Chapter 2

The possible implications of a werewolf in Toronto weighed heavily on Nick's mind as he slid into the seat of his '62 Cadillac. His partner was huddled up in the seat next to him, not-so-patiently waiting for Nick to start up the car and its antiquated heater.

Nick inserted the key into the ignition and was about to start up the Caddy when he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, as if they were being watched. He looked back at the crime scene, the sight dissolving into a night scope red.

"Hey, Nicky boy! Do you mind cranking up your ancient heater before you take that trip to the ozone?"

Nick started up the Caddy and shook his head slightly, returning to his normal, albeit enhanced, vision.

He didn't see anyone suspicious. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were the target of someone's gaze; a feeling that had never led him wrong before.

Checking for traffic in his rear view mirror, Nick pulled away from the curb, making a sharp u-turn before heading back towards the precinct.

Schanke fiddled with the heater, trying every possible setting and testing its effectiveness by holding his hands near the passenger side heater vent. "Well, at least this one ain't our problem."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Nick said, turning a knob on his dash all the way to the left.

"Whoa, wait a minute Sherlock. You said the deed was done with claws," Schanke reminded.

"Yeah."

"What do you mean, yeah?" Schanke asked, tightening his coat around him. "Is this the Caddy's original heater?"

Nick glanced at the heater/AC before returning his eyes to the road. "Yeah."

Schanke rolled his eyes and fell back against the seat, cursing Nick's thirty year old heater. "Do you mind explaining?"

"I don't have a problem with the cold," Nick said, smiling slightly.

Schanke ignored Nick's last remark. "Please tell me this is more than your famous intuition."

"This is more than your famous intuition." Nick was fully aware that he was pushing his partner's buttons, but ribbing Schanke was a welcome intrusion to his other thoughts.

"You do know your sense of humor is stuck in the eighties, don't you?"

'The 1280s.' Nick chuckled. "There was a symbol carved into one of the trees near the body. What does that tell you?"

"That we're looking for two teenage lovebirds. Come on, Nick. Just because there was some chicken scratch on a tree near the body, doesn't mean that the killer was a person. That carving could have been done by anyone."

"I just-"

"And don't tell me you 'just have a feeling'. Unless your feeling can become tangible proof or fix this darn heater of yours, I don't care."

Bedbur
1589

Nicholas had intended to leave Bedbur the following evening. Small towns were dangerous for creatures such as him. Naturally suspicious of travelers, a small town 'disturbance' would instantly garner him unwanted attention. He needed to find some sort of sustenance before he went on his way, but would have to be particularly careful in the way he went about it.

Exiting the inn he'd stayed at during the day, he took in a deep breath of humid night air. Re-energized by the darkness around him, he set out to find a little entertainment.

It quickly became apparent that the streets were nearly deserted. Other than the occasional duffer, the whole town seemed to be indoors this evening. He made his way towards a pub he'd passed when he first arrived in early morning.

When he arrived at the small pub, he was once again surprised. Even the local watering hole was empty this night; almost that is. A few diehards lingered at the tables, and no sooner had he stepped foot into the pub did every eye turn to inspect their newest out of town visitor.

Ignoring their stares, Nicolas walked over to the barkeep and asked for a red wine. The man gave him a once over before nodding in acknowledgment.

Nicolas took a seat at an empty table in the back, and awaited his drink. One with his exceptional hearing didn't need to be sitting near a table to hear what the locals were saying.

Was it his fault that he couldn't help but eavesdrop?

Settling back in his chair, he listened as many locals' conversations switched to the topic of his arrival.

"Do you think he's here for the hunt?" one man quietly asked his companion.

His companion glanced Nick's way, trying his best to be subtle. "Doesn't look like an adventurous lad," the second replied. "More like a constable."

Nicolas smirked slightly at the comment, quickly covering his reaction by bringing a finger to his lips. His attention was drawn away from the conversation as a waitress brought over his wine.

He looked up at her, a slight smirk still gracing his lips. She set the wine down on the table, and Nick caught her hand in his as she began to move away. "My dear, I cannot help but notice the lack of patrons in this fine establishment."

She met his eyes briefly, gently withdrawing her hand from his grasp. "Beg pardon, Sir. Have you not heard?"

Nicolas raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Heard?" he asked after a moment, idly sliding a finger around the rim of his goblet.

"The killings," she answered, not quite meeting his eyes. "They have been going on for quite some time. The only outsiders who come to Bedbur now are the hunters."

'Hunters. This could be a potentially dangerous situation.'

"What manner of beast do they hunt?" Nicolas asked. His travels as of late had not afforded him the luxury of hearing the latest scuttlebutt. However, he was curious as to what caused the locals such obvious fear.

"A monster of a wolf, Sir. Over thirty are dead because of it, last time I heard." At Nicolas' look of surprise, she continued. "It comes in the night, and is near impossible to find in the daylight."

The last piece of information caused Nicolas' attention to increase ten-fold. He stilled his hand, and leaned forward. "How are these people being killed?"

"Bodies are torn asunder. This wolf does not kill for food. 'Tis not natural, if you ask me." She looked back over at the barkeep, who was watching her with a hawk's gaze. "If you will excuse me."

Giving her a pleasant smile, Nick bowed his head. "Of course."

These kills did not sound like the work of a vampire. Still, they didn't sound like the work of a wolf or human either.

It seemed that his time in Bedbur would not be uneventful after all.

Nick, not realizing it, had been staring at his partner Schanke for a full five minutes. Once they'd returned to the precinct, and brought Captain Cohen up to date, only paperwork awaited them for the night. That is, unless Natalie had a chance to begin her examination on the woman found in the park.

Looking down at the report in front of him, Nick scribbled in his ID number, and then let his eyes travel down the rest of the form. Sighing, he tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the desk and looked back up at his partner.

"Can I see those witness statements again?"

Schanke shrugged and plopped the small stack of papers in front of Nick. "Sure. Have at it."

Flipping through the statements, he came to the same conclusion as Schanke. There was simply nothing there for them to work with. The only thing the witness statements confirmed was the time of death, and that her body wasn't dumped; the latter was already obvious and the former didn't help them a lot.

Nick picked up the phone and dialed Natalie's number. The only way they were going to be able to move on the case was to get her report.

"Hi Nat. You have anything for us on the animal attack victim?"

"Hey Nick. Will a positive ID do for now?" she asked. "The victim's name is Amy Vanson. I've already sent several samples to the lab for analyses but I gotta tell ya… this is no ordinary animal attack."

"Isn't that obvious?"

"I need to talk to you."

"That bad, eh?" Nick asked, only half-joking.

"It's about an eight on my weird scale. I figure you can bump it up a couple notches."

"You can count on it."

There was a pause. "Are you trying to tell me this will surpass my ten? Because my ten includes you."

"How flattering," Nick said with a chuckle. "When can we expect the lab results?"

"They won't be back until tomorrow. Is this something that merits overtime?"

Nick shuffled the eye witness reports into a neat stack, secured them with a paperclip, and slidding them back onto Schanke's desk. "Sure does."

"I'll see you after my shift then. I better get back to work. The dead wait for no one."

"Tell me about it. Thanks, Nat." Nick hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

Schanke looked up from his paperwork. "So, what's the story?"

"Nothing conclusive on the cause of death, but we did get a positive ID. Her name was Amy Vanson. Nat should have something more for us tomorrow."

"Well, at least that's a place to start…"

"Great! You get on that. I'm going to go take a look at the crime scene one more time to see if I can find anything we missed," Nick said, practically leaping off his chair.

"And leave me here to do all the paper pushing? Oh no…" Schanke trailed off as Nick slipped on his coat and made for the exit. "Nick!" Schanke got up as Nick headed out of the bullpen, about to protest further, but some raised eyebrows from the other officers caused him to bite back his retort, and plop back down in his chair.

Looking over at his computer screen in resignation, he sighed and typed in his badge number and password. "Fine, Nick. Next dinner, I'm ordering extra garlic with it," Schanke grumbled to himself, logging in to his account. "And I'm eating it in your car."

"Today, gentle listeners, we talk about instinct."

The voice flowed over the radio waves in cool detachment. The slight crackle, no doubt a product of his old radio, did nothing to distract from the crispness of his sire's tone as he began one of his monologues.

"Instinct is what drives us. It's that nagging voice in the back of your mind, begging to be heard. It's that gut feeling; the unexplainable surge of distrust that settles upon you when you look at that genteel old man standing on the street corner. He's the murderer who looks, by all outward appearances, as sane as you or I.

"But have you ever stopped to ask yourself what that murderer's instincts are? Are his instincts the result of his repressive, over dominating mother, or are they strictly… predatory in nature? It is natural to be either predator, or prey. Tonight I ask you, my child, to choose which one you are. Whatever you choose to be, your enemy will surely be the other."

There was a long contemplative pause, before LaCroix's voice asked, "Are you a predator?"

Nick tore his eyes off the road and looked down at the radio, as if expecting his sire's face to be there in its place. Turning off the radio with a click, Nick returned his attention to the road, running nervous fingers through his hair.

"What brings you here, lad?"

Nicolas met the beefy man's eyes, and allowed a bit of the vampire's arrogance to touch his lips. "I do so enjoy a good hunt."

Nick inhaled deeply though his nose as his grip tightened around the wheel. He was extremely thankful that his cell phone rang, and broke him out of his depressing reverie.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Nick reached into his coat and pulled out his cell. "Knight."

"Hey, Nick," Schanke greeted quickly. "Turns out our victim lived here in Toronto with her husband. Guess what the Captain wants you to do?"

"Notify the husband?" Nick queried.

"Chalk another one up for the man with the paperwork allergy! Is that karma or what?"

"Pure kismet. What's the address?"

Nick approached the small apartment building slowly, in no hurry to notify the soon to be grieving husband. It was funny, having done it several times and being centuries old, how he still found it difficult to tell someone their loved one was dead.

Hell, he'd been the cause of enough grief more times than he cared to count.

She held Nicolas as if he would dissipate into a puff of smoke, her eyes pleading. "Please," her voice begged him, as her small frame fell against his chest. "Take me."

Nicolas toyed with a stray strand of her brunette hair. His eyes searched the surrounding garden, before meeting Michele's gaze.

Taking her in his arms, he leaned down and spoke into her ear softly. "What does this life mean to you?" He felt his eyes change, dissolving into a reptilian green. Still, he held her softly, waiting for her reply.

She pressed her face into his coat, clinging to it tighter, if possible. "Nothing. I could live and die like everyone here; normal, unfulfilled, unloved. You offer me a chance to die in bliss... in ecstasy." She took a deep breath, and then looked up at him again. To her credit, she didn't show any fear at the change in his eyes. "I could live a lifetime, and not truly live as I shall with you, if even for only a moment."

Nick found himself standing in front of Mr. Vanson's door before he even realized that he'd entered the building. He took a moment to reorient himself to the current century, and double checked the apartment number prior to knocking on the door.

It was late, so Nick was patient after he knocked, waiting for a minute as he listened to the man inside, and the sound of a TV on low.

Mr. Vanson opened the door, and it was clear that he'd been worrying about his wife for some time.

"Mr. Vanson?"

The man nodded warily. Nick displayed his badge and introduced himself.

"Hello, I'm Nick Knight, Metro Homicide. I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Can I come in?"

Nick didn't want to officially tell the man of his wife's death in the apartment doorway; somehow it just seemed too cold.

Vanson nodded slowly, clearly aware of what was coming. He stepped aside, and ushered Nick in.

By the time they sat down in the small living room Vanson was a wreck, threatening to break down any second.

"This is about Amy, isn't it?" he asked quietly, sitting down heavily.

Nick sat down on the couch opposite Vanson, and nodded in confirmation. He was about to say more, but it was apparent that there was no need. He knew his wife was dead. Vanson put his head in his hands and choked back a couple sobs.

Waiting in silence, Nick observed the man's reaction. It would be important, later, if it was found that Amy had been murdered.

It took a couple minutes for Vanson to get himself together enough to speak, but when he did he met Nick's stare. "How?" he asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

'Odd.'

"We're not sure, but it appears to have been an animal attack."

"And you need information?"

Nick shook his head and stood. "Not tonight. But tomorrow, we'd like you to come into the station for some questions."

"Am I a suspect?"

Nick furrowed his brow at the misplaced question. "As I said, we believe this to be an animal attack."

"It's not," Vanson stated quickly, then almost seemed to regret the words a instant later. He sighed, and then appeared to come to some sort of decision. "I need to get this out, Detective Knight."

"Alright," Nick answered calmly, returning to his seat. He was curious as to what Vanson had to say, but his instinct told him that Vanson knew a werewolf was responsible.

"You're going to think I'm nuts," he began, twisting his wedding band nervously. "I… sometimes think I am."

Nick offered the man what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Don't be afraid to tell me. I may surprise you."

Vanson gulped, and covered his face with one hand. "We'd moved to Toronto to get away from someone who was stalking my wife. We'd thought… we thought that we'd lost him."

"Any idea who the stalker might have been?" Nick asked, taking out a small notepad and jotting down the stalker angle.

"Not really. But Amy, she suspected that the man was connected with her brother's murder."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "Her brother was murdered? Did it appear to be an animal attack as well?"

Vanson swallowed thickly. "Yes."

"What was his name?"

"Chris Jennings."

Nick scribbled down the name and shook his head, as if to himself. Why would a werewolf stalk and kill a family?

"Detective… I don't know how to say this next part. If… if you don't believe me then you can just chalk it up to a grieving mind but… my wife believed that – I mean, her brother had told her –" He stopped, embarrassed.

"You can tell me, Mr. Vanson."

"Eric," he said, taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands.

"Eric."

"You have to understand. We come from a small town in Maine. There's been a long history of vicious animal attacks in the area. These animal attacks have never been explained by the local authorities. So perhaps it's not surprising that we came up with our own theories… and myths."

Nick was silent as the man seemed to struggle with the words. "This sounds so stupid but... the myth is that werewolves are responsible."

Author's Notes

Thanks to all of you who left feedback on the first chapter. Very much appreciated, thanks!

On thequestion about Loup-Garou/Leu Garoul... yes, loup-garou is french for werewolf. However, I went back even further than the 1500s in an attempt to get a true old french term for werewolf for our dear 800 year young vampire. ;)

From the American Heritage Dictionary.

Loup-Garou: French, from Old French leu garoul : leu, wolf (from Latin lupus; see wkwo- in Appendix I) + garoul, werewolf (of Germanic origin; see w-ro- in Appendix I).

Thanks for the feedback, everyone!

-Scarlett