by Kat Bellamy
By the middle of the week, the new crew was finally starting to adjust to him. The hazing continued, and Colt did his best to seem affected because some of the pranks were too damn ingenious to go unappreciated, but he was just going through the motions. He knew what his old therapist would say. It was depression rearing its head, induced by the trauma of losing a friend and lingering guilt from his own fatal mistake, or some sensible shit like that. Maybe she would have been right, but Colt couldn’t escape the feeling that there was something else at play. There was an emptiness inside of him that had scared him back into eating plenty of flesh that morning, just in case the monster came in to fill the vacuum once more.
Halfway through Wednesday afternoon, the site was starting to resemble a functional workplace. The crew had been a few weeks behind schedule on Colt’s first day, and righting the course was a much-needed if arbitrary goal.
“Hey, Colt!” one of the crew members called from across the site. Taylor was a stout twenty-something with curly black hair and a penchant for chewing on his straws, but Colt had already identified him as the hardest worker at the site. Why the kid hadn’t yet been promoted beyond drywall was beyond him. As Taylor grew closer, Colt recognized the worry in his dark eyes. “There’s some guy in a suit here for you. Says he’s a cop.”
“A cop?” Colt frowned. If there was a cop of the suit variety at his workplace, it could only be related to one of two things: the murder he’d been too late to stop or the one he’d committed. He took a deep breath and let it out slow. He should have felt nervous, but all he could feel as he approached the administrative trailer on site was relief. Was this what it felt like to be a guilty man at the gallows, knowing justice was finally staring you in the face rather than nipping at your heels?
Sure enough, a tall blond man in a crisp black suit was waiting outside the door of Colt’s mobile office. He looked Colt up and down and extended a hand. “Mr. Jager. I’m Andrew Wilbur, from the District Attorney’s Office. Could I have a moment of your time?”
“Sure. Can’t imagine anyone ever turns that offer down,” Colt said, returning the handshake. He opened the door to his office. “Come on in.”
Andrew stepped in and looked around, eyeing the file cabinets and the cluttered desk. “You know, most people ask me why I’m here.”
“I figured it probably has to do with Chuck Miller’s death, being as I was one of the last people to see him alive.”
Andrew blinked. “Well, you’re certainly candid.”
“I try to be,” Colt said, motioning to the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat. Sorry, I’m still settling into the place and it moves every few months, so I’m short on luxuries but I can grab you a soda from down the hall.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m just here to ask a few questions. Purely routine.”
“Ask away,” Colt said, settling into his chair. As much as there was still part of him that wanted to come clean about both deaths while he had the chance, he knew sitting face-to-face with Andrew that he couldn’t do that to the Brown family, no matter how much the guilt clawed at him. And it did.
Andrew reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black flip pad. “I just want to confirm a few things from the police report. Now, the day Chuck was killed--that’s the eleventh, around three-fifty in the afternoon--he was attending your going away party at Devon’s Sports Bar, is that correct?”
“Wouldn’t call it a party so much as a group of coworkers drinking at a bar, but yeah, that’s right.”
Andrew scribbled something in his notepad and Colt felt like he was back in his therapist’s office, only depending on what he said, he’d end up with cuffs around his wrists rather than a new prescription. “Just to corroborate what the others have already told me, who was there?”
“Me, Chuck, Evan Curtis, Joe Denning and Gus Wilson,” Colt listed. “Chuck left to use the can and Gus was drunk, so I took him to the bus station. That’s the last I saw Chuck.”
“One question at a time, if you don’t mind,” Andrew said with a plastic smile.
Colt shrugged. “Sorry. It’s your interrogation.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Andrew said with a stilted laugh. “Just a few routine questions, that’s all. I’m sure the police asked you the same ones.”
“The police haven’t asked me anything. You’re the first.”
Colt realized that admission was a mistake the moment he saw the flicker of curiosity in Andrew’s eyes. “You mean to tell me the police haven’t questioned you yet?”
“No,” Colt said slowly. “Should they have?”
“Absolutely,” Andrew said without blinking. He stared at Colt for a few uncomfortable seconds before glancing down at his notepad. “Let’s move on. Gus said you left him at the station at three-forty-five, does that sound right?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t looking at my watch.”
“But that is the time Gus sent a text to his wife saying he was on his way home,” Andrew pressed.
Colt forced a smile. “Then I guess that’s when I dropped him off.”
Another scribble. “And what did you do afterward?”
“I got in my car and I went home.”
“That’s strange. You left your own going away party without saying goodbye?”
“I wasn’t feeling too hot and I didn’t feel like going back into the bar once I was outside.”
“I see.” Another note. “And did you happen to notice anything unusual when you were on your way back from the train station?”
“I guess that depends on how you define unusual.”
Andrew shrugged with feigned casualty. “Strange sounds. Maybe a scream? A person you didn’t recognize in the area?”
Colt frowned. “A person? They told Chuck’s wife the flesh had been torn off his throat. Whatever killed him, it wasn’t human.”
“It most certainly wasn’t,” Andrew said in a thoughtful tone that made Colt’s heart beat a little faster. The detective seemed about to ask something else when a sharp knock at the door interrupted him.
“Sorry, better check that,” Colt said, crossing the room before Andrew could protest. On the other side of the door was a man in a clean-pressed gray uniform with an unmistakable badge on his chest engraved with the words Hilson County Sheriff. Embroidered on his breast pocket was the name Venson.
When it rained, it poured. “Can I help you, Sheriff?”
The Sheriff looked right past Colt, his eyes locked on Andrew. They narrowed like a cat’s and for a moment, the spark of enmity in the air made Colt certain there was about to be a shootout between the lawmen. “Wilbur. Fancy seeing you here, in my jurisdiction.”
Andrew stood from his chair with a smile that was a few degrees of rotation away from being a grimace. “Roland. Always a pleasure.”
“Not always,” Roland said without missing a beat. He looked between Andrew and Colt, clearly trying to feel out the situation. “What’s going on here?”
“Just questioning the man who saw Chuck Miller minutes before his death,” Andrew said in a polite tone. “It appears your department overlooked the task.”
Roland’s mouth set into a hard, starched line that looked ready to crack if he tried to smile. “We don’t make a habit of questioning almost-witnesses to an animal attack.”
“Yes, third one in September, isn’t it?” Andrew asked, pressing a finger to his mouth. “And the month’s not even half over. Who would’ve thought the city would be so full of rural dangers?”
Roland’s face didn’t move a fraction. “I’ve had enough of you tripping over my feet, Andrew. Until now, I’ve humored your boss’ conspiracy theories, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from crossing a line. Take it from your daddy, you don’t want to cross that line.”
Unmistakable rage flashed in Andrew’s eyes, but he held it in. He turned back to Colt, and the ghoul flinched as the detective reached into his pocket. When Andrew pulled out a business card, he felt like an idi
ot. “Mr. Jager, please call me if you can think of anything else. Sheriff,” he said, giving Roland a curt nod before he left the room.
Before Colt could even formulate a question to ask, the Sheriff crossed the room, pulled open the recently shut door and glanced both ways down the hall before shutting the door again. He turned to Colt, his eyes still narrowed. “What did you tell him?”
“I’m sorry? I --”
Roland brushed past Colt and started rummaging through the papers on his desk. “I swear, if I have to clean up one more fledgling’s mess, I’m going to give that prick something to investigate.”
Colt stared at the Sheriff, then looked down at his right hand. Sure enough, there was a silver band featuring a ruby the size of a small button. “You’re a ghoul.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” The Sheriff planted his hands on Colt’s desk. “I don’t like repeating myself, boy. What’d you tell Wilbur?”
“Nothing. He just asked about when I left the bar, if the cops had questioned me…”
“And what did you say?” he snapped.
“No one did…”
“Son of a…” The Sheriff trailed off and turned away, raking his hand through his dark hair. If it wasn’t for the peppered gray streaks, he wouldn’t have looked nearly old enough to have the job. He turned back around, wearing a new facade of calm. “Let’s start over. I’m Roland Venson, Hilson County Sheriff and the only reason your ass isn’t sitting in county right now.”
Colt swallowed. “I’m --”
“Colton Jager, adopted son of Renee and Gerald Jager, orphan ghoul and my sister’s latest charity project, not to mention a royal pain in my ass. I know all about you,” he muttered. “You’d damn well better hope Andrew doesn’t.”
“Sister?” Colt racked his brain and barely recalled Susan mentioning something about a brother who worked for the police. “You’re Susan’s brother?”
“You can’t see the resemblance?” Roland asked dryly.
Colt hesitated. When he squinted and pictured Susan with a mustache, he could a little. “I didn’t tell him anything about what really happened. Stan and Susan have been good to me. I’d never do anything to hurt them.”
“That’s a wise choice,” Roland said dangerously. “This job’s hard enough with Carver breathing down my neck without worrying about some rogue orphan with a bleeding heart and a guilty conscience.”
“You know about what happened?” Colt asked warily.
“About the man you killed and eviscerated, or about the ghoul who killed Chuck Miller?”
Colt winced. “Both.”
“You’re not the first fledgling to fuck up in this city and you won’t be the last. Unfortunately for us both, you have some damn bad timing,” he muttered.
“I don’t think anyone other than the Browns saw me in the alley,” Colt said warily. “I doubt Wilbur would make the connection.”
“You’d be surprised what kind of lines those beady little eyes can trace. Wilbur isn’t half the problem. His boss has been plucking at the right threads since he got elected.”
“Carver knows about ghouls?” Colt asked, unsure of whether to be concerned or relieved that the charismatic District Attorney wasn’t one himself. “How?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say he’s not the first crackpot to stumble upon the truth, but he would be the first who’s high ranking enough that anyone believes him if he gets enough evidence to put his story out there. In case you’re having trouble putting it together, that would be a very bad thing for you and everyone you’ve ever so much as blinked at.”
“Yeah, I get it. Exposure’s a big deal. What do you want me to do?”
“Shut your mouth, for starters,” Roland said, jabbing a finger into Colt’s chest. “I found out about your little encounter with Evelyn. You’re lucky she’s not half as vindictive as her boyfriend. The last thing I need’s a feud between my sister’s rescue and the favored brat of the Moreau family.”
“I take it you’re not a fan.”
Roland snorted, planting his hands on his hips. “Those Alpha pricks have made my job impossible from square one. Who do you think’s gonna come down on me now that all these sloppy kills are turning up?”
“There are more? Why? What changed?”
“Vincent Moreau opened up a free marketplace for human flesh, for one thing. New hunters willing to do whatever it takes to make a quick buck, even if it means risking exposure,” he grumbled.
“Sounds more like it’s their fault than yours.”
“You’re tellin’ me. But will that stop them from taking out the consequences of their idiot child’s poor leadership skills on me?”
“No?” Colt asked warily.
“You’re damn right.” Roland sighed. “Just lay low and do what my sister tells you. If Andrew Wilbur so much as glances your way again, you call me,” he said, taking out his card. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Colt said, slipping the card into his pocket. He was accumulating a collection.
Chapter 13
As the days turned into weeks, Roland made good on his end of the bargain and Colt made good on his. He wasn’t bothered by Andrew again, and life slowly but surely returned to normal, or at least whatever normal was when you were an inhuman monster.
Colt stuck to his diet and, for the most part, he didn’t feel any overwhelming urges to go out and hunt on his own. Work kept him busy, but the hazing had conveniently stopped the day Andrew showed up. Colt would have bet money on the reason being that his underlings were wary of harassing a man who was involved in a potential murder investigation, however tangential that involvement might have been.
The descent into early fall wasn’t entirely without its difficulties. The guilt was still there, as always, but Colt had learned to live with it. Jason’s suspicion was harder to shake. He’d called a few times while Colt was over at the Brown family residence, doing his best to learn as much about the world he found himself a part of. He was a damn bad liar and while Jason had yet to come out and call him on it, Colt could feel the wedge between them driving deeper with each excuse he made for not being able to keep plans.
That night, he planned to lay Jason’s fears to rest. Curled up on the couch, tongues tangled in lightly buzzed ecstasy after an evening of the old black-and-white movies Jason liked and Colt’s favorite pizza, Colt finally felt like they’d achieved equilibrium. At least, he was working on it. There were still a few unnecessary pieces of clothing tipping the balance between them…
“Colt, wait,” Jason panted as Colt started unfastening his belt. “There’s something I need to ask you first.”
Colt froze. Here it was. The confrontation. Jason was far from the insecure type, and Colt could only hope the other man thought highly enough of his sanity to know that infidelity wasn’t on the table, but the doubt in Jason’s eyes was unmistakable. And the worry. Colt felt another twinge of guilt for knowing he was the reason it was there.
At some point, he had to become immune, didn’t he?
“What is it?” he asked carefully.
Jason bit his lip. “I hate to bring this up now, after we’ve had such a good night,” he began. “It’s just--and I know you’ve been busy with your new job, so I’m not saying it’s your fault, but --”
“Jason,” Colt said with a husky laugh, taking his boyfriend’s face in his hands. It wasn’t like Jason to be tongue tied. Words always seemed to come so easily to him. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to qualify it. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
Jason sighed. “It’s just that you’ve been so distant lately. I know I’m one to talk, but I’m worried.”
“I know,” Colt said, smiling at the surprise on Jason’s face. “You might be the master at reading people, but I’m pretty good at reading you. And you’re right, I have been,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Between this new job and what happened with Chuck, I haven’t been myself lately.”
“The
re’s nothing to be sorry for,” Jason said, taking Colt’s hand. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. I can tell when you’re keeping something from me, and whatever it is, it’s obvious that it’s bothering you. I never want you to feel like you have to tell me anything, but I just want you to know you can.”
“I do,” Colt promised. “And I appreciate it, but really, I’m good. It’s taken me a while, but I’m finding my way back.”
Jason didn’t seem fully convinced, but he nodded. “Okay. Hey,” he said, his eyes lighting up suddenly. “I have an idea.”
“Yeah?” Colt asked, leaning back against the couch to pull Jason into his arms. He loved that look. The one that always made Jason’s eyes light up whenever some adventure Colt himself lacked the imagination to think of sprang to mind. It kept life interesting.
“I’m going camping next week. Why don’t you come with me?”
“Camping?” Colt’s voice broke. He realized he’d just reacted to the news as if Jason had told him he was joining a cult. To be fair, that was probably safer than camping in the woods with a bunch of ghouls running around.
“Yeah. You know, like I do every Fall?” Jason sidled up to Colt, draping his arms around the other man’s neck.
“I guess I just thought you were staying home since your dad’s in Boca Raton at that conference.”
“Just because he can’t go doesn’t mean I can’t.” Jason cocked his head. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re worried…”
“Hard not to be,” Colt admitted. “Especially after what happened to Chuck. And with all these other animal attacks…”
“Babe,” Jason sighed, running a hand down Colt’s cheek. “I know Chuck’s death shook you, but that was in the middle of the city.”
“Right. And the middle of the woods is even more dangerous.”
“I’ve been camping since I was a kid, Colt. It took me years to go back out there after what happened to Luca, and I’ll always be careful, but I won’t give in to that fear again.” Jason’s eyes softened with grief as they always did when he spoke of his late brother. Luca and Jason had gone camping with their father every October for their whole lives, but three weeks before Luca turned fifteen, their whole world had changed. The wolf attack had launched the family into the media spotlight for months after Luca’s death, and for once, Irene hated the attention.