Cass was thirty minutes early, but she didn't mind. The old, faded sign welcoming visitors to Havenfield loomed in front of her, its paint chipped, and the words barely legible.
Welcome to Havenfield—Small Town, Big Heart, had been the town's motto for as long as it stood. When she'd first come to town, she'd experienced firsthand how welcoming the people were. She'd barely had to cook anything the first few weeks because neighbors were coming over with homemade dishes and ice cold drinks in coolers. They asked about her previous jobs, they worried over her dad. She could never allow herself to bask in their wall welcome's though. There was always a part of her that constantly reminded her she didn't belong.
But despite that, she had grown attached to the place, to the little things—Mrs. Weaver's apple pies, the way everyone waved when you passed them on the street, the hum of life that had once made Havenfield feel like a haven. It hurt to see it wither under the weight of fear. And it hurt more that Uriel didn't see any of that.
She parked her car at the side of the road, killing the engine, and leaned back against her seat. It was quiet out here—almost too quiet for comfort, bordering on the thin line between peaceful and eerie. Havenfield had never been Minnesota's tourist hotspot but whatever travelers that passed by the town seemed to have disappeared since the first murder. With each passing day, the town felt emptier. Its sleepy small-town charm now felt more like the hush of something waiting to pounce. Even the breeze seemed to carry a whisper of unease, the kind that crept down the back of her neck.
Cass got out and stretched, letting the morning chill wash over her warm skin. It was crisp and refreshing, cold enough to be comforting, not painful. Winter would come soon with a vengeance but, for now, autumn was still holding on desperately. Her mind felt steady and clear, a sharp contrast from how it was when she was around Uriel.
Uriel.
Her mind drifted back to their meeting yesterday. To the mere hour in his office that somehow felt like an eternity.
'Are you ready to be owned?'
'You don't need to know, Malen'kiy volk. All you need to do is trust me.'
His words echoed in her mind, stirring something inside her that she still didn't fully understand. How could someone make her feel so powerless yet so safe? She could still remember the exact way her body had gone lax in the cushy leather chair in his office, her voice trembling as she finally whispered the words she was afraid to say— the words he wanted to hear: "Yes."
Uriel had tipped her chin up with his finger then, the cold sting of his touch no longer bothering her as it had before. He'd leaned in close, his breath brushing against her skin as he whispered, "I didn't hear you."
There was something terrifying about how easily her body obeyed him—how much she wanted to obey him. How could someone make her feel both powerless and safe at the same time? The idea of submission clawed at her pride, yet in that moment, it had felt... freeing.
"Yes," she'd repeated louder. "I want to be your submissive. I want to be yours."
His smile had been dangerous, seductive, as he walked around to the other side of his desk, sliding a single, brown folder towards her. "Read the papers in there, fill them out, and bring them back to me at your earliest convenience," he'd said.
It had been so surreal, so matter-of-fact. Like signing away her life was just another business deal.
And then, she'd told him, "We can't do anything until the Vorvolak is taken care of."
Uriel had rolled his eyes, but his response had been casual. "Of course we can't." Followed swiftly by a calm, "Meet me at the outskirts of that dinghy town at 9 a.m. tomorrow." He'd said it with a smirk, like Havenfield was nothing more than a speck of dust beneath his shoes.
She'd wanted to tell him that 'that dinghy town' was her home, but she'd held her tongue. There was no point in arguing with him. Instead, she'd stood up and made her way to the door, only to have Uriel call her name one last time.
When she'd turned back, he was lounging in his office chair like it was a throne, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"Take off your panties," he'd ordered, his tone low and commanding.
Stunned, she'd stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. "You heard me," he'd said, his voice calm but firm. "Don't make me repeat myself, Cassandra."
Her fingers had fumbled with the belt of her pants as she looked down, trying to avoid his gaze, but Uriel had snapped, "Eyes on me."
She'd looked up, her hands trembling as she slid her pants down, the heat of his gaze burning into her skin. The humiliation had made her face burn, but she couldn't stop. Not with the way he was watching her—so intensely, so proud of himself. When she'd finally slipped her panties off, Uriel's smirk had deepened.
"Bring them to me."
Her steps had been slow, her face flushed as she walked toward him. He'd reached out, taking the black silk from her hand and slipping it into his pocket like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"That'll be all," he'd said with a satisfied grin. "Have a nice day."
The rest of the day had been a blur. It had been damn near impossible to concentrate at work after that, not with the memory of Uriel's voice, his touch, lingering in the back of her mind. But she powered through albeit painfully aware that she didn't have underwear on. She got started on the backlog of reports she had to write, read through the evidence on other cases and divided them into neat little boxes of tasks she had to handle herself and tasks she could delegate and she checked her schedule for any court appearances. She'd forced her mind not to drift back to him, to his words, to the way he'd made her feel so much so that, by the time she got home, she was even more so mentally exhausted than she was physically.
And now, here she was, waiting for him again.
She glanced at her watch. 8:50. Ten more minutes until their scheduled meeting. The wait was worth it, she got to enjoy the fresh air, plus something about Uriel made her feel like she needed the upper hand, even if it was just in small, insignificant ways like this.
The roar of a car engine broke through her thoughts. Cass looked up as a sleek black Aston Martin DBS Superleggera sped down the road, sliding smoothly to a stop behind her own. The car was a beauty; aggressive lines, low-slung body, and the smooth purr of a well maintained twin-turbo V12. The deep, glossy black paint reflected the early morning light— half blinding Cass—and its presence was way too luxurious for the outskirts of Havenfield—or heck, anywhere else in town, for that matter.
The door opened, and Uriel stepped out. He was dressed in black pants and a white button-down shirt, the first two buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair, perfectly tousled, gleamed in the morning sunlight as he slid his sunglasses off and adjusted the eyepatch covering his left eye.
"You're late," Cass said, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back against her car.
Uriel glanced at his watch and then back at her with an easy smile. "By only a minute, Sladosti. If anything, I'm earlier than—"
The growl of a motorcycle interrupted him, and Uriel's expression soured. "—him."
A black, low rider Harley Davidson came down the road, its engine purring as it came to a stop between their cars. The rider killed the engine, swinging a leg off the bike with practiced ease. Cass's eyes widened as she took in his appearance—a black cassock complete with a half cape around his shoulders. The black material was adorned with intricate silver embroidery, grape vines twisted into small crosses. She took note of the red collar instead of the traditional white.
She'd expected a mage and, although she wasn't quite sure what 'a mage' looked like, her mind had leaned her towards 'long white beard, pointy cap covered in stars and ancient staff' territory. What she didn't expect was a man who looked like he'd stepped out of the Vatican.
But, on closer inspection, he didn't fully look like he'd come from the Vatican either.
All ten of his fingers were covered in silver rings, each one connected by thin, delicate chains, and tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeves. He pulled off his helmet, revealing long, messy blonde hair and striking blue eyes. His features were sharp— angular jaw, grecian nose, cat-like eyes— but softened by the kindness in his gaze. He was handsome, no doubt about it—beautiful, even.
As he stood, Cass took in his athletic build, the way he carried himself with a casual confidence. He stepped forward, his black loafers crunching against the sandy roadside, and his eyes locked onto Uriel's with icy disdain.
"Uriel," he greeted coldly, his voice dripping with contempt.
"James," Uriel replied, his own tone laced with equal disdain.
The man scowled, his jaw tightening. "It's Jamee."
"Remind me later, and maybe I'll give a shit," Uriel shot back. "I see you're still cosplaying religion."
Jamee's eyes flashed with irritation. "And I see you're still an asshole."
"Woah there," Uriel spat, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "Are you even allowed to say that? That's gotta come up during confession."
The man's scowl only deepened. "Go fuck yourself, Serpov."
"You first, svoloch'."
The two men glared at each other, the tension between them immediate, palpable and sharp enough to cut through marrow. If Jamee's aura was like the calm before a storm—controlled, precise—Uriel's was the storm itself, all biting wind and chaos. It was like watching two elements clash, each determined to claim the same space in her mind.
If Cass didn't have to get to work soon, she would have savored the feeling of watching Uriel getting riled up for a while longer. It was so good, seeing his face scrunched up like a petulant child like that, she wanted to take a picture and frame it.
Instead, she cleared her throat, stepping forward to diffuse the situation before it escalated further. "Detective Cassandra Pratt," she said, offering her hand. "You must be the mage."
Jamee's gaze softened as he turned to her, his features relaxing. "Father Jamee Ashcroft," he corrected gently, shaking her hand. "I hear this town has suffered terrible losses in recent days."
Cass nodded. "There's been three connected murders so far and I'm the lead investigator on the cases. If Uriel is right and it's a Vorvolak, I'm in way over my head."
Jamee's expression grew serious. "If it is a Vorvolak, then we're all in trouble. But we'll find out soon enough."
He turned away from them and walked up to the 'Welcome to Havenfield' sign. He stretched his left hand forward, balling his fingers into a fist, she smelled the tangy, metallic stench of blood before she saw it flow through his fist and land on the ground. Jamee crouched down and, with the pinky finger of his right hand, started carving intricate runes into the bloody earth. The runes seemed to glow faintly under the early morning light, like something ancient had been stirred awake. Cass couldn't look away, her body both tense and mesmerized. Magic wasn't something she'd ever seen up close, and watching it now made her skin prickle with a mix of awe and unease. There was something mesmerizing about the way Jamee moved, the way his hands seemed to flow with purpose as he worked.
He began muttering under his breath as his finger moved deftly, words she couldn't quite catch in a language she definitely didn't know. He finally straightened up and stood back, raising his hands as he continued chanting, his eyes glowing with a bright, ethereal light.
The air itself seemed to hum with power, vibrating against her skin like a low current. She could feel it—a faint pull, something ancient, like the magic was reaching out and touching the world in a way she couldn't understand. Her breath hitched as the glowing runes pulsed with life, making her feel, for just a moment, like she was standing on the edge of something far greater than herself.
Jamee crossed the road and repeated his actions. Bloody soil. Mystical runes. Quite chanting.
After a few moments, Jamee lowered his hands, the light in his eyes fading as he crossed the road again, walking up to her. "That should do it," he said, reaching into the pockets of the pants underneath his cassock and pulling out a handkerchief which he used to wipe off his hands. "A barrier to prevent evil from straying further than we need it to."
Uriel scoffed from behind them, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against her car. "A barrier. How quaint."
Jamee shot him a glare, but Cass stepped between them before the tension could flare up again. "So, when do we start hunting this thing?"
Jamee's gaze softened when he looked at her again. "First, I need to confirm that it is a Vorvolak. I'll need to shop around for some ingredients for an attunement spell. I'll also need your investigation reports, any evidence you've gathered."
Cass hesitated, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Some of that information is classified."
She could already hear the reprimands that would follow if anyone at the precinct found out. Laughlin would lose his head— after having hers, of course. But they'd gone far past the realm of protocol. Protocol could bite the dust if it meant she could save lives without it. The rules she had lived by, the black-and-white structure of law enforcement, seemed so flimsy now, up against something as ancient and deadly as a Vorvolak.
Jamee gave her a sympathetic smile. "If it's for the greater good, sometimes rules need to be bent."
Jamee was so soft in comparison to Uriel—so human. His calm, almost reverent demeanor made her feel like she was in safe hands. A part of her wondered why she was drawn to the danger that Uriel embodied when she could've gotten with someone like Jamee, someone who could offer her the safety and control she thought she needed. It didn't make sense, and yet, nothing about her life made sense anymore.
She sighed, looking away from him. She knew he was right but it didn't make her feel any better about it. Still, she nodded. "I'll get what you need from my office."
Jamee glanced around. "I'll need to find a place to stay while I'm in town. Any recommendations?"
Cass thought for a moment. "There's a decent motel not far from here. I'll write down the directions."
As she reached for her notepad, Uriel pushed himself off her car, looking entirely bored. "Well, now that you two have your shit sorted, my work here is done." He brushed past her, heading back to his car.
But just before he slid into the driver's seat, he paused beside her, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled her ear. "Your underwear smells divine. Thank you for gifting them to me."
Cass's face flamed as Uriel chuckled softly, slipping into his car and driving off without another word.
Even after the roar of his car engine had faded into the distance, his words clung to her, wrapping around her like a noose. Her skin tingled, every nerve heightened, and no matter how much she wanted to brush off the way he affected her, she couldn't. Goddess, how did one man manage to control her so easily? She hated him for it... but she hated herself more for wanting it.
She stood there, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched him disappear down the road.
"Detective Pratt?" Jamee said from behind her, his voice pulling her out of her lust induced reverie.
"Well," she said, turning back to him, her face still burning. "Let's get this show on the road."