by V L Moon
He stalked across the lobby of the department a blast of cold clearing the way before him as officers, staff and perps scrambled to stay off of his radar. A vicious sneer curled his lip as he watched the Chief disappear back into his chair behind the desk. He knew he scared the shit out of the man just as much as he did everyone else, but the human put up a good front and held his ground. Most of the time. Vischeral admired his fortitude and usually paid him the respect due him because of his position. At the moment, he was just too damned pissed off. Whoever was in that room was about to get a good mind fuck.
Vischeral didn’t want a partner, especially not a human partner who asked questions and filed fucking reports about everything. Determined to convince Joe Schmoe he didn’t want a partner either, Vischeral stepped into the cracker box sized office and stopped, planting his booted feet shoulder width apart. He crossed his arms across his chest and spared a glacial glance at the Chief before flipping frozen black eyes to meet the…holy fucktastic.
Vischeral’s reality warped as midnight eyes met amber. In a mere thought, he was transported from frozen to hell Alaska to a back alley in New York. Through his memory bank, he watched the dollar store blond waitress snap and pop her gum and check her watch. Obviously, she planned to meet someone. Vischeral had other plans for her, dinner plans as it were. He’d been on the verge of taking her when another human, a male…this male…entered the alley. The heady potent scent of male arousal had blasted into the forefront of Vischeral’s mind as the large human male, now sitting in the Chief’s office, moved quickly across the alley.
Vischeral had sank back into the cloaking darkness, his gaze missing nothing as the female offered up a kiss and was rejected. Undiscouraged, her hands had gone for the metal zipper and pulled it down just as the male opened his eyes. Amber eyes, the same ones he held now, had regarded him steadily. The moment their gazes had locked, Vischeral felt a bone deep response which had pissed him the hell off. It still did. His traitorous body reacted now with just the memory of the male’s aroused scent.
In the alley, Vischeral had surged to his feet, intent on leaving, but the fucking female had chosen that moment to inhale the male’s engorged shaft. Jealousy, white hot and fierce, had brought Vischeral out of the shadows, a growl vibrating his chest. That he was confused by his atypical response to the human male had only added to his rapidly escalating ire. Before he’d been aware of it, he’d moved and snatched the female away from the male, sinking his fangs deep into her throat when in reality it was the male he wanted. Relentlessly, he watched the male as he drank.
Beyond pissed off at his body’s quickening response to the male’s nearness, he’d been rougher with the female than usual. Her terrified scream had brought his attention back to her just long enough for him to gentle his touch and allow the lust pheromones to override her mind. She’d gone limp in his arms, her cries turning to moans. Self...preservation had him dropping the female and fading backwards when the male finally fought off the planted need to sleep.
Even in mist form, the contact with the male had almost been more than Vischeral could resist. Pissed off, confused, aroused and with his blood needs only half satisfied he’d transported himself back home immediately. But, those amber eyes…and that scent, neither of them had faded, fuck you very much, and now they were both here...in Welcome to Your Own Personal Nightmare Alaska.
Vischeral shook himself back to awareness to see the male’s hand extended. Gritting his teeth, he focused again on those amber orbs, ignoring the hand hanging in the air. There was no fucking way he could touch that cop and not embarrass them both. His body hummed, the want screaming in his veins barely leashed. Talk about giving the Chief a new definition of partner. With his gaze so focused on the human, the momentary flash of recognition registered, and then the amber faded as the man winced.
Mind block. The male recognized everything but his face. Vischeral had wiped that before leaving, but had been unable to wipe himself entirely from the male’s memory. Selfish, stupid and very dangerous, but he hadn’t expected to see the bastard again. The Chief cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence, and the hand dropped. Vischeral forced himself to blink and turned like an automaton to face his commanding officer.
“Vischeral, this is Cophious Dane, your new partner. Copi for short if you’re so inclined.” The Chief gave him the arched eyebrow glare which Vischeral pointedly ignored. “I know you’ve heard there is a suspected serial killer in the area. You two are being assigned to the case. I’ve just given Copi what information we have which is bare friggin’ bones, no pun intended. You’ll be working directly with the WST. Copi will need training, Vischeral; he’s a city boy after all.” The Chief tried a grin, but neither male was receptive so he shrugged and got back to business.
“There are very few leads. The bastard’s good. But, so are you two. There are ten suspected dead so far, but only two bodies found. You’ll have to check with the ME to find out if there are any tells or trademarks.” Finished with his little spiel, the Chief shoved a stack of folders across his desk and looked at Vischeral expectantly.
Without taking his eyes from his commander, he finally spoke. “I only work at night. Text me at dusk and I’ll tell you where to meet me. Dress warm, I don’t do office work.”
Spinning on his boot heel, Vischeral exited the office, and then the building. He slipped behind the building and ported home. He arrived home just as the sun’s seething energy began to show over the horizon. Bypassing the den where he usually spent a few hours before bed, Vischeral pulled open the trap door in the floor of the master bedroom closet and descended the short flight of stairs to his real living quarters. He crossed to his computer bank and typed in a name. Come nightfall, he would know more about his new ‘partner’ than his partner knew about himself.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Frozen to the spot, Copi stood frozen in the middle of his new Chief’s office as pain seared through his mind like a really bad case of brain freeze. It left him dazed and confused. Where in the hell had he met this guy before? God damn it! What the hell was wrong with him? Letting his un...shook hand fall to his side, Copi winced against the red hot poker stabbing into his brain. He knew this dude. Had to. The instant recognition was there, all he needed was a time and place. But, the harder he tried to remember, the more intense the pain became.
It didn’t help that his body decided to act like it had just been connected to a set of jumper cables that sent a shock wave from his brain to explode in a fucking inferno down in his balls. Copi gritted his teeth and fought to ride out the pounding waves of lust hammering through his bloodstream like a God damn fucking freight train. To make things worse, the loose fit of his pants made the prominent swell of his erection far too noticeable. Who the hell was this motherfucker? And what the hell was his problem?
Relieved when his brain finally kicked its gear stick back into drive and reversed out of park, Copi lowered his ignored hand as Mr. Light and Oh So Fucking Cheery declared his ass was only working nights. His gaze flicked for an instant to the case reports, he had a lot of reading to do. Movement drew his eyes back to the door.
He watched as Vischeral, his new partner and the epitome of doom itself, removed his less than happy ass from the office in one fluid spin on some death dealing shit...kickers. The other man stormed from the stifling atmosphere of the Chief’s office, and Copi heard the collective drawn breaths in the outer room as the hulking presence passed through it like the God damned Grim Reaper. He left nothing in his wake except for unearthly fearful silence and a scent trail Copi fought not to follow.
Sweet Jesus, the guy smelled good, like cinnamon, cloves and a heavy spiced tobacco. Copi closed his eyes momentarily and breathed in. Deep. The arousing scent enticed him, and he totally forgot where the hell he was. He absently placed one foot in front of the other, hell bent on following the sullen Mr. Mean and Moody Bourne right out of the station’s door.
The sound of heavy coughing s
napped Copi’s ass back into the here and now, and subsequently stopped him from making a fool out of himself. The Chief, who was obviously a heavy smoker, wretched his guts up before he shoved the case files in Copi’s direction across the desk. Red faced, he huffed, “Medical examiners reports. Look at them closely, and read everything...twice. Now, get the fuck out of this office and do some damn work.”
With the M.E. files and a shit load of case files on the two bodies and eight suspected murders in hand, Copi walked from the small precinct just as sunrise broke over the horizon and spilled a blood red sun over the beginning of a brand new day.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Back at the cabin, Copi’s first port of call was the bottle of Jack left as a welcome gift by the realtor or the Chief. Copi didn’t give a shit who left it. Cracking the seal, he poured a good three fingered measure and took it and the bottle back to the sitting room. The liquor gave him a good case of the warm...and...wonderfuls as he sat down on the plush sofa and flipped open the first of the files on the two victims who’d been found.
With a notebook and map, he started to make notes of his own, cross referencing from the M.E. and any previous case notes. He tried in vain to locate any similarities between the two heinous crimes. After three hours of looking over case files and crime scene photos and making notes of where, when and how the bodies were found in the Chugach National Park, Copi frowned deeply, scratched against the five o’clock stubble covering his chin and poured himself another good measure of Jack.
Different sexes, with no similarities such as hair, facial features or social factors. Different friend groups and outside interests. Both vic’s came from good solid family backgrounds, no drugs or alcohol or abuse of any kind. Their records as well as their toxicology results came back negative, leaving Copi totally at a loss as to the motive behind each of the crimes. The only comparable connection between them was the ferocious nature of the attack. He pulled out the autopsy report for each of the victims and cursed.
From the looks of the M.E.’s findings and the detailed forensic reports, they had no clue as to what the hell could have caused such a vast array of damage. On inspection of the photographic evidence, Copi stared appalled at the savagery of the bite marks and shredded ripped skin. So far, any DNA trace had come back as inconclusive.
“What the hell? No fucking way. Surely, there has to be something?” He spoke aloud and flipped back over the analysis as his mind whirled. This had to be a joke, wolves, bears and Christ only knew what else roamed free up here, it had to be one of them!
Diligently, he scoured the detailed reports from the crime lab until his eyes burned and his head began to dip as he fought against sleep. Copi blew out an exasperated sigh. Every God forsaken test and analysis came back negative to everything on the data base. Nothing matched. Not the width between what appeared to be bear claw marks, nor the bite radius and saliva tests on what was speculated to be from a wolf attack. Damn it, he had a lot to learn and the Wildlife State Troopers were going to make a meal of his ass on this. He was a total greenhorn, and a world away from the streets of New York with its steaming manhole covers and yellow taxi cabs.
Undeterred by his new beginnings, Copi had the irrevocable feeling that here in Anchorage, Alaska, he would, for the first time in his life, belong to something. Leaning back, he looked up at the ceiling and chuckled softly to himself. He was really looking forward to the case even if it meant having to get up in Mr. I Have an Attitude’s face.
It wasn't long before his eyes started to feel heavy. Hell, the cross country flight, and then being called into the office at fuck off o'clock to meet the Grim Reaper, Copi was surprised he’d lasted so long. His eyes closed, and as sleep finally took charge, he moaned deeply as the last thing he saw against his eyelids was the black fathomless eyes of his partner, Vischeral Bourne.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Vischeral glared at the clock on the wall as it continued its mind numbing tick, tick, tick toward sundown. Each minuscule movement of the red second hand grated just a bit more on nerves already strung taut with tension. He wanted out. He was jonesing for it hard, but the fucking sun was taking its sweet motherfucking time hitting the horizon. As a warden, it was the most effective deterrent a vampire had. Just one kiss of the bastard’s light was agony beyond belief. An agony Vischeral had experienced first...hand and had no desire to play with again.
Memories flooded him. His first few nights after being turned. The changes in his body, the fear, the isolation, the powerful thirst. And, the sun, used as an instrument of torture. Shaking his head, he growled. Not fucking going there. Three shadowed figures shoved at the cap on his control. Ruthlessly, he slammed the lid on his memories locking them down tighter than a nun’s knees.
Trapped, he paced. His boots hit heavily on the bare concrete floor as he strode back and forth across the room. The research into Cophious’ background had been as expected. The male was pretty much you get what you see. Only child of a single mother with a massive drug problem. Catholic school. Run...ins with the law as a juvenile. Yup, Vischeral had accessed those records. Big fucking deal, they were supposed to be sealed; there wasn’t a file anywhere he couldn’t hack into. It was minor stuff anyway, lifting a pack of cigs, petty vandalism, buying alcohol with a fake ID. And then, the kid lucked up and ran into Officer Jack Connelly, his mentor with the NYPD. No marriages, no kids, not even a longtime girlfriend. Bank account in the black, just barely, but hey, the male lived on a cop’s salary in New York City.
His record with the NYPD had been exemplary until a couple of months ago when they’d come face to face in the alley. Vischeral cursed and spun slinging his coffee mug hard into the cinder block wall. The shattering glass did little to alleviate his inner tantrum. Cophious had been relegated to a desk jockey because of that night. If Vischeral hadn’t been so damned selfish, the male might still have his cozy job in New York, and he wouldn’t have to put up with a damned unwanted partner. But, because Vischeral had been weak and failed to erase himself fully from the male’s psyche, he was here in the wilds of Alaska with his buddies back home thinking he was a wackadoo. With a snarl, Vischeral stooped to clean up the mess and shoved his thoughts forward to the other research he’d done while the sun was having its jollies.
He’d pulled up the Department’s files on the two murders and hacked into the M.E.’s database to pull the reports and photos from the autopsies. Vischeral would have to visit the sites where the bodies were found, but he knew without question why the medical examiner couldn’t find a suitable match for the murder weapon. Werewolf claws would not be on the humans’ list of expected or unexpected weapons. The bite pattern would be just abnormal enough to throw off the seasoned experts. The results were inconclusive, and he would bet his eternal life he knew why. If his suspicions proved correct and it was a werewolf, his nose would tell him as soon as he got within a few miles of the site.
Werewolves exuded a dark musky scent wilder than their predator cousins. A scent distinctive by pack to anyone with the sensitivity to pick it up. Unfortunately for the killer, Vischeral was well acquainted with pack scents and with the werewolf community in Alaska. He planned to scope out the locations where the bodies were found so he could check for a trail. The crime scene photos indicated the individuals weren’t killed where they were found. Vischeral hoped he could follow the scent trail back to the location of the murders, and that Cophious was in as good a shape as he appeared to be. A fully adult werewolf could carry the dead weight of even the heavier of the two victims over 30 miles without giving it a second thought.
When his thoughts turned back to his partner, Vischeral glanced at the clock and shoved to his feet taking the broken shards to the trash and dumping them inside. Snagging his cell, he checked for a message from the human male, but his screen was blank. After shoving the phone in his back pocket, he crossed the room and grabbed his black leather duster slinging its massive weight over his shoulders. It settled comfortably against him, a
welcome and familiar weight as he jogged up the stairs and shouldered open the trap door. Without bothering to turn on a light, Vischeral closed his eyes and willed himself to Cophious’s front door.
Through the uncovered windows, Vischeral spotted the human asleep in the deep leather armchair in the sitting room. A bottle of Jack sat open beside him and case files, presumably on the murders, fanned out around him. Vischeral’s mouth watered as he took in the beautiful male form sprawled in the chair. He was just as Vischeral remembered him. Broad, strong shoulders, well defined arms, barrel chest thick with muscle, rippling abs, lean hips, heavily muscled thighs and though those amber orbs were closed at the moment, Vischeral knew them well for they haunted his dreams.
Unlocking the door with his will, Vischeral stepped through and prowled silently toward the sleeping male. Unintelligible words fell sporadically from Cophious’ mouth as he dreamed. Unable to resist, Vischeral glided closer. His large hand seemed to find Cophious’ forehead of its own accord and within the space of a heartbeat, Vischeral sank into his mind. Shock paralyzed him for a moment. Cophious dreamed of…him. The night in the alley.
Vischeral wanted to pull back; he sensed the male’s confusion, his anger, his lust. The remembered scent roared into Vischeral’s nostrils again, bringing him to his knees beside his still sleeping partner. A force he was helpless to fight hauled him ever closer. His black eyes locked on the strong pulse beating in Cophious’ throat. Fangs extended. Pupils dilated, his blood started to sing. He leaned in closer. The hard steady throb of Cophious’s heart rang in his ears. Closer. He saw the blood vessel throbbing under tanned skin. Closer. Vischeral opened his mouth.
“NO!” The shout exploded into the room. With a hiss of self...disgust, Vischeral flung himself across the open space as far from his partner as he could get without being outside. Warily, he raised his eyes to the male’s face only to realize, Cophious still lingered in sleep; ensnared in the dream. Relief was very quickly followed by ferocious anger. Before he could stalk back across the room and shake his partner into awareness, Cophious’ amber eyes flew open and locked onto his own black glare.