Disclaimer: Copyright infringement of any kind is not intentional. Any discrepancies regarding the law, the Cook County Justice system and the supernatural are mine.

Author's Note: This was inspired by a previously-written story, The Chicago Dahlia (which I may revive one of these days), and The Wire. Rated M for language and violence.

Enjoy!

One

"It's not what you think..."

Those words. That phrase. Uttered to her by the man who was supposed to be loyal to her. That was what he promised when he had proposed to her, that was what he had promised when he married her. He had been staring at her on that fateful night, wide-eyed in shock and fear, laying next to that other traitor. Naked under this bedroom sheets.

"It's not that you think..."

She could have killed them both. Put a bullet between their eyes, using her standard-issued Glock. It wouldn't have taken long. And then, after pulling some strings, find a way to stage the scene for simple murder-suicide. Maybe use justifiable homicide or simply manslaughter as an excuse if she could get the best defense—

But she hadn't.

Contrary to some's belief, she did have some semblance of self-control.

She took a series of deep, controlled breaths with hopes of suppressing the feeling mixed with anger, sadness, and frustration boiling inside of her. It wouldn't have been the first time feeling this way, and it would most certainly not be the last. It had been one month since her world came crumbling down, and she still felt like strangling someone.

"It's not what you think..."

Goodness, she must look pathetic right now, a month later, sitting on her old leather couch, staring aimlessly at the television screen in front of her. Unfocused to the point that she couldn't register the events displayed on her television screen. All she saw were blurred colors; all she heard was noise.

She had a half-filled jar-turned-cup in one hand and the wine bottle in the other.

And it wasn't even the good shit.

She could do better.

She had to do better.

She knew this, and yet—

She downed the rest of the cheap red wine from the jar and quickly poured herself another glass.

This all wrong.

For goodness' sake, she was an accomplished detective. With more than ten years on the force, she was one of the best in the business. She spent five in the Violent Crimes Division. She specialized in putting perps away, only with a handful of cold cases under her belt.

Maybe what she needed was a break. She might only need a few days. Head out west to visit some family and friends she had left behind when she had attended DePaul University all those years ago. Surely, her captain would understand. Jacob would understand. After all, she was only human.

She could put in her leave, give her captain a two-week notice, citing health issues or some other bullshit excuse. But although her captain wouldn't give her a hard time about it, Leah doubted he would truly understand. In his eyes, he only saw a tough woman who could handle anything, under any circumstances. Nothing could faze her: not the unpleasant rumors about her people skills, not an uncooperative suspect or partner and certainly not her husband—

Sam.

She cleared her throat and took another sip. That man, her husband, another terrific detective. Goodness, he used to make everything better. He used to talk Leah out of these somber moods, take the wine away and wrap her in his strong arms, whispering sweet nothings and assurances in her ear.

And now, he was the cause of her anguish.

Maybe if she told the captain the circumstances behind her leave requests, he wouldn't judge her. He wouldn't ask more questions—

She shook her head.

What good would come out of baring her soul?

Not a goddamn thing.

She was already known all over the department as the bitter detective with a permanent attitude. Difficult. Unworkable. A total bitch. The one who had allowed her personal life to interfere with her work. The one who had forced a transfer for creating a hostile work environment. Eight partners in six years.

Fuckers.

Her train of thought was interrupted by her ringing work phone.

She glanced at the device, grimacing at it, hating it, wishing she could toss it out of her three-story window and ignore it. But that name blared on the screen. Jacob Black, her new partner-in-crime. It had been three weeks since she had involuntarily joined his side; she couldn't make the wrong impression because of a damn stupor. Because of her own problems... such self-pity.

Over what?

Sam didn't care. If he did, he wouldn't have been messing around with her. Emily. Her goddamn cousin. After seven years of marriage, and he had the nerve to fuck her cousin.

If only murder weren't considered to be a violent felony—

She shook her head.

No, she wouldn't do it to herself this time.

She wouldn't go down that road again.

Leah placed the wine glass on the wooden table in front of her and answered the damn phone, "Uley."

Just as she had expected.

Duty called.

"I'll be down in fifteen."

She then reached out for the jar and the wine.

One last one, she promised herself, tipping over the bottle.

"Sorry I had to call you in at this time of night."

"It comes with the job," Leah replied, looking out the car window, eyes focused on the darkness that was Lake Michigan at night. A part of her was grateful for the late call. Doing actual police work was much more productive than wallowing away at home, consuming lousy wine.

"Yeah, but still…"

"Jacob, it's fine," Leah insisted, glancing at her partner, hoping he took her word for it. He seemed more frazzled than usual, gripping on the steering wheel tightly, glaring at every car around him as if they all personally had offended him.

Jacob slapped the steering wheel and cursed under his breath. "I knew I shouldn't have taken Lake Shore Drive."

"It's fine," Leah repeated, trying to calm his nerves. It was uncharacteristic of her. If Jacob had been her last partner, she would have scolded him and threaten to take the L to her destination. "The crime scene isn't going anywhere."

She watched in relief as Jacob's grip loosen. Good, he was returning to his usual self. The self that Leah had begun to appreciate a few weeks ago. She liked him— Jacob was interesting because Jacob was different. He wasn't like the others. He was calm and collected.

And he didn't judge her or her problems.

"Relationships are a bitch," Jacob had told Leah, shaking his head not out of pity, but out of shared sympathy. It had been Leah's second day as his partner, and already, they were sharing personal stories from the inside their police-issued car as they watched a murder suspect speak to her accomplice.

Leah hadn't meant for Jacob to find out about Sam so soon. Everything about Sam. There had been rumors, of course, but everything else—it had just slipped through her lips. It certainly wouldn't be the last time. There had only been something about Jacob that made her relax, making him easier to speak to. Too easy to trust.

"Not a word."

"Your secret is safe with me," Jacob had vowed, sitting up in his seat, staying on high alert. He must have picked up something Leah hadn't. "But word travels quickly at work..."

Something Leah had known all too well.

"I just don't want any of it to come from you."

Jacob had flashed her a reassuring smile. "It won't."

Weeks had passed, and no rumors had been spread courtesy of Jacob. Leah couldn't be more grateful— for that, and for how Jacob had seemed to let go in her presence when it had just been him and her. Over time, she had learned so much about things she had heard rumors but never had given them much credence.

About his word. Vampires. Werewolves. Shape-shifters. The supernatural, in general. They all existed but generally lived separately from the human population.

"It made life easier," Jacob had told her.

Jacob, Leah would learn, possessed an ability to turn into a wolf at will—Goodness, Leah had thought she had heard it all. To her complete surprise, she hadn't been terrified by the revelation. More fascinated than anything, and Jacob appreciated fascinated.

"Are you always this forward?" Leah had asked Jacob a couple of days before the past Christmas during a hushed conversation inside a local diner.

Jacob had glanced up from his plate full of medium-rare hamburgers. He had studied her with a straight face, breaking into a smile. A reserved one. "No."

Leah hadn't expected that. "Then why tell me?"

Because Jacob had thought it would be useful down the line. Why? A few weeks had passed since and Leah still couldn't figure it out, but for now, as both detectives rushed to their newest crime scene, the answer didn't matter.

What mattered was a young woman, allegedly found mutilated inside a high-end hotel suite.

Jacob said that the victim was described as a Black Dahlia copy-cat.

Leah hoped Jacob was exaggerating; she didn't think she had enough wine to deal with such a prospect, but she was a professional. She could handle gory crime scenes. Nothing could have possibly been worse than discovering a mass grave inside a landfill— thirteen people, reduced to decomposed beings, all victims of a gang war.

Or the St. Patrick's Day Massacre.

Leah was wrong.

She was wrong the moment she walked inside the LaPush Hotel in downtown Chicago. She was wrong as she studied her surroundings of the hotel's grand lobby. A crime, a murder, had just occurred on the floors above and everyone was so calm. At least, one person, who wasn't a cop, in the crowd had to have known; word traveled fast, especially in the world of social media, and yet no one seemed alarmed.

"Victim?" Jacob asked a fellow cop. He had been the first one on the scene; the one who had contacted Jacob to arrive right away. He must be still bit shaken up by the recent events, Leah concluded.

"Caucasian female. Brown hair. Slim build," the officer quietly replied as he entered the elevator designated for police and medics only. "Quite a looker if she wasn't in that… state."

Jacob loudly cleared his throat.

"Inappropriate," Leah curtly informed the officer, crossing her arms.

"I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"ID?"

The officer pressed the button to the 29th floor. "None."

"How bad is it?" Jacob asked. "In your honest opinion?"

"I think you need to see it for yourself."

The scene of the crime was an executive suite, one of the most expensive rooms in the luxury hotel fitted with three bedrooms, two baths furnished with a Jacuzzi. A balcony overlooking Lake Michigan and a kitchenette with a fully-furnished bar. It was a decorated baroque-style and was in pristine condition with no signs of a crime ever being committed. Except for the master bedroom.

Leah followed Jacob closely as they weaved through the crowd of cops and crime scene investigators to the actual scene of the crime. More cops. More crime scene investigators and now, the medical examiner.

"Dr. Swan," Jacob greeted, giving a tight smile to the woman standing several feet from him. His dark brown eyes were friendly as usual but laced with fatigue.

Leah barely acknowledged Dr. Isabella "Bella" Swan as she directed more officers around the crime scene. But when she caught Bella's eyes, she nodded at the other woman.

Dr. Isabella Swan—Leah could never get a clear reading on her. She seemed nice, but… she couldn't decipher precisely how she felt about her. Jacob, on the other hand, thought Bella was wonderful; the best damn medical examiner in the business, he would proudly proclaim. But Leah supposed that the man might be biased; everyone in the Cook County justice system knew Jacob had a crush on the doctor.

Jacob walked around Bella to further inspect the body, stopping a couple of feet from it, right beyond the yellow tape. Horrified, he stared down at it, removed his hat, and held it to his chest. "Christ," he breathed.

"I know," Bella concurred, moving around the pieces, searching for more distinctive markings.

Leah soon came up from behind Jacob and froze.

The young woman was nude and in half. The parts laid about a foot apart with a pool of blood and intestines strewn between them. Lacerations all over her face and body; all clean and concise save for the torso. The victim was laid out as if she was a disregarded mannequin. Her arms and legs spread apart, and her insides—

Leah cleared her throat and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

A sadist did this, she decided. There was no doubt about it; only people like that would do some so heinous, so passionately, violent, yet so… organized. The killer knew what he was doing, but the blood. There was so much blood; why didn't he clean it up?

The victim was presented in plain sight; anyone with access to the room would have noticed her. Someone had seen her.

Leah's eyes roamed around the room; everything was in pristine condition. No visible signs of a struggle. The victim must have known the killer enough to let him (it was usually a him) inside her room. She would have to consult the hotel staff about any disturbances or any calls to 911.

She swallowed a few times. "What do you have so far?" she asked in a level voice, staring out in the distance. She had to look away from the body, even for a few seconds.

"There are no signs of struggle, not around the room, not on her—I don't think," Bella said, and then added, "Oh, there is something you should see." She bent down and pointed at the nape of the victim's neck. "What do you say?"

A bite mark.

The detectives knelt on opposite sides of the body, peered at the mark, then at each other, and then back down. Eventually, Leah glimpsed at Jacob to see his reaction; he seemed concerned. Perhaps she should be as well. "A bite mark," she said moments later. "Where do you think it came from?"

If it had been a month ago, Leah wouldn't consider the bite to have originated from e anything but an animal. But since becoming Jacob's partner and learning about the existence of the supernatural, she had no choice but to consider other possibilities.

Bella further examined the wound. "I don't know. At first, I thought it was an animal, but…"

"You think someone bit her," Jacob finished. "A person."

Bella nodded, though not entirely convinced. Something sharper than human teeth had punctured the skin. Perhaps by fangs. "Yeah, a person."

Jacob turned to Leah. "Human or…?"

"Or?" Bella's eyes shifted from one detective to the other. "What kind of other person is there?"

Leah3w glared at her partner. She thought he, of all people, wanted to be more discreet about himself and the others. "Only human."

"Yeah, human," Jacob glanced at his partner, seemingly thankful and apologetic. He then ran a hand down his face and groaned. "I can't believe this—Not even a month since the transfer, and I gotta deal with a goddamn sadist. Bella, Dr. Swan, when can get some results?"

Bella glanced down at the victim. "Tomorrow," she decided. "I should be able to provide, at the very least, the estimated time of death."

Leah wasn't satisfied with the answer. This was already a major case; the media was going to have a goddamn field day. Their captain was going to be up in arms, and the station might get a visit from the mayor—they needed an autopsy done ASAP.

She told Bella this.

Bella cleared her throat and gave Leah a tight smile. "Of course."

A cop rushed into the bedroom and announced, "The press is here!"

Leah cursed under her breath and announced that she would be heading to the lobby to meet any reporters before they caused any more havoc. Jacob chose to stay behind.

It was fine; she needed some time to think to herself even for a span of one whole moment. She slumped against the elevator wall as the machine descended to the lobby, mind racing. She thought about Sam (of course, she did), she thought about Jacob and the unfortunate victim whose life was so viciously taken away. She thought about the killer—that bastard that didn't deserve to live for another second.

She stood up straight when the elevator door opened, revealing, as expected, a group of reporters. They all stared at her, with their smartphones pointing her direction as they struggled to reach the front of the crowd, all eager to get the latest scoop.

"Good evening, everyone…"