The car smelled like old fast food, stale coffee, mildew from a leaky A/C unit, and the faint ghost of a toddler’s car seat long since unbolted. Years of domestic life sunk deep into the worn-out upholstery, still vivid to Rick’s sharpened senses. Beige interior. Cracked dashboard. Some kind of pine-scented air freshener clipped to the vent that had clearly lost the war. It was the kind of car you bought when you had a mortgage and no illusions left.
Frank shot him a glance as they pulled into traffic. “You trust this Orlov guy?”
Rick adjusted the brim of his fedora and rolled his neck, joints popping. “Trust him to keep his mouth shut and fix bullet holes, yeah. He’s been servicing this car for my old man while I was still in school. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t make small talk. Charges extra for both.”
Frank snorted. “Figures. I could smell axle grease and cheap vodka from over here.”
“Yeah. That’s Ilya Orlov.”
Rick reached into the inside pocket of his torn suit jacket, fingers brushing past his badge before pulling out a crumpled Marlboro pack. He struck a match off the dash and lit up, inhaling deep as the nicotine threaded its way into hisbloodstream. He let the smoke curl from his lips in slow ribbons, exhaling toward the window.
His body hummed with more than adrenaline. Thanks to the cursed gene, he’d healed completely, not even a twinge left where the bullet had hit last night. But it wasn’t just the wolf’s regeneration coursing through him now. It wasAsh.
Even now, with the stink of blood and gasoline around him, Rick could feel that touch lingering under his skin like an aftershock, a low thrum of heat in his bones. The kid had gotten inside him in more ways than one. Left him raw and rebooted. He didn’t know what exactly Ash was, but the sex had sharpened his senses, left his body half-lit, like he’d plugged into a live wire. Too much, too fast—but God, it had sunk in deep.
And now, here he was, half-dressed in the aftermath, blood dried into the seams of his shirt, his skin sticky with sweat and cum, some of it not even his. He hadn’t realized how bad it was until he got in the car and the heat kicked on.
Frank cracked the window and grimaced. “Jesus, Slade. You reek.”
Rick didn’t look at him. “Get me to my place. I need a quick shower and clean clothes. I’m not walking into a fresh kill looking like I crawled out of one.”
Frank grunted. “Fine. But make it fast. We’re late as it is.”
“Five minutes.”
“I give you three.”
Rick didn’t argue.
They drove on in silence. Outside, Calgrave passed by in muted grays. The sky hung low and heavy, the color of wet stone, pressing on the rooftops like a fresh curse. Rain was coming; he could smell it, a damp, metallic tang bleeding over the city’s concrete breath. Storefronts blurred past behind streaked glass. Neon signs flickered even though it wasn’t dark yet. Along thecrowded avenues, people walked with their heads down and their collars up.
Rick took another drag, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “All right, spill it,” he said. “I can’t deal with this silent treatment any longer.”
Frank didn’t turn his head. “I said all I got to say,” he mumbled.
“Cut the crap, Frank. I know you better than that.” Rick flicked ash out the cracked window. “You’ve been stewing since we left Ash’s place. Might as well get it over with.”
Frank didn’t speak at first. When he finally did, his words came raw around the edges. “What were you thinking, Rick? Jesus. Sleeping with a suspect is bad enough—but a goddamndemon?”
Rick’s knuckles flexed. “Is that all he is to you? Just a word with horns and a tail?”
Frank turned to him, expression sharp. “Don’t you dare play dumb. You’re the one who said it. You’re the one who blamed him for Hayes’s death.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe Hayes deserved what he got.”
Frank scoffed, bitter. “Oh, so now you’re defending him? Hell, Rick. I’ve seen you make some bad calls, but this…” He trailed off, shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re compromised.”
Rick shot him a look. “Not all monsters are evil,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “You should know that by now.”
Frank didn’t respond. His shoulders were drawn taut, fingers tapping once, then curling into a fist.
Rick stared ahead, the cigarette burning low. “Well,” he said flatly, “at least now we know Ash isn’t the killer.”
Frank raised an eyebrow.
“He was with me the whole night,” Rick added, quieter but harder. “Thewhole goddamn night.”
That landed. Frank exhaled, slow. He didn’t argue. Just tightened his grip on the wheel, rubbed his jaw, and let out a sigh like he was already worn down by what came next. They both had to stay sharp, alert, collected. Another murder awaited them. Another body, stashed like garbage beneath the city’s skin. Another grotesque message written in blood and horror—proof that whatever was out there, hunting in the dark, hadn’t finished its work.
