When the Shadows Bite

Cass was jolted awake by the piercing wail of sirens outside, their blare echoing through her small home. It was still dark out, couldn't have been later than 4 a.m. Her phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, and the police radio on the shelf crackled to life just as she scrambled out of bed, hand already reaching for her phone.

"Detective Pratt," she answered, her voice still thick with sleep.

"We've found a body." Chief Laughlin's gravelly tone cut through her grogginess.

Cass was quick to throw on decent clothes, her heart racing faster than her legs could ever carry her. She hurried out of her house, her hair a mess, her face bare, her feet severely lacking in socks for the nine degrees it was outside. 

She may have broken three traffic violations, five if she was really counting as she raced down the empty streets of Havenfield chasing after the haunting sounds of the sirens and a quickly fading memory of Laughlin's directions to the crime scene. Her mind was scattered like an old box of jigsaw puzzles tossed on a grimy dinner table. She couldn't grab a piece and fit it to another, she couldn't think properly. The only thoughts that occupied her mind was, 'Oh goddess, oh no. Oh goddess, not again. Not again. Not again. Not again, please.'

It hadn't even been up to a month since the last murder, it had only been two weeks since David's parents laid him to rest. She'd assured them again at the funeral that she would catch their son's murderer and David's mother thanked her with teary eyes. She'd shaken off their thanks like she was merely a humble detective but the guilt consumed her. Even when she knew all the CCTV footage she poured over yielded no evidence, even though there was no witness and the forensics scraped up no evidence, she lied to them. And now, another person was dead.

Another person was dead and Cass couldn't do a bloody damn thing about it.

She took a sharp turn into the street and hastily parked behind the last police car. The cold air slapped against her face as Cass stepped out of her car, the familiar weight of dread settling in her gut. The smell of damp earth and fresh blood clung to her sinuses, flashing blue and redlight reflected off the windows of the small, suburban homes in the area, the officers on scene were going through the motions of blocking the area out, their murmurs low and defeated, the sharp 'rip' of police tape being torn louder than their voices. Laughlin was standing at the entrance of the park, still in his dog-patterned pajama pants. He looked up at her with tired eyes.

The location was different but Cass couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu, as if she was caught in a time loop, destined to stand over yet another brutalized body.

Oh goddess. Oh goddess. Oh goddess.

"Detective," Laughlin greeted, the tightness in his voice evident.

"Chief," she returned his greeting, her voice barely a whisper. 

Shaky hands put on the black nitrile gloves handed to her, even shakier legs approached the corpse. White flood lights burned into her retinas but Cass focused on the victim. She knelt beside the body, clearing her thoughts long enough to be careful that she wasn't kneeling on any markers or blood stains. Her gloved hand hovered over the pale, lifeless skin. 

In comparison, David's death looked somewhat humane. At least then the CSI's still speculated that he'd been killed by a human. This victim, a young woman, had been eviscerated in an inhumane way. Deep lacerations tore through her flesh, slicing through bone, blood soaked her clothes a deep crimson, the actual color of the nightdress lost beneath the darkness of it. The lacerations weren't clean either—they were jagged, like something had torn through her flesh with feral, almost gleeful abandon. Her ribs jutted out like broken fence posts, skin and muscle shredded beyond recognition.

Her lips were pulled in a terrifying, wide, smile.

 "I thought it was a bear attack at first. Although I've never seen a bear attack quite like this," Laughlin said from behind her.

But deep down, she knew better. This wasn't a bear.

"What's the status?" she asked, without taking her eyes off the body.

Deputy Ndibisi spoke up next, "The coroner's on his way to pick up the body."

Cass closed her eyes briefly, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. The hopelessness that had been gnawing at her for days now threatened to swallow her whole.

"This town's about to bleed, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

She rose to her feet and slipped off her gloves, handing it to a passing tech. "I'll need a full report on my desk in the morning."

"Of course, Detective."

"Going back to bed?" Laughlin asked.

It was such an absurd question that Cass couldn't help but laugh although it came out a pathetic, broken sound. "Let's face it, Chief. None of us are getting any sleep tonight."

This was worse than the last. Worse than Old Man McMicheal. Worse than David. She couldn't stop it. The image of his mother's tear-streaked face flashed in her mind, overlapping with the pale, blood-soaked corpse in front of her. Promises she couldn't keep. Deaths she couldn't prevent.

She turned away from the body, somehow hoping that she'd feel a little better if it was out of her line of sight but the image was already heat pressed onto her mind, the victim's uncanny smile taunting and mocking in her mind's eye. 

Her legs felt like lead, every step back to the car heavier than the last. The cold bit into her skin, but she barely registered it. She was running on fumes now—her mind scattered, her body worn down. Everything was going to shit so quickly that she didn't know how to gather the frayed edges of herself and make them whole again. She'd never had so many files on her desk at once, never taken so long to solve a murder. She'd been the ace detective on all her previous cases, a bloodhound who made it her duty to give the victims families closure. State prosecutors loved her, families were grateful to her and the scumbag she put in jail hated her. She'd reveled in it; reveled in the fact that being a werewolf hadn't completely ruined her life and that she could use the things that caused her so much hurt in childhood for good.

But it was all useless now. 

This was something her nose couldn't track. Something the forensics and CSI had no explanation for. Something that, if Uriel was to be believed, none of them would ever find an explanation for. They'd keep hitting dead ends. Keep chasing shadows. The bodies would just keep piling up… unless…

Unless she did something about it.

She didn't want to do it. She didn't want to rely on him. But how could she let this go? How could she choose her pride over her need to save the people that had welcomed her in as family. Havenfield was the town she'd run to when she had nowhere else left to go, when rival wolf packs had continuously staked new territories in the places she'd called home until she feared there was no place left for a rogue like her. She couldn't afford to fail; she couldn't stand the thought of watching more people die— the fear of seeing more bodies piling up suffocated her like the feeling of drowning in thick water. Uriel was a devil, there was no denying that. But only he had the keys to her salvation.

Her phone was in her hand before she fully realized what she was doing. The number stared back at her from the screen— taken from the card he'd left her after their first encounter.

She hesitated, her trembling fingers hovering over the screen. She could still turn back. Could still rely on the team, on normal procedure. But in her heart, she knew they were running out of time. Running out of hope. Her finger pressed down before she could change her mind.

The phone rang once, twice, before Uriel's deep, velvety voice filtered through the line. "I thought you'd never call, Pup."

"We found another body," she said, her voice tight.

There was a pause on the other end. "I assume this means you're finally ready to ask for help?"

Cass clenched her jaw. "I don't have a choice."

His laughter, low and full of that same arrogance, sent a shiver down her spine. "I bet you hated calling me. I bet it's hurt your little Werewolf pride." 

She said nothing. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that she'd cast away her pride over and over again if it meant no one else had to suffer. He wouldn't understand the sentiment. Vampires didn't have hearts.

Uriel's voice softened, taking on that dangerously smooth tone she was beginning to loathe. "You know, Pup, when you come to me for help… it's going to cost you more than just your pride."

"I'll do whatever it takes," she replied.

"I'd imagine you would," Uriel returned. "Meet me at Nightshade Sip House."

☼

The coffee shop was understandably closed when Cass arrived, and it wasn't yet Nightshade Sip House. The sign on the building still read 'Sweets and More,' but the place was no longer the quaint corner café it had once been. The wide bay windows were partially covered with dust-flecked sheets of plastic, fluttering faintly in the night breeze. Half-finished posters advertising sales on coffee and pastries were taped haphazardly to the glass, torn at the edges like forgotten promises.

Cass hesitated at the door, her breath fogging in the cold, nine-degree air. The sharp scent of fresh paint still lingered, mixing with something more sweet, an almost imperceptible tang of old pastries beneath the surface.

Inside, shadows pooled in the corners of the room, thick and unmoving. A single dim bulb cast a sickly yellow glow over the booth in the far corner, barely cutting through the dark. The whole space felt caught in limbo—half-finished, half-abandoned—like a place between worlds, and Cass couldn't help but feel it mirrored the uneasy balance she was walking. One misstep, and everything could collapse.

Uriel was already waiting for her, lounging against the open doorway like a predator at rest. His dark silhouette seemed to merge with the shadows as if the half-renovated coffee shop were an extension of him. His smile was sharp as he watched her approach, and for the briefest moment, Cass thought the flickering light above his head seemed to pulse with her heartbeat.

"I must say, it's flattering to be your last resort," he teased, but there's something darker in his tone, a gleam in his eyes that makes Cass's stomach twist.

"Save it," she snapped, following him into the semi-dark shop. "Tell me what I need to know."

Uriel hummed slightly, slipping into a boothe in the corner of the shop. Cass slid into the booth across from him, the vinyl seat sticky and cold beneath her. The dim light barely reached their table, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. Instinctively, her hand hovered over the gun at her waist. A part of her whispered that it wasn't necessary but the part that yelled Uriel was not to be trusted won out.

Uriel leaned back in his seat, his expression bored. Nonchalant. "What you have on your hands is a Vorvolak."

"Vorlak?" Cass tried, and failed, to pronounce. 

"Vor-vo-lak," he repeated, emphasizing each syllable. "It's a kind of parasitic entity that feeds off life energy."

Cass frowns. "A ghost?"

"Not quite." Uriel leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower, the casual arrogance replaced with something more sinister. "I remember a village in Siberia once… no bodies, no signs of struggle, just… gone. And every now and then, if you listen carefully in the wind, you can still hear them screaming."

Cass's stomach twisted.

He tapped a finger on the table, his gaze locked on hers again. "Ghosts usually seek to possess in an attempt to feel the way they did in life. But, y'know, contrasting souls can't inhabit one body so the host dies. A ghost leaves behind a very cold body, tears of blood. It's far less gruesome than what a Vorvolak would do. This creature consumes everything—flesh, blood, soul—until nothing is left..."

"How did it get here?"

"Ancient summoning magic, I'd imagine," Uriel shrugged. "A nasty one at that. Honestly, I offer my condolences. I do not want to be you right now, Ofitser."

Cass's head was spinning. Vorvolak? Consume everything? She dealt with gangbangers, trigger happy abusive exes, stupid teens who'd killed their neighbor's puppy once and thought they wouldn't get caught killing an actual human being— she did not deal with eldritch abominations beyond her wildest imagination. This was far beyond her depth, far above her pay grade. She'd run to Havenfield to escape the supernatural and it still found its way to her. Her life was a joke.

"What about the victims?" she asked, her voice quiet. "Why them?"

"Random. Vorvolak's aren't picky eaters. Could be proximity, could be something else. Either way, you're on a timer." His gaze sharpened. "This thing will bleed Havenfield dry."

"How do I stop it?" She asked, her voice barely audible against the roar of blood rushing through her ears.

Uriel tilted his head. "Find the caster. Undo the spell."

He made it sound so easy. 

"I can't track this thing," she admitted, her voice shaking. "If you're right, if it really is a Vorlak—"

"Vorvolak."

"It doesn't leave a scent," she continued without acknowledging his correction. "I'm flying blind here."

Uriel smiled, leaning back in his chair. "That's where I come in."

Cass narrowed her eyes. "You know how to stop it?"

"Fuck no," he retorted quickly. "I'm a vampire, not a magician."

"Then how?" She asked, damn near pleaded. 

"I know someone who can help, Malen'kiy volk," Uriel said smoothly, his gaze never leaving hers. "A mage. Someone who can track the caster."

Her heart skipped a beat. Mages were rare, they were when she was younger and she had a feeling that was still the case. There weren't many people with the power to harness magic, even fewer willing to give up their normal, sane lives to learn the mystic arts. If Uriel knew one who could stop this Vorvolak then she wanted to know who it was. She needed to know. Needed to put an end to the deaths. But, judging by the way he was looking at her and based on what she knew about Uriel Serpov, there was a catch. There was always a catch with him.

"What's in it for you?" she asked, her voice wary.

Uriel's smile widened. "Always straight to the point. I like that about you." He leaned forward again, his voice dropping into a low purr. "What I want, Cassandra, is... you."

Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"I want you to be mine. My submissive."

For the upteenth time that night, Cass's mind took off. Uriel's submissive? His docile little plaything? No. To hell with him. How dare he make such a vile suggestion? How dare he think she'd ever kneel at his feet? She'd built her life with her own hands, she'd taken care of herself, by herself from the moment her pack decided that she wasn't one of them and that her father was a burden. The proposition that she would fall beneath him annoyed her to no end.

But, just like it did each time she came across him, attraction pulsed to the surface. It was undeniable. Her body, the pathetic omega instincts, wanted to kneel. To submit. But her mind rebelled, clinging to the thin thread of self-respect she had left. Her inner being craved dominance and the craving pushed at her, confident that Uriel with his rugged beard, scared eye and dangerous smirk would give her that. She avoided sex with humans, learnt to comfort herself through heats with a weak vibrator and her hand. But it was never enough. Even after all these years, she was still a product of her nature. And her nature had needs.

Why then did it have to be him? Why did the goddess make it Uriel-fucking-Serpov? Not the mage she'd given up on waiting for. Him. A vampire.

"I—" she stammered, trying to find her voice. "I can't—"

"Think about it," Uriel said, his tone light, but the intensity in his eyes unmistakable. "You need my help. And I'm more than willing to give it... if you're willing to give me what I want."

Cass remained silent. Her instincts begged her to give up, give in. To relinquish control and allow him to take care of her, allow him dick her down like she knew she craved deep down. Am image flashed in her mind, of Uriel pressing her down to the table, one hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing, while the other held on to her hip as he fucked her from behind. Heat flooded her face like the Nile turned red and she was sure he could sense her discomfort. Smell her unwelcomed arousal. 

But instinct pushed against reason. It was a bad idea. Uriel was a criminal. Bratva playing small town shop owner. He was a vampire. He was dangerous. 

He knows how to stop the Vorvolak.

He's a monster.

He's hot.

This has to constitute blackmail.

Each thought battled with the next. Cass's mind screamed no— absolutely fucking not. but there was a part of her—deep, primal—that was tempted.

The words burned her throat before they even made it to her lips. She knew it was a mistake. Everything in her told her to run. But the bodies would keep piling up. The people she swore to protect would keep dying. And so, with her pride in tatters, she swallowed the bile rising in her throat and muttered, "I'll consider it."

Uriel chuckled darkly. "Good girl. But don't take too long, Pup. Who knows when the next body will turn up?"