The vampire struck in the overnight. The team response was slow given their presence at the number one priority on the agenda- Zakar. It had been raining deep in the Litchfield Hills, and there was little evidence for the local cops and hardly any way to preserve it. The victim was a female, forty-five year old bus driver who'd just returned her vehicle to the lot in order to take a long-planned two week vacation with her husband to Madagascar. She'd been attacked on the far side of the school bus, out of sight from the security cameras. The camera which should have recorded the incident from the opposite angle either was not working or had been tampered with. Police were leaning towards 'tampered' as the cords had been ripped out the back of the device and the pole it sat upon was covered in thin, jagged scrapes, as if something had scaled it.

Like the first victim, preliminary reports indicated that she'd been attacked for feeding purposes. Unlike the first, she had not been turned. Her throat had been ripped open; there was evidence of a struggle and dark, oily hairs found near the body. Would be some time before they were identified as coyote or vampire, however.

She'd been discovered in the early morning hours by a jogger. A pair of coyotes and three sub adults were feeding on the corpse, making enough of a fuss to catch the man's attention as he ran down the road. The jogger's headlight caught a shoe, a handbag and emerald eyeshine. He stopped a safe distance away and had called in both animal control and the cops. Initially, the jogger had gotten spooked and blamed it on werewolves, but the coyotes were still present when the first detective arrived on scene and the wounds were consistent with the first murder. Time of death was unclear, but Caelan had yet to review the full report beyond an initial briefing from one of the officers.

It was headed into the news cycle. The first had been kept out of the papers with some degree of success. Unexpected death, pending investigation, no leads at this time. The right words and the right PR man had done the job. But the jogger's wife was a part time editor of the Litchfield County Times and had got word out faster than Caelan's department could even take possession over the body. There wouldn't be panic yet, but it would come, and the vampire community would be breathing (and hopefully only breathing) down his neck to get this solved.

Based on what'd been described, this woman would not revive to walk the night. She'd been torn open, fed upon with hardly any finesse or skill, and left to bleed out pressed against one dirty bus wheel. It had been violent, and mindless if not for the camera being disabled, and that troubled him. The vamp was sliding into true monstrosity, and sliding faster than slippers on a glass mountain.

Marcy was going to have to wait. It was probably a mistake to let her wait, since she was most assuredly a ticking time bomb compared to the damage this vamp would inflict, but Connecticut was his territory to protect and this was his job and he needed to get this shit done.

Almost as if she sensed his decision, Igor knocked his desk phone off the receiver.

"I'm real sorry, boss," Jorge was saying, oven-mitt covered hands pressed against the door. He stayed there until the sheriff had lifted the hissy cat off the desk and held her tightly on his lap.

"You know she's a lot smaller than what you've faced down," Caelan said, wincing as her little claws dug into his pants.

"And now ten times more traumatic to encounter," Jorge grumbled, rubbing a pair of red slashes on his throat. Another twenty four hours and for Jorge it would be as though the attack never happened. As far as the sheriff's injuries were concerned, everything had been superficial and had knit itself over without fuss or infection. He hardly felt those kind of love bites; there was pain, and adrenaline and a lust to kill that which had inflicted it, and by the time that urge was satisfied, the pain would be gone. This morning the pain was indeed absent, but the urge to tear something lingered on through a disappointing breakfast.

After about half a minute of struggle, the cat, who would rather stare at everything than shut her eyes, settled down to watch Jorge tentatively take off his oven mitts. Not that Caelan would let up his grip, of course. Igor smelled fear as well as any werewolf, and he was quite convinced she enjoyed tormenting the staff (and of course, most of all himself).

As Jorge settled into the seat across from him, Caelan stopped the analyst before he could get out another apology. "I shouldn't have let you out there," he said. "For that, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Jorge said, picking at his nails. He needed only the smallest invitation to explain and the flood gates poured open. "I was kinda not gonna take no for an answer anyway." He laughed, nervous, stringy, an unusual pitch for the jolly techie. "See, first I felt real bad not being able to fight with you and Jali and the rest back in Frontier Land. Then I do alright for a while 'cause you're AWOL and things are blowing up in the media but towns are mostly quiet 'cause the dead aren't pulling people out of beds any more so brain over brawn starts mattering again. But you come back, and I get knocked in the kisser by the most beautiful woman I've ever seen-sorry, boss, wendigo's just don't get my motor running-and Jali's always making fun of me and it turns out the ladies get all turned on when I admit to being a werewolf, but turned off when then they realize I sit on my ass all day."

Caelan was quiet for several long seconds. The cat on his lap had pressed her paws together on the edge of the desk, leering over at Jorge.

"So you want to learn to fight?"

"At a minimum, survive," Jorge said, looking at his hands. "Blood lines stretching back nearly a century and I go and nearly get strangled by a cat. And even this one scares me."

"To be fair, she scares me, too," Caelan said. "I feed her. Reckon that's her sole reason for keeping me alive." It certainly wasn't that she appreciated the fact he saved her from certain death out in the woods after she'd been tortured by one of Zakar's underlings. The moment she'd started feeling like herself again it'd taken her all of an hour to pee on his bed and tear a few long seams for daylight to peak through his expensive blackout curtains. The fur along Igor's spine lifted as she puffed herself up to hiss at Jorge. Caelan flattened it with one gentle hand. He still hadn't told Marcy the gruesome state he'd found the cat in, and he probably never would, knowing how much she loved the little demon and how hard she had tried, and failed, to find her.

"Do you remember much of your basic training?"

"Some," Jorge admitted. "But it's been six years since I had to use any of the physical stuff. The older I get-"

"You're twenty-four."

"Yeah, and you're thirty and look at you, Mr. Big Bad Wolf."

"I ate my competition alive, Jorge," he said, and the dark tint to his eyes and low tone spoke volumes louder that this wasn't a joke. The fighting pits were eat or be eaten. And once he was allowed to walk on two legs there were things like poison and long games to learn from. "My teeth aren't sharp; they're worn."

"And you look great."

Caelan rubbed one tattered cat's ear. Igor made a noise that might've once been a purr, but came across now as a frog being slowly run over. "I'll look good 'til I die but I won't live near as long or enjoy it half as much as you."

Squirming a little, Jorge offered a weak smile. "I'd like to look a little more like you. Girls seem to think all werewolves have muscles; I think it's a disappointment to them when they cope a feel of one of these twigs." He flexed his arm for evidence.

"I've seen you eat Cheetos for lunch six days straight. Maybe three shirts in that time frame, too. You won't come out looking like this on a diet like that."

Jorge nodded.

This wasn't the conversation he'd planned on having, but Caelan had little choice now.  He sighed. "Tell me what you're gunning for and we'll figure a way for you to reach it."

"I want to be able to defend my girlfriend in a bar," he said. "I mean, someday if I ever convince one to stick around longer than a week. Wanna protect my family and friends. Be able to walk in the woods at night without jumping at a rabbit. You know, good guy stuff. "

Caelan smiled. "Good guy stuff. I'll see what I can do. Add yourself to the boxing schedule. Jali's up next, so you won't have any luck getting past her to get to me, but we'll start there."

A shadow filled the doorway- or half of it, anyway. Short, pudgy. Caelan could almost feel the anger boiling off the Connecticut Packs Association PR director from here. With a careful word to Jorge to put on his oven mitts, he passed Igor into the analyst's care. She'd get herself kicked, or worse, staying in the office with Thomas Belzer about to erupt.

"Hey," Caelan said, hand on the door, ready to release wolf and cat upon the main office, "You know, you can always tell those ladies you have experience handling wild cats."

And then every semblance of friendliness evaporated. The sheriff returned to his desk, sitting just as the door slammed shut. The chair Jorge had occupied- squeaky, needed a little scrap of cardboard underneath to balance it, made a loud bang as it toppled to the floor.

Belzer barged through the room, nothing but scowls as the sheriff kicked his feet onto the corner of the desk and laid his hands on his stomach.

"Don't pull this shit on me, Harlowe," Belzer snapped, shoving his legs off the desk. "That's five meetings I scheduled you've missed. Five!" An emphatic slap of the palm counting every single one.

The sheriff spun slightly to one side, chin nestled on his shoulder. "Yes, well, I don't much appreciate dealing with shit either."

Belzer drew in a rattling breath.

"Let's be civil about this. Have a seat, Tom."

"I won't be long," he huffed. "Unlike you, I keep appointments- and I've got half a dozen more today thanks to a rogue vamp. Only way to catch you is by surprise."

Caelan nodded. "I'd agree with that."

"And you'd agree we need to have a nice sit-down about the wendigo."

With an expression not quite smug, the sheriff waved his hand at the toppled chair. It took Belzer a moment, and then his red face took up a frown. He set the chair straight and sat one cheek on the arm.

"So the wendigo."

"Miss Davins," Caelan corrected.

"Not going to volunteer anything?"

"Every visit from you is a new chance to volunteer for our world class organization," the sheriff said. "I'll let you tell me what it is I'm agreeing to."

Belzer ran a hand over his bald scalp. "I don't have time for you today, sheriff. The assault on Talon Pack was a result of the wendigo."

"The wendigo herself was not present," Caelan said, straightening his posture. "She may be anywhere from here to Brazil for all we know. Last lead we got came from a trail cam down on my home turf. Has Jorge shared it with your staff yet."

"I'll instruct him on my way out," Belzer said. "Then what harassed the pack?"

"A species of Were," Caelan said. "Jaguar, with familiars of the same variety. Jorge and I tracked it from the scene of the wreck but were attacked."

"I seem to recall you having a remarkably high success rate when it came to hunting. Even more remarkable, considering how many of those kills were faked. So pardon my disbelief when I hear your angelic voice proclaim, 'I lost it.'"

"I didn't pursue the responsible party in order to tend to my wounded packmate. Last I saw both the Were and the familiars disappeared on the horizon."

"And why was that cornhusk of a wolf accompanying you? Deputy Mishra-Anderson and Officer Ramos were available."

Harlowe shrugged. "My fault. Poor judgment and spur of the moment decision made on the edge of the woods. Haven't slept much lately."

"Then set your email to out of office and head home, Harlowe. You're done for the day. Mishra-Anderson's in charge. Already told her. The CPA needs you bright-eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow morning for an interview on the Today Show. Live from Connecticut."

Caelan was careful not to show too much fang when it came to his superiors, but he was annoyed now. "You know as well as I do we need to get that vamp. No point in parading me across the stage. I ain't a show dog."

"We scratch your back, you scratch ours," Belzer hissed. "We agreed to this when we took you back. Monsters have left closets everywhere and the only reason werewolves aren't fleeing into the forests is because people support a hunter."

Caelan put his feet back onto the desk, one deliberate foot at a time. He looked over at the already reddening man. "Got any plans this evening?"

Belzer was quiet.

"Was thinking you and I might take a moonlit jaunt through the graveyard and I could point out some headstones that might've belonged to you and the rest of your ilk had I not returned." Caelan waited, and when no argument came offered a sharp smile indeed. "By the look on your face, I see you understand the nature of our relationship. Send me the information and any prep work you have and I'll be there. No guarantees on the bushy tail."

Belzer moved around the side of the table and grabbed Caelan's arm. The sheriff stiffened but allowed the PR director to whisper into his ear. "Next time, Harlowe, make the damn kill. 'Pack' comes before pup. We can buy you a new Jorge."