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Chapter Text

“Lily! Over here!”

You somehow manage to spot Tara's arm waving even in the irregular light of the club. Having received the most holy blessing of a red stamp on the back of your hand, you make your way through the crowd. The music changes, becoming something dark and heavy. The bass thrums in your chest, meeting the sharp staccato of your booted stride as you're pulled along the melody’s edge. 

You stop by the bar, propping up your resolve with one-nope, make that two-shots of whisky. Not whiskey, mind you. Whisky. You down them quickly before ordering a beer. Any beer. You're not a fan, but you tend to make terrible choices when you drink, so beer it is. As you grab the refreshingly cold mug, you catch the eye of a man leaning against the bar. You can tell by the motion of his head that he's giving you The Once Over and as you make eye contact to tell him-

Nevermind, he can look. 

“Striking features,” he rumbles appreciatively. His baritone parts the treble of the crowd with ease. He tilts his head as he studies your hair and when he does you catch glimpses of metal.

Interesting. Normally men that act like that just stare at my tits.

His eyes slide back to yours and he smirks. It's a dangerous smirk, hungry and full of destruction, and the last time you saw a smirk like it? It ended with a restraining order and an expensive sports car treating your apartment as a prime parking spot. But the sex had been phenomenal. “A bombshell” you’d called him, the most devastating one you'd ever seen. Not anymore.

This smirk was Nagasaki dancing tango with Hiroshima.

“Thanks. Normally I hear a really bad pick-up line.” Butterflies drunk on whisky and the smile of a stranger beat softly against the inside of your chest and you curse yourself for being too surprised to even try flirting. He leans back with a small wave of his hand as though inviting you to give him The Once Over, to objectify him under The Female Gaze and-

Ohhh you are in trouble.  

He's tall, and as he preens for you, you can see the piercings decorating him. Eyebrows, ears, nose, lips. Silver hair peeks out under his ball cap, reflecting back the lights from the club with a soft and gentle glow. He's wearing a midnight-black tank top, which only serves to highlight just how deliciously broad his shoulders are. 

You think your legs would look great next to his ears.

You finally notice the tattoos that cover his arms and gently caress his neck. He takes a shot, smirking as your eyes follow his hand, catching the heavy rings decorating each finger and-fuck. His hands are tattooed. You are so fucked. Hopefully by him. 

“As much as I enjoy being admired by an exotic flower like yourself, I enjoy it even more when I have a name to go with her.”
“Lily,” you offer with a quick gulp. You can hear the creeping sliver of uncertainty when you say it, as if you're still teaching yourself to respond to it. Which you are, but he doesn’t need to know that.
The man laughs and pulls all of the air out of the room when he does. It's bassy and rough and all you want to do is shove it between your legs and ride it until you can't think. You wonder if he heard your hesitation. “Alright. I'll call you Lily.”

He heard it. You know he heard it. He knows you know he heard it. Yet he accepts it anyway, his lips caressing the name you gave him while he speaks it. Tasting the sounds of it, licking you off his lips as though he wants another shot.

“I'd offer you a drink, Lily, but I think I'll wait until your friends over there have given you up for the night. I'd rather have you all to myself.”
“Bold of you to assume your interest is returned.” You toss out with a smirk of your own as you turn towards the direction of your colleagues.
“I am bold, thank you for noticing. Don't you want my name?”
You stop and swallow, embarrassed that you hadn't even thought to ask. You're not thinking at all, idiot. He's got you operating on stupidpilot. You turn towards him and as you do, a spotlight brushes down your face and you know your eyes caught the light just right. 

It's always your eyes that people see last, somehow. They see your skin and hair and find excuses for it, but it's when they see your eyes that things become A Problem, when they realize. They look at you, sure. But they don't see you. Not until your eyes catch the light just so and then they can't keep pretending you're “normal.” Whatever that means. 

His eyes widen and his smirk grows to become a pleased smile. “Exotic flower indeed, river lily.” He takes your hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “My name is Sylus.”

His lips burn the pattern of his name into your very bones and you regret taking your hand back. He nods slightly towards your colleagues, all of whom are gesturing at you to join them. “I'll wait. But when you get tired of being alone...”

Sylus' voice trails off as your empty and lonely hand falls back to your side and that's when you see it, when you realize what this man has been brazenly wearing in public. Your eyes slip down, staring at the hot pink words scrawled decadently across his broad and far-too-attractively-chiseled chest and oh fuck his nipples are pierced too: “Pierced in places you'd love to lick.”

I'm going home with him tonight.

You wind your way through the clubgoers. You scream at yourself to not turn and look back at him, to not display your interest so brazenly. He looks like every bad decision you've ever made but worse and when your traitor body looks back to see that fucking smirk waiting for you, you know. The two of you are going to crash and burn. 

He's going to ruin me.

You join your colleagues at last. They eagerly make space for you, their conversation continuing around you. You sip your foul beer (fuck I hate beer) and pretend to listen, distracted by a pair of eyes on you. Tara flaps her hand to get your attention. 

“Hey! Who was Mr. Tall And Sexy?”
“Hm? Oh, at the-the bar?”
“Yeah! He was watching you from the moment you walked in. Didn't you get his name?”
Yeah, I got his name. And I don't trust myself to say it without moaning.
“Oh, no. He was hitting on me, but I uhhh-didn't-didn't ask for his name.” You stumble through your lie but everyone at the table is too drunk to notice.
I don't want anyone else to hear me say it out loud for the first time. You blink at your possessiveness. What the fuck, Lilith. Who raised you?
“Girl, are you insane?! That man throws money around like it’s water and has only spoken to the bartender until you walked in...and you didn’t get his name?! He looks like someone took all nine of your terrible ex-boyfriends and-
“Uhhh...Living Room Park Job was-”
“Lily. Oh my god. Let me guess-Fender Bender Extravaganza?”
“Him too.”
“I literally cannot even with you right now. There is a stupidly rich playboy over there who’s staring at you like he’s fantasizing about all the backshots he wants to give you in his personal jet on his way to his private island and you didn’t get his name. You’ve gotten the name of every other man that looks even a fraction as good as him, and yet you didn't grab his? Why not?! Did I get through to you too soon?!”

Poor Lily. Only eleven notches on her belt. She has a long way to go to catch up with Lilith. Okay, I should stop referring to myself in the third person, I sound more nuts than usual.

You tolerate Tara in the moment. It grates on you at times, makes your flesh creep as you grind harsh words between your teeth before swallowing them unspoken. You know she cares, that she wants you to be “happy” or “loved” or something. That she's trying to fill whatever void she thinks is locked away under your ribs.

Tara's not wrong. There is a void, anchored deep in your chest. You used to wonder if that weeping ache is where feelings about parents are supposed to sit. You’d tried feeding it with fantasies. Of parents. Siblings. Cousins. Aunts and uncles. The whole shebang. You thought it would make it stop eating you from the inside out and holy hell, you were so wrong. It made it worse.

The first one. Alex. You'd thought he was a bad boy (he wasn't), let him charm your pants off you and then your pussy onto his dick. It had been clumsy and mediocre, but through sheer dumb luck, you came that first time. And in that moment of bright white emptiness, you were finally free.

You thought it was him. Seemed like it at first. But it wasn't. It was the bliss, the ecstasy, the mind numbing pleasure that overwhelmed that bottomless pit. Alex stopped being enough, started wanting more than you could give. So you tried other men. Other women. It worked, until it stopped working.

Then you met Chris. And he most definitely was a Bad Boy, and fuck. It was so good with him, until he broke first your heart, then your arm, then your security, setting you on this path of self-destruction, leaving a trail of men and women in your wake a mile wide and ten miles long.

And behind you is the worst one yet. Sylus. He's going to break you. He's going to break you, then he's going to ruin you. He began to pour gasoline on the field the moment he saw you, and you are begging for a spark. 

Another face joins the circle at your table. Caleb with his shaggy wolf cut. He's Xavier's roommate? Lover? Situationship? You’re not sure, really. Don't really care, either. Xavier may be your partner at work, but you have long since mastered the art of avoiding friendly small talk. It'll be easier when you inevitably need to disappear. 

They're really close, and you think they live together, but you've seen both of them approach strangers when you're out together after work. Whatever works for them. It's not like they live with you.

Caleb rests a hand on the back of Xavier's neck as his eyes skim the table. His eyes meet yours and he grins, wolf-like to match his hair. It makes you uneasy, this time. Suspicion bites your hands as an ice-cold certainly slides down your spine: Caleb is Dangerous. Not the fun dangerous that Sylus looks like, he’s-whatever you felt from Caleb is gone. You blink rapidly, mentally shaking yourself, scrambling desperately for that feeling once more. He opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes drift to something behind you and for a moment they grow dark and angry. He looks away, whispering something in Xavier's ear, then he's gone as swiftly as he appeared. 

What's behind me? 

You turn and look, curious. But all you can see is Sylus, leaning against the bar with his hips thrust in your direction with lustful arrogance. Even in the dim light, you can feel the burn of his smirk and you barely catch the dip of his silver hair as he nods. Your mouth burns for something stronger than hops-flavored water and as you move to head back to the bar (back to Sylus), Tara grabs your arm. 

“Honey. Hon-hey. Look, I know he's hot. Like holy shit, it's ungodly how hot he is. But please. Your apartment just got fixed like...two days ago. I’m not saying take it slow, because I know you don’t know how to exist when you aren’t going full throttle and he looks even worse but-maybe don’t take him back to your place right away? Let it be your sanctuary for a few weeks before you let the next jobless fuckboi move himself in?”

You work your jaw as you sift through yourself for the right words. They’re buried in your throat somewhere, already halfway down to that void gnawing on your ribs. Tara’s still staring at you, drunk off her ass, yet so earnest and hopeful for you. You’re not sure why, not sure what she’s getting from it all, what she wants from you. You pat her hand.

“Relax. I’m just getting a different drink. This beer tastes like water. I’m not going to pick up that-fuck he has no business looking that sexy-I’m not going to pick him up. I’ll-”
“Lily. Oh my god. Were you even listening to me? I’m not saying don’t hook up with him. I’m just saying don’t let him move himself into your place the same night he dicks you down. That hasn’t gone well the past six times-”
“Seven is my lucky number.”
“The fuck it is. Just don’t let him move in, okay?”
“Tara, I won’t. I’m getting a beer.”

The music changes as you step away from the table. The melody pulses and slithers around you and as you saunter back towards the bar (towards Sylus), you slow until your footsteps beat in perfect rhythm with the bass that throbs in syncopation with that hungry void. There’s no smirk as his eyes caress your shape, not even a twitching at the corners of his lips. You’re leaving with him, he knows it, and now you’re both enjoying the foreplay.

You stand too close to him at the bar. You lean over as you ask for a different beer and long fingers brush along your forearm. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch and you inhale sharply. Sylus laughs for you once more but it’s meant for you alone this time and your breath catches at the way the sound vibrates in your chest.

“Enjoying the music I see.”
“It’s the bass line, the way it makes my heart flutter and my bones vibrate. I like it the way I like my men.”
“Oh?”
“Pulsing deep inside me.” You grab your new (and still disgusting) beer and move to head back to your colleagues when a hand brushes your forearm once more.
“When are we leaving.”
“When you can’t wait any longer,” you offer with a wink.

You walk back, your hips swaying in time to the music once more and this time, you take a spot where you can watch him out of the corner of your eye. You lean over, moving your hips in time to the music as you half-listen to your colleagues trade stories about their love lives. You’re slowly nursing your disgusting beer as Tara grabs your arm.

“I thought you…uhhhh…y-you said you were just going to-” Tara’s eyes grow wide as she trails off and you prepare to stand up when a warm hand settles itself against your lower back before skating to your hip. The warm steel of Sylus’ rings dig into your skin where his fingers squeeze you possessively. Casting your eyes backwards over your shoulder, you say nothing as you arch an eyebrow at him.

The eye contact is deep and intense, his palm moving along the crest of your hip as his fingers pull you back and upwards. Towards him. Time to go. You set your beer down. “I’m gonna go. You guys have a good night. I’ll text you, Tara.”

Sylus’ hand moves to your lower back as he escorts you outside. His fingers burn, the light touch feeding a warmth that pools in your core. Your breathing quickens as an ache builds, fanning the warmth that’s nearly a spark. You want him. You want him, and you’re not sure you can wait until you make it to his place. You grab his wrist and move his hand to your ass, biting your lip when he squeezes.

“I hope your car has plenty of legroom. I'm feeling impatient.”
Sylus stops in front of a sleek motorcycle. “The legroom depends on the way you sit.”
“No helmet?”
“I have an apartment near here, and I was expecting to leave the same way I arrived: alone.”
“Sorry to ruin your plans.”
“Oh, I'm hoping you're going to ruin a lot more than that.”

Sylus sits, hooking a finger through a belt loop on your pants. You sit down in front of him, facing him. Your hands are between you and you can feel the shape of his abs, his flesh quivering under your touch. You slide your hands to his shoulder blades while a hand splays itself across your lower back. You rock your hips forward and Sylus growls. 

“Hold on.”

The drive is short. You think. You don't pay any attention, distracted by the hard bulge in his jeans that taunts you, making you grind against it. You press your face into his neck, enjoying the feeling of his heartbeat as it pulses and throbs against your lips.

The moment the bike is off he stands, taking you with him, letting it tumble to the ground. His mouth on yours is hot and hungry, full of sharp teeth that slice your skin so sweetly. You only pause when he nearly rips his front door off its hinges in his eagerness to get inside.

“You two. Out,” Sylus orders. “You too, Mephisto.”
“Got it, boss.” Two men walk past you, both in masks that look like birds of some sort. They step gingerly through the door hanging drunkenly off one hinge and disappear from sight. You blink as a crow flies past you.

“Aren't-” Sylus pins you against the nearest vertical surface. His mouth is all-consuming and it takes you several moments to catch your breath. “Aren't you worried about a stranger just walking into your apartment?”
Sylus laughs, dark and gravely, against your ear. “No one would dare harm me,” he purrs. “Besides-”
You bite his shoulder and he hisses at the pain.
“Is that how you like to play, river lily?”
You say nothing as you drag the tip of your tongue from his throat to his chin.
Sylus groans as he grinds against you, nipping at your neck. “Then you should know my safeword is pineapple.”

Effortlessly you're pulled away from the wall. There's a brief sensation of near weightlessness before he sets you heavily on a bed, his body hot and hard as it presses you down into the mattress. One hand teases your lips, long fingers slipping inside your mouth while the other undoes your pants. You grab the hem of his shirt as he moves down your body, pulling off his shirt while he pulls off your pants.

The tattoos on his arms continue across his chest and stomach and you admire the metal stud in each nipple. Your mouth waters, but Sylus surprises you, burying his face between your legs. You gasp at the feel of his lips and as he explores, he stops with a throaty chuckle.

“What a delicious surprise.” You prop yourself to look at him, briefly speechless at intense red eyes that match your own looking up at you from under thick eyelashes. His tongue begins to move once more, teasing along a metal stud that pierces your hood. You open your mouth to tell him it's not necessary, that he doesn't need to bother, that you prefer to give rather than receive because it's never been good when you've received and-

You get it. 

Holy fucking hells, you finally get it. Your upper back hits the bed as your hips thrust up against his mouth, and a sound you've never made before crawls out of your throat. His hands slide roughly down your sides to your waist, pulling you just as roughly against him and that mouth. Your hands spasm for purchase and you tangle them in his hair, whimpers punctuating every breath. 

You grind desperately against his face. You can feel him laugh, a rough vibration that starts with the barbell lying against your clit and travels down to meet the heated pool that's been building since you first laid eyes on him. He keeps his hands on your hips, his tongue stroking deep-impossibly deep-inside you. 

Your legs tighten and you know you're close. You twist and grind as you seek release, whimpers and pleas weaving between desperate cries and breathless gasps. Your heels dig into his back and as he laughs, you cry out. 

“Say my name, my river lily. Be a good girl and say it for me.”
“Sylus!”

You cry out his name as you shatter around him and it tastes like luxury and decadence. You can feel him groaning, see his own hips shifting, a dark spot staining his jeans. Sparks trail down your spine at the sight, at seeing a man, this man in particular, so aroused and turned on by you. 

The waves of your climax settle and as they do, Sylus pushes himself to his knees. He looms over you, face glistening where you came, his thumb slowly wiping his face clean. He licks you off himself, smirking at the way your chest begins to heave.

“What a delectable sweetness,” he sighs. He undoes his own pants at last, slipping a hand down his boxers. You grit your teeth as he slowly strokes himself over you and you can feel yourself begin to drip at the sight. You clutch at him, that fire returning to eat you from the inside, and he laughs once more, dark and sinful.

Sylus frees himself with a muted growl and when he does you nearly cum at the sight.

He is pierced in places you'd love to lick. Hell, you want to gag on him. You stare at a ten piece frenum ladder, topped by a magic cross, with a lorum piercing just below. You whimper, every piece of you begging for the first taste.

Sylus peels himself out of his jeans and you moan at the tattoos that have continued down the rest of him. He leans over, letting the heavy weight of himself land heavily on your stomach. Precum drips steadily from his head onto your skin while you drag fingertips along his length, smirking at the way he shudders and growls. He's still, unnaturally so, watching you slowly lick your fingers clean, savoring the taste of him.

He props himself up on one hand. He's panting, jaw clenched, and you groan and twist under him. 

I'm doing that to him. He looks like he's about to snap. Because of me.

“Don't,” he warns in a dark whisper as he reaches towards his nightstand. 
“Don't what? Do this?” You drag nails down his chest as you tighten your legs around his hips and he groans, deep and guttural. 
“Brat,” he growls. His eyes are intense as he stares down at you. “Keep it up and we're fucking raw-”

The idea thrills you. It feels filthy; bad; taboo. You meet his gaze as you slowly rake your nails down his chest, daring him. He hisses and that's when you see it, his tiny thread of self-control snapping at your touch. His mouth falls on that spot where your shoulder meets your neck and he bites down with a snarl, sharp teeth threatening to penetrate your skin.

I did that to him.

He thrusts inside you without any warning and your hands spasm against his chest. You can feel his flesh tear under your nails and a choked cry escapes your open mouth. The teeth along your shoulder pierce your shoulder as the studs along his shaft rub your swollen walls and you feel like you're unravelling.

You can feel blood dripping down your chest and the salt in your sweat makes it burn; the pain is exquisite as it pulls you apart. A hand moves up your thigh to your abs, fingers splaying out and pressing down. You forget how to breathe, your hands clutching desperately at the body on top of yours before sinking into the thick muscles cording Sylus' arms. 

You can feel your back arching, desperate to meet his hips, chasing ecstasy. The hand on your abs moves up and you whimper at the loss until his hand roughly squeezes your breast. It's painful and you want more, the hard steel of his rings pinching and bruising your sensitive skin. You try to beg for more but speech eludes you and he looks at you with a hungry grin, red eyes feral.

“Breathe.”
You suck in a breath and as you find your voice again, he slams his hips into yours.
“Good girl.”

The praise is more than you can take. His hand leaves your breast to grip your cheek, hold your head in place. His mouth falls on yours, and his teeth grip your lip. There's a white flash of pain, blood begins to fill your mouth, and you moan as his tongue caresses the wound. You’re close; so close, the pleasure is agonizing. Your movements become frantic and desperate, your hands tearing bloody furrows in his skin.

His mouth consumes you, swallowing every whimper, every whispered plea, every desperate gasp. You beg Sylus, pleading, mindless with agonizing pleasure. You can feel every stud on his shaft, catching and rubbing oversensitive walls. The magic cross in his head brushes your g-spot, but it does nothing more than tease: denying you release, denying you satisfaction, denying you pleasure.

Sylus unmade you when his head was between your legs and with every earth-shattering thrust inside you, Sylus is remaking you around him. You can hear him growling above you, his eyes wide. A thick weight presses at you, demanding entry and tears prick at your eyes. You want it, you need it, need to be filled, but you fear being ripped in half. He must have seen your fear. Sylus lowers his mouth to your ear, his deep voice groaning praise and reassurance that you could take it, take all of him.

You thrust desperately against him, crying out as that heaviness finally sinks home inside you. It hurts, but like your shoulder and lip, pain pricks your pleasure to a fever pitch. Sylus changes his rhythm, no longer thrusting but instead rocking his hips. As he does, a familiar heat blooms along your spine. You stutter and gasp, hands clawing down Sylus’ back. His eyes are empty and mindless and you know yours mirror his. He presses his forehead against yours, panting whispered commands to cum, to say his name.

You fall apart around him when he moans your name, the relief of release cathartic in a way it’s never been before. It rips through you, a coiling fire that wipes out all of you and leaves only a mindless bliss in the ashes. You sob Sylus’ name as he cums with a hot flood that makes you wrap yourself around him ever more tightly. You lie there with him: a tangled unity of slick skin and heavy breaths.

You mourn the gaping emptiness inside you when he pulls out, each stud a small starburst of pleasure behind your eyes. As your breathing returns to normal, other pieces of you beg to feel his touch and you can feel yourself becoming aroused again. A thumb massages your piercing and you moan as you open your eyes. Sylus is half on his side and as his fingers slip inside you, you look over to see him already hard, precum dripping from his head.

I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

A warm burn has begun to spread across your shoulders as though your body was finally remembering wings long forgotten. It compliments a similar ache in your thighs and knees and a whimper is buried deep in your throat as your jaw is held open by him. A hand on the top of your head grips your hair, just enough to make you feel it and you make a soft noise of hunger.

You ache all over, each muscle softly crying out as though this was the first they’d ever been used. It drapes all of your movements, every roll of your hips, every grind and thrust, every hole left gaped and dripping with a feeling that you should be ashamed. You don’t, but knowing others would be horrified is titillating. You groan as studs are dragged slowly across your tongue.

You breathe heavily as you look into Sylus’ eyes. You can see his breath catch when you do, how his eyes become that much more feral. Watching him react to you, showing you how much he wants this, wants you this badly is heady. It makes you want more, makes you more adventurous, more daring...more open.

You ignore the seditious whispers cautioning addiction.

The hand gripping your hair gently pulls your head back slightly and you sigh as Sylus pulls his cock from your mouth. You lick and tease his head, your eyes fixed on him, watching him. His breathing is ragged, fingers spasming in your hair, quiet groans weaving themselves between each crooked gasp.

You trace your tongue along his every stud as you memorize the taste of him while both hands are placed on your head. Still watching him, you take all of him into your mouth at once with a moan, your throat spreading for him the way the rest of you has all night. His hands tighten and reflexively he thrusts, groaning when he feels the way your throat squeezes around him.

“Fuck,” he whispers softly. The word ends with a whimpering lilt and you nearly cum at the sound.

Sylus thrusts again, his breathing growing more and more unsteady. You begin to feel lightheaded from the lack of air, and a brief, semi-delirious thought creeps through the sex-drunk haze in your mind. Maybe this was his plan all along. Fuck me senseless and then choke me to death with his cock. I don’t even think I mind.

Sylus’ thrusts have become erratic and through the tears welling in the corner of your eyes you watch him. You want to see him, look him in the eyes when he reaches that moment of release. A thumb roughly wipes your eyes. “So pretty,” he gasps.

The praise is unexpected. It fans your own flames and you whimper in answer. You ache to touch, to caress, to grope and tease, but your arms are tied behind you, and for the first time since he bound you, you have the urge to fight them.

“I can take it,” you told him as he stood over you, a naked Adonis handling ties of black satin. His answering smirk goaded you. “Trust me. I can take it. Take you. And I won’t fight them.”
“Well, now I want to test your limits.”
“I can take you, Sylus.”
“Oh, I know you can take me. You’ve taken me so well, all night. But this-”
“I. Can. Take. You. And not only will I take you, I won’t cum until I'm told.”

You hadn’t expected him to bring out a spreader bar, or to make sure the tie around your wrists also bound you to that same spreader bar. You barely noticed it at first, even though your legs were spread slightly more than what you would typically find comfortable. But as you remained on your knees, pussy spread open in invitation that had yet to be accepted, you began to feel it. And then he took his time, feeding himself to you inch by inch, stud by stud.

Next began the ache and burn-you’re not sure how long before you began to feel it. You have no idea what time it is, and you don’t want to know. All you want is more. More of that electric ache, more of that maddening burn. You wonder when wires were crossed in your brain to make you find such discomfort so arousing, but right now you’re reveling in it. Each new twinge, each aching cry from a muscle and you’re pushed that much closer to climax.

Sylus pulls himself out of you, the ache in your jaw lessening as you can finally close it at last. You gasp for air, a twinge of regret that he didn’t hold himself for longer. Fingers thread themselves through your hair, a surprisingly gentle touch.

“Are you doing okay?” Lust and hunger creeps in the edges of his words and you admire his self-control.
You nod, catching your breath. His touch stills as he waits to hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
A familiar dull ache spreads across your scalp as Sylus grips your hair. “Good,” he groans. “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

You open your mouth with a moan, hungry for the taste of him. You stare up at him as you swallow him whole, moving your tongue along his shaft, tasting the metal of him. Your lips meet the wide base of him and as you watch, you see his breath begin to stutter. He’s close. His hips rock forward and as he does, you hear it: a whimper.

“Good girl. You’re taking me-” Sylus lets out a deep gasp and he pulls himself out of your mouth. Mouth still open, you watch his eyes as he strokes himself over you twice. You see Sylus’ eyes widen and then he cums with a deep moan.

He cums across your chin, throat, and chest, his hand shakily teasing the last drops that spill over his fingers. Panting heavily, Sylus collapses to his knees in front of you as he wipes himself on your breasts. You gasp and shudder as you lean forward into his hand while hiis thumb rubs slow circles on your hardened nipple; you know you’re close. Still rubbing and teasing your breasts, Sylus licks your chin before he kisses you and you moan, greedily swallowing his cum. 

“What a beautiful necklace you’re wearing. You were right. You took me, over and over. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You have been such a good girl for me. So pretty like this, on your knees. My good, pretty little flower.” Sylus kisses you deeply once more. “Does my river lily want to cum?”
“Please Sylus,” you beg. You’re on the edge, one touch from release.
“Cum for me.”

A thumb brushes your piercing and you cum with a sob of relief. You can feel yourself flooding his hand with the intensity of it and you shake with each excruciating wave of pleasure. Gentle hands remove satin ties and the relief of freedom prolongs your pleasure. You lie there, empty and blissful, barely registering when he picks you up and takes you to his bed, lying you gently across his lap.

You blink as he tends to you. His hand settles gently on your shoulder, his palm massaging slow, warm circles into aching joints. His touch is gentle and you frown as he begins to rub some kind of cream or ointment on one of your many bite marks.

“What are you doing?”
“Aftercare.”
“That’s for when you’re in a relationship, not-”
Sylus frowns and looks at you, concerned. “No Lily, it’s not. Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter-”

Your phone rings shrilly and you recognize the sound. Someone is calling from the precinct landline. You stumble out of Sylus’ lap as you look through your scattered clothes in a panic. You don’t find it in time and you open your phone to see a litany of messages from Tara, starting just after 5am that everyone was being called back into the office for a possible case.

It’s almost 7am.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You jump when your phone rings again, the same sound. You slam the accept button. “Uhhh-Lil-Lily.”
“There you are! You need to get in like now. Captain isn’t angry yet but she’s getting there. Get a move on!”
“Be right there,” you mumble as you hang up. You look over at Sylus, lounging on his bed in all his naked glory and you swallow. “Sorry, I-”
“No need to apologize.”
“I’ll order myself an Uber.”
“I can drive-”
“No, it’s alright.”

I don’t want work to touch this.

You dress quickly as you wait for your Uber, grumbling irritably when Sylus calmly drags you back to the bed to finish dressing the wounds he gave you. The gentleness of his touch, compared to his earlier passion, scares you with its tenderness. You can do lust, you can do passion, you can do desire. Gentleness and tenderness are foreign to you; those are things reserved for others.

Softness isn't meant for me.

As your driver texts to let you know he’s close, you stand awkwardly in Sylus’ bedroom. You’re not sure how to end this. You did, until he was sweet. You don’t know how to follow sweet, what comes next. You’re used to leaving in the early hours, your partner dead asleep while you creep out before daylight can catch you.

Sylus stands, still nude. A thumb on your chin tilts your head back to meet him as he kisses you. It’s not sweet. It’s deep and warm, the sparks of lust keeping your desire a pile of glowing embers. You still want him. Again. More. And he...hasn’t had his fill yet. Of you. You can tell by the taste.

“Let me at least walk you to the door.” He throws on a pair of boxers and heads out, not waiting for you.

You catch up after a moment, surprised to see the front door has been rehung. You see the two men from earlier, standing in the living room as they juggle what you hope are fake knives. The same crow from last night is watching them, utterly still until it looks at you. You draw back slightly; there’s something strange about it. Something off.

“Door’s fixed, boss.”
“Thank you.”

You turn your head at the crunch of tires on gravel outside. You look back and-hang on.

“Weren’t you two-”
“Weren’t we what?” The men continue to juggle calmly.
You look between them, confused. Your back had been turned for a split second, and yet somehow they had switched places. Or switched masks. “Did you-”
“Did we what?”
“Uhhh nev-nevermind.”

Unsettled and confused, you turn around in a daze. Sylus grabs your wrist and kisses your hand. “I hope we’ll see each other again,” he murmurs before letting go.
“I-yeah. Me too. Uhhh-I had a good time. Bye.” You rush out the door to meet your driver, giving him the address to the precinct and texting Tara that you’re on your way. You’re halfway to work when you realize you never got Sylus’ number.

Good job, idiot.

You walk hurriedly into the precinct, aching all over and exhausted. You try to run a hand through your hair and you wince. Tara spots you immediately and rushes up, her face both concerned and curious.

“I thought you told me you were going to text me when you got home! I’ve been worried about you!”
“I was. I just haven’t been home yet.” You flash her a crooked grin.
“...okay. Well now I need details. Because you look like you haven’t slept.”
“That's because I haven't.”
“All night?!”
“Mhmm.”
“Okay. On a scale of one to ten where-”
“Fifteen.”
“You’re kidding. You’ve never-”

At your voice, your captain, Jenna, sticks her head out of her office. “Holy shit, Lily. You look like hell. Tara tells me you had a late night. Clean yourself up and join me and Xavier in the briefing room.”
“Got it, captain.”

Tara hands you a brush as she walks away with a whisper. “I need details.”

You sit down in the briefing room, feeling only slightly better than dead as you sip at your (terrible) coffee. Xavier is dozing, as usual, not even registering that you entered the room. Jenna enters right on your heels and taps Xavier's head with her paperwork as she walks past.

“So there's been a murder. It's unclear if it's our jurisdiction or not, so we're assisting until we know. I'm assigning you two as leads to work the possible Shifter angle while the detectives from the One-Five work the murder angle.”
“So uhhh-” You try to catch up. Why the hell are we working it like this?
“Councilman Blaine’s wife, Angela, was found dead,” Xavier murmurs under his breath.
You change the question you were going to ask. “There's no concern that our leads might overlap or interfere with the concurrent investigation?” Thank you, you mouth quietly.
“That was a concern, but the higher ups have deemed the chance for interference to be negligent at best. If the investigations DO overlap, I'll take it up with them and the captain at the One-Five to determine the best course of action. So for right now, treat this as a standard Shifter murder.” Jenna's phone pings. “Excellent. Crime techs have finished processing. Head on over and walk through it. And be nice if you run into the detectives at the One-Five.”

You groan as you stand up, stiff muscles screaming. You frown; the ache doesn't feel nearly as nice as it did when you were with Sylus. You pat your pocket for your keys, as they should be-

They're in your purse.

That's at home. 

“Fuck,” you mutter.
“Looks like I get to drive for once.”
“Just try to get us there this century, Grandma.”
“I was going to speed, but just for that, I'm going to go the speed limit.”
You glare at him and Xavier smirks as he grabs his keys.

I hate riding with Xavier.  

“Get it out of your system.”
“What?”
“You wanna bitch about me driving. Get it out of your system.”
“Well now I'm not going to. I'm going to take a nap.”

You slide down in your seat and try to mimic the way Xavier slumps when he's napping. You frown; it's not very comfortable. You shift, and think you-nope. You move again, finding a more comf-still nothing. You continue to fidget, growing increasingly irritated until all your frustration spills out of you. 

“I hate riding with you!”
“There it is.”
“How the fuck do you sleep in these things?!”
“There's a trick to it.”
“It's-wait, really? What is it?”
“It's simple. You just lean back-yeah, like that. Okay, good. Next you close your eyes-”
Desperate, you shut your eyes. “Now what?”
“Now you go the fuck to sleep.”
“Fuck you, Xavier!”

You sit up with a yell and slap his arm. It does nothing to stop his laughter. At my expense. Asshole.

You try to close your eyes when a hand slaps your thigh. “Don't bother, we're here.”
“I'm amazed we got here before I died of old age.”

You get out, grumbling irritably. As you approach the crime scene tape, you notice two other men approach. You shake your head at them. “Sorry, crime scene. You'll have to get your kicks else-” You reach down to your waist to grab your badge and you swear quietly. 

Your badge is also in your purse.

“Motherfucker,” you mutter.
“We're actual cops, sweetie-”
“Ohhh, bad choice of words,” Xavier comments blithely.
“I'm not your fucking sweetie,” you snarl.

You grab the one closest to you by the back of his neck and throw him against the side of the house. As he staggers backwards, you kick the back of his knee, following it up with a heavy elbow drop along his upper back. He collapses to his stomach and a piece of you sneers at how easy it was. He tries to pick himself up until you slam a foot on his back. “Stay. Down,” you snap. The man holds his hands up and stays still.

You look over to see Xavier restraining the other in a headlock. His phone pings in a pattern you recognize: an email. He studies his phone as he maintains the headlock before shuffling over to show you that Jenna had emailed two badge numbers along with two photos.

It's the men you just picked a fight with.

Glaring, you grab the badge clipped to your captive’s waist. It matches one of the numbers Jenna sent. Oops. You remove your foot, and as the man gets up, his face is twisted with fury. He snatches his badge back while his other hand falls to his holster. You balance on the balls of your feet, your reactions on a hair trigger and itching for a fight.

“Assaulting a police-”
“I'd think very carefully about what you look like you're about to do,” Xavier warns.
“Murphy, you dense motherfucker. She's a cop too. Both of them. They're with the Shifter division. They're the people we're supposed to meet,” the second man pleads.
“You pull that, you better fucking kill me with one shot. Or I will get back up and you're really not going to like what happens-” you hiss.
“Lily, shut the fuck up. And back down, I'm trying to defuse this shit,” Xavier scolds.

You relax as much as you can. After a lifetime, Murphy takes his hand off his holster. His gaze switches between you and Xavier, landing finally on his partner. He straightens and relaxes, but you can still see the anger radiating off him. 

“Fucking Shifters. That's the only-”
“The fuck did you just call me?”
“Fucking Shifter. It's what you are, aren't you? Only way you could have gotten the drop on-”
“Xavier, shoot him.”
“No. Be an adult.”
You glare at Murphy. “I'm not a fucking Shifter, you illiterate dickstain. Our division hunts Shifters. Dumbass.”

Murphy blinks.

His partner takes advantage of the break in tension. “I'm sorry. Really. He's a good cop, honest. He's just having an off day. I'm Jones.” Jones sticks his hand out. You debate refusing it, but Xavier frowns. Fine. I'll play nice with this Neanderthal and his babysitter. You grab the offered hand like it's riddled with disease but otherwise say nothing.
“I'm Xavier. The violent one is Lily.”
“Make a crack about flowers and-”
“Lily-”
“A joke is the farthest thing from our minds right now. Right, Murphy?” Jones keeps his tone friendly, but his gaze at his partner is sharp. 
“...right.” Murphy's reluctance is obvious. 
“Now that we're all best friends, let's actually do our jobs. We should pair off. Murphy, you and I should check out the top floor while Jones and Lily check out the bottom floor.” Xavier announces.

You roll your eyes but otherwise continue to keep your mouth shut as you follow Xavier inside. He heads upstairs, followed closely by Murphy. As you start a slow walk through, the weight of Jones’ eyes becomes palpable. You bite back a sigh. “Ask your questions.”
“I-uhh-didn’t-fuck. I said something out loud, didn't I.”
“Not until just now. I'm not stupid, and if you're here you're not supposed to be stupid either, so stop insulting my intelligence.”
Jones stammers an uncomfortable apology. 
You sigh, surprised at your irritation as you relent. “Yes, I am. Yes, my eyes are more sensitive to bright light than other people. No, I don't have magical healing abilities.”

As you continue walking through, familiar irritation burns in your throat. You thought you banished impatience years ago, had long accepted that you would always field the same tired questions, refuting the same tired myths. Sullen bitterness claws up your throat as you remember teenage refrains, and-

Eyes under silver hair saw you. He saw you, Sylus saw you.  No dull questions poisoned the tension; Sylus saw you and wanted you. And you saw Sylus and wanted him. 

Why can't people be more like him?

Jones clears his throat and you reluctantly set aside thoughts that had begun to make you ache and burn. “So. Sounds like you had a rough night last night?”
I did, but not in the context you're using the word.
“We went out last night. My division. I went home with someone, got called in before I returned home. All my stuff was in my purse, which I left at my apartment because-”
“You were going out.”
“Yeah. And I wasn't expecting to go home with anyone, or to get called in, so-”
“A perfect storm.”
Yeah, that about captures Sylus. 

You head into a different room and begin to look around. It's some-you’re not sure, really. You've never been rich enough to have a room in your home that didn't have a clear purpose. You open a cupboard: dog stuff. Unopened boxes of treats, toys, and even puppy pads. 

“Wonder what kind of dog they have,” you murmur as you look over the box. Clearly a big breed, going by the size. 
“Uhhh, according to the husband, they don't.”
You gesture to the cupboard. 
“Maybe it's a kink thing?” Jones looks hopeful. 
“Lemme check their social media. His wife was what, a lawyer?”
“Influencer.”
“Perfect, that'll be-huh. That's weird.”

You stare at your phone as you examine Angela's social media presence. Something isn't right and it itches at your brain. You continue skimming, distantly aware of footsteps on the stairs. “So labs just came back on some hair found on her body,” Murphy calls out. “It's canine. So, looks like this one is all yours-”
You and Xavier both stare, confused. “If it's canine, then it's definitely not ours. It means the husband was lying.”
“Wait, what?”
“Shifter fur, hair, and scales match their DNA. It doesn’t come back as animal.”

You stare at your phone. The wrong feeling has grown from an itching to claws ripping holes in your mind. You hold up a finger as you try to vocalize what pieces you already understand. 

“Hang on. Hang on, look at this. Her-Angela-was an influencer, right? Constantly posting, several times a day, even when sick-”
“She's consistent. Was consistent.”
“Right? So why are there entire days lately where there's no post? And I mean, no posts. There are plenty of days where she doesn't post her own content but she does make a post promoting someone or-oh, it looks like she was getting into philanthropy. See? A few years ago, she started promoting all these non-profits.”
The three men study your phone. Murphy speaks first, bad blood forgotten. “Could be someone was cleaning up her posts, trying to hide evidence of something.”
“Like maybe a dog?”
Murphy starts checking Councilman Blaine's social media presence. “Strange. He normally posts every day, but he's got several days where there's nothing.”
You look over the dates. “A lot of similar dates between their profiles where there's nothing.”
Murphy frowns. “Looks more and more like someone went through and deleted certain posts.”
Jones looks thoughtful. “Maybe someone on their staff posts?”
Xavier holds up his phone. “Yep. Found their-hmm. I guess nanny and also home help? This lady did a lot around the house and-” Xavier's eyes light up. “And check it out. A dog. An Irish wolfhound. Husband didn't even think about the nanny.”
“Typical man,” you snort derisively. “Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. The nanny wasn't a real person to him, so of course he didn't even consider her.”
Jones holds up his phone. On it is a picture of Blaine, out at some dinner, hand gripping the hip of a woman who was not Angela. “So, husband is now suspect number one. Are we thinking Angela caught Blaine cheating?” Jones swipes to a new photo. “Or Blaine got jealous?”

This time it's Angela, arm around a man who wasn't Blaine. Xavier frowns as he leans in to examine the second man. From a distance he's familiar and as a ball of ice forms in your gut-

“Hey Lily. Isn't that the guy you went home with last night?”

You lean close. It's Sylus, but he's in a suit oh fuck it should illegal to look that good in a suit but while the woman's arm is around his waist, his hands are in his pockets. You note his body language: leaning away slightly, and the slight smile at the corner of his lips doesn't reach his eyes. His tattoos are hidden and even his piercings are subdued. You note his name in the tags: Sylus Qin Che.

Not a smirk. Angela didn't warrant a smirk. But you did.

“Yep. That's him. Explains his apartment.”
“Was it nice?”
“His bedroom is. I didn't ask for, or particularly want, a tour.”
You study the picture, taking this new side of a man you don't know and trying to make it fit with what little you do know.
“Well what the hell were you doing in his apartment, then?” Murphy asks irritably. 

The silence deafens as you, Jones, and Xavier stare at Murphy. Murphy looks around. “What? What did I say?”
“Are you stupid?”
“Look here you pasty-don't call me stupid-”
“I didn't call you stupid. I asked if you were stupid, there's a difference.”
“Lily. Be nice,” Xavier sighs.
Your eyes are screwed shut while you grind your teeth. When you open them, your gums feel bloodied and raw from the shards of all the harsh words that broke in your mouth. “He picked me up last night. In a club. I went home with him, and then we proceeded to have sex. A-” You pause as you remember last night, a warm blush racing down your spine. “-lot of sex. I was still at his place when I got called in for this case.”

You stare pointedly at Murphy, but at least he had the courtesy to blush this time. You turn to Xavier, now leaning up against a wall and looking bored. “Can we leave? It's not our case.”
“Why are you-oh yeah.” Xavier grins. “You're stuck riding shotgun today.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“Just for that, I'm going to drive extra slow.”
“I'll update Jenna. I guess. Do-do you call her? Text her? I've never updated her, that's always been your job. This is weird. I don't like this.”
“Grow up.”

The rest of the day passes uncomfortably. While no official mention was made of your scuffle, someone everyone knew about it. You found yourself drowning in paperwork. A debatable evil, but one you're accustomed to. Or so you thought.

There's something not quite right with you and you cannot figure it out. It's maddening, a wrongness lurking just below your skin, making your fingers itch with a desire to pick and probe. And…you're not tired. You should be, and you suspect you are, buried deep underneath your irritation and desire for violence. But it's not what you feel. It's not what you want. What you want is-

You want to see Sylus again.

You want to look into those red eyes as they watch you break all over him. You want to feel his voice as he praises you-fucker gave me a praise kink in one fucking night, what the fuck. You want more of what he gave you last night.

And you, dumbass extraordinaire, forgot to get his number. 

Idiot.  

“C'mon. I'll drive you home. You can tell me all about last night as payment,” Tara offers with a grin.
“Fine, fine,” you groan.

The drive home is fun, two girls gossiping about boys. You keep many details of your night (and morning) with Sylus to yourself. It's never gone well for you when colleagues find out what you're into. It's bad enough the more uncouth ones stare and gawk at you just for existing.

Tara drops you off right in front of your place, a shabby little bottom floor apartment. It's not the greatest, but it's yours. And the new wall was tastefully done; the paint is almost a perfect match. You can hear your cat yelling at the door as you grab your phone. With a grin, you text Tara: “I'm home :)”

She's still laughing as you step inside, the rattle of her engine not disappearing until she sees you shut your front door behind you. You lock it behind you, reaching down to scratch the ears of the cat furiously headbutting your knees and purring violently.

“Hello baby. Yes, yes. I know, I know, I was gone for a long time. I'm sorry. I'll give you some wet food, okay?”

Bribery accepted, Cat-Sìth saunters into the kitchen and begins to nudge her plate. You frown as you open a can and set it down. “Kinda rude to be all lovey until you get what you want, you know. You could at least pretend you missed me.” Cat-Sìth flicks her tail and purrs while she eats.

You shuffle back into your living room and collapse on your couch with a sigh, grabbing your phone. You debate browsing social media for Sylus, to see if you can find him but doom scrolling is singing a siren’s call and you are powerless to-hang on. 

You have an unread text message. You frown; your phone never went off all-you check your phone and swear quietly. You'd put it on Do Not Disturb some point after Sylus introduced you to his piercing collection and...well, that explains why you didn't hear Tara's earlier texts. And why the phone calls DID go through. 

You open the text and choke back a gasp. It's Sylus. He must have added his number to your phone when you were in the bathroom.

having a comfortable day, river lily?  

You frown at your phone. That question is…oddly specific. Your heart lurches as you type out a response. 

that depends why ur asking

You don't even see the typing dots appear before an image fills your screen: Sylus, reclining on his bed, clearly naked but the angle reveals nothing untoward...except your panties. 

In his hand. 

Blushing, you check and-yep. You were in such a rush to get to work that you forgot your underwear. Get it together, Lilith.

omg
omg
im so embarrassed
dont mind me im just going to go die

these are cute

i am so sorry
ill uhhh

why are you apologizing 

bc im embarrassed
and its gross
i wore those

well why dont i reunite you with your missing panties

omg ty

next time youre heading to the club
text me

is this an elaborate ploy to see me

mmm wouldnt you say that
leaving your panties here is your elaborate ploy for you to see me again

what
pfffft
no

Your heart pounds as you set your phone down. You feel conflicted about the liberty he took with your phone. On the one hand, you appreciated his foresight and initiative, because apparently he fucked yours out of you last night. But the arrogance of it, the blatant assumption-that kind of shit pisses you off. It’s a quandary, but you ultimately decided to be grateful for his consideration.

You lie on your couch. You want to see him again and the moment you saw his name on your phone, your brain helpfully put the previous night on high definition replay. 

Maybe a shower will calm me down.

The shower did not calm you down. 

Water running over bites and scratches only reminds you of how you got them, while hot water massaging tired muscles does little to soothe a growing ache elsewhere. Your exhaustion is easily shunted aside; you are not yet satisfied and you know sleep will elude you until you are.

You step out feeling refreshed and positively social. Your phone lights up. Tara, asking if you're too tired for a quick drink and heavily laden with caveats to take care of yourself first (oh I need to be taken care of, but not in the way you're thinking). You reply with enthusiasm as you sort through your clothes. 

Call me cute, huh? I'll show you cute, Sylus.

It's a cliche, you wearing red and white, but you've long since stopped caring. You like what you like, and that's white and red. You grabbed your favorite skirt, a short pleated red thing. It's cute and playful; much cuter and more playful than anything you've felt recently. Your top is a simple, low cut halter top. Flirty, but the white keeps it cute flirty, rather than sexy flirty. Your shoes are short, comfortable heels, with little bowties on the toes. You're so fucking cute you want to squeeze your reflection.

You let your hair air dry into loose waves and your make-up? Minimum. You've never taken to it. It's entertaining, how vivid it is on your skin but it's also really easy to see when you make a mistake and truthfully? 

You're lazy, and you'd rather lie in bed looking at memes than get up early enough to put on make-up.

You grab a little purse-also cute, also red-with just enough room for your phone, your license, and a small wad of cash for the cover charge. You have no interest in paying for your own drinks tonight. As you walk up to that same club, you look for a sleek motorcycle, quietly hoping that maybe-just maybe-Sylus was here. Alas, nothing. Guess he's missing out tonight.

You hand over your cash for a lazily applied stamp to the back of your hand (also red) and head inside. You text Tara that you're stopping by the bar for drinks first, and with a cheeky grin, you text Sylus. You lean up at the bar, flashing a smile at the man standing next to you. 

“Hey, you're cute. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Aww, thank you!”

You order a whisky and a beer. As you grab your drinks and turn to head over to Tara, the man next to you sputters with surprise.

“Hey, uhh-I-I bought you those drinks-”
“You did! And now I’m going to drink them over there. With my friend. Thanks!” You smile and watch as his brain short-circuits while you saunter away.

Tara is laughing into her beer as you approach. “What did you do to that poor man?”
“He offered to buy me a drink and I took him up on it. I just didn’t tell him I had no intention of drinking with him.”
“You’re terrible. He’s standing there looking like a poleaxed ox right now. You did that to him.”
“Tara. Look at me. We’re three days away from payday, and I am way too cute to pay for my own drinks tonight.”
“I agree.” A familiar baritone purrs behind you at the same moment your phone lights up with a text.

Phone in hand, you whirl around to see Sylus looming over you. He’s in dark jeans again, but this time his tank top is a plain white. The lines of his tattoos bleed through and you bite your lip. A hand grips your hip and while a piece of you bristles at the possessive gesture, more of you wants to press against it, feel those rings bruise your skin some more. He kisses you in greeting, a bedroom kiss full of shadows and dark hunger and you know he’s staking a claim on you, marking you as his. A warning to others that tonight, at least, you are his. The heavy weight of his hand on your hip, tugging you gently to his side, fingers slipping down past the hem of your skirt only confirms it.

You stumble backwards slightly as you catch your breath. You remember the text message and you check it-Sylus. 

you look cute

Your heart melts at his text. You knew you were, but having him validate your efforts was...satisfying Validating. You told yourself you didn’t dress this way for him, that you didn’t hope he would be here to see you, that you didn’t drape yourself in crimson and ivory for him. You even halfway believe yourself.

“You know, I have that possession of yours that you left in my apartment. Had I known you would be here, I would have made sure to bring it.”
“I didn’t think you were here. I didn’t see your bike.”
Sylus smirks. “I drove a car tonight. In case I needed the legroom.” His eyes gleam and you remember how it felt to be held so tightly against him. “If you want, I’ll take you back there later tonight, so I can give it to you.”
Heat curls in your gut and flutters out to your fingertips. “That would be perfect. Please.”

Tara tugs you close and hugs your shoulders with one arm. “I’m not stupid, I know when I’m becoming a third wheel. Make him work for it.” She looks over at Sylus. “Well, I’m sure the traffic to your place is terrible, so you should probably just head out now. I’m going to console that guy who just had his heart broken by Lily. Text me when you get home, girlie!”

Sylus looks at you with that smirk. “We should go. The traffic is terrible. Or so I hear.”
“Well, if the traffic is terrible...”

A warm hand tangles itself with yours. Sylus keeps you close as you walk out with him. As you do, you see Caleb in the distance, hitting on a tall, willowy woman that screams lawyer. She's clearly enamored, her hand trailing along his arm and briefly you wonder at the exact nature of his relationship with Xavier. Sylus tugs on your hand and you match your pace to his stride.

Hurrying but not, his pace is deceptively fast as Sylus guides you to a low, sexy sports car. You bite your lip when you see it, Caleb now long forgotten. While you have a love of fast cars and faster men, your paycheck does little beyond affording you the Wi-Fi necessary to stare at cars that cost more than what you make in a decade.

“Fuck that is a sexy car,” you mutter. Sylus laughs, quiet and breathless, as he opens the door for you.
He takes the driver seat and looks over. “Well. You have more legroom tonight. How did you plan on using it?”

You take in the car around you first, admiring the sleek accents and cutting edge tech. When you finally look back at Sylus, he’s moved his seat back and reclined it, with one arm under his head. You bite your lip as you admire him. You can see his arousal and before you stop to think things through, you’ve swung yourself over to sit on his lap.

Placing both hands on his chest, you lean into him while you grind against the rough fabric of his jeans. Hands grip your sides and pull you down unti one hand slips up under your shirt. You whimper when Sylus pinches your breast and the movement of your hips increases.

You feel it when his hand leaves your hip and you hear the sound of a zipper. Moments later, he’s pressing against you. The studs in his head tease you and despite your best effort to keep silent, to keep your word, to make him work for it, you cry out.

“You look so pretty for me,” Sylus murmurs as the hand on your breast squeezes. “And so considerate, to leave home things that only get in the way. Like bras-” A sensitive nipple is pinched and rolled between his fingers. “And panties.”   Sylus pulls you down onto him, sheathing his full length into you in one swift movement. 

You cry out again, overwhelmed. Your hips move on instinct and Sylus pulls half of your halter top to the side, exposing your other breast. Eyes locked on you, he brings it to his mouth, teeth and tongue teasing tender skin. 

Hands grip your hips and you moan as rings pinch. You can feel them urging you to move, spurring you to ride this pillar of flesh and steel ever faster. Instead you slow down, dragging yourself off of him, each stud a separate thrill. And just as slowly you thrust yourself back onto him. He bottoms out each time and you let out a soft little cry with every stroke. 

You ruined me last night. Now it's my turn.

You stare into his eyes. You can see the fraying of his self-control, feel it in his unsteady breathing and clutching hands. You goad him, slowing your pace even further. Lose control. Do it, for me.  

You can feel a rumbling and it gives you a thrill when you realize it's Sylus growling. Low, steady, constant.

“What's wrong?”
-whimper-
“Don't I-”
-whimper-
“-feel-”
-whimper-
“-so good?”
-whimper-

Teeth become sharp and hungry and the hands on your hips squeeze so fiercely you can already feel the bruises caressing your skin. Your own breath becomes ragged, taking all you have to keep this slow, agonizing pace. 

You're staring into Sylus' eyes when you cum, mouth open as you grip his chest. His heart pounds and chest heaves as he watches you slowly pull yourself off him, each stud dragging out countless sounds of pleasure. 

An arm wraps around your waist, clutching the opposite hip while another hand slips up your back to grab your neck. Sylus pulls you tightly to him, his mouth on yours as he murmurs your name, his hips rocking up against yours. He is sharp lines and rough surfaces under you, his movements turning the slow burning embers of your release into a bright ecstasy that cuts you into pieces. 

Still raw from last night, your body is quick to scream for mercy as Sylus continues to roughly thrust himself inside you. You savor the indistinguishable pleasure and pain as your body clutches hungrily at him, squeezing him tightly. 

You try to speak and fail. Words are beyond you, all existence narrowed to this man between your legs, fucking you relentlessly in his car. His eyes see only you, his lips taste only you, and with an aching groan, Sylus buries the last, thick piece of himself fully into you. 

You feel on the verge of splitting open once more. Everything is almost too much, almost more than you can take, almost enough to make you fall apart. You revel in it, in Sylus, your mouth open as each thrust rips a desperate cry. He cums without warning, a hot flood that fills so many hungry cracks inside you. 

You collapse fully against his chest, satisfied in the moment. He keeps you draped over him as he starts the car, his arm squeezing when you try to move. 

“Need my seat.”
“This is your seat.” He thrusts again and you whimper. 

You still don't know how long the drive is. You still don't care. You can't think past the thick of him still buried inside you. He's impatient, ripping the door nearly off its hinges once more. You hear his voice rumble an order, but this time he carries you straight to his bedroom. 

It's still messy. You can smell the previous night, the rich scent of sex, your sex, hanging thick in the air. He sets you heavily on the bed once more, sheets still rumpled. He pulls out with a groan and it feels like a piece of you is ripped away.  “Hands and knees,” he orders. 

You obey and Sylus pulls your hips to him. He drags his cock between your cheeks until he begins to tease your ass with his head. He grabs the bottle of lube on his nightstand with an impatient sigh as he preps you, rough and hurried movements making you shake.

The pain when he eases himself inside is brief and bright, fading quickly to pleasure that makes your fingers clench around satin-soft sheets. Your back arches as Sylus finds his rhythm, the hot pressure of his splayed hand on your back shoving you into his mattress making you cry out.

You lie beneath him, spread open, each thrust pulling ecstatic cries, watching him in the dim reflection of the sliding glass door leading to a private patio. He's staring down at you, enthralled, and as he meets your eyes, he smirks. 

“Watch me, my river lily,” he groans as his pace becomes frantic. 
You're beyond speech and unable to look away.

Sylus gives you only a moment of warning as the last of himself presses inside you at last. The pressure is pleasure as you cum, sparks burning white hot from your eyes all down your spine and he cums moments later. It's a hot flood, your eyes rolling back in your head as you moan.

Sylus kneels behind you as he catches his breath, laughing quietly when you make a quiet sound of protest as he pulls out. You can feel him dripping from you and alarms sound that you're operating in dangerous territory, that this a risk you've never taken before and-

Firm hands help you to your back and a body sticky with sweat curls up beside you. Hands that clutched and bruised now massage warm circles into muscles still weeping because of him and despite your exertions, there's a new lightness left behind.

Anxiety grips your chest; this is sweet. Intimate. Tender. All things foreign to you. That's for people you care about and while you like Sylus, what little you know of him, you cannot fathom why he would put such effort into you. 

Don't look to me for sweet nothings. I have nothing to give you beyond my body.

The silence continues around you. You try to relax into it, mimicking Sylus' quiet confidence. You almost succeed, until he speaks. “Let's get cleaned up.” He picks you with one arm, laughing quietly at your startled squeak as your arms flail before grabbing his neck. 

“Relax, Lily. I've got you.”
“You're carrying me with one arm of course I'm going to panic, that's-”
“I won't drop you.”
“How?!”
“It's called working out,” he says with a wink.

His bathroom is disgustingly lavish and now that you're not rushing out, you finally take a moment to admire it. It's mostly black with red and white accents, and everything looks several times more expensive than your entire apartment.

He turns on the water, still carrying you, but his grip only tightens when you try to get.

“I didn't realize river lilies are so wiggly when they get close to water,” he teases.
You stick your tongue out and Sylus laughs as he steps inside the shower, gently setting you down. 
“Tell me if the water is too hot.” His voice is gentle and he guides your head backwards under the stream.
You open your mouth to protest and demand privacy, but the water hits you at the same time his fingers begin to massage your scalp and-

This is more kindness than you deserve. But a tiny voice tired of always existing a paycheck away from homelessness strangles that demand and instead you feel weight fall off your shoulders that had sat there for so long, you can't remember a time without it. You sigh and it knocks loose more weights on your soul. Sylus watches you as he shampoos your hair, each weight rinsed out with the suds in your hair. His mouth says nothing, but his touch whispers a promise of safety, of comfort.

Against your better judgement, you accept those promises and lean against his chest while your hands memorize the feel of a slow, steady pulse.

He kisses you as he tucks your head back under the water to rinse the remainder of shampoo. He tastes soft but hungry and his hands slip down to your hips to pull you tightly to him, and it's easy-too easy-for your arms to wrap around his neck.

Sylus picks you up and presses you against the wall. The tile is cold against skin warmed by the water and he swallows your gasp. He thrusts inside as your hands clutch desperately at his hair and you feel his laughter against your neck.

“Relax, my river lily. I won't let you fall. I promise.”

A voice whispers caution at the possession in his words but that voice is drowned out by the sound of water and his breath against your ear. 

He's tender, caring and sweet, and greedily you drink it in. It's not meant for you but a bruised and brittle piece of your soul accepts it anyway, desperate for kindness, stolen and otherwise. His lips burn against your skin as he seeks your mouth, the gentle taste of him a softer satin than his sheets.

He begs you to cum for him and when you do, it's a warm blaze that makes you clutch him desperately. He follows you, calling out your own name and it sounds like music. He presses his forehead to yours as your breaths mingle in the steam, and his fingers are reluctant when he finally sets you down. 

The shared shower continues in comfortable silence. You find a rhythm with him, and despite the warmth of the steam and water, you stay close to him. The closeness is calming, rather than confining, and when he dries your hair, you close your eyes against his shoulder. 

You can feel at last the soft shackles of sleep weighing you down as he carries you back to bed. The sheets feel cool and soft against your skin and you don't even fight against Sylus wrapping himself around you as you finally fall asleep.

You wake late, you and Sylus tangled around each other. You try to remove yourself without disturbing him, but the two of you are too tangled and he feels…surprisingly nice. His hand is on your hip and as you stir against him, his thumb begins to rub soft circles along the crest. Lips press the top of your head as he fully wakes, keeping himself against you as much as possible. 

“Sleep well?”
You sit up with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 
“You look cute with bedhead.” Sylus smiles softly, his hand lightly touching your hair. 
“I look like a troll.”
“I've met a few trolls; you're much cuter.”
“Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee while I get dressed? I'll pay you back.”
“It's no trouble, but the exchange rate is one kiss per cup.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye, thrown off by his…everything. The duality of him. His aggression, the blazing inferno he stokes, followed by tenderness. It's all so much, so new. He studies you as you look him over, but...a kiss for a cup of coffee seems simple enough. You lean down for a kiss, his palm holding your cheek and you feel a flutter in your chest. Your heart skips a beat.

You tell yourself it's not because of him. 

“Your clothes should be clean. I'll let you get dressed; just follow the smell of coffee.” He gets out of bed, pulling on a pair of soft pajama pants.

As he steps out, you head into the bathroom. Your hair is a mess and while you find a hairbrush right away, you decide to poke around. For research. His bathroom makes you sad, after a while. A bathroom designed for a couple, with twin sinks; the drawers are sparse on one side, bare on the other. You wonder if there had ever been another occupant. Someone else who stood next to him, brushing teeth with him, styling their hair as he watched in the mirror. Regardless if it once held two people, now it's an altar to his loneliness.

You reflect on that familiar emptiness as you dress, smiling when you put your clothes on. They are indeed clean, and they smell like him. It’s a rich, subtle scent that warms you even as it clings to your skin. You can smell it in your hair when you move and when you do, it’s like you breathe him in.

Fully dressed, you grab your purse and follow the smell of coffee. Sylus is standing in a kitchen more bare than his bathroom, staring off into nothing as he leans over a counter. His fingers brush yours as he hands over a mug and after you make yourself a cup, you stand next to him at the counter. Your hip brushes his and a hand settles on your back where fingers trace endless spirals. You pull out your phone and order a ride as you sip your coffee.

“Care for a ride home?”
“Uhhh, no thanks. I’ll just order myself a ride.”
“Alright. I’ll pay for-”
“It’s okay. Really.”

Memories of past lovers, men and women who couldn’t bear to have their hospitality refused, who couldn’t bear their most recent conquest refusing them, rear their ugly heads and you pause. You pause, and you wait. You want to think Sylus isn’t so shallow, that his tender touches aren’t a lie, but experience has taught you fear. Has taught you caution. And Tara’s voice whispers in your ear, to not give access to your home just yet.

“Okay. Will you text me when you get home?” No irritation, no wounded pride. Just calm acceptance.

Maybe he is different.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

You stand in silence with him as you drink your coffee. His hand never left, fingers still tracing endless spirals, unaware that he’d passed a test. Your phone pings that your driver is near and his hand slips to your waist. He straightens with you and his eyes as he looks at you are calm and warm. You finish the last of your coffee and relinquish your mug back to Sylus.

Your phone pings again: your driver has arrived.

“Thank you. For the coffee. I enjoyed seeing you again.”
“I enjoyed seeing you again, and I hope I can see you again after this.”
“I’ll consider it.” You flash a grin at the startled look in his eyes. He laughs soon after.
“May I kiss you goodbye?”
“That would be nice.”

Sylus kisses you. Just like the last time you kissed him goodbye, it’s deep and warm, leaving you breathless when he finally lets go.

“Bye,” you murmur breathlessly as you head out the door, fixed a second time.

You can feel his eyes on you until his apartment is out of sight.

You text Sylus and Tara when you reach your front door, in that order. Tara responds with a long string of eggplants, while Sylus reacts with…a crow? Giving you a thumbs up?

Tht’s...unexpected. Okay.

As you greet a loudly furious Cat-Sìth with promises of many cans of wet food, you notice an odd weight in your purse. As you get comfortable at last, you empty it, surprised to find a tiny and oddly heavy little figure tucked inside.

A river lily.

Chapter Text

Five Weeks Later

You step out of Sylus’ bedroom with a yawn and head towards his kitchen, keeping an eye out for him. He was gone when you woke up; usually you're the first one awake. The slap of your bare feet against the hardwood floor is the only sound you hear as you stop in front of his coffee machine, hands following the rhythm of making a fresh pot. You're staring at the pot slowly filling with the magical dark brew with longing when his front door reluctantly swings open. Sylus fights to close it, finally claiming victory after slamming it shut with his shoulder.

“It might be easier to just have someone come by and fix it correctly.”
Sylus stares at it thoughtfully. “I think Luke and Kieran have a bet going to see how many times they can fix it before it's unusable.”
“How many times have they fixed it?”
Sylus shrugs. “However many times you’ve spent the night.”
“Maybe you should replace it with a tent flap. Would be a lot easier to get through.”
Sylus snorts with laughter. “And rob you of the thrill of seeing me dramatically rip the door open?”
You giggle. “It is very manly of you.”

You watch Sylus as he saunters for you, your lips curling in a smile. You've seen him…a lot. Several times a week. Weekends and week nights. You text constantly, and the nights you aren't in his bed are just as heated. You told yourself at first that you were an exotic treat, a flavor of the week he wanted to binge. Lately though, you’ve begun to hope that you haven’t been imagining the blurring of the line between hook-ups and lovers.

Sylus is already at his fridge, creamer in hand for you. You add it to yours, with only a splash poured into his. There's a delicate ballet of Sylus putting the creamer back into the fridge while you stir both before handing his mug over. He takes it without testing it, trusting you to have made it the way he likes. Red eyes examine you over the lip of his mug as he drinks before setting it down with a smirk; before you can say anything, Sylus picks you up and sets you the counter. 

Sylus kisses you playfully, his hands cupping your cheeks. You giggle when he ends the kiss and he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. 

“You look good like this.” 

Gentle hands part the shirt you're wearing, a tight button-down shirt with short sleeves he'd worn the previous night, the pattern of his tattoos providing a chaotic contrast to the sheer solid white. You hook your legs over his hips, pulling him right up to the counter. Arms wrap around you as he buries his face in your still-messed hair and after a moment’s hesitation you return the warmth.

“You normally go home around now but…stay a little longer today? I have a new bike I want to show you.”
“Can we go fast?”
“You say that like I drive any other way.”
You look up into red eyes with a grin and he kisses the tip of your nose. “Lemme down so I can get dressed.”
“I don’t feel like it.”

Sylus lifts you onto his shoulder with a grin and carries you to the bedroom, where he tosses you onto the bed. You giggle as you land in a tumble of hair and limbs, and Sylus' eyes light up at the noise. You clamber off, ungainly and ungraceful, poking around clothes that were hurriedly removed last night. You frown. 

“I didn't wear anything last night that would be good for-”
“You left a pair of jeans here two weeks ago; they're washed and hanging up in the closet.” Sylus opens a closet door, hand brushing your arm as he reaches in and grabs them.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Top drawer of the dresser has a bra you left behind after that sudden downpour, along with a few pairs of panties.”

Warmth floods your chest as you reach for the drawer he points at. You know from recreational snooping from when you first started seeing each other that his apartment is surprisingly empty. It’s full of things, sure. But empty of him. Of the myriad items and oddities that people accumulate as they wander the earth that speak to the quiet whispers of their soul. That he chooses to keep things of yours makes you ache with a feeling you can’t yet name.

Dressed, you head into the bathroom to brush your hair and fix your makeup. You find a hair tie-one you left behind during an earlier visit-and as you brush your hair back, he joins you. Brushing his teeth, eyes watching you in the mirror and you remember that morning all those weeks ago, when your loneliness recognized his own. He hands you another toothbrush, still in its packaging. You wonder if his actions are deliberate and calculated, an elaborate ruse to convince you to lower your guard before he strikes. You fear daggers in the dark and cruelty masked with sickly sweet rot.

Memories dark and horrible bubble beneath your surface as you brush your teeth and long for daylight.

Sylus hands you a helmet and you tilt your head. Over the weeks you tried a few different spare helmets he had and you thought you tried each one, but the one in your hands is different. Less generic and more sleek, in line with his own. You look up at him quizzically as you hold it up.

“That's your helmet. I noticed you preferred the Arai, so I bought one for you and had it customized with a heavier tint than standard.”
“This is so expensive, I'll pay-”
“Why? It's a gift, Lily. You don't pay back gifts.”
“But-”

I'm scared this gift has strings on it that you'll use to make me dance to your tune.

Sylus steps close, lips curled in a light, easy smile. You wouldn't smile like that if this is a trick, would you. Warm fingers gently grip your chin, tilting you back to meet the sun-warmed rubies of his eyes.

“If you're that insistent on some kind of equivalent exchange…how about I borrow from you instead.”
“...borrow how much?” You stare at him, anxiety and dread twisting little knives in your gut. Here it is. How much of my soul am I expected to mortgage to keep you around?
“Not much. Just a kiss.”
You blink. “A kiss.”
“Mhm.”

I can do that.  

You bounce on your tiptoes and he leans down with a breathy laugh. Grabbing his cheek to steady your precarious and temporary height, you kiss the corner of his mouth. You grin. “A kiss.”

A hand clutches your waist and pulls you close while another cradles your cheek as he kisses you back. It's deep, full of smoldering hunger and lingering passion, and in the moment all your doubts and fears are silenced. You melt against him, fingers curling into his skin and heart pounding in your chest and as he pulls back, you remember how to breathe. Sylus smiles as he kisses you again, this one far gentler. “And now I've paid you back. With interest.”

Tugging on his helmet, he sits and pats the seat in front of him. You approach, admiring yourself reflected in the mirror shine. You dig in your phone clutch for a tube of lipstick and mumble irritably when Sylus faces forward. You tap the side of his head and as you lean in, using his face shield as a mirror, you see one red eye staring intently at you. You hold his head still, taking your time, and once satisfied you wink and blow him a kiss before sitting down, pulling your helmet down over your head. 

An arm wraps around your midsection, fingertips sneaking their way between the fabric of your jeans and your skin. You wiggle slightly in your seat, making sure you're nestled tightly against Sylus’ chest. A low chuckle comes in through your helmet. 

“Comfy?”
“Oooh I can hear you now!”
“Of course you can, that's how Bluetooth works.”
“Smartass.”

Sylus laughs as he revs the bike and speeds off.

Sylus drives aimlessly around the city, showing off both his impressive coordination and his excellent control as he takes you around hairpin turns that make you shriek. Once on the interstates leading in and out of Linkon, he really lets loose, flying past slow-moving families out on…whatever kind of trips families take on sunny weekends.

You didn't notice at first the way his hand crept lower until a digit slips inside while you goaded him ever faster. Your breath stumbles and you can't help but lean forward. You tell yourself that it's because Sylus is leaning forward, into the speed of the bike. 

But that doesn't explain the way your back arches under him, your hips grinding against his hand. 

His palm presses lightly against you as his fingers stroke and tease. Each tight curve and lurch as he increases the speed, the heavy vibration of the motor between your legs. You grip his wrist, holding him in place as your hips shift. You cum hard, whimpering his name as he tears down the interstate, wondering if you're fucking his hand, his motorcycle, or both of them together. 

The bike slows with you as you come down and as your breathing returns to normal, Sylus pulls over, seeking shelter under a small stand of trees. You both take off your helmets with a gasp, wincing at daylight. A water bottle and a tube of sunscreen are placed in your hands before grabbing a second water bottle. A warmth unrelated to your recent orgasm blooms in your chest as you apply the sunscreen. 

He can't be like all the others. Not if he's this thoughtful.

You sit in silence with him, enjoying the direction the day has taken, comforted by the smell of sunscreen as you apply it. Sylus stands in front of you, his legs just barely brushing yours. You’ve noticed that about him. The way he contorts himself at times to have even the slightest contact with your skin in passing, his eagerness even in sleep to hold you close. The way he’d brushed your arm when showing you the closet where he’d hung your clothes, the times he’s stepped around you, fingers trailing embers along your back. He pursues you even in sleep. It had overwhelmed you at first, to fall asleep with so much of him against you. So you escaped-for all of two seconds. Then he was around you once more, arms tight, face pressed tight against your skin.

You thought it was deliberate in the beginning and it annoyed you. He nearly drove you insane that first week as he slowly pursued you. It was the second week that you realized he was sound asleep the entire time. Deeply asleep, blissfully unaware of the way he chases you. Now? It’s become familiar and you struggle to adjust to his absence when you sleep at home. It’s his turn to spend the night, I think. It’s not like he’d be moving in. Just. Spending the night. At my place.

Sylus steps close, one hand playing with your hair. “You ready to head back?”
“Yeah. Can we-umm. Take our time? The sun is about to start going down and it’s been a while since I was in a position to-”
“Sure, whatever you want.”

He sits down and you take the opportunity to check your make-up once more.

Flawless.

Blowing him a kiss with a grin, you put your helmet on and sit down in front of him. Sylus’ arm holds you tight as he starts the bike and you giggle as he starts heading back into the city.

“We’re riding into the sunset together!”
“I wouldn’t have figured you for a romantic.”
“I’m not. Or, my idea of romance is very far removed from long walks on the beach at sunset. Or whatever is supposed to be romantic these days.”
“And what do you consider romantic, river lily?”
You sigh as you think about it. It’s a good question, and one you’ve never really tried to put into words for yourself. “I-I don’t know. No one’s ever asked me that.”
The arm around you squeezes and Sylus’ hand slips under your shirt. “Well, let me know when you feel like trying something ‘romantic.’”
Your breath catches and as your hand settles on his wrist, you gently guide his hand further inside your shirt.

The ride back to the city is slow and warm, much like Sylus' hand as he caresses and explores. And much like his hand, Sylus explores during the drive back. By the time you two are back in the city proper, Sylus' hand is inside your bra. Deft fingers pinch and tease, leaving you breathless and flushed.

“Sylus-”
“Mm?”
Butterflies in your chest. “You can-uhh-you can drive me home. It's not far from here.”
You almost miss the stuttering of his hand against your skin. “Direct me, river lily.”

Anticipation builds as the sun sets. Sylus grinds against you, his hand caressing, and you breathe heavily in tandem with him. He turns onto your street and a gasp escapes you. “Close,” you murmur. In both senses of the word. Sylus parks, roughly pulling you up off the seat.

You can't keep your hands off him as you stumble to your door, fumbling for your key. Sylus' hands are hungry as they pull you to him and  when you at last come up for air, you can see your lipstick smeared on his face. 

“Be nice to my door,” you gasp, key half-turned in the lock.
“I will if you open it quickly,” Sylus growls against your ear. 

You finally manage to open the door, the two of you falling through. Sylus keeps you upright and as you slam the door behind you, he presses you against the wall. 

“Bed-” you gasp.
“Too far.” His voice is rough and deep with desperation. 
“The couch-” you sigh.
“Yes, river lily.”
You can hear Cat-Sìth trill under her breath at you. “My cat-”
“Pleasure, Lily's Cat.” 

Impatience flavors Sylus' voice and he collapses heavily onto your couch, pulling you on top of him. Hands move and stumble in mutual desperation and you cry out with relief when he at last thrusts inside you. The warm pressure of his hand slipping up your body makes you frantic as you grind and the rumble as he growls drives you ever closer to release. You close your eyes, fixating on the feel. Of him, of his sounds of desire, of his hand gripping and guiding your hip, of a warm hand grasping your throat-

Blink.

Terror crashes through you, dowsing your desire, and you scramble backwards with a sob as you stare at Chris on your couch. Pain echoes in the distance and you realize you'd fallen off your couch. A word twists and winds through your screaming recesses and you try desperately to drag it out from between fear-numbed lips. You see Chris looming above you, the way he liked, enjoyed even, as you choke out the word.

“P-pine-pineapple,” you plead, praying that Chris won't hurt you again.

Chris drops to his knees and you begin to sob. He's mostly naked and-

I can't go through that again.  

You curl into yourself, drenching your arms with tears as you try desperately to hold your core safe from what you know is coming. The waiting is the worst part, a sword of Damocles brushing your spine while he patiently waits for you to marinate in your fear. You hear apologies stumbling between panicked sobs (he hates that) and you start at the feel of a hand heavy with rings touching your shoulder. You look up into Chris’ hateful red-

No. 

This is wrong. 

Chris has blue eyes. 

Why are-

A voice breaks through. It's deep and soft, summer sun against skin chilled by memories and fear. It's calling you pretty names made of spun sugar that you don't deserve. Your breath is sharp and uneven, every movement of your chest a dry dagger through your heart. Warmth pools under fingers stroking shoulders and as you return to yourself, to this moment, you begin to shake.

Your body is racked with shivers as sweat pools where your skin meets itself. A thin warmth settles around your shoulders as phantom hands tuck fabric that smells like-

Sylus. 

You begin to sob. No longer the sobs of fear, these are wrenching sobs of sorrow as you clutch all your broken pieces to your chest. You'd done such a good job, or so you thought. At holding them in place, even with your fingers pricked raw by edges so sharp you couldn't even look at them without bleeding. But all your pieces fell, as they always do eventually.

Because long ago, Chris broke you. Not just your heart and your arm, that still twinges when your nights are far too long and full of far too much regret, but you. He broke you so thoroughly and then left you, shattered in a bed of whispered hate, and it took you...so, so long before you could even look at yourself. 

You still can't, on bad days.

So you learned. How to handle all these little shards, how to hold them up into a rough homunculus that looks like you, talks like you, answers to your name. They still cut you when you handle them, but you're used to the pain, to the blood that drips endlessly from your hands. You thought you'd started to heal, that finally you'd remembered how to put the pieces back the right way, that now things could be better, could be good, that you could be happy.  

I'm so fucking stupid.  

There's a hand on your back smoothing your spine and despite the way your flesh creeps and crawls at the idea of being touched, of the horrors of being known, the gentle gesture keeps you from slipping back into memory. You hear Cat-Sìth pad close. She's a diesel engine wrapped in furry pitch, yet despite her typically aloof nature she is headbutting your cheek, demanding entry into your fortress you've made for yourself.

“That's a big fucking cat.”
You laugh a sad, teary laugh, pathetically grateful to talk about something that isn't you and your complete meltdown. “She's my baby.”
“She looks happy.”

At Sylus' words, Cat-Sìth flops onto her back before you, belly exposed for all the world to admire. You stroke it gratefully, luxuriating in the thick, soft fur. Sylus wisely keeps his hands to himself; Cat-Sìth may be tolerating his intrusion into her demesne, but only you have been granted the supreme honor of petting her belly. Rocks fall in your throat as you half turn towards Sylus.

“Are you doing okay?” The hand on your back is soft and gentle.
“Depends on how you define ‘okay.’” Your voice is black with bitterness and you can't decide if meeting his eyes will hurt more than looking away.

Your eyes slide over, unable to resist him for long. Sylus is still mostly undressed (is he hoping to pick up where we left off?), the backs of his fingers still running along your spine. It's his eyes that make you look away. You expected lust. Irritation, maybe. Impatience, or that zoned-out look you get when someone is simply waiting for you to go back to hiding your scars and spreading your legs. 

You don't know how to handle concern. 

I don't know what to do.  

“I-I’m really sorry-”
“Lily, sweetheart...”
“I'm not-I can't-”

You were doing so good, Lilith. This? This is what you get when you try.  

Your phone buzzes. It's Xavier. Time to go to work. 

You stand up, wiping your eyes and clearing your throat. “Sorry, I just got called into work. I-I gotta go. You-”
“Will you be okay?”
“I gotta work, so…”
“River lily, that's not a yes.”
“It's not a no either, right?”

I'm not ready to break myself open right now.

“I-can we talk about it? Later?”
“Whenever you’re ready.” 

Sylus gets dressed and you watch him, looking for the tell-tale signs of anger, disappointment, of lust denied. Must be better at hiding than the others have. He stops in front of you, openly wearing concern and worry. Or he’s a talented actor. It’s not like I really know him. You want his goodbye kiss, the way he always does. Deep enough to drown in, warm enough to hurt when he lets go. Your guts twist and split at the merest memory of touch.

“May I kiss you?”
You freeze. Sylus stands in front of you as a battle rages in your chest. The victor crawls quietly from your lips. “Please,” you whisper. Pathetic.

Sylus kisses you, so tender and gentle it hurts. It’s full of peace and sincerity and for a moment you almost ask him to stay.

Almost.

He heads towards the door. The air is thick with words unspoken and tears unshed. You crave his absence and fear it, but you know you can’t demand either. Work calls.

You walk into the precinct. You don’t want to be there, but you don’t want to be home either. You don’t want to be anywhere; everywhere hurts. You make a cup of coffee to have something to hold that makes you feel something and head over to Xavier’s desk.

“You look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time.”
“So what happened?”
“Woman was found mauled-”
“Mauled? Is that official?”
Xavier winces. “Yeah. You can check the photos. Captain doesn’t want them on the board, since civvies pretty much have free reign. She’s worried about traumatizing kids or something.” He hands over a folder.

You’re grateful your stomach is empty.

“Shit.”
“Neighbors reported hearing arguing, a woman screamed, and then silence. Most of the neighbors we questioned said they’d never heard any arguing from that unit-”
“But?”
Xavier sighs as he continues putting the board together. “Their next door neighbor is...very involved.”
“Oh no. A Karen?”
“Not as far as I could tell. She just...notices everything. Anyways-”
“It’s ‘anyway,’ not ‘anyways.’”
“This is why you have no friends. Anyway. Neighbor stated that the woman, Bella Thomas, lived there with her husband, Arnold, and things have been rocky. Lots of arguments. Bella thinks-suspected, I guess-that Arnold was cheating, and Ms. Neighbor very helpfully confirmed that Bella was fighting with her husband about some sort of proof of an affair shortly before she was killed.”
“Who found the wife?”
“Same neighbor. Said Arnold was gone and she’s developed the habit of comforting Bella after a fight. Let herself in intending to give her a slice of cake. And before you ask, we already checked-neighbor is on camera at the grocery store at Bella's time of death.”

You read the timeline Xavier had put together before continuing looking at the preliminary autopsy report and you look up in disbelief. “Are these measurements accurate?”
“Yeah. We got molds.”
“Four inch claws? Three inch teeth? The fuck?”
“According to a lab tech, it was a grizzly bear and they’re certain of that fact. Apparently they have special teeth or whatever that makes them easy to identify? And before you ask, no. There’s no grizzly bears in the zoo, nor has anyone reported seeing one outside the city. This is the wrong environment for them.”
“...fuck.”
Xavier hands over a tranquilizer gun. “We’ve been given orders to use these.”
“Why?!”
“Gunshots just make grizzlies angry.”
“Fucking lovely.”

You are chained to your desk as you study the raw data of Arnold’s life. Average man, average wife, average job, average life. An unremarkable man until his wife was mauled to death by a creature that doesn’t exist naturally within Linkon City shortly after fighting with him about an affair. And now the Shifter division of the Linkon City Police Department is doing what it was created for: hunting the unnatural.

You have several theories, but not enough evidence for any of them to justify focusing the brunt of available manpower on it. Listing them on the board doesn’t help. It rarely does, but sometimes it knocks something loose. Xavier joins you in staring quietly at the list of theories.

“You know the captain isn’t going to like having so many theories.”
“Then we need to work on narrowing them down.”
“I’m going to head home for now, get some sleep.” Xavier pats your shoulder. “You should too.”
“No, I’m-”
“Whatever happened between you and Sylus, I’m sure it’s fine.”
“What?”
Xavier sighs. “You get a certain look in your eyes when things go bad somewhere in your life.”
“What, like I’m crazy?”
“More like suicidal. I’m not going to pry because I value being able to count to 10 with two hands, but it seems like Sylus has been good for you. Maybe give him a chance.” Xavier walks away with a yawn.

Suicidal? No. I'm too much of a coward to go that route.

You sit down at your desk, a dull pressure building in your temples. You pore over the little information that’s been found and verified, and despite your best efforts to force a pattern or even a concrete idea about how to find Arnold to materialize, you find your thoughts instead turning to Sylus. You sigh and pull out your phone. You can see he texted you, which you’re tempted to read from the anonymity of your notification bar but-

let me know if you need anything

a new brain

headache?

sort of
i need a distraction

An image fills the screen: Sylus’ oft-mangled front door, now on the ground. You squint. There’s someone under the door, but all you can see is their hands and some of their wrist sticking out on either side. Mephisto is standing on the top edge of the door, head shoved underneath. You can see Mephisto’s beak is wide open as though yelling and you begin to laugh.

?!
what happened

the twins went to get food. kieran tried to shut the door and
it fell on him. luke laughed so hard he threw up

omg
i kinda feel bad for laughing but
thats really funny

luke says dont feel bad, kierans too serious and he
needed to be taken down a peg or twenty

what was mephisto doing

not sure
whatever it is, it involved him yelling really loud
[mephisto.wav]

and what about you
where have you been while all of this is happening

Another image fills the screen, this time a selfie of Sylus, calmly eating a burrito. In the background you can see Kieran still pinned under the door, with Luke trying to lift it while also trying to fend off Mephisto. You choke back tears of laughter.

omg
what is mephisto doing

oh he got mad at luke. luke called him a dummy
and mephisto took that personally

shouldnt you do something
like
stop him maybe????

and deny mephisto his righteous victory?

youre scared of mephisto
arent you

dont be ridiculous
im terrified
i already learned my lesson

omg
im laughing so hard i cant breathe
thank you

happy to help

Sylus sends an emoji, a crow giving a thumbs up, and you set your phone down to rub your face. You look down at the pages on your desk: Arnold’s life story now reduced to a mere two sheets. A single line catches your eye and you swear quietly at yourself for not thinking of it sooner. Bella and Arnold met while attending college. Specifically, Linkon University. Their first date was at the nearby bar, Charlie’s, heavily favored by broke college students for having decent beer that was also surprisingly cheap. Frantically you review their social media profiles, feeling that thrill of vindication as you confirm what you suspected. The bar was an important place to them, and what better place to go when you’re facing the end of something, then to reminisce in the same place where it began?

You text Jenna your lead as you grab your keys. No time like the present.

Charlie’s is as you remember it and as you walk inside, it also smells and sounds exactly the way you remember it. You're nostalgic for how it looked, but certainly not nostalgic for the stench and noise. You clip your badge to the inside of your jacket and zip it up. A confrontation is the last thing you want, with Arnold or anyone else present, and besides. As a former college kid yourself, you remember the strong cop-fearing sentiment that permeated everything. Even Charlie’s.

You begin to make your way to the bar, intending to ask the bartender for information, when you see Arnold. Or rather, you see his profile. He’s curled over the bar, alone, and radiating misery. You take the stool next to him.

“Are you Arnold?” You open your jacket just enough that he’d see your badge if he looked over.
Predictably, Arnold looks over at his name. “Yeah, I-do I know-oh. I was waiting for you guys.”
You blink at his words. “I need you to come with me. Preferably quietly, and I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to resort to handcuffs.”

Arnold nods and the two of you stand. You pat his shoulder as you lead him to your car, parked away from the entrance and prying eyes. 

Arnold says nothing during the drive.

“Arnold. I understand you don't want to wait for your legal counsel to arrive. Do you-”
“I understand. I just-I don't want this hanging over my head anymore.”
“Okay. Well. Your wife, Bella, was found dead-”
“I know. I did it.”
You pause, taken aback by Arnold's mournful confession. “Can-can you explain exactly what happened?”
“I...met someone. A while back. He-they. They made me feel good about myself.”
“Didn't Bella do that? She was your wife.”
Arnold mouth twists into a bitter grimace. “Bella was far more preoccupied with how things looked on the outside. And because she could just ignore or block out or...whatever she did on the inside, she expected me to do the same. And I tried. I really tried. I tried so hard for her.”
You take careful notes, nodding for Arnold to continue. 
“After a while I just...I felt the strain. And then I met Bri-I met someone. And he-they made me feel good enough. Bella hadn't made me feel good enough for...quite a while.”

You take a breath as you lean back in your chair while you take in Arnold's excuses. You're careful to keep your thoughts off your face. Fucking Shifters. Not enough they had to ruin a marriage. Fucking monsters, deciding someone like Bella is acceptable collateral to get what they want, I'm sure. Menaces, all of them.

Arnold takes a deep breath. “Bella realized something was going on. She got...so angry. Because she was worried about the image of our perfect marriage being tarnished.” He looks up, tears in his eyes. “I tried. Really. I did. Counseling, therapy. I even threw myself into her vision and…it wasn't enough. She wouldn't even let me touch her after our wedding night. Made me sleep in another room.”
You continue taking notes, letting your silence interrogate him. 
“Bri-he-ummm. She found out about the affair and blew up. Not because I was having an affair. But because I was seeing a man. She...she called me so many horrible names. And then she started to insult him. I won't repeat what she said, because no one should hear that much hate. But I got so angry and I just-he didn't mean it. When he bit me. He tried to stay away from me. He tried so hard. He tried to convince me to leave so this whole thing wouldn't happen, but I was so scared.”
You stare at your notes, struggling to process everything Arnold is telling you. Your ears catch his last words. “What do you mean you were scared? Scared of your lover?”
Arnold flushes red and for the first time, there was real emotion in his voice. “Scared of-scared of him? Never. He-he’s a teddy bear. It was her I was scared of.”
You frown. “You...were scared of your wife.”
“Don't laugh at me. Look. Look at how she treated me.” Arnold's voice is a furious whisper as he pulls up something on his phone. He shoves it across the table and you stare at the meticulously gathered evidence. 

You take your time. It would need to be reviewed by a computer tech of course, but...Arnold had some very damning evidence that the late Bella Thomas was physically and emotionally abusing her husband. You look up from the phone. “So did your lover finally get tired of Bella hurting-”
“Don't you fucking get it?” Arnold's voice is quiet and full of exhaustion.
You stare at him. “Mr. Thomas, I'm just trying to understand what happened so we can catch Bella's killer.”
“Well he's sitting right in front of you.”
“I understand why you feel responsible, but-”
“Not feel. I am responsible.”
“Mr. Thomas-”
“I am trying to tell you that I'm the one who killed her. Me. Not him, so you don't need to look for him. I got so scared for-for him. Terrified that she was going to physically hurt him, and just like he warned me, I lost control of myself. I turned. And then I ripped her throat out.”

Arnold's lawyer arrived ten minutes after his recorded confession. You stare at the board. It's been reorganized, now that the murder portion of the crime is resolved. It plots a new investigation: the hunt for the man who turned Arnold Thomas.

Despite his willingness to cooperate regarding his role in his wife's death, Arnold has stubbornly refused to provide any information on his affair partner. Every time, he declared that his lover was innocent and had nothing to do with Bella's death. His lawyer was growing tired of advising him to cooperate, of explaining the law.

“We think we found him.” Xavier materializes at your elbow. 
“Really?”
“Yeah. Not many Brians in Arnold's orbit. Guy’s a machinist of some sort. Got an address. And a picture.” Xavier sticks it to the board.
“Huh. Arnold Thomas was dating a bear. In both senses of the word. Well, let's go.”

The address was to a shop. According to neighbors, Brian Milton hadn't opened up shop for a couple days now. Or even properly closed his shop; the door was unlocked. You look around for something to point towards Brian's hiding place, but all that was found was a big desk calendar. 

“There's an address with…wow. That is a lot of money. I found his home address. Divide and conquer?”
You nod. “I'll take Tara with me to that address with the money. You can rummage around his house.”

Tara frowns at her phone. “Weird. No information yet on who owns that address in Brian's shop. Looks like there's a few shell corporations.”
“That's not suspicious at all.” Your voice is tired and caustic.
“No really, it isn't. Companies buy apartments for executive-level employees all the time. Could be some corpo-snob.”
You frown. The scenery is getting familiar. “I think we're getting close to Sylus' apartment. I'm pretty sure I've seen these buildings before.”
“You're 'pretty sure'? You mean you don't know?”
You blush. “I'm not really looking at anything but him when-”
“Damn. You are down bad for him. Maybe after we find this place, I'll catch an Uber to work and you can surprise your boyfriend.”
“He's not my-we haven't-hey, wait. That's Sylus' apartment.”
Tara double checks her phone, showing you the address from the shop matches an apartment you are intimately familiar with. “Well. Let's see if your boyfriend was buying or selling.”

You park, your mind racing. You've avoided talking about work with Sylus, diverting his attention whenever he expressed an interest. People get weird when they find out what you do.

The two of you walk towards the front door in it's bruised and battered glory. Tara leans over. “Oh shit, look at that door. There must have-”
“Ummm. I can-I can explain the door.”
“It's supposed to look like that?!”
“Well-no. But...okay. Whenever I come over, we meet at the club first and then Sylus drives us back here. And-” You blush. Again. “He gets impatient. So he has these two men that work for him, I think, Luke and Kieran. They fix the door the next day, but the door has-so we've seen each other a lot-it’s-the door is just a victim.”
Tara looks like Cat-Sìth when she gets into some cream. “Are you telling me that every time you guys hook up, he's ripping his own door off the hinges? In what-a fit of unbridled lust? Don't tell me if I'm wrong, I'm living vicariously through you right now.”
“Look. It's-” You look around before you lean in and whisper. “It's really hot, okay?”

You reach the front door and ring the doorbell. This is so awkward. You can hear movement on the other side of the door, and that same reluctant groaning shrieks through the air. You wonder who will answer. Sylus? One of the twins? Both of the twins? Mephisto?

It's Sylus. 

Your heart flutters when you see him filling the doorway. He's shirtless, with grease stains dotting his hands and arms. He starts to speak, but stops when he sees you. You think his eyes light up, but you decide it was just a trick of the light. Words stick in your throat so Tara steps in and takes charge.

“Hi, we're-well, you know Lily. I'm Tara. We're here on behalf of the Linkon City Police Department. Your-this address came up in an investigation. May we come in?”
“Of course. Mind the door.” Sylus steps aside and gestures.

You step inside after Tara. There's a familiar warmth dripping down your spine and you swallow. Don't tell me I'm getting turned on just because I'm inside his apartment. What kind of Pavlovian shit is this? You feel the lightest caress along your lower back as you take off your jacket and it makes you suck in a small, shaky breath. 

Sylus walks past you, the scent of him curling through the air. He leans against his bathroom counter, and while Tara is closer, it's you he's staring at. Tara looks back at you briefly. “So umm. Is there a bathroom I could use?” Sylus nods and points and Tara steps away. 

Rich red eyes pull you closer to him. His hands twitch as though he wants to reach out and touch you and pieces of you desperately wish he would. “So. You're a cop.”
“Yeah. Sorry for not-people get weird. And I really like seeing you. I wanted to put off the weird for a while.”
“Since you're not in some kind of uniform, I'm guessing you're a detective?”
“Yeah. Shifter division.”
“Shifter division.” Sylus' eyes become dark and shadowed.
“We hunt Shifters.”
“I see.”

There's a new silence between you and Sylus looks away for a moment. You take a chance and brush his arm as you lay your jacket on the counter. He looks back at the feeling of you againist his skin and his eyes are bright rubies once more. A teasing smirk pricks up a corner of his mouth and you step back slightly at the mischievous cast to his face. 

“Well, we should probably get our stories straight, river lily.”
“W-wait-what do you-get our stories straight? What?” You stare at him, baffled and slightly alarmed
“Regarding how well we know each other.”
“W-I-Well-uhhh,” you stammer. Your cheeks are hot. 
“You look so pretty when you're flushed. I'm used to seeing you flushed under different circumstances, but I assure you, you're equally stunning either way.”
“Sylus!”
He smirks and your knees buckle. “Well? What do your colleagues know?”
“I-they know I'm seeing you-”

Sylus laughs and that heat along your spine builds and squeezes through your core at the dark sound. He leans over, his lips brushing the edges of your ear. “Come now, river lily. How sordid can I be? I’d hate to mention that I know what you look like on your knees, spread open and gagging on me, while you're telling people I'm only an acquaintance.”
You struggle to keep from making a noise at the image and judging by the gleam in his eyes, Sylus knows it.
A warm hand settles on your hip, massaging and caressing as it pulls you closer to him. “I could say that I know what to do to get you off in a matter of minutes and that you can identify all of my studs by sight.”
“Sylus, I can't-” Your breath catches in your chest and you can feel yourself becoming aroused. “I can't do that,” you protest breathlessly. 
“That's not a no.”
“I can't put things like that in my report.”
“Then I suppose I'll just have to call you my lover.”

You breathe deeply, trying desperately to center yourself, to remain calm. To not drag your nails down Sylus’ chest and demand he fuck you. No matter how badly you want to. His eyes are bright and intense as he watches you.

“May I steal a kiss?” 
You shouldn't. You're working, and Sylus is…connected to Brian Milton. Somehow. Maybe.

It's just a quick kiss. Tara’s still in the bathroom. There's no harm, right?

You bounce up on tiptoe, smiling shyly as you reach out and rest your fingers on Sylus’ cheek. You kiss him and you try to be chaste. You try to be sweet and delicate. You fail. Sylus tastes like grudging restraint and his hands wander your body with possessive intent.

You're slow to break the kiss. Even once you have, you stay close, fingers stroking his cheek. You remember your apartment and you clear your throat.

“I wanted to talk to you. About what happened in my apartment. I'm sor-”
“Lily. You don't have to apologize. I mean that. And know that I'm always happy to listen to you. Whenever you're ready to talk.”

A hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. Despite his flirting from earlier, Sylus is quiet as he watches you. Leaning into him, pressing against him, a cough shatters the silence before you're ready and you jump. You hurriedly step back from him and look over at Tara who is struggling to hide a grin. 

She approaches you both while a familiar hand tangles around yours. 

“Sorry. So, as I was saying. This address came up during the course of an investigation.”
“In what capacity?”
“We're looking for Brian Milton. We were at his shop and the last entry in his calendar was an address-your address-and an amount. We were hoping to find out more information.”
“Ahh yes. Brian. I hired him. He's a machinist, and I needed a specialty part for a bike I'd been building. You-” Sylus nods to you. “Will recognize the bike when you see it. It's in the garage right now.”
“If we could take a look…?”
“Of course. Follow me.”

Sylus' hand lingers in yours as he leads you and Tara into the garage. He points to the same bike you rode with him…yesterday? Was it really only yesterday? Shit. It was. You can see a second bike, almost completely gutted, next to an equally gutted muscle car, currently jacked up. He leans against the front fender and points to the first bike. 

“That's the bike. I hired him to make the entire exhaust. Existing systems didn't fit into the chassis, so I drew up a redesign and hired him to machine it for me.”
“Oh-Lily. Jenna's calling. I gotta take this.” Tara hurriedly steps back inside, her phone to her ear.

You stare at the bike. “You…designed a custom exhaust system?”
“Mhm. I don't have the knowledge or equipment for machining, otherwise I would have done it myself.”
You stare at well-worn tools scattered around his garage. You recognize a few brand names, and know they're top of the line. “How? How can you just...shell out that kind of money? Do you just work on cars and bikes all day?”
“Generational wealth, river lily. Look it up.” Sylus teases with a smarmy grin.
“You're so fucking annoying when you're being a smartass.” The words slip out of your mouth without thought. Fuck, I'm tired. And that probably trashed any hope of a-
Sylus laughs. It's not a small, “I'm pretending to be amused” chuckle either. His laugh is deep, fully genuine, and feels like black cashmere against your skin.

You look around, suddenly self-conscious. You don't know how to handle this surprise intersection of your work life and personal life. And judging by the amused glint still lurking in the corners of Sylus' eyes, not only can he tell that, he's highly entertained. That makes one of us then. I guess. Sexy fucking asshole.

Sylus lies down on a creeper and rolls under his car. “So. What does the Shifter division want with Brian? Or can you not tell me?”
You let out an explosive breath. I can talk a little shop. It's fine. “There was-a woman was killed by her husband during a fight and he shifted. We suspect he'd been turned by his lover-”
“His lover being Brian?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm. I wish I could be more helpful, but I wasn't exactly friends with him. It was purely business.”
“Yeah, I get that. We're only here because only your address and the amount was listed on his calendar.”
Sylus rolls out from under his car and fixes you with a look. “You mean to tell me you didn't recognize my address when you saw it?”
“No, because-” You growl quietly, glaring at Sylus' wicked grin. “I always just meet you at the club. I recognized the area when we got close, but it wasn't until I saw the door that I realized where we were.”
“Well now we can just skip the club and you can come straight over.”
“Oh-yeah. We can,” you agree, suddenly breathless.

Sylus' voice echoes through his car as he rolls back underneath. “So...if the husband killed his wife, why are you looking for a Shifter?”
“Shifter turned him, and the husband had shifted when he killed her. By law, that makes the Shifter that turned him liable for her death. Shifters are menaces and a threat to our way of life, anyway.”

Sylus says nothing, but given the sounds you're hearing, it sounds like he's focusing heavily on his car. Tara materializes in the doorway, phone free and waving to get your attention. “Xavier found him and is bringing him in, so we're good to leave here. I'll meet you in the car.”
Sylus gets up and grabs a rag to wipe his hands. “Let me walk you out.”
“Oh, that's not necess-”
“Yes, it is. But please, feel free to try to open that nightmare of a front door on your own.”
A warm hand finds yours once more, squeezing twice as you walk back into his apartment.

The door is already open. Sylus picks up your jacket still on the counter and hands it over with an exaggerated flourish, eyes sparkling warmly as you giggle. You kiss him deeply, brazenly, enjoying the feeling of hands clutching you with hunger and need. You're reluctant as you head back to the car, looking over your shoulder at him. 

“Lily. A question. Why is a Shifter being held responsible for a crime they didn't commit? Why aren't the mothers and fathers of non-Shifter murderers arrested for giving birth to a murderer?”

You stop and look at him. Sylus is moving around his kitchen, preparing a meal. He looks over at you and shrugs. “Just a thought I had. I think Tara is waiting for you.” He gestures with a nod and you slowly turn around.

You get into the car. Sylus' words echo endlessly around your skull and they bother you. You realize Tara is talking to you and with a great mental groan you set his words aside. 

“Girl, are you even listening?”
“Sorry, I was distracted.”
“Understandable. That phone call I got? From Jenna? She was trying to reach us before we got to your-to Sylus' place. It took her ages to dig up information on him.”
“Information like what?”
“He's the sole heir of the Qin Che empire.”
“The who now?”
Tara pulls out her phone. “Let me put it this way. Your boyfriend's ancestors founded the oldest banks in the world. The single oldest bank account, as in the first bank account ever opened, was opened by his ancestor. And it's still open. It's passed down from parent to child.”
“Holy shit.”
“And not only banking. Over the centuries, his family branched out into...shit, pretty much everything , and with his parents before they died, technology. Your boyfriend is wealthier than first world nations.” Tara shows you Sylus' estimated net worth. 
“Oh. Oh fuck.”
“Yeah. You're dating the wealthiest man who's ever lived. Have fun trying to find him birthday presents.”

You lean back in your uncomfortable chair with a tired groan having finally slain the dragon of bureaucracy. You're exhausted and Sylus' questions rattling around in your head are not helping you in the slightest. You sit for a moment, slowly congealing in your chair as you debate buying something to eat as opposed to eating the food already at home.

You scroll through your perfectly reasonable number of fast food apps for inspiration. Inspiration on what to make at home, of course. Advertising works on you when you see a glorious, cheesy monstrosity of a burrito and you make only a cursory effort to talk yourself out of it. 

Unfortunately for your wallet (and fortunately for my tummy), you're really good at arguing against yourself. 

You place an order for pickup at the location down the street from your apartment, your brain already on autopilot as it fantasizes about cheese, shredded chicken, and tacos. You give Tara a half-hearted wave goodbye as she prepares to assist Xavier with his interrogation of the Shifter and trudge the rest of the way to your car. 

You drive home without music and-horror of horrors-at the posted speed limit, no less. Your brain keeps worrying at Sylus’ words. The thought behind them feels familiar but unformed, like an idea begun but not allowed to develop before being crushed and reshaped into something else. 

You wonder if you've ever held a similar thought. You struggle to remember how you felt about Shifters before joining the force and while you're concerned that you can't, you also know you're exhausted. That must be why I can't remember. I'm just tired is all.  

You greet Cat-Sìth with the level of enthusiasm she demands of you as her staff. You promise her bites of your food when you come back. Whoever said cats shouldn't have cheese hasn't met your cat in all of her dog-sized glory. “Sylus was right. You are a big fucking cat,” you remind her as she headbutts your knee. “Watch the house while I get food. If someone tries to break in, just eat them,” you tell her as you step outside. She trills at you from her armchair. 

Walking feels good. You can feel ideas percolate and process with every step, even Sylus' words. Growling at him under your breath, you shift your thinking to his money, rather than his questions. Makes sense why he didn't make a big deal out of work. He's probably tired of gold diggers sniffing after him and wanted something normal. Like I did.

You wonder about his parents. From the sounds of it, they'd died when he was young. So that's something the two of you share, but unlike you, he almost certainly didn't have to survive the foster system. You're tempted to search through social media, to research him like you have with other men in your past but a thought stays your hand. 

You didn't tell him about work in the beginning and instead just got comfortable with him as a person, and he did the same with you. Probably. Maybe. Maybe this time I'll let him tell me about himself when he's ready, instead of getting a partial story from someone who might have ulterior motives.

The idea of trusting someone to reveal themselves to you scares you. You've always “taken the initiative” with your partners (you researched them. Thoroughly. Very, very thoroughly.) because ultimately...you didn't trust them. You didn't trust them and your behavior reflected that discrepancy of trust, but Sylus has earned himself a degree of leeway you've never afforded anyone. I want to trust him.

Maybe I'm finally healing.  

You blink as you realize you've reached your local Taco Bell. You head inside to grab your food and you stop as you see Caleb sitting at a table with that same lawyer lady. At least, you think she's a lawyer. She dresses like all the lawyers you see in court, at least.

“Oh hey Lily.”
“Hi Caleb.”
“Did you walk here?”
“Yeah, I live in the area. Who's this?”
“Oh god, I am so sorry. Tiffany, this is Xavier's partner at work, Lily. Lily, this is my new girlfriend, Tiffany.”
Tiffany reaches out and shakes your hand, her grip strong and confident. “Hi! Tiffany Lewis. I've heard a little about you from Xavier. It's nice to finally put a face to a name.”
You nod. “It's nice to meet you. I gotta go, I'm just here to pick up my order.”
Caleb smiles and you feel that same suspicion and unease from the night you met Sylus, and just like that night, it disappears before you can examine it. “We won't keep you. Nice seeing you!”

You grab your food and head back home. Thoughts chase each other endlessly through your skull, your brain unable to focus. It's exhausting and by the time you get home, you're ready to become one with your couch. You collapse with a sigh as you turn on a comfort show to watch while you eat. You hold out a piece of cheesy tortilla for Cat-Sìth, who accepts her tribute with the grace and dignity one expects of a queen before settling comfortably by your side on the couch. 

It's not until you see that first “Are you still watching?” message that you finally work up the energy to peel off your work clothes. You let out a groan worthy of the filthiest porn as you free yourself and it's when you're about to throw your balled-up clothes into the laundry basket that you realize there's something in your jacket pocket. It's another figure (what is it with Sylus and figures), this time one of a boy and girl holding hands.

You study it. It's cute, almost romantic. Your hands feel the fine detail of them, the way their eyes appear to be looking at each other. It feels...affirming, in a way. That you haven't been imagining lines becoming blurred, or the ways you've begun to insert yourselves into the other's life. That while you haven't had That Conversation yet, you can take comfort that his feelings (probably) mirror your own.

You walk back into your living room and carefully set you new figure on the shelf where you've placed the others he's hidden on your person. 

Maybe he is different. Maybe this time…this time I can be happy.

Chapter Text

You reflect on your ever growing garden of maybe-illegal (no, they are definitely illegal) documents on your desk at home that you've squirreled away over the past...month? Month and a half? You're not sure. Everything is meaningless and time is a concept made up by Big Calendar to sell more seasons.

You have been growing this collection ever since The Bear, as you call Brian Milton in your head.

Sylus' words the day you left his apartment during the investigation into Arnold and Brian had kicked off a change in you, in your thinking. Why are Shifters punished for crimes they do not personally commit? Especially if the crime in question has nothing to do with the fact that the perpetrator is a Shifter? Vague queries towards The Powers That Be obfuscated rather than illuminated, and it wasn't long before you decided-purely on a whim-to quietly follow up on Brian Milton. Really follow-up: dig up court documents and transfer orders, rather than Trust The Process, as you are so heavily reminded to do.

So you checked. And you were surprised, and vaguely disquieted, when you found out he'd never even gone to trial. That wasn't, according to your understanding of the dense and labyrinthine nature of Linkon City’s legal code, How Things Are Supposed To Happen. Instead, Brian had been sent to serve out his sentence at some facility with a long winded medical-y name. Or perhaps it was a hospital? It had “hospital” in the name. You weren't familiar with it as one of the “specialty care” facilities Shifters are sent to serve out their life sentences. 

You are beginning to question those facilities as well. And this one was, after a cursory search, in some landlocked flyover state. You even found the order authorizing his transfer, signed by none other than your boss, Jenna.

Think of the devil.

Jenna walks briskly towards her office and you decide to feel her out. “Hey, captain. I was wondering-that Shifter murder we had about a month ago? With the husband who was having an affair?”
She stops and looks at you curiously. “The-oh yes. I remember. What about it?”
“I just realized I didn't remember seeing anything about his sentencing, or where he was transferred to serve out his sentence.”
“Weird, I could have sworn you were CC’d on that. He was sent out to that supermax Shifter prison in California.”

Without making the conscious effort to do so, you realize you're watching Jenna the way you would watch a suspect in the interrogation room. And worst of all? 

She's lying to you.

“Oh, okay. Thanks!”
“Of course! I'm just happy he's locked up in prison where he belongs.”

You nod, carefully keeping your newfound inner turmoil off your face.

You drag your carcass into your apartment. You are exhausted, your thoughts twisting and coiling around themselves in an endless game of tag. Cat-Sìth chirps at you from her armchair as you gracefully collapse onto your couch. You let out a plaintive sigh; normally your couch is enough for you to shed some of the weights that are added to your shoulders throughout your day. 

Not today, it seems. 

You stare blankly at your ceiling, finding and losing patterns in the popcorn. You aren't sure how long you lie there. Decades, probably. Or maybe minutes. Despite the tension drawing your shoulders up around your ears, a sharp rap at your door doesn't make you startle. You heave yourself vertical with a tired groan and answer it. 

Sylus is leaning by your front door and he smiles softly when you meet his eyes. You step aside in invitation as he greets you, his hand trailing from your hip across your stomach. Your eyebrows crinkle as you try to figure out-

“Lily? Are you alright?” Sylus' words finally break through your brain fog and you shake your head before really meeting his eyes.
“Hey. I-I’m just really drained from work.” How do I tell you my real problem? “Umm…why are you here…? I'm happy to see you, but-”
“I was coming to pick you for dinner?”

Ah, beans.

“Ah, beans.”
“What?”
“I am so sorry, I completely forgot and I am…beyond exhausted.”
“You look like death warmed over and allowed to congeal, river lily.”
“You're such a charmer.” You sit heavily on your couch, hoping that THIS time the weights on you will disappear. 

No such luck. 

“Sylus, I-I'm sorry, I really am. I'm not up for going out tonight. Maybe you should take some other girlfriend of yours out-”
Sylus scoffs as he sits next to you. “You're my girlfriend, sweetheart. Let's do a night out some other time, then. We can do a night in.  Order takeout, watch a movie.”

You blink at how comfortably he declares monogamy and it makes you uneasy.

I still can't figure you out, Sylus. Half the time you behave exactly like how you’re supposed to, but then you go and say stuff like that and-what am I supposed to do? Who are you really? What are you getting out of this, out of me?

“Uhh-that. That actually sounds really nice. Okay.” Your brain feels sluggish and you struggle to decide on your next course of action. 
“Well, let's get comfy first. You might feel a bit better if you change out of your work clothes.”
You look down. “Shit. I was too tired to change. Oh, you have a pair of pajama pants here. You left them…I don't know when.”
“Perfect, we can change while we try to decide food-”
“Taco Bell.”
“No hesitation, I see.”
“Nope. They're my favorite. And there's one near here. It's why I picked this place.”
Sylus smiles as he changes his slacks for pajama pants. “Taco Bell it is. What do you want to watch?”
“Something relaxing.” You sigh with relief as you shimmy out of your work clothes. You leave them on the floor; they're a problem for Rested You. 
“And what does my river lily define as ‘relaxing’?” Sylus tosses a sweater on your bed, revealing a simple tank top underneath. 
“The usual. Explosions, car chases, extended and highly unrealistic shootouts.”

Sylus laughs, the one you love so much. It's deep and genuine, warmer than his hands and it makes your chest ache when you hear it. He walks into your living room ahead of you as you pick through your clothes. You lift your head when you hear voices. 

“Are you on the phone?”
“Just chatting with your cat.”

You blink and shrug, blocking out his voice from the living room as you continue picking through clothes. You talk to Cat-Sìth constantly so you're the last person who could pass judgment on someone talking to a cat. And besides, Cat-Sìth is a fantastic conversationalist. You haven't really tried to test her intelligence, but she's shown herself to be surprisingly responsive to verbal commands. Half the time, you like to think she genuinely understands you. 

Until she locks herself in the bathroom while chasing a fly.

Clothes found, you shuffle into your living room to see Cat-Sìth sitting in Sylus' lap, staring intently into his eyes. You plop next to him with a sigh and he hands you his phone. Staring at the screen, not registering what you're seeing, you turn to Sylus and ask a very eloquent, “Huh?”
“Food. Put in what you want.”
“Oh. Yeah.” You put in your order while Sylus scratches the white patch on Cat-Sìth’s chest. 
You hand his phone back, smiling at Cat-Sìth's contented expression as she purrs. Sylus finishes placing the order and puts an arm around you as he leans over to kiss the top of your head. “I'd offer to cuddle you, river lily. But alas, I'm trapped here.”
“She's good at that. Actually, it's her dinner time.”

At your words, Cat-Sìth hops off Sylus' lap with a trill and walks with you into the kitchen, chattering excitedly. You look down at her. “Alright, no need to twist my arm. You can have a can tonight for being a good kitty.” She winds around your legs as you prepare her dinner, and when you set her food down she begins to purr.

“Food will be here in about 15 minutes,” Sylus tells you as you enter the living room. You nod and collapse at his side and as you do, you finally feel the weights on your shoulders begin to drop off. An arm wraps around your waist as he grabs the TV remote and starts flipping through channels. Sylus stops on the first movie in your favorite series: The Actionizer.  

You make a noise of approval and he sets the remote down. “Love this series,” you remark softly.
“Which one's your favorite?”
“I know The Actionizer: Deuces Wild Summer is considered to be the best, and I love it because how could I not, but I don't know. There's something about The Actionizer: 5 Electric 7 Boogaloo: The Rerereviolencing that speaks to me. I know it's not as popular a movie for the heavy emphasis on character development, but that scene when the orphans blow up that cotton candy factory with the stolen tank from The Actionizer: Super Reviolencing: The Ultimate Menace as revenge for reporting their lemonade stand makes me tear up every time. The line when-”
“‘Justice has never tasted so sweet,’ right?”
“Yes! It’s such a powerful scene.”
“I always thought the movie was misunderstood, personally. That they took such a simple, heartwarming story, the orphans and their lemonade stand, and connected it to not only an international corporate espionage ring specializing in office supplies, but they also tied it into Gregothy’s search for his father's ghost and Craigtopher’s investigation into his fiance’s suspicious death by quicksand piranhas? Brilliant writing.”
“You get me,” you hum happily.

The movie is getting into the famous opening fight scene when there’s a knock at the door. You dart up to get it, keeping an eye on the TV; the dueling vacuums is an iconic scene and you don’t want to miss any of it. Accepting the food with gratitude, you join Sylus on the couch and divvy up the food. It’s comfortable, eating fast food with him on the couch as you watch a classic movie together. Despite massive critical acclaim, you’ve been mocked by past lovers for being a fan of The Actionizer franchise. You’re thrilled that Sylus is-or at least appears to be-another fan…but you feel that same unease.

You’re almost too perfect. Too good. You’re too good to be true.

Dark whispers of paranoia and suspicion fill your ears, but you can’t think of anyone you’ve pissed off that would go to this level of effort to hurt you. As a warm hand brushes along your skin, memories fill your mind’s eye. Sylus, making sure your helmet had darker than standard tint. The way he stopped instantly when you used his safeword. The way he’s held you when you’ve woken up, terrified by dreams you can’t recall.

You let him pull you back down, stomach to stomach, legs knotted around each other. The deep rhythm of his body soothes and calms you, quiets the paranoia and eases the suspicion. Weight falls off your shoulders at last and you are slowly lulled to sleep.

You wake up still on the couch, Sylus still under you, the TV still playing its way through an Actionizer marathon. Sylus is asleep, one arm a weighted pillow along your back while the other hangs off the couch.  Blinking sleep from your eyes, you lie still. Despite the warmth of him, the quiet comfort he's radiating even in sleep, you're anxious. 

This isn't how things are supposed to go. It's supposed to be at full speed the entire time, speedrunning to a drama-fueled breakup. I know those. He's supposed to be a hurricane, arrogantly storming his way out of my life as dramatically as he enters it, leaving me soaked, sobbing, and gasping for clean skies. 

He's not supposed to be-to be this.  

The body under you stirs and shifts as one hand rubs along your side. Sylus yawns, his face twisting into a frown. “I think my arm is asleep,” he mumbles, his voice lowered to a rumbling bass from sleep. You see his shoulder twitch. “Can you grab it for me?”
You lean over and grab the dead weight of his arm and with a grunt of effort, hoist it into the air and onto his chest.
“Thanks, river lily.” He winces.
“Pins and needles?”
“A worthy price to pay. Did you sleep well?”
“I did. You?”
“I always sleep better with you.”

You sit up, surprised that your back doesn't hurt the way it usually does when you fall asleep on the couch. Stretching wrings out a series of satisfying pops down your spine and you sigh with pleasure. “I'm going to make some coffee. Want a cup?”
“Please, yes.”

You feed Cat-Sìth breakfast as you make coffee. Sylus joins you. He's as at home in your kitchen as you are in his and this time, this morning, it bothers you. This familiarity, this duet you perform the morning after, is a sonata you cannot complete. You realized years ago you have to be whole.

And you are not whole.

Coffee done, you shake yourself from reverie and turn to make the cups only to have a mug placed carefully in your hands. Sylus' doing. A sip; it's exactly the way you like it. Sylus doesn't say much as he drinks. Instead he studies your collection of blends with interest before turning to you. 

“Thank you for the coffee, and the good time last night. I'm going to head home, river lily.” 

Sylus rinses his mug and sets it in the sink. You follow him to the living room, and you're torn. This isn't how we're supposed to be, how you're supposed to be. We're supposed to crash and burn. You're supposed to ruin me. To take your fill and then leave me in your wake a sobbing mess. You're supposed to fuck me and fuck me over as you leave me behind. Not-not this.  

Sylus grabs his car keys. “Give me a kiss goodbye,” he whispers as he pulls you close. His goodbye kiss is always the same, full of scorching hunger and dark promises that always make you forget how to breathe.

You spend your day torn and pacing through your apartment. You stalk and prowl, trying to talk yourself through your dilemma. When you tire of hunting thoughts that circle endlessly in front of you, you retreat to your cave.

Your cave is no sanctuary. He's been in there, been in you, too many times. The smell of him, of the two of you together, of sex, it all fills the air, fills your lungs, coats your throat. It sets you on edge. With hunger, with lust, with need. You're hitting the point of no progression, the line you cannot cross, are too broken to cross.  Yet Sylus doesn't see it, doesn't get it, hasn't figured out that this is as far as you can go, are allowed to go.

You drag your miserable body to a cupboard and pour yourself a shot of whisky. Then another. And another. And another. You pour it until it's empty and you move on to another bottle-empty.

Unfortunate.

Sorry, Sylus. You were good while it lasted. Too good for me. You throw on clothes and shuffle outside, heading to the local bar. Hooray for walkable neighborhoods. You're surprised to see it's dark; you hadn't realized prowling after your demons had drained the day of light. 

You nod at the familiar face of Eddie tending bar. “Haven't seen you here in a while. Wasn't sure if you were dead or you managed to find someone willing to put up with your crazy ass.”
“Missed you too, Eddie.”
“Already started, it seems.” He hands you a shot. It tastes like regret and bad choices, but you're not meant for much better in life.

You hunch over the counter, thoughts whirling faster than you can touch them. Emotions and feelings dance even faster, making you dizzy, making you hurt. Another shot is in front of you and you drink it without question in your search for oblivion. 

A man sits next to you. Tribal patterns scream up his arms, his wrists weighed by thick, heavy bracelets. No rings that you can see. Nothing on his hands to pinch and bruise. 

“Hey sexy.”
“Hey.”
“You look pretty lonely. I'm pretty lonely. Why don't you help me fix that?”
You look over at him.

He's leering openly, not even bothering to look up past your tits. Kind of him to spare you from his inevitable, inane, and insulting questions. Go ahead. Look at me like I'm an object. I'm not a real person, so who cares. You ignore desperate whispers in the back of your mind that Sylus cares, that he saw-

You drive him from your mind and look at Trouble next to you. He's your type: a hot asshole. He won't try to creep past that line. You smile at him, too tired to fake it, but he doesn't notice your dead eyes.

“Buy me some drinks?”
“What's the occasion?”
“I'm drinking until I feel something.”
“Oh, I can help you with that. As long as I get to be that something.”
You offer an eloquent shrug and he smirks.
“I'd like to buy a bottle of whatever she's drinking.”

He plies you with drink after drink and you go through the motions.  Smiles with dead eyes, hollow flirtations falling from numb lips. Self-loathing burns in your throat. You're too tired to put on the act, to feign interest. You're tired. You're so fucking tired. 

Tired of men. Tired of women. Tired of being gawked at. Tired of stupid questions and obnoxious stares. Tired of Sylus' voice ringing in your head making work complicated. Tired of work. Of this world. Of existence. 

You didn't ask to be born. You didn't ask for your parents to dump you in the hospital’s lap simply because you look different. You didn't ask to be this way. You didn't ask for people to hurt you. For Chris to hurt you. And you damn sure aren't asking Sylus to put you back together. You didn't ask to hurt all the time.  

You just…want it all to stop.  

You drink Trouble under the table with ease. He told you his name, but it's meaningless. He's meaningless. You're meaningless. And what you're about to do will be meaningless. You're standing in that field soaked in gasoline and you can feel your hands shaking around a lighter as you try desperately to make it spark.

“I'm cutting you off, Lilith.”
“Wh-why…?”
“Because you have that suicidal look in your eyes again and I haven't forgotten what you did the last time you looked like that.”
“Fine. Fine. I'm jus’ gonna-gon-jus’ gonna-” You shove at whatever-his-name. “Hey. Le’s go. Feel-I feel somethin’ now.”

Whatever grabs your wrist and hauls you outside. He pushes you up against some cheap thing, some laughable excuse for a status symbol. His mouth falls on your neck, his hands groping you. You stand there and take it and you look up at black hair absorbing the moon’s light. 

“Your hair should be silver,” you whisper sadly.
“The fuck you say to me?”
You avoid looking at him. The moon reminds you of Sylus, the way it glows so softly in the light. His hair looked so pretty that night.

You're so tired of hurting. Of being on edge. At always being so close to the edge. You want comfort, you want rest. You want to see Sylus' hair in the moonlight. 

You don't want this sad excuse of a person touching you anymore.

Your eyes burn and you choke back a sob as you shake your head. “Can't. I can't. Sorry. I can't.”
“The fuck you mean you can't, whore?”
“I can't do this. Sorry. I-I gotta-” You push him away, lonely and missing a man you're not supposed to have.
A hand slams you backwards against his car and your eyes burn as tears fall at last. “The only thing you gotta do is what you've been fucking teasing me with all fuckin’ night. You owe me-”

“She doesn't owe you shit.”

You blink. The voices are familiar and you stare at two men, garbed wholly in black. The world sways and you blink at familiar masks. They're different, yet the more you stare, the more the masks seem to be the same. You shake your head and-they’ve changed again. You look up to the moon for guidance and yet when you look back down, they're switched. Again.

“I-I can't right now wi’ you two,” you mumble. 

“She said no. Now let go of her.”
“Or what?”
“Or we'll make you. And that will hurt you-”
“-wayyy more than it hurts us.”

The two men move impossibly fast, flanking the man you're trying to get away from. You hear the sounds of fists on flesh and Trouble stumbles and finally lets go. One pair of gloved hands gently guides you away, pulling out a phone. You can hear Sylus' voice on the other line and you begin to sob anew.

A hand awkwardly rubs your back. You can't focus enough to hear what is being said.

I probably still lit the match. Probably hates me now. That's fair, I hate me too.

“No worries, boss. We'll stay with her until you get here.”

You stew in your misery. Luke and Kieran sit you between them on a bench. They take turns patting your shoulder, reassuring you that Sylus is coming. You want his comfort and dread his scorn, and ohh how he will scorn you. How could he not? Why wouldn't he? You were (stupidly) reaching for something you shouldn't have, that you don't deserve. 

This spiral is known to you, your feet hitting all the spots where you have worn first through the carpet then the stone as you race specters of yourself to the bottom. A grieving smile twists your lips; you don't struggle with self-loathing, you have mastered it. You choke on oft-repeated refrains, bile scalding your gullet as you chew endlessly on rancid reminders of your failures, whipping yourself endlessly with the barbed words of past lovers. 

You sink into yourself, feeling fluid, sick, and miserable. The men on either side of you disappear into the night (just like everyone else does) and at last grief cracks your chest wide open. He isn’t coming. He found out what was happening and he’s not bothering with me. And I was wrong. He didn’t ruin me. I ruined me. Sylus- a familiar arm slips under your knees as another braces against your back. You smell his shampoo as his head dips low to your ear while he picks you up.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I got you. Let’s get you home.”

Sylus cradles you to his chest as every little hurt you’ve ever felt is wrung out of you at once. Insults once forgotten, that hollow space where your parents were supposed to guard your heart, lovers who treated you as an option, employers that promised you the world until you were asked to pay for promises with your self-respect. You try to shove your disparate parts into something vaguely human, yet they clatter uselessly to your feet, to a one. You clutch desperately at Sylus’ shirt, tangling your fingers in the soft fabric, needing to wrap your hands with his comfort.

He stops at your door and deftly works your house key from your pocket. Sylus unlocks the door, carrying you with one arm while he carefully navigates stepping inside. Agony rips you open anew when you hear Cat-Sìth, hear her plaintive cries for you. He brings you to your room, gently lying you on your bed. Fear of being alone, at the absence of him makes you choke.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m right here. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

The bed groans as he joins you and for once, you seek him out. You chase Sylus and the comfort of him, clutching him to you in your pursuit of peace. Hands rub your back but its the gentle kisses on the top of your head that hurt the sweetest.

Tears slow and stop as you find at last the farthest reaches of your grief. A different misery bubbles and churns and you stumble out of Sylus’ arms and into your bathroom. You fall to your knees as everything you’ve ever drank in your worthless existence comes back up to punish your gluttony.

Heavy footsteps shake the ground as he joins you. Decorated fingers gather up loose strands of hair and tie them at the nape of your neck while the heel of a palm gently works at spasming muscles in your back. You kneel in wretched supplication to the throne of excess, coughing and sobbing through your catharsis.

And yet Sylus remains by your side. One hand has found yours, his grip firm and unyielding even when fingers spasm and clench. An anchor and lodestone, drawing you back to now, to him. A warm glow piercing the funeral shroud gloom you drape around your shoulders. 

As you spit the last acidic sin from your mouth, you feel weak, dizzy. Unsteady, your body new and fresh to you. Knees scream as you try in vain to stand and yet still he catches you. Effortlessly Sylus sets you on your tiny counter as a gentle kiss commands you to be still. 

You rest against your mirror, listening to the sound of his feet as he moves with purpose to your kitchen. He returns a cup full of water, cold and crisp. Gentle fingers brush hair out of your eyes. “Rinse, baby,” he urges.  You obey, too tired to protest.

“Hold tight.” His voice is soft and tender in your ear as arms slip around you once more, carrying you back to your bed. He sets you down and you drag yourself upright, wrapping shaky arms around tented legs. 

“Why did you come get me?”
Sylus sits next to you on the bed, close enough you can feel the heat of him. “Should I have left you there?”
“I was trying to pick up a guy in a bar.”
“Were you truly? Or were you lashing out?”
“I-” You pause.
“Luke and Kieran have been...quite vocal in their defense of you. And a point they made several times to me was that you looked miserable the entire time.”
“I was fully intending to go home with him. Until I saw his hair in the moonlight and I just...”
“Why?”
“Because-” you swallow. Here it comes. “Because I know how our story is supposed to end. And you keep not following the script like I'm-” You bite back words made of razors. “Like I'm worth something.” They escape anyway. Damn your mouth. “You're not supposed to do that. You're supposed to-to-”

You tilt your head back, unshed tears burning in your eyes. You're tired of crying. “You're supposed to come crashing into my life and then we crash and burn. Because that's what always happens with men who look the way you do. I'm good at those, I know the patterns. And you keep not following them and I don't know what it means and I don't know what to do and it's new and it's different and I don't know-I don't-I'm so tired.”

The dam bursts again only now your tears burn your cheeks with anger. Why is it always up to you to be the biggest person when people stare? Why is it always up to you to make people comfortable with you? Why is it always your job? 

“I'm so fucking tired,” you seethe. Hands clench in your lap as your face twists with remembered slights. “I'm tired. I'm tired of having albinism. I'm tired of people staring at me like I'm some fucking freak. I'm tired of extending grace to other people, of being the one to forgive, of slicing off pieces of myself for others. I'm tired of hurting, I'm tired of being hurt. I'm tired of people leaving, of being left and abandoned. I just want it all to stop.”

Rage drains and you're left cold and aching. You sigh and look over at Sylus next to you. He's watching you with the same concern when you fell through a memory. 

“Are you tired of me?” His voice is soft and vulnerable. 
“No. But I figure, you must be tired of me.”
“Never.”
“...why? Why me? I have nothing to offer. I'm practically a functioning alcoholic, I have more issues than fucking Cosmo, I've spent most of my life fucking anyone who looks at me, I-”
“Make me feel less lonely.”
“What?”
“That's why. You-the night I met you, when you walked in-you shone so darkly. You carry such a cloud around you-”
“Sylus, you should really work on your compliments.”
“Brat,” he mutters affectionately. He sighs and his eyes grow distant. “I don't feel lonely when I'm with you.”

A hand reaches across the small space between you and after a moment's hesitation you take it. His thumb brushes absent-minded circles against your skin.

“You don't care?”
“Hm?”
“That I've...y’know, been-ugh. I hate that phrase, it's so fucking high school. That I've fucked a lot of people?”
“So have I. I spent-” Sylus squeezes your hand. “I did that for a long, long time. Isolated myself for a while after it got to be too much. Then I thought being in and around crowds of people would help, but it made the loneliness worse. I was getting ready to retreat again then…I met you.”

There's a heavy and fragile silence filling the room. Sylus takes a deep breath as he studies your hand in his. “But we should talk about tonight.”
You swallow down knots of nausea. Here comes The Conversation. “Okay.”
“You're the only person I'm seeing. But I need to know if tonight is typical from you, or if it was a cry for help, or if-”

Eyes squeeze close around burning embers and your breath staggers in your chest. That's the big question, isn't it? Can I keep my shit together in a real relationship? How long has it been since you tried, since Chris? A vile brew of self-loathing drags red-hot hooks through your guts.

“I don't know what I'm like in relationships. Real relationships, I mean. I haven't been in one since-” Fear welds your jaw shut and harpies born from every “what if” your mind has ever conjured comes forth in a blaze of screams. “What Tara calls my exes are little more than glorified hook-ups who just…didn't move out after that first night together. They tended to end-well, I'm sure you noticed how one wall of my apartment is different?”
“...I have.”
“Yeah. My most recent…whatever he was, I don't remember his name, but he was pissed about something and he drove his car into my living room. I ended up having to get a restraining order.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Yeah. The night we met, I'd just moved out of Tara's living room like, two days prior. My hook-ups tend to end in a similarly dramatic fashion. I've had nothing but hookups since-” Shame wraps cold claws around your throat and forces it shut. A warm hand around yours gives you enough strength to squeeze out a single name.

“Chris.”

Sylus becomes unnaturally still next to you. You can see a muscle spasming in his jaw, veins rigid along his neck and arms. After a moment you see him breathing, ragged and uneven, yet the hand holding yours never clenches, never crushes. His thumb burns a circle into your skin and it feels like a rune of protection. You've wondered if you had said his name that day, during the long nights when sleep hid from you. 

Now you know.

“You don't have to tell me about him if you don't want to.” Sylus' voice is flat and monotonous and it makes you uneasy. 
“I don't want to talk about-”
“Then don't-”
“But if I don't talk about him now, I never will.”

You take a deep breath, and begin. 

“Chris was a Bad Boy, like fucking textbook. I met him when I was 19 and I fell so hard and so fast. Within a matter of days, I was ride or die for him. I was committed. And he fed on that. Hyped up this whole ‘you and me against the world, baby’ kind of bullshit and I was so fucking desperate that I bought the entire routine.”

You sniffle and clear your throat before you continue. 

“Whatever he wanted, I moved worlds to get it. He didn't fucking work a single fucking day we were together. Convinced me that he was ‘working on something’ and that because I was supporting him, he'd make it and then we'd be set, or whatever. He had this whole speech, and it fucking dazzled me, every. Fucking. Time.”

“Any fights were my fault, of course. Any failed endeavors were because I wasn't doing enough to support him. Never mind that I was working 60 hours a week or more, doing all the cleaning, all the errands, all the...fucking everything.” Your lip quivers as you tear off scabs over wounds that have sat rotting on your soul for years. 

“He became jealous. Possessive. Irrational. If I mentioned a co-worker, he'd accuse me of cheating and demand I prove I wasn't cheating. If I smiled at a stranger in passing, he'd accuse me of plotting an affair. Everything was my fault, he refused to apologize for anything, claiming that he'd never done anything that he needed to apologize for.”

“He monopolized my time. I had to work 60 hours a week or more at an emotionally draining job, keep the house clean and the laundry done while also paying attention to him and only him but if I got up before him it wasn't because I was trying to keep up with all the housework it was clearly because I was cheating, but I was punished if I tried to do housework while I was awake because then I wasn't paying attention to him, but then I'd be punished for not keeping the house clean. And of course, let's not forget that I wasn't allowed to keep track of our finances. I wasn't allowed to remove notifications off my phone, I wasn't allowed to check the bank account, I wasn't allowed to get the mail.”

You take several deep breaths as you remember those impossible fights and unattainable standards. Arguing with him went in circles until reality warped around you. 

“He kept me awake. During the week, I'd get maybe an hour of sleep through the entire work week. We'd fight. Constantly. I was…supposed to apologize with my body. He'd kick me, during those moments, if I fell asleep from exhaustion. And still I loved him. Was desperate to make him see. And I stupidly thought he still loved me. That I was the problem and-fuck. I tried. I tried so hard to show him. I ripped myself apart trying to prove my devotion.”

You continue to crack yourself open and drag out all these dark, wriggling pieces of your diseased past. You've never spoken of them, never even looked at them. Talking about everything he did to you made it real and if it was real then you experienced it as you recall it. It stops being an amorphous memory and instead of a haunting wraith looming in your mind that you couldn't quite see, it's reduced to this rotting pile of twitching flesh. 

Fuck, it hurts.

“I felt like I was losing my mind. I felt like I was going insane. An ex of his died. Suicide. He had spoken of her with such contempt. Called her crazy. All his exes were crazy according to him, which I was too young, too innocent, too stupid to recognize as a warning sign. But after her death, he changed and started saying that she was the only one who ever loved him. And there was this period of time where I had this insane idea that I should kill myself for him. That that would show him how much I loved him. I finally had a breakdown where I begged him for help. I begged him on my knees. I kneeled before him. I lowered myself that much and he fucking told me that I didn't deserve help. Said I was a soulless monster before he walked away to go to sleep.”

Your face is wet and you blink with surprise as you try to dry your cheeks. It fails. 

“He'd left his phone in the living room. I finally gave in and checked it. Snooped through his messages. Found out he'd been lying. To everyone. He claimed to be single, that I was his crazy roommate. I found...countless conversations. With other women. He told them he loved them. Called them by the sweet pet names he used to use on me. To say I lost it is an understatement. I went mad. I was out of my mind and desperate to hurt him the way he'd been hurting me and he-”

You swallow as you reach your lowest depths. 

“He grabbed my wrists and-it was so easy for him to overpower me. To just-just immobilize me. And he was so angry. He-” You pause. The hand holding yours squeezes, thumb tracing gentle circles once more and you push through your shame .”He broke my arm slamming me onto the ground. Onto my back. And he just leaned over me, with so much fucking contempt. And he told me that I owed him for disturbing his sleep. That he was going to take his due, whether I liked it or not. He-”
“Lily-”
“Lilith. My name is Lilith.”
“Lilith. You don't-” Sylus' voice shakes as he whispers to you. His voice is sharp with rage, but you can't focus on why. You've sunk your fingers into the last piece, the worst piece, the biggest piece. You want to retch at the feeling of it between your fingers, but the time has come to rid yourself of this rotting tumor. 

“He raped me. Wrapped one hand around my throat, the other around my broken arm and he just kept squeezing. All the while, he told me how much he hated me. That I should be grateful that he'd stayed with me for as long as he had, because no one would ever love me. That I didn't deserve to be loved because I was worthless. A monster. That he knew that my trashy ass was going to end up selling my body to make rent, because spreading my legs is all I'm good for. When he finished, he told me to enjoy being pretty while it lasted, because eventually I was going to find someone who's going to do to me what he should have done to me, and make me not be pretty anymore.”

You shake with rage. “I blacked out from the pain and when I woke up, he was gone. And he took everything. All he left me was my clothes and a ratty pile of old pillows and blankets. It's taken me years to rebuild my life. I had to drag myself to urgent care to get my fucking arm set. I had just started on the force too, but I know what the process is when you report that, so I just. Kept my mouth shut. And it still hurts, sometimes. My arm. Usually when I can't sleep at night.”

You take a deep breath. Your chest is raw and gaping, your heart exposed, but there's a new lightness to you, to your shoulders. “Do you know what it does to you, when you're told over and over again, that you're worthless by the only person in your life that you trust.”
“Lilith-”
“You start to believe it. And you accept…...a lot of shit from people you shouldn't. Because real people have worth. And because I didn't have any worth, that meant I wasn't a real person. And because I'm not a real person, I found myself in a cyclical hell with all these fucking facsimiles of fucking Chris and endless variations on everything he ever did to me.”

Sylus lets go of your hand, but before you can look at him, he pulls you into his lap. Arms envelop you and press you tight to a body shaking under you. “You didn't deserve any of that, Lilith.”
“Yeah, but-”
“No. No ‘but.’ You didn't deserve it. Full stop. You deserve better. You've always deserved better.”
His breathing is ragged and in the right light it almost looks like there's a menacing glow in his eyes. 
“Are you angry?”
“Very. But that's for me to process.” He buries his face in your hair before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. 
“I've never told anyone about him.”
“That you have chosen to tell me is the highest honor I’ve ever been paid. How are you feeling, in this moment?”

You take a deep breath as you consider. Your soul feels tender but…it's not bleeding. You dwell on memories and you haven't run full tilt down that spiral staircase yet. At some point, you began to heal under those scabs. You ripped them off, expecting anguish and despair to gush over your hands, only to find new scars. 

“Fragile, maybe? I've avoided thinking about him for…a long time. And I'm a little surprised. I don't feel as-as raw and open as I thought I'd feel. I feel lighter.”
Sylus tucks your head against his chest as his hand plays with your hair.
“I dated a few people before Chris, you know. I never strayed. And despite his insistence otherwise, I never cheated on him.” You take a deep breath. “I can't promise that I'm not going to have problems, but-”
Sylus' fingers draw empty runes along your skin. “Do you feel ready? If you're not-”
“I don't know if I'm ready but I do know I'm willing. I'm tired of the drama. And the sex with you has been much better.”
Sylus laughs quietly and his arms tighten around you. “So. The big question. What are we?”
“Girlf-ugh. That sounds so childish. I'm fucking terrified, but...I'm yours.”
“I've been yours for several weeks already, but it's nice we're on the same page now.”

Your eyes close as you listen to Sylus' heartbeat. While no longer drunk, you still feel the effects of it as you reflect on the changes in your life. A breathy laugh escapes you as you remember Tara's words. “Tara's going to be proud of me.”
“Hm?”
“It's been over two months with you, and you haven't tried to move in once.”
“What?”
You giggle to yourself. “Our first night together. She told me to not let you move in right away. Well, she called you a ‘jobless fuckboi’ but-”
“I don’t-” Sylus looks down at himself. “I do look the part, don’t I. Fuck.”
“You are jobless.”
“And you are a brat.”
“Yep. You asked for it, so you better not get pissy now that you have it.”

You wake up in Sylus’ arms, body stiff and head aching. Easing yourself off him, you seek out coffee and ibuprofen. After obtaining the latter and beginning the former, your eyes are drawn to the cabinet you keep your alcohol. Eddie’s words ring in your mind and they’re a stuttering duet with Xavier’s, your eyebrows creasing as you make a decision.

You’re most of the way through dumping your liquor cabinet down the drain when you become aware of Sylus leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. You throw yet another weighty bottle down into your large trash can and the musical sound of glass once again fills the air. A dark silver eyebrow arches elegantly over a curious eye and you grin. “It’s cathartic!” You exclaim. “I tend to make some really bad decisions when I drink a lot and this feels...good. Right. I’m not going to avoid it entirely in the future, but-I don’t know.”
Sylus smiles wryly. “I’m just entertained at how happy you look in the midst of destruction.”
“Have you ever done a rage room?”
“No, can’t say I have.”
“They’re fun! Some of them, you throw paint around. Others are full of cheap stuff you can smash with a hammer. There’s a few where you can just like, throw axes around. I don’t think any are open right now, so I’m just dumping my liquor and smashing the bottles.”
Sylus shrugs in acceptance and makes two cups of coffee. “Join me when you’re done?”
“Sure!”

You walk into work, feeling brighter and more cheerful than you’ve been in a long, long time. Familiar boot steps approach your desk after a while and Tara hands you a cup of expensive coffee, “Bribe” written on the side.

“Spill. You’re radiant, both literally and metaphorically-oh my god. Did Sylus knock you up?!”
“Tara!” Your voice is a furious whisper.
“Oh my gawd, he did?! Tell-”
“No! I’m not pregnant! We’re-we finally had The Conversation over the weekend-”
“The conversation? What conver-ohhh. OH! Oh my god. You’re dating? Like, officially dating? On the for really reals?!” She squeals happily and you grab your coffee in time for her to clap her hands with joy.
“Yeah. Had a bit of a breakdown right beforehand, but-”
“You drank, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Lily-”

You smile at her. “He took care of me, kept me safe. And I just...had this whole meltdown.” You twist and braid the truth into a series of palatable lies. “I was having this whole crisis about not being good enough for him, that he deserved someone of similar status. Sylus gave me this big hug and told me that he’s dated countless people, and I’m the only one that makes him feel less lonely. And-” You take a deep breath. “I-I dumped out my liquor cabinet. All of it, down the drain. I’m not going to teetotal, but I think hard liquor and I should see other people for a while.”

Tara wipes her eyes as she wedges herself into your seat with you and before you can reclaim the sanctity of your personal space, she hugs you. It’s a real hug, genuine and full of warmth, and you can hear tears in her voice. “Oh Lily. I’m so proud of you. You better be good to Sylus. And he better be good to you! Or-”
Your lips curl in a fond smile. “Or what?”
“Girl, I’m not playing. I’m a cop. I’ll murder him and pin the evidence on someone else.”
“Damn, okay-”
“And if you break his heart, I’m going to replace all of your CDs with new CDs that only have one song on them-”
“No-”
“Yes. I will make you listen to ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ on repeat for six months.”
“Fucking hell-”
“Love youuuu, gotta work! Byeeee!”

You stare dourly at the unfinished report on your screen as you chew violently on the pen in your mouth, your mind thoroughly distracted by your indecision about lunch. A hand appears in front of you and yanks the pen away. Surprised, your teeth snap shut. “First of all, what the fuck?”
“Go to lunch, idiot. If you chew on this pen any longer, it’s going to burst and then your lunch will be ruined by all the ink. And more importantly, the rest of my day will be ruined because all I’ll hear about is you bitching about the taste of ink in your mouth.” Xavier stares at you, mouth twisted with irritation.
“That happened one time-”
“It’s happened three times.”
“Whatever. One, three, they’re both prime numbers.”
“That makes no sense. Fucking go to lunch already.”
“This time I really will get that anchovy and garlic paste sandwich.”
Xavier rolls his eyes as he sits down. “Get a new threat.”

You reluctantly (not) talk yourself into Taco Bell (as a treat), grumbling quietly to yourself that Xavier had been right to tell you to take an early lunch. You’re walking past a sandwich place (not the one that sells the sandwich with anchovy and garlic paste; the only sandwich this place has that’s an affront to every olfactory sense within 100 ft is the one with boiled cabbage and horseradish) when you bump into Caleb once again. You greet him with a toast of your Baja Blast, and frown as you notice the woman on his arm is not Tiffany.

“Oh hey Lily.”
You swallow what feels like half of your burrito before you speak. “Hey, Caleb. What happened to Tiffany?”
He shrugs. “Turns out she was married to her work and wasn’t willing to compromise to give me even a little bit more space in it. So we parted ways. Anyway, this is Danielle.”
Danielle immediately sticks her hand out with a big, cheerful grin. “Hi! You can call me Dani, that’s what all my friends call me.”
You blink and shake her hand, charmed by how friendly she is. “Hi Dani, I look forward to getting to know you better.”
“We’ll let you go, Lily. Nice seeing you again!”

Full and satiated, you sit down at your desk with ten minutes to spare on your lunch. As you stare at your screen, your thoughts inevitably turn back to The Bear. Your brain conjures a portion of the pretentiously long name of the actual hospital Brian was sent to, and you decide to take a quick gander through the magic of Google Earth. You frown; the satellite imagery is blurred.

They only do that for places like bases and government buildings. Not-not hospitals. Opening another tab, you try Google Street View: also blurred. What the hell is this place? You try known Shifter prisons and hospitals; none are blurred. But this one is. Why the hell was he transferred to a government facility? More specifically, what possible use could the government have for a Shifter? Or the military, for that matter? What could they possibly be doing there? You turn back to the Google Earth tab and using the scale at the bottom of the screen, you calculate the size of the facility.

It dwarfs every other medical complex in the world with its five square miles.

What the fuck is even there?

You return home, distracted and quiet. Thoughts buzz and stir. Thoughts about Brian, about Arnold, repeating themselves to the melody of Sylus’ words. You’d spent the rest of your shift at work trying desperately to find out more information about the massive facility that Brian had been transferred to, but every search returned the same story: that Brian’s facility, the Greater O’Neill Area Joint Methodist-Mormon Research Hospital And Treatment Center is just a small local hospital with a name comically larger than the town it’s supposed to serve. The fuck is going on?

As you set down your keys in their usual spot, you stop with a smile at a new figure that had materialized: an adorable bear cub. You set the Mystery of Brian aside as you admire your new gift, placing him gently with the others. I’m going to figure out what’s going on. I have to, at this point.

Interlude

“You’re one of us.”
“As are you.”
“I’m surprised you of all people are associating with her.”
“And what about you? Aren’t you the famous-”
“Obviously. Don’t you know what she does for a living?”
“How could I not?”
“Are you on the phone?”
“Just chatting with your cat.”
“The more you keep her close-”
“Like you’re one to talk. How long-”
“What are you gonna do? Reveal-”
“I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I’ve lived this long, of course I’m smart.”
“Then why-”
“She was good to a lowly animal when many would not. I protect her out of gratitude. She treats me better than anyone else ever has. What about you?”
“She makes me feel-I don’t expect you to understand-”
“I assure you, gwiber, that I do understand.”
“Heh. An old name there, Sidhe. Truce?”
“Truce.”

Chapter Text

You open your eyes when your watch on your wrist buzzes: an email. Trapped under your behemoth of a boyfriend, you settle for reading the subject of the email; the full email will have to wait. You frown; you’d sent off for more information on the facility Brian Milton had been transferred to yet judging by the header, you’ve hit another dead end. You’re running out of sources for more information on the impossible hospital, and that is starting to piss you off. You sigh irritably.

“Everything okay?” Sylus’ voice is deep and heavy with sleep as his arms tighten around you.
“No, but-it’s-something’s bothering me. About work. A case from a few months ago.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not yet. But...maybe soon?”
“Mkay. Lemme know when, baby.” Lips brush your neck as hands roam and you turn to face him.

Sylus pulls you on top of him and as you ride him to that blissful oblivion, a thought surfaces despite your euphoria:

I might have to go to the facility at this point.

“Package for you, Lily.”

Your head whips up, grateful to look at anything other than data entry fields. The mail clerk hands over a sleek black package before walking away and you frown. You hadn't ordered anything recently, and most certainly not something to be delivered to the precinct. You look it over, noting the sender to be an upscale jewelry boutique. So, Sylus then. 

Dating Sylus has been surprisingly comfortable in the two months since that night. While he occasionally flaunts his “generational wealth,” he's shown himself to prefer staying home and eating fast food on the couch with you. He spends his days working on bikes and cars when he's not sweet talking you into calling in and spending a day in bed with him. 

He's very persuasive.

You open the package to an elegant, handwritten note on top of a beautiful multi-layered suspended pearl necklace. You read the note first and immediately choke on your coffee. 

As much as I prefer the other pearl necklaces I've given you, I saw this one and thought it to be a more publicly acceptable substitute.
-Sylus

Your thoughts turn back to that first night together and you swallow hard as you put the necklace around your neck. You're admiring it as Tara walks past. “Ohh! That's lovely! Did Sylus send you that?”
“Yeah-”
Tara spots the note and with a grin she plucks it off your desk. Her brow furrows as she reads. “What? ‘Other pearl necklaces?’ What’s he talking about?”
Your cheeks burn. 
“Lily oh my god. Seriously. What-tell me! What’s he talking about when he says ‘publicly acceptable’?! Please! I need details, I am living through you right now!”

Jenna emerges from her office in a flurry of movement, gesturing sharply at you and Tara to meet her in the briefing room. Grateful, you take the note back, frowning after a moment’s notice when you realize your partner is nowhere to be found. You and Tara take your seats, trading confused looks. While no strangers to working together, Xavier is your partner. And yet he’s not in the briefing room with you. The way he should be.

Jenna sighs. “So. We have a murder.” She pins up a picture, and you gasp. It’s Tiffany Lewis, Caleb’s workaholic ex-girlfriend.
“Oh my god, Tiffany was murdered?”
“Yes. You may have noticed that Xavier isn’t here. He, and Caleb, are in separate rooms to give their statements. This is the crime scene.” Jenna pins another picture up and you swallow. Tiffany had practically been torn apart.
“Fuck.”
“Crime techs are...struggling to understand what killed her. They found teeth marks, but impossible ones.”
“How?”
“They’re just like marks left by wolves, but much too large. Larger than any wolf ever recorded.”
“Like a wolf the size of a house?”
Jenna gives you a look. “That’s exactly what the techs are saying. That it was definitely a wolf that killed her, but a wolf that shouldn’t exist.”
Tara studies the pictures. “Wolves don’t grow that big. And Shifters wouldn’t be any different.”
Jenna rubs her face. “Right. Unless this isn’t your run-of-the-mill Shifter. Tara, I need you to work on trying to find plausible reasons for a wolf to be that size. Lily, take down Xavier’s and Caleb’s statements.”

You nod and stand as you gather your things. As you head towards the interrogation rooms, you decide to speak to Caleb first. You study him as you sit down. His eyes are red and heavily shadowed as though he’d been awake for far too long. As his eyes meet yours, Caleb smiles, wan and weak.

“Oh. Hey, Lily.”
“Hey, Caleb. I’m sorry about Tiffany.”
“Me too.”
“Just to make sure, you know what I’m doing here, right?”
“Umm y-yeah. Get my statement. I-I’m not in trouble, right?”
“No, no. We just wanted to get your statement since you were recently in a relationship with Tiffany. We have to talk to everyone who knew her.”
“O-oh. Okay. Right.”
You flip to a blank page on your legal pad. “So you and Tiffany broke up…about two months ago, correct? And then you started dating Dani-I mean, Danielle, shortly after, correct?”
“D-yeah. Dani. We’re still together.”
“Can you account for your whereabouts at 2am Friday morning?”
Caleb frowns. “Oh. Uhh. Thursday night is our-I mean, mine and Xavier’s-” He pauses, flustered.
You raise an eyebrow. “Yours and Xavier’s…what, exactly?”
“Thursday night is always our night. It-” Caleb lets out an explosive sigh. “We set Thursday nights to be a night for us to-um-to check in with each other. Thursday night leading into Friday morning, I was with Xavier.”
You quietly take notes and once again your silence does more interrogation work than you do.
“We-we’re in an open relationship,” Caleb sighs. “One of our rules is we have dedicated ‘us’ time and we have that on Thursday. Fridays and Saturdays tend to be date nights, so Thursdays gives us a chance to check in with each other and make sure we’re doing okay and our needs are being met. That Thursday, we decided to watch a special on mythology. It’s one of my special interests and when it was over, we were-uhhh. Y-you know.”
“Intimate?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you recall what time you two might have fallen asleep?”
Caleb rubs the  back of his neck. “Late enough that we hit ‘The Golden Girls’ reruns? I’m not entirely sure, but I know those were playing when we-uhhh. Finally remembered to turn off the TV.”
You nod. “When you were still dating, did Tiffany mention anyone as being a problem, or causing problems for her in any way?”
“Uhhh, no. Not at all.”
“No one that may have had an issue in court?”
“She-she wasn’t an attorney. I mean, she had a law degree, but she did corporate law. Never saw the inside of a courtroom, she just handled contracts.”
You jot down notes. “No issues with any clients?”
“Nothing that she would-or could-share with me. We weren’t-it wasn’t-she wasn’t seeing me for deep, intellectual conversations,” Caleb mutters as his cheeks turn bright red.

Ah, it was that sort of relationship.

“Thank you, Caleb. I don’t have any further questions at this time, but please stay in town for the foreseeable future in case we have more questions.”

Caleb looks at you, sniffling as he wipes his eyes and nose, and there’s a bolt of certainty to your gut that Caleb is faking it. Yet the moment you try to examine that feeling, examine Caleb, it’s gone. It’s gone and he’s sobbing in the interrogation room, arms wrapped tight as though he was trying to hold himself together and failing. You slowly get to your feet, your eyes seeking out lesser-known tells for deceit. Nothing.

You cross the hallway to the room Xavier has been sitting in. While he’s looking worn and haggard, he's in slightly better shape than Caleb. “Hey, Xav.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry about Tiffany.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
You look at your notes from Caleb's statement. “So Caleb mentioned that you two have-”
“An open relationship. Yeah.”
“And you two were together Thursday night leading into Friday morning?”
Xavier nods. “Yep. He was with me. Thursday is our date night. We turn off phones and focus solely on each other. Caleb wanted to watch this Norse thing. He’s got a fixation when it comes to all that mythology stuff, and it was his week to pick, so we turned off our phones and watched that.”
“And after?”
Xavier’s cheeks and the tips of his ears turn pink. “Being on this side of the table is making me rethink the way I interrogate people,” he mutters.
“Were you two intimate?”
“Yes.”
“Until?”
“Fucking hell, Lily.”
You stare at your partner and he rubs his face.
“Sorry. I don’t know. 3am? Maybe 4? After they start airing ‘Golden Girls’ reruns, whenever that is. We done here?”
“Yeah.”
“Perfect. And yeah, I know the drill. I’ll make sure he and I stay in town.”

One Week Later

Jenna pulls you and Xavier into the briefing room. “Anything?”

You shake your head. TV programming confirmed there had been a big Norse mythology special the Thursday night before Tiffany was murdered, followed by reruns of “The Golden Girls,” so Caleb’s alibi checked out. Whoever, or whatever, had killed her left nothing. No prints, no hair, no bodily fluids anywhere.

Xavier shakes his head as well. He’s been going through Tiffany’s clients, looking for someone who may have held a grudge. Most of the contracts that she wrote, however, were simply employment contracts for low-level positions. While many were unhappy, no one fit the tentative profile of someone who would lash out so violently at her.

Tara rushes in a few moments later, slightly out of breath. Jenna looks at her with an arched eyebrow. “Well?”
“So, I’ve ruled out the possibility of it being a normal wolf,” Tara begins. “Wolves don’t really get the condition that we call gigantism.”
“So…”
“So now we’re looking at three options. Option one, a Shifter that had gigantism as a child. Option two, a Shifter that developed acromegaly as an adult-”
Jenna shakes her head. “Acro-what?”
“Acromegaly. It’s like gigantism, but while gigantism affects children, acromegaly only affects adults. They’re caused by roughly the same thing, a tumor on the pituitary gland, but the age it happens determines if it's gigantism or acromegaly.”
“...I’m not sure I get the difference, but okay. And the third?”

Tara sighs and begins placing several pictures on the board. “Option three…is mythology.”
“Mythology.” Jenna’s voice is flat.
“Yeah. I’m not happy about it, but-well.”
“Can Shifters even be afflicted with gigantism or that other one you mentioned?”
Tara shrugs. “No one knows. And no one knows if their shifted shape would also be affected, or if it’s just the human aspect. There’s...a lot we don’t know about Shifters, when you get down to it.”
“But mythology?” You continue to stare at the image of a massive wolf devouring the sun.
Jenna frowns as she stares at the board. “I thought all the mythics were dead. Are you saying one might not be?”
“I don’t know. You asked me to find a plausible explanation for a wolf to be that big and I couldn’t. That leaves a Shifter. I’m still trying to find out if it’s even possible for a Shifter to have either gigantism or acromegaly. If they can’t, then according to Occam’s Razor...” Tara’s voice trails off.
“Shit. Well. Keep looking into it, I guess. Lily, continue helping Xavier look into Tiffany’s clients. We might get lucky.”

“Hey Xav. You already looked at-” You check the name of the client. “Tiffany’s client over at that auto dealer complex, right?”
“Hm? Oh. Uhhh. What’s his name, Tom Hale?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Yeah. Nothing. Why?”
“Sylus is taking me to an art gallery for the exhibit opening of an artist he knows later tonight. I can stay-”
“Nah, you’re good. You look like your eyes are about to cross.”
“Wow. Thanks.” You give Xavier an irritated stare.
“Anytime. Have a fun time with high society!”
“Ass.” You grab your things and head out, texting Sylus that you’re leaving work early and will be heading over to shower and change.

Sylus’ door is still impossible for you to open and close, but a quick peek around the corner shows the garage is open. He’s standing there, wiping grease stains off his hands and arms, when you head into the garage. His eyes light up as you greet him with a kiss.

“Hey there, river lily.”
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
“It's just work. This murder is...getting complex when we should be getting close to finding her killer.”
“Would me distracting you help?” Sylus dips his mouth to your ear as his hands massage your hips. “I like it when you let me distract you.”
 You sigh and lean against him. “Did you mean what you said last night?”
Sylus lips at your ear for a moment before drawing back and his eyebrows are furrowed. “Of course. Are you alright?”
“Right now? Sort of. I think? Maybe. It's-” You growl quietly to yourself. “I think I'm too fixated on work. It's fucking with my head and-”
Sylus throws you over his shoulder as he wraps his arm tight around your waist. “I know just the distraction, baby.”

You shriek with laughter as he carries you to the bathroom.

You stand in front of the mirror, brushing knots out of wet hair as Sylus brings you your underwear and dress. It’s a simple thing, a ruched red cocktail dress with a high neck. It squeezes you in different places and interesting ways and once you’ve settled it on your body, you realize you actually have a figure buried somewhere under all of your work clothes and definitely normal amounts of junk food consumption.

Going by that feral look in Sylus’ eyes, you’d think I’m a fucking goddess in this thing. But I’ve seen him give me the same look when I’m wearing a sweatshirt the size of a circus tent, so...probably not the most objective opinion I could ask for. You snap a selfie and send it to Tara, assuming that as your bestie she’def-

She replies with two rows of eggplants.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the mirror to decide how much effort to put into your make-up. You remember the conversation you and Sylus had when he invited you, and you sigh.

“So an artist I’ve known for what feels like forever has a new exhibit opening in a gallery. Would you be interested in being my date?”
“That’s an odd way to refer to a friend-”
“Rafayel and I aren’t friends.”
“Wait. This is the opening of a Rafayel exhibit? You’re friends with Rafayel?!”
“Again, river lily, Rafayel and I are not friends. We’ve just known each other for a long time.”
“I don’t get the-whatever. I’ve never been to an exhibit opening before, what are they like?”
“So…”
“What is it?”
“Fuck, this is awkward.”
“What, Sylus.”
“Remember when I mentioned a few weeks ago that I’m familiar with the whole thing about sleeping with a lot of people?”
“...yes. Why?”
“In the interest of full disclosure but also with the caveat that I don’t know who’s on the guest list-”
“Spit it out, Sylus.”
“I’ve probably slept with a lot of the people that will be there.”
“‘A lot’?”
“Possibly most. But definitely not all of them.”
“You sure about that?”
“Of course. Rafayel and I never slept together.”

You roll your eyes and grab everything. You’re not mad at Sylus for sleeping with a lot of people. After all, you have too. A scared whisper in the back of your mind whispers anxieties and fears, that you’re doing this for his benefit, not yours, that you’re falling back into unhealthy patterns. In a fit of pique you decide that no, you’re going to all of this effort for yourself, and yourself alone. Not some man. You frown at your reflection. “Shut up in there,” you mutter as you apply your lipstick.

“Pardon?”
Fuck. Of course he was right there.
“Uhhh. Sorry. Talking to myself.”
Sylus arches an eyebrow as he meets your eyes in the mirror.
“Ugh. Fine. I was having a moment and was worried that I was going to all of this effort for you, which tends to be a very bad habit of mine. So I got mad at myself, decided I was doing this for me, and told myself to shut up.”
“Did it work?”
You blink at the unexpected question as you consider it. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You look-” Sylus pauses as he studies you. “You’re stunning.”
“Thank you. You look-” You look him over. He looks even better than he did in that pic you saw that came up during an investigation. Tight black slacks with a fitted blazer over a sheer white v-neck t-shirt that’s almost indecent with the way it clings and plunges. The red lining of his pocket square matches the red of your dress perfectly. “You look way out of my league.”
“River lily, I’m happy to inform you that it’s rather the opposite.” Fingers under your chin gently tilt your head back and the intense look in his eyes makes your breath catch. Mindful of your make-up, he kisses the tip of your nose and your forehead. “I took the liberty of buying a couple pairs of shoes for you. And a clutch.”
You stare at him with suspicious and narrowed eyes. “Show me.”

Sylus leads you to the bedroom and your face warms. “Sylus, how many-that’s not a couple!” You stare at three pairs of heels. “And what’s with all the spikes on that pair?!” 
He shrugs. “I thought you’d appreciate a pair of shoes that could double as a weapon.”
They’re all black. Your eyes are drawn to a pair of strappy sandals with a bit of a platform. As you pick them up to try them on, you notice the red sole and you choke back a gasp. “Are all of these Louboutins?!”
“Of course. I thought our shoes could match.” He pulls out a pair of patent leather loafers, decorated with a chain around the heel.
“Our shoes-baby. You don’t have to buy the most expensive stuff for me.”
Sylus sits next to you on the bed and runs his fingers along your spine. “I’m not. But let me buy you the high quality things.”
“I can’t afford to buy you-”
“Lilith. My river lily. This isn’t about money. These are just things. I want to give you good things, because you deserve good things. Let me spoil you. Please?”
“I-I’m a little overwhelmed. Part of me is worried that you’ll hold them over my head and-”
“Coerce you?”
“Yeah.”

Sylus pulls you to his side and kisses your temple. He’s silent for some time; you look up at him and you’re surprised to see that he looks contemplative. He sighs. “I hadn’t thought about that. I should have. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
“It’s okay.”
“Why don’t you pick one pair to wear tonight, and we’ll figure out what to do with the rest of them later? I don’t want us to arrive unfashionably late. Just fashionably late.”
Your eyes fall on the clutch and you let out a tiny little sound. It’s perfect. “Umm. I love the clutch, though. Thank you.” You admire it as you put your phone and make-up inside, smiling when you notice the chain of the clutch matches the chain that decorates the heels of Sylus’ shoe.

You settle on the strappy pair of heels and pull them on while Sylus slips on his own shoes. As you walk to his car with him, you're surprised to see Luke and Kieran in the front seats. After the two of you get in, you study the men in the front seats. 

“You guys going to the opening?”
“Yes-”
“-and no.”
“We'll be there-
“-but mostly out of sight.”
“People try to take our-
“-masks off when they drink.”
“That's rude of them. Well, I still hope you guys enjoy yourselves.”

Having long since become accustomed to their peculiar manner of speaking, you turn your attention to the passing scenery. You try to, at least. Until you hear the click of your seatbelt being unbuckled moments before Sylus pulls you onto his lap. You give him A Look. “Really. You couldn't wait a few minutes.”
“Nope.”

One arm tightens around your waist. Sylus brings a hand to your cheek and his eyes as you meet them are hungry. He pulls you down and you lose yourself in the taste of him. 

You don't notice the car has stopped until the door opens.

You climb out first, holding a hand out for Sylus. He steps out moments later, punctuating a quiet apology with several kisses along your neck and ear. He leans down as you approach the venue. “Yep, definitely most people.”
“Alright. Will I have to worry about anyone being jealous or causing a scene?”
He laughs. “I doubt it, river lily.”
“C’mon, babe. You really don’t think someone here is going to be a little upset that some glorified beat cop is dating Sylus Qin Che?”
Sylus stops and pulls you close. You’re trying to put on a brave face, but internally you’re freaking out and- “Lilith. River lily. The only question you’re going to be asked is ‘how did you do it?’”
“I still don’t know how I did it.”
“If someone gives you a hard time, or makes you uncomfortable in any way, just squeeze my hand twice.”
“You gonna come to my rescue?”
“Of course. Now, let me introduce you to some people, starting with Rafayel.”
“We’re starting with Rafayel?!”
“Yes. We don’t get along, and I’d rather get it out of the way.”
“Oh god. Okay. Umm. Pour the tea?”
“It’s a long story, but I promise I’ll tell you. Just not here.”

Sylus leads you through the throng of art lovers. Well, you’re assuming they’re art lovers. You don’t know what kind of people show up at gallery things like this. Sylus’ hand is on your waist as you approach a small knot of people, all standing eagerly around one man. All you can see of him is dusky purple hair and a heavily brocaded sea green blazer.

“Congratulations on your new exhibit, Rafayel.” Sylus’ voice carries over the chatter. The man turns around and you have to swallow down your panic. It’s only Rafayel, widely considered one of the most thought provoking artists in virtually every discipline.
“Ohhh. Well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his august presence.” The caustic edge to Rafayel’s words makes you step back. Sylus heaves a sigh next to you.
“Let it go, Rafayel. I just wanted to thank you for inviting me, and to introduce you to my girlfriend, Lily, before we mingled and enjoyed the gallery.” Rafayel narrows his eyes as he stares Sylus down.

Rafayel finally notices you. He turns himself to face you properly and when he does, you’re hit with the full weight of his personality. It’s a lot. Rafayel suddenly smiles at you, sincere and charming, and the drastic change makes your hackles rise. Taking your hand, he bows low as he kisses the back and your flesh creeps at his performance. “What a beautiful flower you are,” he murmurs. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was watching Sylus for a reaction, not you.

“Nice to meet you.” Your voice is polite but distant.
Rafayel steps far too close and you retreat as much as you can to Sylus’ side. “A travesty that he has hidden you away from the world. So selfish of him. A beauty like you deserves-” he pauses and brings a hand up to try and stroke your cheek. “To be worshipped on a pedestal.”
“Don’t touch me.” You avoid his hand.
Rafayel’s eyes finally show a glint of a real emotion: irritation. He opens his mouth to speak, but you squeezed Sylus’ hand twice the moment he tried to touch you and the larger man places himself between you and the artist.
“Rafayel, that’s enough. Stop hitting on Lily. This has gone on long enough.” Sylus turns back to you. “Wait here for me, while I deal with him? I won’t be long.”
“I’ll wait.”

Sylus steps away and drags Rafayel with him, vice grip on his shoulder. The moment he leaves your side, you’re surrounded by a small crowd of men and women. You anxiously stare at them, noting with a sinking feeling that all of them could easily be professional models and when you hold yourself to compare-

You wish you had a strong drink.

A blonde woman speaks first. Model thin, her hair cascades over her shoulders in artfully careless waves. Bright green eyes study you, not with malice but curiosity. “How?”
“I-what?”
“How did you do it?”
You look around. The others seem to have an idea of what she’s talking about as their expressions mirror hers. “Can someone catch me up on the conversation? Because I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Sylus. How did you do it? He’s-he looks happy.”
“Now I’m really confused. Why don’t you start from the beginning of this conversation, but this time pretend I’m a clueless idiot. Because I am a clueless idiot, and I have no idea what you’re asking me.”
A handsome young man speaks up. “We’re just trying to figure out how you succeeded where we all failed.”

You take a breath, hold it, and let it out. Getting irritated at vapid socialites won’t solve anything. Might make me feel better, though. You close your eyes and try to center yourself, speaking before you open them. “So, I’m going to assume that one of you is going to do me the basic courtesy of explaining what the fuck you all seem to be talking about, and when one of you does, you’ll also remember basic fucking manners and introduce everyone. Preferably soon, because I really hate coming into the very end of a conversation.” You look around as the silence becomes thick and awkward. “No takers? Huh. Funny, that usually works.” You turn to leave and a statuesque brunette speaks up.
“Sorry. Truly. I’m Anna. I went out with Sylus, once. Literally once, I mean. We all have. Usually when we hear he’s seen someone, we reach out when he inevitably refuses to see them again. So we were more than a little surprised when we found out he had started to see someone regularly.”
You raise an eyebrow and you can’t help the amusement trickling through your voice. “Okay-”
“We also haven’t seen you around, so we wanted to know where you're from.”
“What, like the neighborhood I live in?”
“No, what family.”
“I-what? I'm a product of the foster system. My birth parents put me up for adoption when I was born.” A sneaking suspicion creeps through your mind and you look around at everyone around you. Do they think I'm upper class like them?
“So...what...where did you go to college?”
“Linkon University.”
“Wait. Do you like...have a job?”
“Yes? I'm a cop.”
The silence around you deafens. “Oh, so...you're ordinary.”
You look at your hair and skin with puzzled surprise. “Thank you? I think that's the first time I've ever been called ordinary.”
The silence becomes awkward. “So…how did someone so ordinary start dating Sylus? You know he's-”
“The wealthiest man to ever live? Yeah. I'm aware. Just because I work for a living doesn't mean I'm illiterate. Maybe this whole fixation on class and status is why you all had problems seeing Sylus more than once. Anyway, I'm going to go find my boyfriend now, because I miss him. Nice…meeting you all. I guess.”

You gracefully exit the baffled group  as you scan the crowd for Sylus. You see him with Rafayel and judging by their expressions and aggressive body language, they're arguing. 

“-fucking tired of repeating myself. I've tolerated it in the past, but I'm drawing a line now. Leave. Lily. Alone.”
“Hey baby,” your murmur as you reach out and touch Sylus' arm. “Everything okay?”
“I'm trying to settle a matter between Rafayel and myself that I've regrettably allowed to continue for far too long.”
Rafayel looks at Sylus with contempt, but by the time his gaze meets yours, his face is warm and smiling. “Maybe you can settle this matter then. I'm sure someone of your caliber and intelligence could make the right choice.”
You study Rafayel as though he's opposite you in an interrogation room. Insincerity oozes from every pore and instinctively you recoil. “You don't know me well enough to talk like that. And you're a terrible liar.” You press yourself to Sylus' side and look up at him. “Show me to the buffet?

You're aware of the stares and whispered conversations hidden behind hands, and thanks to speaking with that crowd, you suspect you're going to be the hottest piece of gossip among the elite of Linkon City for the foreseeable future. You ignore them with ease; whispers and stares have followed you your entire life. You blink when you see Caleb in the distance; you didn't take him for being an art person. Sylus leads you to a tucked away bench after filling your respective plates and you gladly take the opportunity to hide from the throngs.

The weight of Sylus’ arm around your shoulder comforts and soothes, but not enough to keep you from trying one more time. You punch in the name of the hospital, this time searching county records. Lost in thought, you don't realize you're chewing on Sylus’ hand until he laughs quietly. “Sorry,” you mutter. “I normally have a pen to chew on, it helps me think.”
“You're adorable. Do your thing, baby. I don't mind.” Sylus pulls himself closer, still scrolling his phone. He brushes the side of his hand against your cheek, laughing quietly once more when you go back to (gently) chewing on it. 

You sit there, curled up against Sylus’ side. You try desperately to think of some other way to find out more information. There has to be besides physically going there-

“You still have that chewing habit?” A familiar voice breaks your reverie and you look up in shock. 
“Zayne?! Oh my god, I didn't know you were back!” You sit upright at the sight of your (only) childhood friend.
“Just finished my degree, and now I'm back home for good.” His voice is deep and his faint accent is slightly more pronounced. You stand up and hug him.
“Zayne, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Sylus. Sylus, this is Zayne Li Shen. He's my only childhood friend. He's been studying law abroad.”
Zayne reaches out a hand to Sylus. “Pleasure to meet you, Sylus. You must be why Lilith is here. I always thought her art taste would run towards velvet Elvises, personally.”
Sylus takes the offered hand with a polite smile, but his greeting is lost in the sounds of a horrified scream.

You sprint towards it, fishing your badge out of your clutch. Good thing I remembered to bring it this time. You spot Caleb once more out of the corner of your eye. “Caleb! Call Xavier!” You see him nod and pull out his phone. There's a crowd forming along the side of the gallery that neighbors a park and you push your way through, badge in hand.

“I need everyone to step back now,” you bark in your most authoritative voice as you show your badge. Grateful for someone with the weight of the law behind them, security guards hired for the event hurry to comply. You can see a body lying under decorative bushes near the side of the building. You approach a woman sobbing and vomiting into a nearby trash can. “Ma'am? I'm with the police. What happened?”
“I-I-I'm sorry-”
“It's alright. Please, take your time. I'm in no rush.”
“Ummm-I-I wanted to take a walk in the park to clear my head. The-the champagne-oh god-” She pauses to throw up again. “I saw this-this lump and I thought she was passed out, and I just-I wanted to take care of a sister, y’know? So I-I tried to wake her because-I mean-I thought she was blacked out. She was so cold -” The woman breaks down in tears. “I didn't know! I didn't know! I'm so sorry. She was so cold and I saw she was-I saw her heart and I just-I screamed and I-I'm so sorry!” The woman throws her arms around you as she continues to sob. 

You hold her, patting her back, murmuring assurances. While not the way you're expected to respond to distraught members of the public, you're not about to deny this woman basic compassion and comfort for what is, for the average citizen, a traumatizing experience. A security guard guides her away once she calms down, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. As you make your way over to the body, you can see Sylus standing near the impromptu cordon.

You stop roughly six feet away, not wanting to contaminate the scene any further. As you crouch, the moon peeks out from behind clouds just enough to illuminate the woman's face. Tears prick your eyes.

“Oh Dani, I'm so sorry.”

You stand and pull out your phone to call Jenna. “It's Lily. We have another body. I'm at La Galleria delle Arti. Security has cordoned off the area, and Caleb is here, so I had him call Xavier. It's-” You sigh. “It's Dani. Caleb's girlfriend. And from where I was standing, she looked mauled the same way Tiffany was. I'm about to-I gotta let you go, Xavier is calling now.”

You swallow. “Xav. Hey. Head to the side of the gallery that neighbors the-yeah. Come see me first. Please.”

Xavier arrives moments later, slightly more prepared than you. He gives you a cursory glance. “Nice dress. So, what's going on? Is the body identified?”
“Yeah-Xavier, I'm so sorry. It's Dani. Caleb's-”
“No-”
“I saw her face. I'm so sorry. I don't-please, pull Caleb aside so I can get his statement, and then just-stay with him. For me. I'll handle things until the techs get here. Okay?”

Xavier covers his mouth as tears fill his eyes and he nods. While you two aren't big on being touchy, you pull him into a hug as he regains composure. “We'll get justice for her. That's what we do, remember?” Xavier nods and wipes his eyes before looking for Caleb in the crowd. You stand near the cordon as you wait, looking up as Sylus approaches first. 

“Hey, river lily.”
“Hey.”
“You okay?”
“No.” Your voice breaks and the tears that have been pressing at your eyes finally begin to fall. Sylus pulls you into a tight hug and you wave off the security guard. He says nothing, just rubs your back, and as you regain your composure, you look up. “I know the-I know her. Not well but I was looking forward to getting to know her better. She was so friendly and she-I hate this.”

You see Xavier and Caleb approaching out of the corner of your eye. You swallow; this is your least favorite part of the job. “Caleb-”
“What's going on? Why did Xavier come get me?”
“I'm so sorry-”
“Why are you apologizing? What happened? Why won't someone tell me?!” Caleb's voice reaches a manic, sour note and your eyes narrow slightly.
“Caleb, it's Dani-”

Caleb collapses against Xavier before falling to his knees with a sob, clutching his chest. You watch him and-

Something is off. You watch Caleb's performance, listen to his sobbing, and you know. You don't know how you know, but you know: something about his reaction at this moment is off. You think back on all those other moments with him, but there’s no tell, no idiosyncratic quirk you can point to as your justification. Just your gut that something about Caleb is Not Right.

The feeling disappears and Caleb is simply a distraught boyfriend once more. You hold back a sigh of relief as at last crime scene techs appear. An idle thought crosses your mind about why Xavier arrived so quickly, but you set it aside to ponder later as you hand the crime scene over to them. As they begin to document and record, you approach Caleb and Xavier. 

Caleb is still on his knees, staring listlessly in the direction of Dani’s body. His eyes track the movements of the crime scene techs but it’s absent-minded, his eyes drawn to their movement rather than their purpose. He looks over when you crouch next to him. “Hey Caleb.”
“Lily.”
“I’m not going to get your full statement but I gotta ask you a few questions.”
“That’s fine.”
“What was Dani doing here?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t even have anything planned tonight. It’s-”
“Thursday night.”
“Yeah. Xavier was working late tonight so he was going to pick me up. And I know. Stay in town.”

You stand and beckon Xavier over. “Xav, I’m sorry, but I need your help getting everyone’s statements. I already got Caleb’s preliminary statement. I don’t want to put him through anything more tonight-”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, let me-let me call Sylus over so you can get his statement-”
“You don’t have-”
“Xav, I-I don’t think whoever-or whatever- did this is going to stop anytime soon. I think we’re going to see more bodies. And when we do, I don’t want anything to be a cause for scrutiny. I’ll give you mine. At the time the body was found, I was introducing Sylus to a childhood friend of mine, Zayne Li Shen, who just moved back home after studying law abroad. I’m going to go find Rafayel and get both his guest list and a statement.”
“How do you want to split it?”
You sigh. “I’ll take the top, you take the bottom, we’ll meet in the middle.”
“Alright. I’ll get statements from Sylus and Zayne, then.”

Blowing a quick kiss to Sylus, you find Rafayel. “Rafayel, I need your help. I need your statement and a copy of the guest list.”
“Oh my. Are all detectives as-”
“Mr. Qi Yu. I don’t know what your issue is with my boyfriend, but right now? I’m on the clock. There’s a dead body back there who happens to be a friend of mine, and I really want to find out what happened. Don’t make this any more difficult for me than it already is. I’m going to take your statement, and then I need a copy of the guest list so my partner and I can get the statement of everyone here.”
Rafayel blinks at you, surprised. “I don’t have the guest list handy, but my assistant will.”
“Fine. Now. Did you see this woman at any point tonight?”

It’s nearly midnight by the time you and Xavier finish taking down the majority of statements. Some individuals on the list left prior to the discovery of Dani’s body. The gallery empties slowly as attendees are released once their statement is given, with caveats to stay in town in case further questioning is necessary. Tired and aching, you head back over to the crime scene to see if the coroner had anything useful for you.

“Hey Lils.”
“Hey Val. Got anything?”
“I’ve got bad news, and more bad news.”
“Great. Awesome.”
“I’m a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t I. Bad news first: it looks whoever or whatever killed Tiffany also killed Dani. It’s-”
“No chance of a copycat?”
“Nope. We never disclosed the size of the teeth that killed Tiffany, only that she was killed in an attack.”
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Hey, cheer up. It gets worse!”
“Val-”
“I’m having trouble determining the time of death. A bunch of stuff doesn’t line up. Tissue damage, rigor mortis, lividity, algor mortis-they all say something different. Whoever we’re dealing with, they’re smart.”
“Fuck.”
“All I can tell you is she wasn’t killed here, she was dumped. The sprinklers didn’t come on after her body was found, right?”
“No.”
“I was afraid of that. They must have come on after Dani’s body was dumped, but before she was found. Anyway, I wanted to let you know before I had her sent back to the morgue. And Lily? You’ll figure out what happened. You care too much to let Dani or Tiffany go into the dark without a fight.”

You trudge back to that bench where you sat with Sylus. Your head is full, too full. Already heavy with mounting suspicions, your new doubts and worries have overfilled it. You’re stuffed to bulging and you fear the chaos if you don’t find an outlet soon. Sylus is sitting on the bench you’d shared with him, scrolling on his phone, a hoard of breads and pastries heaped high on a platter on his lap. You collapse next to him, afraid to even sigh too heavily lest you break.

A hand touches yours. “Lilith. Are you alright?”
“No. I’m-I’m not. I-” You take a deep breath, willing the fragile membrane around your mind to hold long enough for you to sleep. “I-I’m struggling with something. I-” The oaths and tenets of your position hold your mouth shut, and as you force the words out, you can almost hear the bones in your jaw crack from the strain. “I can’t talk to anyone at work about it. But I’m not supposed to talk about cases with civilians and-swear to me. Right now. That anything I say to you about work stays between you and me.”
Sylus turns and studies you intently. His eyes reflect the light in strange ways, making them appear to glow with a light of their own. “I swear, Lilith. Anything you say to me will stay with me.”
You slowly exhale. “Thank you. I’m-I need to sleep. But-Saturday?”
“My time is always yours.”

There’s a new loosening of your shoulders. You know you shouldn’t talk to Sylus about work, but-these are extenuating circumstances. I-I’ll just talk to him about Brian Milton. That’s a closed case. It’s not like I’m discussing an active investigation. And I’ll keep things vague. No specifics, no names. I’m just going to bounce ideas off him. That’s it. No more. Sylus sets the platter in your lap. “I know you need to leave soon but at least eat something that makes you happy, river lily.”
“Is it that obvious how much I love bread?”
“Lilith, Helen Keller herself wouldn’t have any difficulty picking up on how much you love bread.”
“Okay, okay-”
“If you had to pick between me and bread at gunpoint, I’m completely certain you’d pick bread.”
“Sylus!”

Stomach full of bread and your mood lightened by Sylus’ teasing, you get ready to grab a ride back to the precinct when you get a call from Tara.

“Hey, what’s up?”
“So I was looking over the guest list, and noticed that one of the people that wasn’t interviewed actually lives really close to the gallery. Like, ‘across the street’ close. Figured I could save us a little bit of driving.”
“Thanks. I’ll check it out before I have a uniform drive me back to the precinct to fill out paperwork.”

Hanging up the call, you notify one of the uniformed cops that you were grabbing a statement from a resident across the street. It’s a big house, and as you look it over, you notice all the lights are out. You purse your lips as you try to remember if you even noticed the house earlier.

You do not.

You ring the doorbell first, frowning when you don’t hear a musical chime from the recesses of the residence. You resort to the brass knocker. You notice with surprise that it’s not the standard lion, but rather a deer head. Interesting.

Still no response.

You head over to the window as a perfunctory check and shine your light, swearing profusely when you see blood on the floor. You test the door and your stomach lurches when it opens with no resistance. Your mind coldly files away scenarios as you move carefully through the home. As you near the pool of blood you saw from the window, you touch it-still warm. You follow a trail of splatter that leads towards the back of the house. You hear the sounds of-

An animal?

You turn a corner and find yourself in an office that opens out to the back yard and you stare in shock at a white-tailed deer lying on its side. It’s practically been disemboweled, and you realize it was making the sounds you heard. You wonder if you should approach-

The deer becomes blurry and fluid and before you can process what you’re seeing, a woman is lying on the ground in front of you. Your mouth falls open in shock and you rush to her side. The woman stares at you, mouth working silently, and you realize with horror that her throat was ripped out. You can hear a voice stammering out false promises that everything will be okay and when she goes still with a sigh, you freeze. 

You don’t sit there for long. A few minutes, at the very most, before you lurch to your feet. You stumble back through the house as your brain tries in vain to make sense of what you just saw. You barely register your own voice yelling for assistance or the distant voices of more cops and techs as they swarm the house. You’re guided into the front seat of a black-and-white but your eyes refuse to process the passing scenery as you’re driven back to the precinct. 

You call Tara on the way. Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears. Diluted and garbled like you’re speaking underwater. You tell her about the third victim, a Shifter, and that fragile membrane around your mind begins to scream with the strain. The world around you is soft and fuzzy as you walk through the precinct. Reality feels warped and rotten under your fingers and it takes you several minutes of staring at the tentative report Tara had typed up in an effort to be helpful.

You stare at a word in the report and you can feel that overstretched membrane begin to tear. Have to get out. Wrong. Is wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. No. Not mountain lion. Not mountain lion not mountain lion not mountain lion. Deer. Deer deer deer, oh dear oh deer. You squeeze your eyes shut, your mouth muttering that you need to go home and-

You’re in a car. It’s not yours. It’s not Sylus’ either. There’s a stranger in the front seat, staring at you with concerned eyes. You look around and your head moves wrong, but you recognize the neighborhood. Sylus’ neighborhood. The man stops the car in front of Sylus’ apartment and you get out on feet that you’ve never walked on before. You slap the door with your palm.

Sylus’ apartment screams as it opens to you and you laugh at how much it sounds like the screaming of that membrane as your entire reality is being rewritten around you. You stare into the boundless dark waiting beyond Sylus’ front door and as you cross the threshold, you hear a voice. Deep and familiar, when it says your name it’s a bell tolling in the fog. You fix yourself to the sound and follow it to warm hands holding your face as panicked red eyes study you. Sylus.

“They’re lying.”
“What? Lilith, what happened?”
“They’re lying is what happened. They’re lying. All of-everyone. What else? What else are they lying about?!”
“Baby, look at me. Breathe with me. Start from the beginning.”
“I don’t even know when that is anymore!”

You whirl away and begin to pace, your chest heaving. You can’t wait until Saturday. Not anymore. Not with what you just saw. “I-Sylus, I don’t know what to do. They’re lying-”
“Who is?”
“I-everyone. Everyone I ever trusted has lied-”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yo-yes. I-that’s why I’m here, because you-” You pause. “You. You made me think differently. You made me see.” You continue to pace and you clench your hands. For once in your life, you don’t know where to begin. Or how to start. Your entire world is coming apart around you, and you don’t even know how to describe it.
“Lilith, baby. Please. Start-start somewhere small. What did you want to talk about this Saturday?”

You pace and stalk, desperate to burn off your excess anger before it can poison your words. “The Bear. Brian Milton. He-Sylus. He never went to trial. He’s supposed to go to trial. That’s the law. Break the law, go to trial, go to jail. That’s how it works. But for Brian it didn’t.”
“Wait. What do you mean, he didn’t go to trial?”
“Didn’t. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t. Transferred. To a-a facility. A hospital. Not a Shifter prison, not a Shifter hospital. A hospital that doesn’t exist. But it does because he was transferred there, but it doesn’t because I can’t find anything on it which means it doesn’t exist but if it doesn’t exist how is it I saw the order to transfer him there? You can’t transfer someone to a place that isn’t real. It has to be real if they transferred him there, Sylus. It has to be.”
“I agree with you, baby. I’m on your side. What else happened?”

You ache to sob, are desperate for it, but the revelations thundering through your skull won’t let you. You laugh as you try to follow the tangled skein you found in warm, sticky blood and the madness in it calls to you.

“Lilith-your hands. Is-is that blood? What happened?”
You stare at them, dark brown with the blood of a woman who shouldn’t exist, and yet she does, because dried evidence of her sits heavy on your hands. “Oh deer,” you mutter to yourself and you laugh at your own joke.
“Okay, you’re starting to scare me. Please, river lily. What happened?”
The sweetest pet name you’ve ever been given anchors you and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s easier when you aren’t looking at them. “I-Tara-the house across the street. There was a woman. She was supposed to be at the gallery, was on the guest list but-no statement. Went to get it and I saw her blood and I went in and it was still warm. It was still warm, Sylus. I followed it and I saw a deer and then it Shifted and it was a woman and she died right in front of me.” Scalding tears begin to burn down your cheeks at last.

Warm hands hold yours and anchor you even further. Keeping your eyes shut, you continue. “I called Tara, but the police report she drafted for me-it’s wrong. I know I told Tara I saw a deer, but the report said ‘mountain lion’ and-” Terror claws at your mind.
“Breathe for me, river lily.”
You obey and Terror recedes, shrieking in fury. “You know the literature. Shifters are-we’re told from infancy that Shifters are threats. That they’re dangerous. Because all of them are predators. All of them. But-I swear Sylus. I did not see a mountain lion. I saw a deer. I saw a deer Shift into a woman. They’re lying, Sylus. All of them. Jenna lied to me, I know she did. I asked her what happened to Brian and she lied to my face. Said he was sent to that-that Shifter prison out in California. But he wasn’t. He was transferred to an impossible hospital in fucking Nebraska. And I checked-there aren’t any Shifter facilities in Nebraska. No prisons, no hospitals, no long-term care facilities. Nothing.”

You collapse on the couch next to him. “I-I don’t know what to do. It was just me in that house as that woman died in front of me, so I don’t have anyone else to corroborate that I saw a deer first. And-well. Like I said. Everyone is taught from childhood that all Shifters are predators, which is why the laws are written the way they are. But I know what I saw. And if I saw a deer, that means that everything that I’ve been taught, everything that everyone has been taught, is a fucking lie. And if something as fundamental as that is lied about, what else are they hiding from us?”

Tears fall in earnest. You’re beyond exhausted in this moment, and as Sylus wraps his arms tight, you finally let yourself fall apart. You sob for Tiffany. You sob for Dani. You sob for that woman, a stone’s throw away the very people who are supposed to keep her safe and yet still she died in her own home, forever denied a voice.

The flood from your eyes finally slows and you sit up. Grief and sorrow left with your tears and in your place they left righteous anger. Regardless if someone is a Shifter or not, murder is wrong. “I don’t-I don’t know what to do. About my report for Diana Elen’s death. I can’t-Sylus, what do I do? I can’t sign it as it is. There’s a whole thing about how we only sign them when we can attest in court that all of it is true and accurate. I can’t sign it right now. But I-I’m one person. How-how can I-I can’t change literature that’s-fuck. I don’t know how old. I can’t just refute it and say that I’m right and literally everyone else and all education is wrong. And if I try to fight it, they’re just going to shunt me to desk work. I can’t help people if I’m stuck at a desk.”
“I-”
“And that hospital. I don’t-it’s blurred on Google Earth. And on Google Street View.”
“What do you mean?”
“I looked into it. Military bases and government facilities are always blurred on Google. Prisons are not, Shifter and otherwise. Whatever facility Brian Milton was sent to, it’s military or government. But there’s no public record of it anywhere. And this is the most damning thing I can find.”

You pull up a map of the closest town. “Look. See how the town is laid out? It’s a grid. That means it’s a planned city, which by itself doesn’t mean much. But that also means that it’s really easy to navigate. See? Numbered streets all run north-south. Named streets run east-west.”
“Alright. I’m following, so far.”
You grab the supposed street address of Greater O’Neill Area Joint Methodist-Mormon Research Hospital And Treatment Center. “Here’s the damning part,” you murmur. “The numbering convention for O’Neill doesn’t reach the thousands. And then here’s this-” You find the facility with ease; you practically have the latitude and longitude memorized at this point. “This is where the facility actually is-”
“That-”
“It’s massive. I calculated the size. It’s more than twice the size of Texas Medical Center down in Houston.”
“And that’s significant?”
“Sylus, Texas Medical Center is, until I found this place, the largest medical complex in the world. And yet this place? More than twice its size. But no one knows anything about it. Googling the name just brings up the same inane articles laughing about how the hospital has a name bigger than the town itself. And I noticed this recently, too. But I don’t-I might be seeing things.”

You switch to street view and find the “hospital” in O’Neill. And then you proceed to click along the road. “Don’t look at the road. Look at the hospital. And tell me if you see anything.”
Humoring you, Sylus leans down and stares at your phone. You navigate around, and while you can’t not see it, you’re terrified that you’re fabricating things. You continue tapping around the block the hospital is supposedly situated on, when you hear him see it. “What the hell.”
“You saw something?”
“Yeah-I-keep moving around.”
Anticipation builds and you tap faster.
“What the fuck? That-there’s a different building. But I could only see it in the blur.”
You’re not crazy. “Oh thank fuck. I was scared I was hallucinating or-or something.”
“So-I-what does this all mean?”
You laugh, tired and exhausted. “I don’t know. But-I can’t figure out why Brian was sent to a government facility. And I have run out of every possible lead I could think of. This Saturday, I was-I was going to try and see if you had any ideas. I can’t ignore this. I can’t let it go. I need to understand. But I don’t know how to learn more, at this point. Short of going there. And I have no idea how I could even hope of managing to pull that off-”
“What if I find a way to get you in?”
“You-how?”
Sylus looks at you.
“You and your ‘generational wealth.'”
“Obviously. But-it might take me a while. Give me some time to find a way to get us in there.”
“Wait. ‘Us’? You want to go with me?”
“I told you I’m on your side. I want to help.”
“...thank you.”
“Just…give me some time. I’ll let you know once I’ve found a way to get us in. I promise.”

Interlude

“So.”
“So.”
“Is this where you threaten me?”
“I'm a protector and guardian. I don't resort to violence unless it's in defense of someone I'm guarding.”
“And a herald of change, I've heard.”
“According to folklore.”
“I hadn't heard that one of you was born.”
“My parents kept my birth very private. They were trying for centuries.”
“I offer them my very belated congratulations to...their offspring, it seems. I’m already dealing with Rafayel’s bullshit, so I’ll ask directly to spare myself the drama. What sort of relationship do you hope to have with her? It's clear she cares deeply about you and while I’d prefer to avoid conflict with one such as you, I’m willing to make an exception for her.”
“I love her dearly, but it's the love of a brother to his sister. I can't ask her to accept who I truly am after lying to her about it for our entire lives and I won’t ask her to compromise her work ethic for me.”
“I'm impressed. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't shaken your hand. I thought your-”
“My parents are strict and stressed the need for me to maintain emotional control from infancy.”
“I see. Now if you'll excuse me-”
“Be good to her, Qīnglóng.”

Chapter Text

One Month Later 

Your home desk is slowly being buried under your ever-increasing piles of pilfered papers. Ever since the night of Dani and Diana Elen’s respective deaths, you have become obsessed. Every case has been looked at with fresh (horrified) eyes and ohhhh what a tale of horror you have found. 

You are many things, and there are many things you are not. But faith in The Law, faith in Due Process, faith in Justice, in The Legal System have been your mainstays. You took comfort in them, trusted them and in them, in those who swore to uphold them. Being a Shifter may be illegal, but whether Shifter born or turned, murder is not and has never been the punishment handed down for the crime of being a Shifter.

They were your mainstays. 

You are starting to see now, with unfiltered eyes, and it nauseates you. Case after case, suspect after suspect. You hold a growing certainty that you have wrongfully arrested innocents and it galls you. At the heart of it, your investigation, lies the ill-fated lovers, Brian and Arnold. Circling them is the specter of Diana Elen, her form flowing from deer to woman and back again as she stares at you. Her glassy eyes haunt your dreams.

There's a perverse disinterest in finding justice for Diana. For Dani, the department rallies. For Tiffany, they rally. But Diana? She's spoken of with derision. Dismissed  with the same contemptuous disregard as murdered prostitutes. No one is stupid enough or callous enough to say it outright, but it lurks under every breath and in every conversation: Diana Elen got what was coming to her. That it was her fault she was eviscerated.

It sickens you, their attitude, rivaled only by your shame that until recently, you thought the same.

Following your harrowing discovery of Diana's murder, you may have exaggerated how heavily it traumatized you. You have been riding your desk the past month to further your covert investigation, gathering your own evidence. You spare none. You, Tara, Xavier, Jenna. Everything that fits, you carefully screenshot and email to yourself, for printing and organizing at home. 

Sylus has been a rock since that night you showed up at his home nearly out of your mind. He plots with you, helps you organize, points out inconsistencies that you miss. He consumes your nights while he arranges how to deceive the federal government. 

It's one month to the day when he tells you he's obtained a way in. You begin to set the scene at work. Increasingly distracted, increasingly distraught. You're sent for an evaluation, a friend of Sylus’. He recommends a month of short term disability leave, and so Sylus visits you at work to play his part of playboy paramour to perfection, insisting on an extravagant one month vacation. 

“It's gonna be weird not having to get ready for work for a month,” you mutter from behind a disposable cup at an impromptu going away party.
“Must be nice to have a boyfriend who wants to take you away for a month!” Tara is thrilled for you and it warms you that her excitement is pure and genuine, that you seem to be happy.

And what's more warming is you are happy. Despite the work you've taken on in secret, despite the horrors you are pushing yourself to confront, you are happy. You've found new meaning in both work and life; you have not just a boyfriend but a partner, a companion. And you are fully resolved to finding justice. Not just for Tiffany and Dani, but also for Diana. For Arnold. For Brian. And for everyone else wrongfully arrested, by you and others.

“You have my key, right? To check on Cat-Sìth?”
“You betcha. Looking forward to hanging out with that cuddly baby while you're gone!” 
“I have a big binder with her-”
“Girl, I got you. I promise. I still have the last binder you made, I have her vet on speed dial, I have her backup vet on speed dial, I have poison control on speed dial, I have saved the location of all urgent pet care clinics within a 10 mile radius AND all of the emergency pet hospitals within a 25 mile radius, and I have both your pet policy number and contact information for your pet insurance saved. I will take good care of your baby. I promise.” Tara hugs you and the last of your anxiety dissipates.

Your watch buzzes with a text: All ready to go

You read the subtext. Sylus, armed with your key, offered to move all of the fruits of your investigative labors to his spare bedroom. You love Tara, and you can't bear to put her in a position where she has to choose between you and her job. Besides, Sylus' spare bedroom is way bigger than your desk and having room to spread out everything will make it easier to identify patterns.

And it gives you more excuses to spend time with him. 

“Okay, now I'm headed out. See you guys in a month!”
“Bring us souvenirs! Nice ones!”

“I can't remember the last time I properly left Linkon City. I don't think I've ever left, actually.”
“Well, let's hope it's memorable.”
“We're breaking into a government facility, babe. I-what kind of vacations do rich people have?!”
Sylus frowns as he thinks your question over. “A few go to space for a few seconds, but I don't see the appeal. Any trips I take tend to be for business, so. This is also my first real vacation in a long time.” His hand finds yours.

While you're overwhelmed at the size and complexity of Linkon City International Airport, Sylus acts as your airport sherpa. He's not thrilled with the job description but fails to offer an acceptable substitute, so sherpa it is. You're walking past some massive screen displaying some filler piece about beehives in mattresses or something equally mundane as a bright red banner splashes across the screen. Frazzled newscasters apologize for interrupting and advise they were just informed of a groundbreaking public announcement currently being made by Ever.

You're vaguely familiar with Ever. Heavily involved with medical research, over the years they've announced breakthroughs that have revolutionized medicine and drastically improved not just the efficacy of existing medications, but also the lives and lifespans of both people and animals. An effective marketing strategy, a simple yet distinct logo, and growing ubiquitousness has put Ever's name at almost the level of Google. Curious, you and Sylus stop as the representative from Ever advises that they've made a revolutionary breakthrough that will not only extend human lifetimes by at least 100 years, it will improve the quality of life by slowing the onset of middle age by anywhere from 50 to 75 years. 

More importantly, these advancements will be rolled out to everyone at no cost to the people. 

“Holy shit,” you murmur as you follow Sylus.
“That's-yeah. I think that's the best way to sum it up. Though, I have to wonder who's bankrolling them, that they don't feel the need to recoup the cost of research and testing.”
“Is it you?” You playfully pinch his side. 
“Mmm, I doubt it. I-uhhh-think my parents invested in technology firms before they died. Not medical research conglomerates.”

You turn your attention back to more pressing matters. You feel shaky and jittery, ready to find answers. Sylus' hand rubbing your back helps keep you grounded as you're subjected to the banal torture of Airport Security and you can feel words and questions filling your mouth as you approach his hangar. Luke and Kieran are waiting for you, luggage in hand, and a manic giggle escapes when you get close.

While both are wearing pilot's wings, the wings are most certainly not being worn correctly. On one, the wings are pinned to the cheek of a mask, upside down. The other, the side of the beak of the mask, wings on their side. Their conversation with Sylus is serious and informative and somehow, he isn't losing his shit. He looks at you.

“I'm fine,” you lie in falsetto.
“Sure. Of course you are.” Sylus laughs quietly at you and heads towards his jet. 
You look back at Luke and Kieran and throw your hands in the air. “How?! How do you do that?!”
“Do-”
“-what?”
You scream with frustration and storm after Sylus, ignoring the laughter behind you.

You settle into a very comfy chair and Sylus sits across from you, a thick manila folder on the table between you. He opens it without any fanfare as he looks at you. “This is how we'll get in. But we need to avoid getting engaged in unnecessary and lengthy conversations, because we won't withstand scrutiny.”
“Fuck. We're doing this. This is happening. Now.”
“We're not committed yet. Last chance, river lily. Say the word and we'll go to some remote beach for a month.”
“That sounds really tempting but I need answers.”
Sylus leans forward and takes your hand. “We'll find them.”

Luke and Kieran are the best pilots you've ever flown with. That they're the only pilots you've ever flown with isn't a relevant data point. They fly you and Sylus to a private landing strip in the middle of somewhere with a car already waiting. It's generic and silver, the perfect camouflage, and as you load the car with luggage, Luke and Kieran refuel before taking off as they follow a flight plan that takes them to some beachy resort. Sylus gets behind the wheel while you pop in blue contact lenses. It's always been your red eyes that give you away; with blue eyes you just look Scandinavian.

You and Sylus continue rehearsing the plan. You both have countless flash drives the size of a fingernail and Sylus has assured you, several times now, that they will definitely download everything that's on a terminal, regardless of any protections or protocols for that terminal. You tried to press him on the matter, as your own experience with flash drives is markedly different, but the look in his eyes made you reconsider. At his insistence, both of you turned off your phones shortly before his jet left the airport. The plan is to leave them at your prearranged safehouse, which will also have recorders and small video cameras waiting for you both.

You wonder about the technology firms his parents invested in before they died. 

Sylus takes you to a small house. Shabby on the outside, the interior is far more comfortable and upscale. As the deceptively heavy door slams shut behind you, you realize the house is far more sturdy and secure than it appears to the casual observer. Questions form in the back of your mind, but you set them aside for later, trusting that Sylus will have an explanation.

You had spent countless hours trying to visualize the facility, and still nothing could prepare you for the sheer scope of it. It looms on the horizon as you approach, dark and malignant, and yet the entire complex is bright and beautifully landscaped. It should make you feel at peace, at ease, but there’s a faint metallic scent that permeates the air and unsettles you.

You're granted entry with no difficulty by bored guards doing little more than perfunctory glances at your faces. Even the dog sniffing the car looks bored and disinterested before it walks itself back to some shade for a nap. Sylus engages with the guard, explaining the two of you as new researchers and could he please trouble the guard for a map? Having categorized both of you as belonging, the guard stops looking at the two of you while he listlessly grabs a map and hands it over.

Map in hand, you look it over to try and find the best place to start. While living quarters are neatly labeled, the rest of the complex isn't as easy to understand. It's not until you're deeper into the complex that you realize that the Greater O’Neill Area Joint Methodist-Mormon Research Hospital And Treatment Center is instead five square miles of smaller hospitals. Signs are few and far between; clearly, researchers are meant to stick to their assignments rather than explore.

The flash drives in your pocket weigh you down and you look over at Sylus. “Pick one at random?”
“Seems as good a plan as any.”

The first one you approach is simply emblazoned with a highly stylized dog head and “Project Canis” underneath it. The badges grant you entrance, and you’re greeted by what you presume is a summation of the project’s goal: “To reward our most faithful companion.” You commit a map on the wall to memory and as you head towards the wing helpfully labeled “Labs” you notice how quiet the hospital is.

“Should it be this quiet?”
“I have no idea.”

You walk through a food court first, stopping to look at a gigantic notice congratulating another team for succeeding beyond expectations. In much smaller print, the notice invites the reader to partake in the week-long celebration...starting today. You and Sylus share a curious glance before continuing towards the labs. At least you know why it’s so empty.

“Are those-”
“Labradors. I hate puns. Oh, there's a computer over there.”

Shaking your head at the wordplay, you approach the terminal. Like everything else you’ve encountered, it requires a swipe of your badge. You do and you see a desktop full of folders, each given a name like “Flea Immunity” and “Hip Dysplasia.” You plug in a flashdrive and watch as it begins to copy every file. Looking over the folder names, you belatedly realize that all of the folders are labeled after ailments and problems suffered by dogs. Not just labs, but all dogs. “Oh, now I get it,” you murmur quietly. “They’re researching how to improve the lives of dogs. At least, they are in this facility.”

Wavering in front of the terminal when you see the download is complete, curiosity urges you to open folders, see the work done. You grit your teeth and force yourself to turn away; your curiosity will be satiated when you have learned more about this entire facility as a whole, not if you allow yourself to be sidetracked by the first download. Sylus is next to you, taking pictures with a tiny camera, careful to avoid including either of you in the shot.

“C'mon baby. Let's check another terminal before we try another hospital.” Sylus' hand on your lower back pulls you away.

The second terminal had the same files on the desktop as the first. A third was checked; it too had the same files. A new hospital is infiltrated, but no easily understandable mission statement awaits you at the entrance this time.

Terminal after terminal, hospital after hospital. None are spared your inquisition. With each ping of a completed download, your right-hand pocket grows lighter and lighter, while your left slowly fills with evidence.

You're ignored by countless researchers and it drives your anxiety to a fever pitch. Shortly after the third hospital, Sylus grabs two clipboards with stacks of forms, engaging you in spirited debate when passing anyone else. You're horrified not only that such a simple ploy works as well as it does, but also because you know you could easily be fooled in a similar manner.

The emptiness of the facilities makes you brazen enough to test a food court. The fare is...edible. You eat it with minimal fuss, but you can't help a wave of disillusionment and disappointment. “Am I spoiled?”
“Hmm?”
“This food. It's-”
“Vaguely foodlike?”
“Exactly. I would have thought they'd have better food here. Precinct food is better than this.”
Sylus looks at your plate with a frown. “I didn't know the precinct catered-”
“They don't. It's a vending machine.”
Sylus nearly chokes on his lunch as he begins to laugh.

The rest of lunch feels happier. Sylus presses his leg against yours, a rock that your fear and anxiety are powerless to topple. As you stand and throw out your trash, you notice anew the way he seeks the comfort of you. Never one for physical contact yourself, it wasn't until Sylus that you'd begun to crave it, seek him out. A piece of you is scared that you're once again cleaving yourself to a false idol of sweet nothings and bedroom passion.

Another piece of you is equally scared that you aren't, that Sylus has opened up a Pandora's Box that only he will be able to close, if it can ever be closed again.

Tips at the end of long fingers brushing knuckles rough from years of arresting people who didn't want to be arrested. His arm gently rubbing yours as you walk together. Memorizing the shape of your spine, his palm following the dips and curves of your hips. Your favorite is the way he grabs your hand. His own hand a bracelet until he splays it out against you before his fingers fall in between yours. The way his hand dwarfs and surrounds your own is a microcosm of the way he's wrapped around your life: not to smother or absorb but to support and cherish.

On impulse you open a door to a maintenance closet and pull him inside. The door clicking shut is a starting gun for your hands as you seek to touch him. The heels of your palms press lightly against his stomach before you slip your hands up his body and as your hands reach his neck your fingers glide around the back to tangle in his hair. Surprised by the diversion into a closet, Sylus collects himself within a heartbeat. One hand on your hip pulls you into him while the other holds your cheek, tilting your head back to meet his lips. “What are we doing, river lily?” His whisper is low and rough. 
“I like the ways you touch me,” you gasp. 

Your hands continue their game of showing rather than telling. The body against yours trembles as the hand on your hip trips and stutters as it undoes first your pants and then his own. There's a moment of heady weightlessness as Sylus pins you up against the nearest wall before thrusting inside, tasting every sound and every cry you make. 

Sylus' hair is silk in your hands and his lips are fire against your skin. You can hear voices and footsteps in the distance and you whimper a warning for silence. He complies with a desperate groan, burying his face in your neck, and you feel his teeth grip your flesh tight. Your ears catch the conversation outside; security personnel, on the lookout for two people seen entering and exiting multiple facilities. They stop outside the door and you know they're discussing the two of you, wondering at your location, at your goals.

There's a thrill that runs down your spine, at being found, being caught. You almost want them to open the door, to find the two of you locked together, a moment of lovers indulging in passion. Soft little whimpers sound at the edges of your gasps as a familiar weight, thick and heavy, is driven inside you and as you cling tight to Sylus, your nails dig small furrows in his skin. You can feel him when he makes soft noises of desperation and as he cums, flooding your pussy, you feel his teeth bury themselves in your flesh. You gasp his name as you cum around him pulsing inside you and he holds you there in place, a butterfly speared on his cock, on display for him alone.

His tongue traces the sweet agony of your shoulder as you wait to hear the sound of footsteps receding. Afraid to move without making noise, Sylus holds himself inside you until at last you hear two pairs of footsteps fade. You both make quiet noises of sorrow as he pulls out and you grieve the fullness of him, your hips aching in beautiful protest. He tends to you quietly, his touch gentle as he once again cleans your tender skin. 

“So bitey,” you murmur affectionately.
“You taste good.”
“They're starting to get suspicious of us.”
“I heard. I think it's time we head to the middle facility.”
“The one that looks like a prison?”
Sylus tilts your face to look up at him. “We can either play it safe and leave with what we have or-”
“Or?”
“Or we see what they're hiding within the prison at the center of a medical complex.”
“We’re already here. Same prison sentence if they catch us now if they catch us after.” You take a shaky breath as you lean against him. 
“Time for us to be sneaky, baby. Follow my lead.”

You didn't think you'd miss the laissez-faire attitude of the facility, but now that Security was aware of Suspicious Persons Wandering Around, with perverse irritation you found you did miss it. It's surprisingly difficult, avoiding Security without making your avoidance obvious. It's fascinating though, the things people leave lying around. Sylus finds a different shirt that barely fits, but it's sufficient to change how he looks. You change your hair, pulling it up into a loose bun. Violently shaking your head gives you the omnipresent flyaway wisps endemic to those working since the wee hours of the morning, and blue tinted glasses complete your amended disguise. You hide behind your clipboard while Sylus reviews a folder, comparing esoteric notes when within earshot of Security as you make your way to the rotten heart of  this hidden hellscape. 

You're granted entry not by badge swipe, but a courteous and distracted researcher on his way out. You immediately notice the gloom and tangible dread of this prisonish hospital.  The misery of it weighs on you, clings to your skin, and as you breathe it in it leaves an acrid film across your tongue. The two of you stop in front of a map and your stomach drops at two words. 

Holding cells.  

“This must be where they keep the Shifters for whatever it is they're doing to them.”
“Labs first? Or holding cells?”
“Split up? We can cover-”
“I'd rather not, river lily. Please.” Sylus' voice is full of sorrow and you take his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. 
“Okay. We came in together, we leave together.”
“Let's-let's go to the holding cells. I have several empty memory cards, so-if we need to, we can record everything from here on out.”
“Do it. I think this is going to be the-”
“The worst part.”
“Yeah.”

You first notice the smell. Not rank, but there's a bitter tang that you know to be fear. Tangled with it is despair and pain, all of it combining to create an olfactory landscape that brings tears to your eyes. More than misery alone, it's Suffering made manifest.

The first cell is the worst. Though it currently stands vacant, the tiny cots stacked too high and too close tell you more than anything else you've seen. You stifle a sob of horror that children exist in this hellscape, in apathetic violation of worldwide law safeguarding their innocence. “Sylus-”
“I see it.”
“Fuck.”

Several cells stand empty. You struggle to identify if their emptiness is temporary or more permanent; all are bleak, cold, and hard. You're reminded of concentration camps and your mouth fills with saliva as nausea threatens to overwhelm you. 

Far more cells are...occupied, for lack of a better word. The occupants don't react, and you're not even sure if they truly see you. You try to engage, try to catch their attention. Sylus next to you records everything, his camera catching every nightmarish detail. The first five don't react, so still you're not completely certain they're still alive.

The sixth speaks only to tell you both to go away. 

Three more after him are similarly catatonic. It's the tenth who gives you more, who meets your eyes. An emaciated figure sitting on the floor of their cage, staring numbly at the opposite wall. They react to your footsteps, head turning ever so slightly to catch sight of your feet. 

“You're new. Come to gawk have you.”
“Uhhh-”
The figure wheezes out a silent laugh, heavy with derision. “I won't bite. Can't. Not anymore.”
You and Sylus crouch. “We're-we snuck in-”
“Why.”
“I'm a cop-”
“Fucking pig.” The figure hisses and the hatred in their voice makes you draw back in fear. 
“I-I'm just-”
“Look at the handiwork of you and your fraternal swinehood. Not enough you arrest us, now you're coming to gloat?”
“No.”

For the first time they turn and look at you. And you desperately wish they hadn't. Their nose was broken, repeatedly, and not allowed to set properly. As they sneer, you understand their earlier comment; their teeth had been removed. You'd like to think it was done properly, with medication and surgery.

You suspect it was not. 

“I'm here gathering information. Proof.”
“Why would a fucking pig care.”
“Because I need answers.”
“Are you sure about that? You're not going to like what you find.”
“I have an obligation to the people I hurt to find out the truth.”
“How fucking noble.”

The figure curls up on their side, dismissing you. Sylus pulls you upright and you keep hold of his hand. The next cell houses yet another emaciated figure, this time a woman. She stares at you when you stop, her eyes burning with hate.

“What are you doing here.”
“Finding out the truth.”
“Why? Truth is subjective.”
“It shouldn't be. It's the truth, it's-”
“It is. My truth is I'm being tortured. According to the government, I'm at a completely different facility and not this black site, and therefore can be subjected to whatever punishment they deem appropriate. Since I'm in here and not out there, the government's truth is the one that matters.”
“But-”
“Shut the fuck up, pig. You and your kind have done enough damage already.”
“And that's why I'm here. I've been lied to, the people have been lied to, you have been lied to. This is wrong, and I have to fix it.”
“The cougar was right. How fucking noble of you.” The woman lies down and you back away from the bars. Sickly dread lies heavy in your gut as you move onto the next cell.

Word of you, of who you are, spreads like wildfire. Those capable of speaking address you the same: with hatred and contempt. You don't protest it. You can't even blame them for it. You were part of the problem for years and your penance is barely a penny towards the debt you've incurred. Sentence by sentence, their words are red-hot whips that flog your soul.

Sylus keeps quiet. You can feel him bristle beside you, hear his quiet, rumbling growls at harsh words and harsher curses. Your chest aches for him, but you keep him quiet with gentle squeezes of his hand. You're not being told anything untrue, after all. You knew there would be a price to pay, and this? It's a start.

You were nearly at the end of the holding cells when you found him at last. Your impetus for change, the spark to the flame of your rebirth.

Brian Milton.

You gasp without conscious thought at the sight of him. He's lost an unhealthy amount of weight, and like the others, his eyes burn when he sees you. 

“It's you.” His voice is flat and hostile. 
“Yeah.”
“What do you want.”
“The-” You pause. The first woman's words ring in your mind. “I want to see reality-”
“You sound like a fucking hippie.”
“Well, I’ve already had someone educate me that what I was calling ‘the truth’ is deeply subjective, so. I’m looking to rip my blinders off and see this world for how it truly operates.”
“Why? Why now? What prompted this redemption arc for you?”

The million dollar question.

“You did, Brian. Sylus asked me a question, months ago, and I have fixated on you ever since.”
“...huh. Well. Wasn’t expecting that. Doesn’t do my sweet Arnold any good though, does it.”
Your head shoots up and the heavy ball of dread grows vicious little barbs. “What do you mean? He was-he-”
“He was sent to a prison first, sure. But the great and magnanimous government decided that there were some questions that he and I could help them answer. Questions that no one else could help them answer. Because I turned him, you see. We’re unique-were unique.”
You swallow down bitter bile as you wait for him to tell his story. He’s drawing it out, intent on making you suffer.
“He was the only Shifter in the system at the same time as the one who turned him. Me. So when his name popped up, he barely spent a night before he was whisked away to this shithole. They wanted to know if a Shifter could harm the one that turned them. They didn’t believe us when we told them they could. That it’s not some magical bullshit like the young adult drivel they keep pumping out. Sparkling fucking vampires, my ass.”

Brian stands and begins to pace. What little you can see of his face is twisted up in a grieving snarl. “He refused to hurt me. Refused to lay a hand on me. You know the first time I heard him tell me he loved me was here? In this fucking death camp?”
Your hand flies to your mouth as tears spill down your cheeks.
“He refused to lay a hand on me even under threats of violence. They-The things they did to him, to try and make him hurt me. If I told you, you’d be sick. I was sick. I fucking saw it and I damn near lost my mind.”

“They had to drug him. Get him so fucking high he didn’t know who he was. Which invalidated their entire experiment. They just couldn’t believe that it was simply love keeping my Arnold from hurting me. They were so angry at him for ruining their little experiment. Decided to punish him for it. They stuck a TV right outside his cell and put the video on perpetual loop. Played the audio non-stop, even when he was sleeping. He lost his mind. It devastated him, what they made him do to me.”

Brian collapses to the ground and sobs. Tears carve trails through the dirt and grime on his face and when he finally looks at you again, his eyes are empty of everything but grief. “He spent an entire night telling me how much he loved me. How sorry he was for everything, for ruining my life. And then he escaped.”
“Wait. Escaped? How-?”
“There’s only one way to escape this place. Weren’t you listening? I fucking told you this place is a death camp. There’s only one way out, and he took it. And now I’m all alone again.”
“Brian, I-”
“If you fucking apologize, I’m going to force myself through those bars and tear you apart. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Brian puts his head in his hands and sobs.
“May I tell your story?”
“...what.”
“We’ve recorded...everything. In this facility. My pockets are full of flash drives loaded up with countless files. I-my desk. At home. Well, now at Sylus’ home. But it was full to bursting with you and Arnold. Everything I could find. And when we-”
“We-shit. It’s you. Sylus. I was so focused on her I didn’t see you.”
“Brian.” Sylus’ voice is sad and rough.
“We could find a way to-” Grief and horror at the part you played in their tragic story makes you choke.
“No. I-I don’t want to exist without him. I’m letting them think I’m grieving. That I’m devastated. That I’m weak and broken. And then when they let their guard down, I’m going to take as many with me as I can. At least that way I can see him again.” Brian wipes his eyes and clears his throat.

“You two need to go through that door just beyond my cell. Everything in here? It’s worse past that door. So much worse. Those holding cells are empty again, but in there? That’s where they make the big discoveries.”
“Who does?”
“Ever.”

Brian had refused to say another word after he dropped Ever’s name. You think back on that announcement and that ball of dread begins to boil and churn in your gut. You almost miss the neat little plaque above the badge reader.

Mythic Shifter Ultramax Containment Facility

A shrieking horror begins to crowd your mind at the words. You try to chide yourself; remind yourself that you had adapted to the revelation that Shifters are not always predators with surprising ease. You can accept the idea of mythic shifters. And besides, Brian had said all the holding cells are empty. Again.

If you can handle sneaking into a government-sanctioned black site while gadding about thinking you can “make a difference,” then you can accept mythics. Right? Besides, who wouldn't want to know that dragons are real? Wyverns? Byakko? Gryphons? Trolls? Hell, the fucking Phoenix? What a beautiful world, to coexist alongside the majesty and grandeur of dragons- and then you remember how very different the dragons of the East are from dragons of the West. You remember, and suddenly you aren't as excited anymore.

You're fucking terrified.

You step through the door and it’s a jarring change. Gone is the dirt and grime of the holding cells, along with their calculated cruelties and apathetic dehumanization. This is spotless. Pristine. Clean, sweeping lines, cheerfully bright lights that evoke the sun. Clever little nooks break up the monotony of the hallway. Some have benches, others have cozy little tables. One even has a gorgeous chess set carved from exquisite marble. Each one is surrounded by gorgeous plants, lit from above by natural light streaming down from the ceiling. The dichotomy of the two worlds, split only by a door, makes your flesh crawl.

It’s beautiful. Stunning. Award-winning architecture. Especially with the cleverly recessed mirrors designed and placed so that the plants would receive vital sunlight at all hours. And yet the beauty hides a pulsating sickness. You can feel the rot under the walls, the way it pools along the floor. It clings to your feet, making your steps slow and onerous as you make your way down to the end. You can feel filth collecting on your hands and how you ache for a bath to cleanse yourself.

“It shouldn’t be possible for a place so pretty to feel so diseased.”
“I don’t think I will ever be able to wash the stain of this place off my soul.”

The first door you find is marked not by increased security compared to the rest of the complex, but rather by its lack. Whatever they were researching here, whatever breakthrough they were hammering away at, any deemed worthy of entrance to this foul and pestilent congregation of vapors was granted access to everything researched within this sterile promontory.

You open the door to the dusty emptiness of a room long vacant. You approach the closest terminal. It boots up with a tentative tap of the space bar and you stare at the desktop. The wallpaper is emblazoned with a phoenix but it's the map named “Suspected Location - Phoenix” that inspires dread. “Sylus, get-get the map name.”
“What's in that folder?”

The only folder is titled “Phoenix.” You open it to a text file and yet another folder titled “Immortality Project.”

You stand there, nauseated. You think back on that announcement Ever made right as you two were walking through the airport and a horrifying suspicion forms. You try to poke around more in the terminal, but it appears empty. “I think Ever is still looking for a phoenix. A phoenix? The phoenix? I don't-I don't know. But it looks like they suspect there's one somewhere...shit. Linkon City is listed as a possible location.”
Sylus says nothing, his face pale. 
“Let's-I guess let's-”
“Open another door.”

The next door opens to a similarly dusty room, but it appears to be reserved for a dragon, rather than a phoenix. The map is far more global than the phoenix's, with several locations identified in various regions of Asia. The wishlist of projects they want the dragon for seems to be geared towards the art of war, rather than cursing humanity with immortality. As with the first, you download everything in the terminals while Sylus records you opening various folders. 

You head to the third room. You look over at Sylus, frowning at how pale he looks. He's far more quiet and reserved than you thought he'd be and you stroke his hip. There's a subtle easing of lines and as he lets out a shaky breath, tension bleeding out of him. “You okay?”
“Not really, river lily. You?”
“No.”

You open the door and instantly notice the lack of dust. You stare at the terminal and for the first time you feel genuine fear. This room holds answers. This room holds information. This is the point of no return. “Sylus, I'm scared. I'm scared of that terminal.”
“We can-”
“No, baby, we can't. I owe it to Brian and Arnold. But-fuck. You can feel it, can't you? The evil coming from that thing? Whatever's in there...”

“I'm right here.” Sylus' hand, big and warm, squeezes yours. 

Tap.

You see the wallpaper first. It's a gorgeous rendering of a unicorn and your eyes well with tears when you see so many folders, all with different months. You open the most recent one and you choke back a sob. 

Ever had indeed found a unicorn. And judging by the pictures, there wasn't much left of her by the time they were done. Your hand is shaking as you plug in a flash drive. You open the oldest folder and you see a woman, huddled in a corner. Even at a distance you can see her eyes are a soft, golden color. 

She's easily the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, but even more than beauty, she shines with purity. Kindness. Love. She is radiant with the very best of humanity, and over the months Ever held her, they methodically whittled her down to nothing more than a head on a torso. 

“Isabella,” Sylus chokes out. Your head whips around to look at him. “That's-that’s Isabella. Her family raised me after my parents died. She's my oldest friend and-what did they do to her?”
“Sylus, baby. You don't have to-”
“Yes, I do. She was my only friend for...so long. She was so good, so pure. I-I was just thinking about her. That I hadn't heard from her. I wanted to tell her about you. I wanted to introduce you to her, show you off to her. You would have loved her. You can't help but love her, because that's what she was. Unconditional love. And they-” Sylus rubs his face with one hand, the other still holding the camera. Tears stream down his face. 

You turn back to the terminal. Folder after folder, every act of cruelty is carefully and meticulously documented. The notes are entirely dehumanizing, relegating Isabella to an “it.” Some are even gleeful, expressing greater sadistic pleasure the more they torture. The pictures were bad, but it was the videos that finally made you retch. The amused laughter as Isabella screamed and sobbed.

The cruelty is unparalleled.  

It was Isabella that gave Ever their breakthrough to extend human life, ripped from a body broken beyond repair as they coldly murdered her by inches. They used her heavily, seeking to answer every myth about unicorns. Their experiments involving purity were particularly sick.

You vomited several times. 

It takes you several flash drives to download everything. Each ping of a completed download sounds through your skull like a death knell, adding to your nausea. You try to form a plan, try to figure out what to do with the information you have. You know you can't see anymore, can't bear to look at anything else. The ping of the last download is joined by alarm klaxons that fill the air.

“Time to go, river lily!”

Sylus rips open the door and stands guard as you grab the last flash drive. You can hear the sound of men yelling, coming from behind the door leading back to the holding cells. “Can we try-”
“We don't have time! We have to run away from the guards, not-”
“But what about-Brian! Can't we-”
“No, baby. I'm sorry, I want to-” Sylus looks at you, eyes full of sorrow. He begins to drag you away from the sounds of guards. 
You begin to run, sobbing between every breath. You turn around and look back, hating yourself when you hear it. 

Above the sounds of men yelling orders, a roar crashes through the din. Never one to experience the call of Nature herself, there's still a primitive piece of you that knows that roar, that knows the beast that makes it. It instills fear, terror, and atavistic dread and for a fleeting moment you’re frozen in place. It is a sound of nightmares and unstoppable death. There's a brief pause as everyone takes a breath and you hear the change.

The guards begin to scream.  

“C'mon, baby. We gotta go. Brian's buying us time, but we have to move, now.”
“Fuck, I hate this-”
“I know, baby. I know. We have to get out of here. His sacrifice has to mean something.”

Sylus pulls you to your feet and the two of you sprint down the hallway. You hold the map of the facility in your head, yelling directions to Sylus. You run past people, there and gone before they can gather their wits enough to try and stop you. 

It's still daytime when you make your way out of the prison and that offends you. The horrors you saw do not deserve the warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun and your jaw aches as you clench your teeth at the injustice. Your chest burns as you head towards the parking lot and you fight the impulse to check behind you. Sylus runs next to you, his own face twisted with grief and fury.

“We'll take the car as long as we can but when I give the other to ditch it-”
“Understood.”

You careen around a corner, determination giving you an extra burst of speed as you near the vehicle you arrived in. Sylus remotely starts and unlocks the car and he's already driving away as you're shutting your door. Guards are not far behind you and Sylus shoves your head down as they open fire. Slamming his foot down on the gas, Sylus is unprepared for the spike strip that was laid out in preparation for such an escape route. Pushing the car to drive on ruined tires, Sylus keeps his head down. “Jump!”

Both of your car doors swing open and you expertly tuck and roll as you throw yourself out. You push yourself upright and into a dead run in the general direction of the little safehouse and you feel relief when you see Sylus doing the same. I can't lose him, not now, not after all this. There’s so much I need-

A black figure throws themselves at you, taking you down and straddling you. You move without thought, your hands diverting blows and attempts to restrain. Each movement swift and deliberate, the first opening found is violently taken. Noting the holster is unclasped, your hand slips past your assailant’s guard to rip it free. Point blank to the thigh-bang. A scream and the body atop you doubles in agony. Right shoulder open. Point blank-bang. Lunge up and forward, spilling them off you. A hand grips your arm and you whirl-

It’s Sylus.

Holding tight to your prize, you gather your feet and keep running. You can hear them behind you, angry and threatening. A densely wooded forest looms ahead of you, a promise of safety that lends your feet wings even as your chest aches and burns. A look behind you-they’re close. Too close to escape. Behind the guards are more men, racing to catch up. You stop near the trees, keeping them to your back. You’re aware of Sylus behind you, ready to drag you to safety.

You pick your shots carefully as individuals draw close. Thigh shots. Enough to cripple, to drop them in their tracks, and if the men behind them give a shit, they’ll even live to see another day. Might hurt when it rains, might ache. But they’ll live. Maybe.

You don’t stop enough of them, and you can see more, an impossible amount, drawing ever closer. You throw your now-useless gun at the closest guard, breaking his nose. A foot connecting with his knee makes a sickening crunch as he screams and collapses and there’s a moment of relief as you turn to head into the safety of trees. You look back one last time, and that’s when you see it. Pockets of shimmering space and one by one, the men chasing you shift and you scream Sylus’ name as a pack of snarling wolves closes on you, impossibly fast.

I’m so sorry, Sylus.

“No!”

Time slows as you try desperately to escape, to run away. You’ve hit your limit; you’re exhausted. Each breath burns like wildfire and you can feel it as your foot connects with a raised root. Falling doesn’t hurt and a calm, detached voice whispers that while you don’t feel it now, you’ll most certainly feel it later, if you even live long enough to feel anything at all. A wolf darts in, teeth bared, and you can feel the rumble in the air as it growls. Your feet move on their own, fighting for purchase, refusing to accept an end where you die lying down.

All you can think about is Sylus. Regret and sorrow batter at your chest in time with your pounding heart, joined suddenly by anger. You’re angry that you won’t get to see a one year anniversary with him. That you will never meet his family. That one of the most important people in his life died before you could meet her. That you won’t have more time with him, that you-

Teeth snap too close to your leg and you scream with fury as you lash out. Your heel catches the wolf just right and you can feel it when you shatter the eye socket. You roll backwards, but it’s not enough. Another lunges in, teeth snapping closer than the first.

“LILITH!”

Your heart breaks into a million pieces at the grief and fear in his voice as he screams your name. Sylus, I’m sorry. I tried. I really did. Maybe this is how I pay penance, maybe this-

Your thoughts are distracted by yet another shimmer. This one is impossibly large, incomprehensibly large and you feel a perverse pride that clearly, whoever you pissed off had to send in what must be a heavy hitter to take you out. Despite the wolves circling you, teeth snapping ever closer as you fall back down to the ground, all you can hear is Sylus screaming. He’s so close to you, but not close enough to help you, to save you. I wanted to tell him-

You look for him, determined that he would be the last thing you see, but before your eyes can find him one last time, a black blur edged in blood whips through the air above you. It’s fast, almost too fast for eyes to track and you freeze as it rips through the wolves around you, clouds of blood and gore filling the air. Those that don’t die on impact are sent flying, all landing with a crunch that spells death. A leg slams into the ground next to you. An impossible leg, wrapped in scales of glossy onyx, and it dwarfs the leg of every animal you have ever seen.

Stunned to stillness, you can only stare in shock at the massive dragon that now stands guard where Sylus had stood only moments prior.

Chapter Text

Six Days To Pickup

You don't remember how you got to the safehouse. 

You remember bits and pieces, but the moment you saw the dragon-saw Sylus-is when things got fuzzy. You remember a roar: deep, brassy, and full of rage. Each sense remembers different points in time, different sensations. Your tongue remembers the taste of blood and ash, while your skin remembers heat and familiar hands helping you stand. Everything is disconnected and disjointed and you can feel your hands scrambling to hold pieces of you in place.

The slamming door is the catalyst of your collapse. You fall into an armchair, letting its soft comfort catch all your sharp pieces. Your mind is blank and you wonder at it, at yourself. You should be many things right now. But you aren't. Instead, you're-

“Lilith. Please baby, talk to me.”
You blink at a familiar voice and focus your eyes to see Sylus on his knees in front of you. Reality drags itself back into focus and the image of that dragon fills your mind’s eye. Sylus' eyes are wide and full of tears and you frown at his half-clothed state. “Who even are you?”
“Sylus-”
“That's not what I'm asking!”
“What are you asking?”
“I don't know! I don't know what to ask! I don't even know what to fucking say right now! I feel like I don't know who you are anymore.”
“I'm Sylus Qin Che-”
“That's not what I mean!” You jerk your feet onto the seat and tuck yourself into a ball.
Sylus stands with a frustrated sigh. “Then what do you mean?”
“I don't know. My entire world was just ripped apart, so I'm sorry I'm not handling your-” you gesture at all of him “-with equanimity and grace.”
Sylus paces and you can see his jaw clenching as he blinks. “I know, Lilith. So was mine.”
You remember Isabella and guilt burns your throat. Clearing it doesn't soothe the burn, but it makes him glance at you while he continues to pace. “Why did you lie to me?”
“Are you serious right now? You're asking a Shifter why they lied to someone who hunts Shifters?!” Sylus throws his hands in the air as he continues to pace.

Overwhelmed, you begin to cry. Pieces of you rage at yourself, for being angry at him, because you get it. A piece of you rages at him for continuing the lie, especially after you went to him the night of Dani and Diana's deaths. But more of you feels him slipping away and that scares you more than anything else. “If what I do is such a fucking problem, then why did you stay with me after you found out?! Was it all some big fucking plan to make sure you wouldn't get fucking caught? Is ‘us’ even real?”
“How can you even ask me that?!”
“Because you lied to me, Sylus!”
Sylus stops his relentless pacing and looks at you with tired, heartbroken eyes. “What should I have done instead? Ask you to hide me? Demand you choose between me and work? Fuck off to parts unknown and never see you again?” He sits heavily on the coffee table. “Tell me what you need from me to make this right and I'll give it.”

He watches you think while you study him in turn. He looks broken and numb with haunted eyes. His questions ring and barrel through your mind and you take a deep breath as you separate your hurt. It hurts that he lied. Fuck, it hurts so much. But I can't blame him. I want to, fuck I want to so bad, but I get it.  

You sigh. “I'm really hurt you lied. I get why. Really. But it-”
“Doesn't make the hurt any less.”
“Yeah.” You look at him. “So again. Why? Why did you keep dating me after you found out? Was it some twisted plan?”
Sylus rubs his face and runs his hands through his hair. “The only plan I had was ruined the moment I first laid eyes on you. I didn’t plan on more than one night with you, I didn’t plan on continuing to see you, and I definitely didn’t plan on falling in love-”
“Don’t you fucking joke-”
Sylus looks up at you, eyes full of agony and tears. “I wouldn’t joke, not about this, and not now. I love you-”
“So why did you lie to me?!”
Sylus heaves himself off the coffee table and kneels in front of your armchair. Hands seek your own and the familiar burn of his skin comforts and soothes. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to compromise your work ethic for me. I didn’t want to ask you to choose. Then you came over that night, nearly out of your mind, and-” He sighs. “It’s a moot point, but for what it’s worth, I was planning on telling you during this month off you’re taking. I just-I saw them close to you and-I haven’t lost control like that in so long. I just lost my oldest friend, baby. I couldn’t lose you, too.”

Hands leave your own to settle on your hips and pull you to the edge of your seat. Sylus buries his face in your stomach as he lets out a shaky breath and you can hear grief prowling in the shadows. Your hands tease through his hair without conscious thought and arms tighten around you. You know you should think it over, that you should have a-you remember the regret you felt when death was approaching. That you wouldn’t have more time with him, that you wouldn’t have a chance to tell him. You slide off your seat into his lap, meeting him once more.

“I love you, too.”

Your hands hold his cheeks, dry his eyes, brush comfort into his skin. You wrap around each other, desperate for the reassurance of touch. Sylus kisses you, deep and loving, before pulling you tight to him. He shudders against you as his breath shakes and quivers while tension drip-drains out of him. You pull back to look at him. “I love you. But-Sylus. My entire world was torn apart back there and I don’t even know where to start putting it back together. I need-I need a foundation. I need you to tell me everything.”
“I will tell you everything that is mine to tell.”
“That’s not-”
“Lilith. Baby. Some secrets I keep are not mine to tell, and I keep them out of respect. I will gladly bare all of myself to you, but I will not expose those who haven’t given me permission. And I swear to you, that I will not keep a secret that is a threat to you.”
You think it over. Sylus’ voice is quiet iron and after a pause, you nod. “Okay. I…will trust you.”
“Thank you. Where do you want me to start?”
“Your beginning? I guess? I don’t-yeah. Start at your beginning.”

Sylus

You know the story of St. George? You know, saintly English fucker that killed the vicious and horrible dragon? I don’t know how that fucking prick became associated with fucking England but he is. Anyway, St. George. Supposedly saved a princess that was chosen to be the dragon’s tribute or whatever bullshit-he was fucking Greek. Or something. Some long dead country with a name no one but me remembers.

I was born…sometime around 290 CE. It was a cave system, in what’s now-let me check. Libya, it seems. I remember there being a lot of caves. I remember…being happy. My parents loved me. I remember that. And I remember they loved each other. Dad was from the East somewhere. Mom was from some place a lot closer. But they loved each other and me. I've forgotten almost everything else about them, but I remember that.

Back to St. Fucking George. In his story, he supposedly slayed an evil dragon demanding tribute. He didn’t. He murdered two dragons that day, and threatened a child. I-Mom left, to get food. There was a drought and I needed food because I was young and growing so…she took an old goat from a nearby village. They otherwise left people alone, since I was so young. You know the materials. Born Shifters struggle until they reach emotional maturity. Mythic shifters take so much longer, and when you add in it's hard for them-us, I guess-to have children, well it's obvious why we hide. Dragons, they-we don’t reach emotional maturity until we’re fifty, at the youngest. Or, that’s how long it took me. I don’t-I don’t really have a framework for how to be a dragon. I didn’t have anyone to teach me. I've just sort of made it up as I got older.

You see, George saw my mom. Saw her fly off with that one single goat. Decided she was a menace. A threat to mankind, a danger he had to put down. So he tracked her, all the way back to our cave. Nearly rode his horse to death in the process. She was preparing the goat so she could cook some of it and salt the rest. I was playing with Dad. He'd play with me when I was hungry, I think because it distracted me. 

George didn't see the dragon anymore but he did see the goat and unfortunately he was clever enough to make the connection. Screamed a challenge. I don't remember the words, didn't understand them at the time. But I've never forgotten the sound of his voice. I still hear him screaming that challenge in my dreams sometimes. 

It was like someone flipped a switch. Dad went from being Dad to this different person. He pushed me behind him and I remember Mom was-she was pleading. Begging this man to understand that she wasn't a monster, that she was just a mother trying to take care of her baby. 

I don't remember the last time I talked about this. Fuck. This-I haven't thought about this moment in centuries. It hurts more than I thought it would. I would give everything I own to hear Mom call me her baby just one more time.

Dad just kinda kept himself between George and us. Didn't shift, not at first. George was screaming, Mom was begging, and I remember being scared and confused. I started to cry and it set Mom off. She kept trying to reach for me, George screamed at her some more about staying still and I remember...George. He took a step in Mom's direction. Just a step. But Dad shifted because I guess it looked threatening to him and...he wasn't a small dragon. 

I couldn't see past Dad but I could hear George losing his fucking mind. Dad had a really, really long body. But no wings. Mom had wings. But Dad was also really big. He was mostly silver, the same color as my hair now that I think about it, but his scales were edged in this blue color. In the right light he would even glow.

See, I eventually learned that Dad was from Asia. He went by the name “Qīnglóng” which you might know as-yeah, that was another one of his names, over in Japan. Mom was-I eventually figured out that she was from somewhere in Mesopotamia. Akkad, is my best guess.  She's the daughter of Mušḫuššu. My last name honors them both. Sort of. I could never figure out her name, but I was in France at the time I determined she was most likely from Mesopotamia, so Qīnglóng and chérie became Qin Che.

I couldn't see George, but I could see Dad. Know Dad. And he never once raised a hand to George. But George? Fucking George? Grabbed his spear and drove it into-into Dad's-fuck. His head. Killed him instantly.

I'm-no, actually, I'm not okay. I've never told anyone all of this. This fucking hurts. No, it's-baby. I'll be okay. Remember what you said when you told me about Chris? That if you didn't talk about him then, you never would? If I don't talk about George now, I never will. And I'm tired of giving that man any more power over me.

Mom...Mom lost her mind. I can still hear the way she screamed. It's remains one of the most horrifying sounds I've ever heard. She grabbed me and pulled me behind her, and she still kept begging him to leave, to let her take care of her baby. And as George got closer-fuck. He was pure hate. 

She sent me deep into our cave. Told me to hide, like-like I'd been taught. And that she'd come get me when it's safe-and-but-but she never came to get me. I heard George saying horrible things to her after I hid and then she screamed again and then she stopped screaming and-

This hurts so much. That silence after she screamed is another sound I've heard that haunts my dreams sometimes. I was terrified. I just wanted my Mom and Dad and I wanted that fucking bastard to leave. I shifted, but...dragons, our scales are soft throughout our childhood and youth. They're soft because we shed scales like crazy when we're children, since there's such a massive size difference between forms. Adult me, he'd have a hard time. But little baby me? My scales were softer than fingernails. I didn't stand a chance.

I was this tiny little thing and I tried to scare him off. I didn't, of course. If two fully grown dragons didn't scare him off, seeing a baby wouldn't. He took a swing at me with his fists, but I was too fast so I just ran away and hid deeper in the cave. He stalked me for hours. Told me that he was going to kill me with his bare hands.  That I was a soulless monster, that he was going to enjoy beating me to death not even 20 pedes from my mother's corpse. The last thing she heard as she died was him telling her that her baby was going to die slowly and in pain, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

I don't know what happened, but something spooked his horse and suddenly he was just...gone. And I was terrified he was going to come back so I just kept hiding. I don't know how long I was there by myself. But I can remember being so scared and Mom had told me to wait for her so I was waiting for her like she told me to-

It was Isabella's dad who found me. Her parents moved around a lot, and they'd settled in a nearby cave. We'd met them, shared things with them when we realized they were-they were like us. Me and Isabella had played together a few times. Things like chase. Tag. You know, little kids just being little kids. He carried me out of that cave, covered my eyes so my last sight of Mom wasn't-wasn't after George. I'll be forever grateful to him for that kindness.

I lived with that family for...a couple hundred years. Isabella's parents really tried with me. They did. They showered me with love, worked hard at helping me master myself. They taught me how to hunt, how to survive, how to blend in. And I loved them back. Did everything I could to show my gratitude and appreciation.

Sylus ends his story with an exhausted sob as he tilts his head back. You wipe your eyes as you reach out and take his hand, repeating the gestures he had used on you months prior. He studies your fingers tangled in his and one side of his mouth lifts with a sad smile. “Are you okay?”
“Drained and exhausted. But I'll survive.”
“So what about the time after you left Isabella's family? Didn't you do anything?”
Sylus tilts his head as he thinks. “Not really? Or-hmm. Over the centuries I accumulated a large amount of gold and ended up accidentally funding modern banking. I guess that's something. And I invest in a lot of businesses and charities whenever I'm not hidden. Some are still around, but a lot more failed.”

The silence around you both is soft and fragile. Questions, countless questions, bubble and burn in your throat. Listening to Sylus talk helped you process this admittedly large facet of himself. He’s still Sylus. He still makes the same face when he sneers, still rolls his eyes the same, still plays with his hands when he's anxious.

Your feelings on England have become decidedly mixed, however. 

Sylus studies your hand. “I'm sure you have questions.”
“I do. But I don't really know where to start? And I'm worried that asking them would be insensitive. Especially after-”
“Everything.”
“Yeah.”
Sylus stretches his legs out on the floor. “Ask. I want to be distracted at the moment.”
“Do I personally know any Shifters?”
“Yep. Several, in fact. And I'll even tell you about most of them.”
“Wait, what?! Who?!”
“Luke and Kieran, for starters.”
You scramble around on the floor to face Sylus. “What? Really?!”
“Mhm. They gave me permission a while ago to tell you. They're-one of them is the phoenix, and the other is the thunderbird.”
“Oh my god. Which one is which?”
“Fuck if I know. I'm sure they know, but there's a lot they keep very private.”
“Does it have anything to do with their masks switching?”

Sylus rubs his face with a groan. “No clue. I'm surprised you still notice the masks.”
“How could I not?”
Sylus lifts a shoulder in a tired, lopsided shrug. “You get used to it over the centuries.”
“Doesn’t it bother you though?”
“Only all the fucking time. But I can’t bother them about it. It’s in their contract.”

You lean back against the coffee table. There’s a brief moment of vertigo as you readjust your view and knowledge of the world. You want to believe it’s getting easier, that each revelation is made easier to swallow by virtue of being so close behind the prior, but uncertainty is ever your companion.

“Rafayel’s a Shifter.” Sylus' tone is conversational.
“What? Really?”
“Mmmhm.”
“And he just gave you perm-”
“Oh, fuck no; I'm outing him to be petty.”
You look at Sylus. “Okay, spill. What's with you and Rafayel?”
“I learned a lot of this fairly recently. Like, 70 years ago recently. During the Renaissance, there was a woman who Rafayel was fixated on. He considered her to be his muse or whatever. This woman only had eyes for me, apparently. I have no recollection of her. She never made an impression on me, I guess.”

“Anyway, she died. It was-I think she fell out of a window? I never noticed her in life or death. But apparently because she was soooo captivated by me she had no time for anyone else, including Rafayel.”
“How did he handle that?”
“Poorly. So this was during that period of time in my life where-”
“Your slut era.”
Sylus laughs quietly. “Sure. This was during my ‘slut era’ so I  always had a different person on my arm. Rafayel got it in his head that I was at fault, so to punish me he began to pursue whoever was on my arm.”
“He wanted to take something from you like you'd taken from him?”
“Apparently. I took a disliking to him because all I saw was Rafayel exclusively pursuing my dates. I confronted him when I learned about the woman, and he'd completely forgotten about her. His motivation had changed to him doing it because he simply doesn't like me. So I decided it was best if he and I avoided each other and stopped attending any event he was invited to.”
“Why take me to the gallery thing?”
“You. I had you, it had been decades-I thought I'd give him a chance to bury the hatchet. Anyone else he'd pursued had been trivial to me, but you're not trivial. I trust you but he can be overwhelming. And I see it as it's my obligation to shield you from him, because if he pursues you, it's only because he wants to hurt me.”
You frown as you remember that night, the way Rafayel seemed to keep an eye on Sylus at all times. “So what's his-”
“Sea serpent.”
“What? A sea snake?”
“No, sea serpent. He's responsible for the myths about mermaids, as a matter of fact. But you'd know him best by the name the Norse gave him-”
“What-”
“Jörmungandr.”

You feel dizzy. Suddenly grateful for the floor, you can only stare into the distance as you feel the world shift around you once more. It's starting to overwhelm you. Time to cool it on the questions, I guess. You let out a shaky sigh. 

“No more questions?”
You let out a small laugh. “Oh I have questions. But I'm still trying to process-”
“Makes sense. Today has been a lot. And we still don't know what's on the other drives.” Sylus sighs and you hear centuries of exhaustion in it. “I really don't feel up to looking at them tonight. Luke and Kieran will be back in a week's time, according to the flight plans they logged, so we'll have some time.”
“We should eat something; it's been hours since our Tropical Cardboard lunch.”
Sylus snorts as he pushes himself to his feet. “Let's see what Luke and Kieran left for us to eat.”

“Two boxes of unfrosted Poptarts, most of a loaf of bread, five cans of Spaghetti-O’s, and a disturbing number of tortillas.”
“I have...three cans of green beans, four cans of soup, and several boxes of children's cereal.”
“Check the mini-fridge?”
“Gallon of milk, expired. Another gallon of milk, close to expiration. Six packages of butter, two trays of 36 eggs, and eight bottles of Taco Bell hot sauce.”
“How much butter?”
“They're all four packs of sticks, so 24 sticks of butter. And...72 eggs?!”
“I have never wanted to see someone's fridge as badly as I want to see Luke and Kieran's.” You look around the tiny kitchen, familiarizing yourself with the (strange) location of pots and pans.

“I can make us eggs,” you offer. 
“Let's-I guess eat cereal? Milk’s gonna go bad in a few days.”
“That sounds vaguely more appealing.”

Sylus hunts down bowls and spoons while you try to pick between the deep variety of peanut buttery sugar, cinnamony sugar, appley sugar, or sugar with bonus sugar. You settle on the appley sugar while Sylus grabs the box closest to his hand. He looks over at your bowl. 

“I would have thought you'd pick the one with the marshmallows.”
“Oh yeah, I love that cereal. Well, I love the marshmallows.  But if I open that cereal, all I'll eat are the marshmallows. And if all I eat is a big bowl of those marshmallows, I'm going to be miserable in a few hours.”
Sylus raises an eyebrow as he eats. 
“I'm speaking from repeated personal experience. I've done that several times and it has never gone well. I'm surprised you went for the peanut butter, I've never really seen you eat it all that much.”
He shrugs. “I can't really taste anything sweet.  Mostly what I can taste is sour, salty, and umami. Bitter I can taste more than sweet, but not as much as everything else. And spicy. I can taste spicy.”
You tilt your head. That explains a lot of his dietary choices. “Huh. Is that a dragon thing?”
“No clue. Good question, though.”

You fall into the familiar post-dinner cleanup routine once you both finish eating. You stand, only to swear quietly as your ankle protests. Sylus takes your bowl with a worried frown as you try to hobble over to where you think first aid supplies are hiding. You collapse onto a cheap loveseat, surprised that your ankle isn't hurting more. You bend over with a sigh. 

“Let me get that,” Sylus murmurs. He kneels at your feet and begins to carefully lift your pant leg. As you finally look at your bruised and swollen ankle, the pain finally catches up to you. I was right. Definitely feeling it later. Sylus carefully removes your socks and shoes and you watch as he wraps a damp hand towel in its place.

“Fuck, that-okay that actually feels nice.”
“There aren't any ice packs here. Or a freezer to keep them in. You should probably keep that foot elevated. I'll get you something for the pain and prepare some more hand towels by sticking them in the fridge. Stay put and-” he frowns. “I don't know. But I'll be right back.”

You sit in silence, pain, and growing boredom. You gingerly prop your leg up on the coffee table and begin to try and process everything. Isabella, Ever, Sylus. Brian and Arnold, may they find each other in their next lives. Tiffany, Dani, Diana. You sigh as you try to make sense of everything, and you take out a flash drive out of your pocket and stare at it. As you stare, you visualize a blank board.

Data set one: we know they’re torturing and experimenting on Shifters. We know Shifters are being detained at black sites where said experiments are being performed. Humans have benefited from such experiments at least once that I know of for certain. And those experiments include children, which is a whole new level of monstrous.

Data set two: governments all over the world have been engaged in lying to their respective citizens with false information about Shifters, using data that has remained unchanged and unchallenged for over 100 years. Shifters are actively dehumanized and treated with intense paranoia, despite there being very few crimes either perpetrated by Shifters, or involving Shifters in any capacity.

I can’t accept anything from Ever going forward. Especially nothing involving their recent breakthrough. That’s-it makes me sick to even consider it. And work-

“You okay?” Sylus sits next to you and replaces your damp hand towel wrap with a new one.
You sigh once more, this time at the new hand towel. “I’m just trying to process. But I-it feels like my thoughts are running in circles.”
“It’s been a long day and I think we could both benefit from some sleep. Here, take these and I’ll wrap your ankle.”

Sylus’ hands as he wraps a bandage around your ankle are gentle. He waits for you to take the offered Tylenol before he picks you up with ease, carrying you to the small bedroom. A pillow is dragged towards the foot of the bed for you to keep your ankle elevated and as he helps you change into pajamas, you can’t help but notice that he keeps his hands to himself. Disappointing.

You lie there in bed next to him and you decide you hate sleeping on your back as much as you hate letting Xavier drive.

“I hate this.”
“Hm?”
“Trying to sleep on my back. It’s impossible.”
“You need to keep-”
“Face me, baby.”
Sylus huffs out a soft laugh as he rolls to his side.
“Hold me.” You roll over to face him and carefully throw your leg over his hip. “There. And my ankle is still elevated.”
Arms tighten around you as Sylus pulls you to his chest. “I like this.” A hand slips down your lower back and pulls the rest of you against him.
“I can tell.”

Warmth pools between your legs as you lie pressed up against him. You bite your lip and stroke Sylus' bare chest with your fingertips before tilting your head back to look at him. There's a quiet rumble under your hands and you can feel his breath catch as he looks at you, his eyes intense and hungry. More importantly, you feel a different piece of him react. “Surprised your hands didn't wander when you were helping me into my PJs,” you murmur.
“Worried about your ankle,” he answers quietly. You smirk at the strain in his voice.
“But what if I need a distraction from my ankle? You're so good at distracting me.”
Sylus says nothing and you can feel his tension in the minute tremors under your hands.
“Please, baby.”
“Brat,” he growls. 

A hand roughly yanks PJs out of his way, yours and his, before gripping your thigh draped across his hip. Sylus pushes you to your back, his knee shoving your other leg to the side as he heaves himself on top. You hook your injured ankle across his back as he drives himself deep inside while both of you moan in unison. You arch your back as a hand fumbles for yours before pinning it above your head. 

You drape your other leg across his back, crying out as Sylus continues to thrust deep inside, fucking you into the mattress. His mouth is on your ear and the faint sounds of need between his desperate gasps for air drive your own desire to a fever pitch. You move your hand to his cheek and he draws back just enough to see him turn his head to kiss your palm. 

He leans down into a kiss, but there's a new hunger in it, deep and unfamiliar. He devours you, groaning his need for you, his love for you, his hips slamming into you relentlessly. You answer his love with your own, your voice reduced to breathless whimpers. You can feel that familiar thickness of him pressing against you, demanding entrance.

You shift your legs, spreading them further, and your body eagerly takes that familiar bulge, clenching around him. Your whimpers become pleas, that he doesn't stop, for more, for harder. Broken praise for you trips and falls from Sylus' mouth while he rocks his hips into yours, until the only sound is your name. His hand around yours spasms when he thrusts inside with a desperate cry of your name, spilling inside you. You cum with him as you cry out his name in answer, reveling in the feeling of him filling you so completely. You shudder with his every twitch, squeezing in answer to his every pulsing throb.

Sylus pulls out with a groan after that once-heavy bulge eases at last. Carefully keeping hold of your leg, he eases himself back onto his side, keeping you tight to his chest. After settling your leg onto his hip, his hand slides up to your waist. Warm lips brush a gentle kiss on the top of your head and you sigh contentedly, the ache in your ankle numbed and forgotten.

“Love you, river lily.”
“Love you too, babe.”

Five Days To Pickup

You're woken by pain in your ankle. There's disorientation at first when you open your eyes and you frown as you try to place the room. It takes you a moment and once you remember where you are, you try to get up.

You try.

Sylus is half sprawled across you, his face buried in your neck. One leg is in between yours, while your injured ankle rests on the back of his calf. One arm is draped across your stomach, pinning you to the bed, while the other cushions his head. You try again to move and Sylus reacts with a deep, sleepy growl as his arm tightens around you, drawing you even more under him.

You stare at him out of the corner of narrowed eyes. 

You try once more to escape only for Sylus to growl out, “Mine.” His arm clutches you possessively and his knee slides up and-

You let out a little noise purely in reflex. His knee is pressing against you just right and you lie there for a heartbeat, your body quivering. You tentatively shift your hips and another little noise falls from your lips. Unable (unwilling) to stop yourself, you ride Sylus' knee until you cum with a bright burst of light behind your eyes.  You open your eyes with a sigh that turns to a tiny squeak of surprise when you notice red eyes watching you over a smirk.

“Good morning.” Amusement skips through Sylus' voice as he kisses the side of your neck.
“Uhhh-good-yes-good morning.” You turn to look at him.
“We should wake up like that more often.” He kisses you properly and it's equal parts gentle and passionate. “I'll make us eggs for breakfast. Here, grab on-I'll help you stand.”
“How much did you-”
“Just now? All of it. I liked watching you use me like that.”
“Ugh, please don't phrase it like that. It sounds wrong.”
“I'll remember that, my river lily. However you want to call it, I enjoyed watching.”

Sylus helps you hop-hobble towards the kitchen. The initial panic you'd felt at seeing him awake, that feeling that you'd been caught doing something bad, was dissipating at his words. He's open and honest in a way that takes you by surprise, accustomed as you are to deceit and half-truths. You hadn't realized how jaded you were becoming. Gratitude swells in your chest as you watch Sylus wrap your foot before going to make eggs. “I didn't know you could cook.”
“Oh, I can't. All I can do is cold cereal, cold sandwiches, and eggs in various forms.”
“Babe, how have you lived as long as you have without learning how to cook?”
Sylus shrugs as he stands over the stove. “Isabella's dad cooked. And by the time I left, I'd accumulated enough gold that I could pay for dinner in towns. Over time, I had houses in cities I liked the most with live-in staff that handled cooking for me. Once cars became commonplace I simply went to restaurants and fast food places, and I continued that until the greatest app ever made was released to the public.”
“The greatest app? What?”
Sylus turns around and looks at you with a smirk. “DoorDash.”
You can't help but laugh as Sylus turns back to the stove with a pleased look on his face.

Moments later, the stove is clicked off. Sylus ladles eggs onto the plates and pours milk into two glasses. He sets yours down first before grabbing his and you take a bite, immediately followed by an appreciative noise and digging in. You've never quite gotten the hang on eggs sunny side up. A hand appears and sets a piece of bread on your plate. “No toaster,” Sylus murmurs with mock sorrow. The corners of his mouth twitch and there's a breathless moment of stillness that's shattered by both of you laughing hysterically.

The little shack is warm and happy as you eat together in happy silence. You insist on cleaning up, washing dishes by hand. Sylus dries and puts them away, refusing to let you move around on your foot more than necessary. He helps you to the loveseat, wrapping your foot with a new cold cloth, before briefly disappearing. He returns with a computer.

“You're sure it's safe to upload the flash drives to this thing?”
“Yes, but we're not uploading anything just yet. There's definitely too much raw data, but we can still look at data on the drives so we can start seeing just exactly what they were doing in there.”
“Explain again how it's secure.”
Sylus sits next to you and powers on the computer. “This computer is airgapped. It can't go online; it doesn't have the capability. So if one of those terminals we accessed is loaded with malicious software as a protective measure, it will be entirely contained. I have a studio apartment in Linkon. When we get back, I plan on filling it with multiple hard drives and network storage devices so we can look at everything in one place.”
“I didn't understand any of that but you sounded really confident so I'm not going to question you.”

Sylus laughs quietly as he plugs in a flash drive, his long fingers gliding over the touchpad. You watch with amusement as he absently takes the laptop back. As you lean against his shoulder, his free hand squeezes your thigh before hovering over the keyboard. Nothing malicious, that you can see, or going by his mostly relaxed body language. He avoids examining the pictures that had been on the terminal, instead focusing on the notes and logs before sticking the drive in a bag with the gist of research documented on it. 

His body tenses slightly against yours as he plugs in the next drive and begins the process all over again.
“Okay, I think we've looked at enough horror for the day. We still have another five days to sift through all of this. Well, four.”
“Yeah, we saw-”
“A lot.” A warm arm drapes around your shoulders. “How's your ankle?”
“Still hurts, but not as much. And the swelling has definitely gone down. I vaguely remember the guidelines for sprains, so I figure one more day of cold towels and then we can switch to warm.”
Sylus simply kisses your temple in response as he stares off into the distance. 
“Hey. Do you have any familiar members still? Like aunts or something?”
“Yes, actually. A cousin in Asia. She's the daughter of my father's brother. We stay in touch, relatively speaking. We meet once a century or so, for about a week. We'd prefer to see each other more frequently, but for safety we keep it to once a century.”
“That's so lonely.”
“Very. But I'm not lonely anymore.”

Three Days To Pickup

The sudden crack of thunder wakes you with a start. A second comes along for the ride shortly after and this time you can feel the tiny safehouse shake. Rain begins to fall, a torrent from the skies that reduces the world down to a mere 10 feet from the shack. You sit up and listen; it feels cataclysmic, and you briefly entertain an irrational fantasy that when the rain clears, you'll find yourself in a new world.

Sylus wakes up moments later at the third crack. He sits in silence with you, and while neither of you speak, there's quiet pleasure in air around you. Only when the sound of thunder no longer shakes the house does Sylus pull you to him. He makes love to you, slow and passionate, and when you finally shatter with him, you're illuminated by lightning as thunder swallows the sound of you crying his name.

Day of Pickup 

The two of you sit quietly in the empty office at the landing strip as you wait for Luke and Kieran to arrive. Both of you were nervous at the lack of any search party during your week of reviewing the flash drives. Sylus thinks (hopes) the thunderstorm diluted any scent trace either of you left to the point that tracking was virtually impossible.

It's unclear if any of the people you shot are still alive, if either of you have been identified by the machinery of the federal government. Both of you feel the tension of that unknown and it lurks at the corners of your time together. Sex is frequent and edged with desperation, as you both refuse to address the pervasive fear that when you return to civilization proper, you'll be ripped from the other's grasp.

Sylus stands as he has several times, scanning the skies for his jet. Each time, his shoulders creep ever higher. This time, however, he lets out an explosive breath. “I see them.”
“Thank fuck.”

The jet lands several minutes later and almost immediately the door opens. The two men hurry down the steps.

“Hey, boss. Sorry-”
“-about the delay. Flights were-”
“-briefly grounded because some guy-”
“-covered himself in peanut butter-”
“-and was chasing some birds.”
“I was just thinking I needed more fuel for my nightmares,” you mutter as you grab a suitcase.

Sylus makes a tsk noise before carefully plucking it from your grasp and hands it to one of the twins. The other begins the process of refueling, and Sylus takes your hand as he escorts you into the jet.

“Now it's time for the actual vacation part of your month off, river lily.”

Chapter Text

Week Two

You look out the window of the jet as you leave Nebraska behind. “So now we're going to an island? And that's where we'll be for the next three weeks?”
“Not an island. My island.”
“I keep forgetting you don't just have money, you have money.”
“How?! We're flying in my jet!”
“Babe, you get absurdly excited when you get yet another free item from Taco Bell.”
“Taco Bell is delicious, though.”
“I know! I know. Don't forget, I picked my apartment because it's within walking distance of a Taco Bell.” You smile as Sylus' hand squeezes yours.

You fly in silence as the scenery slowly changes below until you break the silence with a sudden giggle. 

“Hm?”
“Sorry, I just-I was reminded of something Tara said the night we met. Something about jets. And islands. Fuck. What was it.” You stare at the ceiling as you try to remember. “Oh yeah! She said you were staring at me like you were fantasizing about giving me backshots on your jet while flying to your island.”
Sylus chokes on his drink. “I-fuck. I thought it was obvious that I wanted you, but I didn't think I was that obvious.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I mean, I know I wasn't thinking about taking you anywhere on my jet that night. And I haven't had that particular thought previously. But I'm thinking about it now.”
You give him a coquettish smirk.
Sylus looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and growls. “I need to speak with the twins about what they consider food, as well as what I need them to pick up for us while we’re on the island.”

Sylus gets up and heads to the cockpit. Feeling peckish at the mention of food, you rifle through the luggage. You grab one of the Poptarts and open it, making a face. Unfrosted Poptarts, honestly. That should be considered a war crime. After you throw away the wrapper, you head back to your seat, your hands absently drawing patterns on the lacquered wood of the table as you stand in front of it, admiring the verdant quilt of farmland below.

Sylus doesn’t make his presence known until his hands settle on your hips. There’s a squeeze before they slip around you and Sylus kisses behind your ear as he wraps you in his arms. More kisses are placed on your ear down to your neck and you can feel Sylus groan softly. “You’re thinking about what Tara said,” you tease.
“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Sylus snarls quietly and in it you can hear the sound of his self-control crumbling. “Brat.”

Hands move possessively up your stomach, the edges of nails trailing thin ribbons of fire along your skin. Your head tips back and Sylus accepts your invitation, his teeth leaving tender marks caressed by tongue and lips as a startled gasp escapes you. Quiet laughter curls against your ear and goosebumps ripple across your skin as your back arches, hands spreading out on the table. 

“Feel so good like this,” Sylus whispers, his voice hoarse. 
You shift your hips at the same moment he grinds against you and you whine, briefly incapable of speech.
“What's the matter, love? Dragon got your tongue?” 
The noise that comes from you starts as a groan of irritation, but it becomes a slack-jawed moan of lust as a hand slips down into your panties. 
“Look at you, baby. Already so wet for me and I've barely touched you.” 
“Sylus, please-” Your bra and shirt are roughly pulled up as a finger slips inside.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No-” The finger inside you strokes and teases as the other hand begins to pull your pants down.
Sylus grinds against you, his mouth pressed hungrily along your jaw. “Are you sure? I can stop-”
You shove your hips backwards. “Sylus, fuck me-”
A painful moment of separation as you hear him removing his own pants, followed by a slow thrust inside you. 

Your cry cuts out as Sylus pulls back before fully sheathing himself. His finger plays with your clit before moving back up to your breasts, both hands teasing and squeezing in equal measure. His mouth is on your ear as he gasps praise, his hips slamming into yours. He's leaning into you, chest hot against your back, your legs trying to open wider to accommodate him. 

Sylus bends you over even more and you cry out as your breasts brush against the table. You feel flushed and feverish, the cool firmness of the table only exciting you further. One hand grasps your hip, the other gripping a thigh as he props it up on the table. There's only the briefest resistance before that familiar bulge is thrust inside, the hungry walls of you squeezing it tight.

“Fuck- you look so pretty like this, baby. Perfect little pussy spread open for me, taking me so good,” Sylus groans. He rocks his hips into yours, bottoming out. One hand slams down onto the table next to you, the other knotting itself in your hair as he pulls your head back. Murmured praise fills the air around you, thick with adoration and after a plaintive whisper of love, heat coils around your spine. 

You come apart as he worships you, slow waves of blinding pleasure radiating out where his skin kisses yours. Each thrust of Sylus’ hips echoes through your body, causing shockwaves of ecstasy that erase everything in their wake. Each one leaves you dazed and oversensitive and when he finally spills all of himself inside you, you cry out his name. 

Sylus holds you close, quivering as he catches his breath. After a too-short eternity, he brushes gentle kisses along the side of your neck as he pulls out with a quiet sigh. He collapses into the closest seat after fixing both your pants, raising an eyebrow in reaction to you curling up on his lap. You recline the seat, resting your head on his chest as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
You tilt your head back to look at him. “Why are Luke and Kieran flying the plane instead of you?”
Sylus looks at you with a baffled look on his face. “Why would I be the one flying the plane?”
“Because you’re a dragon?”
“But I don't know how? The only flying I know how to do involves me flapping my wings.”
“Why did I think you could fly a plane, then?”
“I'm flattered you believe me to be so talented, but that thought is entirely your own doing, love.”

Hands idly stroking your side in time with soft laughter lull you to sleep.

First Day On The Island

“Where's my phone? I wanna get a picture of the beach for Tara.”
“Let's keep them off until we fly back. It helps sell the idea that we've been hidden away on an island for a month, instead of spending the first day of your vacation-”
“Breaking into a secret government research center. Holy shit, it feels weird saying that out loud. But an island vacation with no pictures? And how would we even explain no pictures for the first week?”
“I brought a camera. And it's simple: we didn't leave the bedroom for the first week.”
“...okay, that makes perfect sense.”

Second Day On The Island

You step out of the bathroom to see Sylus sitting upright on the bed, staring intently at the pile of the now-labeled(ish) flash drives. You brush his shoulder as you sit next to him. An arm pulls you tight and he kisses you, but you know without looking at him that he's operating on autopilot. 

“Whatcha doing?”
“Considering.”
“What?”
“Our options. What to do with all this information.”
You blink at the heavy lines of thinking that begin to coalesce within your mind's eye. “I don't feel comfortable withholding it.”
“Agreed.”
“Which leaves us ransoming it back, selling it to the highest bidder, or trying to coordinate a massive, viral release on the internet.”

The air in the beach house becomes tense as you and Sylus look at each other. It weighs on you, trying desperately to press you down through the floor. You don't want to speak first; you want to hear Sylus’ idea, want to give him a chance to change your mind if the two of you disagree. You take a deep breath with him, and you both speak in unison. 

“Release.”

Your relief that the two of you are of the same mind is palpable.

“It's going to do a lot of damage.”
“I know. I just-I keep seeing that first cell. With all the children's beds. They stole the futures of children, of innocents. Whatever ‘good’ they could claim as ‘the ends justify the means’ is utterly invalidated because they involved children.”
“So now we need to figure out how we're going to release the information to make sure it's seen, and we'll have to make sure it can't be taken down before people have a chance to see it.”
“Sounds simple enough,” you mutter dryly.
Sylus snorts. “The security for it, along with finding the people necessary to defend it, I can take care of. But...how do we want to display it?”
You stare thoughtfully at the pile. “People deserve to see all of it. But too much information all at once is overwhelming and makes people shut down, right?”
“Hmmm, fair point.”

You separate the drives that contain everything about Isabella. “We need to make sure Isabella is the first thing they see. Get them horrified, get them upset. Some people will stop, but a lot more will want to know more. So once they see her, give them links to various projects.”
Sylus nods slowly. “Show them the people, so they can see the weight of Ever’s false progress.”
“Yeah.”
“Curating all of this is going to suck.”

Two Weeks On The Island

You take a deep breath as the bliss of climax washes over you one final time before dissipating. Languid kisses are pressed against your stomach and in the glowing embers of lust that lurk in each, you find a memory. A moment of insight, a decision determined, accidentally chased from your mind by Sylus burying himself to the hilt between your legs. 

“I'm going to quit the force.”
“You-what?”
Your hand teases through Sylus' hair. “I can't continue to be a cop. Not after what we saw.”
Sylus pulls himself up next to you, unreadable eyes studying you. “You love your job-”
“I loved my job. Past tense. When I was part of the problem. But-” you pause. 
“But...?”
“The investigation. Especially Diana's death. I have to get justice for her before I quit, because if I don't, no one else will.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault, baby. I have a lot of work to do to make things right.”

“I was thinking.”
“Hm?”
“About St. George and the things he said to you.”
“What about him?”
“I've said a lot of the same things he said and-I'm so sorry.”
Sylus wraps his arms around you. “Shhh, baby. It's alright.”
“Can you forgive me?”
“There's nothing to forgive, Lilith. Promise. You always sounded like you were reciting lines you didn't fully believe.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn't sound like him. There was zealotry in his voice. You can hear it, when a true believer speaks, as opposed to someone who is only paying lip service to an ideology. It's why I asked you that question during Brian's investigation.”
“That question really fucked me up, you know. Thank you. I mean that. I-I can't remember what my thoughts on Shifters were before I joined the force. Just this whole ‘they're a threat’ but like-looking back, they pushed this whole ‘us versus them’ kind of attitude and-” You pause. “It feels so-so-”
“Propaganda-y?”
“Yeah. Like they were brute-forcing a narrative. I don't want to say brainwashing, but-”
“Yeah.”
“But I'm free of it now. And that's the important part.”

Two Weeks and Three Days

“So, are there any Shifters that are like…really big?”
“What?”
“Sorry, I phrased that horribly wrong. The murder investigation back home, you know how the women were killed by something that was a wolf but really big?”
Sylus looks at you. “You've barely told me anything about the actual investigation. Just the names of the women.”
“Shit. Okay. Well, all of them were killed with bites that looked like they came from a wolf, but way bigger than a wolf. Tara had ruled out actual wolves, but when we left she was still working on some aspects of Shifters. The theory we were working off of, though, was mythics.”
“And you want to know if I know a Shifter who's a really big wolf?”
“It's a long shot, but I figured it wouldn't hurt.”
Sylus stares off into the distance. “I can't think of anyone. At least not off the top of my head, but someone might come to me later.”

Three Weeks

You lie on Sylus, your head resting on his stomach. You begin to trace lines of his tattoos with the tip of your finger and you wonder if he's ticklish. Keeping your touch light, you draw along his side-nothing. “I could have told you I'm not ticklish.”
“It's more fun to check for myself.” He begins to gently pet your head and you sigh happily. 
“You okay?”
“This is nice. Really nice. Just lying here doing nothing together.”
There's a quiet hum of agreement as his hand continues to smooth and stroke your head. 
“Hey. Question. Hoards. Is that a thing?”
“Odd timing for your question, but yes. Dragons have hoards, and they're very valuable to us.”
“Really?! So that whole aspect of dragons and gold-”
“Wait, wait. Hang on, river lily. A dragon’s hoard is valuable to the dragon. Someone else won't necessarily see a dragon's own hoard as valuable.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every dragon hoards something, but honestly? It's more accurate to call it a fixation. My mom, I remember she was very particular about rocks.”
“Diamonds?”
“No, like rock rocks. My dad had a thing with sticks. My cousin? She hoards bookmarks.”
“Do you have a hoard?”
Sylus laughs. “Of course I do. And you'll never guess what it is.”

You narrow your eyes as you think it over. “Gems?”
“Nope. I like looking at them because they're pretty, and I like the sound they make when I rattle around together, but it's not gems.”
“Gold?”
“Pffft. Hoarding gold is boring.”
“Tattoos?”
Sylus laughs. “I like that guess! But no, baby. And before you guess, it's not piercings, either.”
“Fuck. I got nothing.”
“Told you you'd never guess.” Sylus gives you a smug look. 
“Gah! You're so annoying when you're being a smartass!”
Sylus laughs again and effortlessly pulls you up his chest. “And you're adorable when you're irritated.”
“Well?! What's your hoard?!”
Sylus grins. “Figurines. I’ve acquired an impressive hoard over the centuries. Most of them are kept safe in a vault, but I keep a few around me in various residences.”
“Wait. If your hoard is so precious to you, why do you keep giving me so many?”
Sylus looks lost in thought as he kisses your nose. “I don't know. I saw some of them and it was very much ‘this should go home with you,’ but I couldn't tell you why. I remember my dad had a rock that he kept with his sticks, and my mom had a stick that she kept with her rocks, but I don't know why.”

Arms tighten around you as Sylus buries his face in your neck. You run fingers through his hair as he takes a handful of deep, shaky breaths. A gentle kiss is placed on your jaw and he looks at you once more. “I wish I knew more about being a dragon. But I can tell you that seeing that shelf in your apartment makes me feel good. Makes me happy.”
“I was really confused at first. Well, I've been confused about it until now. I enjoyed finding them though. I like going home and checking to see if you hid one somewhere. It's fun, and each one is so different in style. They're all so distinct and each one reminds me of specific moments with you.”
Sylus' eyes are unexpectedly soft as he looks at you. “Fuck, I love you.”
“I love you too, babe.”

Three Weeks And Four Days

You end up flying back a few days early, as Sylus’ island was lying right in the path of the first monsoon of the season. Turning on your phones after landing in Linkon City should have been stressful, but you were both far too occupied with coordinating yourselves and your luggage, at least until Luke or Kieran appeared to handle the excess, to give them more than a cursory glance.

Safely ensconced behind tinted glass, you check your phone at last, preparing yourself for your inevitable return to work. You read your texts, unwilling to read any work email when you aren’t getting paid for it. You check Tara’s first, smiling at the daily pictures of Cat-Sìth and snippets of their time together. Xavier’s texts are much less frequent and consist of him relaying names that he thinks you’ll find funny. He’s not wrong on any of them, they all make you giggle. Who saddles their kid with the name Cleetus Trinkenschuh in this day and age? Interspersed with names are little vignettes of absurd calls he responds to or finds hidden within the police blotter.

You read Jenna’s last and it makes your heart sink. The killer struck again in your absence. The public caught wind of the Shifter angle, driving anti-Shifter sentiment into a fever pitch. Jenna’s texts relayed that it was a Shifter that was killed in a fashion similar to Diana, a fact glossed over or even outright ignored, depending on the most current flavor of rage bait. You grit your teeth, determined to memorize the names of the murdered Shifter once you have access to the case files.

There was no significant breakthrough on the Shifter Killer prior to your arrival back home, but roving gangs of Shifter hunters have sprung up all over Linkon as people take advantage of the fear and confusion to right self-perceived wrongs. Shifters, originally ones to hide from the eyes of the law, have become bold in their fear. There are reports of revenge assaults and even rudimentary gangs. No longer content to sit and wait for the Shifter Killer to hunt them down in turn or to be assaulted because they exist, Shifters have finally begun to fight back.

Linkon City is becoming a powder keg.

You show Sylus the texts and he trades a concerned glance. “It’s getting bad fast.”
“Looks like we're racing against time, then.”
“I think we need a website for the data. I know a firm that we can trust. They’re all Shifters, so-”
“They’ll have a vested interest in making sure this information is released.”
“And more importantly, they have a vested interest in making sure no one can take it down. I’ll reach out to them on the drive home.”
“Good idea. I get the feeling we’re racing against the-this Shifter Killer as well as public perception.” Your thoughts turn back to work. “Things are going to get very bad, very fast when we release that information.”
“I think a lot of things are going to start falling apart over the next few weeks.”
You frown. “That which can be destroyed by the truth, should be.”

Sylus says nothing as he holds your hand.

It’s a long, quiet drive home.

Back To Work

You don't argue when Jenna keeps you on desk duty. The earliest appointment with Sylus' friend, the psychiatrist who ordered you to take a month off, is two weeks after the end of your vacation. You do what you can to help the ongoing investigation from the precinct: make calls, check alibis, cross reference records with statements. Your third day back, you plug in a tiny little device into your computer: a remote access point given to you by the firm Sylus hired, giving them read-only access to your computer and through it, the massive server accessible by every computer in every precinct in Linkon City.

You felt no reluctance at breaching Linkon City PD’s digital security.

The investigation is not going well. The fourth murder broke the trend established by previous victims: a man, killed with the same abnormally large teeth and claws as the three women. He shared no connection to any of the others and as such he was originally labeled as a victim of a copycat killer. Val shattered both that theory and the tentative profile being established. 

Tension is thick at the precinct and tempers are short. Caleb was removed as a person of interest with the discovery of Diana's body, yet still he lingers in your mind. The wrongness of his performance at the gallery pricks at you, leading you to fixate and obsess, endlessly reviewing every interaction you've ever had with him. Only Sylus can take your mind off the case and Caleb. He distracts you, granting you all too brief moments of blissful non-existence before showing you the progress made on the stolen data.

Two Weeks Later

“Hey! So how was your shrink visit?”
“Tara! You're not supposed to call them that! He's a psychiatrist.”
“Yeah, yeah. But how did it go?”
“Fine, it was fine. I've been given the all-clear for active duty.”
Tara squeezes you in answer. “We should celebrate! I know just the place!”
“What, you and-”
“No! The whole precinct. We-we need something bright and happy. We're-this case-”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah. Today's what, Thursday? Let's shoot for tomorrow night, Friday. I'll put something together with Jenna and send everyone the email.”
“You're an angel, Tara.”

Friday Night

You're finishing up  cleaning your desk in preparation for your return to the field when a balled-up piece of paper hits the side of your head. You turn and see Xavier cheerfully balling up another one and you remove your earbuds with an irritated growl. “Dude. The fuck?”
“Oh, I thought I missed again.”
“Missed again?”
“I tried paper airplanes first.”
You look down and see far too many paper airplanes scattered on the ground in your general vicinity. “Xavier. Why didn't you just come up and I don't know, tap me on the shoulder? Like a normal person?!”
He shrugs. “Feeling sleepy, and I didn't want to stand.”
“How are you always so sleepy?!”
He shrugs again before tossing his ball of paper into the trash. He misses. “Oops.”
“Xavier. What-what's with all this? Why are you throwing things at me?”
“Did you check your email? They're setting up a tip line. And we have unlimited overtime until we close the big case.”
“A tip line? That's going to go-”
“It'll be a shitshow. I already told Jenna. She wants us to review all tips so we can try to weed out the bad ones. So we'll be trading off.”
“Great. Can't wait to get a call about animals being weird.”
Xavier makes a face. “Either the animals are going to be too animal-y, or they won’t be animal-y enough. Ugh.”
“It’s going to go so badly.”
“That’s why they pay us the medium bucks.”
You snort contemptuously. “Well, I’m running away until dinner. I need-”
“You still haven’t unpacked your suitcase?”
“Shut up.”

The dinner is both more relaxing and more stressful than you anticipated. You’ve known everyone there for years now. You’ve celebrated with them, mourned with them. Attended graduations of their children, pitched in for house warming parties, held their hands during bedside vigils for loved ones. They filled in that gaping chasm that was supposed to house loving parents, and yet now you look at them and see...enemies. People that would arrest Sylus without a moment’s hesitation, that would cheer if he was sentenced to life in prison for committing the crime of existing. Never mind that they know him, greet him warmly when he visits, tell you to send him their regards. You long for the day you can put this duplicitous existence behind you.

“Hey, where’s Sylus?” Tara plops herself onto the empty stool next to you. She’d reserved the bar closest to the precinct, rightly assuming everyone would prefer the comfort of the familiar over the new and different.
“He’s home, why?”
“Girl, invite him! Tell him to get his tall ass down here! Everyone else brought their partner, you should too!”

Touched at Tara’s insistence on inclusion, you text Sylus. To your surprise, he’s willing to join. Knowing that he’s on his way buoys you and your mood, making you feel lighter, less burdened. You’re even looking forward to Sylus getting to know Xavier better; you think they’d appreciate each other’s sense of humor.

Sylus surprises you when he arrives, his hand slipping possessively from your spine to your stomach before kissing the top of your head. “Hey there, river lily.”
“Hey baby!”
“What’s all this for?” He takes the stool next to you and quietly orders a soda.
“Party for me getting the OK for field duty once more, and also because-” You sigh and lean over. “We’re struggling with this killer. He or she is good. They’re smart, and so far, they haven’t made a mistake. Tara thought we could use a distraction.”
Sylus nods as he sips his drink. “And I’m invited-”
“Because you’re my boyfriend, duh. She wanted it to be big, but also comfortable. Which is why we’re here, at the precinct’s bar. C’mon, let’s go find Xavier.”

Taking Sylus’ hand in yours, he dangles in your wake as you look for your partner. You scan the room with a frown as you struggle to locate his mop of straw blond hair. You give up and look for Tara, who’s currently deep in conversation with someone. You tap her shoulder. “Hey, where’s Xavier? I can’t find him.”
“Oh, he left! Apparently the tip line was opened sooner than we thought and he’s the first person on rotation to sort through them.”
“Oh. Damn. I was hoping he and Sylus would have a chance to hang out for a bit.”
“Awww. Yeah, not today, sadly. Hi Sylus!”
“Hi Tara. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Of course! You’re practically one of us now.” Tara pauses. “Why don’t you hang out with Xavier’s boyfriend?”

Caleb lifts his head at the sound of Xavier’s name and you realize that Tara had been deep in conversation with him. He smiles warmly at first, but when his eyes are caught by the figure at your side, you see it. A shadow flits across his face, accompanied by the briefest flicker of contempt. “Oh. Hey Sylus. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Long time no see, Caleb. I just got here; Tara insisted Lily invite me.” Sylus’ hand squeezes yours twice in quick succession and you freeze.
“Oh, I didn’t know you two knew each other!” Tara exclaims.
“Yeah, we met when-” Sylus begins. There’s a sharp undertone creeping along the bottom of his words.
“I interviewed him for an article a few years ago. It ended up never going to print, sadly.” Caleb finishes the sentence and the oily deceit on it makes you nauseous.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Sylus agrees with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Well, I’m going to head out. My editor wants me to write some kind of fluff piece on pet adoptions during times of unrest, so I need to head back home to the article mines. Nice seeing you again. Sylus. Lily.” Caleb retreats, his purple eyes dark and ominous. “I enjoyed catching up with you, Tara. Talk to you later.” He leaves quickly and you notice fury in his profile as he roughly shuts the door behind him.

Sylus squeezes your hand twice once more as he exchanges vapid pleasantries with Tara before guiding you back to your stool. “We should go.”
“Why did you-”
“Lilith, baby. Let me give you a ride home? I want my girlfriend all to myself for a few moments.” His eyes are intense and bright.
“Okay, sure. I’ll let Tara know. Oh but my-”
“I’ll have the twins come get it.”
“Okay, let me say goodbye.”

You approach Tara to say goodbye, a false emergency on your lips. Unnecessary; Tara chooses to see love and desire as your impetus for departure, giving you a knowing wink. Sylus escorts you to his car, ignoring your attempts at conversation until he’s started the vehicle and is away from the bar. He looks at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Remember when you asked me about big Shifters on the island?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I remembered one. And I’m furious at myself for not thinking of him earlier. I even saw him the night I met you.”
A heavy pit forms in your stomach. “What? What do you mean?”
“We just saw him. Caleb. Caleb is a Shifter.”
“The fuck?”
“Not just any Shifter, either. He’s like me.”
“Mythic?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he-”
“A wolf. A famous wolf. I’m fucking kicking myself right now.”
You turn and face Sylus as the heavy pit grows. “Sylus. What do you mean famous.”
Sylus works his jaw before he answers. “I should have thought of him sooner, baby. I’m so sorry. He should have been at the top of my list because he hates humans. He firmly believes Shifters are innately superior to humans, and that mythics such as ourselves are the equivalent of royalty.”
You continue to listen as Sylus speaks.
“I should have said something when you told me how those women died. It reminded me of something that happened-fuck. Over 200 years ago. In France. People were attacked by this strange beast. It was called the-the beast-fuck, what was it called? The Beast of Gévaudan! That’s it. I know Caleb was living in France at that time. A lot of us mythics were, actually. I could never find a reason to ask him, but I had my suspicions.”
“Sylus, what are you saying?”
“Caleb. He’s one of the most famous wolves in human history, he’s rabidly anti-human, and these murders are similar to other murders that happened in France centuries ago. Like Rafayel, you’re most familiar with the name the Norse gave him.”
“What name?”
“Fenrisúlfr.”

Chapter Text

“Fenrir?! Caleb is fucking Fenrir?!”
“Yeah.”
You feel vindication for your moments of suspicion, that- “Wait. But he was around a ton of people at the exhibit opening when Dani’s body was found.”
“Hmm. I don't know of any other big wolf, sadly.”
“Damnit. I thought-I’ll have to-fuck. I don't know.”

The thought remains stuck in your mind as Sylus drives home.

Two Weeks Later

You're two hours into your daily four hour block of reviewing the tips sent over from HQ and you dread the remaining time. Your sardonic remarks had, if anything, underestimated the way the people of Linkon City would react. You'd anticipated an influx of people panicking at local strays. You didn't anticipate people unable to discern abnormal animal behavior from normal animal behavior. The people of Linkon are painting a picture of their collective intelligence and…it’s not looking good for them. 

You still make a conscious effort to extend grace, no matter how difficult it is. Copycat killers have begun to appear and while they're all quickly caught, each grisly death tightens the screws of fear that are already threatening to tear the city apart. The people feel powerless, surrounded by senseless death, their immediate world in a state of tumultuous flux. On one side is Ever, promising a youth that spans decades rather than a handful of years. On the other looms the Shifter Killer, cunning and cruel, a harsh reminder that extended youth means nothing if you're struck down at the start of it.

Caught in the middle are Shifters, oft vilified but now…now you notice a subtle shift. Hawkish voices are fewer than they've been in decades past, their cries of condemnation less piercing, less strident. It takes time to determine if someone is a Shifter. Time that the ever-turning wheel of constant news does not allow for, does not take into account. Each new dead is paraded on local news for all to consume and grieve, only for stations to sheepishly admit that the dead they beat their chests over just days prior was a Shifter and thus not worthy of grieving. It's morbid and obscene that it takes the Great Equalizer ripping away all pretense and false trappings for people to see what Shifters are at their core. 

Human.

The tide of public perception is inexorable and while the topic is new, you know. You know it will continue to build and once it crests at last, it will shatter foundations and scour the earth, leaving naught but earth in her wake. The people are beginning to recognize shared humanity, and with shared humanity will come inevitable change.

You stare at the current tip and you have to dig deep for that grace.

Butterflies. Really? Fucking butterflies? 

Marking it as irrelevant, you turn back to the tips, falling into a mindless pattern. Read, sort, repeat. Tips about strays are sent to Animal Control, and as you review the rest you enter a state of zen. The number of tips is perpetually growing, no matter how many you send off to other departments. It's a Sisyphean task full of pets and names and you have to parse if a tip is valid or if it's yet another battle in a war fought by bitter neighbors. The names all blend together, meaningless and-

Sylus. 

Ice-cold terror rips apart your moment of numbing drudgery as you stare at an anonymous tip naming Sylus a Shifter in need of investigation. Lacking the petty language of vendetta tips, this tip is terse and to the point. Based on that fact alone, it's significantly more credible than someone reporting their hated neighbor's dog is really a Shifter. But you also know that because Sylus' name came up in a Shifter investigation a mere handful of months prior, this tip is guaranteed to warrant an extensive review.

Internally panicking, you delete the first the tip then the activity log showing you deleted the tip. You are in turmoil as you stare at your screen. You struggle to focus, pieces of you screaming, your mind a blank void. Your watch pings to let you know you're done with your turn with the tip line, and as you switch gears to focus on work, you finally face your actions.

It's fine. It's totally fine. Sylus isn't a killer. I know him. He's-fuck. He's such a good man. He shouldn’t-

“Lily, we got a call about some guy screaming that his neighbors are Shifters. He's waving a gun around and demanding someone investigate them now. Xavier and Tara are responding to other calls. Sorry to make your first day back so heavy. Grab some body armor. I pulled his calls to the tip line and he sounds-” Jenna pauses. “He doesn't sound well. I'll send you some backup once I can, but for right now the order is to calm him down while also looking into his claims. I've already emailed the transcripts of his calls to you.”

Blinking, you hastily shove your frantic inner turmoil to the side. “Headed out.”

You grab a ride with a black-and-white that's headed to the address, reviewing each tip the man called in. They become increasingly unhinged, and you admit that based on these tips you'd be far more likely to investigate the caller. “Doesn't sound well” is a drastic understatement and you fear for his neighbors. Information on his neighbors is scant-a married couple, no children. 

Tension weighs on you when you step out, colliding with humidity to give the entire block an oppressive feeling that makes it hard to breathe. You finish strapping on your vest and you stifle a manic giggle when you briefly wish Sylus was here, ready to defend you if the man loses the rest of his mind. You approach him cautiously, keeping your hands visible. 

“ARE YOU A COP?!” The man screams. Spittle flies and his eyes bulge.
“Yessir, I am. I'm here to help. You're Mr. Smith, right? Mr. Franklin Smith? I'm from the Shifter-”
“MY NEIGHBORS! THEY'RE FUCKING SHIFTERS I KNOW IT! I'VE CALLED IN TIPS AND-”
“Mr. Smith, that's why I'm here. This is what I do. I'm here to investigate, like you asked. But I need you to put that gun away first.”
“NO! I NEED IT! FOR-”
“Mr. Smith, I'm trained for this. You asked us to come here. Please let me do my job, okay? I promise you, I'm going to investigate. But I can't do my job with a loose gun at my back.”
Franklin Smith stares at you, eyes still bulging and chest heaving as he weighs your words. You decide to press the issue, slightly. 
“Look, you’ve been working really hard, right? I read all your tips-you were really thorough, thank you. I know that kind of effort. You must be exhausted, right?”
He blinks and his breathing slows and you know you finally reached him. 
“I'll take it from here for you. I promise. Why don't you sit down and let the first responders look you over, make sure you're not about to collapse on your feet. Can you do that for me, please? I'm going to go investigate your neighbors.”
Blinking rapidly, Franklin nods and at last lowers his gun. You nod at uniformed officers who quickly confiscate it and escort him to the medic. 

Certain he's no longer a threat, you turn and begin to approach the house. You call out your name and badge number, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and calm. As you step through the front door, you belatedly remember that you have a body cam that's supposed to be turned on. Your hand twitches towards it s you see Franklin's neighbors, Chase and Myra Fletcher. You frown as you notice two tiny birds in their hands.

“Hey-”
The birds in their hands shimmer before being replaced by two small, terrified children. 
“...shit.”

You’re utterly still as you study the family before you. Your chest aches as images of tiny beds in a cell fill your mind's eye and you swear to yourself that you won't let that happen to them. You take a deep breath, letting your hand fall to your side, camera still off. Realization pierces your chest at the culmination of changes wrought by an innocent question asked by a man you love with all your heart: you've changed sides. 

“Hey, it's alright. I'm here to help you, I promise.”
“Wh-but-you-you're-”
“A cop, I know. It's okay, I won't let anything happen. My-my boyfriend, he-he's a Shifter too. My name is Lilith. Look, I'm keeping my camera off, okay? Can you tell me what's going on?”

Chase and Myra study each other before Chase speaks. His voice shakes with fear, but his eyes are bright and determined. “We-we’re house finches.  We keep our children hidden, it's-they get stressed-I mean-”
“It's hard for them, because they're still kids, yeah?”
“Yeah. So-we-” Chase gestures to a bird cage. “We normally live in Shifter neighborhoods, but we couldn't find a unit just yet and I just got a new job. So we told our kids to stay as birds during the day or if someone comes to the door while we wait for a place in-in a safer neighborhood.”
“Any idea what set your neighbor off?”
Chase and Myra shake their heads. “No, we've barely been here a month. My wife, she's been home with them all day, she hasn't found another job yet.”
Myra speaks up. “We only met him once, when he came by to welcome us to the neighborhood. They were in the bird cage, being birds. They like being birds. He got a weird look in his eye when he saw them and then he just turned away.”

You rub your face as a course of action solidifies. The bird cage is a perfect cover. You crouch down to look into the eyes of the children. Bright and intelligent, there's a curious solemnity to them that makes you ache. “Hey. I know things have been stressful, but I need your help to make a lot of stress go away.”
“Is your boyfriend really a Shifter?”
“He is. I love him very much.”
“Have you ever seen him shift?”
“I have! Only once though, and not for very long.” You lean and give both the children a sly, conspiratorial grin. “You two seem really good at it. I bet you can stay shifted longer than he did. And he's a grown up.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Tell you what. Stay shifted until your mom and dad tell you it's safe. I'm going to tell all those people outside to leave, and I'm going to see if I can't find a safer place for all of you to stay. But I need you to help me out. I need you to be birds for me for a while.”

They nod as they shimmer and moments later, two small finches fly over to the bird cage. As they light on perches, they begin to chirp and sing. You stand up and begin to explain your plan to Chase and Myra. “So, all the information I was able to locate about you two is that you're married. No record of children anywhere, and I want to use that to your advantage. That you're a young, married couple who prefer birds over cats and dogs.”
“Okay. I-I think we can manage that.”
“I'm going to have all of you stay inside as long as possible while I try to get everyone out of here. I may have a different place for you to stay at. My boyfriend is a Shifter and he has several places here in the city that he's not using. Say, are either of you good with computers?”
Myra nods sheepishly. 
“I might know of a place that's hiring, but don't get your hopes up. Let me focus on clearing that crowd out of here first.” You turn to head outside and you remember your camera. “I might be ordered to turn my camera on. If I introduce myself as Lily, that means my camera is on and we're pretending you don't have kids. If I say my name is Lilith, my camera is off, and it's safe.”
“Lily means camera on, Lilith means camera off. Got it.”

Swallowing hard, you exit the front door. You scan the crowd and you're relieved you don't see another member of your division. Franklin Smith surges up from where he's sitting on the back step of the ambulance, eyes once again wide and frantic. 

“Well?! I'm right, aren't I?!”
“All I found was a scared married couple and their two pet birds.”
“No! No! They're Shifters!”
“Mr. Smith, did you see them shift?”
“Well, no, but-”
“What exactly did you see that prompted you to call the tip line?”
Franklin begins to panic and his eyes get a strange gleam. “They didn't have children! They have birds! Women-especially married women-are supposed to have children, that's their job!”
You raise an eyebrow, disappointed but not surprised. Officers in earshot make their distaste far more obvious. “Sir, a woman only has children if she wants to. That is not a valid reason to call the tip line; that line is for information to help us locate a killer.” You nod at a nearby officer. “I'm going to bring them out while I find a different place for them to spend the night. They're both incredibly stressed out and I want to make sure neither of them are about to collapse while I get them elsewhere.

You head back to the house. “Chase, Myra, it's Lilith. Grab the bird cage and a spare change of clothes for everyone. I'm going to have the medics look you both over while I find you alternate lodgings.”
“O-okay-”
“The crowd hasn't left yet, so treat it like we discussed, okay?”
Chase and Myra nod, their faces pale. 

You guide them out the front door and grab your phone to call Sylus. While not the standard protocol, this was not a standard call. You're certain you're making the right choices in the moment, however. Franklin Smith, while well-meaning in his own mind, had created a scenario that didn't appear in any PD guideline you've ever seen. No matter, you don't mind flying blind. 

Franklin runs up, gun in hand, pointing at the birds in the cage. “THEY'RE SHIFTERS I KNOW IT I'LL MAKE THEM SHOW YOU!”

You freeze and you hear every uniformed officer draw their weapon and point it at Franklin Smith. You lift your hands slowly and address him, keeping your voice low. “Mr. Smith, I need you to put that down.”
“NO! THEY'RE ONE OF THEM I'LL SHOW YOU!”
“Sir, those are birds. But you need to put that gun away, now-”
“I'LL MAKE THEM CHANGE!”
“Franklin, please. I need you to hear me. Every officer has a gun trained on you right now, and it's only my voice keeping you alive. Put. Your gun. Down.”
“I'm right, I can prove it!”
“I know you know the materials, Franklin. You know Shifters change when they're stressed, right? Think about how stressed you're making everyone right now. And no one has shifted.”
“I-no! I can't be wrong!”
“It's okay to be wrong. It's okay. It's not okay to shoot your neighbor's birds, or your neighbor. You haven't crossed that line yet. Don't cross it, please. I can't help you if you cross that line.”
Franklin starts to shake and his hand wavers. “Y-I-they’re not-?”
“No sir.”
“I-oh god-”

The gun clatters to the ground and the closest uniformed officer confiscates it as another arrests him. “Go easy on him, alright? I think he thinks he means well. I'm going to find this couple another place to stay.”
“Yes, ma'am.”

You usher Chase and Myra to the ambulance, whispering praise to the birds and asking them to play along a bit longer. You grab your phone and call Sylus. 

“Hey there, river lily. Everything okay?”
“Uhhhh-I might have-okay. I'm out on a call and-”
Are you okay?”
“It's a long story, but I have a couple here that need a safe place to stay for a while. Their living situation is a bit shifty at the moment, their neighbor just unjustly accused them of being Shifters and they don't feel safe staying here with their two birds.” Please tell me you understand what I'm not saying, babe.
“Are you saying they're Shifters?” You want to cry with relief.
“Yeah.”
“And need a safe place for a while?”
“Yeah. You mentioned a vacant apartment-”
“Consider it done; I'll have the twins pick them up. Text me their address and I'll make sure they're taken care of. Anything else?”
“Yeah, one of them is still looking for a job. She's good with computers, so-”
“I'll look around.”
“Thanks. I'll-”
“Just stay safe, baby. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”

You hang up and text the address before heading back to the ambulance to relay the news. Both Chase and Myra look ready to break down into tears. You watch as officers gently sit Franklin down in the back of a cruiser and take him in for processing. You stay, waiting for Luke and Kieran to arrive before heading in to start working on your report. It doesn't take them long, and you gratefully hand them over before getting a ride back to the precinct with a uniformed officer.

After returning your vest, you sit down at your desk with a groan as you begin to write up your report. You haven’t filled out much when Jenna sticks her head out of her office and fixes you with A Look. “Lily, my office.” You frown at her terse tone as you lock your computer.

You knock twice as you enter. “You wanted to see me?”
“What the hell happened with Franklin Smith?” Jenna doesn’t look up as she reviews something on her computer.
“He made unfounded accusations against his-”
“Why was he arrested, instead of that couple?”
You stare, baffled. “Wh-hang on. I’m lost. Why would I arrest that couple? I investigated his ‘tips’-” You hold your fingers up in air quotes. “And in the course of my investigation, I determined that his tips were false and unfounded.”
“Can you prove that?” Jenna finally looks at you and you nearly step back at the anger.
“You want me to prove-I’m not following you. I need to prove that something is false and unfounded?”
“This city is in crisis right now, and people are scared. I cannot have one of my detectives arresting someone who called in multiple tips!”
“What the-I’m sorry, am I missing something? He admitted he called the tip line because the wife didn’t have kids, and then proceeded to state in view of multiple people that it’s a woman’s job to have children.”
“Be that as it may, he’s now being represented by a particularly vicious lawyer claiming that he was arrested in retaliation for notifying the police of Shifters.”
“Okay? Then fucking arrest me too! According to his logic, because I don’t have kids, I’m a Shifter too!”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what is the point?!” You throw your hands up in the air as you begin to pace angrily in the small office.
Jenna glares at you. “You handled that call completely inappropriately at multiple points. You arrested a law-abiding citizen for retaliatory purposes; you failed to arrest individuals accused multiple times of being Shifters; you levied a personal relationship to obtain preferential treatment for suspected criminals; you-”
“Are you fucking kidding me?! My apologies for treating Chase and Myra as innocent until proven guilty. I had this stupid idea that was the entire foundation of our fucking legal system, but clearly I was mistaken.” Disdain colors every word you utter.
“That’s a luxury we can’t afford right now!”
“No, it’s not. That’s not how it works. We don’t get to abuse our power just because people are scared.”
“That’s not what I said!”
You slam your hands on her desk. “Yes. You fucking. Did! The law isn’t something we get to discard when it’s convenient.”
“Watch your tone in my office,” Jenna seethes.

You pace, squeezing your hands in an effort to keep calm. Rage burns and boils through your blood at the blatant injustice in Jenna’s words. How could I have ever thought I was on the right side? This-everything she’s telling me sounds insane. You stop pacing and take a deep breath. “Okay. Just to make sure you and I are on the same page. You are telling me that the way I should have responded to that call was to arrest the couple for the crime of being Shifters without investigating it? And not arrest someone who was weaponizing the legal system based on another individual’s sex and marital status? Am I understanding you correctly?”
“That’s-”
“That’s exactly what you’re telling me I should have done! You’re telling me to arrest two people without probable cause-”
“Franklin Smith called eight tips about them!”
You stare in shock. “Are you listening to yourself?! You heard those calls! You said it yourself, he sounded unwell! Even reading the transcribed tips I could tell he wasn’t in his right mind!”
“My opinion of his mental state means nothing-”
“Our opinion of a possible source’s mental state is everything! Are you saying we have to accept every tip as gospel now?!”
“If that’s what it takes to-”
“Someone called in a tip about butterflies, Jenna. Fucking. Butterflies. Are we supposed to investigate that tip too?”

The two of you are at a stalemate.

You backed Jenna into a corner. You know it and she knows it, and she is livid because of it. You stare her down, chest heaving in your fury as you wait. She studies you with narrowed eyes. “You handled that call inappropriately. This city is in crisis because of a killer, which you may have just set up with a cushy-”
“Chase and Myra moved to Linkon less than a month ago. They weren’t even here when the first murders occurred,” you snap.
“Watch. Your. Tone. There were eight complaints against them-”
“Eight complaints from one man! A misogynist!”
“You failed to arrest suspected criminals, and then levied a personal relationship to shower them with preferential treatment-”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Those two were innocent until proven guilty and you fucking know it it. You’re telling me they should have stayed in the house where they were held hostage by a man they barely knew while he screamed at them while waving a gun in the air?! They just moved here, they don’t have the fucking budget-”
“Watch your language! ” Jenna snaps. “Asking your boyfriend to post them up for a night was completely inappropriate and not within guide-”
“Are you high?! Guidelines?! There is no guideline for that call! At no point ever in training was I given guidelines about how to handle a man blockading his new neighbors in their own house while accusing them of being Shifters-an accusation founded on misogyny, I want to add-after weaponizing a tip line established to locate a serial killer!”
“I have had enough of your insubordination. You’re suspended for a week.”
“Fucking fine.”

Eyes narrowed slits, Jenna shoves the paperwork into your hands. You grab a pen from her desk, surprised your hand isn’t shaking with your bottomless anger. You take a deep breath as you read the paperwork but barely make it past the first paragraph. Your head shoots up and you stare at Jenna across her desk, dumbfounded. “You seriously expect me to sign this?”
“Yes. That’s an order.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll sign it when it states that I’m being suspended for failing to violate due process for two citizens of Linkon City, that I was expected to arrest them without probable cause, and that I was expected to applaud someone weaponizing a tip line in order to punish someone based on the protected classes of sex and marital status.”
“Sign it, or you’re suspended without pay.”
“Then fucking suspend me without pay. I’m not signing this bullshit.”
“You have an obligation to do whatever is necessary to ease the public’s mind during-”
“Do whatever is necessary-what the fuck?! A crisis is not justification to throw due process out the fucking window! That’s not how the law fucking works! We have to follow it all the time, always. If we’re not careful, the tip line is going to become an extension of fucking hits on innocent people! We’re not going to comfort the public if we arrest everyone!”
“If that is what we are ordered-”
“Tell me, Jenna. When the fuck did we become the Gestapo? Or the fucking Schutzstaffel?!”
“Get out of my office and my precinct now. I see you back in here before next Thursday, you’re fired.”

You slam your badge on her desk and storm out.

You text Sylus that you’ve been suspended once you arrive at home. You stalk angrily through your apartment, dumbfounded at the chain of events that led you to this point, to this moment. You want to say that you from several months ago would have handled Franklin Smith differently, but-

But.

You force yourself to be honest, brutally honest, and when you at last admit to yourself that you aren’t sure if past you, pre-Sylus you, would have handled today the same way you did today, your gut wrenches. And that shames you. Just means I have an obligation to continue being better. You continue to pace and slink, angrily relaying the conversation to Cat-Sìth, expanding on points that you didn’t have a chance to earlier. You barely register the sound of your front door opening until a hand brushes your shoulder.

“Lilith, baby, what happened? Why were you suspended?”
“For obeying the fucking law, and for following due fucking process!”
Hands hold your face as he kisses you. “Breathe, baby. Tell me everything.”

You do. You tell him about Franklin Smith and his increasingly unhinged tips-slash-complaints. His misogyny, his threatening to shoot Chase and Myra’s children, which to all onlookers looked like he was threatening to shoot their pets, your argument with Jenna. Adrenaline is finally done having its way with your body and as you finish telling him everything, you feel yourself begin to shake. Sylus guides you to the couch as he murmurs quiet praise and reassurances while Cat-Sìth does her best imitation of a weighted blanket. You pet her desperately as you continue to shake and shudder. As she shoves her head under your hand, you remember the tip line once more.

“That’s-uhhh-I-I’m-I feel so lost now.”
“Why? You did the-”
“No, baby. It’s-I almost forgot about this. I meant to tell you earlier, but my shift started with that call and-you’ll-you need to hear this.” You take a deep breath. “Someone called in a tip, telling us to investigate you. I was reviewing the tips and saw it and I just-I deleted it, and then I deleted that particular action in the activity log-”
“Me? Someone called in about me?”
“Yeah. I panicked. I couldn’t even focus after that, because it was such a knee-jerk reaction, and then I got called to deal with that reverse hostage situation and-I-” You lean your head against his chest and begin to cry. “I’ve changed sides. I don’t-I don’t know how to do this job anymore. I don’t know if I can keep-I need to see it through for Diana but-but Sylus, I don’t know how anymore.”

The familiar scent and pressure of Sylus surrounds you as you cry helplessly in his arms. He says nothing as you grieve, but instead comforts you through touch and soft kisses that slowly ease your agony. The shakes subside by the time you run out of tears and as you look up, Sylus is already offering a tissue. “Thanks,” you mutter, your voice still thick. You feel a gentle touch on your thigh and as you turn your head, you hear Cat-Sìth make a strange noise. You look at her with concern. She’s sitting a ways from you and you tilt your head. There’s something...more about her. Something human in the way she’s meeting your eyes. She makes a strange growling sound then-

She shimmers, and next to you is a small woman with fierce eyes the same color as Cat-Sìth’s, a white patch on her chest.

“Well fuck,” you mutter conversationally. You blink.
“Ah’m sorry, hen. For no’ tellin’ you who ah am, and fer livin’ with ye like this fer as long as ah have.” Her voice is rough and deep, as though unused for a long time.
“You-you’re-”
“Och, aye. Ye awready ken mah name. Dinnae ken how-sorry. Tis bin a lang time sin a've spoken tae someone lik' this. Gies a minute, hen, ya?”
You blink as you parse the thick Scottish accent. You aren’t even mad at this point. Your allotment of anger for the day was spent entirely on Jenna, it seems.
“Ah never intended tae live with ye like this but ye was kind. Took care of mahsell. Even if you was the polis. Ah did what ah could tae chase oot as many mingin’ muppets ye kept bringing aboot, until this lumberin’ numpty-” She gestures at Sylus. “Ye’r gwiber didnae oot me tae ye-”
“Gwiber?”
“It’s an old Welsh name that is occasionally used to mean dragon,” Sylus murmurs in your ear.
Pieces fall into place. “Wait, when I heard talking-I was hearing two voices!”
“Aye, hen.”
“So the name I picked for you is your actual name. I’ve been calling you by your real name all along?”
“Aye.”
“I feel weird about some of the stuff I’ve done in front of you.”
“Och hen, tis fine. Ah’d no stay if I didnae love ye. Ah kin leave if-”
You look Cat-Sìth over and you see countless little scars dotting her body. “Did-did other people do that?”
“Aye. Ah prefer bein’ a wee cat, but folks-well. Loads o' people are cruel to wee beasties like mahsell simply because they cannae fight back.”

You remember. You’d found her shortly after Chris, mostly drowned and badly beaten, and despite not having the budget for a cat at the time, you couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her until she’d recovered. You’d expected her to saunter away after a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks, then a few months, and then before you knew it, she was microchipped, covered by a thorough pet insurance policy, and baskets of expensive toys that she even played with at times. She saved you while you saved her. You smile. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without you here.” 

Cat-Sìth shimmers and there your cat sits. She stretches with a trill before headbutting your hand, and as you scratch her ears, a familiar diesel engine purr fills the air. You look over your shoulder at Sylus. “She’s one of the ones you were talking about, that you wouldn't out?”
“Mhm. She and I came to a truce. I told her you saw me change after we got back. I figured she deserved to tell you herself, if she wanted to.”
“I wonder what she did to those other men and women…there were quite a few that disappeared rather quickly.”

“I smacked them around a wee bit. The idiots stayed, but the clever ones ran off,” Cat-Sìth chirps from your lap. “You picked a lot of idiots, hen.”
Sylus shakes with laughter as you sigh heavily before frowning. “Wait. You’re easier to understand now-”
“Tis the magic of my shape. Mah wee kitty mouth isn’t built to form the sounds I’d normally make.”
“Huh. Interesting.”

Sylus pulls you more tightly to him. “So what are you going to do? About-”
“I don't know, beyond waiting out my week. I never in a million years would have thought I would be suspended because I didn't violate someone's rights. It's-I” You sputter into silence, overwhelmed with too many words. 
“Let me take you flying. It helps me clear my head, maybe it will help you.”
“But you told me you only-oh. Oh! Oh. But how?”
Lips brush your ear. “I have a small place a ways outside of Linkon. It's a hut, really. We- I -won't be seen.”
“Go, hen. I'll be fine.” Cat-Sìth urges. 
Sylus stands and pulls you up with him. “Let's grab a few changes of clothes, baby. I'll have Luke and Kieran stop by to check on Cat-Sìth and keep everything tidy here.”

The drive to...wherever is quiet. Sylus is content to let you dictate the conversation but you aren’t ready to speak, not just yet. He takes a motorcycle, a fast one, and you take the opportunity to admire the scenery as you transition first from Linkon City to city outskirts, then from outskirts to small, unincorporated communities that dot the land surrounding Linkon. The transition from small communities to undeveloped and relatively untouched foothills of a mountain range is subtle, coinciding with the moment Sylus stops redlining the engine.

You think a great deal during the drive. You have a lot to think about. Tara had texted you shortly before leaving with Sylus; her messages were filled with righteous indignation on your behalf as she expressed firm solidarity and agreement with your choices. Xavier is far more circumspect, and you get the feeling that he’s riding the fence until Jenna calms down. Thinking about Xavier leads you to think about Caleb, and you grit your teeth in frustration. You keep poring over what you know, certain that you’re missing something; an overlooked detail, a piece in the wrong place. Whatever it is, the piece you need to put everything together, it’s denied to you as it has been for weeks.

You only torture yourself for half an hour with Caleb before shifting your focus to-you try to think about work and what your inevitable return will look like. You really do try. It’s Sylus, however, that captures your thoughts. You press yourself against his back as thoughts of mortality begin to poke and prod at you. It’s been years since you’d really contemplated your mortality. Knowledge that you could die on the job hadn’t troubled you for some time-it still doesn’t. You accepted your odds long ago, but-that was when it was just you, and now your thoughts are framed by who you could leave behind. You sigh and squeeze as thoughts you’ve avoided for weeks confront you at last.

I love him so fucking much. I’ve broken the law with him. For him, currently. I’m hiding him from the police. I am actively obstructing an investigation into a killer-a serial killer, no less-because his name came up. I don’t want to think about my future without him in it. He has but to ask and I would gladly spend the rest of my life-

You pause.

Fuck. He’s lived almost 2000 years now, and by his own admission, he’s been almost entirely alone that whole time. At best I can give him what, fifty years? Sixty? And who knows how long he’s going to live. I’m going to be a month, comparatively speaking. In the grand span of his life, I’m a summer fling. He-he deserves more. But I-I’m going to think about that later. I just-there’s too much going on, too much that’s about to happen.

You appreciate the difference in scenery. Accustomed as you are to the deciduous trees that surround the lowlands of Linkon, the mainly coniferous trees that have suddenly become commonplace feel exotic and foreign. Sylus is driving down a packed dirt road, nimbly avoiding holes and branches, and through the trees you can see a sturdy-you frown. Sylus may think that’s a hut, but that’s definitely a cabin. He parks near the front door, taking his helmet off with a relieved groan. “Welcome to my humble hut,” he sighs as he stretches out the stiffness of the road.
“Babe, I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that’s a cabin, not a hut,” you tease as you take off your own helmet.
Sylus says nothing and rolls his eyes before grabbing the small bags both of you packed. 

Like the wee house in Nebraska, the interior of the cabin is much nicer than the exterior suggests. It's more rustic, but also more alive. This place is used; you’re certain of it. You check the pantry and smile with relief-no unfrosted Poptarts here. “Nice to stay in a place with no gastronomic war crimes.”
Sylus laughs as he sets backpacks on the bed and bags in the kitchen. “Worry about food later. I want you to see me while we still have some daylight.” He strips down to an undershirt and briefs before stepping back outside.

You follow, excited and nervous, and you watch by the door as he strides towards the center of the clearing surrounding the cabin. Sylus is still for a moment, his shoulders slowly easing down below his ears as he takes a deep breath. He, and the air around him, shimmer in tandem and-

A massive black dragon stands in the center of the clearing.

You forget how to breathe as you drink Sylus in. His scales are a glossy obsidian, brightening to polished tantalite along his underside. His wings are massive and as he spreads them out, they become translucent rubies in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. On his head is a sweeping crown of horns, all tipped in the same deep red of his stomach. You feel the breeze as his tail whips out before wrapping around his feet and you shake yourself as you remember how to walk. You approach slowly. Not from fear, but from appreciation. He dwarfs you, his head alone nearly the same size as your living room.

Sylus turns to face you better and when he does, you see it. Intricate patterns of matte onyx on top of the glossy black of his scales and as he preens for you the way he did when you first met, you recognize the pattern-it matches the ones that cover his skin. His head goes to meet you as you approach and you can’t help but smile at the metal studs that decorate it. “Sylus. You-you’re beautiful.”

You reach out to touch the behemoth in front of you. He’s warm, his scales smooth and hard, and despite the size difference, he’s gentle. You shift to the side of him, admiring the studs that had previously decorated his face, when you’re struck by his eyes. The color is unchanged but his pupils are now feline slits, and as you study them, you notice their newfound carmine glow. Your hand trails along his cheekbone, curious if he could feel it, and as you brush under his eye, it closes. Moments later, you can feel a mild vibrating under your hand and at the edge of your hearing there’s a rumble.

Sylus is purring.

You revel in him, in this form. You admire his every inch, especially the whip-thin tail that saved your life those few weeks ago. His claws are long, vicious scythes that, like a cat’s, mostly retract back into each digit. As you study the slow gradience of his scales from glossy black to dusky red, he speaks at last. “Come closer, river lily. I want to show you something.” As you approach, he holds out a limb, palm up.

“What’s that for?”
“So I can carry you. Night falls quickly here and I know you hate the cold.”

You step onto his palm, only for him to bring you tight to his chest. He shifts as he gathers his feet under him and with an effortless leap, he launches himself into the sky. The air is cold in the mountains, even down amongst the foothills, and it bites at your nose and ears. You hardly notice, the discomfort barely registering beyond the sheer joy you feel at flying. His wings beat a steady rhythm and as he climbs higher into the air, your joy becomes a reverential awe.

You had no idea the world was so big. You knew, but you didn’t know. You remember the patchwork viridescence that scrolled beneath Sylus’ jet as you look out over a new quilt, irregular patches of evergreen breaking the soft monotony of emerald fields. Scattered about as though sewn into the fabric of the world itself are the glittering communities you passed through on your drive to this moment.

On the distant shoreline perches Linkon herself. She sprawls herself out across the fields, filling out the farmland between the forests. The city more than glitters; she pulses in the growing dark, a shining heart that beats back the coming night. Tears fill your eyes, in awe that this is something Sylus can see at any time, that Life came together with such perfect coincidence that you could too. You etch this moment, this sight onto the tattered fabric of your soul, not wanting it to end.

Sylus dips his head down low. “Hold on tight, river lily,” he rumbles with a mischievous glint. Before you ask why, he surges upwards, breaking a cloud into wispy tatters with every beat of his wings. He breaches the clouds and despite the cold now clawing at exposed skin, you laugh with delight. The world is gone, replaced by deceptively soft clouds below. The early moon bathes you both in borrowed radiance as Sylus hovers.

“Cast out every doubt onto these clouds, my love. Every fear, every nagging worry. Let them go, just for one night. Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?!”
“Dive with me.”

A second hand joins the first on his chest, trapping you ever more securely to his body. Sylus shifts, tilting his body forward with nose outstretched and as he plummets down to the ground, you shriek. At first with fear, then manic delight as he nears the ground once more. A deafening snap as he lands and as you stumble from his palm back down to solid earth once more, you realize you're laughing with joy. 

You throw yourself onto the ground, sprawled out as you stare up into a sky you had so briefly joined. “How? How can you stand to be away from that?”
Sylus sets his head on the ground next to you. “I don't get to do that as much as I like. Flying, I mean. I have to be careful that I'm not seen. And there's still folk legends around here. I'm somewhat of a local cryptid, it seems.”
“What, like Mothman?”
Sylus laughs and you can feel it rumble in the earth below you. “Yes, I'm like Mothman.”
“It must be agony, trapped on the ground with us.”
“It can be. Driving fast helps. Until you. You make the ground worth it.”
You sit up and begin to cry as you stroke his face. “Baby, I-I feel like I’m trapping you down here with me. That I’m keeping you from being free, from being happy-”

There’s a shimmer and Sylus is human once more. He falls to his knees in front of you, hands caressing your cheeks and pulling you close to him. “No, baby. No. No, no, don’t think that. Please. I’ve wandered this world for nearly two thousand years and in all that time, I’ve felt utterly alone until you. Please, baby. Every day on the ground with you is worth it. It’s worth it.”
“Sylus, I’m in my mid-thirties. I can only give you-what, a handful of decades? I got so-when that man was waving his gun around-” You hold his cheeks in your hands as tears run along your fingers. “What if you live for thousands of years more?”

You sit in his lap, both of you wrapped in the misery of the other. It should have occurred to you sooner. You should have ended things when you realized how impossible you are destined to be. Should have, should have, should have. You grieve for Sylus' lonely future, and you wonder if there will come a time where he’s forgotten your name or the feel of your skin against his. “I’m not saying we-”
“Join me,” he whispers, pressing his head to yours.
“What?”
“Join me, my river lily.”
Blood rushes and roars in your ears as you struggle to process his words. “What, you mean-as in-are you offering-”
“I can turn you-” His voice is desperate as he pleads.
Your breath catches as the heavy weight of his words settles in the air around you.

You’re silent as you consider. Longevity bordering on immortality is not something to be considered lightly, and you fear that his offer was made from fear of being alone again. “Sylus-”
“Lilith. Before you say anything. I’ve been thinking about this since-since the night of the gallery. When you came to me nearly out of your mind because your world was falling apart. I’m not offering this lightly, and I swear to you with all that I am, that I ask nothing from you. I offer it as a gift to you, and as with every gift I’ve given you, I ask for nothing in return, now or in the future.” Sylus’ voice is solemn as he speaks even as he shudders with quiet tension.

You meet his eyes and study him as you weigh it over. Part of it scares you, but as you examine that fear it’s the change itself you fear. You have drifted wraithlike through your own life, struggling to connect, to find a family of your own. And Sylus has, in the months you’ve known him, made you feel like you weren’t alone for the first time you can recall. You tally what you would lose and what you would gain and-

“Okay.”
Sylus blinks. “What?”
“I thought about it. You-I’ve spent my childhood utterly alone, being sent from foster home to foster home. Zayne and his family were my only constants, and that’s because his dad was my doctor and he fought to keep me as his patient. And as an adult-I don’t-I just have you and Tara. And Zayne, now that he’s back from overseas. And I guess Cat-Sìth, now as well. But you make me feel not alone anymore. And I really don’t want to give that up.”
Sylus holds you tight as he kisses the top of your head. “I don’t know if it’s going to hurt. The first time, I mean. I know I have to bite you-”
“You’ve bitten me tons of times!”
“As a dragon. I have to bite you as a dragon,” Sylus mutters, exasperated. “I don’t know if it’s going to hurt-”
“I saw your teeth, babe-”
Sylus leans back and gives you an irritated look. “The change. I don’t know if the change is going to hurt the first time or not. Obviously me biting you isn’t going to feel great.”
“So...when? Now?”
Sylus shakes himself. “Now?”
“We only have a week before I go back to work, after all.”
“Are you-”
“Yes. I'm sure.”

Sylus stands and walks to the edge of the clearing. “You'll want the middle of the clearing, river lily.” A shimmer and the massive black dragon is back. After a moment's consideration, you dress down to your underwear and stand in the middle of the clearing rubbing your arms. Sylus approaches, and as you eye the ( large ) sharp teeth lining his jaw, you feel a moment of doubt. Sylus eyes you, clearly uncertain as well.

“Maybe if I just…slice my palm on a tooth?”
He rustles his wings in a draconic shrug. “Could try it, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I've never turned anyone,” he chides before opening his mouth. 

You approach the front of his head. Doubts continue to chatter and hammer away at your resolve. “Shut up in there and just do it,” you grumble quietly to yourself. You find a sharp point and roughly pull your hand down the edge, hissing at the pain as blood runs along the tooth. A tongue, long and forked, runs along the edge of the tooth before caressing your sliced palm.

“Hee hee, that ti-” You choke back a gasp.

Agony.

“Oh fuck.”

You are either too big for your skin, or your skin is suddenly too small. You can't tell, and you honestly don't care. All you know is pain. You're being torn apart by inches, every joint is liquid, and your bones scream as they melt and grow. Your breath stops in your chest as your own set of horns rips out from your skull, but the worst is your wings. 

Your wings unfurling, a third set of limbs, would have you weeping if you could but find your voice. It's lost with your mind, the napalm-bright agony of being remade obliterating everything, even yourself. Constellations dot your vision as you stare unseeing until you gasp as you finally remember how to breathe. Your heart races and pounds in your chest as you slowly begin to reinhabit your body. There’s a painful sensation along your spine, an itch that aches and screams, and your hands spasm as the itch grows worse. Cool dirt spills and tumbles over your hands and you look down, distracted, to see hands that are not your hands. Transfixed, you flex and yet the hands below twitch as you command.

They’re the limbs of a dragon.

A sharp contrast to the polished black of Sylus, you look yourself over in the fading glow of the setting sun as you admire your muted white pearlescence. You flex both hands and feet, learning the feel of your new body as you dig grooves in the dirt below. An odd flex across your shoulders and you remember that you have wings now. You try to spread them, to admire them but you are new to them and your command is eccentric and uncertain. You turn around slowly, look over the rest of you. Cautious exploration reveals that where Sylus brightens to tantalite red, you darken to a dusty rose.

The more you move, the more comfortable you feel yourself becoming. Your command of your wings is still uncertain, but you’re beginning to recognize how it feels to move them. Your tail, which you had assumed would be the hardest part to learn, instead requires no effort before it feels as natural as breathing. You brave more complex motion, noting the way your wings and tail coordinate themselves to keep you balanced and steady and you stop as you realize Sylus is still a dragon, curled up around himself as he watches you.

He reminds you of Cat-Sìth as she gets ready for a nap.

Catching your eyes, he stands and approaches. The wind picks up as he does and you’re hit with an olfactory overload. Sylus, the air, the trees, the cabin, the mountains looming over the foothills you hide in. You can smell all of it and you pause as you struggle to sort through it all. You struggle the most with Sylus. As much as you love the smell of him when he’s human, now as a dragon? He’s irresistible. His eyes glow as he looks you over and you feel your tail twitch.

“How do you feel?”
You struggle to speak, shaking your head when you realize you don’t quite know how speaking works, at least not yet.
“I guess the talking will take some time to master. Sorry about that, river lily.”

You instinctively shrug, and when you do, you feel it-you have command of your wings. Desperate to fly on your own, you spread them wide. A touch at your feet-it’s Sylus, nudging them closer together. You watch as he models his stance for you before leaping towards the sky once more. He hovers, waiting for you in silent invitation, and not one to be outdone, you carefully mimic his actions. You scrabble at first in the air, but your momentary panic is quickly overshadowed by your excitement.

You can fly.

Clawing through the air as you reach for greater heights, Sylus watches as you push yourself ever higher. He swoops and dives around you, encouraging you to meet and match him. As he flies close, your head whips out, nipping his shoulder. He tumbles through the air before he recovers and when he does, you feel an answering bite along your side accompanied by a rumbling laughter.

You give chase.

Clumsy at first, you feel yourself becoming more and more at home within the air as you follow Sylus’ aerial acrobatics. You manage to land another bite along his side before he reverses your positions and begins to chase you in turn. Having him give chase pushes you to your limit, inspiring you to ever more elaborate maneuvers. Despite your best efforts, he manages to land several more spurring blows that make you roar in mock outrage. You redouble your efforts as you slip behind him, determined to win. You goad him ever higher until even the air itself is too thin to comfortably breathe.

When you reach that impossible height, Sylus twists into a dive as he grabs you, each clawed limb a band of rigid steel. You can feel his tail tangling with yours as he presses the side of his head next to yours. You grip him in turn with a rumbling growl reminiscent of rockslides as you begin to spiral in your joint freefall. It’s exhilarating and terrifying and at the moment Sylus lets go, you do the same. You push away from each other at the last possible second, your wings halting your mad plummet just above the clearing around the cabin.

There’s a moment of pressure on your back, forcing you back down to the ground. As you land at last, teeth sink into your shoulder and you roar. Mouth full of you, Sylus roars in answer as his forelimbs grip your own. Rearing your head back, your teeth snap harmlessly on empty air as you try to find him. You can feel him plant his feet and-

There’s a familiar pressure as cold metal brushes too-hot scales.

Still biting you, Sylus mounts you with a muffled roar. You let out a deep whine of need, claws sinking into soft earth as familiar studs drag and catch inside you. Your whine deepens to a moan as Sylus fills you, your upper body sinking to the cool earth. Letting go of the shoulder in his mouth, he growls as he pushes himself ever deeper inside you. He’s merciless as he fucks you and as he does you can feel a second head pressing against you. It sinks inside you with the first and you roar at the pressure as you bite the side of his neck.

Fully buried inside you at last, every violent thrust is accompanied by a hungry growl as Sylus fucks you. Pinned to the ground under him, you pant and moan as you meet his every thrust, answer his every growl with violent snarls of your own. There’s a primal fury to it, to both of you together. His blood coats your teeth, his scales no match for you as you mark your territory. His teeth sink deep into your shoulder as he marks his own territory, bracing himself before driving a thick, heavy knot deep inside you.

He cums with a monstrous roar moments later and as the hot flood of him fills you, you cum with a roar of your own. Sylus stays locked inside you, each shuddering twitch spilling more of himself. He relinquishes the mouthful of you with a reluctant growl before rubbing his head along your neck and the underside of your jaw.You pant as you wait for his knot to subside, rubbing your head along his neck and jaw. You keen when he pulls out, unwilling to be empty just yet, gently collapsing to the ground as you run out of energy at last. You curl around him as he curls around you in turn and there’s a sensation of wholeness. That you had found a piece of you missing for so long, you’d forgotten you were ever looking for it.You purr happily at how perfectly balanced you are. White and black, yin and yang.

“Come back, love,” Sylus murmurs as he shifts. “Remember the feel of being human.”

It takes you a moment, but unlike that first shift, it’s painless. It’s strange and different, a momentary sensation of being purely fluid, then you are human once more. You collapse onto your back as you catch your breath as Sylus pulls you to your feet. His hands feel hungry on your skin and as you look into his eyes, you recognize the feral gleam.

His mouth falls on you as he picks you up. He carries you into the cabin while he murmurs dark promises and as he roughly sets you on the bed, he shows you exactly how he plans to keep every single one.

Wednesday

You pack up with great reluctance, already missing the freedom to shift and fly. You sigh.

“You okay?”
“I-we haven’t even left yet and I already miss flying.”
Hands tease at your sides, turning you around to face Sylus. He’s been more since that first time you shifted. More physical, more affectionate, more intimate. There’s a familiar need in his hands as they caress your sides and it takes everything you have to not surrender to him. Again. “We’ll be back, baby. Promise.”
“I know, I just-fuck. It’s-it feels so good to fly.”
Hands slip under your shirt and begin to tease and play with your breasts. “Do you know what else feels good?”
A small whimper slips from your lips before you can stop it. “Sylus, we gotta get going. I have work tomorrow, remember?”
“Mmm, I didn’t forget. I just want my river lily.” There’s a new possessive edge to his voice that didn’t appear until that first night in the cabin. You answer it with a possessive growl of your own as you surrender.

His hands work at your pants even as yours undo his. He pins you to the wall, calling you his Lilith, his river lily with every thrust inside. You answer in kind, whimpering that he is your dragon, your Sylus. He cums with a growling sigh of “Mine.” You cum with an aching sigh of your own and when you do, he purrs with your every declaration of possession.

Your drive down the mountain is far more lively than your drive up. When you stop for lunch at last, you finally remember to ask him why Mephisto is so…Mephisto.

“He’s a botched familiar.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah. I tried to summon him as a familiar. I figured a crow would make a good familiar for a dragon, but I was young so I...somewhat overdid it with the free will aspect of it. Which ultimately, I prefer him the way he is. He’s more clever than many humans, and he works best when I give him vague instructions. It’s always interesting to see how he interprets commands. He and I inspired a story, by the way.”
“Wait, what? Really?”
“Really.” Sylus grins. “Think about Mephisto’s name. It hasn’t always been Mephisto. What’s it sound like?”
You frown. “Well, I always think about Mephistopheles, like from that play...” Your voice trails off as Sylus’ grin grows wider. “No. You’re kidding! That’s you two?!”
“Somewhat. It was purely by accident. I’d discovered I could cast my voice though Mephisto-Mephistopheles, as I called him then-and I was testing the range of that ability when Johann Georg Faustus stumbled into the clearing. I was over five miles away, so I just played along and after the ‘deal,’ Mephisto and I went on our merry way. Whatever that man did after that moment was entirely on him.”

You laugh with delight as you eat your lunch. As you finish, Sylus looks at you, his eyes warm as he holds your hand. “Move in with me,” he murmurs as he kisses the back of your hand.
You feel no hesitation. “Okay. Wait. Which place?”
Sylus shrugs. “I’ll put you on all the titles, so whichever one you want.”
“I like the one you’ve been living in. Lots of happy memories there.”
“Then that’s where we’ll live.”
You giggle. “I get to move in with the jobless fuckboi this time and he gets to pay all my bills for once!”
Sylus sighs and rolls his eyes as he gives you an unamused stare. “Brat.”
You giggle more, eventually teasing a put-upon smile out of him.

You wonder how different things will feel, to no longer live paycheck to paycheck. To be the one taken care of, for once. You-

You freeze.

Xavier. Xavier takes care of Caleb. Neither would admit it, but you’d picked that up at least from them. That Xavier earns enough that Caleb doesn’t struggle, is taken care of. You can feel your face drain of blood and you set a calendar reminder on your personal calendar to check Xavier’s time sheet on the day Dani was murdered. He arrived too quickly. He was too close. He-oh my god. He dumped Dani’s body. For Caleb. Or he killed her because he was jealous.

“-baby? Lilith, what’s wrong?”
“Xavier,” you mutter.
“What?”
You shake your head and look at Sylus. “Xavier. He-he was-he arrived too quickly to the gallery. He was supposed to be staying late, working through Tiffany’s clients for a motive. The precinct-there’s no way he could-but. Shit. Tiffany. They’re each other’s alibis.”
“Isn’t that normally suspicious?”
“Not when their claim lines up with a third party. Their alibi is corroborated by the TV programming guide. Fucking Norse specials-”
Sylus frowns. “Norse specials? You mean that big special on Norse mythology from a few months ago?”
“Yeah, you know it?”
“I was going to record it and watch later, but there was an issue at the station. They couldn’t broadcast anything until the following week.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I just shrugged it off, myself. But yeah, there was no mythology special that night.”
“And that broadcasting issue means no Golden Girls reruns later.”
“Uhhh, I guess?”
You lean back in your chair. You’ve found the missing pieces, and you rub your face with shaky hands. “Sylus, that special and the reruns are Caleb and Xavier’s alibi. They made no mention of any technical issue and both of them confirmed they saw Golden Girls reruns which-”
“I just refuted. Which means-”
“They’re lying. Caleb is back to being the primary suspect for Tiffany’s murder, and Xavier is now the primary suspect for Dani’s. And both of them are suspects for Diana’s murder.”