by Susan Harris
He’d like to know that himself.
He heard a gun click, and for a brief moment, he wished for a quick shot to the head and for his life to be over, to be free of his past. But it never came.
“Doyle? Derek Doyle, is that you?”
He inclined his head but remained silent.
“What the fuck did you do, son?”
Derek recognised the voice of the human captain of police. When Derek didn’t answer him, the captain cursed, and Derek heard him mutter an order to his subordinates to stay back. He came forward, and Derek tried to ease the tension that hunched his shoulders. Silver cuffs snapped against his skin, and Derek hissed, quietening when he heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun being pumped.
Captain Kelly slowly eased Derek’s arm behind his back, repeating the action with his right arm. More people entered the room, and Derek counted to ten as he inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth.
“Okay, Doyle. Stand up slowly; no sudden moves.”
Derek rose to his feet and calmly opened his eyes. The shock and disgust from men who had, only three weeks ago, followed him without so much as a questioning eyebrow made him flinch inwardly. He remained as still as possible as he didn’t relish the idea of getting shot with silver ammo.
“So Doyle,” the captain said softly, “you and me are going to—very slowly—make our way out of here and down the stairs. Once outside, you will get in the back of my squad car, and we will head back to the station where we will talk about what happened. If you understand, nod your head.”
When Derek complied, Captain Kelly began to read him his rights. “Derek Doyle, under the provision of the state and the Paranormal Offenders Act of 2012, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Jane Doe. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say can and will be used against you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s move out.”
The other uniforms stepped back against the walls as the captain led him out of the room and across the apartment. They went down the steps, and Derek winced as the mid-afternoon sun scorched his eyes. There was complete silence until those on the perimeter gasped when they caught sight of his bloodstained torso. A significant crowd had gathered and immediately began to record footage or snap pictures to upload. He imagined how he must look, blood staining his mouth and clothing while being yanked out of a building in cuffs.
Captain Kelly opened the squad car door and motioned for him to get in. Derek followed his instruction and sank into the back of the car. The captain crouched down and shielded his face with the door.
“Tom Delaney is one of my good friends, and that’s the only reason why you are not riddled with bullets, Doyle. Plus, you were good police. Stay calm and keep your other half back, or I won’t be able to restrain that lot. Anything you wanna say?”
Derek raised his hazel eyes to meet the stern gaze of the captain.
“I didn’t do it.”
Captain Kelly snorted. “Sure. That’s what they all say, Doyle.”
The captain retreated and slammed the car door shut. Derek hung his head and prepared to do one of the things he did oh so very well.
He would be patient and he would wait.
Derek remained silent the whole way to the station, his eyes clamped shut as he concentrated on his breathing. He needed more than ever to keep his wolf under check and to give the impression to those around him that he was indeed the epitome of calm. He knew his senses were starting to come back since he could now smell the fact that the captain was badly in need of a shower—the scent of sweat and the bacon sandwich he’d had for lunch intermingled with the smell of vomit that lingered on the floor of the squad car.
Derek cleared his mind and huffed out a breath. Meditation had always been a way to calm the storm that brewed inside him since his time with Neville Morris’s pack. Learning from monks in Thailand had helped him gain the control he so desperately needed to contain the rage, but it had come with a cost.
Nobody knew the whole truth—Derek had lied to those closest to him. Not because he wanted to hurt them, but because Derek had told himself that if they knew he had escaped Morris’s wrath two years before he’d turned up at home, they would’ve been upset.
After escaping Morris’s clutches, Derek had been overwhelmed by the rage he had been suppressing since his change. It had sent him on a downward spiral of blood and dangerous activity, until one day he happened upon a monk who offered to help him harness his anger. The monk saved his life, and after a year, Derek was reassured that he could return home and face his past.
He felt the car bump over the speed ramp at the station gates and wondered if they would parade him through the front door or be kind enough to take him through the back. The reporters should have gotten wind of his arrest by now, and since Sarge liked to brag that he was the poster boy for paranormal policing, this would be the kind of juicy story those vultures would long to sink their teeth into.
The car came to a halt, and Derek patiently waited for the captain’s instructions. The engine turned off, and a pregnant pause followed. Derek huffed out another breath, swallowing hard.
“We gonna take this slowly once again, son, just like at the crime scene. I’m gonna bring you in, getcha processed, and then we’ll get ya settled in a cell. The curtains are twitching inside, and everybody’s on edge,” the captain sighed, “so do things nice and slowly, Doyle, and we all might scrape through this.”
“Yes, sir,” Derek replied, opening his eyes and holding the captain’s gaze.
Captain Kelly snickered but pulled his gaze away first. “You’ve got to be the politest prisoner I’ve had in the back of my squad, Doyle.”
“And probably the most dangerous.”
“Yeah, that too.”
Slipping from the car, the captain strolled around the vehicle and opened Derek’s door. He motioned for him to step out, and Derek swung his long legs to the side and bowed his head to duck out of the car before straightening up. He almost felt amused when he spied the twenty strong, fully armed guards with pump-action shotguns monitoring him.
Raising an eyebrow at the captain, Derek said, “Tad over the top, don’t you think?”
“Are you saying you couldn’t take them all out single-handedly?”
Derek simply shrugged. No point in scaring the poor human.
The captain ushered him forward. Derek felt grateful that the captain had indeed driven around back. He’d expected to be treated like the monster they envisioned him to be, but he was being dealt with very professionally.
Once they bypassed the officers cloaked in the scent of fear and nervousness, Derek found himself being led to the subsection of the station. The basement area housed accommodations for supernatural police officers with a catacomb of rooms durable enough to hold any supernatural creature—even supes could be arrested for being drunk and disorderly.
They quickly descended the stone stairs and veered off to the right. Their footsteps echoed, as did the sound of the officers following their captain. Derek cracked the bones in his neck, pausing as they waited to be buzzed into the tombs. The silver of the cell caused his skin to stretch and burn, and he winced. The captain urged him inside, and the monster part of Derek delighted in the stench of fear that radiated from the man.
When they were both inside the cell, and those shotguns were pointed right at Derek through the silver bars, the captain’s lips thinned.
“I’m gonna remove the cuffs now, Doyle. Turn around and face the back wall.”
Derek complied.
“When I remove the cuffs, slowly walk to the back wall and place your palms on it. You do not turn around, or we will decorate you with some silver. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
As his wolf senses slowly returned, Derek could now scent confusion on the man. Did this mean the drug was being burnt from Derek’s system? If so, then he would have no evidence to back up his side of the story when t
he cops finally got around to taking a sample of blood and he was asked to recount his version of what had happened.
People liked to single out the monsters and blame them for all the wrongs in the world. Derek had hunted down some of the worst of the worst—even just a few weeks ago, he and his team had taken down Stephen Donnelly, a dying human who had tortured teens in order to try and steal their magic. Caitlyn had killed him in the end, after Donnelly had tried to take him and Ever out. For some reason, Donnelly had been convinced that Ever was supernatural. Considering she had somehow brought him back from the dead, she was something else, all right.
Derek felt his lips tug up. God, he had it bad for her, and he wasn’t good enough for her in any way. But they were mated and they would get through this. Well, he hoped so, anyway.
He heard the handcuffs open, and the skin immediately started knitting back together on his wrists. He took two hesitant steps forward and braced the palms of his hands against the cool tile. His ears twitched as the captain exited the cell. The door scraped against the floor as his captors slid it shut with a clang.
“You can turn around now, Doyle.”
Derek did so very cautiously and nodded at the captain. The man was in his early sixties, with a receding hairline made up of various shades of black and grey, a round face and stomach that came from riding a desk for too long, and a darkness behind his eyes that confirmed he had seen too much.
“Try and get comfortable, Doyle. Might be a while before you’re interviewed,” the captain said before he exited the cells.
Derek didn’t reply. He simply sank to the ground, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes, shutting everything out as he tried to narrow down who would have the resources and contacts to pull off a stunt like this. Of course, the main suspect on the top of his list—besides Neville Morris—was Arthur de Valera, the alpha of the Munster wolves. That old bastard had it in for him because Derek refused to join his pack, but would he be so pissed as to kill an innocent girl to set him up?
A growl began in his chest, and he quickly swallowed it down. He steadied his breathing and remembered the words his friend, Yeung Park, had told him about anger.
“Derek, an old Chinese proverb says, ‘If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow.’”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The old monk sighed. “It means do not strike out in anger because you may do something you regret for a lifetime.”
Park had long since passed, but Derek still remembered him, and the lessons Park had taught him, fondly.
“I don’t care what you say, buddy, I’m going in there and talking to my partner. Move before I turn you into a toad or some shit.”
Derek almost chuckled out loud at the sound of Ricky’s voice. The warlock stormed past the gaggle of armed officers and stood with his hands on his hips in front of Derek’s cell.
“Well, isn’t this a nice change of scenery, D.”
“It’s a prison cell,” Derek replied dryly.
“I was being sarcastic. It’s very shabby-chic, don’t ya think?” Ricky grinned, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You been watching home improvement shows again?”
His friend’s grin widened. “Since you blew me off for a hot blonde, I’ve spent many a lonely night curled up on the couch. Plus, there’s this presenter on the show. Damn, man, she’s got these two—”
Sarge’s voice sounded from the hallway as he made his way toward them. “Ricky, if the next two words out of your mouth aren’t DIY-related, I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll lock you in there with him.”
“I’d rather a bullet in the head, Sarge, but thanks,” Derek mused.
“Hey, delicate flower here,” Ricky replied with a big, stupid grin on his face.
“Delicate flower my ass.” Sarge sauntered into the tombs, shaking his head. He assessed Derek from head to toe, growling when he noticed the blood and gore all over him.
Turning to the officers standing over his shoulder, he said, “Did nobody give Agent Doyle the chance to clean up, or were you all hoping the lingering scent of blood would turn him feral and give you permission to go for the kill shot?
“…Well? Answer me!”
The roar of the bear rebounded off the walls, and everyone in the room flinched at the power in it.
“It’s okay, Sarge. The boys are just following orders,” Derek said.
Sarge faced him, and his eyes blazed a shade of green that reminded Derek of the woods. “No, Derek. None of this is all right. Answer me one question—did you do it?”
“No, sir.”
Squaring his shoulders, Sarge inclined his head. “Good enough for me. Open the cell.”
One of the officers shook his head, gulping when Sarge stared him down. “I’m afraid we have our orders, sir, and we can’t let Doyle out until the captain comes back. He needs to see what the M.E. needs from Doyle’s person before he’s even interviewed.”
Cursing, Sarge pulled out his phone and said, “Derek, I’ll call Anna and see what’s happening with the body. Can you tell Ricky exactly what you remember?”
Derek nodded, and Sarge turned to the cops standing around. “Out. Everyone out. He’s not going to escape from a locked, silver-laced cell now, is he? And he can talk to his partner before he speaks with your captain.”
“The captain says Doyle isn’t to talk to anyone but him.”
Sarge spun around faster than humanly possible for a man of his age and eyeballed the officer who had piped up. “This is a crime involving a supernatural individual. Last I checked, that was our jurisdiction.”
When the officer stood his ground, Sarge pointed to Derek. “Supernatural creature, supernatural case. If you don’t want to be directing traffic until you get your pension, I suggest you back the fuck off and get out of my sight.”
It barely took two minutes for the tombs to clear out, leaving the three supes alone. Ricky had a stupid grin plastered to his face, and Derek wasn’t far behind him.
Sarge pointed a trembling finger at Ricky. “Make one smart comment, and I swear to God I will make you talk in a high-pitched voice for a year.”
Ricky batted his long eyelashes. “Sarge, you big flirt.”
Throwing his hands in the air, Sarge growled, “Why do I even bother?”
“Because despite the smart mouth, he’s good police.”
“I could swoon.”
Derek raised a brow at Sarge. “Can I kill him?”
“You’ll have to wait to see if he’s still alive after I throttle him.”
“You guys do say the sweetest things to me.”
They started to laugh, the tension easing somewhat as the familiar war of words and jesting took hold. By the time silence relapsed, Derek felt in his marrow that they could figure this out.
“Right, well, I’ll go ring Anna and see if we can get you out of there, Derek.”
“No rush, Sarge. I’m not going anywhere.”
The bruin strode from the room with a growl, closing the heavy silver door behind him, locking Ricky in with Derek, but giving him the privacy to talk to Ricky without being overheard. The cameras only recorded video, not sound, so they were good to go.
“Did you ring Ever?” Derek enquired.
“Yeah, she’s on her way, D. But forget about your sexy blonde and tell me what happened.”
Derek relayed the events of the previous night to Ricky, beginning with the ambush outside the station and the needle in his neck, and then he went into detail about waking up. Derek explained about the way his supernatural side had been quietened and was slowly coming back now. He described the body in detail, from the missing heart and pulled-apart ribs to the half-eaten intestines that had spilled from the woman’s body. It was only when he’d finished that he realize his friend had gone silent and turned a brilliant shade of green.
“You doing okay there, mate?”
“Just not something I want
ed planted in my head after I stuffed some BBQ ribs into me.”
Derek’s stomach rumbled, causing Ricky to frown at him. “Seriously? I mention BBQ ribs and you get hungry? After what you’ve just seen? I’m almost ready to hurl.”
Derek lifted his shoulders. “I’ve seen worse.”
Ricky shuddered. “Please keep that info to yourself,” he replied as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Caitlyn and Donnie have gone to have a little chat with Arthur. We really need to draw some blood, D, and see if there are still traces of that drug in your system.”
Derek stretched out his legs in front of him while his friend began to pace. “By the time they show up, Ricky, it’ll have burnt through. They want to pin this one me, and whoever came up with this idea to frame me did a beautiful job—right down to the details.” He gestured to the dried blood on the side of his mouth.
The door creaked open, and in walked Anna—the M.E. who was also a witch with a knack for seeing inside bodies—carrying her little bag of tricks. She appeared younger than she was, but there was an air of intelligence hidden behind her happy-go-lucky smile.
“Now Derek, you were the last person I expected to get yourself into trouble. Him,” she said, gesturing toward Ricky, “not so much.”
“Hey! I resent that!” Ricky exclaimed, pretending to be hurt.
“One word. Lahinch.”
Ricky bent at the waist and swept his arm out in a bowing gesture. “Anna 1, Ricky 0.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said with a smile.
“C’mon Anna. Take the blood already. We have precious little time for all your flirting,” Ricky teased.
The witch wagged her finger. “I know how to do my job, Agent Moore. It’s why I’ve spent the last ten minutes arguing to be let in to see Derek. Now, less of your sass; there’s work to be done.”
Her attention turned to Derek. “Alright you troublemaker, come here and please stick your arm out through the bars.”