Five
It was after sunset when Judy finally made it back to Downtown. The temperature was mild but breezy, and every gust across her chilled fur sent a shiver through her. She found a free bench and hopped up, tucking up her legs and hugging her knees to try and will some heat back to her limbs.
Nick had texted her to meet him at Nocturne Park. Despite its name, it was open during daylight hours. However, the place really came to life after sunset. Soft yellow lights twinkled in the overhanging trees and illuminated wide, meandering paths. Kits darted around the legs of parents who had come out for a family stroll. Food carts took up prime positions around the center fountain, with offerings of anything from pawpsicles to insect tacos. In the open field a pack of wolves played an intense game of frisbee. A pair of cougars watched them with haughty amusement from the sidelines, their heads in perfect sync as they tracked the whizzing disk back and forth, tails flicking.
"Carrots!"
Nick appeared around a turn in the path. He broke into a grin when he saw her and Judy's heart leapt. Which was silly. It had only been a day. They had gone longer than that without seeing each other before. There was no reason to get to emotional about it.
But Judy felt as if she had been telling herself that all day. She had told herself that when she had walked away from Nick that morning in Chief Bogo's office. When she had gone to lunch with her new team and remembered there was no need to save a seat beside her. When they had responded to a call about a polar bear who had sat down on some thin ice and cracked it, getting his butt stuck, and no one had made a single joke about it.
So yes, they had gone longer than this without seeing each other. But all those other times Judy had been reassured with the knowledge that even while apart, they were still partners. There was still a connection tethering them. Dating in comparison felt so… tenuous. So many things could go wrong. So many external and internal issues that could severe their relationship for good—and then what? What would be left of their friendship then?
The question terrified her.
Judy launched herself off the bench at him. Nick caught her with a breathless, "Oof," that set him back a step, and ooh, if Judy had been a cat she would have purred at how warm he felt. Heat positively radiated from his fur. She wanted to burrow into it. "You're so warm."
"That's what happens when you spend all day out in the desert." He rubbed at her back and arms. The rough, heated pads of his paws sent zings of pleasure through her along with a delicious heat. When he started massaging the icy tips of her ears, Judy thought she might melt into a puddle of bliss.
Nick made a tsking noise. "Why are you so cold? Didn't they give you adequate protection in that snowy waste they call a district?"
"I had plenty of protection," said Judy. The truth was, no amount of layers or quality fiber could completely keep out the kind of cold that ruled over Tundratown. It was something she was just going to have to get used to for as long as she was there.
Nick wouldn't like hearing that, however, and Judy didn't want to get into another argument over her transfer. So instead she lowered her voice, saying in a husky whisper, "Besides, I have you here to warm me up afterwards, right?"
Nick's breath caught and his grip on her ears reflexively tightened. The sensation made Judy think half a dozen naughty thoughts before her fox caught himself and released her, shaking his head. "You're incorrigible, Carrots. Have you even eaten yet? I think I passed a food truck that sells some sort of veggie plate a little ways back."
Just the thought of food of it made her stomach audibly growl. Nick's lips twitched. "I'll take that as a yes." He pointed to the bench behind her. "Save our seats. I'll be right back."
He returned with two steaming bowls of rice heaped with vegetables and covered in a delicious sticky sauce that was both tart and sweet. Judy burned her tongue twice in her haste to eat.
As she was scraping up the last grains of rice from her bowl that she noticed Nick had stopped eating and was watching her.
"What?" She wiped at her chin self-consciously. "Do I have sauce on my face?"
He shook his head, reaching over and swapping her empty bowl with his half-full one. "You know being out in the cold burns more calories," he told her. "You'll have to make sure you eat enough."
"Naggy fox."
His only response was to give the bowl in her paws a pointed look. Judy reluctantly dug in, more slowly this time.
"Does that mean you'll buy dessert too?" she asked after a few bites.
Nick barked a laugh. "Oh so that's how you're gonna play this?"
"Play what works. Isn't that what you taught me?"
"The cheek on this one! Ok, I see how it is."
Nick did buy her dessert. Not pawpsicles—just the thought made Judy break out in goosebumps—but a warm apple on a stick that had been baked and then covered in a gooey cinnamon glaze.
Afterwards they wandered over to the playground area, where they watched a group of young lemurs doing fancy acrobatics on the monkey bars, swinging and flipping from one end to the other, doing their best to one-up each other.
After a while of watching, Judy looked over to see that Nick had pulled out his phone and seemed to be wholly absorbed with whatever was on the screen.
"Something interesting?" she asked.
His shoulders jerked and he looked up guiltily. "Ah. Sorry. I just wanted to check on something."
"Check in on what?"
He handed her the phone. He had some kind of map application open. Two dots blinked in tandem some several miles from each other. One was nestled in a zoomed out overview of the city. The other was slowly drifting across an open expanse of desert, with a dark squiggle here and there that Judy thought might be canyons. The vastness of it made Zootopia looked like a speck by comparison.
"I had a talk with the technician who was in charge of preparing the rhino's ear tag this morning." Nick pointed to the second dot. "That's him."
"He's made it so far already?" He must have walked non-stop all day. Judy watched the dot for several minutes. "He hasn't turned back," she noted.
"Not yet. But he will." Nick stared down at the screen, as if through sheer willpower he could make the rhino turn around. "He has to."
It might have been selfish, but Judy found herself hoping that Nick was wrong. She wanted to solve the case too. And sure, it would be a whole lot easier if the rhino returned and simply led them to all the answers. But they didn't need him to figure things out. They were perfectly capable of doing it on their own. And then Nick wouldn't have to face that animal again, and all the bad memories such a meeting would dredge up. Nick should know better than most: Sometimes no amount of justice ever made the pain of the crime go away. Sometimes you had to take what consolation you could get and let the rest go. Otherwise the emotions would only fester.
But Nick wouldn't be receptive to an opinion like that right now. So she settled for turning the phone off before handing it back over to him. When he looked at her questioningly, she said, "We're off the clock right now. And even if he turns around right this second, he still won't make it back here before morning. Which means you can relax. Besides..." She put her paw on his arm. "I missed you today. I want to spend as much time together as we can. Is that ok?"
Nick pocketed the phone immediately. "Of course it's ok. I'm sorry, Carrots. I'm just a little distracted tonight."
"Understandable." She smiled up at him. "Shall I distract you from your distraction?"
Nick's eyebrows rose. "Should I be scared right now? I feel like I should be scared."
Judy laughed and took his paw, pulling him onto one of the winding paths where couples and families strolled along. Some were enjoying a final walk before retiring for the night, while others were just getting started with their day. Every once in a while someone would notice Nick and Judy's clasped paws and give them a look, but Judy ignored them and was proud that Nick seemed to be doing the same.
Whenever they came to a fork in the road, Judy would tug Nick down whichever way looked more deserted. Gradually, the lights became farther spaced in the trees. They past less families and more couples cuddled up on benches. Judy leaned closer to Nick, heart thrilling when he hugged her to him and pressed a kiss behind her ear.
When Judy spotted an unpaved trail leading off the proper path, a little voice her coaxed her to take it, and she did. Nick followed along gamely, though he did break the silence for the first time to ask, "Any particular reason why we're sneaking through the woods right now?"
There were no lights at all in this part of the park, just slivers of moonlight here and there where there were gaps in the canopy. Judy, with her poor night vision, could just make out the outline of the trees when she got so close, but mostly she made her way by the feel of the dirt path beneath her feet.
She shot Nick a smile over her shoulder, knowing he could see it with his superior nocturnal eyes. "What do you mean, sneaking? This park is a public space, isn't it? And look, we're still technically on a trail."
Nick made a disbelieving noise.
"It's just a little more… private here."
"I'm started to suspect your intentions towards me are less than pure, Ms. Hopps."
Judy laughed, feeling breathless when he pressed closer to her, no longer passively following but helping to guide her through the dark. "This way," he murmured, nudging her to the right, and though the path continued straight, she went in the direction he indicated, her feet crunching over grass and leaves and the occasional broken twig. She was all but blind here, but Nick was a steady presence at her back, spotting every root and rock and steering her around it with gentle pushes and tugs. Judy had never walked so confidently into the night before. It felt almost like dancing, their steps dictated by the pattern of the forest itself. A silent melody of nature.
And then the trees opened up, and Judy saw what Nick must have spotted from afar. It was a clearing. Moonlight shone down on a cluster of deserted picnic tables, all in different sizes to accommodate different species. Solar powered lanterns glowed from the middle of each table, giving it the appearance of a candlelit dining room, abandoned to nature.
All for them.
Judy turned back and Nick was there. The kiss they shared was fevered. Judy couldn't stop touching him. No one spot was good enough. She had to touch all of him. Hold on to all of him.
He scooped her up, and being pressed against his strong, steady body made her realize how shaky she was. She felt like she was vibrating with tension.
Nick must have felt it too because he softened the kiss, his grip gentling as if to soothe. She didn't want soothing. She wanted reassurance. She wanted to know that even if they were no longer partners, they still had this. And this, their connection, was stronger. Unbreakable.
Their kiss broke. Judy realized he had set her down on one of the picnic tables. With the lamp behind her she could see Nick clearly again, and it was suddenly a relief to have that much illumination when she felt in the dark about so much else.
"It's okay," he said, as if he thought she was nervous. But it wasn't okay. He sounded so calm, too calm, while she felt unraveled.
He wasn't even touching her anymore. His paws were pressed flat against the table on either side of her, not a tremble to be seen. Only his heavy breaths and dark eyes gave away that he might be feeling anything similar to her.
She pulled him down for another kiss, and felt better when he complied with gusto. But his paws stayed gripping the table, and when she tried to pull him in closer, he locked his spine, resisting. Judy let out a sound of frustration that made Nick startle back. "Did you just… growl at me?"
"What if I did?" said Judy. "I swear, you will be the death of me, Nicholas Wilde!"
The damn fox had the nerve to chuckle, though it sounded strained. "I should be the one saying that. I'm trying my best here."
"Trying your best at this usually requires more touching," Judy couldn't help pointing out.
That made Nick laugh outright. Judy bristled, but before she could ask him what was so funny, he dropped his head onto her shoulder. His arms came up around her, pulling her against him in a loose embrace, and Judy felt some of her ire drain away despite herself. "You just don't get it, Carrots." He turned his head to nuzzle at her throat. "I'm trying to stay in control."
"What does that mean?" said Judy. Suspicion rose. "Is this another one of those stupid alpha predator things? Because if it is, so help me, Wilde—"
"I think we've already established you're clearly the alpha in this relationship."
"Then why?" Insecurities she had been struggling not to acknowledge for weeks came creeping up. She had been telling herself this was just a temporary issue. That they would overcome it with enough patience and time. But what if they couldn't? What if they were just incompatible? What then? Would she just… lose him? No longer partners. No longer mates. No longer… anything.
"Whatever crazy ideas you've got spinning in that bunny brain of yours right now, I guarantee you they're wrong," said Nick.
"Then explain it," demanded Judy. "I can tell you've been holding back on me. I wanted to be patient about it—" She ignored Nick's snort at that, "—but with everything else that's happening, I can't take this on top of it all. Not when it affects us. So I need to know: Is it me? Am I too much? Or… do you not like bunnies? You can be honest! I would prefer it." She tried to sound cool about it, but there was still a shake in her voice and she knew from the quirk of Nick's lips that he heard it too.
"You'd prefer it, huh?"
Gentle paws cupped her face, wiping away the tears that had started to build in the corners of her eyes. She hadn't even noticed them and she looked away, embarrassed.
"Why does everything I do turn out wrong when it comes to you?" Nick wondered aloud. "It always makes sense at the time. But then things like this happen and I'm at a loss again."
"Dumb fox," grumbled Judy. "It's because you won't talk to me." She grabbed his muzzle and gave it a playful shake. "This thing right here. You have to use it for something besides sarcasm."
He made a show of trying to talk while she held his mouth. Judy gave a humorless smile and released him.
He caught her paw and kissed it, saying lightly, "Who's calling who dumb? You're the one who somehow believes I'm uninterested. Seriously, Carrots, how can you say that after you've ruined me for anyone else? Forget other species. If they're not a feisty gray bunny in a police uniform they might as well be grass to me for all the interest I can muster. If you knew how many hours I spent thinking of you each day—all the things I'd like to do with you, to you—it's a miracle I have enough attention span left to do anything else with a modicum of competence, much less focus—"
"What did I just say about the sarcasm?" said Judy. She didn't appreciate him exaggerating. If it was for her feelings, it only made her feel worse. He didn't have to go this far.
She tried to yank her paw back, but Nick held fast to it. She looked up and met his gaze, startled to see that all levity was gone from his expression.
"You tell me to talk, but you don't believe what I say anyway. It's really frustrating, Carrots."
"Because you're actions speak differently," said Judy. "A few minutes ago you could barely stand to touch me."
He yanked her to him, ducking down to nuzzle the same part of her throat as before. But there was something different about the intent this time that made Judy feel shivery and just a bit tense.
"So what I'm hearing from you is, you want a mate of action. And I'll need to step up my game if I want to keep you interested."
"That's not quite what I—"
In one smooth motion he twisted her trapped wrist behind her back, the action so skillfully done it didn't so much as tweak a single muscle in her arm. He pinned her wrist against the curve of her spine, both limiting her movement and making her arch against him. His other paw cupped the back of her head, forcing her to tip her chin up and exposing her throat more fully to him.
"—Ok?"
Judy's heart was galloping in her chest. It took a second for her to realize Nick had spoken, and another long second to understand the question he was asking: Was she okay with this?
Oh, she was most definitely okay with this. More than okay. She managed to find the air to gasp out a yes, and then his paw started moving, started touching, and even with all the extra layers she had on, those clever paws managed to find their way around and under to where he wanted, and all Judy could do was cling to him with her free paw and, Great Turtle, he was still doing that nuzzling thing that was just—
Judy jackknifed up off the table, letting out a strangled cry as a painful zing of pleasure shot through her. If Nick hadn't been holding onto her so tightly, she would have fallen right off onto the ground. He had nipped her! An actual bite, with teeth! Right where he had been nuzzling so intently.
He laved that spot now with his tongue. Already his touches had gentled again. She thought he might have been saying something, but she couldn't hear it through the rush of blood in her ears and the wonderful buzzing in her veins.
"—need help—"
Oh, she was definitely going to need help. She felt as if someone had replaced her bones with warm jello. A few more nips like that and she—
"—being attacked! Someone call 911! A fox is mauling a—"
The words penetrated at the same moment that Nick was torn away from her. An ocelot in running joggers grabbed Nick around the throat and threw him to the ground, where three teenage coyotes promptly tacked him and pinned him down.
Judy started to scramble off the picnic table, but a jaguar caught her by the shoulder and held her back. "Don't worry, you're safe now, miss."
"Geez, just a bunny too," said one of the coyotes, looking sick.
"Filthy animal," spat the ocelot. "Someone call the cops."
"Don't—" said Judy when the Jaguar made to pull out his phone. "This is a misunderstanding. He didn't attack me."
"We heard you scream," one of the coyotes said.
"We saw him biting you," said another.
Well, this was embarrassing.
"She may be in shock," said the jaguar, looking her over with concern. To Judy, he said, "If you'll sit a moment I can check to see how bad the wound is." He had a strong, calm voice that immediately made Judy think doctor or some other emergency professional. The fur around his muzzle had started to gray with age. A retired EMT perhaps. He wore a tweed suit with a pair of glasses tucked into his front suit pocket. Behind him on the ground was a spilled basket of food.
"I'm not hurt," said Judy, covering the spot Nick had bitten in case he had broken the skin. If there was blood, that would only make things look worse.
"You don't need to defend him, miss. We promise we won't let him hurt you anymore."
Nick, for his part, didn't struggle against the coyotes' hold. But his eyes were bright as he watched them all closely, especially the ocelot, who was glaring daggers at Nick with his fists clenched. She had no doubt that Nick would fight if it looked like things were starting to turn bad.
She couldn't let that happen.
"Thank you for your concern," she told them, striving to sound both polite and firm. "But as I said, you're mistaken. He's actually my—"
"Wait! I recognize you!" said one of the coyotes, letting go of Nick to point excitedly at Judy. "You're that famous bunny cop! Oh, what was the name... Janet? No—Joan—ah! Judy! Judy Hopps, that's right! With the fox partner..." He looked down at Nick. His eyes went comically wide as understanding struck. "Oh."
Judy watched as one by one it clicked for the rest of them. By now almost every mammal in Zootopia had seen the video of Nick proclaiming his love for her on stage. And then there had been the endless rounds of articles in both the newspapers and magazines discussing it. Judy and Nick had never done a formal interview, but whenever a journalist popped up for a quote they were always honest with their responses. "Yes, we're together. Yes, we love each other." Or in Nick's case, "She's taken. By me. How many other ways do you need me to say it before you animals get bored?"
One of the coyotes started giggling. It set off the other two. They must have been around Reynard and Craven's age, thought Judy. Just out out high school, if that. They released Nick. One helped him to his feet while the other retrieved a soccer ball they must have dropped while rushing over. The third gave a halfhearted brush at the leaves and dirt stuck to Nick's shirt until Nick shot him a look. He stopped immediately, looking sheepish.
The ocelot's expression twisted in revulsion. He looked even angrier than when he'd thought Nick had been mauling her. He stomped off, muttering rude comments under his breath that Judy hoped Nick couldn't hear. By the way Nick's jaw clenched, she suspected otherwise.
"Apologies about that," said the jaguar. "I guess we're all still on edge after those attacks last year. No hard feelings I hope?" This last bit was directed at Nick.
Nick gave a curt nod.
Judy helped the jaguar pick up his spilled basket of food. She felt awkward and more than a little responsible. She offered to pay for the ruined meal, but the jaguar waved her off with a good-natured, "Just a snack. Don't you fret about it."
The coyotes giggled out their own apologies and trotted off. Before they disappeared into the tree line, they shouted a few compliments back to Nick about his impressiveness with females, followed up with some pointed howling. Judy smothered a laugh at the long-suffering look on Nick's face. "Can we go now, please?"
The walk back was a silent one. Nick's place was closer, so that's where they headed. Neither asked the other if they wanted to be alone that night.
When they finally crawled into bed, Nick pulled her close without hesitation, but he was still so quiet. Judy gave his middle a soft squeeze. "Hey."
"Hm?"
"I love you."
She felt his confusion at the confession in the silent seconds that followed. Then he sighed and pulled her tighter against him. "You don't have to worry, Carrots. I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere."
The tightness that had been twisting in her chest since the park loosened somewhat. She relaxed against him. "That's good. Because I want you to come with me to my parent's anniversary party this weekend."
"Okay."
"But I don't want you to come as my partner." She took a breath. "At least, not that kind of partner."
She felt Nick tense.
"We have to tell them sometime," she pointed out. "They already adore you, Nick. There's nothing to be worried about."
He shifted so that he was looking down at her. "Says the bunny who not two hours ago was panicking that I wasn't attracted to her."
"I was not panicking—"
He pinched the fluff of her cheeks, giving her a little shake until she squirmed and said, "Ok, ok, I was! A little. Let go, you bully fox."
He released her. Judy rubbed her sore cheeks, scowling when he grinned at her. She stuck up her nose at him. She'd intended it as a snub, but he took the opening to plant a kiss on her. It was impossible to pretend to be mad after that.
"I'm sorry for making you doubt, Carrots."
Judy looked up at him. "I'm sorry for doubting."
"It looks like we've still got some things we need to work on."
Judy smiled at him cheekily. "I'm okay with putting in a little extra work. For the good of the relationship, of course."
Nick's eyes were twinkling. "Of course. You're nothing if not dedicated."
"That's right."
He ducked his head and pressed a soft kiss to the spot he had bitten earlier.
"I checked while I was brushing my teeth," said Judy. "You didn't even break the skin."
"Of course I didn't," said Nick, affronted. "What kind of greenhorned kit do you take me for?"
"Hmm. Had lots of practice to perfect it, have you?"
Nick coughed and looked away, his tail twitching beneath the covers. Judy smothered a smile. He was so cute when he was flustered.
"Thank you," she told him. "For earlier. I… I really enjoyed it."
"You mean watching me almost get my tail beat?" said Nick dryly. "I could see why that might be fun."
"No. Before that," said Judy. "You know what I mean."
Nick's gaze searched hers. "You really… were okay with it?"
"More than okay," murmured Judy, pulling him down for a kiss. "But just as importantly, what about you? Did you like it?"
Nick groaned and rolled away from her, squeezing his eyes shut as if blocking out the memory. "Of course I did. Way more than I should."
Judy narrowed her eyes at him, not that he could see it. "Hm. This sounds reminiscent of that 'control' comment you made earlier. Which I'm still waiting for you to explain, by the way."
"I don't want to scare you."
"I promise, Nick, whatever the reason is, it's not going to scare me."
"That's not what I'm saying." He seemed to steel himself. "If I don't control myself when we're together, I'm afraid I'll scare you."
Oh.
The silence stretched. Nick peeked a look at Judy, both eyes snapping wide when he saw that her's were filling with tears.
He shot upright, his paws reached out to hold her but stopped short, as if he was afraid to touch her. "Judy, that's not—I mean…"
For the second time that night Judy launched herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, wiping her tears into his fur.
"It's okay," she said. "I'm fine."
"You don't cry when you're fine!" said Nick, sounding torn between worried and exasperated.
Judy laughed wetly. "I just don't know whether to feel sorry or grateful. You've been trying so hard all this time to be careful with me for my sake. At the expense of your own comfort and happiness. I can't tell you how much that means to me. But then I feel so guilty that you thought the real you would scare me away…"
"Don't feel too touched," said Nick. "It's pure selfishness on my part. Whatever I have to do to keep you by my side is more than worth the price."
Oh, how she loved this fox.
She cupped his face, making sure he was looking into her eyes before she said solemnly, "I will never, ever, fear you. There is no one else in Zootopia or beyond that I trust more than you. And there is no secret or desire that you could have that will ever, ever, make me turn away from you. Got that, fox?" When he still hesitated, she poked her nose against his. "Hey! Got it?"
"Ow! I got it, I got it."
She let him go. "So no more holding yourself back. If there's something you want to try and you're unsure, ask me. I'll do the same. We'll learn our boundaries together that way. Okay?"
Nick still seemed disbelieving, or maybe he was just stunned but the suddenness of this new arrangement, but after a moment he nodded.
"That's settled then." Judy gave his shoulder a shove, pushing him down onto the bed. "Now, shall we get started learning?"
That got a shocked laugh out of him. "What, right now?"
She nuzzled along his throat. Felt him swallow against her lips. "I admit I'm intrigued by this little skill of yours. I assume there's a trick to it. The right location, maybe? Finding the right nerves combined with the perfect amount of pressure—ah!"
The world flipped. Judy's back hit the mattress with a squeak of springs. Nick looked down at her, eyes dark and smile cocky. "Aw, Carrots. Don't you know? Skills like this are best learned from paws-on experience."
Craven was being followed. Finally.
After weeks of searching out locations he had no business being in, making veiled threats to every contact he knew, and generally making a nuisance of himself to some very dangerous animals, he had finally forced a reaction. Now he just had to hope he hadn't kicked over one beehive too many in his persistence of gaining a proper meeting. Otherwise what might be following him right now might be something more deadly than answers.
He cut down another side street. Not for the first time, he gave thanks to his natural night vision, otherwise he would have been feeling his way along blind. What little moonlight made it through the thick canopy was blocked out by buildings. There were no streetlights here. The electricity had been disconnected from this part of the Rainforest District decades ago, when this pocket of the city had been vacated for a redevelopment project that had never gotten off the ground. Craven didn't know the specifics. He had only been a kit at the time. Lack of city funds or a mayoral changeover, something like that. What was left was eight blocks of shops, homes, and restaurants, all vacant and rotting. Trees grew through broken windows and off the sides of roofs, so huge and twisting it was hard to tell what were roots and what were branches. Vines snaked out from gutters to twine with benches and sign posts. Intersections looked like intricate arbors with stoplights for flowers.
Water filled the streets. Whatever drainage systems kept the rest of the Rainforest District from flooding had been shut off here, or maybe just damaged. Occasionally a soda can or other piece of refuse would drift by, caught in an unknown current. Craven tried not to think about what else he might be wading through that he couldn't see. The water was up to his ankles here. The sound of sloshing water reverberated off the buildings, making him feel about as stealthy as an elephant.
His pursuer was far more adapt at staying quiet. They were little more than a feeling of eyes on his back and the occasional ripple of shadow, too indistinct to make out a species. Maybe if Craven turned to look he could make out more, but he knew better than to try. Revealing even that small amount of uncertainty could be seen as a weakness. And if it was one thing these animals had no respect for, it was showing weakness. Even if he caught a glimpse of who was following him, it would most likely be the last thing he ever saw.
So he continued on as if he were unconcerned by his invisible escort. He knew what he was looking for anyway.
The building was smaller and plainer than many of the others surrounding it, but it was also clear of moss, vine, and other overgrowth that blanketed the rest of the area. It was constructed from concrete and was the size of a small shed. Etched into the side were the letters N O. The grooves were stained a faint rust color. Craven started to touch it, then realized what it was and yanked his paw back.
Someone had used their horn to carve this. Even when blood had started to flow, they had kept going until they'd finished it. They weren't just conveying the name of their group; they were sending a message: half-hearted measures would not be tolerated.
Craven faced the door. It looked to be made of steel, with no handle or lock. A black panel was set into the wall next to it. A small red light blinked in the bottom right hand corner. Craven tried not panic at the sight. If it required a password, he didn't know it.
He tapped on the screen.
Nothing. The red light maintained its steady blinking.
As nonchalantly as he could, Craven pressed his paws to the door and attempted to slide it open. It didn't budge.
Snickering came from behind him. Craven stiffened. After following him for so long in perfect silence, they had let him hear their laughing on purpose. But worse than the mocking was the realization that the laughter was coming from several different directions all at once. He had assumed he was being followed by a single mammal. That was, he realized now, a naive mistake on his part. Of course with a group like this, they would want to hunt him down as a pack.
His heart pounded. He tried not to give away his terror, but his paws shook. He quickly clenched his fists to hide it.
"Love live the Natural Order!" He shouted the words at the closed door, not daring to turn around and look. The laughing stopped. As he thought, they knew better than to laugh after that proclamation. Traitors were dealt with more swiftly than even cowards.
A high-pitched beep brought Craven's attention back to the panel. The flashing red light was now a solid green.
The door slid open, revealing an elevator with moldy walls. Water spilled in, wetting the grimy floor and making it slippery. Craven eased his way inside. The panel that normally allowed you to pick a floor had been ripped out, leaving nothing but a rusted hole with some frayed wires.
The doors creaked closed. After a moment, the elevator started to descend. Craven kept his gaze trained forward. He would have liked to indulge in a few seconds of panic, but the security camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling made any overt reactions impossible. If he lost his cool now, even for a moment, it would ruin everything and then all of this would have been for nothing.
Down the elevator went. There was no need to descend this far—except to escape the laws of Zootopia. They were playing with the same legal loopholes as they had with the fighting ring. Once you went so deep, the city's laws no longer applied.
The elevator slowed. Stopped.
The doors opened. Craven made sure not to show any hesitation in stepping out. He exited the elevator while taking in his surroundings, scanning the room for any possible threats. Nothing immediate jumped out at him. It appeared to be a single room. The ceiling, floor and walls were roughly dug dirt, reinforced with wood beams. A small bar sat against one wall, with shelves divided evenly between bottles of liquor and glasses. Beaten looking couches and chairs sat in some loose semblance of a circle around a low table, where a boar and a wolverine sat sipping drinks.
"If it isn't our little troublemaker," said the boar, while the wolverine ignored him in favor of staring into his drink. "Welcome to our humble den. We've been hearing a lot about you, kit. Causing all kinds of mischief lately. Been a real pain in the backside to a lot of our members."
Craven tried to school his expression into one of cool indifference, the way his brother Reynard and officer Wilde were so good at. "It's Craven, not kit," he told them. "And I don't like being ignored." He took a seat in a wingback chair so that he could face both animals while still seeing the elevator. It was a pointless bid for self-preservation. He knew the only way he was getting out of here alive was if they let him. But he thought Robin would have been proud of him for the attempt.
Even if it was the only thing he would've been proud of him for.
He certainly wouldn't be proud of anything else Craven was doing. But Craven wasn't in this to make his family proud. He had no illusions of what their feelings for him would be after all this. But as long as they would still be alive to hate him, he could live with that.
"Well, now you have our full attention." By the tone of the boar's voice, it remained to be seen whether or not that was a good thing. "What do you want from us?"
"The same thing I wanted before. To join you guys."
The boar stared him down. Craven didn't let his gaze waver.
Finally the boar leaned back. He took a sip of his drink. "I don't see why we should. You haven't even passed a single round in one of our rings. In fact, thanks to your brother and his cop friend, we had to put the entire enterprise on hold until further notice."
Enterprise. That's how they viewed pitting desperate animals in fights to the death. As a business.
"That was… a misunderstanding," said Craven.
"A misunderstanding that's set us back months," snapped the boar. "It could have ruined our entire operation."
If only.
A soft, high pitched noise had Craven looking over at the bar area, but he couldn't locate any cause for the sound. Could be buried pipes nearby, or minute vibrations from a fault line making the bottles clink together on the shelves. Craven had heard of both happening in city dens and burrows, especially in poorer areas. This abandoned stretch of city was hardly being kept up.
The wolverine had finally looked up from his glass. Both he and the boar were watching him now. There was an expectancy to their gazes that unnerved him. Craven gave himself a mental shake and refocused. "I promise you, if you let me join, I will work hard to make up for any prior mistakes."
The wolverine snorted. "You promise, do you? Will you pinky-claw swear on it?"
"Do you know how animals make up for their mistakes with us?" the boar asked.
Craven doubted it was anything good. He shook his head.
"We rip out their throats and leave them as warnings for anyone else who might be dumb enough to make a 'mistake' with us."
All the saliva dried up in Craven mouth. His heart stuttered in his chest as if anticipating its final beats.
"What happened back then wasn't my fault," he croaked.
"It wasn't my fault," mocked the wolverine.
Again, Craven heard that strange, squeaky noise. There was something about it... Something familiar yet wrong that had his instincts pinging and raised the fur on his arms. But he could hardly focus on it when his chances of leaving this room alive were slipping through his paws like water.
"Surely I'm better use to you alive than dead," said Craven.
"I don't see how," said the boar.
A simple statement. Adrenaline flooded Craven's veins as his fight or flight response kicked in. He struggled to stay seated, to not give away a single emotion as he struggled to think through the panic clawing at him. He needed an example of a way he could be useful that these beasts would respect, a skill or attribute that would aid their crazy cause and prove he was one of them. But he hadn't beat anyone in the ring and he had no helpful connections. He had hoped sheer determination would be enough, but the thought offering that up as a reason seemed laughable now.
"Fortunately for you," said the boar, interrupting Craven's mental scrambling. "My opinion isn't the one that matters. Our leader is very interested in you, Craven Corsac. And he made it clear: if you desired to join us, then we are to facilitate that. So—" The boar motioned to the wolverine. The wolverine put down his drink. He got up and went over to the bar where he tipped a wine bottle towards him. Instead of falling and shattering onto the floor, it stayed hanging over the edge, defying gravity. There was a grating click and pop, and then the whole bar swung forward, revealing another room beyond.
Suddenly that faint sound from earlier carried clearly into the room, and Craven's stomach dropped as he realized it wasn't shifting bottles or noisy pipes. It was crying. Tiny, high-pitched wailing that sounded like some kind of mouse or other rodent.
The wolverine went into the room. The crying stuttered, then changed to begging.
"Please let me go. Please—I won't tell anyone I was here. I promise! I haven't done anything to you. Why are you doing this to me? Where did you take my brother? Please—"
The wolverine came back out, the hidden door swinging shut behind him. But Craven could still hear that small, muffled voice. And now that he knew what it was, he couldn't block it out.
The animal had gone back to crying. Heavy, hopeless sobs.
Craven felt sick.
The boar watched him. A knowing smile curled his lips. "Something wrong?"
Not trusting himself to speak, Craven shook his head.
The wolverine came over and set a piece of paper and a pen down on the table in front of Craven. Then he returned to his seat and picked his drink. He swirled the amber contents around for a few seconds, staring down into it as if reading a fortune, then he chucked it all back in two big gulps.
Craven stared down at the paper. The text on it was short, no more than paragraph in length. He had heard enough rumors by now to know what the contract entailed. It shouldn't have frightening. This was what he had come here for, after all. But seeing it in person and knowing it was for him sent a wave of nausea through him.
CONTRACT PLEDGE FOR THE NATURAL ORDER
"Read it," said the boar.
Craven struggled to find his voice. His mouth felt filled with cotton. He could taste bile at the back of his throat. He swallowed and read: "I, Craven Corsac, hereby renounce all loyalty to the city of Zootopia, its government, laws, leaders, and societal mores that have too long suppressed its citizens and their natural born instincts. From this moment on, my actions shall be dictated only by the limits of my own abilities. Predators must be predators until they are not, just as prey must be prey until they are not. This is the Law of Nature, and can no more be rejected than the origin of our species. I am now, until my death, part of the Natural Order." Craven lowered the paper. "I am free."
"All you have to do is sign," said the boar.
Craven could still hear the crying. Across from him, the wolverine poured himself a fresh drink, silent and smirking.
This was the price to be paid. He had known it going in. There was no turning back now.
Craven picked up the pen, and signed.