AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“So the title’s a cover. You’re not really a sheriff.”
“Not as you know them,” he agreed. “I am elected and perform most duties, but I oversee a few more deputies than most. I take care of my community as any other sheriff, but while my human commitment ends on county lines, my supernatural jurisdiction extends statewide.”
“‘Supernatural’ as in, there’s more than werewolves?”
He nodded. “Sheriffs maintain authority over the supernatural community at large, but Werefolk are the most prevalent species, werewolves in particular.”
“Where’s my sheriff?”
“Retired. So happened I was hunting an evil that’s slithered north and received the assignment. The title’s a bit trickier in your state since y’all abolished the office. If the assignment becomes permanent, I’d be known as a Marshal, but with any luck, I’ll be back in my hometown by the end of the year.”
“What’s wrong with Connecticut?”
“Too many sardines in the can.” He didn’t have kind things to say about our traffic and winter in general, either. I couldn’t fault him there. “And your CPA, Connecticut Packs Association, maintains practices I disagree strongly with. I’m here for the monsters, not the politicians.”
“Some would argue that’s redundant.”
He smiled. “It might could be, Miss Davins.”
“I don’t spend much time with monsters, not my genre, but I’ve never considered supernatural entities as being particularly organized. Do you have tea every Wednesday, too?”
“Organized chaos, as it were. Packs don't give a shit about the CPA. The CPA doesn't give a shit about packs, unless they act in a way to catch a human's eye. We clean their mess; they register themselves and provide us with a yearly census. Sheriffs are glorified pooper-scoopers, and someone's stunk up your neighborhood, Miss Davins.”
I stared up at the ceiling. Gram’s truth wasn’t the truth, no matter how much I wished it was. The sooner I accepted that, the better. “Maybe this is all real; maybe you are—”
“I am.”
“Maybe,” I finished. “But why my doorstep?”
“Packs tend to stick together: live close by, attend the same school, work in the same office, and so on.”Gravel from a passing dump truck pinged the windshield. He swore. “Assuming this was a rival pack or yet unidentified criminal, they may have figured Mr. Vilkas was running to you, rather than by you.”
“What about his own pack, Talon?”
“Talon, may have hunted him themselves, but no matter what he did in the days leading to his death, the pack would never desecrate his pelt in such a manner as gifting it to what to them is a known human.”
“His skin was a gift?”
“Intended to taunt you and perhaps mock his pack. Werefolk are generally cremated and their pelts preserved and bestowed upon next of kin. Between the manner of death and the great dishonor that is your porch, I’m leaning toward a suspect outside of Talon.”
“Could his killer have used what I presume are superior scent hound abilities to determine I was a human and not pack?”
“Good question.” The sheriff’s look was one of approval. I felt the tiniest bit proud. “Human flesh reeks of human flesh. You don't walk into a room of roses and immediately identify which petal is hiding a pine needle. A rare few can detect a wolf underneath.” He scratched his chin. “Won’t deny the possibility, but more than likely his killer or killers identified you, human or otherwise, as a witness and probable friend. This was a threat.”
“Or a promise,” I whispered, thinking of the tremendous effort and energy someone had spent painting the tail, let alone setting the gruesome scene. “What were they trying to tell me?”
“Unsure.”
A werewolf’s gnarled claw scratched at the back of my mind. I shivered. “Why didn't they chase me while I was locked out on the deck?” I asked, rubbing at the rash of goosebumps on my arm.
“Cars in the driveway, early in the night, multiple inhabitants home, lights on, cruisers parked up street, Stephen headed another direction. . .” He asked me to open the glove compartment and pass the notepad and pen within. “Would you recognize the werewolves if you saw them?”
“If werewolf paws generally run hairy-knuckled, I’m not confident I could distinguish one from another.” My gaze lingered on the hand of the man beside me. My, what large hands he had— but no cuts, nicks, scrapes, dirt under the nails, nothing associated with a lurking monster underneath.
“How many sets of eyes? How many hands? The smallest detail can narrow the suspects.”
I took a swig of lukewarm coffee and contemplated the mountains of lore I had to research before nightfall. “Narrow it how?”
“There are different varieties of werewolf. Depending on generation and strain, some wolf out, others retain humanistic qualities— yes, Werefolk with enough fur to constitute a pelt get skinned; the rest don’t.”
