Monroe turned to deal with the shorter man, who was in the process of drawing a sword with his uninjured hand.

Monroe pushed him backwards, sending him back to the dirt, and pinned him there, pressing the man's own sword against his neck with one hand, pinning his good arm with the other. He pressed his weight down on the guy's legs so he couldn't move. He could hear the man under him gasping, wriggling, struggling. He pressed the flat of the blade harder against his neck.

He glanced up to see Rosalee send the other guy reeling with a kick to the ribs. He regained his balance, and took a swing a her, but she dogged it agilely, landing a blow to his temple. He crumpled to the ground. She crouched beside him, pressing her fingers to his neck. She snarled as she came out of Wogue.

"What the hell is she doing to my brother?" The guy under him choked out.

"Making sure he's still breathing," Rosalee replied, standing. "Not that you'd have done the same for us."

"Damn straight," He replied, trying to wriggle from under Monroe.

"Just stop it," Monroe admonished. "You're staying right here."

"You OK?" he asked her.

"Fine. Are you?"

"He got me on the side."

"Let me see, how bad is it?"

"I think I'll live. We've got to do something with these guys, though. And get this, they can see us. I think they're Grimm."

"This one's out cold. I've got something perfect for the other in the car, though. Just hold him for a minute!"

She ran to her car, footsteps pounding in the still air.

"What are you gonna do with us, huh, you fugly sons of bitches?" the man he held rasped.

"A lot less than you deserve," he muttered back.

Yeah, a whole lot less.

He could have sworn he saw the guy flinch at his words.

"Got it," Rosalee replied. She was back, with a cloth pouch in her hand.

"Can you get his mouth open?"

The man scowled, as if to say, 'like hell you are'.

"Do what she says, or we'll do it the hard way."

The man's expression of anger and disgust deepened, his lips pressed together tightly, an unmistakable terror showing in his eyes.

"Fine," Rosalee shrugged and pinched his nose shut. Several seconds passed, with the man trying futilely to wriggle from under Monroe's hold, before his mouth opened, gasping for air, as Rosalee pressed the bag against it—

He inhaled a whoosh of pungent-smelling herbal powder, and coughed once, as his eyes rolled back in his head, his body going limp.

"That should keep him out long enough to tie him up," she said.

"I'll go get some rope or something. Make sure they stay put." she said as she offered him a hand up, which he took, wincing with pain.

Monroe limped over to the steps to the porch where he sat down, holding his wound with one hand. As the adrenaline wore off, the pain kicked in. He shifted out of Wogue, feeling blood trickle down his side from the open cut. It was worse than he'd thought.

Rosalee disappeared into the house, leaving him with the two subdued intruders. He slowed his breathing, building on the yoga he practiced regularly, and then started pressing in against the cut to try to stem off the bleeding. He gasped as he did so at the sharp stab of pain. "Oh, damn," he muttered, fighting to maintain control of his breathing pattern. He couldn't do full meditation since that would mean losing focus on the situation, but…deep breathing would at least help slow his heart rate, and also the bleeding.

Presently, Rosalee came through the front door, and down the steps where Monroe sat. She carried a roll of duck tape.

"Oh, you've got to let me look at that," she exclaimed

"No, we need to get them tied up first."

"Yeah. But you stay there, OK? Let me do this. You're already bleeding enough as it is."

He nodded.

She shifted into full Wogue, and with the aid of the increased strength, rolled the larger man over onto his stomach with ease, and lashed his wrists together behind his back with the duck tape.

She moved then to the smaller man, who she treated likewise.

"OK, now, I guess get them inside, yeah?" she asked.

Monroe nodded, getting to his feet. "Let me help."

"OK," she assented, her concern showing in her voice.

They carried both inside, Rosalee still in Wogue, carrying most of the weight. Monroe was now panting heavily.

He sat weakly in a chair beside the unconscious intruders ,who they had placed slumping against the couch.

"Hmm, they could get up and fight like that still," Monroe pointed out. "They're nasty tough. Really wanted to kill me."

"I'll fix that." She taped their ankles together, to the nearer leg of the coffee table that was in front of them. "Might not hold them for long, but better than nothing, yeah?

"Yeah," he groaned.

"Now, no more excuses, you're bleeding way too much. I need to fix you up."

She offered him her shoulder, helping him to the kitchen.