

Jamil turned to leave.

“Say Jamil,” Raylan said, stopping him. “You didn’t happen to have any idea that Marcus had it in his head to try Tim tonight, did you?”

“You may want to head on back to the truck after the pack takes off to run. You know, when you’re done playing with our tree.”

Raylan flattened his mouth at the way Jamil dodged his question, but he conceded. “Fair enough, then.”

Raylan Givens didn’t have a weak stomach. Even when his lover shifted into a wolf and tore a chunk off Marcus’ body and then Raina’s, Raylan managed to hold down the ice cream he’d snuck from the freezer before they’d left the house that night.

He wasn’t so sure about how Tim’s stomach, or mind, would hold up tomorrow morning though.

As the pack consumed their dead, Marcus and Raina’s souls floated above the pack blurring toward the Munin tree. Raylan moved back and leaned against the tree’s trunk, laying his palms flat to the bark. He could feel the memories of Raina and Marcus sinking into the tree, into the Lupinar, into the Munin, into the collective memory of the pack itself.  

His death magic buzzed with it as the images of their lives floated through his mind.

Marcus had been a surgeon. And he’d been a good one.

He’d been skilled as a human, but after he turned, his lycanthropy gave him an edge.

Marcus also had been a gambler. And he hadn’t been a good one—both as a human and as a werewolf.

Used to the edge that being a wolf gave him as a surgeon, Marcus thought that would transfer to his gambling. He’d bought into a whole new brand of gambler’s fallacy. But in the long run having heightened senses had no effect on his luck and his debts piled up.  

To dig himself out of debt, he and Raina had used their positions within the pack as sexual surrogates to farm out candidates for lycan porn videos.

Tell him they never stopped. Jamil’s first wife Elise had told Raylan the first time he touched their Munin with his necromancy. She rose into his mind as soon as he thought of her, soft and sweet. They can’t stop me now. She smiled and he saw her memories flashing past his mind until one settled in place: one of the new wolves came forward and told her what had been done to him.

Did Marcus and Raina kill you? Raylan asked.

No, it was an accident, she said.

Raylan pushed her away and focused on Marcus and saw his memories: prostituting wolves and any other weres he could manipulate, from Kentucky and the bordering states. Jamil had thought he’d put an end to it before Elise died.

Then Quarles came to Kentucky. Raylan saw Marcus meet the vampire. Oh, oh, Raylan recognized that face. Phillip had done a good job with the sketch artist. Raylan’d never seen Quarles in person. But there he was. In techni-crazy-color. Moving and speaking. His hair was so much more yellow than Raylan realized… his eyes a paler blue. No wonder Boyd called him an ‘albino piece of shit’.

He watched Marcus and Raina deliver a wolf into the Quarles’ hands for his predilections and videos. No wonder Marcus didn’t want Tim and Raylan in his pack.

Then, Raylan saw another memory: Marcus standing over Emmitt Arnett with the vampire’s heart in his bloody claws.

Raylan was so shocked by the image of Marcus with his claws fisting Arnett’s heart he didn’t ask the obvious question—why kill the vampire? Instead the words in his mind flowed from the image of Marcus’ claws. If you could partial shift, why did you shift when you challenged Tim? Raylan asked.

He was supposed to shift. What new wolf would try to fight a werewolf in human form? Marcus spat.

Amused by the dead werewolf’s anger but not wanting to tick him off any further, Raylan tried not to laugh at him. An Army Ranger who’s been bounty hunting since he could walk, Raylan said. Who’s now sporting a full set of claws of his very own.

Marcus didn’t reply, and Raylan wondered if he’d slipped away. He was used to zombies who he could raise, order to answer, and return to the ground when he was good and ready to be done with them.

Where’s Quarles? Raylan asked, concentrating on Marcus again. Why kill Arnett?

But he was gone.

Raina answered. Where are the wolves? she said, laughing at him.

What do you mean? Raylan asked.

He’s an addict , she said.

Great, Raylan thought. Quarles would fit right into Harlan. Addicted to what?

Pretty wolf boys, she taunted.

Just as Raylan was thinking there weren’t all that many of those in the Harlan wolf pack, Raina laughed.

Pretty dead boys.

What do you mean? Raylan asked again fearing that he already knew, but she was gone.

Maybe Tim had had a point: they should have staked out the Harlan Lupinar instead of coming back to Lexington for this nightmare.

Chapter Text

Tim woke up heavy-limbed, lying face down and half on top of Raylan.  

“How do you feel?” Raylan asked. He was on his back and wrapped an arm around Tim, sliding his cool palm up and down the warm skin of Tim’s back. He shifted and tried to untangle their legs.

“Fine, tired,” he said into Raylan’s collarbone.

“Stomach all right?” Raylan pulled his head back a little to try to look Tim in the eye.

Tim rolled back onto his side and stared up at Raylan. “Really? You’re going to give me shit about that?”

Raylan’s tawny eyes were sleepy and half-mast but serious. “You ate two people last night.”

“Not all of them,” Tim said.

“Tim.”

“They were bad people,” Tim said.

“I know,” Raylan started. “Marcus killed—”

“—Emmitt Arnett,” Tim finished.

“How’d you know that?” Raylan asked, his brow furrowing.

Tim sent him an odd look. “I scented Arnett’s personal effects from the evidence room, remember? How did you find out?”

“The pack Munin,” Raylan said.

“What?” Tim asked. “Marcus just turned into a nice guy and talked to you in death?”

“I saw his memories. Jamil was full of shit about not doing his own dirty work. He put Marcus and Raina out of business once, but when Quarles came to Lexington, they went back into business and worked with him. Our quarry’s got a thing for the wolves.”

“Huh,” Tim said. “Well, we knew that.”

“Listen, I think Jamil knew Marcus was going to challenge you,” Raylan said.

“He pulled me aside last night—” Tim started, then they heard a wail. “Nahtoo’ll get her,” Tim said, but Raylan was extricating himself from what was left of their embrace.

“I know. But she’ll want to get over to Lillian’s this morning to see Peter, and Winona and Bernardo are coming this afternoon.”

Tim held his hands up and let Raylan go.

***

Bernardo slipped out of the house that afternoon.

“Where did Bernardo go?” Tim asked, after he’d been gone about ten minutes.

“He’s got some tweaking to do with the wards,” Raylan said.

Tim looked confused. “I thought he did that during the new moon.”

“He’s got some full moon thing to add, I guess,” Raylan said, shrugging.

“Shit, did you tell him the harpies are out there?” Tim asked.

Raylan frowned. “You know, now that you bring it up…”

Tim ran for the door off the kitchen and was gone, jumping off the deck railing that ran along the side of the house off the kitchen.

“Raylan,” Winona said, approaching him with warning in her voice. She was swaying in place with Willa. “What is going on?”

He put his water bottle down on the counter and considered her control. It looked pretty good. When they were married, that expression was one he’d learned to dodge, especially when she coupled it with a finger jab. She was riding a fair wave of ire and handling Willa like a pro. “Oh, just a little miscommunication. Tim’s gone to clear it up.”

“Did Bernardo go to work on the wards?” Winona asked.

“See that’s the thing…” Raylan started.

Nahtoo came up behind Winona but didn’t move to take the baby. “Did you warn him about the birdies?”

Raylan smiled thinly. “You know, I think I’m going to make sure Tim has everything in hand. Y’all are fine in here, right?”

He found Tim with Bernardo and the harpies. No blood had been shed but the harpies were deep in discussion with Tim.

“You need protection?” Aello asked, but it sounded like an accusation from her tone and her stance.

“Well…” Tim started.

“Yes,” Raylan said. Tim turned and looked at him as if he couldn’t believe he’d given away some big secret—as if the harpies didn’t notice the wards the first night they were there. They’d crawled all over the woods surrounding the house for the last two days.

“What? We do need protection. We wouldn’t have Bernardo warding if we didn’t.”

“From what enemy?” Ocypete asked.

“Well, you know Raylan’s got his daughter living here now. And… our work forces us to meet dangerous people,” Tim explained.

“Like us,” Calaeno said.

“Are you dangerous to them?” Bernardo asked.

Calaeno didn’t answer.

“No,” Aello said. “We will protect you. Any enemy scared away by these charms would be weak prey.”

“Charms, really?” Bernado mumbled.

“I’m all right with that,” Raylan said.

“But I’m still going to finish my ‘charms’ if you don’t mind,” Bernardo said, sounding a little put out.

***

Tim reminded the harpies that they’d be going into the office with him, Raylan, and Nahtoo in the morning to meet their attorney and the AUSA about their witness status. He was getting ready to give them a time but realized they probably didn’t measure time the same way. “We’ll leave an hour or so after sun up.”

The harpies took off toward the house. They’d been spending time with Nahtoo on the deck and perching around the property. They weren’t comfortable inside the house for any length of time.

“We heading back down to Harlan this week?” Bernardo asked, fiddling with a ward carved into the base of one of the trees.

“Think so,” Tim said. “We need to regroup and work through a plan with Art. Make sure the chief doesn’t think we’re spinning our wheels.”

Bernardo finished whatever he was doing to the ward and then waved at them to follow him. “He’d have a point,” he said. “We kind of were.”

Raylan huffed a laugh.

Tim turned and looked at Raylan who held out his hands.

“He has a fair point,” Raylan quipped. “I been on more productive hunts in my time.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Just don’t say that in front of Art.”

“You know, I do think Tim had a point about staking out the Harlan wolf pack Lupinar,” Raylan added.

Tim stopped cold and stared at him. “Seriously, now you agree? When the full moon won’t be back around for another month?”

“And he’s got a point, too, Raylan,” Bernardo said, pausing to look back at the both of them. “Kind of a dick move. We could have wrapped this whole thing up last night.”

Raylan scowled at Bernardo. “Or we woulda been overwhelmed by a full wolf pack and potentially two master vampires,” Raylan said. “I still think Duffy’s turned on Boyd.”

“Yeah, but unless he kills Boyd outright, it’s not really our concern, is it?” Tim said. They’d been through the whole Duffy argument. More than once.“What swayed you about the Harlan pack?”

“Raina, actually,” Raylan said. “Or her Munin.”

“What’s a Munin?” Bernardo asked.

“Like her spirit,” Tim said. “Wolf packs… retain their pack members’ memories.”

“I didn’t know that,” Bernardo said. “How do they manage that?”

“Ritual,” Tim said, hedging against giving Bernardo the full answer. He trusted the man to the point of including him in their inner circle but disclosing that he’d been involved in eating two pack members the night before? No, if Raylan as his mate even questioned him about it, Bernardo didn’t need to know.

Bernardo found the next tree he was looking for and stopped. “Probably lots of blood magic involved.”

“Probably,” Raylan said, and Tim felt a surge of fondness for Raylan for understanding what Tim would want to keep private and why. “Same with raising zombies.”

“Same with a lot of our rituals, too,” Bernardo said, going to work on the ward. “The ones passed down from my people.”

“Raina mentioned that Quarles had a thing for the wolves,” Raylan said. “That if we found them—we’d find him. Her partner in crime, Marcus, used to procure lycanthropes from the general area for a porn video sideline—then Quarles personal use.”

“Sounds like they were more communicative dead than alive,” Tim said.

“Seems so,” Raylan agreed.

“Why is the were pornography industry so prolific in Kentucky?” Bernardo asked. “You two’ve worked around the country. Am I crazy or is this just odd to have them bunched together like this… first in this shit little town and then in Lexington?”

Tim thought Bernardo had a point. “Gotta be connected.”

“How?” Raylan said. “Raina and Elise showed me their memories of Jamil shutting down a video operation that involved members new to the pack before her death. Seems like this has been around a time. Boyd said when we first dragged him in over bombing Bo’s mines that Bo was involved in makin’ dirty flicks with preternaturals.”

Bernardo had abandoned his ward to pay attention to them. “So this goes back to your AUSA’s hard on for a RICO case?” He asked, doubtfully.

Tim and Raylan both scoffed together.

“Never gonna happen,” Tim said, and Raylan and Bernardo both laughed.

“Because anyone guilty is either going to end up put down by one of us with a warrant or a pack leader like Jamil,” Bernardo said.

“Exactly,” Tim said. “But it’s interesting timing that the weeds in Lexington that Jamil pulled already re-grew about the time Quarles rolled through and then we’ve got him running amok all over Harlan and the same thing is happening down there.”  

Bernardo went back to work on his ward. “Sounds like your Ulfric was actually helpful,” he said.

Neither Raylan or Tim answered for a moment. Tim understood that was a line they held dear between their marshalling and what they were. He was interested to see how Raylan would handle Bernardo’s fishing.

“You know, Jamil said something else odd to me last night,” Raylan said. “Said our mate bond was messed up.”

“Really?” Bernardo asked, sounding inordinately interested. Tim thought Bernardo went out of his way to ignore that he and Raylan were together most of the time. He didn’t think it was because the other marshal was homophobic, but seemed like a guy thing.

He licked his lips. If the topic wasn’t going to put Bernardo off, Tim wanted to know what Jamil had said to Raylan. “He…um…mentioned something along those lines to me, too,” Tim said. “Messed up how?”

“Just ‘messed up’,” Raylan said. “Told me to call Marianne.”

“Who’s that?” Bernardo asked.

“His distant cousin. Hill people. Lives way up in the mountains,” Tim said. “We do not have time to traipse around the hills and hollers chasing Jamil’s paranoia about our relationship.”

Raylan raised his eyebrows. “Hang on there, hoss,” he said. “Reason he brought it up was he thought I shoulda used our ‘mate bond’ to warn you about Marcus ambushing you.”

“Hold on a sec. Isn’t Marcus the dead guy Raylan talked to last night?” Bernardo asked.

Raylan and Tim didn’t answer. The silence dragged out and told the story well enough.

“Pretend I never asked,” Bernardo finally said filling the quiet night. “So mental communication?”

“He didn’t say,” Raylan answered. “But something more than old-fashioned hollerin’.”

“Huh,” Bernardo said. “That’d come in handy.”

Raylan pointedly nodded at Tim. “It would.”

“You know, my people know some rituals. We could do a visualization and energy clearing ritual later,” Bernardo offered.

Tim winced but Raylan shrugged.

“We wouldn’t have to call Marianne.”

The sun had disappeared into the western horizon hours before but failed to take the heat with it, leaving one of those summer nights that should have been cool but clear skies and sparse breezes made the darkness itself feel like a half dry towel pulled from a hot dryer before the cycle quite finished.

Bernardo built a small fire in the woods up the hill on the eastern side of their house. Raylan and Tim stood back to back stripped down to their undershorts.

“This time of year it’s not near cold enough at night for a fire,” Tim said. Not that the cold would bother him any time of year now.

“I need it for the ritual,” Bernardo said. “Gonna use it to fuse your blood for the potion.”

Bernardo had handed Tim a knife earlier to slice his finger but he’d passed it back. He extended one claw and bled one of his fingers, letting the blood drip into Bernardo’s little metal bowl—dented with pockmarks and singed dark on the bottom. He’d had to cut his own finger twice to get the same amount of blood as had come from the from the one on Raylan’s finger because he’d healed that much faster. He ran his finger against Raylan’s cut now and was satisfied that his skin had already begun to knit back together nicely.  

Bernardo had mixed their blood together and then held it over the fire using a pair of Tim’s needle-nose pliers to hold the bowl. Benardo had whispered into their blood while he added bits of leaves and other matter, letting it start to bubble. The bowl was now cooling on a rock.

Tim coughed when Bernardo wafted smoke into his face, bringing him back to the present.

“Now press your palms together,” Bernardo said.

“You sure I had to take my pants off for this?” Raylan asked.

“For the last time, yes,” Bernardo said.

Tim twined his fingers with Raylan’s, then leaned back and brushed him with a bare shoulder. He quieted down for a moment.

“Fine,” Raylan conceded.

“What is that shit?” Tim asked, watching the man surround the two of them in smoke with a bundle of dried herbs.

“Smudge stick.”

“Obviously,” Raylan said, “what’re you burning?”

“Sage. Some cedar, a little rosemary and sweetgrass.”

“Why?” Tim asked.

Bernardo didn’t answer. He murmured in another language soft words while holding the burning bundle of herbs around Tim’s head, then Raylan’s. He moved down and around their bodies.

“If you were going to make a meal, you’d make sure you started with a clean kitchen, right?” Bernardo asked.

Raylan chuckled. “Like Tim’s kitchen’d be anything but.”

Tim elbowed him.

“’Course.”

“Same principle.”

“Wait,” Raylan said. “Who’s the meal?”

Bernardo chuckled.

“Where did you learn this?” Raylan asked.

“My grandfather,” Bernardo answered.

When he’d extinguished his smudge stick, Bernardo was back with his tin bowl of their blood.

“All right,” Bernardo said. “I’m going to rub this into your skin to clear your… I guess you can call them pathways so you can try to see your bond and what’s blocking it.”

“Uh huh,” Raylan said.

Bernardo stepped around to face Tim.

“Gutterson, thing is, the first pathway or two are kind of… intimate,” Bernardo said.

“Intimate how?” Tim asked.

“I’m gonna rub this under your balls,” he said, frankly.

“No way,” Tim said, starting to pull away from Raylan, but Raylan held onto Tim’s hands.

“Tim, pretend he’s your doctor.”

“Who says my doctor touches me there?” Tim said. “You’re the only one I let…”

“Well, we’re gonna talk about that later—” Raylan started.

“—lycanthrope, remember? Permanent get out of prostate-check free card.”

“But I thought you liked when I rubbed your—” Raylan argued, letting go of Tim’s hands and turning to face him.

“ Enough already,” Bernardo said. “ This —” he waved his hand at them “—I don’t need to know. How about this for an idea? I’ll say the incantation and you two can apply the potion to each others’ chakras. The lower ones, anyway.”

“ Chakras?” Tim cocked his head to the side considering the idea, then he narrowed his eyes at Bernardo. “You learned about chakras from your grandfather?”

Bernardo groaned and rubbed his face. “No. I learned about them from a Wiccan in Minnesota, but that doesn’t mean this mixed with my grandfather’s magic won’t open your pathways so you can see what the fuck is wrong with your mate bond.”

“Minnesota?” Tim said doubtfully.

“No law against wise women in Minnesota,” Bernardo said.

“Blood magic does have a way about it,” Raylan said.

Tim had his doubts, but Raylan would know. He was using his own blood to raise zombies now, but for decades before that he’d been sacrificing chickens. Tim thought back to the days of all the chickens and shuddered. He didn’t miss their glassy-eyed stares from their cages—usually from his backseat when he was driving.

If Raylan was willing, Tim would give this a try.

“Fine.”

Tim didn’t think there was anything remotely erotic about Raylan with his hand shoved down his shorts rubbing a blood mixture behind his balls into the base of his cock. Not while Bernardo watched and chanted at them. But Tim’d be goddamned if it wasn’t turning Raylan on. He could smell it.

“You like this,” he hissed at Raylan. He didn’t reply to the accusation but he swore Raylan brushed his hand against Tim’s cock with way more purpose than was necessarily called for as he pulled it out of his briefs. Tim sucked in a breath at the contact that felt too good.

“You’re supposed to be meditating, Gutterson,” Bernardo interrupted.

“I thought I was supposed to be rubbing bodily fluids on my mate,” Tim snapped. He shoved the bowl he’d been holding into Raylan’s hands. “Your turn, Hotshot.”

Tim ran his fingers through the bowl and then saw Raylan was already half-tenting his boxers.

“How did I not realize you’re a goddamned exhibitionist?” Tim whispered, ignoring Bernardo’s groan when he overheard the words. Under other circumstances, Tim might have enjoyed the discovery. All those months ago when Winona nearly walked in on him and Raylan having sex was something else entirely… erotic and powerful. But Bernardo was a coworker—their peer. Tim felt like he’d won something from Winona that night. This was just… embarrassing.

“I woulda thought you’d like that about this,” Raylan whispered back.

“Why would you ever think that?” Tim huffed, quietly.

He tried not to think about it as he slipped his hand into the front of Raylan’s shorts and down under his balls. He looked up and Raylan’s eyes were closed but Tim didn’t think he was following Bernardo’s directions and concentrating on visualizing their bond.

Raylan’s smile was tight-lipped and small. “Well, Timmy, there was that one night quite a spell back when you got off on Winona watching us.”

“Shit,” Tim cussed loudly. “You knew?”

“We all know, now , Gutterson,” Bernardo said, tiredly.

“You knew, too?” Tim said, turning to Bernardo to stare open-mouthed. Surely Winona didn’t tell...

Bernardo raised an eyebrow and stared back.

When Tim stepped back, Bernardo told them there was one more chakra they’d want to do themselves a couple inches below their belly buttons where they needed to apply the potion. It went slightly better than the one that Bernardo called their root chakras.

“I think I could have done this myself,” Tim said, as Raylan rubbed the mixture of blood, dust, and probably eye of newt into his pubic hair.

“I love that you’re hirsute,” Raylan whispered. “Ever tell you that?”

Tim closed his eyes and told himself he was following Bernardo’s directions. He was concentrating on the spot where Raylan was applying the potion, but that wasn’t all he was thinking on.

“Guys,” Bernardo said, pausing in his incantation. “Concentrate.”

Tim didn’t see how this was going to get them anywhere.

And it didn’t until they were standing back to back again with their palms pressed together.

Bernardo had moved up their bodies marking their stomachs, hearts, and throats. He’d applied the blood potion to Raylan’s “third eye” and had moved to Tim.

“Stop scowling,” Bernardo said. “You dent your third eye when you do that.”

“That keep it from working?” Tim asked.

“No,” Bernardo said, “but it makes putting this crap on your face harder than it needs to be. Now shut up, stop scowling, and concentrate. Use your power. Both of you. Pour your power into this space between your eyes and try to see your bond.”

Tim could smell the moment when Raylan tapped his necromancy to raise it. The cool energy always reminded him of a winter breeze—the scent of snow and frost on a winter morning. He met it with his own power, warmer and wild in nature. Wolf.   

He was aware of Bernardo pouring the remainder of the blood mixture onto the tops of their heads and reciting his incantation again. “Yes. Feel for it, but look too,” Bernardo said. “Focus on seeing your bond.”

Tim concentrated on the place where his power mingled with Raylan’s, on the space between his eyes and saw what looked like vines.

“What do you see?” Bernardo asked.

“Vines,” Tim said.

“Raylan?”

“A bunch of them,” he confirmed. Tim could feel his head move as he nodded in agreement. “Gnarled around each other.”

Tim looked closer and he could see it now. There was a thick vine in the center that was gray, ashen, and he instinctively knew this was their mate bond. It was twisted and warped, bulging in some places and shrunken where it’d been strangled tight by other smaller vines. Wrapped around it were lots and lots of smaller pulsing red veins that were filled with what looked like blood that were smothering it.

“What is that wrapped around us?” Tim asked.

“Three guesses,” Raylan said. “First two don’t count.”

“Shit—” Tim started.

“Boyd,” they said as one.

Raylan didn’t take too kindly to how Bernardo’s ritual ended. He marched up to the kitchen, still covered in ritual blood and poured himself one drink. Then another.

Tim knew Winona could smell the blood and anguish on him and shot him a questioning look, not to mention Bernardo reeked of guilt that Tim couldn’t begin to appease.

Bernardo and Winona were sleeping in the sunroom that night to give Nahtoo a free night to go spend with Peter at Lillian’s. Winona’s control had improved too, so they were trying to get her more time with Willa and Nahtoo would work with Peter as he transitioned.  

Tim brushed their concern off and pulled a sullen and upset Raylan downstairs to the bathroom before he could pour himself a third whiskey. Standing in the shower together, Tim pushed him under the stream of hot water.

“Wish we’d never done it,” Raylan said.

Tim ran soapy hands over Raylan’s body, seeking out all the places where they’d smeared blood on each other. He nudged Raylan’s foot with one of his own, spreading his legs so he could slide his hand between them to thoroughly soap him up.

“Why? It’s not like it’s a surprise that Boyd’s got some hold on you?” Tim asked. He tried to shift Raylan’s shoulder and turn him but he was ignored. Tim might be a lot stronger but Raylan still had some height on him. So Tim just reached up and grabbed the shower head and just pulled it down.

He’d bathe Raylan like he did Sheeba if need be.

“S’not like we can do anything about it. Can’t kill Boyd without dying myself,” Raylan said. His eyes were stark. “You saw the state of our bond. Is he going to eventually kill our… what’s between...” Raylan’s words trailed off.

“Us?” Tim finished. “No. Not an option. Jamil did mention something to me last night that might… shore that up.”

Raylan narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh yeah?”

Tim lifted Raylan’s balls and showered away the soap and what remained of their blood with warm water. “Oh yeah.”

“He says you have to bite me?” Raylan repeated what Tim’d explained to him.

“Yeah, here.” Tim traced Raylan’s shoulder. “Or here.” He touched the other one close to where Tommy Bucks had once bit Raylan. The pad of Tim’s finger followed the contour of the scar. He remembered the night Bucks bit Raylan and he had made fire rain down around them. Later, the first time they’d been together, he’d bitten Raylan there.

This was actually a long time coming.

“While we’re fucking?” Raylan asked.

“Uh-huh,” Tim said. “While I’m coming.”

“Huh,” Raylan said, but Tim could smell that Raylan liked the idea. “So, what do you want?”

Tim knew what he was asking. “Me? I want to ride you.”

“You do?” Raylan sounded surprised. It had been a while.

Tim popped one eyebrow at him, a quick, suggestive facial quirk. “Not sure that’s what my wolf wants, though.” He flattened his lips together. His wolf wanted something wholly different.

Raylan’s lips parted and his tongue slipped out, rubbing his bottom lip with the tip as if he was working out his thoughts against his desires with that tongue. Like his tongue was weighing the pros in one direction and then the cons in the other of who should be on top first. “We can do what your wolf wants. Then maybe we can do what you want. After.”

Tim laughed. “Ambitious plan. For an old man.”

“Yeah well, I’m sleeping with a twenty-something-year-old.”

“Thirty now.”

Raylan tipped his head. “Who’s counting?”

“Apparently not you.” Tim grinned.

Tim had pushed Raylan over onto his back after they’d both come, hard, with Tim’s teeth sunk into the meat of Raylan’s shoulder.

His. Mate.

The first time he’d finally taken Raylan after he’d turned, he remembered how badly he’d wanted to bite him that night. Instinct, maybe.

“Ray? You okay?” Tim nudged him.

“Mmm’kay. Just gimme a minute,” Raylan mumbled. “Be ready in just a bit.”

Tim doubted it. He eyed the fresh bite on Raylan’s shoulder and the blood dripping from it. His instinct was to run his tongue over the teeth marks in the wound. He settled with running his tongue up Raylan’s cool skin collecting the blood trails to the bite that was already just oozing. Tim scented it and it smelled right . That was the only word for it.

Raylan might not be ready for round two but Tim thought he could see his way clear to it with a little patience.

His wolf had wanted Raylan on his hands and knees… hard. They’d collapsed on the bed when Tim had gotten close, rolling them onto their sides. His wolf liked that even better, shoving one of Raylan’s legs up and over his hips. Tim could reach his shoulder better that way and when he felt himself losing it inside him, he sank his teeth into his shoulder.

Tim’s bite hit over the top of his shoulder nearly overlapping Buck’s.

Raylan yelled. Loudly enough that Bernardo had come down later and tapped on the door. “We’re fine,” Tim called out.

“Just checking.”

Tim took inventory of the rest of Raylan’s body, trailing down his body with his tongue.

“Mmmm,” Raylan mumbled, shifting. “Don’t miss the washcloths.”

Tim chuckled at how pronounced the “R” in wash was in Raylan’s accent when he so wiped out. He licked Raylan’s stomach clean of his cum.

“You got your second wind yet?” Tim asked softly, taking his still soft cock in his hand, gently in case he was still too sensitive to enjoy the touch.

Raylan opened his eyes and lifted his head to look down at him. “I’m getting there.”

Tim tapped his hip. “Roll over, I’ll help you out,” he said.

Raylan eyed him. “Fair enough.”

Tim crawled up over Raylan to look at the bite again. Still odd. He smelled it again… and it smelled good. Again, only one word came to mind that fit: right. “Odd. This isn’t healing,” Tim said. He ran his tongue around the blood that had oozed from it, catching a stray drop that managed to slide down his back. Why did even Raylan’s blood taste so fucking good to Tim?

He trailed his tongue down his spine, picking up hints of sweat from their earlier lovemaking until he got to Raylan’s ass. He nudged his legs apart.

“What’re you doin’?” Raylan asked, his hands slipping down to his sides. Tim captured them in his own, wrapping his hands around Raylan’s—wrist to wrist. Tim smiled at the sign of trust that Raylan just grabbed Tim’s wrists in response.

“Gettin’ you there,” Tim said. He ran his tongue down his crack to his ass where Tim prodded with his tongue and found his own cum. His wolf loved this and Tim didn’t mind it. He was already nearly ready for round two. Raylan tugged on Tim’s wrists, but he held him fast and tight in that position. It wasn’t long before Raylan was undulating under Tim’s mouth, pulling on Tim’s hands to get closer one second and wiggling further away the next, and then digging into the sheets with his toes for leverage. Before long, Tim wasn’t the only one ready for round two.  

“Enough,” Raylan finally said, and Tim let him pull away to crawl up the bed.

Tim had a moment of concern that faded quickly when Raylan rolled over onto his back. “Come here and ride me.”

Tim grabbed the lube. He didn’t need to be asked twice.

Straddling Raylan’s thighs, Tim flipped the cap on the lube and squeezed a dollop out into his hand. He fisted it around Raylan’s cock. Then, he squeezed out a bit more on his fingers and reached back to slip them inside his ass as he rose up on his knees.

He knee walked forward and lined himself astride Raylan’s hips. Tim reached behind his body once more to align Raylan’s cock so he could slide down on its length.

“Oh yeah,” Tim moaned.

As Tim picked up his rhythm, Raylan pulled up his knees and curled up so that he could take Tim’s face in his hands and kiss him deeply.

“Jesus Tim,” Raylan breathed.  “C’mere.” He pulled away and leaned back taking Tim with him.

“Umph,” Tim grunted and propped his weight up on his hands on either side of Raylan’s head. He bore down on Raylan’s cock and got a groan out of his partner before he grabbed him by the hips on each side. Then Raylan canted his hips and pistoned them up into Tim.

Tim’s breath caught as he started to try to rock his hips. He fell across Raylan, his hips still jerking to meet Raylan’s thrusts. His eyes fell on the bite on Raylan’s shoulder.

“I’m close,” Raylan breathed.

“Bite me,” Tim ordered.

“What?” Raylan said, slightly in a haze.

“Please?” Tim begged. “Just do it. Like I did you.” Tim tipped his neck to the side showing Raylan that spot he knew that he liked so much. The spot below the two moles on the right.

“Jesus Christ, Tim,” Raylan groaned. Tim could feel Raylan’s cock jerk once, then twice inside him. But Raylan did as he asked. Raylan sank his dull, blunt-edged teeth down into Tim’s shoulder, deep enough to draw blood. And then Tim felt Raylan coming.

Since they’d dropped the condoms, Tim had been doing most of the topping so this feeling was still so new to him. The idea of that alone would have sent him over the edge. But the combination of the bite and the sex made their bond surge through him forcing an explosive orgasm from him, his cock spurting cum between them.

And Tim yelled.

And for the second time that night they sent Bernardo away.

“Sure. Next time, if you wake up Willa, Winona says she’s coming down. And not to watch.”

“Shit,” Raylan said.

Chapter Text

Raylan decided he would take the easy way out the next morning and climbed into Bernardo’s marshal service SUV and left to pick Nahtoo up from Lillian’s house. He even gave up the front seat letting the weredragon take shotgun on the final leg of the commute to the courthouse.

It’d been a rough morning with Tim corralling the harpies into his truck… and then there was Winona.

Winona was going to have her first stay-at-home mommy day alone with Willa. At the last minute, Tim informed him he was going to leave Sheeba behind with the girls in case something went very, very wrong.

“Define ‘very, very wrong’,” Raylan asked Tim, turning narrowed eyes on his partner.

“I can’t,” Tim answered, deflecting. “I just—”

“Go. It will be fine,” Winona stopped him there. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Then how come you sent Bernardo to do your dirty work last night?” Raylan should have known better than to bring that up.

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t need to be down there to hear you. You know that. We really need to talk about soundproofing if I’m going to move back in here.”

Raylan’s eyebrows lifted almost into his hat, and he watched Tim’s throat as he visibly swallowed what had to be his own shock. Raylan hadn’t counted on Winona moving back in with them. Willa, yes. Winona? No. He wondered how long it would be before Tim would start trying to either add on to the house or trying buying them a new one.

Since it was too early for whiskey, Raylan took the coward’s way out and rode into work with the low-key Bernardo and Nahtoo.   

Raylan brought Tim a cup of coffee as he watched Nahtoo, the Harpies, and their attorney met with AUSA David Vasquez in the marshal service conference room. Tim hadn’t been that surprised to see Catherine Maison-Gillette representing Nahtoo and the Harpies again. By the time he’d gotten there with the Harpies that morning, she and Vasquez had their fair share of manilla folders spread out on the conference room table and were already arguing.  

Tim nodded his thanks for the coffee and Raylan smiled back before slipping over to his computer to begin the paperwork. They’d been gone for a couple weeks and had expense reports to file now that they were back in the office.

“Where’s Sheeba this morning?” Art asked, on his way back from the coffee machine with a full cup.

Raylan glowered at him over the glass but Tim ignored him. “Staying home with Winona and Willa. The girls felt a little unprotected this morning,” Tim said.

Art nodded his head and sipped his own coffee. “So, you boys want to bring me up to speed on why you can’t find this vampire anywhere in Harlan?”

Tim had known this was coming.

“Sure. We can do that,” Tim said. “Raylan. Bernardo?” he called.

“Rachel?” Art followed up. “You want to get the techie in here? We’re going to get into this Harlan thing.”

Tim looked over at Rachel who was picking up a phone. “What’s up?” he asked.

Art looked smug. “Unlike you cowboys, we’ve had a development.”

Tim noticed Bernardo’s grimace at Art’s choice of words.

They filed into Art’s office with their folders and morning coffee. Bernardo grabbed one of the chairs in front of Art’s desk and pulled it off to the side. Tim guessed he wanted to survey the room and figuratively, he’d just declared himself an outsider and Tim didn’t blame him. To be honest, Tim was afraid Art was gearing up to tear a strip out off someone’s hide.

Tim and Raylan took either end of the couch. Rachel sat on the corner of Art’s desk facing them all in a position of relative authority, while Chris took the other empty chair. No one got between Tim and Raylan.

And Art ran the meeting from behind his desk.

“So what happened? Usually vampire hunts go a little more… productively than this? Don’t they?”

“He’s gone to ground,” Raylan said.

“I’ll say,” Art said barely under his breath.

“We just need to get back down there,” Tim said.

“Now just hang on there,” Art said. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m convinced you have a better game plan.”

“There’s an entire pack missing—” Tim began to argue.

Art lifted a shoulder. “Maybe so.”

“No ‘maybe’ about it, Art. There’s an element of this where there’s an entire preternatural pack being held hostage. Do you really think they want to be under the control of some perverted vampire master?”

“There are things I can do something about and things I can’t. What I can do is have you assholes follow the evidence. And Chris got a lead while you three were chasing your asses around Harlan County.”

Silence met Art’s announcement at first then Raylan, Tim, and Bernardo all started talking at once.

“When did that—” Tim started when Raylan interrupted him.

“What did you find?” Raylan just shrugged a shoulder.

“Where did—” Bernardo shut his mouth when both Raylan and Tim turned and stared at him.

“—come in?” Tim shot Raylan a “so there” look as he finished.

“—um… where did you come up with a lead?” Bernardo asked turning to address Art but keeping his eyes on Tim and Raylan.

Chris winced and screwed up his face in unveiled annoyance looking from one deputy marshal to the next. He turned to Rachel, his face clearing into a cross between relief and hero worship. Tim inhaled, then ground his teeth to keep himself from shaking his head when he realized the little jerk had a crush on Rachel.

“Chris found more videos this weekend on the dark web. We believe they are out of Harlan County,” Rachel said, hands folded in front of her with her fingers laced together in practiced nonchalance.

“What makes you say that?” Raylan asked.

“The leader of the wolf pack,” Rachel said.

“The Ulfric? Devil?” Tim offered.

“Yes, him,” Rachel said. “He’s in the latest videos.”

“Shit,” Tim said.

“He one of your missing wolves?” Art asked his tone a little snide.

Tim was getting ready to argue that all the wolves that answered to Devil, who couldn’t resist the call Quarles had sent out to them, didn’t deserve that tone. Even Devil himself might not be able to resist the pull. Sure, he probably had the power to fight it, but what if he didn’t? What if he was just as much of a victim as the rest of the missing pack?  

“Art, you don’t under—”

“Hold up,” Art said, his hand out in a stop position then pointing to the door and making a ‘come in’ gesture with an irritated look on his face.

Nelson was standing outside the door waving at them trying to get someone’s attention. He opened the door.

“What is it, Nelson?” Art demanded. “Can’t you see we’re in a meeting?”

“Rachel has a call,” he said.

“It can’t wait?” Art asked.

“No, Tennessee office. They said it was a priority.”

“Which Tennessee office?” Art asked, his patience clearly running thin.

“Uh… I didn’t ask?” Nelson answered as if that hadn’t occurred to him.

Rachel shot Chris an odd look, then that look shifted to Art who nodded his head. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

While Rachel was gone, Tim started on why he thought they needed to head back to Harlan. Art acted like he was ignoring him so Raylan jumped into the argument trying to help his case.

The Chief rubbed the back of his head and leaned too far back in his chair for Tim to believe he was really listening to him and Raylan while they both hammered Art with reasons for why they each thought they needed to keep on the hunt in Harlan.

Art ignored them. “Spotted Horse, right?” He leaned forward and planted one elbow on his desk, then pointed at Bernardo.

Tim didn’t roll his eyes but Raylan did. He guessed Art was still a little sore about Tim pushing his authority on bringing Bernardo into the hunt.

“Sir?” Bernardo asked. His tone told Tim he’d picked up on the undercurrent and wasn’t going to give the chief any reason to piss with him.

“What do you think?” Art asked.

“A missing wolf pack’s a bad sign, Chief Mullen. “The population of that pack is vulnerable to this Quarles, it sounds like,” Bernardo said. “Just because they test positive for a virus doesn’t mean they don’t have the same rights as everyone else. This guy, if he’s bending their will…”

“Is that Marshal business, though? This pack’s leader is the one dragging them into it, or at least not protecting his pack. There’s this line with preternatural crime—the vampire masters take out their own trash as often as the lycanthrope groups do, seems like.”

Bernardo pressed his lips together like it wasn’t a new idea to him. He casually turned to Tim and Raylan as if taking their temperature on the subject and Tim knew he was thinking about what he’d guessed the night before about Tim taking out Markus. “I suppose that’s not unheard of but when they bring the trash to our door, it does seem like they’re asking the USMS to step in. Maybe the leader isn’t strong enough to take the trash out himself.”

“Huh,” Art said, turning to Tim. “Like that guy out in California. That vampire who called the Super-SOGs in last December? What did you say about that group? If the marshals cleaned up the mess some other vampire would step in and take over for him?”

“He’s out, actually,” Tim confirmed. “Another master took him over in February.”

Art frowned and rubbed the back of his head again. “I’m tempted to just let nature take its course and let them all kill each other. ’Course, if we let Quarles kill Boyd Crowder, then we’d lose Raylan…” Art paused, then squinted at Raylan. “Could be an upside in that after all.”

“You’d like that, would you Art?” Raylan said, with a sardonic half-smile.

“Raylan,” Art shook his head, “if I wanted to be rid of you, I’d send your sorry ass back to Dan.”

Raylan laughed silently to himself and muttered under his breath, “Promises, promises.”

Tim shook his head “no” at Raylan hushing further comments and a silence fell over the room.

Bernardo cleared his throat when the silence stretched out to the point of awkward. “Not all the members of the Harlan pack are gonna be happy to be forced into video prostitution or whatever Quarles has in mind,” Bernardo said, his eyes sliding over to Tim.

“Fair enough,” Art said. “But I’m not going to green-light you three hauling ass back down to Harlan until we have a better plan—”

“We have a problem,” Rachel said, walking into the office and interrupting the chief.

“What kind of problem?” Art said.

“Chris wasn’t the only one to uncover films this weekend,” Rachel said. “The Eastern Tennessee Marshals District found some, too.”

“Not surprising,” Chris said. “The idiots did a shit job covering their tracks this time around.”

“What did you expect? We hired away their only tech person with two brain cells and put him in charge of a whorehouse,” Rachel said.

“Nathaniel is making a profit,” Art murmured.

“What was that?” Rachel said

He held up his hands. “Nothing, you were saying? What’s the problem with Tennessee having the videos?”

“They got themselves a judge who handed their preternatural marshal a double-blind warrant to go hunting in Harlan County,” Rachel said.  

“Shit,” Raylan said.

“Who’d they give it to?” Tim asked.

Rachel looked down at her notes. “Looks like an Olaf Jeffries.”

“Otto,” Tim and Bernardo said in unison.

“Oh shit,” Bernardo muttered.

Raylan rubbed his face.

“Nooo,” Rachel said, checking her notes. “I’m sure they said Olaf. Why do you think Otto?” She folded her hands in front of her and waited like she knew the answer was worth hearing. She probably did.

Art eyed her demeanor and stance. “Tim… Who’s Otto?”

“Someone I used to know,” he replied airily. Otto was Olaf’s name like Edward had been Tim’s name. Sometimes it still was his alias, if it suited him.

“And work with?” Art asked.

Bernardo’s eyes gave him away when they slid over to Tim looking to follow his cue.

“Dammit,” Art cussed. “You, Spotted Horse, and this Jeffries asshole were all three spooks, weren’t you? Sonofabitch.”

“Really?” Raylan asked, turning to Bernardo. “I thought Jeffries was just an asshole.”

“Military… spooks,” Tim said, see-sawing his hand as if one word meant the other to him. “With a specialized skill set.”

“But isn’t this the guy you were always trying to keep Tom Bergen from calling in?” Rachel asked Raylan. “I thought you knew him too.”

Raylan lifted one shoulder. “He’s got a bad rep.”

Tim didn’t blame Raylan. There’d been a few times he and Raylan had dropped everything to haul ass down to Harlan to keep Kentucky in Kentucky. And Otto “Olaf” Jeffries in Tennessee.

Rachel crossed her arms. “Y’all aren’t going to like this but their AUSA petitioned a judge for a warrant of execution for an unnamed wolf and an unnamed vampire.”

“You’re kidding,” Art stood up. “They got shot down, right?”

“No, Art,” Rachel said, solemnly. “Judge granted it all. Double-blind on both warrants.”

“Get Vasquez in here. We had a named warrant first. I want those pulled,” he demanded. “And then I want to know where this is coming from.”

Art had pulled Vasquez into his office, then they’d relocated to Vasquez’s office to try to work on getting the warrants in Tennessee pulled or at least reassigned to the Lexington office.

After they left, Raylan got himself a fresh cup of coffee and slid into the conference room where Nahtoo and the harpies were still waiting with their attorney. He’d thought the outcome of this meeting would be the focus that day. He knew they’d all spend a fair share of it arguing about the failed hunt in Harlan but Olaf actually in Harlan meant they’d likely be back down there doing what he and Tim had done in the past: keeping Olaf’s brand of marshaling out of Kentucky.

“How’s it going so far with Vasquez?” he asked.

Catherine scowled at him but Nahtoo laughed at her.

“Fine. He is a stubborn man but he sees we have nothing for him,” she said.

Raylan frowned and nodded his head. He sat down in one of the chairs at the table. “What are you going to do?”

“We are still working that out,” Catherine said.

Raylan tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at Nahtoo.

“Marry Peter,” Nahtoo said.

“Nahtoo…” Catherine said in a tone as if she was cautioning her.

Nahtoo shook her head. “Raylan is… familia, si?”

Raylan nodded, supposing she was right and family was as good a word as any. Though, with his family, that didn’t necessarily bode well for any of them. He shrugged. “Sure, si. And you girls?” Raylan’s eyes traveled the room to the harpies.

“We will stay with Tim,” Aello said.

Raylan straightened in his chair. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said, turning to her sisters who nodded at him.

He spread out his hands. “What about the trolls?” he asked. “Don’t you want to go back to the—” he waved his hand and thumbed in a generally southern direction “—camp with them?”

Catherine narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean the gargoyle preserve, Deputy?

Raylan snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Yep, that’s the one.”

“Gargoyles and trolls are vastly different species. I would think someone in your line of work would realize that,” she said.

He could have sworn she sniffed at him. He decided to ignore her and focus on the girls. “Y’all weren’t happy there?”

“You need protection,” Celaeno said. “We will stay and protect what’s yours.”

“Then, if certain conditions are met, they may return to the preserve,” Catherine said.

Raylan’s eyes tracked over to the attorney. “What conditions?”

“Well, you were aware that the trust that funds the preserve has very deep pockets, weren’t you?” Catherine asked.

“No, I wasn’t,” Raylan said, wondering why that mattered. It wasn’t something he thought about or was used to considering but now he thought about it, he wondered what she would think when she found out how wealthy Tim was. Maybe she already knew. Nahtoo did, but he didn’t think the harpies thought that way. “Why is that an issue?”

“Aello, Celaeno, and Ocypete have no way of bringing in income. But my understanding is that if they live part-time with the gargoyle population and are appropriately compensated by the trust, they’ll keep the audacity healthy and the local deer herds in check. Then they would have the income to live somewhere else the rest of the year.”

“Elizabeth’s gonna love you,” Raylan mumbled.

Aello cocked her head in confusion. “No, Elizabeth will not like Catherine at all .”

Raylan was walking back to his desk when his cell phone rang flashing Tom Bergen’s name up on the screen.

“Givens.”

“Raylan, Tom Bergen. Got a problem down here in Harlan with your name all over it.”

Raylan wasn’t sure if he should laugh or groan.  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”  He circled around to the side of Tim’s desk and leaned his hips against it.

“What are you doin’?” Tim whispered. “You’re in my way.”

Raylan shifted the phone to the ear closest to Tim and pointed to it, figuring he’d pick up that he needed to listen in.

“Listen, we got this guy down here nosing around. He’s one of yours? Only out of Tennessee, I think. Nashville.”

“Really?” Raylan said.

“Not Knoxville?” Tim asked.

“What was that?” Tom said.

“Oh. Tim just agreeing with me… we figured he’d be out of Knoxville.”

“Why do I get the idea this isn’t news to you?” Bergen commented.

“Olaf Jeffries? Big guy. Bald as a newborn?” Raylan offered.

“You do know him,” Bergen said. “But you don’t know what he’s after in Harlan.”

Raylan sighed. “Word is he’s got a warrant or two to put down a wolf and a vampire.”

“I’d say,” Bergen said. “Only, Raylan, the vampire he’s looking to put down is Boyd Crowder.”

Tim stared at him, his eyes wide for a moment.

“He can’t,” Tim said.

Raylan’s tongue ran the corner of his bottom lip while he thought about it.

“Raylan, you still there?” Bergen asked.

“Boyd ain’t in those movies, Tom,” Raylan said.

“Nope, but this guy has a double-blind warrant. If he’s made up his mind that Boyd Crowder’s the guilty vampire, then Boyd’s the guilty vampire. You know how it works with your branch. Y’all are judge, jury, and executioners.”

“Shit. I appreciate the call Tom,” Raylan said, expecting it to be good-bye.

“Well, he’s not just taking down Boyd Crowder now, is he?” Bergen added.

“We’ll probably see you tonight or tomorrow.”

“I thought as much,” Bergen said. Then, all Raylan heard was dead air. He’d disconnected the call.

Raylan scrolled through his contacts.

Tim’s hand covered the phone screen.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

Raylan lifted his eyes to Tim’s face. “Looking for Boyd’s number.”

Tim nodded and took a deep breath. “So you can warn him. You know, I think maybe you should just drop your shields this once.”

“Huh? What happened to ‘why don’t you two just exchange cell numbers?’”

“Raylan,” Tim said, pulling the phone away from him. “Right now Boyd’s a murder suspect with a warrant out on him until we can get it away from Olaf. If you call him, that’s not gonna look great. You know that. For all practical purposes, he’s a fugitive. You’re a deputy marshal. It’s bad enough folks know about the human servant thing.”

Raylan pressed his lips together, then said, “Fair point.”

Tim nodded. “Just this once.”

Raylan smirked. “Fine.”  

“Where are you goin’?” Tim asked.

“Back to my desk,” Raylan said.

“Like I’m gonna feel it any less there,” Tim mumbled.

Raylan lifted his eyebrows at him and pinned his lover with a look as he circled his desk and sat down in his chair. “Your idea. If you don’t like the itchiness, then go on a coffee run or to the men’s room or somethin’.”

“Did I say I didn’t like it?” Tim said over the glass as he sat down.

“Then quit your bitchin’.”

Tim stared evenly at him, then turned away, clearly put out.

“Tell him to take Ava with him,” Tim said.

Raylan swiveled his chair toward Tim. “Why’s that?”

“Olaf’s got a problem with control and women.” Tim’s eyes were dark and his face was tight around the eyes and jawline.

“I never heard that,” Raylan said.

“Need to know, Deputy,” Tim said.

“And now I need to know?”

“Well, Boyd does, yeah.”

Raylan dropped his shields and reached out to Boyd. He turned his chair back to rights, leaned back, and pulled his hat over his face to cover it, crossing his feet on his desk. He figured if Art came back, he’d get some shit about sleeping on the job but Tim would play go-between until he and Boyd wrapped up.

Boyd was sleeping but Raylan found him quickly enough. With the prolonged hunt for Quarles, Raylan hadn’t had the chance to raise more than a zombie or two.  His connection with Boyd was immediate and he could feel the vampire’s cold power crawl over him and manifest in the clarity of the vision.

He and Boyd were walking in thick woods through diverged sunbeams that scattered an orange-yellow light on the forest floor. Raylan could feel how much Boyd missed the day—its warmth, its colors, even its smell.  

Boyd.

Why Raylan. What do I owe the—

Cut the shit. I’m not here to socialize. There’s a marshal coming for you.

Who?

Tennessee preternatural marshal. Olaf Jeffries. He’s bad news. Big, bald guy, Boyd. Good tracker. Known for it. If he puts his mind to finding you, he will. It’s just a matter of time.

Why?

He got himself a double-blind warrant on one of the vids and he’s decided you’re the vampire responsible.

But Raylan, I’d never…

Yeah, you would. Oh, you’re guilty of killing someone I’m sure, just not those men. I know you’re not in those videos. We’re trying to get the warrants pulled. But Boyd, you need to prepare for a manhunt. If Jeffries finds you, he can put you down on sight. If he doesn’t find you, there’ll be a full-out manhunt. Count on it being in the media.

Ah, I see.

You need to go to ground. Hide where he won’t find you. Where no one would look. And don’t trust anyone. Not any of the wolves or Duffy. Not even Dewey.

Dewey’s harmless.

Dewey’s stupid.

Are you insulting me, Raylan?

Are you admitting that you made Dewey your bride and stole his will? Against federal law, Boyd.

All right. No Dewey.

But you need to take Ava with you.

Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Boyd’s didn’t mention her pregnancy but Raylan could feel the vampire’s mental attention change in the way dreams do. That made sense since Boyd was, for all practical purposes, asleep. Raylan could feel the vampire’s focus shift from the sun on the leafy floor of the woods to the baby growing inside Ava. Raylan wanted to ask about the Vlad’s Syndrome tests but knew it wasn’t the time.

Wouldn’t Ava be safer out of the way?

Raylan knew Boyd wasn’t just asking about Ava.

Tim just said to take her with you. Got a strong impression it wasn’t any healthier for her to be around Deputy Marshal Jeffries than it would be for you. I expect if he finds a way to her, he’d use it to get to you. Tim doesn’t make it a practice of offering fugitives his particular insight on a regular basis. If I were you, I’d take his advice.

“Am I interrupting your afternoon nap Raylan?” Art demanded, shoving his boots to the floor.

“Chief, wait a sec, he’s not sleep—” Tim started.

Raylan pulled his hat from his face and instinctively turned in his chair protectively away from Art. “It’s OK, Tim,” Raylan said. “I’m done. Wasn’t asleep, Art.”

Art narrowed his eyes at him. “Do I want to know?”

“No, you don’t,” Raylan said.

“We need to talk in my office,” Art said, his voice low. “You too, Gutterson, Spotted Horse. Rachel, come on in on this. We’re gonna need the insight.”

Vasquez was already waiting on the couch flipping through a file while talking to someone on his cell phone. They filed in and took seats waiting for him to wrap up his call.

Raylan couldn’t make sense of the end of the conversation he could hear but he could smell the fear and anxiety coming off both Art and Vasquez. Whatever had happened when they’d tried to pull the warrants it hadn’t gone well.

Rachel had tried to work with some of her contacts in the Tennessee offices and she didn’t look any happier.

“Well, we expected something like this to happen,” Art said, rubbing the back of his neck again.

Raylan looked over at Tim, then back to Art. “Like this? What is this ?”

Art sighed. “This is a good old-fashioned stonewall. The US Marshal out of the Middle District of Tennessee is newly appointed. Heard of him yet?”

Raylan rolled his eyes. “They’re all pencil-pushing ass-kissers.”

“Nice attitude,” Vasquez said.

“They’re not lawmen at that level. They’re politicians,” Bernardo said, waving his hand at Raylan. “Is he wrong?”

“No, but you might want to keep that to yourself,” Vasquez added. “Especially after what we have to tell you.”

“US Marshal Jerry Barkley has an agenda and that agenda is supported by the US Attorney in Middle Tennessee. They went to a newly appointed federal judge—an Alexander Barnes, who gave them exactly what they asked for—a double-blind warrant to go hunting for a vampire and a wolf in Harlan County, Kentucky,” Vasquez said.

“In connection with these snuff videos?” Rachel asked.

“Why Boyd though?” Raylan asked.

Art shook his head. “To get to you. Since the parley, in certain LEO circles, it’s common enough knowledge that killing Boyd would take you with him. We thought they’d just try to fire one or both of you.”

“Are you saying this is a plot to kill Raylan?” Bernardo asked.

“And probably Tim,” Vasquez said. “Warrants for one vampire and one wolf.”

Raylan scoffed. “That’s a stretch. What makes you think Jeffries would name Tim to that warrant?”

“I think it’s more of a shoot first, ask questions never kind of scenario,” Vasquez said.

“When are we leaving?” Tim asked.

“You’re not going down there,” Raylan said.

Art and Tim both ignored Raylan.

“As soon as possible,” Art said.

“Tim. Bernardo and I can handle it,” Raylan said. “If they’re trying to take you out—”

“Raylan, they’re trying to take us both out because we’re…” Tim’s raised his voice trying to shout him down. Raylan figured the others outside of Rachel took it for anger, but Raylan saw it for was it was: fear.

“I know,” Raylan yelled back at him watching Tim’s eyes widen a little in surprise and his nostrils flared. Tim turned his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “What happened when you tried to get the warrants pulled?  Any luck with that?” Raylan asked.

Vasquez shook his head.  

“I formally requested that the Jeffries’ double-blind warrants be consolidated and reassigned to you and Tim since you hold existing named warrants on connecting cases but the judge in Tennessee ruled against me,” Vasquez said. “The other AUSA argued that both of you are biased because one of you is a vampire master’s human servant and the other is a werewolf. He won the argument on those grounds, which isn’t a positive precedent for either of you professionally. Their judge ruled to leave the warrants with Jeffries.”

Tim’s eyes were hard on Raylan and he nodded.

“Fine. Let’s do this,” Raylan said. “If we don’t, we might as well hand in our badges.”

“Where is the most likely place we’ll find Jeffries?” Raylan asked as they approached the outskirts of Harlan. It was well past nightfall. Raylan, Tim, Bernardo, and Sheeba were piled into Tim’s truck on their way down to Harlan with plans to do their best to butt into Olaf’s hunt for Boyd Crowder.

Bernardo and Tim answered at the same time.

“Tenderloin,” Bernardo said.

“The Stew,” Tim answered over him.

“Huh,” Raylan said. “You both seem pretty sure. Why is that?”

Tim’s eyes flicked over to Bernardo in the passenger seat then met Raylan’s in the rearview mirror for a moment. “He’s a predator.”

Raylan leaned forward between the seats. “Wait a minute. A sexual predator?”

“Yes.” Both of them answered together and Tim looked uncomfortable.

“Child?” Raylan asked darkly.

“No,” Bernardo said, dismissively. “But he’s a monster. No doubt about that. He’ll be hunting and the women in the Tenderloin will fit his profile to a T.”

“I thought he was supposed to be hunting us,” Raylan said.

Tim turned his head briefly to glance back at Raylan. “Are you really complaining that he is not hunting us enough ?”

Raylan sighed. “All right. Let’s go see what that little cat knows then.”

Tim parked his truck outside Audrey’s as Raylan hung up on Nathaniel.

“Cat says he’s in there.”

“He has a name,” Tim said.

“Hm-mmm,” Raylan murmured, ignoring him to climb out of the back with Sheeba on his heels. Tim hadn’t wanted to bring her, but Raylan drew the line. He didn’t have a good feeling about coming back down to Harlan.  All of his instincts told him they needed to run the other way, that coming back was a trap. Sheeba was one more weapon in their arsenal to keep Tim alive and Raylan wasn’t about to leave her home.

They strode through the door and no one even paused when they saw the Trollhound. Over the last couple weeks, one of the three—Raylan, Tim or Bernardo had been in and out of Audrey’s looking for Quarles and the local wolves.

Raylan caught Nathaniel’s eye over by the bar and he jerked his head in the direction of a table on the far side of the room where Olaf Jeffries reclined with a shot and a young brunette straddling his lap. Raylan wasn’t sure what flavor of lycanthrope she was but she moved idly over Olaf in a lapdance that on closer look belied an athletic grace that told Raylan she was definitely more than human. Even if Audrey’s wasn’t a bawdy house in the preternatural district, Raylan would have recognized her as preternatural.

“Olaf!” Tim greeted.

“What are you two doing here? No one invited Lexington to this hunt,” Olaf said.

“Nice to see you too, Olaf,” Bernardo interjected.

Olaf turned to him as if noticing him for the first time. “I heard you were slumming, Spotted Horse.”

“Oh, ouch,” Bernardo said. “I’d say likewise but I wouldn’t want to insult the lady.”

The woman who’d been crawling all over Olaf rolled over so her back was to him and she winked at Bernardo.

Raylan tapped his badge, then pointed at her and hitched a thumb in the air giving her the nonverbal “take a hike.” She froze for a minute, staring at him. He could smell cat on her—leopard—and a spike of fear. “Nathaniel is looking for you,” Raylan said.

Olaf wrapped a hand around her wrist to stop her. “You will return.”

“I…” she started. Her eyes were on the hand on her arm, then she raised them up to Raylan and slid them to Tim. He shook his head just slightly but enough for her to pick it up. Raylan knew Olaf wasn’t more than human, but he also knew he was a human who specialized in killing the preternatural. Her fear swelled and while Raylan logically knew Olaf couldn’t scent it, he could have sworn the man was enjoying it.

“Go. Nathaniel’s not going to wait,” Raylan urged. As a wereleopard, he knew she was stronger than Olaf, but she tugged in vain on her arm.

“Jeffries. Let her go, now,” Tim said, gritting his teeth and edging forward. Sheeba was at his side, her hackles raised.

Olaf released the girl’s wrist and she flew into Raylan, forcing him to take a step back to steady himself before she fled across the room. The other deputy stood up and it seemed to Raylan when he started standing that he just kept on standing up and up.

As tall as Raylan was, he had to look up at Olaf; he’d forgotten exactly how big Jeffries was. The man was at least six foot eight. Maybe taller. Raylan didn’t think he had an ounce of fat on him.

“Gutterson, I don’t take orders from you anymore,” Olaf said.

Tim snorted. “Right. Like you ever were a good little soldier. ’Sides, we’re not here to give you orders. We just want to consult with you.”

Olaf narrowed his black eyes at Tim. His eyebrows were thick and furrowed in obvious distrust. “Consult?”

“Sure,” Tim said. “I think we’re all down here workin’ the same case. Let me buy you a round of your favorite vodka—or as close as you’ll get around Harlan—and we can compare notes. What can that hurt?”

Olaf crossed his arms and shrugged. “Fine. But you buy the bottle, not the round. Russian. Not that new flavored  shit.”

Tim whistled. “Hard bargain.” He kicked the leg of one of the empty chairs and tipped his head to Raylan, then he gave Bernardo a pointed look before he headed over where Nathaniel was tending bar, presumably to see what kind of vodka he had on hand.

Raylan and Bernardo took seats at the table with Olaf.

“New shit?” Raylan mouthed to Bernardo and the other deputy shrugged.

“I heard he’s wolf now,” Olaf said, nodding in Tim’s direction.

“He is,” Raylan answered.

Olaf tapped a big square fingernail on the table. “Shame. Damn good ranger,” Olaf said, then sniffed. “Decent marshal ’til this.”

“More than decent,” Raylan corrected.

“And he still is,” Bernardo added.

“If you say so.” Olaf’s black eyes were cold but the colored lights from the strip club reflected off his bald head. The contrast made his dark stare downright disturbing and Raylan wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself he felt some relief when Olaf aimed it at Bernardo.  

Tim brought back Olaf a bottle of Stoli and a single shot glass. Raylan nodded at the single glass in front of Olaf on the table, even though Bernardo looked a bit put out. Raylan was a whiskey man and he knew Tim didn’t give a shit about booze at all anymore.

Tim poured Olaf a drink.

“You remembered,” Olaf said by way of as much of a thank-you as Raylan thought Tim was going to get.

“Uh-huh,” Tim said. “Hard to forget. So, our IT guy tried to get a hold of a copy of the video that pulled your double-blind warrant but couldn’t get a copy. We were wondering if you had any of the footage. Maybe some stills? What do you say we compare notes?”

“Why would I want to do that?” Olaf said.

“Come on, let us help,” Tim cajoled. “We’re familiar with the players down here.  We’ve been assigned to the area for almost a year.”

Olaf laughed and knocked back a shot. Raylan winced. He didn’t care for vodka—all the basic ingredients were there—wheat and rye, but the vodka aging process was sanitized of all the smoky warmth that went into a fine glass of whiskey. Raylan supposed the cold, barren bolt fit Olaf.

Raylan watched the big marshal wrap his wide hand around the bottle and meticulously pour another shot into his small shot glass.

“What could it hurt?” Bernardo asked.

Olaf shrugged and Raylan supposed what he sent them was a smile but it looked more feral than that. He swiped his phone open, messed with it a moment and then showed them the screen. A video played. It wasn’t the same one that Rachel and Chris had found over the weekend but the setting was similar and Raylan recognized Devil.

“That one right there is Devil—aka Derek Lennox. We already have a warrant on your wolf there—a named warrant.”

Olaf turned the phone around and squinted at Devil then looked up at Raylan, then over to Tim. “Is it?”

“Yeah, it is. Devil. Lennox. Local Ulfric,” Raylan said.

Olaf lifted one shoulder. “We will see.”

Raylan shook his head.

Tim circled his finger in the air urging Olaf to let the video play out. “C’mon. Let’s see the rest of it,” he said.

Olaf shrugged and they watched a profile of Quarles walk in and out of the frame.

“There. That’s Quarles,” Raylan said.

“Who?” Olaf replied. “Who is this Carls?”

Tim pulls up his phone and still shots of Quarles and Devil from the video clips Rachel and Chris have collected. Then he shows him the composite of Quarles. “This is the vampire in the video with Devil, not Boyd Crowder,” Tim said.

“Olaf, I just don’t see how you have a warrant on Boyd for this,” Raylan added.

Olaf sat back in his chair, shutting off his phone and pocketing it. He crossed his arms and stared at them, his eyes falling cold. “Boyd Crowder is the master in this area. The way that you can see how I have a warrant is that this is my hunt, and I think he’s the problem.”

“But—” Raylan started to argue but Tim had risen from his chair. He grabbed Raylan’s arm and was pulling him up.

“C’mon. This isn’t going to help,” Tim said.

“I know who you are Raylan Givens, human servant of Boyd Crowder,” Olaf said. “If you and your wolf mate interfere in the execution of a duly sworn warrant of execution of Boyd Crowder, well… I do think you are familiar with what legal right that gives me. Maybe Gutterson needs a refresher on the technicalities?”

“Oh no, I got it,” Tim said.

“If you get in the way of my taking down this vampire master—Crowder, I will take both of you down, too. Wait, I guess taking down Crowder will take care of at least one of you with him, won’t it?” Olaf asked idly, pouring himself another shot. He lifted his empty dark eyes from the glass to Raylan and began, “One down…” He lifted the shot glass in salute to Raylan and didn’t move except to let his eyes shift slightly to stare at Tim before he continued, “…Only one to go.”

Bernardo moved first, seeing something in Tim that Raylan wasn’t paying attention to because he was ready to launch himself at Olaf himself.

“Nathaniel! A little help,” Bernardo shouted, then he grabbed both their arms trying to pull them in the direction of the exit. The wereleopard hauled ass over and to help Bernardo pull Raylan and Tim out the door.

“C’mon Sheeba girl,” Nathaniel cooed to the Trollhound.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Tim growled, as the crowd fell silent and parted to turn and watch.

“Not if I get to him first,” Raylan finished.

Chapter Text

By the time they checked into the Comfort Inn in Harlan that night, it was pushing four in the morning. While the night itself was still balmy, their room was frigid. The AC was on full-blast when they came in. Tim was surprised the coils hadn’t frozen over.

Tim left Raylan to settle in and took Sheeba out for a short run before they turned in for the night. When he came back, Raylan was stretched out on top of the bedspread on his side of the bed closest to the wall—leaving the other double for Sheeba putting her between them and the door.

What caught Tim’s attention wasn’t so much that he’d left the air running on low instead of killing it altogether, but his boots were off. And his socks.

Tim stared at his long bare toes and then glanced over at the AC. His eyes then skipped back up Raylan’s body cataloging the wife beater and the open snap at the top of his jeans. He didn’t bother to look to see what Raylan’d done with his shirt and tie. Tim’s attention fell back to Raylan’s bare feet and he sat down sideways next to him, smacking the sole of one of his feet, then curling his hand around it so he could rub his thumb into the arch.

“Is that how it’s going to be then?” Tim said, his tone low.

Raylan’s slow smile was all the answer he got.

But Tim knew where to look and could see Raylan was already growing hard behind his zipper, just to the left. Hell, Tim was too, now that he was thinking about what they could do. Would do. About Raylan’s toes digging into the sheets of this lumpy double bed. By now, Tim knew Raylan well enough that bare feet meant his partner wanted to top. If he’d wanted something else, he would have left his socks on. Especially as cold as the room was.

But Raylan likes the leverage he gets when he digs his bare toes into the sheets with Tim’s legs wrapped around his hips. Tim figured they could accommodate that. The vampires they were hunting weren’t going to be up until the next evening and they’d already rattled Olaf’s cage enough. He could hold.

Tim woke up to a cell phone ringing.

“It’s yours,” he said.

“Givens.”

Tim could hear Tom Bergen on the other end of the line telling Raylan that the marshal he’d called about the day before was dead.

“Where?” Raylan said.

“Got a call they found his body at a motel out past Baxter on highway 840.” Raylan’s eyes turned to Tim’s in shock and Tim pulled himself up onto his elbow.

“Any idea what happened to him?” Raylan asked, flipping the blankets off and sitting up on the side of the bed turning his back to Tim.

Tim took in the long lines of Raylan’s back, his broad shoulders, and the way his hung head. Raylan’s skin called out to him making his fingers itch with the need to touch. He curled them into his palm to hold himself back from reaching out and tracing Raylan’s freckles. Tim forced himself to concentrate on what Tom was saying.

“Looks like a combination of some kind of lycanthrope attack, then he bled out. Vampire bite.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Raylan said. “Hold the scene for us. Tim will want scent samples for… the Trollhound.”

Bergen had hung up.

“Thanks,” Tim said quietly.

“For not telling him you were just going to scent Olaf yourself?” Raylan said, getting to his feet and pacing into the bathroom naked.

Tim watched Raylan’s ass roll then disappear into the bathroom with some regret. He made a quick call to Bernardo to let him know about Olaf’s demise and that they were hitting the road in about twenty minutes. Bernardo had questions Tim didn’t know the answers to and didn’t want to talk about, so he just cut the call short. Then he followed Raylan into the bathroom as much for the distraction as for the shower. He figured he could squeeze at least one blow job into the remaining nineteen-and-a-half minutes.

Besides, at some point today, someone would recall he and Raylan had to be dragged out of Audrey’s last night after threatening to kill Olaf Jeffries. It would be nice if they didn’t smell like a day-old fuck when that happened.

Olaf Jeffries died at The 38 motel out on highway 840.

Raylan had said he’d heard of it, of course. That the place had been there forever—well, all of Raylan’s forever anyway. But he’d told Tim and Bernardo on the drive out that he’d never had any call to go there. When Tim pulled into the parking lot of the nondescript motel, it was already full of LEOs vehicles and the place looked seedy as all hell.

“Surprised you missed this place,” Tim murmured peering out at the single-floor motel with its neon sign, “what with your penchant for shitty motels.”

Raylan cut his eyes over to him under his hat. He’d maneuvered Bernardo into the back seat that morning with Sheeba. “Why are you in such a bitchy mood?”

Tim drew a sharp breath to deny it and realized Raylan was right. Funny, he hadn’t started the day that way. He hadn’t thought he cared this much that Olaf was dead.

But Tim realized he was dreading what they had to do. He’d served with Olaf on some black ops missions through their military connections and had to admit he was a good soldier. He didn’t want to go in there and stand over his dead body. “Didn’t like Jeffries, but I didn’t want to see him come to this,” Tim said.

Raylan pressed his lips together as if he were giving the idea its full merit. “Even though Olaf woulda seen both of us in the ground?”

“He’s not wrong, Gutterson,” Bernardo said.

Tim spread his hands out in defeat and indecision. “Let’s do this.”

He wasn’t sure who he was convincing.

Tom Bergen stalked over to them as they climbed out the truck.

“Tim, Raylan,” the trooper nodded. “Spotted Horse.” Bergen pulled his hat off and dipped his head. “Sorry about your comrade here, but I need a word before we go any further.”

“Thanks,” Raylan said. “What’s going on?”

Bergen’s eyes fell on Tim and he felt the taller man’s attention cataloging him in a way he normally didn’t when they ran into each on the job. He could guess what Bergen had to say. “Listen, I need to give you a head’s-up. Local sheriff’s calling in to your chief. Probably as we speak. Seems you three met up with Jeffries down at Audrey’s last night?” Bergen asked.

“Damn,” Spotted Horse cursed.

Raylan gave Bergen a wincing smile and shrugged. “Well, about that…”

“State Police still have this scene, is my point,” Bergen said. “If Tim wants in to stiff around, you need to do it now. Won’t be a later.”

“Let’s go,” Tim said. While he really didn’t want to go scent Olaf’s body, if there was any scent evidence at the scene, Tim wanted to pick up that evidence himself to either follow up on or collect for Sheeba to track. He could directly match some known scents from specific suspects. And Sheeba still had millions of scent receptors more than he did—even if his were far more sensitive now that he was a werewolf than when he was human.

Getting into the room was like a walk of shame.

As they passed the other LEOs on the scene, their whispering spoke volumes—literally.  Their low tones failed to keep Tim from hearing what they were saying about them. One of the deputies from the county sheriff’s office thought Tim and Raylan had killed Olaf themselves.

“That wolf marshal probably split him open himself,” one deputy said. “Heard they nearly tore into each other down in Monsterville.”

“Expect that tall one called in his master, Preacher Boyd, to suck him dry, what’d ya wanna bet?” a second deputy horned in.

“No bet. But what’s the injun got to do with it?” a third guy who was KSP joined in.

“Probably a faggot. You heard Givens swings that way now, right? He’s probably doin’ Raylan on the side,” the first deputy guffawed, then spit on the ground.

The other two nodded in agreement.

“Actually, I’m only fuckin’ Raylan on days that end in ‘s’ and Gutterson on the ones that end in ‘t’,” Bernardo said.

The three LEOs stared open-mouthed at him.

“Dipshits,” Bernardo ground out, forcing them to stand straighter. “It’s none of your business who’s sleepin’ with who here. Thanks for thinking I could land either one of these assholes though,” Bernardo said, winking at one of the deputies. “Now have some goddamn respect and back the fuck off. We knew Deputy Jeffries. Might not have liked him all that much but Deputy Gutterson and I served with the man in the military. What would you assholes do if you came on someone showing the kind of disrespect you three are right now, at the scene of one of your fallen?”

One backed away with his palms out and another man muttered “sorry” before turning off in another direction.

“You could hear that?” Tim said, surprised, turning to Bernardo.

“Gutterson, we could all hear that. Question is, why didn’t you kick their teeth in?” Bernardo asked, grabbing Tim’s arm.

Tim didn’t have a good answer. Olaf’s death had thrown him. The last thing Jeffries ever should have been was a lawman but a lawman he was. He was a good man to have at your back, but a worse man to have on your back. And maybe that’s what bothered Tim. He was never truly afraid of the threat of Olaf to himself or Raylan—but he’d been concerned enough he’d meant what he’d said the night before. If it came down to a one-on-one fight, he’d have killed Olaf himself to keep Raylan safe, even if that meant protecting Boyd Crowder.

Tim was all right with the idea of him or Raylan killing Olaf, but he wasn’t all right with the idea of someone else ending Olaf’s life.

He shook off Bernardo’s hand and headed for the taped-off scene.

The room looked identical to the room they’d seen in the first video that Rachel and Chris found featuring Delroy with JJ.

And Olaf lay dead in the middle of its threadbare Berber carpet.

Tim and Raylan walked the room avoiding blood spatter, even though Bergen had told them that their forensics team had been through the room once already.

“What do you smell?” Raylan asked, his voice tight.

Tim inhaled. “Vampire. Wolf, too. Though the fang and claw marks give both away. You?”

Raylan nodded, his face dark in the shadows under his hat.

Tim didn’t want to say anymore with Bergen and other LEOs within earshot because Raylan must have been picking up the hint of a scent on the scene that Tim had already picked up: Boyd Crowder. He leaned down over Olaf’s body and scented the dead marshal’s neck. There was a trail of scent that called to mind the Emmitt Arnett evidence.

“Wolf smells like our local Ulfric,” Tim said, thinking a minute on the vampire scent. “The vampires… well, that smells like the same vampire from the Emmitt Arnett evidence…”

“Really?” Raylan asked, his voice stark.

“Not what you’re thinking,” Tim said, knowing Raylan thought Tim was saying that Boyd killed Arnett. He wasn’t quite finished with that thought but he didn’t want to say anything in front of their audience. Tim was sure there wasn’t just Boyd’s scent floating around this scene.

“Huh,” Raylan said, then poked around the room some more. “Doesn’t look like they were filming or anyone used this bed for anything nefarious last night.”

“I don’t smell sex,” Tim said. “Fresh sex anyway.”

“Wonder what Olaf was doing here,” Bernardo said, standing in the doorway.

Raylan shrugged. “He was an asshole. But he was a good preternatural marshal when it came to hunting down monsters.”

“Ray, more times than not, he was the monster,” Tim said quietly.

“Well, some of us have an inside track, don’t we?” Raylan said. He adjusted his hat and sauntered out.

Tim took samples to use for scent and sealed them up inside evidence bags, then he set Sheeba to tracking just to see where she followed a trail from the room. She got as far as the parking lot where the vampires and the wolf must have gotten into a vehicle: Boyd, Devil, and an unsub from the Arnett evidence.

“Nothing,” Tim said. “Trail stops here.”  

Bergen had followed him into the middle of the parking lot when he and Bernardo left the crime scene. The trooper didn’t seem surprised. Raylan had been over by Tim’s truck and wandered over when Tim’d come out with Sheeba.

“Motel have security cameras?” Tim asked.

“Nope,” Bergen said. “None of the other surrounding businesses have them either.”

“Too bad,” Tim said, shaking his head. “Do you have his warrants?”

Bergen winced and Raylan ran a hand over his mouth, then down to rub his goatee.

“I do,” Bergen said. “But I can’t give them to you.”

Tim scowled. “Why not?” Tim said. “Devil is on Olaf in there and I already have a warrant on him. By all rights, we should be able to consolidate them at the least. If nothing else, legal code states that upon death, the warrants are vacated and go to the next senior officer on the scene. That’s Raylan.”

“Maybe so, but I can’t give them to him either,” Bergen said.

Tim sighed. “Again, why not?” Tim demanded.

Bergen spread his hands.

“Art called while you were… working with Sheeba,” Raylan said. “Vasquez is on his way down with Rachel. The US Marshal out of the Middle Tennessee District is gonna fight us to get their warrants back.”

Tim bit off a quick bitter sound that came out more bark than laugh. “No,” he said, pointing at Raylan. “Don’t say it.”

Raylan narrowed his eyes at Tim with a glint in them and a quirk to his lips. “I got no idea what you think I was gonna say. But you have a warrant and I have a warrant. What Olaf had—” Raylan waved his hand in the direction of the room where the dead marshal lay “—is for the lawyers to argue over. Nothin’ is stoppin’ us from workin’ our warrants. Devil ain’t gonna be any more dead if you serve him with two warrants than he is when you serve him with one, now is he?”

Tim took a deep breath and scratched the side of his nose. “We might not need Olaf’s warrants, Raylan. But we need to make sure no one else has them.”

“Why’s that?” Bergen asked, suspicious.

Raylan pressed his lips together into a frown. “You had a point when you called and pointed out that Olaf putting down Boyd would take out more than just Boyd yesterday.”

Bergen crossed his arms. “You know I’m not deaf. I heard what those boys were saying about you two—that you killed Jeffries yourselves.”

“What are you asking us?” Bernardo said.

Bergen exhaled. “Not asking you.”

“We didn’t kill him. Sheeba,” Tim commanded. He flicked his hand in a nonverbal gesture. She turned and followed him back to his truck.

Bergen wouldn’t be the last to ask about Olaf’s death.

And the other questions weren’t any less difficult.

Vasquez showed up with Rachel at their hotel, knocking sharply on the door to their room.

The maid had taken one look at Sheeba and backed out of the room. Tim watched Raylan smile and talk her out of a stack of fresh towels but she refused to clean the room while the Trollhound was present.

Tim frowned and waved a hand at the state of their room but Raylan just shoved the towels at him and pulled the sheet and bedspread up to the top of the bed—his version of making the bed.

It was better than he did at home, but apparently, it wasn’t good enough.

Vasquez’s eyes first landed on the rumpled bed as he entered their room souring his scowl more than Tim thought possible.

Rachel pulled a rolling chair away from the desk. “David, sit. I’ll call Bernardo and let him know we got in.”

She was on the phone with Bernardo when Vasquez started in on them.

“Did you kill Jeffries?” the AUSA put his briefcase down on the desk but didn’t take the chair Rachel had pulled out for him.

Shocked by his bluntness, Tim blinked. “What? Are you asking me? Or Raylan? Or both of us?”

“Both of you actually. He had claw marks and fangs on him. Don’t think we haven’t heard the reports that you two threatened to kill him not less than… what? Twelve hours ago? I’m not a goddamned idiot.”

Tim planted his feet and crossed his arms. Picking up on the tension in the room, Sheeba jumped down from the bed and took a defensive position next to him.

“Do we need a FLEO lawyer present before we answer?” Raylan interrupted.

Vasquez flicked his hands in the air. “No. Not yet,” he said, hiking his eyebrows at Raylan. “But what were you two thinking?” He waved his hand at the bed. “Do you think these people down here don’t talk to each other? Did you think they didn’t already have enough reasons to hate you? This is still Kentucky.”

Tim turned to see Raylan narrowing his eyes at the AUSA. “What does that have to do with you thinking we killed Olaf?”

Vasquez swiped his face. “Just—”

“David—” Rachel cut him off with a gentle word. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“You kill Olaf, Raylan?” Rachel asked.

“Shit, no, I can’t believe you—” Raylan started. Tim watched his face redden and he could pick up the hint of his hurt in the air.

“Did Tim?” She interrupted him again.

“Goddamnit, Rachel,” Raylan said.

“Did he? You answer the question. Don’t you mess with me, Raylan,” she said.

“No,” he said, crossing his arms. Tim saw Raylan’s jaw tick in anger but didn’t fail to notice she didn’t ask Tim if he’d killed Olaf. She’d asked Raylan. He filed that away. For whatever reason, he could lie to her if he wanted to—or needed to. And apparently, she knew it, too.

Rachel turned to Vasquez. “They didn’t do it.”

She went to let Bernardo in when he tapped at the door and Raylan tugged Tim to sit on the side of the bed they’d slept in the night before. Tim actually didn’t mind that so much. He found their combined scents reminded him of their home. His wolf thought, den .

Rachel came back into the room with Bernardo. While Rachel called Art and put him on speaker phone, Benardo sat on the end of Sheeba’s bed and fiddled with their room’s TV remote. He flipped on the TV, muted it so the closed captions appeared, and turned the channel to the local news.

“We interrupting your soaps Spotted Horse?” Vasquez asked.

“They’re having a press conference here in a few ’bout the dead LEO found outside of town,” Bernardo said. “They said they had ‘developments from Tennessee.’”

“Shit,” Art said, his voice clear but tinny over Rachel’s phone. “I thought we’d be clear of them after Jeffries died.”

“Watch out, Art,” Raylan said. “Vasquez’ll start cross-examining you.”

“That’s enough, Raylan,” Art ordered.

Raylan blinked and looked at Tim. He shrugged and shook his head.

“Don’t think we’re going to be that lucky, Chief,” Vasquez said. “Their new federal judge in that district is a bulldog. Name’s Barnes. Issued the warrants. Might be they don’t want to let go of them.”

“I don’t get it,” Tim said. “Legal code is clear. They go to the senior officer on the case.”

“What don’t you get?” Vasquez asked, shaking his head. “We’ve been trying to tell you this was coming since your lycanthropy test came back positive. And then when that one”—Vasquez pointed at Raylan—“let people know he allowed some vampire bind him, that didn’t help either of you much.” Vasquez jabbed his finger in Raylan’s direction.

“Allowed?” Tim thundered, starting to stand, and Raylan dropped a hand on his arm, tugging him back down.

“That’s enough,” Art said. “It’s not like he—no, not like we planned any of this.”

“You know that and I know that. But everyone else thinks the human servant deal is a consensual arrangement. Hell, if we exposed it wasn’t, that alone would be reason to put Boyd Crowder to death,” Vasquez said.

Raylan sighed reluctantly. “Boyd did save my life that night.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Can’t you just vacate these warrants? Give them to Raylan?”

“I could,” Vasquez said, “but we really need to consolidate them. Legally, they’re duplicates and just having them in the system threatens the warrants we already have on Quarles and Devil. We can’t have two suspects guilty of the same crime. Not to mention, the longer the double-blind warrants are out there, the longer we’re vulnerable to someone trying to name Boyd or Tim for Jeffries’ death. The only safe solution is if we consolidate them.”

“Shit, we need a judge for that,” Art said.

“That we do,” Vasquez said. “Looks like we need a federal judge down here.”

“We could go over to Virginia,” Raylan suggested. “We’ve done that before.”

“Hold up,” Rachel said. “Y’all need to see this.”

Bernardo turned the sound up on the news.

“...we’re cutting to Tennessee where our affiliate has coverage of a press conference with Middle Tennessee District US Marshal Jerry Barkley.”

The coverage moved to a middle-aged bald man with a shiny forehead. Tim thought he looked pompous and too damned smug.

“Our district lost a good deputy marshal up in Kentucky late last night pursuing an open warrant for a vampire known for raping and killing young men across the south and distributing pornographic material. Deputy Marshal Olaf Jeffries died in the line of duty hunting down a local vampire master in the Harlan area—Boyd Crowder.  This office will not rest until we take down the prime suspect in Deputy Jeffries’ murder.”

A picture of Boyd flashed up on the screen. “Boyd Crowder is a well-known preacher in the Bible Belt who we believe has used his vampire church and its assets to produce snuff films,” Barkley said.

“Where is he getting that?” Raylan asked.  

“What an asshole,” Tim said.

“Hush,” Rachel said.

The coverage switched back to the local Harlan station, a local reporter asking a man drinking from a chipped mug at a diner what he thought of Boyd Crowder.

The old man swallowed his drink. Tim assumed coffee from the stains on his teeth but who knew?  “My grandaddy warned us only the devil takes up the pulpit at midnight,” he said. He wore a tattered ball cap bearing a faded Cranks Mining logo and coughed heavily. Tim wondered if he was a retired miner. “Always knew that Boyd Crowder was up to no good with that vampire church. Ain’t no wonder he’s about this pederast business.”

“What do you think should be done?” the reporter asked.

“Hunt ’im down,” he said, then the man got a glint in this eye. “You know if they got a reward out for ’im?”

Bernardo pressed mute on the TV and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Pederast?”

“Quarles is the one who has a thing for killing young men,” Raylan said.

“They were of age though…” Bernardo asked confused.

“Fine line around here,” Raylan murmured. “Between perversions.”

“Ray…” Tim started.

Raylan waved his hand at Tim.

“ Now he sees,” Vasquez said, rolling his eyes and looking pointedly at the bed once more.

A growl formed low in Tim’s chest and Rachel narrowed her eyes at him to quiet him. Tim tipped his head and acquiesced, but he thought Vasquez was pushing it and Raylan was letting him.

“Come nightfall,” Vasquez said, “it’s going to be open season on Boyd Crowder in Harlan County. Every hillbilly with a cross and a wooden stake is going to be gunning for him.”

“Or a gun,” Bernardo said.

“Those too. Especially in some of the LEO circles,” Tim added.

“I’ll track down Reardon and we’ll be down there in a couple hours.” Art sighed.

“Can we consolidate these warrants?” Vasquez asked Reardon when Art got him down to Harlan a couple hours later. In lieu of a courtroom, they used Bernardo’s room. The maid hadn’t been afraid to clean it.

“Grounds?” Reardon said.

“The Tennessee warrant is double-blind and redundant—it’s for the same fugitives we have in named warrants for Roberts Quarles and Derrick ‘Devil’ Lennox. However, we had a deputy marshal using those warrants to threaten the lives of two US deputy marshals with preternatural ties.”

“Proof?” Reardon asked.

“Witness testimony. Deputy Spotted Horse? What did you overhear last night?” Vasquez said.

“Deputy Jeffries commented that serving a warrant on Boyd Crowder would take down Deputy Givens and that he might have to also remove Deputy Gutterson as well.”

“Remove? What did you think he meant by that?”

“Kill.”

Reardon half-laughed. “Whoa. You Special Forces guys are the shit.”

Bernardo stared at the judge with no response.

“The vampires have a special name for you like Death and…” Reardon waved his finger at Raylan… “the Executioner here?”

Bernardo said nothing and didn’t move but his eyes narrowed just slightly.

“You do have one,” Reardon crowed.

“You do?” Raylan asked, surprise clear in his voice.

Tim scrubbed his face. “Here we go.”

“Hunger,” Bernardo replied reluctantly.

“Jeffries was Pestilence,” Tim said in a low voice.

Shock was clear on Raylan’s face. Tim shrugged. “Peter once went by War. You know, the Four Horsemen. Before we left the military. Long time ago.”

“Hell,” Raylan said.

Reardon had also heard the rumor that Tim and Raylan threatened Olaf’s life the night before.

“We didn’t kill him,” Tim stated simply.

“He was killed by a wolf and a vampire,” Reardon countered. “And you are a wolf and Givens is tight with Crowder. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Get us those warrants. We’re the only two preternatural marshals assigned to Kentucky—”

“Excuse me—” Berardo said.

Vasquez shushed him. “We know you’re here. But as hard as they’re trying to keep these warrants away from Givens and Gutterson… makes me inclined to do everything I can to make sure we put them in their hands, don’t you think?”

Bernardo shrugged. “Makes sense to me. Actually, you know what? It doesn’t make sense at all.”

“You know, he’s right. Why are you doing this?” Tim asked Vasquez. “I thought you hated us.”

“You might be assholes, but you’re our assholes. You said Jeffries threatened you last night—before you threatened him back?”

“He did,” Raylan said.

“That lines up with what Art and I ran into the other day. Discrimination and driving you out of a job is one thing. Outright killing you—whole other problem,” Vasquez said, a dark look falling over his face.

“Outright killing?” Tim echoed.

“Fact is, Tim,” Art said. “Made a call to the chief down in Knoxville. He’s fit to be tied. His people have been working with Rachel and Chris. Olaf floats through the Eastern Tennessee District but he’s the only preternatural marshal covering all three of the Tennessee districts.”

“Good part of Georgia and Alabama, too,” Raylan said. “I’m not unfamiliar with his reputation. Not as familiar as Tim here but...”

“Oh, get over it,” Tim muttered. “I can’t tell you everything.”

Raylan cut his eyes over to Tim, then ignored him.  

“But that’s the point,” Art said, talking over both of them. “His preternatural marshal is covering three states and this new head honcho from Nashville yanks his case, his marshal, and sends both to Kentucky on a redundant set of warrants where we’ve already got not one but three preternatural marshals assigned. That’s how Olaf got the warrants and pulled into the Middle District. Now, it’s not unusual in itself for them to send Olaf off on a warrant, but not to Kentucky when there are already three sets of boots on the ground.”

“And then Olaf shows up here with an ulterior motive—taking down Boyd and Tim,” Rachel said.

“That’s a serious allegation, chief,” Reardon said. “Are you saying—”

Art pointed at him. “No. Nope. Never said that.”  

Reardon exhaled puffing out his cheeks like a blower fish and Tim thought it was a good thing Devil and company had gotten to Olaf first.

“Why?” Tim asked.

Vasquez shook his head. “You don’t listen. Politics. You and your boyfriend rattle cages.”

Raylan shook his head clearly not buying it. “Why so underhanded? Do we know where it’s coming from? Who ordered this?”

“Have to be Washington—or some connection there,” Reardon said. “New administration, maybe? Federal judges and marshals are appointed. I can put an ear to the ground but…”

“This new marshal in Nashville is a political appointment. His background is with the FBI,” Vasquez said.

Everyone associated with the USMS in the room groaned causing Vasquez and Reardon to stop and look at each other.  

“Little biased?” Vasquez said.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Art said, waving a hand, his voice gruff with the lie.

“You just think the new marshal and the new federal judge in the Middle Tennessee District are both dirty,” Reardon stated.

“Did I say that?” Art asked, cagily.

“Is it dirty to work your boss’s agenda?” Reardon countered.

“It is if that means taking the lives of two US deputy marshals,” Art interjected, his face was beginning to turn red and Tim could smell anger coming off him. Reardon, meanwhile, smelled the same as before. If anything, he seemed entertained.

Reardon spread his hands, then pointed at Art. “Good thing I have a lifetime appointment, then. I’ll count on y’all to have my back and make that stick if I need it. Short of death or impeachment, I don’t give a good goddamn. Let’s merge some warrants.”

The media was calling it a “fall from grace.”

The headlines with “gay sex murder scandal” in them were pulling TV vans in from around the country. Once popular vampire preacher Boyd Crowder was now the object of a manhunt for sleeping with, then killing young men. Tim thought the media loved him more now than they did before.

Raylan said Boyd was sleeping, that wherever he was, he was safe. There wasn’t much they could do until nightfall, and it chapped Tim’s ass that they were, yet again, going to have to put Boyd into the Marshals Service protective custody.  Thanks to Barkley’s press conference, if they left Boyd to his own ends, someone would take him out, thinking they’d collect on a reward and take Raylan with him given their metaphysical connection.

Since Harlan didn’t have a district courthouse, David Vasquez held another press conference on the steps of the Harlan County Judge office—a big limestone building with towering pillars on a square in Harlan. Late that afternoon, he and Art announced that they had new leads in the case of Deputy Marshal Olaf Jeffries murder and Boyd Crowder was no longer a suspect in any ongoing case. Vasquez addressed the point that the USMS no longer had a warrant for his arrest in hopes of derailing vigilantes taking justice into their own hands. After Vasquez’s statement, he fielded questions from reporters.

“Isn’t it true that the Executioner, Deputy Raylan Givens, is Boyd Crowder’s human servant?” a CNN reporter shouted at Vasquez.

“I can’t speak to that. The warrants, in this case, were consolidated by Federal Judge Michael Reardon out of the Eastern Kentucky District because they were redundant. We had two standing warrants backed with evidence against  Derrick ‘Devil’ Lennox and Robert Quarles,” Vasquez answered, stonewalling her. “The warrants from Tennessee were unnamed and we had no evidence to suggest Boyd Crowder committed these murders.”

“So you’re saying that Marshal Barkley is a liar?” a reporter from MSNBC shouted.

“Not at all,” Vasquez said. “I am just stating the facts. At this time, we do not have any evidence to pursue Boyd Crowder in the death of the men in these videos or Deputy Marshal Olaf Jeffries.”

Art left just before dark with Vasquez and Reardon to get them back to Lexington. “Y’all secure Boyd Crowder tonight and bring him back to Lexington,” Art said, pausing in the open car door. Vasquez was already in the back of the Lincoln, while the judge rode shotgun.

“What about Quarles and Devil?” Tim asked.

Art sighed. “Send Crowder back with Rachel and Spotted Horse,” he said.

“We don’t look for Olaf’s killer, Tennessee will raise a fuss,” Raylan said.

“Fine, just keep your swath of destruction to a minimum,” Art said.

Come nightfall, Tim smelled the cold death magic of Raylan reaching out to contact Boyd. And then they were on their way to meet him with Rachel and Bernardo behind them in her Lincoln.

They headed out east of town into the hills and ended up at what looked like a hunting cabin.

“What is this place?” Tim asked. He let Sheeba out of the back and listened to the night to see who and what all he could hear—which wasn’t much.

“Not sure,” Raylan said. “S’not something he grew up around.”

“Guess that’s good at least. I smell vampires. Don’t hear much else.”

Raylan nodded in agreement. “I feel them. Boyd and another,” he said. He headed toward the cabin with Tim and Sheeba as Rachel and Bernardo climbed out of their vehicle.

Boyd met them on the porch. Out of the shadows in the doorway, Wynn Duffy stepped out following Boyd.

“Raylan Givens.”

Raylan pushed his hat back on his head and shook his head at Boyd.

“Ain't a social call Boyd. I thought I told you not to trust anyone but Ava,” Raylan said, nodding at Duffy. “Speaking of, where is she ?”

“Somewhere safe,” Boyd said.

Raylan nodded once and Tim thought maybe they were talking between themselves but he wasn’t sure. He inhaled but didn’t pick up any hint of death magic and decided maybe he was wrong. Usually, he could sense it.

“We need to know where Quarles is,” Tim said. “And we need you to come in with us.”

“Now Deputy, you’ve got to know I’m not going to do that,” Boyd said.

“Have you not seen the news Boyd?” Rachel asked. “Can’t you see that your flock is already scattering? It’s in your best interests to cooperate.”

“You think I don’t see your ulterior motive. You just want to save Raylan,” Boyd said.

“True, they do,” Raylan said. “But we also have orders to bring you into protective custody. Just roll over on this guy. If we find him, we’ll clear your name. For good. And ours.”

Boyd squinted at Raylan, then at Tim. “I know you’re not lyin’ to me, but you’re not bein’ truthful either.”

“Oh, you want to talk truth, Boyd?” Raylan demanded. “What the hell were you doing with Deputy Marshal Olaf Jeffries last night?”

“Well, Raylan, as mightily contrite as I am about that, I had little to do with his demise,” Boyd said. “Was he a close associate of yours?”

Raylan rolled his eyes. “Your scent was all over that scene.”

Rachel’s eyebrows raised and she looked over at Tim. He shrugged at her and she tightened her mouth in disappointment.

“Just give us something we can use to find Quarles. He was there last night, too, right?” Tim asked.

“He was,” Boyd said.

“Now Boyd,” Duffy cautioned.

“Shut up, Duffy,” Raylan said. “Why is Quarles even here in Harlan?”

Boyd looked away from them. “Quarles is from Detroit—come to collect my the wages of my sin—my debt. With Detroit. For the gift.”

“You mean from when you changed from human to a vampire?” Rachel asked.

Boyd nodded his head in agreement with her question.

“What did you do, Boyd?” Raylan asked.

“I made a deal with Quarles,” Boyd said. “He sets up shop in Harlan, and I look the other way.”

Tim groaned. “Please tell me you’re not involved in whatever he’s got running,” Tim said. “Boyd, if you’re complicit in Quarles’ crimes…” Tim turned to look at Raylan, holding his hands out helplessly. He couldn’t put down Boyd without killing Raylan.

Boyd winced and tried to smile, his teeth white in the darkness, flashing fang in Tim’s direction.  

“Boyd. Don’t lie to me,” Raylan warned him.

“Well, for a fee…” Boyd began.

“So, you’re an accessory to his crimes,” Tim said, angry.

Tim felt a rush of cold power from Boyd pushing at him, trying to chip away at his anger and take control of his wolf, urging him into something more docile—a pet. He fought it. He wasn’t sure how, but as soon as he realized he was being messed with, he stopped it. “Boyd, I’d kill you for trying to fuck with my wolf if it wasn’t for—”

“For Raylan,” Boyd finished.

Raylan stepped over and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You okay?” Raylan asked. His touch further cleared the smoke of Boyd’s sway.

“I got it,” Tim said. And he had, even before Raylan’d stepped in. “Next time you do that Crowder, I am gonna pry out one of your fangs with a pair of pliers. It’ll grow back, but it’ll take years.”

“Promises, promises,” Boyd said, grinning.

Rachel put her hand on her weapon. “Let me shoot him,” she said. “Last time he tried that, that was my promise.”

Tim’s eyes landed on Raylan who shook his head. “I’m fine.”   

“Boyd, we need to meet Quarles,” Raylan said.

Boyd looked over at Duffy.

“I think that can be arranged,” Duffy said.

“Really.” Raylan sounded like he understood Duffy was being more than tacitly complicit in his agreement to offer up a wanted man they’d spend weeks hunting down.

Tim gauged the interaction between Wynn and Boyd. “I thought he worked for you, not the other way around.”

“We’ve had a change in leadership around here,” Duffy said.

“How do you mean leadership change?” Raylan said, raising his necromancy to feel Duffy. Tim could feel him doing it. He could practically smell it. “You’re not powerful enough to yoke Boyd.”

Duffy looked away from Raylan. “That may be, but I work for someone who is.” Then, Duffy smiled showing full fangs. “The new master of Harlan County. The tables are turning, Necromancer.”

Raylan narrowed his eyes at Boyd. “You lost your territory, Boyd?”

“Seems Quarles and Duffy have been blood-oathing vampires in Harlan,” Boyd said.

“Yes, I’m afraid Mr. Crowder’s power structure has been collapsing around him for some time,” Duffy said.

Tim’s cell rang.

He dug it from his pocket to read the caller ID and could feel his brow knit and the dent furrow between his eyes.

“Who is it?” Rachel asked.

“Mags Bennett,” Tim whispered.

“By all means,” Duffy said. “Go ahead, Deputy.”

“Gutterson.”  He listened and watched.

Boyd sighed impatiently, but Tim didn’t think Duffy looked displeased at all. Raylan and Rachel looked worried and Tim knew they were picking up on his impatience with Mags’ call.

Tim hung up.

“We have to go out to the Harlan Lupinar but I think you already knew that, didn’t you Duffy?” Tim said.

Duffy tipped his head to the side.

“What? Why?” Bernardo asked. “C’mon, guys, human ears here.”

“That was Mags Bennett,” Tim said. “Devil took Loretta.”

Chapter Text

“Who’s Loretta?” Bernardo whispered to Rachel as Tim turned on his heel.

“Rachel, can you secure the witnesses ?” Tim asked, purposely letting everything he felt—the full brunt of the concern and paranoia he usually kept tamped down—fly and heard her pull her weapon in response, then Bernardo followed suit. Sheeba trotted after Tim.

“Marshal, I believe there’s been some misunderstanding,” Duffy said.

“I don’t think so at all,” Rachel countered brusquely, then more conversationally, she went on. “Bernardo, Loretta is a young werewolf under Tim’s protection. Lives with a neighboring pack. Sounds like Duffy’s new master is complicit in her disappearance. No misunderstanding here.”

Raylan caught up with Tim just after he’d pulled his hand free of the fingerprint-activated lock on the truck’s running boards. He ignored a pair of pliers with some regret but grabbed the wire cutters and spool of silver-coated piano wire. He stalked back over to Duffy, but not without waving the cutters in the air and snapping his teeth twice at Boyd.  

“More where these come from, Boyd,” Tim said. “Sheeba, guard.”

Sheeba took up an alert position watching Tim, and Boyd held up his hands.

“Wrists, Duffy,” Tim ordered. Duffy put them in front of him. “No, turn around. Behind you.”

“Is that what I think it is?” Raylan asked, hovering on Tim’s other side so he didn’t get in the way of Rachel’s line of sight on Duffy’s head. “I thought we agreed after the thing with the eye and the nitrate bullets—”  

“I need to secure them,” Tim insisted.  

Bernardo sighed and elbowed his way in to take the spool away from Tim. “Give it here.”

Rachel just rolled her eyes. “Don’t think about it, Duffy. I can hit either of you before you think about moving.”

Tim knew she was right, then Sheeba would tear one of his arms off. Duffy’d heal the bullet wound as long as Rachel didn’t put it in his heart or head—probably, but he wouldn’t grow his arm back anytime soon. Vampires needed a lot of power to grow their hair out a few inches. Tim couldn’t imagine what it would take to regrow an arm.

“Do their ankles too,” Tim said.

When Bernardo had them hogtied, Rachel turned to Tim. “Now what are we going to do with them?”

Tim wasn’t sure, but it turned out Raylan had his own ideas.  

“Put them in the trunk of the Town Car,” Raylan said.

Bernardo snorted and Rachel frowned.  

“Uh-uh,” she said, but she hit the key fob popping the truck. “You want them in there, you do it yourself.”

Raylan stalked back to the trunk and began pulling out the contents. Tim rolled his eyes and pulled Boyd over his shoulder and carried him back to the trunk of Rachel’s car. Bernardo followed with Duffy hanging halfway down his back, bitching all the way.

Raylan cleared the bulletproof vests and weapons from the trunk of her vehicle and shoved them at Rachel.

“Put on the vests, we might need the rest,” Raylan said. He looked at Boyd on Tim’s shoulder and tipped his head to the empty trunk.

Tim unceremoniously dumped the vampire into the well.

“Aww Raylan,” Boyd complained.

“Not now, Boyd,” Raylan said.

Bernardo tossed Duffy in on top of him.

“Marshal, you can’t be serious about this…” Duffy said.

“Is there anything about my face or this situation that makes you think I’m not serious, Duffy?” Raylan said, his hand moving to his weapon.

“Now Raylan,” Boyd said. “Surely we can come to a better under—”

“Shut up, Boyd. He stole a little girl.”

“Technically, his master…”  

Raylan slammed the trunk on the conversation.

Tim smiled. He did love that man.

Tim parked his truck off the road near the Harlan Lupinar. Rachel followed in her Town Car.

They loaded up with weapons.

“I thought y’all checked out the pack’s hang out while you were hunting Quarles,” Rachel said.

Bernardo eyed the woods. “More than a few times.”

“We never found anything,” Tim said. “Then we needed to get back to Lexington for the full moon…”

Raylan tipped his head. Art and Tim’s Ulfric Jamil had both ordered him back to Lexington. Raylan hadn’t done a whole lot to support Tim’s idea for staking out the Harlan Lupinar during the full moon. Instead, he’d pushed Tim to leave Harlan before the full moon. Gone home to see his daughter and get his lover out of dodge. Tim didn’t need to be a wolf to smell the guilt. He knocked elbows with Raylan once and Raylan squinted back at him. His partner shrugged and Tim understood that Raylan had sussed out that maybe Loretta might not be missing now if he’d let just Tim go looking for the Harlan pack back at the last full moon.

Rachel clocked something between them but had enough grace not to put it into words. She just eyed each of them in turn and moved on with her questioning. “Are these vampires going to be all right here?” Rachel asked, shooting the trunk one more hard look.

“They don’t need air, and they’ll heal the silver binding soon enough,” Raylan said.

Tim winced at the idea of the chaffing they’d get from the silver burns but it was the only effective way he knew of to hold a vampire, even temporarily. “The silver doesn’t bother you, does it?” Tim asked quietly.

Raylan scrunched up his face a little and shook his head. “No, no. Not much.”

“Define not much,” Tim said.

Raylan moved his fingers in a come-on gesture like he was looking for the words. “Doesn’t really feel like a drain on my energy so much as a little itch.”

“Like a cold coming on?” Bernardo asked.

“If you say so,” Raylan agreed, and Tim shook his head. Like Raylan really knew what a cold coming on felt like.  “Don’t matter,” Raylan continued. “They’re staying there. We don’t need two more assholes to keep track of tonight. Let’s put down Quarles and Devil and then we can sort out what to do with Boyd and Duffy when the dust settles.”

“Good enough,” Rachel said.

“This way,” Tim said, heading into the woods. “Sheeba, heel.”

Tim didn’t get but five feet into the scrub when he smelled another wolf. He held up his fist and they all stopped. Sheeba growled.

“Are you Death?”

“Might be yours.” Tim had his rifle raised before the words passed his lips and leveled at the guy who was not too much younger than him. If he had to guess, Tim would have put him in his mid-twenties. In the dark, it was hard to tell. He was wearing a park ranger’s uniform and the hat covered most of the guy’s white-blond hair. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five at most.

Tim clocked Bernardo fanning out with Rachel to cover their perimeter and Raylan circling to his right. Sheeba stuck close to Tim’s side with her mane and dorsal ridge raised.

“Don’t shoot. Devil sent me.”

“You should understand that I’m packing silver ammo. Got a better reason why I shouldn’t shoot you?” Tim asked. “You part of the Harlan pack?”

“Yeah. Name’s Jason Schuyler.” Jason held his hands high in the air before him. Tim would have bet he hadn’t been a wolf very long.

“Where’s the rest of your pack?” Raylan asked.

“Some of them are in there. The Lupinar. With the vampire. Quarles.”

“Do you know if they have Loretta McCready with them?” Tim asked.

He nodded sharply.

“What’s your role here?”

“I watch the Lupinar. Keep the public clear on the full moon. I work for the park system.”

“You LEO?” Raylan asked.

“Kinda,” Jason answered.

“Kinda?” Raylan repeated doubtfully.

Jason shrugged bashfully. “Well, I got this uniform and all. Some guys with the park service have a background in law enforcement, but I got a degree in Wildlife Management. Man, I study plants. Effects of mine runoff.” He started to move his hands around in a wide animated fashion, mimicking the movement of runoff coming down a mountain. Sheeba started to growl a bit more. “I was working on my master's degree before this shit went down. I’m not equipped for this… this gangster bullshit.”

“All right. All right,” Raylan said.

“What are we walking into?” Rachel said, her voice authoritative and fierce. “You’re hiding something.”

Jason turned surprised and frightened, eyes on her. She’d scared him—still did. Tim could smell a fresh wave of fear coming from him. Definitely a new wolf.

“Quarles is in there with some of the Harlan wolves… the men…” Jason looked away and his face turned red. The night grew not quiet but void of conversation. Even Sheeba quieted down and somehow knew to wait him out. Tim and the other marshals stood silently as the woodlife sounds filled some of the emptiness.

Even those were lacking—far too quiet for a summer night.  Tim listened for the small rush of squirrel and rabbit feet—prey who’d normally clear off when his and Jason’s kind shifted and started hunting. But they were already gone. Maybe they’d learned long ago to steer clear of Harlan Lupinar?

Finally, Jason filled the silence. “He’s um… he done things to some of them.” Jason cleared his throat and Tim thought maybe Jason might have been one of those men. “He’s got control of Devil, so he’s got control of the Harlan pack.”  

“Why are you here?” Bernardo asked, his voice coming from the darkness. Jason jumped a little and Tim’s mind immediately was reminded of a PTSD reaction. “Devil ordered me to wait for Death,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thought he was orderin’ me to my own.”  

“But you’ve seen Loretta?” Tim asked.  

“They have the girl,” Jason said, nodding methodically. “That girl. That poor, poor girl.”  

“What do you mean by that?” Raylan asked sharply.  

Jason’s eyes flew to Raylan then over to Tim. “Well, y’all put the word out on Quarles. That guy? He’s got appetites. Other than the blood, if you know what I mean,” Jason said.

“Go on,” Rachel said.

“Not a were in Harlan County will go within twenty feet of that monster unless he forces them—and he can only call the wolves. The Bennetts got some sort of protection from him so that leaves the Harlan pack, doesn’t it?”

“But where is your pack?” Raylan asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Jason said, emphatically. “Quarles’ gotten tired of… Harlan wolves, I guess. Done run through most of them. Told Devil to bring him fresh meat. So he brought him Loretta McCready—knowin’ she was under the protection of Death himself.”

“Huh,” Raylan said. “Didn’t think old Devil was that smart.”  

“He is the Ulfric,” Jason said as if that meant something of true import.  

“Just not a very strong one,” Tim added. “Is Loretta safe?”

Jason shrugged. “For now.”  

“What do you mean by that?” Raylan asked.  

“At first that vampire was mad when Devil brought in the McCready girl. Quarles beat him. Then Devil told him Death would come for her and bring his mate when he did,” Jason said.  

Tim felt a spike of concern and looked over at Raylan.

“Did he now?” Raylan asked. “What was Quarles’ reaction to that?”

“He turned right around at that idea. Got downright happy about it,” Jason said. “Up to then, he didn’t want any women around the pack. Banished ’em all to town.”

Tim and Rachel hotly debated calling backup before they moved forward. Bernardo stood silently with Sheeba, watching the perimeter like the soldier he was. Tim caught Raylan scanning the area while tracking the exchange between him and Rachel.

Finally, they reached an impasse.

“You don’t understand, Rach, this is their holy place,” Tim pushed. “They can’t move it. If we bring in the county sheriff deputies they’ll rip the pack apart every full moon until…”

“He’s right. Their dead are connected with a monument in there… it practically sings with death magic,” Raylan said. Tim noted enough longing in Raylan’s voice that he sent him a sharp look. Raylan was a little too entranced with pack Munin to suit Tim. Raylan must have caught on to his disapproval because he cleared his throat. “Point is, Rachel, the pack and the land are joined here,” Raylan said, reluctantly. “We call in the staties or the local sheriff, it’s like putting a big red X on a map for the location of their den.”

“Do you really want to go in there with only the four of us?” she asked.

“And Sheeba,” Tim added.

“Four and a half of us,” she added.

Tim scowled.

“You know this is a trap, don’t you?” Rachel said.

He pushed down his guards and let her at his feelings. “I know. And I do.”

Quarles, Devil, and about a dozen Harlan pack members were scattered around the Lupinar.

Rachel was right that it was a trap, but Tim had walked into worse, less equipped.

As a group, they were outnumbered—but Tim was carrying his service rifle, and Raylan had his Glock. Together, they’d taken down a master vampire in a nest before with just the two of them. When it came down to it, Quarles was one vampire backed by part of a wolf pack that looked like it had been ridden hard and put up wet. The pack members weren’t even fully healing the wounds they carried. Tim wondered how long they’d been supplying Quarles’ with blood and more.

Their plan had been for Tim, Raylan, and Sheeba to move into the Lupinar front and center and hold Quarles’ attention. Bernardo and Rachel would take their flanks to back them up by providing cover.

As Tim and Raylan moved closer to the primary clearing of the Lupinar, Tim could feel the land respond like a rush of power in their direction, specifically from the Munin rock on the far side. Quarles was standing on top of the rock that Tim had always thought looked more like a giant fallen tree than stone. Maybe the wolf pack’s dead somehow had protected it from decay and petrified the tree into stone. He’d wondered what would happen to Lexington’s Munin tree should it fall.

Maybe the Harlan Pack’s tree already had. Maybe it had taken its pack with it.

Tim smelled Raylan’s death magic rising to meet the Harlan Munin and it brought him out of his thoughts.

“Cut it out,” he whispered to Raylan. “You know that riles up Devil.”

“Can’t help it,” Raylan said. “The Munin likes my power. Reaction’s instantaneous. They’re… lonely?”

“Great,” Tim groaned. “Try to control yourself.”

“Necromancer,” Quarles called. “You came. Finally.”

Raylan jerked his head toward Tim, who shrugged and waved his hand at the Munin rock. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Loretta was tied up and tucked up beside its edge. She looked fine. Not real happy, but physically fine.

“What was that?” Tim called back to the vampire.

“Wasn’t talking to you, wolf,” Quarles said, standing on top of the Munin rock. “The Necromancer heard me.”

“I heard, doesn’t explain what you think you know,” Raylan said.

“Oh, I heard all about what you can do, but—” Quarles bared his big white teeth and jumped once for emphasis “— feel that buzz .”

“How did—?”  Raylan started. “Ah, Wynn Duffy.”

“Yes, Mr. Duffy was kind enough to let me know what all I missed out on at the parley earlier this year. Quite a party.”

“Enough. You okay Loretta?” Tim shouted.

“Yeah,” she said. “No thanks to the pervert and his blood bags here. Been waitin’.”

He exhaled. “Just got the call,” he said.

“It’s a trap—” she started.  

“That’s enough, girl.” Quarles bent down over the Munin rock and pointed at her.

“Yeah, we figured that out,” Tim said.  

His comment drew the vampire’s attention away from Loretta, and Quarles laughed. “Did you now? Yet, here you are.”

The wind shifted and Tim inhaled, allowing him to catch the scent of Quarles, recognizing it from the Arnett evidence. He decided that a distraction might come in handy to derail whatever plans the vampire had.

“So, Mr. Quarles, why did you kill Emmitt Arnett?”

The pale vampire cocked his head, seemingly brought up short.

“Arnett?” Quarles said as if he had to think hard to remember the vampire. “Oh, he was underperforming.” He waved a hand as if he was dismissing the matter.

Tim cataloged the admission of guilt. That alone was enough to execute him, but technically Raylan held the named warrant. Tim went for broke. “And Deputy Jeffries? Why did he have to die? Why’d you kill him?”

“Well, I would have thought you’d have approved of that, Deputy. He was planning to kill your mate, and you if he could get away with it. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Quarles said reasonably.

Tim’s eyes slid over to Raylan who shrugged, then whispered, “No idea what he means but that’s an admission of guilt if I ever heard one.”   

“We just need to wrap up some business with you, Robert Quarles. I have an execution warrant here to serve,” Raylan started, his hand on his Glock.

“Now, Mr. Crowder,” Quarles ordered. “The wolf-mate.”

Tim felt a wave of power hit him.

He recognized the sensation from earlier that night when Boyd tried to roll him and take control of him through his wolf.  Only this time, this wasn’t just Boyd. Oh, Tim could feel Boyd, but he also felt that crazy albino fuck who was strutting around on the Munin rock, too.

His first instinct was to shoot.

And he did what he hadn’t done since Sheeba’d been shot: he missed.

He could feel himself falling to them. It would be so easy to give up caring altogether and just lower his weapon and let go.

And Tim let his rifle fall to his side. His eyes scanned the area cataloging Loretta with her big eyes round in fear, then they landed on Raylan who pinned him with a glare.

“Tim, what’s wrong with you?” Raylan shouted, concerned.

Tim shook his head. Sheeba was standing at his side confused. She whimpered, and he didn’t know how to answer Raylan or calm her down.

Come to me, wolf, Quarles said. Tim knew the voice in his head.

Then a second voice joined it. Go to him, marshal. It’s in your best interest. Boyd?

And that was all it took for Tim to get in touch with his anger, and then his control. “Crowder?” Tim growled, spinning slowly in place, searching for Boyd or Duffy.

He could feel the edges of Quarles and Boyd’s power now like clear film covering a new cell phone screen blurring his sense of free will. He’d begun to peel the edge away himself when he felt Raylan’s power wrap around him like the sun burning through a deep fog. And the murkiness fell away.

Just as his head started to clear, a weight flew out of the darkness taking him face down to the ground, teeth sinking into his shoulder.  

Sheeba growled and jumped in latching onto his attacker who screamed—Tim felt the weight of them both on his back. He bared his claws and pushed himself off the ground throwing both the vampire and Trollhound off his back. He flipped over to find Wynn Duffy barreling into him, then straddling him.

Tim grunted as he hit the ground.

“I saved something for you, wolf,” Duffy hissed. He pulled the wire out of his pocket and held it down across Tim’s throat.

“How’d you get out of the trunk?”

Tim tugged on Duffy’s wrists. They were raw where Bernardo had bound them in the silver-coated piano wire. “Human servant. Some of us have ones who actually serve us,” Duffy said nodding in the direction of where Bernardo had been providing cover. He was now fending off Mike Cosmatopolis. “Your Native American friend isn’t long for this world.”

Tim wrapped his hand around Duffy’s throat and dug the tips of his claws into his skin, drawing blood. “Call him off, Duffy.” Tim choked out the words. “Bernardo will kill him. Y’don’t know who you’re messing with.” Tim dragged his claws deeply enough into Duffy’s throat to draw blood, then he bucked the vampire off with his hips about the time Sheeba came in from the back, sinking her teeth into the side of Duffy’s neck.

Rachel was alternating between taking aim at the advancing wolf pack members at Tim’s back and trying to get a clear shot at Mike. Duffy hissed, then threw Sheeba clear and dove at Tim again. Tim heard a sick snap from the direction of Bernardo’s fight and he knew what had happened when Duffy went down like a limp rag doll.

Bernardo had always been a neck-breaker.

Tim turned back to the advancing wolves and growled at them, causing a few of them to falter in their progress. Five or six of them backed up in retreat altogether.

As he turned to take stock, he noticed Raylan was… wrong. He was standing there with his face slackened, his weapon still in his hand but hanging down at his side. Suddenly Tim heard Boyd calling desperately for Raylan and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Tim was actually afraid, and the wolves picked up on it because they began to slowly advance on them again.

Rachel and Bernardo fired off a round of warning shots at the wolves.

“Don’t kill them, and watch out for Loretta,” Tim ordered. “Take down Quarles.”

Bernardo took aim and fired.

“Ray? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” Tim yelled.

His mate was being attacked. Raylan couldn’t see it but he could feel it.

“Tim, what’s wrong with you?” he demanded, shouting at him.

Raylan could feel the vampires’ power coalescing around Tim. He didn’t know the taste of Quarles’ power but he damned well knew Boyd’s. Raylan pushed his necromancy out in Tim’s direction, trying to wrap it around him.

His next instinct was to put a bullet between Quarles’ eyes when the power that had been focused at Tim redirected and wrapped itself around Raylan’s throat, his heart, his lungs until he felt like he was choking from how tightly it was suffocating him. He coughed and felt a crack down to his core and then a sour cool fog overtook him that smelled like copper and cum.

Raylan could breathe again but he felt like he’d been drugged.  

Something was missing. And that something was… he felt around for it… it was Boyd.

“Raylan…” Boyd yelled. He called his name over and over in vain. Raylan stood there with his weapon at his side, not even interested in looking over. Finally, he forced his head to turn and saw Boyd prone on the ground reaching out for him.

He blinked and turned to watch Tim dig his claws into Wynn Duffy’s throat. Far more interesting than Boyd Crowder.

Raylan blinked again.

Necromancer.  

Raylan heard the voice in his head clearly where Boyd’s had once been. No question there.

“Shit,” Raylan whispered. “Quarles.”

Raylan slammed down his shields. He was good at that, at least; he’d had practice.

He heard the weapon fire as Rachel and Bernardo warned off the wolves, then Tim ordered them to put down Quarles. He didn’t have time to process how to stop them when Bernardo’s shot found its mark.

Bernardo took aim for Quarles and hit him in his side. Raylan collapsed to the ground. He wasn’t a stranger to GSWs, and he’d be goddamned if this didn’t feel exactly like one.

“Don’t kill him, he marked me,” Raylan gasped.

“Ray, no,” Tim called, then he was there with him. He pushed Raylan over onto his back patting him down and checking him for wounds. “Hold your fire!”

“I’m not hit,” Raylan said, pulling himself up on his elbows. “He is. Quarles.”

Quarles laughed from his position on the Munin rock. “Oh, Necromancer, I’m taking you as my own now. If Boyd Crowder had been serious about keeping you, he’d have put the fourth mark on you.”

With that, Quarles jumped and flew straight up into the trees overhead.

“Holy shit,” Bernardo said tracking him with his gun.

Tim stood and beat a path to Bernardo. He put his hand on the barrel. “You can’t shoot him,” he said.

Rachel still had her weapon trained on the wolves but kept glancing up. “You didn’t know they could fly either?” she asked. Raylan thought she was directing the question at Bernardo but he sure as hell hadn’t been expecting Quarles to take off like Superman.

“Well, in theory, I did,” Tim said, coming back to kneel by Raylan to examine him some more. “Never seen it in person.” Tim pulled Raylan’s vest free. “Don’t see any blood.”

“I’m fine,” Raylan said, concentrating on the wound and trying not to open the mark Quarles put on him. “He’s shot… through and through, I think? I don’t think the silver is inside him because he’s healing.”

Tim looked up. “Is he gone?”

Raylan reached out with his necromancy. “Yeah. I don’t feel any vampires. Outside Boyd and… well, what’s left of Duffy over there.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “We do still have a bit of a werewolf problem though. And I think a warrant to serve,” she offered.

“Fair point,” Tim said standing up. “You all right if I…?” Tim tipped his head in the direction of the Munin rock.

Raylan waved his hand. “Go ahead. Take care of Devil.”

“Sheeba, guard Raylan.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered when Sheeba pushed in closer to him but he dug his hand into her fur.

Tim picked up his rifle where he’d dropped it from when Wynn Duffy attacked him, tucked it under his arm, and started across to where Devil and the Harlan pack were gathered.

Raylan watched his determined gait—part march, part swagger. He clocked Rachel and Bernardo spreading out with their weapons raised to cover him, and Raylan started to try to push himself up using the Trollhound for a crutch, then pushing her out of the way so he could pull his weapon. He wasn’t sure he could stand yet, but he could shoot from there if he needed to.

“Raylan...” Boyd crawled over, shimmying on his stomach.

Sheeba growled when Boyd got too close for her comfort, which wasn’t all that close at all. “Shhh. Quiet girl. Christ Boyd,” Raylan cursed. “Did you plan this? What were you thinkin’?”

“Didn’t know Quarles was going to break my marks,” Boyd replied, forlorn. Raylan didn’t feel a whole lot of sympathy for him.

“Didn’t think that was even possible,” Raylan muttered, his eyes on Tim stalking over to meet Devil. He thought about all those months when Tim had been toying with the idea of turning. If he’d known then that Tim could have broken the marks and taken him from Boyd, would he have considered letting Tim turn? He watched the way his lover was so full of life now and didn’t think so. Raylan’d hated the idea of Tim dying for him. Even if it was dying to rise for him.