Chapter Eleven

Not for the first time that day, Nick found himself cursing Renard. To his further ire, the few moments he'd managed to catch a glimpse of his captain throughout the day had shown him to be faintly amused by Nick's frustration.

It wasn't just the uniformed officer that Renard had assigned as his protective detail. Explaining the officer away as Renard responding to not only Hector's death by their killer but also to Nick's attack had managed to satisfy Hank's curiosity. Matthew, however, was a different story.

To Officer McKay's- Mac, he'd insisted upon introductions- credit, he'd remained as unobtrusive as possible. The muscular six-foot, two-inch officer had more or less blended into the background as Hank, Nick, and Matthew followed up every lead they could find from processing Hector's last movements, but Nick's Grimm senses never forgot he was there.

Nick was pretty sure Matthew's own instincts were just as alert, but once Mac had been discovered to be wesen, his awareness felt a lot more like a predator tracking its prey.

As soon as Nick had shaken Mac's hand, Mac's face had rippled into one with stunning white fur and dark spots. His utter lack of reaction upon Nick seeing his true form told Nick that the officer already knew who- and what- he was. Nick had assumed as much; six months into making a name for himself as Portland's catch-and-release Grimm was more than enough time for the wesen assigned to the South Precinct to learn about him.

Mac's reaction to Matthew had been a little more than a lift of an eyebrow, but Nick's keen eyes had caught it. Whatever speculation there had been regarding Matthew's status would undoubtedly be put to rest by the end of the day.

Along with, Nick was sure, his opinion of wesen in general.

Which brought to Nick's attention the other reason he had been cursing the Prince's name. Despite what Renard had implied earlier, Nick had been picking up on Matthew's disdain for all things wesen. Now, with Renard's admonishment ringing in his ears, each look, each word from Matthew seemed to have a double edge.

At first Nick had thought it was all in his head, the result of an overactive imagination stemming from Renard's words, but even Hank was picking up on the sharp blade of intolerance Matthew wielded whenever he had to speak to Mac.

Mac took it all in stride, seemingly unruffled by Matthew's hostility. Whether it was a natural laid-back attitude helping him to not react or his years spent working under Sergeant Higgins Nick couldn't say, but he appreciated the man's steady demeanor.

The lunch hour had come and gone among follow-up phone calls and visits with various witnesses. Hank had taken the opportunity to swing by a local deli to collect several sandwiches and bags of chips on his way back from one such visit, depositing the food in the center of the table with a 'help yourself' attached.

Nick claimed one sandwich blindly, his gaze locked on a report detailing the contents collected from Hector's room. Hank whistled for his attention, waiting until he had it before tossing Nick a bottle of water.

"What's got you so wrapped up in that report anyway?" Hank asked, sitting at the table across from his partner. "Every time I turn around you've got it in front of you. You're not that slow of a reader."

Nick ignored the snicker coming from his brother's direction. "I'm trying to figure out why Hector. We've all been working this case, and we've all been alone at various points. Why him?"

Hank shrugged, opening a bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. "Opportunity?"

Nick unwrapped his sandwich, carefully avoiding Mac's knowing gaze. "Maybe. Something's just not sitting right in my head."

"Know what's not sitting right?" Matthew spoke up. "No calls. We should have heard about a new victim by now if this guy is sticking to his timeline."

"Maybe taking down a US Marshal brought a little more heat than he expected," Hank offered.

Mac grunted. "Or maybe no one's stumbled across the body of his next victim yet."

Three pairs of eyes turned in his direction.

"You're a real 'glass half-full' kind of guy, aren't you?" Hank teased.

"That's about the kind of thinking I would expect from someone in your position," Matthew said dismissively.

Nick felt his face burn with embarrassment. Hank lifted an eyebrow questioningly at Nick, who shrugged helplessly. Nick cut an apologetic look in Mac's direction. Mac simply continued to eat his lunch, completely unbothered by the blatant disrespect.

Matthew did not appear aware of the nonverbal byplay as he added mustard to his sandwich. He looked over at Nick once he was done. "So what are you searching for so hard in Hector's file?"

Nick bit into his sandwich, using the time to put his thoughts into some semblance of order. "When I was at the motel yesterday, I managed to work out that Hector was walking towards his desk when he was killed."

"Are you sure?" Matthew asked.

Nick nodded. "The spl- the evidence in the room supports it, and forensics backs me up."

"Then the killer must have already been in the room with him at that point," Hank stated. "He wasn't close enough to the door for the killer to sneak in and surprise him."

"And if his back was turned, the killer didn't pose any kind of threat," Matthew added.

"So what do we think?" Hank asked Nick. "Did Hector know him, or not?"

"If I knew what was on his desk when he was killed, I might be able to answer that," Nick replied.

Hank and Matthew both frowned. "Isn't it in the report?" Matthew asked as Hank reached across the table, sliding the folder closer and flipping through it to check for himself.

Nick shook his head. "Either they missed it or there wasn't anything to report. Even the photos don't give me a clear image of what was on the desk."

"Man, I don't know who's going to be more pissed; Renard or Kaplan," Hank commented, shaking his head.

Nick looked at Matthew. "Do you remember anything unusual from the last time you saw him?" he asked. "Anything at all?"

Matthew's eyes lowered, pain seeping onto his face. "I didn't go into his room," he stated. "We stayed in the doorway. The conversation took all of five minutes."

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Eyes turned to the sound, expecting to see Sergeant Wu or another uniformed officer step into the room. The genial atmosphere was sucked out as the door opened and Sean Renard stepped inside.

"Captain?" Hank said, confused.

Nick felt his concern ratchet up as Renard's eyes fell on him. He straightened in his chair. "Sir?"

Renard met Nick's gaze. "There's been an unexpected development with your case."

At first Nick thought he was referring to the Huntsman, but when Renard's eyes flickered past him to Mac, he wondered if his initial assumption was accurate.

"Which one?" he asked.


Of all potential victims, Sgt. Arnold had been nowhere on Nick's list.

"My contact tracked the IP address I gave him," Renard was saying as he stood with Nick in the entrance to the alleyway behind Arnold's apartment building. Mac was nearby, carefully watching the crowd while Hank and Matthew were studying the gruesome scene.

"It belonged to Arnold?" Nick couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the blue-clad legs sticking out from behind a dumpster.

Renard nodded. "We also got positive IDs from some of the wesen involved in the brawl using Arnold's HR file. I was about to follow up with the team I had sent to pick him up when they called this in."

"I know he hated me for arresting Lieutenant Orson," Nick stated. "I mean, he never liked me to start with, but I never would have thought . . ."

Renard glanced over towards Arnold's body, then stepped closer to Nick. "We need to talk. I've been trying to give you some space to process what's been happening, but this attack is the latest in a string of incidents that suggest that things are about to escalate."

Nick blinked up at him, startled at the abrupt change in topic. "Now?"

"Soon," Renard corrected. "There's a place I use for private conversations. Officer McKay knows where it is. Have him bring you there as soon as you finish up here."

Nick glanced over at Mac, who nodded in acknowledgement.

Renard strode towards where he had parked his car, not bothering with farewells. Nick watched him go, then turned to join his partner and his brother in studying the scene.

"Two law enforcement personnel in a row?" Hank was saying. "Do you suppose this guy has finally settled on a victim type?"

"I can't say I'm a fan of his type, but I'll take any help that can pin this asshole down for good," Matthew replied.

"It still doesn't fit, though," Hank insisted.

"How do you mean?" asked Nick.

Hank gestured at Arnold's body. "All of our other victims, Hector included, were killed quickly. Right? One clean sweep to sever the heads. Those were all cold; clinical. Kind of detached. This one?" Hank shook his head. "Someone put Arnold through the ringer before cutting off his head. Look."

Nick did just that, focusing fully on the departed Bauerschwein. Sure enough, he saw bruises marring Arnold's face. A closer look at the bared arms showed minor cuts and welts scoring the skin.

"Whoever did this had a serious bone to pick with him," Hank pointed out.

"Could it be a copycat?" Matthew suggested. "Maybe someone wanted revenge for something but didn't want to get blamed for it."

Nick crouched down before Arnold, eyes taking note of the exposed neck. "Maybe," he spoke up. "But I doubt it. Harper will need to confirm, but the cut looks to be a clean and confident one. It definitely looks like the work of our guy."

"So why has he changed his M.O.?" Hank asked. "From- and I can't believe I'm about to say this- standard beheadings to police officers and torture? Something's not adding up here."

"If our killer is responsible for torturing Arnold, then maybe Arnold made him angry in some way," Nick suggested, standing and brushing his hands against his jeans.

"Like that's going to narrow anything down," Hank said wryly. "He wasn't exactly in line to be named Miss Congeniality at work."

Nick hesitated.

Hank zeroed in on his partner immediately. "You know something. What is it?"

Nick glanced over at Matthew briefly, then turned back to Hank. "I . . . just found out myself. You know how Arnold was upset after I arrested Orson?"

Hank folded his arms over his chest. "You mean do I remember the guy deliberately seeking you out to harass you for doing your job?" he corrected.

Nick winced. "Yeah. So . . . turns out his grudge went a little deeper than I expected it to."

"Matthew had moved closer, standing beside Hank with a serious expression. "How deep?"

Nick hesitated again, then decided to push through the awkward conversation. "Deep enough to bribe low-level criminals into attacking me when they see me. Apparently."

Disbelief colored Hank's voice. "Wait . . . you're serious?"

Nick nodded.

Matthew glowered darkly down at Arnold's body. "Looks like the killer did us all a favor then," he stated.

Nick jerked slightly. "Matthew!"

Matthew's glare softened but didn't entirely vanish as he turned back to Nick. "What? Saves me the hassle of killing the bastard myself."

"And on that note, I think we're done here," Nick stated, clapping his hands together.

"Do you want to scope out his apartment to see if he left any clues behind?" Hank offered.

"I need to meet up with Renard to catch him up on a couple things," Nick declined. "You'll have to fly solo for now."

"Or not?" Hank turned to Matthew. "What do you say, man? Up for helping me search Arnold's apartment?"

"As exciting as that sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to decline," Matthew replied. "I want to stay here and try to get a follow-up on one of my earlier questions. I was planning to move to his car next to see if anything could be of use to us."

"More for me then." Hank jabbed a finger at Nick in warning. "Try not to get into trouble in the meantime."

Nick rolled his eyes, jerking his thumb in Mac's direction. "That's what I've got him for, apparently."

Hank moved his gaze to Mac's. "Don't take your eyes off of him, even for a second. This one seems to find trouble more than a toddler finds cookies."

"Understood," Mac replied with a smirk.

"See you back at the precinct," Nick said, leading Mac towards the street. "First person back brews a new pot of coffee."

"Last person back pays for dinner," Hank tossed at Nick's retreating form.

"That's an incentive if I ever heard one," Matthew commented. Raising his voice slightly, he called for Nick's attention. "Nick!"

Nick had just been about to exit the alley, Mac close on his heels, when his brother's call drew him up short. He turned back. "Yeah?"

Matthew's eyes shifted quickly to Mac before returning to Nick. "Watch your back."

Nick fought back the eye roll that had been summoned by Matthew's warning. "You know, despite what either of you seem to think, I actually am capable of taking care of myself."

"You keep telling yourself that," Hank teased. "See you later."

"Not if I see you first," Nick tossed back with a grin before heading out, Mac his dutiful shadow.


The place that the Prince of Portland used for private conversations turned out to be an abandoned boathouse on the Willamette River. Nick wouldn't have given it a second glance; the building was nondescript from the outside, neither thrumming with energy nor falling apart in disrepair. It simply sat patiently as if waiting for its owners to return and open it up for the next day.

Climbing out of the car, Nick moved in front of it to stare at the building. Mac came to a stop beside him.

Nick glanced at him. "This is it?"

Mac nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. "This is it."

Nick looked back at the building, frowning. "I guess I was expecting something . . . grander."

"Opulence draws attention, something we try to avoid," Mac replied, starting towards the main entrance.

Nick began to follow, but the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. He froze, slowly scanning the deserted parking lot, his instincts insisting he was being watched.

Mac noticed Nick's sudden hypervigilance and stopped as well, turning to face him. He glanced around, mimicking Nick. "What is it?"

Nick gave their surroundings another sweep. "I feel like someone's watching us."

Mac immediately woged, nose tipped up to scent the air. His eyes darted about, keener in their wesen form. Nick watched him scan the area for some sign of life.

"I'm not detecting anyone." Mac shifted back into his human form, eyes focusing on Nick. "Are you sure?"

Nick looked around yet again, hoping to notice some small movement, but nothing was turning up. Despite what his eyes were telling him, he just couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

"I've felt it before, but I couldn't see anything then, either," Nick admitted. He shook his head, turning back to Mac. "It's probably just my imagination. Forget it."

Mac wasn't entirely convinced, but he turned and led Nick across the parking lot and into the boathouse.

The entryway was devoid of furniture, dust and cobwebs collecting dutifully from disuse. The late afternoon light streamed in from bare windows, giving the open space a rather tired feel. Mac didn't hesitate, continuing straight ahead and through a door on the opposite side of the room. Nick quickened his pace to keep up, head swiveling back and forth to take everything in.

The door deposited them into a dim hallway that split into three paths after the first pair of doors. Each hallway looked identical to Nick, but Mac simply took the path on the left and continued to walk without slowing down.

The wesen finally came to a stop at a random door halfway down the corridor. Nick frowned, seeing no clue to indicate that this door was any different from the others they had passed.

Raising a fist, Mac knocked four times on the door. No answer was called from the other side, but Mac didn't appear to expect one. Reaching for the knob, he turned it and pushed the door open.

Nick followed Mac into the room, but came to an abrupt halt about two steps in. Widened eyes darted left and right, taking in the room.

In stark contrast to the rest of the building, this room was well-lit in a soft yellow glow. Carefully positioned black-out curtains blocked any light from escaping, so as not to alert anyone outside of their presence.

The room itself was large; Nick noted the dimensions and realized that it was originally two separate rooms. One side of the room held several round tables ringed with overstuffed chairs the color of a deep blue sea. An empty bar lined one wall with delicately stacked glasses on the wall over it. To Nick, it looked similar to a reception hall but on a smaller scale.

The other side of the room held a long conference table made of very sturdy, very expensive wood. Seven chairs, also a deep, plush blue, sat on one side of the table. The chair in the middle was significantly more ornate with gold filigree accenting it. Clearly, a chair suitable for royalty.

Facing the table were several rows of wooden chairs, lined up in meticulously straight lines. Everything in the room suggested it to be a room where board meetings- or council meetings- were held.

"Nick?"

Nick's head turned to where Mac stood in another doorway, partially obscured by a heavy blue and gold curtain. He cast another curious glance around the room, then strode to where Mac was waiting for him.

Mac gestured for Nick to enter the next room. Nick stepped across the threshold, curious as to what the next room held.

This room was much smaller but no less opulent. There were no windows, telling Nick it was an internal room, but carefully placed lamps illuminated all of the dark corners.

An electric fireplace sat against the far wall, unlit. In front of it sat four luxurious armchairs ringed around an old table that could have been an heirloom. Tapestries and drapes covered the walls in the same blue and gold from the other room. This room was clearly a private study; Nick idly wondered how many people had ever been invited into it.

A small stocked bar was tucked away in the corner of the room. Nick wandered over to it, curious about the kind of taste Renard had.

Nick's inquisitive mind took him around the room, studying the tapestries and art work adorning the walls and moving to admire the craftsmanship of the furniture. He had just moved to examine the electric fireplace when Renard arrived, stepping into the room.

Nick straightened, watching Renard as the taller man nodded at Mac. Mac dipped his head briefly and closed the door, leaving Nick and Renard alone.

Renard moved to one of the chairs and sat down. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."

Nick took the offered seat. "You made it sound like a matter of life and death."

"That's because it is," Renard replied. He hesitated, studying Nick as if trying to gauge his mood. "I'm afraid what I have to tell you won't be easy to hear, but I need your help."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Nick countered. "That I won't end up with a knife in my back?"

"You don't," Renard answered honestly. "You only have my word, but I would hope that your time under my command would lend some weight to that."

It was for that exact reason that Nick was conflicted in his trust for Renard, but Nick kept that to himself. "What exactly do you need my help for?"

Renard gave no outward signs, but Nick knew that Renard had picked up on his reticence. "As I'm sure you know, the Huntsman's presence in Portland has begun to destabilize my position in the community. The more people who fall victim to his work, the less they place their trust in my rule. Which is the goal my father no doubt aimed for when he sent the Huntsman here."

Nick gave a start. "Your father?"

Renard nodded. "My father, head of the House of Kronenberg, of Austria. Also known as King Frederick."

"Why would your own father do something like this?" Nick asked.

"There are . . . a number of reasons that have led us to our present relationship," Renard admitted. "Far more than we have time to share. The bottom line, you could say, is that there is no love lost between us. When I claimed Portland, my influence did not extend to Europe, so I was left in peace."

"So what changed?" Nick asked.

"My family was beginning to take notice of me and my canton as more and more wesen sought shelter here, beyond the reach of any of the Seven Houses but still protected under wesen law," Renard explained. "But what tipped the scale from watching to interfering was the addition of a Grimm to my territory."

"Aunt Marie?" Nick asked.

Renard's smile was so faint that Nick doubted anyone would have noticed it. "You, Nick."

Nick was confused. "But I don't have anything to do with Royals," he protested. "I barely even know about them!"

"Precisely," Renard said. "You have no bias towards any line. No fealty to one House over another. That makes you very dangerous to them."

"What, so all Grimms are loyal to some Royal Family or other?" Nick asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

"No," Renard replied. "In fact, your numbers are small enough I doubt many of the Grimms alive today are aligned to any Family, if any at all."

Nick still didn't understand. "Then why am I any more dangerous than them? If anything, I should pose less of a threat. I've only just begun to see wesen, and you're the only Royal I've met."

The logic was sound, but logic rarely held up against centuries of protocol, tradition, and a bloodthirst for power. Nick's answer, however, was one Renard knew would be difficult to hear.

"The most dangerous enemy is the one you cannot control," Renard hedged. "Not that Grimms have been controlled in the past, but they have always behaved true to form. You, on the other hand, do not behave the same way. And that is down to how your aunt managed to maneuver your upbringing."

Nick fought down the sudden flare of anger at Renard mentioning his aunt. "What do you mean? She didn't train me. She never once mentioned anything about being a Grimm."

"I'm afraid I don't have much information regarding her choices," Renard admitted. "During our last meeting, she didn't mention much. All she told me about that was that it was your parents' choice to keep you in the dark, and she honored that choice. However, she knew that her decision would leave you at a serious disadvantage, so she made sure to move the two of you here as you were preparing to graduate and enroll in the police academy. She knew that having you plant roots here would all but guarantee your safety while within my territory."

"And guarantee my being under your control?" Nick added bitingly.

Renard lifted an eyebrow. "Is there an instance since you transferred under my command where you believe I abused my authority?" he asked calmly. "Where I manipulated you into acting contrary to your oaths or beliefs?"

Not one that Nick could remember, and he'd tried.

Renard knew too, damn him. "You're angry with me about your aunt, and I understand that. But you have also already begun to build something here in our community that hasn't existed in centuries. If you can move past your anger, we can both, together, accomplish great things."

"Is that why you asked to meet?" Nick asked, not bothering to address the proposal until he'd had time to give it serious thought.

And figure out where he stood regarding Renard's involvement in his Aunt Marie's death.

"No," Renard said. "But the information is part of the larger issue."

"Which is?" Nick prompted.

"The Huntsman," Renard replied. "I spoke with a few contacts still loyal to me from my father's court. As it so happens, my father employed the Huntsman to handle another issue for the Family eight years ago."

The statement tugged at Nick's memory. Nick nodded. "Yeah, I heard about a rumor to that effect."

Surprise flickered in Renard's eyes, and he nodded back. "My contacts did some digging around. It would seem my suspicions were correct; my family has heard of what I've been doing and, when I disregarded their . . . suggestions . . . on what to do about the new Grimm in my canton, they sent a solution themselves."

Nick's head was spinning with the implications. "You think the Huntsman's going to come after me?"

"Eventually," Renard confirmed. "Right now, he seems content to weaken my hold on Portland. As a leader unable to protect his people, this canton will destabilize. I will lose my position here."

"That's not a great solution, but couldn't you just rebuild?" Nick asked.

Renard gave him a humorless smirk. "I imagine my family's orders for the Huntsman included my death when all is said and done."

Nick reared back, eyes wide. "Your own family would order you to be killed?"

"If it would serve their interests, yes," Renard said bluntly. "The Huntsman swears an oath with each contract; failure will result in his death, so it's highly likely that a resolution to this situation won't be without bloodshed. If there is another way, I am open to it, but I have no qualms in killing him if necessary."

Nick detested the necessity of the vow, but he hated the fact that he understood it even more. "So why invite me here?" he asked. "Why go through all these hoops? Why now?"

"I had hoped to do this on my own timeline," Renard admitted. "Reveal this to you when you've had some time to acclimate yourself to the wesen world." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Centuries ago, before the first wesen armies were disbanded, Grimms were bonded to Royal Families. In addition to ensuring that wesen soldiers fell in line and enforcing proper behaviors, they held a place in the Royal Council. Disputes between wesen, or wesen and human, fell under their purview. Grimms were held in very high esteem in those days."

"What happened to change that?" Nick asked, fascinated despite himself.

Renard lightly shook his head. "Time. Power. Wealth. The usual. Interests shift, and with them the tides of peace. Relationships fell apart, and once the wesen armies disbanded, the Grimms too were dismissed."

Disparate pieces of the puzzle, clues that Renard had been hinting at since Nick had received his aunt's letter, were beginning to come together in Nick's mind. "You want to bring that back," he said slowly. "To build that kind of community."

Surprise flickered in Renard's green eyes, and he nodded approvingly. "I do," he stated.

Nick wasn't quite done with his epiphany. "But that kind of community . . . you'll have way more influence in the wesen world. And that will make you a threat."

Renard nodded again, leaning back as he patiently allowed Nick the time to work through his thoughts.

Nick stood, gray eyes absently searching the room as his mind whirred. He took several steps towards a tapestry depicting an old family crest, eyes locking in on the symbols woven into it.

"From what I've learned so far from Monroe and Frank, the political situation among the Royal Families is tenuous at best," Nick stated. "They're sitting at a sort of stalemate, intolerant of one another but unwilling to upset the apple cart for fear of outright war. But a new power, from an unexpected direction . . . normally that would prompt all of the Families to unite against you."

He turned to Renard. "But you're one of them."

"Technically," Renard corrected.

"Technically," Nick allowed. He stared hard at his captain. "But your father sent the Huntsman after you." He shook his head slightly. "The other Families . . . they think your father is behind you gaining power. Your father had no choice but to send the Huntsman, to prove to the Families that he has nothing to do with you. To prevent the Royals from uniting against him."

Renard was impressed. "Correct, on all accounts," he said. "And with such limited information to begin with."

Nick brushed aside the compliment. "What I don't get is how I'm supposed to fit into this mess," he said. "I'm one person. A cop. I'm not a threat to anyone thousands of miles away."

"From your perspective, it wouldn't make sense," Renard agreed. "But in the last six months, you have continued in your capacity as police officer by upholding the law without a bias for race, gender, sex, ethnicity . . . or species."

"My job," Nick pointed out. "Like I said."

"And you have befriended wesen," Renard continued. "Helped them. Worked with them. Defended them. Arrested them."

Nick shrugged, gesturing at Renard in his confusion.

Renard's lips curled in a fond smile. "And in the last six months, we've had an influx of new arrivals from all over the country, and even farther. All wanting to settle in a territory where wesen laws are upheld and wesen- law-abiding wesen- feel protected."

"They can't get that in other cities?" Nick asked.

"Some," Renard replied. "Not to the degree they can in Portland, with a Royal, a Grimm, and a council keeping an eye on things, though. And the more word spreads, the more we'll see new wesen moving here. And amass enough followers, then you can eventually overthrow the old, oppressive regimes."

"Is that the endgame here?" Nick asked, feeling disappointment beginning to curl in his gut.

"No," Renard replied. "The Families are Old World. As long as they remain separate from me and my canton, I have no qualms with them."

Nick nodded, relief sweeping away his disappointment. "I still don't understand why I'm here," he admitted. "I'm already doing the things you mentioned. I don't have any intentions of stopping."

"You're still an independent entity," Renard stated. "I'd like to formally declare our alliance, to become a united front for the wesen of Portland."

Nick returned to his chair, slowly sinking into it. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

It wasn't a refusal, and Renard's frame seemed to lose some of its tension. "For the most part, nothing for you would change. You'd continue in your capacity as a police officer, and you could continue building those relationships with the members of the community. You'd just be doing so with my overt blessing."

Nick narrowed his eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

Renard nodded approvingly. "You would need to appear at council meetings; hear some of the cases brought there. More people would seek you out, and a few may ask you to intercede with me on their behalf. And, of course, I may ask you from time to time to dole out certain consequences."

Nick tensed. "I won't be a killer for hire."

"I have no interest in turning you into one," Renard assured him. "But certain offenses require certain consequences. Death is not always avoidable; as a cop, you know this."

The captain's words did little to soothe Nick's unease, and he set that aside to work through later. "I'm not agreeing to anything," he began, "but if I say yes, how exactly does this alliance happen? You used the word 'bonded' earlier."

"I did." Renard's gaze shifted away from Nick's, focusing on a nearby statuette of a man halfway through a transformation of some kind. "Traditionally, there's a ceremony to complete before witnesses. And an official appointment to the council."

Nick waited.

Renard turned back to Nick. "Of course, for it to be officially recognized by the Wesen Council, we would need to seal the oath with the Vertrauentrank."

"Of course," Nick echoed sarcastically. "And that does what, exactly?"

"Other than forge a bond?" Renard shot back.

A glimmer of amusement lit up Nick's eyes. "Other than that."

"I can't say for certain," Renard admitted. "The last documented account of its use is well over five centuries ago. It is said to build an unbreakable connection between the two who take it. Although . . . there are some accounts that describe the bond as a sort of an . . . augment of abilities. A sharing of energy that gives strength to both sides."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Nick mumbled.

"Of course, a bond of that nature also suggests a kind of tethering between both parties," Renard continued. "The lore is unclear on this, but given the nature of the Vertrauentrank, it's highly likely that injuries to one would be felt by both. From moderate pain up to and including death."

Nick stared at Renard. Renard met his gaze steadily, the silence stretched between them like taffy.

"So . . . " Nick drew out the word. "Your father sent the worst serial killer in history to destabilize your control of Portland before killing you. To help stop him and defend Portland, you and I have to take this special oath and . . . Vertrauentrank that will link us together, possibly giving us souped up powers but just as likely could kill us. That about right?"

"A vast oversimplification, but yes," Renard confirmed. "That's fairly accurate."

"And this vertrauentrank . . . ?" Nick prompted.

"A potion," Renard filled in. "For lack of a better translation."

"And you can make this thing?" Nick asked.

"I have some contacts who can bottle it for us," Renard said. "However, the recipe calls for the drinkers to say the oath while adding some of their blood. Then we drink."

Nick grimaced.

"Distasteful, but unavoidable," Renard continued. "Bonds to this degree always involve blood; it seals the binding."

Nick sat back in his chair, his thoughts tugging him down the paths of possibilities that lay before him. Despite not fully understanding the ramifications of either choice, he knew without a doubt that there would be serious consequences either way.

"You don't have to answer right now," Renard told him. "Time is short, and we do need to act quickly, but you're correct to be prudent. This is a lasting decision. You should think carefully."

"You've already decided." It wasn't a question.

Renard smiled humorlessly. "I've had the benefit of knowing about the oath. And our shared history."

"And you're okay with this?" Nick pressed. "Of bonding to me?"

The weight of the Prince's gaze fell on Nick's shoulders. "If I didn't trust you- didn't believe in you as a Grimm who cared for the people in this canton, you wouldn't be given this offer in the first place."

Nick had the sneaking suspicion that there was more he would not have been given, but he wisely chose to remain silent.

"Here." Renard reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded slip of paper. He extended it to Nick, who took it and opened it. A sentence was written in a language that Nick didn't quite recognize but he immediately identified his captain's elegant script.

"It's the oath that must be recited over the Vertrauentrank," Renard explained. "The language is Romanian. You should memorize it. If you decide to go through with the bond, I imagine we won't have the luxury of time. Better to be prepared."

Nick folded the note and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

Renard nodded and stood. "Please let me know the minute you decide." He started to turn towards the door, but paused and looked back at Nick. "And . . . thank you. For hearing me out. And not immediately dismissing the offer."

Nick nodded mutely. Renard held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and strode from the room.

Mac was inside the small room before the door had a chance to close. Nick quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You didn't happen to hear any of that, by chance, did you?" he asked.

"Of course not," Mac replied easily.

Nick waited.

"Though, if you need help with Romanian inflections, I know a guy," Mac continued.

Nick snorted and stood. "Think it's too much to hope that Hank and Matthew have already broken the case wide open and this will all be over by the time we get back to the precinct?"

The two began walking towards the exit, Nick mentally noting the twists and turns as they moved.

"I suppose that depends on how often your hopes become reality," Mac replied.

"Given the fact I was hoping not to be assigned protective custody, I'd say not often," Nick quipped.

Mac chuckled appreciatively, leading the way outside of the building and into the fading light of evening. Renard hadn't quite made it to his car, standing several feet away and speaking into the phone pressed to his ear.

Nick took several steps out of the building before his instincts slammed to the front of his mind and he froze.

Mac immediately stopped and turned to him, frowning.

"Someone's here." Nick's eyes darted past the deserted parking lot and to the buildings and trees surrounding them.

Mac woged, slowly searching their surroundings before turning back to Nick. "Are you sure?"

The looming sense of danger skittered across Nick's senses, the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to rise. "He's here."

Mac glanced over his shoulder to no avail. "I'm not picking up anyone but the Prince's guards."

Nick took a single step forward, then stopped again. He let the pull of his instincts take over, shifting his stance into one of readiness. His eyes pierced the shadows, searching for the source of his unease.

For a long moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Nothing moved; even the trees appeared still.

Nick couldn't explain it, but he sensed the danger narrowing in one direction. Nick's head whipped to the side. "Captain!"

Renard's head snapped up, his body turning towards Nick.

The move saved his life.

The crack of a gunshot echoed off of the buildings around them. Renard grunted, a deep crimson stain blooming high on his chest near his shoulder. The force of the impact drove Renard against his car, his phone slipping out of nerveless fingers as he slid down the car and onto the ground.

Nick didn't have a chance to react. The gunshot had galvanized Mac into action. Nick was suddenly grabbed and pressed down beside their car, Mac's body shielding him from danger.

A long figure darted out of the shadows, running nimbly for Renard's car. Nick saw it and started to struggle against Mac.

"Let me up!" he ordered.

Mac drew his weapon, eyes still scanning for the sniper. "You need to stay put."

Nick's eyes blazed in anger. "Last I checked, I wasn't the target. We need to help the captain. Look!"

Mac glanced and, to Nick's utter shock, returned his gaze to their surroundings.

"Mac!" Nick snapped.

"That's one of the Prince's guards," Mac told him. "It's fine. Just stay put; you can't help anyone if you get shot too."

The shadowy figure coalesced into that of a woman with dark hair. She reached Renard's car, skirting around it and dropping to the ground beside him. Unwilling to leave Renard's fate in unknown hands, Nick twisted his body out from under Mac's restraining hand, rolling to the side and scrambling over to Renard's side.

The woman was pressing her hands down on the bullet wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. At Nick's arrival, she glanced up. Her snarl rippled into the visage of a Hexenbiest.

"You need to leave," she ordered. "Now."

Nick ignored her, adding his hands to hers and pressing down firmly. Renard groaned in protest, eyes fluttering.

"Stay with us, Captain!" Nick ordered. He glanced quickly at Mac who had just joined them. "Call for an ambulance!"

"Help is already on the way," the Hexenbiest told him flatly.

"The shooter?" Mac asked.

"My sisters are tracking him now," the Hexenbiest replied. "We'll see to the Prince. Get the Grimm out of here. Now."

Nick shook off the hand that Mac placed on his arm, glaring at the Hexenbiest. "I'm not going anywhere!"

". . . Nick . . ."

Nick looked down at Renard, half-lidded green eyes speaking of pain but determination. "Sir? It's going to be okay. Just hang in there."

"We can't . . . be found here . . ." Renard gasped. ". . . you need . . . to get out of here."

Nick's jaw clenched stubbornly. "You need help."

"I . . . have help." Renard's eyes shifted past Nick. "Get him to safety."

The Hexenbiest withdrew one of her hands, wiping it on her shirt and reaching into her pocket. Before Nick had a chance to move, she held up her hand, palm up, and blew something into Nick's face.

Nick sputtered and coughed, rearing back and waving his hands in front of his face. An invisible weight began to press down on his limbs, his body slumping.

"What . . . ?" he managed to get out, falling back.

Arms caught him and hoisted him up into a fireman's carry. Darkness pressed in on all sides.

"No . . . stop . . ." Nick tried to push the darkness back, but the weight was too strong.

He was unconscious within minutes.