Prologue:

The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. The Grimm brothers had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions.

Wesen. That's what one of the Grimm brothers had called them in their other writings; in the journals and manuscripts they'd kept, cataloging these beings who walked among humans, yet were anything but.

Though Jacob Grimm had not been the first of his kind - those who were capable of seeing these creatures, these wesen, for what they truly were - for whatever reason, the men and women who possessed this same ability, this same birthright, would primarily become known as Grimms throughout the wesen world.

Perhaps it was because of how meticulously the elder Grimm brother had kept records, or how he had been the first to re-establish connections and relationships with others of his kind for the first time in many centuries, allowing the exchange of knowledge and organizing a more methodical way of dealing with the creatures their forefathers believed must be eradicated.

Though no one knew how or why, at some point, long before the brothers penned their first novel - no doubt inspired by the eldest brother's encounters and retold as folklore by the younger - those who now called themselves Grimms had taken up the responsibility to protect humans from wesen, slaughtering entire bloodlines of these creatures without hesitation or remorse.

Never considering that they themselves weren't exactly human either.

For just as wesen were born unto wesen, Grimms were born into Grimm families. The ability to see the truth, literally, passed through the family bloodlines, but there was only ever one Grimm in a family at a time. Possessing special abilities, Grimms had superior strength and stamina, as well as an ability to heal faster from injury. They were quick studies in the use of weaponry and had a natural talent for art and story-telling, which was a necessary trait given that they were compelled to chronicle all of their wesen encounters.

However, the most important gift was their ability to see a wesen woge when others could not.

A woge was when a creature would change from their human to wesen form, revealing their true, animalistic or nightmarish self. Although humans were capable of seeing a creature for what they truly were should it woge fully, most woges were a half measure, a demi-woge as some called it, only perceptible to other wesen - because they possessed wesen sight - and Grimms who could use this trait to identify their next target. However, it was also during a wesen's woge, demi or full, that they could, in turn, identify a Grimm as well.

While Grimms only existed through birthright - a new one obtaining his or her powers when the previous Grimm in their family line died - not all creatures were born wesen. Some were made. Which, in the Grimms' eyes, was one of the reasons they were so dangerous. Although gemacht - created - wesen were typically outcasts, and not favorably looked upon within wesen culture, the fact that some creatures had the ability to curse humans with a bastardization of their form, giving them the worst of their traits, was more than enough reason to eradicate their kind.

Some Grimms wondered whether wesen created these halflings as a way to throw suspicion off themselves, leaving Grimms to deal with these feral, newly turned and disoriented wesen while the pure-blooded wesen made their escape. Perhaps they were created for these types of distraction or even as a way for wesens to draw the attention of Grimms towards rival groups, using the hunters to dispatch their enemies for them. Whatever the reason, gemacht wesen were typically hunted by Grimms and wesen alike, considered by both sides to be an abomination, therefore, little was known about them, but there were some records within the logs kept in Grimm families, if one cared to look.

Killian Jones, however, had no interest in looking, or knowing, or learning, or indeed, having anything to do with his family's Grimm legacy.

He and his brother, Liam, had been raised with the knowledge of their mother's family's ancestry. She had been the Grimm for her family line, until her death when Liam was sixteen and Killian twelve. A car accident that had claimed both of their parents' lives, and had altered Liam's. Violently.

Upon Alice's death, Liam had acquired the powers and abilities of the Grimm, but not the discipline or the skills to hone them. Fate, being the fickle, wretched bitch that she was, had placed the Jones brothers into a foster family of klaustreich, an alley-cat type creature that was prone to aggression and cruelty, as well as jealousy and a sense of possessiveness towards anything or anyone they felt a proprietary pull towards. Not typically known for their altruism, they likely only fostered children for the paycheck and as the Jones boys could attest, often mistreated and abused their charges.

The boys might well have been able to endure if the klaustreich son had not, in an attempt to intimidate and scare Killian into submission, woged with Liam in the room. Once the family had identified Liam as a Grimm, all hell had broken loose.

Fortunately, as most Grimms did, Alice Jones had made preparations in the event of her and her husband's death, leaving the care of her sons and the knowledge of her bloodline in the hands of a fellow Grimm, Nemo. A longtime friend of the family, Nemo had, unfortunately, been overseas when he'd heard the news of Alice and Brennan's demise. Having just arrived in town with the intention of taking custody of the boys, he showed up to the house with the authorities on the very same day the cat had been let out of the bag, so to speak.

Battered and bruised, but none too worse for wear, the Jones boys - who had fought off the feral, feline family and barricaded themselves in one of the rooms - were removed from the home, and into Nemo's care. The clowder of klaustreichs was arrested by the police, who thought they had stumbled upon yet another sad, but all too common case of child abuse and neglect within the foster system.

That tussle with Liam was not the last time the klaustreichs met a Grimm in battle. However, the next one did not end as favorably for them. Nemo made certain of that.

Shouldering the responsibility left to him, Nemo moved the boys to Maine for a fresh start. By all outward appearances they lived a normal life, but nothing could have been further from the truth, although Killian certainly was allowed more normalcy than his brother.

After school, the boys had to endure hours of instruction, learning the various types of wesen and the most effective ways of killing each of them. Decapitation seemed to be the most popular choice among their Grimm ancestors, earning them the secondary moniker of dēcapitāre, as noted in the journals they kept in the basement of their Nantucket style house. That was until a break in had made Nemo overly cautious, causing him to acquire a second property - an old, abandoned, paint factory warehouse - where he'd fashioned an off the grid, bunker-style safe house on the harbour. He moved all of the Grimm artifacts, manuscripts, weapons, and supplies there, while keeping he, Liam, and Killian in the family home for appearances.

As the years passed and the boys grew older, Nemo and Liam spent less and less time at home. Often they crashed at the safehouse after a late night of sparing or studying, or they would be gone for days at a time… hunting. Though he missed his brother, Killian had reconciled the fact that he'd effectively lost him the day of their parent's accident. Nothing had been the same between them since Liam had become a Grimm, but that did not mean they did not still care for and love one another. They just weren't as close as they had once been, and they likely never would be.

After Killian had graduated high school and went off to college, the three men had effectively gone their separate ways. Nemo had fulfilled his promise and duty to Alice, and Liam had his own path as a Grimm to forge. During undergrad, Killian got a chance to embrace a true sense of normalcy for the first time in his life. Campus life, girls, classes, girls, parties, girls; he relished it all and even found his calling during one of the university's many job fairs and recruitment events. With his degree in criminology completed, he enlisted in the police academy and quickly worked his way through the ranks of the Storybrooke Police Department, located in the very town Nemo had moved them to all those years ago.

Though the Nantucket style house had long been sold, Nemo had transferred the deed of the safehouse to Liam and Killian, using false names and a dummy corporation in order to hide the identity of its true owners. While Killian wanted nothing to do with his family's legacy, and had gone to great pains to try and forget the horrors he had learned about as an adolescent, he had relented when Liam begged him to take up residence at the safehouse for his own protection.

"Please, little brother," Liam pleaded over the phone, the sketchy connection muffling Killian's petulant response of 'younger' before he continued, "I know you want to distance yourself from me and our heritage, but if the wrong sort of wesen found out you were related to a Grimm, then-"

"Aye, I know," Killian said with an exasperated sigh. "Having a Grimm brother puts a target on my back. I'm not a fool, Liam."

"Then you'll live at the safehouse?" Liam pressed. "And you won't ever tell anyone or bring anyone there? You swear?"

"I swear."

He'd been good to his word. Though he rented a modest studio apartment in the city so that he might have a physical address to keep on file with his work and avoid questions, his real residence for the past several years had been the loft in the safehouse, one level up from the bunker that still held remnants and reminders of who his family truly was, books and artifacts Liam had left behind when he'd filled a trailer and left Storybrooke for bloodier horizons. Books and artifacts Killian was determined to ignore, even if part of the agreement in him staying there was that he'd watch over things and keep them protected.

Perhaps, if he'd ever taken the time to look through those manuscripts when he'd dusted and oiled their bindings and covers, he would have realized the danger he'd fall victim to before it was too late.

~/~

"Are you sure this is even a homicide?" Killian asked the detectives who were about to leave the gruesome scene. He was still just a uniformed officer, but his application to take the detectives exam had been accepted and he was eager to work crime scenes through a detective's eye. "Looks more like an animal attack."

"DNA will tell us for sure," one of them said while scribbling down something in his notebook. "Make sure the scene stays secure while CSU finishes their work." Shooting him an apologetic look, he added, "I'm afraid it's gonna be a long night."

"Will do, detective," Killian replied, lifting the crime tape for them, so they could pass under it and make their way back to their vehicle. Their heated vehicle with comfortable seats and snacks likely stashed away in the glove compartment.

Killian sighed and turned his attention back to the grisly site where a hiker had been found mauled and torn to pieces, with no clue as to what could have done such a thing except, strangely enough, a lone, fresh, boot print that had not belonged to the victim. He had asked whether this was truly a case of homicide because that was the question other officers and even some of the techs had been asking, but in reality Killian had his own suspicions. Suspicions that might have him calling his brother later should the case be deemed an animal attack, knowing full well it had not been an animal who had caused such carnage. He may not remember much from the lessons Nemo had tried to teach him alongside Liam, but he knew enough to suspect that this attack had been committed by a wesen. And a brutal one at that.

Killian's pocket buzzed and he reached in to retrieve his cell phone, groaning silently at who was on the other end of the line.

"What is it, Will?" he answered. "I don't have time for whatever it is you're calling about. I'm trying to secure a crime scene."

"Aw, come on, Jones. Not you, too. It's Friday night, the moon is full, you ought to be out on the town and livin' it up!"

Killian tried to stifle a half smile, then asked, "What do you mean, not you, too?"

"Rob's gotten roped into extra duty tonight as well," his mate informed him. "Something about a missing girl over in Glowerhaven."

Glowerhaven, like Storybrooke, was a suburb of the larger city Killian's precinct had partial jurisdiction in. Robin, Will, and Killian had all met at the police academy and despite Will washing out several months in and Rob being assigned to a different precinct, they'd all remained close over the years. Will now ran a bar at the epicenter of the intersecting lines of the city, Glowerhaven, and Storybrooke, and often tried to make it a hub for his mates and their uniformed colleagues.

Unfortunately, it sounded as though the SPD and the GPD would be too busy with their respective cases to live it up anywhere, much less at Will's bar.

"Sorry, mate," Killian commiserated. "Afraid I've got a long night ahead of me as well. Rain check?"

"Yeah, yeah," Will replied in a feigned disgruntled tone. "I've heard that before. I'll add it to your growing tab of IOUs."

"I promise I'm good for it."

"Yeah, sure." A more serious sigh crackled over the line before Will added, "Take care and watch your back out there, mate. The world is full of crazies."

"Will do," Killian promised, ending the call then muttering to himself, "Don't I know it."

For the next several hours Killian vigilantly patrolled the perimeter of the crime scene while the techs gathered evidence. It was just after midnight when the CSU officer in charge told him they were finished.

"Do you need me to have one of my guys stay to help you finish clearing the scene?"

"No," Killian replied, waving them off. "You lot still have hours of work ahead of you." With his thumb in his belt and his hip cocked to one side, Killian jutted his chin towards the scene and said, "It's only a bit of tape and one final patrol. Nothing I can't handle."

"Well, if you're sure," the tech said, already motioning for their people to pack up their things and head out.

Killian watched the vans depart and began tearing down the police tape they'd used to cordon off the area. The techs had left behind one of their flood lights for him to use while finishing his own tasks, but after he stowed it away in his cruiser he realized how unnecessary that had been. The moon was bright enough for him to do a final patrol with the assistance of his flashlight to illuminate the hidden areas within the trees' shadows.

He'd just finished a sweep of the perimeter when the skin at the back of his neck prickled and his hair began to stand on end. The area, which moments ago had been softly soundtracked by an ambiance of crickets and distant hoots of owls, had gone quiet.

Too quiet.

Reaching down to his holster, he flicked loose the restraining strap with his thumb before palming his side arm. "Who's there?" Killian called out as more prickles of unease crept over his skin and up his spine. "Storybrooke PD! Identify yourself!"

Movement flickered in his periphery and the quick succession of snapping twigs alerted him to someone fleeing the scene.

"Halt!" he yelled out while in hot pursuit with his gun drawn. "Storybrooke PD, I demand you stop and identify yourself!"

Barely able to keep pace, Killian chased after the suspect. His attempt to call in the incident over the radio on his shoulder had been met with static as he was clearly too far out of range. Not wishing to lose the perp, he did not want to risk digging his phone from his pocket, lest it slow him down. The pursuit lasted for an agonizing length of time, drawing Killian deeper and deeper into the woods, his legs burning and his lungs screaming from the extreme exertion.

He finally stopped after bursting into a clearing, biting back curses under his heaving breaths for having lost sight of the suspect. Holstering his weapon, he doubled over with his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. A painful stitch began to form at his side and sweat from his forehead threatened to blur his vision.

The snap of a branch was the only warning he had before something solid collided with him, knocking him to the ground. Inhuman snarls and the gnashing of teeth curdled Killian's blood even before he caught sight of the monstrous wesen he was currently trying to fight off with all his might.

Blutbad. The Big, Bad Wolf. In full woge and ready to tear Killian's throat out.

With his left forearm braced against the beast's neck in an attempt to keep its canines from getting any closer, Killian reached down to try and retrieve his gun. Searing pain ripped through his arm. The blutbad had chosen to sink its teeth into the nearest bit of flesh he could get to, and Killian screamed as the bite turned to tearing. A shot went off, startling the creature and forcing him to release his prey, and it took Killian a moment to realize he had fired the weapon while in the throes of agony. Nearly blinded by the pain, Killian sat up and took aim at the fleeing blutbad, but could not manage to get another shot off before it disappeared into the trees. Shakily, he got to his feet, a howl in the distance making his blood run cold and causing his entire body to shake.

He had to get out of the woods. He had to call for back-up. He had to…

Stumbling, he headed back towards his cruiser. At least… he thought he was heading that direction. Brambles and branches scraped against his face and caught on his uniform while everything around him turned hazy. Off to his left he could see the flicker of a campfire. No. That wasn't right. There were no campsites in this part of the forest, only hiking trails with strict policies regarding nighttime use. He headed towards the flames anyway and had to shield his eyes when he got closer, the light practically blinding him.

"Is anyone… is anyone there?" he called out, weakly, even as his other senses were being assaulted. He could smell a pungent mix of ingredients but had not the knowledge to identify them. There had been a grating sound of stone scrapping stone that had stopped when he'd entered the site, and it had been followed by a gasp that he was certain had meant to be soft and nearly silent, yet it had rang clearly in his ears.

Unable to hold himself up, Killian collapsed to the ground, his entire body shaking violently and causing his teeth to chatter together. Footfalls pounded against the ground like a drumline and he managed to pry his eyes open in time to see a woman rushing to his side.

"H-Help," he pleaded. His arm was still on fire from the pain while his body was wracked by chills. When the women bent over him, he was certain he was starting to become delirious as well. What other explanation could there be for an angel to appear to him?

"What happened?" she asked, looking him over. "Were you-"

"Attacked," he choked out, lifting his arm so she could see his wound.

Peeling back the torn remains of his uniform, she examined the bite mark and her face grew pale and pensive.

"Oh, no," she murmured.

Quickly, she stood and rushed back to where she'd come from. Killian tilted his head backward to try and keep his eyes on her, not wanting to let her out of his sight for several reasons. The scraping sound returned as she began to grind something with her mortar and pestle and though he could not decipher the words, he could hear them slip from her lips in a chant. Blackness began to creep from the corners of his vision, but not before he saw an unnatural shimmer erupt from beneath her skin. The last coherent thought he had before slipping into oblivion was that she must be an angel, because witches did not possess such beauty when they woged.

Quite the opposite really.

~/~

His body was stiff, his clothes soaked through from sweat, causing him to shiver. Attempting to pry his eyes open he coughed past the cottony feel lining his mouth and throat, then groaned when he began to shift positions.

"Don't sit up too fast," a soft, feminine voice warned him.

A hand pressed against his chest and the padding of whatever he was laying on dipped. Blinking, he tried to focus his vision, but had to clamp his eyes shut again when the soft lighting of the room blinded him.

"Bloody hell, that's bright!"

"Oh, right!" the woman said. He could feel the bedding move as she did, and the room dimmed behind his eyelids. "There," she said a bit further away now. "That should be better."

Forcing his eyes open, he winced in anticipation. Fortunately, the lighting was easier on his vision now, so he took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. Bottles and canisters filled wooden shelves of deeply stained and aged cases that lined the long walls of the room. There was a massive workbench in the center of the space with a door at the far end. Behind him was a large, curtained window that overlooked the street. He could hear the occasional car and sounds of the city beyond. Beside him was a cased opening that led out to another space. Some sort of shop, by the looks of it. Spices and aromatics danced on his tongue and made his sinuses flare and itch.

Achoo!

"Bless you," the voice said from the shadows next to the opening, and the blond angel from the forest emerged with a wary, yet concerned expression.

"You," Killian said in a scratchy and unfamiliar voice. He tried to clear his throat, but it was too dry. Undeterred, he said, "You're the woman from the woods. The hex, uh… hexen…" He cursed himself for not being able to remember the wesen term for witch.

"A hexenbeist?" she supplied with a tone of surprise.

"Aye!" Killian replied a little too enthusiastically, erupting into a fit of coughs.

Her expression and posture still guarded, she took a few steps towards him, assessing him with her brilliant green eyes. "You know about… us?" she said. "Wesen?"

"Aye," he replied in a tone of gravel.

"How?"

Again, Killian tried to clear his throat, but he seemed incapable of producing any saliva.

"Could I trouble you for some water?"

The request snapped her out of her wary, slightly accusatory stance, and she quickly made her way to a small fridge at the back of the room. Killian considered his answer carefully as she grabbed a water bottle and brought it back to him, giving himself a few extra seconds to craft his response as he slowly sipped the water and coaxed moisture back into his throat, knowing she'd likely ask him again…

"So, how do you know about wesen?"

"I, uh…" he began, working through a few more coughs and deciding that something close to the truth would be best. "I had the misfortune of being fostered by a family of klaustreichs after my parents died. The son took great pleasure in tormenting me with his woged state." His brows knit together and he cocked his head to the side as he glanced up at her. "How did you know I wasn't just wesen myself?"

The pinched look of concern returned to her features and her gaze slipped from his down to his bandaged arm. "Because of that," she told him. "If you were wesen then it wouldn't have…"

She turned and grabbed one of the chairs resting against the wall. Bringing it over, she set it next to the bed then lowered herself onto the seat with a resolved and resigned sigh.

"You knowing about wesen is going to make this a little easier to explain, but it by no means is going to make it easier to accept."

"Make what easier to accept?" Killian asked with a sense of dread.

"Do you know what attacked you tonight?" she asked.

"Aye." Killian nodded. "A blutbad. In full woge."

She shifted uncomfortably, causing the chair to creak annoyingly in his ears. "And do you know the significance of him being in full woge during the full moon?"

"I, uh…" Frantically, Killian searched his memory for any knowledge regarding blutbaden and the full moon. He couldn't seem to concentrate over the pounding of his heart and ripples of anxiety coursing through him, though.

Perhaps sensing his distress, or simply wishing to deliver the blow with a measure of comfort, the woman took Killian's hand and asked, "What do you know about lycanthropes? Werewolves?"

Killian shot off the bed with an unnatural speed and agility, forcing the woman from her chair and causing her to skitter back several steps. Her hands, raised protectively in front of her, were illuminated with a soft glow that seemed to originate from her palms. Killian lifted his own in supplication, an apology slipping from his lips.

"Sorry, love. I just…"

I can't be, he thought with chaos and hysteria threatening to overtake him. I can't be a lycanthrope. Liam kills lycanthropes.

Shaking the thought from his head, Killian swallowed hard and fixed his attention back onto the wary woman.

"Apologies," he began again. "I don't know how I… I'm not sure what-"

"It's okay," she assured him, lowering her hands as she took measured steps towards the workbench. "I can only imagine how much of a shock this is." She braced her hands against the top of the table, an old, worn book laying open between them. "According to this, you're going to feel the effects of the change immediately. So, it's only natural that you-"

"The change?" Killian croaked out. "You mean… becoming a werewolf? I'm a… Are you saying, that thing has turned me into a…"

"Yes."

Something about her direct yet compassionate tone eased the hysteria threatening to overtake him. Releasing a heavy breath, he ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the strands at the back, before dropping his hand to his chest where he pressed against the thundering in his ribcage.

The sound of the book sliding across the table pulled his attention back to the woman. Her expression beckoned him forward as she propped herself onto one of the stools that had been tucked under the work surface. Slowly, he shuffled forward until he stood hovering over the open pages of the book. He was struck by the similarities it held to the journals and manuscripts he'd been forced to study in his youth, with hand sketched illustrations and captions that had been translated into a myriad of languages.

"Not all blutbaden can create a lycanthrope," she told him. Reaching over, she gestured to a section of text. He read without comprehending, his mind still racing. Fortunately, she paraphrased it for him.

"Lycanthropes, or more commonly known as werewolves, are created by blutbaden with a specific genetic mutation. The blutbad essentially goes off the rails during the full moon, and if they bite a human, and the human lives, they transfer some of their wesen characteristics to them."

"Which characteristics?" Killian asked, even though he already had a pretty good idea.

"Your senses will be heightened. Sight, sound, smell. You'll notice an increase in them in your day to day life, but they'll be on overdrive, like they are now, during the full moon."

"Will I…" he paused, swallowing back the bile working its way up his throat. "Will I… transform? Woge?"

"According to this, you'll only be capable of woging during the full moon. I don't think you'll see other wesen woge outside of that time frame either." Bringing the book back towards her, she turned the page and added, "Basically, everything is intensified during the full moon. Your senses, your mood and emotions, your abilities. You'll be stronger, faster, have greater endurance and stamina, but will also be prone to volatile reactions. Your temper will be shorter. You'll likely be more aggressive."

"Violent, you mean."

"Maybe," she replied. "Aggression doesn't have to turn into violence. You'll just be more…"

"Like a powder keg."

Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his, causing his eyes to flick up to hers.

"I can help with that."

Relief and hope filled him and he gripped her hand in his. "You can… you can reverse this? You can cure me?"

She squeezed his hand and her expression effectively burst the elated bubble that had formed in his chest. "There's nothing I can do to make you human again," she said, remorsefully. "But there is something I can do to help mitigate the symptoms and keep you from falling prey to the worst of the condition."

His shoulders slumped and he took a moment to come to terms with his new reality. He was no longer human. From this point forward his life would never be the same. It was like losing his parents all over again. Like losing Liam to the calling and duty of being a Grimm. He already hid so much of himself from those closest to him. From Will. From Robin. Now he would have to hide away these parts of himself from Liam. From Nemo. No one could ever know the fullness of who he was. The true him.

He wasn't even sure if he knew who he was.

Bringing himself back to the here and now, Killian pulled his hand from the woman's grip and asked, "What do you mean? How can you help me with… all of this?"

Again, she turned their focus back to the book. "Wolfsbane is a plant known for its uses against blutbad," she told him. "It can hide one's scent from them. It can also subdue them if they ingest it in great quantities." Her eyes fell to where his arm was bandaged. "I made a paste of it and other herbs to apply to the bite so your transition would be less… intense, and it appears there is a tonic you can take at the outset of each full moon that can help minimize the effects of the cycle."

Turning the pages again, she gestured towards a list of ingredients as well as a recipe for the tonic.

"There isn't much here about the tonic's effectiveness or what side effects it might have, so it would probably be best if we plan for you to just stay with me during the next full moon so I can keep tabs on you. See how it makes you react."

Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, Killian moved into the woman's personal space and wound a section of her hair through his fingers, his eyes hooded in a smolder and sultry tone dancing on his tongue as he cheeked, "If you wish to spend time cooped up together, love, just say so. No need to stand on ceremony."

The widening of her eyes and sharp gasp falling from her lips made him balk and stumble back.

"I'm sorry, lass. I…" Forcibly shaking himself he took a tentative step back and declared, "I have no idea where that came from. Please forgive my…"

"It's okay," she said in an amused tone, waving off his apology.

"It is?" he replied, incredulously.

"I mean," she continued, "I understand where it came from."

"You do?"

She hummed, affirmatively, and explained, "It's a blutbad trait. Using flirtation, charm, and guile to disarm their prey or throw off their rivals." Turning the page again, his eyes fell to an excerpt he vaguely recognized from the Red Riding Hood tale. "How do you think the big, bad wolf charmed his way into the grandmother's house after ingratiating himself with Little Red?"

"I don't see you as prey," he said in the hopes of assuring her, even as something within him wanted to counter the statement.

"Of course you do," she said with a shrug. "I'm an attractive woman all alone with you." Wetting her lips (which absolutely did not have his pulse rate ticking up and his uniform trousers tightening), she swallowed and cleared her throat before adding, "Some part of you is provoked by that and your new wesen side, being severely heightened, became overly stimulated by it. Hence the inappropriate proposition."

"I swear you have nothing to fear from me, lass," Killian vowed. "You've done me a great service and the last thing I would ever wish to do is-"

"I know," she assured him. "I told you. It's okay."

Killian exhaled a shaky breath and a thought occurred to him. "Why are you so keen to help me? Not that I'm not grateful. It's just… you don't even know me."

"I know you didn't ask for this," she said. "I know, being a cop, that you're a man who likely just wants to help people and that you were just out there trying to do your job." Her demeanor, which up to this point had been a mixture of confidence, toughness, and candor with an undercurrent of compassion, shifted to one of vulnerability. "Also," she began in a quiet voice. "The truth is… I'm not a natural wesen either. I'm a gemacht, a made wesen. I'm not… I'm not entirely accepted by others of my kind. By the covens. So I guess…"

"You have an understanding of what I'm going through and what I'll face."

Straightening her shoulders, her resilient bearing returned. "No one should have to go through this alone," she told him while opening a drawer and taking out a small card and pen. "So, take this," she said, handing him the card after she'd jotted something down. "It's my business card for the shop, with my personal number on the back. Feel free to call or come by any time."

Killian took the card from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers which sent a ripple up both their arms. He ignored the physical proof of their mutual attraction, just as he had been ignoring the growing chemistry during their entire encounter, and focused his attention on the card.

Swan Spice and Tea

Emma Swan, proprietor

"Thank you, Swan," he said, tucking the card into his pocket. "I'll be in touch about that tonic and we can make a plan for the next full moon."

"That sounds good, Officer Jones."

Killian cocked his head quizzically to one side, prompting her to nod towards his uniform.

"It's on your name badge," she reminded him. "K. Jones?"

"Right," he said, reaching up and sheepishly pawing at a patch of skin behind his ear before extending his hand towards her. "Killian Jones. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Swan."

"Likewise," she said, placing her hand in his and offering him a soft smile.

They stood there for the span of a few erratic beats of his heart, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to not pull her into his arms. She was stunning, with her creamy skin and golden tresses. Even in the low light he could make out the splashes of freckles across her nose and shimmer of gold flecks in her captivating green eyes. Although smaller in stature, there was nothing weak or feeble about her form, even in the softest places. A form he found rather alluring, from the shape of her curves to the swell of her breasts. The way her hair flowed over her shoulders. The way her breath hitched when he skimmed his thumb over the pulse point on her wrist. The way she wet her plump, pink lips with a soft swipe of her tongue.

The way her skin glowed with an ethereal light that suddenly turned blinding.

"Bloody hell!" Killian cursed, wrenching his hand from hers so he could cover his eyes.

"Sorry," she said with a note of contrition. "But you were… doing it again."

"Doing what?" he huffed against the irritation spiking through him. Blinking hard, it took a few seconds for his vision to focus. When his sight finally adjusted, he found her several steps away with an amused smirk playing at her lips.

"Eyeing me as though you'd like to make a meal out of me," she said matter-of-factly, yet without any hint of admonishment or fear.

Killian cursed under his breath. He'd developed something of a reputation in college: lady's man, player, rake, charming bastard, scoundrel. In the years that followed, he'd done his best to put his womanizing ways behind him, choosing instead to use his looks and natural charm to his advantage as a cop when it came to comforting victims or disarming perps. So, while his current behavior was something out of character to who he had fought to become, he was certainly no stranger to this emerging personality the newly bred wesen side of him was cultivating.

"It'll get easier to control," she assured him. "Remember, these traits will be strongest during the full moon, and just as the paste is helping to lessen them now, the tonic should help you keep a rein on things going forward." Closing the book, she skimmed her fingers over the cover and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before glancing over at him once more and suggesting, "Although, it might be a good idea, as much as you are capable, to limit your contact with people during that time. I don't know how feasible it would be for you to take those days off from work, but avoiding high stress, high confrontational situations would probably be a good idea until you're better equipped to-"

"Aye," he said in agreement, running his hand through his hair again. "A wise suggestion."

He shuddered at the thought of losing control of himself at work, surrounded by his fellow officers. His fellow armed officers.

The desire to make detective was now about so much more than his own personal pride and sense of accomplishment. As a detective, he'd have greater say over his schedule. Until then, he may have to slack off on his paperwork and use the days of the full moon to isolate himself in one of the private offices in order to "catch up" on his reports.

"I'm sure I can work something out," he told her.

"Fortunately," she said, jutting her chin towards the window and the soft, pre-dawn glow that was beginning to creep through the gap in the curtains. "This was the last night of this full moon cycle, so you should be okay once the sun is up."

Killian's heart thudded hard in his rib cage and panic swept through his bloodstream. "Bloody hell! What time is it?" he frantically patted his pockets in search of his phone. How long had he been gone? Who knew he was missing? He had to get back to the woods. His cruiser was still there. At the crime scene.

The crime scene.

The body of the hiker.

The blutbad who'd attacked him was a killer.

He needed to find him and-

"Whoa! Slow down," Swan urged, grabbing onto his forearms and giving him a slight shake. "Your phone is on the table next to the cot. I don't think anyone is aware of anything being wrong. You have no missed calls or texts."

Killian balked. Had he said all of that out loud?

Releasing him, she grabbed his phone from where it had been laying and along with it, his keys. "Your cruiser is in the alley out back," she told him, gesturing towards the backdoor at the far end of the room.

"You… You drove it here?"

A sheepish expression scrunched through her features as she confessed, "Actually. My brother did. It took some convincing, but he finally agreed to go get it after I got you back here."

"Your brother? You've a… is he… is he wesen also?"

"He is," she confided. "He's a leschen."

Killian's ignorance must have been apparent in the pull of his brows and tilt of his head.

"They're sort of… tree-like, wooden wesen."

"And he took some convincing because…?"

"Because you're a cop," she confessed. "He's been on the wrong side of the law a few times. Nothing violent," she added quickly. "Just… maybe do me a favor and don't have your car fingerprinted?"

"I suppose," he conceded, "Given the circumstances. I can overlook your brother's involvement in this evening's events."

"I appreciate that," she said on a relieved breath and with a soft, weary smile.

The side of him he was beginning to identify as the wolf caused him to feel torn about leaving. The longing he felt to stay, the primal, proprietary drive that kept creeping up within him as he remained in her presence was one he could now discern, and though not quite as overwhelming as it had been before, was still very much present.

"I should go," he choked out with conviction, subduing the beast. "It's late. Or rather… early?"

"Right," Swan replied, wetting her lips and guiding him towards the back door. "We've both had a long night and could definitely use some rest."

For the first time since he awoke in her spice shop, Killian was struck with curiosity as to what she had been doing in the woods when he'd stumbled upon her. It was clear from the way she swung open the door, revealing his cruiser parked in the alleyway, and issuing her farewells with a stifled yawn that it would be a question he'd have to leave for another time.

"Remember," she called out before he could slip behind the wheel. "I'm here if you need anything."

"Aye, Swan. Thanks. Thank you for everything," he replied with a deep, rich sincerity in his tone. "I'll be in touch."

"See you at the next full moon?"

"Aye," he promised. "See you at the next full moon."