Nick felt that the “werewolf” across from him was practically overflowing with goofy, non-threatening quirks.
The shock he had initially felt upon learning about the hidden supernatural world had faded considerably as a result.
“Since you follow the news, you should already know why I’m here.
I’m looking for that little girl.”
After getting up from the couch, Monroe had been pacing the living room.
He happened to reach the front window and glanced outside as if casually checking the weather.
“So…
you guys haven’t found her yet?”
“No,” Nick said, his voice dropping an octave.
“That’s terrible.” Monroe looked up guiltily, but when he met Nick’s sharp gaze, he quickly looked away again.
“I swear, I had nothing to do with it!
I reformed years ago!
I don’t eat people anymore!
Er—I mean, I’ve never eaten people!
Especially not little girls!”
Seeing Monroe raise his hands in a dramatic, panicked display of self-preservation, Nick let out a cold sneer.
“Do you take me for an idiot?
Aunt Marie didn’t show me the journals, but I know the story of Little Red Riding Hood.
Both victims were wearing red jackets.
The college student was torn apart, the little girl is missing, and just five minutes ago, you admitted you caught the scent of another wolf.”
“Oh, please!
Don’t make it sound like I’m covering for my own kind,” Monroe protested, waving a hand dismissively.
“Our relations aren’t exactly harmonious.
Whenever Blutbaden cross paths, bad things happen.
Especially when red is involved.”
Monroe muttered a few more complaints under his breath before raising his voice again.
“Look, I’m a law-abiding citizen with a respectable trade!
I repair antique clocks!
I’m not some monster roaming the woods snatching kids!”
“Maybe so,” Nick said, standing up and holstering his P226 with a deliberate click.
“But you know who did it.
I saw what you were doing by the fence earlier—marking territory is dog behavior.
That means another one of your kind is operating in your area.”
Nick stepped closer, his posture leaving no room for argument. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“Take me to him.
If you’re as reformed as you claim, you don’t want another child killed, do you?”
“Normally speaking, I don’t go hunting down other Blutbaden,” Monroe said, backing away slightly.
“They leave me alone, I leave them alone…”
Before Monroe could finish his sentence, the world shifted.
In a flash of lethal military movement, Nick grabbed Monroe by the collar and pinned him firmly against the living room wall.
“You should thank Aunt Marie,” Nick said, his face inches from Monroe’s.
“She never got the chance to train me as a Grimm, but that doesn’t make me harmless.
Right now, I am a police officer executing a missing person investigation.
A cop’s job is to save innocent lives and arrest violent predators—regardless of what species they belong to.”
Nick pulled out a small color photograph of the missing girl, Robin, holding it right in front of Monroe’s face.
“This child might still be alive.
If you refuse to assist me as an officer of the law, I won’t hesitate to handle this as a Grimm.”
Monroe’s eyes flared a sudden, luminescent blood-red, but the moment his gaze landed on the little girl’s smiling photograph, the crimson glow vanished completely.
He swallowed hard, forcing a tense, nervous smile.
“If…
if I tell you I think she’s still alive…
could you maybe let go of my shirt first?”
“Generally speaking, after a hunt, a Blutbad won’t feed again for at least a week, sometimes ten days,” Monroe explained, driving his yellow Volkswagen Beetle through the winding forest roads.
He had his head partially leaned out the driver’s side window, his nose twitching repeatedly as he caught scents on the night air.
The small Beetle swayed as it bumped over dirt tracks.
Although they weren’t traveling fast, Nick kept one hand firmly on the grab handle, ready to unbuckle and roll clear if Monroe drifted into a trunk.
“You can really track someone across miles of wilderness just by scent?” Nick asked, still somewhat skeptical.
In Nick’s mind, wolves were pack animals.
Yet Monroe described his territory-marking behavior as an isolationist warning to keep others away—more akin to big cats like tigers or cougars.
Monroe sniffed deeply again, pulling his head back inside the cabin.
“That idiot took a circuitous route after leaving the park, trying to throw off any police search.
But he can’t mask his scent profile…”
Monroe snapped his head toward a dense cluster of pines ahead, his eyes widening.
He’s close.
Just up ahead.”
Five minutes later, the Beetle rattled onto an overgrown trail and coasted to a halt before a dilapidated wooden footbridge.
“End of the line for the car,” Monroe whispered, cutting the ignition.
“Our hearing is almost as sharp as our sense of smell.”
Monroe opened his door quietly and stepped out into the damp mountain air.
Nick followed, scanning the dense foliage.
Deep among the pine branches, a tiny flickers of warm yellow light was visible in the distance.
Turning back, Nick saw Monroe pulling a small pouch from his jacket pocket and rubbing a dry, brownish powder over his shirt and sleeves.
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
“Wolfsbane,” Monroe said, tossing the pouch to Nick.
“Masks human and Wesen scent.
Check the wind direction—we’re upwind right now.
Trust me, even with that Sig Sauer, you don’t want to stumble into an alert Blutbad in the dark.”
Wolfsbane.
In European folklore, it was known as Aconite or Monkshood—a highly toxic plant associated with wolf lore and ancient Germanic rituals.
Nick caught the pouch and smeared some of the crushed plant material over his jacket, sniffing his sleeve.
He couldn’t detect any noticeable odor, but Monroe seemed satisfied.
Avoiding the creaking wooden footbridge, the two waded quietly through the freezing, shallow stream below, taking a wide detour through the brush.
As they crested a small ridge, a secluded wooden cabin appeared through the trees, smoke drifting lazily from a stone chimney.
Suddenly, Monroe stumbled, clutching his chest.
“Hah…
hah…
hah!”
His breathing became raspy and heavy.
His face flickered violently back and forth—skin pale one second, coarse fur sprouting across his jaw the next—his eyes flashing crimson before reverting to brown.
Nick instantly stepped back, unholstering his P226 and bringing it to a low-ready position.
Monroe leaned heavily against a pine tree, fighting visible physical agony as he forced the transformation back under control.
“Sorry…” Monroe rasped, his voice trembling from the strain.
“This is…
as far as I can go with you.
Any closer to his den, and my instincts take over.
I can’t guarantee I won’t woge and turn on you.”