Chapter Text
The headquarters of the Lycan Control Division was hidden in the bowels of a disused council building, its corridors humming faintly with fluorescent light. File cabinets lined the walls, heavy with case records that nobody outside their unit was ever meant to see.
Scott lounged in one of the cracked leather chairs, boots crossed at the ankle, flicking his pen against the table as if the steady rhythm might drive their superior mad. Across from him, Jamie sat stiff-backed, already taking notes in that precise, irritatingly neat script of his.
Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby pushed a file across the table. “You’ll want to take this one seriously.”
Scott caught the file before it slid off. “We always take them seriously, sir.”
Jamie didn’t look up from his notes. “Some of us more than others.”
Barnaby’s brow rose, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he leaned back, folding his hands over his middle. “Name’s Riker Hale. Violent, unregistered, has already torn apart three victims in less than a month. Two were civilians, one a registered wolf. No pattern to the killings. He’s not feeding. He’s playing.”
The photographs inside the file were brutal enough that Scott stopped tapping his pen. Blood sprayed across brickwork. A body with its chest split open. Bite marks that looked almost surgical. He gave a low whistle. “Charming.”
Jamie’s mouth was a thin line. “And we’re sure he’s not being backed by a pack?”
“We’re sure,” Barnaby said. “He’s working alone. Too unstable for anyone to tolerate.” His gaze sharpened, pinning them both. “Which makes him dangerous. He knows the way we work. He likes to hung, so don’t walk into a trap.”
Scott tossed the file back on the table and leaned back, forcing a grin he didn’t quite feel. “What’s life without a bit of danger?”
Jamie finally met his eyes, sharp and warning. “Try not to get us killed. Some of us actually prefer to come back alive.”
Barnaby stood, gathering his notes. “You’ve got one chance. Bring him in if you can. But if Hale makes a move for either of you, put him down.”
The room fell quiet after he left, the hum of the fluorescent lights louder than before. Scott stretched, then grinned at Jamie. “Well. Sounds like a fun night out.”
Jamie gave him a look that was half exasperation, half something sharper. “You treat this like a game and you’ll end up dead. Or worse.”
Scott’s grin softened into something wryer, almost sincere. “Relax, Winter. I’ve got you watching my back, don’t I?”
Jamie didn’t answer, but his pen stilled on the page.
*
The locker room smelled of oil, gunmetal, and the faint tang of silver rounds. Scott leaned against the open door of his own locker, watching Jamie go through his meticulous pre-mission ritual — blade checks, ammunition counts, the faint scrape of whetstone against steel.
“You know,” Scott said lazily, “you polish that knife more than most people polish their cars. Bit obsessive, don’t you think?”
Jamie didn’t look up. “Obsessive keeps us alive.”
Scott smirked. “And here I thought it was my devil-may-care charm that’s been saving us all this time.”
“More like blind luck,” Jamie muttered, sliding the knife back into its sheath with a click.
Scott pushed off the locker, stepping closer. “C’mon, admit it. You’d miss me if something happened.”
Jamie finally glanced up, the fluorescent lights catching on the steel-grey of his eyes. For a beat too long, he didn’t answer. Then he shrugged, like it cost him something. “You’re a pain in the arse. But… yeah. I’d miss you.”
Scott’s grin faltered into something gentler. He reached over and flicked at the corner of Jamie’s neatly buttoned collar. “Careful, Winter. Say things like that and I’ll start thinking you’ve got a heart under all that regulation.”
Jamie huffed, but the faintest curve touched his mouth. “Don’t push your luck.”
For a moment, the only sound was the steady hum of the overhead lights and the click of Scott loading silver into his pistol. It felt almost… companionable.
Then Scott ruined it by leaning in and stage-whispering, “So if I do get bitten, are you volunteering to put me down? Or are you the sentimental type?”
Jamie snapped his magazine shut with unnecessary force. “Don’t joke about that.”
The teasing slipped out of Scott’s face at once. He held Jamie’s gaze, unusually serious. “Hey. Relax. Nothing’s gonna happen to me. To us. Not while we’re together.”
Jamie searched his face for a long second, then nodded once, like he needed to believe it. “Right. Together.”
Scott’s grin returned, softer this time. “Exactly.”
*
The forest was a cathedral of shadows, the canopy swallowing moonlight whole. Scott’s boots crunched softly on fallen leaves as he walked point, torch beam cutting across the undergrowth. Jamie followed, rifle ready, eyes scanning every flicker of movement.
“Bloody charming out here,” Scott murmured. “Almost romantic, don’t you think?”
Jamie didn’t break stride. “You’re insufferable.”
“Harsh. All I’m saying is, you could’ve at least bought me dinner before dragging me into the woods.”
“Keep your voice down.” Jamie’s tone was clipped, but Scott caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
They found signs easily enough. Deep gouges in bark, claw marks fresh enough the wood still bled sap. A discarded jacket, torn to ribbons and reeking of copper and wet dog.
Jamie crouched, running his gloved fingers over the shredded fabric. “He’s close.”
Scott leaned in over his shoulder. “You always get that husky tone when you’re excited?”
Jamie shot him a look. “Focus.”
“Relax, I am focused. Focused on you. You’re very intense when you’re tracking.”
For a moment, Jamie just stared at him, expression unreadable. Then he stood, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he put up with this. “You make everything a joke. One day that’s going to get us both killed.”
Scott fell into step beside him, smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Or maybe it keeps us sane.”
The forest grew thicker, darker. The sounds of the night, owls, rustle of small prey, had gone eerily silent. Both men felt it at the same time, that shift in the air.
Jamie’s voice was barely a whisper. “He’s watching us.”
Scott cocked his pistol, eyes scanning the shadows. “Good. Saves us the trouble of finding him.”
The silence pressed in tighter. A branch snapped to their left. Then another, closer, to the right.
Scott’s smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, Winter. Looks like the date’s about to get interesting.”
The growl came first. Low, vibrating through the ground beneath their boots. Scott barely had time to turn before something hit him square in the chest with the force of a truck. His back slammed into a tree, the crack of splintering bark drowned out by the crunch of his own ribs giving way.
Air exploded out of him in a strangled gasp. His pistol slipped from his fingers as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his side, every breath a razor.
“Scott!” Jamie swung his rifle up, but claws closed around the barrel and wrenched it aside. In the next instant he was caught, the wolf’s massive arm hooking around his throat, dragging him back against a body radiating feral heat.
Jamie struggled, boots digging into the soil, hands clawing at the thick, corded arm crushing his windpipe. The stench of blood and musk filled his nose. A mouth brushed his ear, and the voice that came was a rough, guttural whisper, half-human, half-growl.
“Two little hunters. Brave. Stupid. I think I’ll have some fun before I tear you apart.”
Jamie bared his teeth, still fighting for breath. The wolf only chuckled, tightening the headlock until black spots danced at the edges of Jamie’s vision.
On the ground, Scott tried to push himself upright, agony lancing through his chest. His hand scrabbled for his fallen pistol, but the world was tilting, swimming.
The wolf pressed his nose against Jamie’s temple, inhaling deeply. “You smell… sweet. He’ll watch you break before I kill him.”
Jamie’s last sight before the darkness swallowed him was Scott’s hand stretching helplessly toward him. Then the pressure on his throat increased, and everything went black.