The balding man did not answer Nick’s question.
Instead, he shifted into an awkward sideways stance.
His left hand remained extended toward Nick while his right arm stayed hidden behind his back.
“No,” he muttered.
“Please… don’t kill me.” Every instinct Nick possessed warned him that something was wrong.
“Turn around and show me your right hand!” he ordered.
“Do it now!” The last word had barely left his mouth when the man transformed again.
Coarse fur spread across every patch of exposed skin.
His nose and jaw thrust forward into an animal-like muzzle while his upper lip curled back to reveal rows of tightly packed teeth.
The corners of his mouth stretched toward his cheeks, and his ears shifted upward until two pointed tips stood above his head.
It looked as though an invisible force had torn apart his human features and rebuilt them into something savage.
This time, Nick saw everything clearly.
The creature did not resemble the towering werewolves found in horror movies.
Its body did not grow larger, and its clothes remained intact.
The face looked closer to that of a hyena, though the pointed ears and long muzzle also carried traces of a wolf.
Whatever the man was, the first transformation had not been a hallucination.
A low growl rumbled from his throat.
Fear and warning blended within the sound.
The noise triggered something inside Nick.
His pulse surged as heat flooded through his veins.
Tension sharpened into excitement, followed by a sudden wave of hostility that felt older than either of his lives.
It was not ordinary fear.
His body reacted as if it recognized the creature.
As if it hated the thing standing before him on an instinctive level.
Nick lost focus for only a fraction of a second, but that was all the Wesen needed.
The man brought his hidden right hand forward.
A revolver was clenched in his fist.
Nick’s thoughts flashed with disbelief.
The creature had claws, fangs, and a face from someone’s worst nightmare, yet it had still chosen to bring a gun.
Reality gave him no time to appreciate the absurdity.
The Wesen crouched and raised the revolver, aiming directly at Nick’s head from less than twenty-five feet away.
Nick fired his Taser at nearly the same instant the man pulled the trigger.
Two probes shot across the vacant lot as Nick threw his weight backward.
His left hand released the Taser while his right swept the Glock 22 from its holster.
The revolver exploded.
Nick’s Glock answered before his back reached the ground.
Gunshots tore through the afternoon in rapid succession.
Nick hit the dirt hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
A bullet passed so close above his forehead that he felt the heated rush of disturbed air against his skin.
He maintained his grip despite the impact.
His sights remained fixed on the target as he fired again.
Then the Glock clicked.
The awkward fall had left Nick without proper wrist support.
The pistol failed to cycle correctly, trapping a damaged casing near the ejection port.
His stomach tightened, but years of training took over before panic could slow him.
Nick rolled the pistol inward, swept the obstruction clear, and drove the slide back into battery.
A fresh round entered the chamber.
The malfunction was cleared in less than half a second.
He resumed firing.
The Wesen jerked beneath the impacts, but Nick did not stop.
He had no idea how much damage the creature could survive or whether it possessed the supernatural healing found in werewolf movies.
He continued pressing the trigger until the slide locked open.
The magazine was empty.
Nick released it, drove a fresh one into the Glock, and returned the muzzle to the motionless figure.
Silence descended over the vacant lot.
The sharp odors of gunpowder and blood hung in the warm air.
Nick remained on the ground for several seconds, watching for movement.
Stories about werewolves usually involved rapid healing, silver bullets, and creatures that rose again after injuries that should have killed anything else.
The one before him did not move.
For a monster, it seemed disturbingly fragile.
Nick rose carefully without lowering his weapon.
Once he confirmed the revolver was no longer within the suspect’s reach, he pressed the radio button near his shoulder.
“Officer-involved shooting!
Suspect down!” His voice sounded steadier than he felt.
“Burkhardt Seven-Eight, confirm your condition,” Laila responded immediately.
“Are you injured?” Before Nick could answer, voices came from the street.
“Officer!
Are you okay?” Two vehicles had stopped near the vacant lot during the chase.
Their occupants had apparently decided to watch instead of leaving the area when the gunfire began.
“I don’t know yet,” Nick called back.
Only then did he remember to check himself.
He ran his free hand across his vest, chest, abdomen, arms, and legs.
There was no blood, no sudden loss of strength, and no burning pain from a gunshot wound.
His lungs still worked.
Every limb responded normally.
“I think I’m okay,” he said, releasing a long breath.
The transformation, the gunfire, and the adrenaline had left his thoughts scattered.
He turned in a slow circle before remembering the radio was still active.
“Dispatch, I’m uninjured.
Send medical personnel and a supervisor to my location.” “Copy.
EMS and additional units are responding.” Laila’s professional composure cracked.
“Nick, are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m fine,” he assured her.
“Just a little shaken.” Nick stepped forward and looked at the body.
The monstrous features were gone.
Joshua Coffey lay on the ground in his ordinary human form.
The fur, muzzle, pointed ears, and rows of teeth had vanished as though they had never existed.
Nick stared at him in silence.
He was not unfamiliar with violence or death.
During his previous life, the U.S.
Army unit attached to his support battalion had once participated in a dangerous border-security operation.
Heavy equipment could not be deployed in the area, leaving the force short on manpower and firepower.
Every available soldier had been used.
Nick’s field-kitchen squad went forward with the rest of the unit, while administrative personnel helped operate surveillance drones and unmanned ground vehicles.
Nick had witnessed men get hurt and had fired at hostile targets himself.
The movie worlds had exposed him to even worse.
He had died aboard the Nostromo and later fought through streets filled with infected civilians.
Blood and corpses were not enough to paralyze him.
This situation was different.
He had just killed something that appeared human after death but had transformed into a fanged creature moments earlier.
Nick could not decide whether Joshua Coffey had been a man hiding a monstrous nature or a monster capable of pretending to be human.
Movement near the road pulled him from his thoughts.
Several people climbed out of the stopped vehicles.
A man stepped down from a pickup truck, opened the rear door, and retrieved a shotgun.
He seemed to believe he was helping, but an armed civilian approaching an officer-involved shooting was the last thing Nick needed.
“Stay by your vehicle!” Nick shouted.
“Put the shotgun down and keep your hands visible!” The man froze before carefully lowering the weapon.
Three people emerged from a white SUV parked behind the pickup.
One carried a professional video camera, another held a microphone, and the third wore the polished makeup and formal clothing of an on-air reporter.
The logo of a local television station was painted across the side of their vehicle.
Nick’s heart sank.
They must have been traveling nearby when the pursuit began.
Judging by the cameraman’s raised equipment, they had recorded at least part of the shooting.
The reporter hurried toward the vacant lot with open excitement.
Nick moved to intercept them.
“This is an active crime scene,” he warned.
“Stay behind the roadway.” “Oh my God, did you record that?” the reporter asked her cameraman without slowing down.
She looked at Nick more closely, and recognition brightened her expression.
“That’s Officer Burkhardt.
Mr.
July.” Nick stepped between the crew and the body.
“Ma’am, back up.” “The suspect nearly shot him in the head,” she said into the microphone.
“His reaction was incredible.
He moved like some kind of superhero.” The woman leaned toward him as though trying to bring both of them into the camera frame.
Nick planted his feet and used his body to block her path.
“You and your crew need to remain where you are,” he said firmly.
“Do not enter the lot.” The reporter finally stopped, though her attention remained fixed on him.
Nick could not understand the behavior of the people around him.
Gunshots should have sent them running for cover, yet they had approached with a shotgun, a camera, and a microphone.
Police sirens sounded before the situation could become more chaotic.
The first Crown Victoria rounded the corner and pulled up beside Nick’s patrol car.
Officer Drew Wu emerged from the driver’s side while a nervous rookie climbed out of the passenger seat.
Wu was a veteran Filipino American officer who had served with the PPB for nearly a decade.
He stood several inches shorter than Nick, but his experience and sharp instincts had earned him respect throughout the patrol division.
He was also Nick’s current partner.
Their lieutenant had assigned Wu to train a new officer for the day, which was why Nick had been patrolling alone.
Wu surveyed the scene as soon as he left the car.
“Don’t just stand there,” he told the rookie.
“Get the tape out, establish a perimeter, and keep everyone behind it.” The rookie hurried to obey.
Wu approached Nick and focused first on the pistol still in his hand.
“I’m going to secure your weapon.” Nick nodded.
Wu carefully took the Glock and held it away from both men.
The pistol would be treated as evidence until investigators completed the initial review.
Once the gun was secured, Wu examined Nick’s uniform and ballistic vest.
“Are you hit?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “I checked.
The round passed close to my head, but it missed.” Wu studied his face before glancing toward Coffey’s body.
“Tell me what happened.” “The suspect fled from the vehicle,” Nick explained.
“I pursued him south and ordered him to stop.
He entered this lot, kept his right hand behind his back, then drew a revolver and fired at me.” Wu looked at the firearm lying near the body.
“You returned fire?” “Yes.
My Glock malfunctioned while I was falling.
I cleared it and continued shooting until the suspect stopped moving.” Nick kept his account direct and factual.
He did not mention the fur, the muzzle, or the rows of teeth.
He said nothing about Joshua Coffey calling him a Grimm.
Nick knew what he had seen.
The transformation had occurred twice, and the second had taken place from less than twenty-five feet away.
It had not been a trick caused by stress or bad lighting.
Still, telling fellow officers that a suspect had turned into a monster would accomplish nothing except make them question his mental condition.
The television camera created an additional concern.
Everything after the chase might have been recorded.
If the footage showed the suspect raising a weapon and firing first, Nick’s use of deadly force would be legally justified.
If the camera had missed that crucial moment, he could face an investigation based only on physical evidence and witness statements.
Wu placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t talk to anyone else about the shooting until the supervisor and union representative arrive.” Nick nodded.
Behind Wu, the rookie stretched yellow tape across the entrance to the vacant lot.
More patrol cars were arriving, followed by an ambulance and a fire department vehicle.
Nick looked past them toward the news crew.
The cameraman was still filming.
Whatever had happened to Joshua Coffey before the shooting, the official investigation was about to begin.