It didn't feel like heartbreak. Not really.
Heartbreak implied her heart belonged to Uriel in the first place. That butterflies erupted in her belly when she heard his name, that she missed him when they were apart, that his happiness was just as much, or even more so, important than hers.
So no. It wasn't heartbreak. She did not love Uriel Serpov.
Her agreement with him was spurned purely out of lust and desperation. And, even now, as she sped towards the Sleepy Tin Motel, the rational, cold-hard detective side of her reminded her of the facts of the case:
He had called a mage. He had delivered her multiple earth shaking orgasms (by hand alone, might she add). He had distracted her from the darker parts of her life.
Becoming Uriel's submissive was exactly what he said it would be. Cass had been given the chance to let go of control, to turn off her brain and let someone else take the reins. Sure, it had come with a panic attack at a party, but for all intents and purposes, he had kept his end of the bargain.
The facts, however, did not stop the ache in her chest from stinging. It felt like she'd given up too much for something she hadn't known she needed until it waltzed into her life and called her 'Ofitser.' She'd slept with Bratva as a law enforcement officer. She'd given herself to a vampire as someone with werewolf blood. She'd submitted to a man as a woman who prided herself on being independent.
All she had given Uriel Serpov felt like a violation of her own principles.
Still, she'd closed her eyes and taken the leap. She'd given herself 'permission to feel.' She'd let herself fall. All for what? All for Uriel Serpov to tell her, 'Oh yeah, I gave you your mage and multiple orgasms. Your town, your problem,' and for him to be right.
She could still feel the burn of that vulnerability on her skin, like a wound that hadn't quite healed and Uriel had happily poured alcohol all over it.
'Let's not pretend you didn't trust me when you were screaming, 'Please, Master, let me cum.''
Cass did not love Uriel Serpov. But this sure as shit still hurt.
What hurt most wasn't that Uriel had lied or manipulated her—she expected that from him. It was that she let herself believe, even for a moment, that she could handle someone like him. That she could make it out unscathed.
So, it was her own inadequacy that plagued her. Maybe none of this would have happened if she was a full-blooded werewolf. If she knew enough about Aetherkin to have made connections with them, she would probably have had a mage on her contact list like Uriel did. Maybe if she hadn't run away from the supernatural world, she'd have known there was a Vorvolak in town from day one.
Would it also mean she wouldn't be living in Havenfield in the first place? Perhaps. But at least she would've been aware.
But she was a shit werewolf. A shit cop. And she had her name signed under the 'You will serve as my sexual property' portion of a shit man's contract.
She would have laughed at the poesy of it all, if it wasn't so sad.
Cass took a hard right, overtaking the Kia ahead of her. Driving from Havenfield to Minneapolis and then back to Havenfield had turned Monday morning into Monday mid-afternoon but she hadn't really bothered to check the time during her anger-fueled mission. Neither had she bothered to answer the calls from Chief Laughlin that had been blowing up her phone non-stop. What was she supposed to say? 'Hey Chief! Our guy is an Eldritch Horror beyond your comprehension and we're going to need another human sacrifice in order to find it! Anyways, how's your morning?' Yeah, that wouldn't fly.
The only person she needed to see now was Jamee.
She needed to see him and tell him that there had to be another way.
Cass threw her car into park and jumped out, her boots crunching against the rough gravel and cracked concrete of the Sleepy Tin lot as she hurried towards Jamee's motorcycle. One again, the man was never too far away from his machine. But her heart dropped for a second when she saw him strapping up a bag onto the bike.
She caught her breath. "Are you leaving?"
Jamee looked up at her, blinking in mild surprise. His expression softened, and hurt flickered in his eyes at the assumption. "I wouldn't leave. Especially not now."
Her anger dissolved in an instant, replaced with guilt. Cass ran a hand through her hair, her voice quieter. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's alright." Jamee smiled gently. "I can see you're on edge."
Cass exhaled, the weight on her chest easing a little. "I went to talk to Uriel," she said, her tone bitter. "He doesn't care."
Jamee shrugged, unsurprised. "He's Uriel. Of course he doesn't care."
Cass swallowed hard. Apparently, Uriel being a thoroughly uncaring motherfucker was a fact everyone except her had been aware of. "But how can he be so blasé about the whole thing? People are dying."
Jamee tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Have you considered that Uriel might be going through his own problems?"
A flicker of memory crossed her mind— the conversation at the party, the talk of Hunters. Uriel's friends had been annoyed, almost nervous, when the topic came up. The angry phone call she'd overheard when she'd woken up sex-sore and sleep-heavy. His words sharp and angry in the early morning. And then there was the meeting she'd walked in on. Uriel clearly held sway among his kind, she could tell from the way everyone shut up whenever he spoke. If Hunters were on his heels, it would keep him far too busy to care about a small town like Havenfield.
But knowing that didn't make her feel any better.
"Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt him to help," she said stubbornly.
Jamee didn't respond immediately. His face was thoughtful for a moment, and then he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a worn wallet. He opened it, sliding out a small, creased photograph.
"Here," he said, holding out the picture. "I want to show you something."
Cass took a step forward, her eyes scanning the image of a younger Jamee—maybe 11 or so—smiling brightly at the camera despite the mud covering his clothes, the scrapes on his knees, and the band-aids on his face. Beside him was a woman, ruffling his blonde hair, her own brown skin glowing under the sepia tint of the old photo. On her shoulders sat a sleek black cat with intense, almost knowing eyes.
"That's my mother and her familiar, Hex," Jamee said, his voice soft. "She's not my biological mom. I never knew who that was. But she took me in when I was lost and scared."
He paused for a moment, his gaze distant as if lost in the memory.
"With the Order of the Blackmoon gone, I didn't know what to do. I had freedom, I had money but I felt even more trapped than I'd ever felt. She took me in, raised me and, once she found out I had an affinity for magic, she taught me spells. She treated me like her own even when I was scarred from the abuse at the hands of the Order. Even though the other members of her coven looked down on her for taking in a stray."
Jamee's fingers brushed over the photo. "She never even laughed at me when I told her I wanted to be a priest." A small smile tugged at his lips, but it was faint, fragile. "But I never told her I was a Hunter. I couldn't. She would have seen me as a threat. No matter how much she loved me, her loyalty to the coven would have come first."
He slid the picture back into his wallet, meeting Cass's eyes. "No matter where we find community, we'll only be loved as long as no one knows who we truly are. As a werewolf, humans in town would see you as a threat. And as Aetherkin, people like Uriel see Havenfield as an expendable town of Moonblinds."
Jamee's voice softened as he added, "In the end, it's up to people like us to make a change. People who've walked both worlds and seen both the cruelty and the kindness of humans and Aetherkin alike. It's up to us because we choose to be good, even when we know we won't get a reward for it. No fame. No fortune. Just the knowledge that we did the right thing."
Cass swallowed hard, Jamee's words wrapping around her heart. So it was up to the outliers to save the world, huh? It felt unfair that way. Unjust that there were people who could do more than a cop and a priest and chose not to. It was cruel how the citizens didn't even know what was killing them.
Or maybe that was a mercy. At least their fears would not run as high as it would if they knew the murderer wasn't human.
She sighed, the weight of her own frustrations settling in her bones. "I just wish I could understand Uriel— understand Aetherkin better. They call humans 'Moonblinds,' blind to the world, blind to the night. But how can they not see that those weaker than them are worth protecting? What's the point of their strength if they won't use it to help?"
Jamee took her hands gently in his. "That's a question you'll have to ask Uriel yourself. You may feel like you're on opposite sides, but you could always meet in the middle."
Cass couldn't help but think about the ways she and Uriel had met in the middle. Her mind flashed to their nights together—how her body had responded so easily to him. But that thought only made her chest tighten again, a flood of regret rising to the surface.
Nevertheless, she understood what he meant. Barging into his meetings and yelling at him wouldn't get to Uriel. Neither would it make her understand Aetherkin better. It just made her look like an asshole.
Jamee's hands were rough, weathered by a violent childhood and years drawing spells into the earth, she imagined. But the warmth in his touch was comforting and she basked in the sense of peace that came from his quiet wisdom.
Cass had always kept people at arm's length. Getting to know others didn't feel worth the trouble of opening herself up fully to others. But Jamee? He came with no games, no power struggle. Just… kindness. It felt foreign, almost strange to her, and she didn't know what to do with it. But maybe, for once, she didn't have to do anything but accept it.
Jamee was like the friend she'd never had. It was so easy to forget that she hadn't known him for that long.
She whispered, "Thank you." Squeezing his hands in gratitude.
He squeezed, his smile kind but tempered with the heaviness of the moment. Then, slowly, he let go.
Cass felt lighter somehow, but there was still the underlying current of fear tugging at her.
"I'm worried," she admitted. "Afraid. I don't want anyone else to die. There has to be another way to stop the Vorvolak."
Jamee's expression shifted slightly, a seriousness settling over his features. "Come with me," he said quietly.
She hesitated for a moment, then trailed after him as he led her into his motel room. Cass's eyes swept over the room, immediately honing in on the sheer amount of firepower. The entire room was lined with weapons—Pistols resting neatly on the bed, rifles lined up on the desk with precision Shotguns, daggers, and—was that a whip? A sword stood rested against the wall, its ornate hilt gave it the look of something out of a medieval battlefield. The room was a small armory, an arsenal for war. No wonder he hadn't invited her in the last time she was here.
Her instincts as a cop kicked in before she could stop them.
"What is this, Jamee? An arms dealership?" she said, her voice carrying an edge of incredulity. She tried to keep it light, but her pulse quickened. Even for a priest with a gun license, this was… excessive.
Jamee chuckled wryly, the sound low and slightly bitter. "I've got a license for all the guns. Don't worry." He gestured towards the rifles, then the daggers. "These aren't for humans anyway."
His fingers brushed lightly over the barrel of a shotgun, his expression distant. "I've had to be prepared for things most people don't even know exist," he said quietly. "Even with magic, sometimes... steel and lead are all that stands between you and whatever's hunting you." Then he shot her a small, sad smirk. "The bullets are rubber though. They're cheaper."
Cass reached out, her fingers brushing over the hilt of the sword. It was cold, heavy, and for some reason, seeing something so archaic amidst all the modern firepower unsettled her. She glanced up, her eyebrows raised. "Really?" she asked, incredulous. "A sword?"
Jamee's lips quirked into a small, humorless smile. "Forgot my scythe at home," he said, deadpan.
Cass rolled her eyes, but the subtle tension in his expression told her it wasn't entirely a joke. Jamee had seen more than his fair share of death and violence; she didn't doubt he had the skills to wield these weapons.
She put the sword back and looked at him, hope flickering in her chest. "So, if you have all these weapons, does that mean you've found a way to track the Vorvolak? Without... without someone else dying?"
Jamee's expression softened, but his blue eyes held no light. If anything, he looked… defeated. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he turned away from the bed of weapons, leading her towards the bedside table. "No, Cass. The weapons... they're not why I brought you in here."
Her hope flickered like a candle in a breeze. "Why then?"
Jamee motioned her over to a small nightstand in the corner of the room. There sat a ring of candles, their flames flickering with an unnatural, purple hue. In the center of the circle was a bowl of water, its surface shimmering under the candlelight. Inside the bowl, a piece of torn fabric floated—small, barely noticeable if it weren't for the distinct red tint in the water.
Cass recognized it immediately. The fabric was a piece of David's shirt. She'd cut it from the evidence to give Jamee, telling herself that the labs had looked over it anyway. The water around it was tinted red, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. It was more blood that could've possibly come from the tiny scrap of fabric. She assumed it was Jamee's.
Cass's stomach churned. "I don't understand. What does this mean?"
Jamee's voice was quiet, almost apologetic. "I couldn't track the Vorvolak using the usual spells. Its traces were too faint. But I was able to use this to perform a different kind of spell—to predict when it'll feed next."
Cass's heart leapt. "So… no one else has to die?"
But Jamee's face told her everything before his words could. His eyes were heavy, weighed down by a truth she didn't want to hear.
"The spell won't take us to where it is. It won't even help us find the caster, he said softly. "But it can give us a window of time. We can prepare. Try to be there before it kills."
That sounded like good news to her. So why wasn't he smiling?
"Jamee…" she said his name quietly. Firmly. He was holding something back. Something he knew would upset her.
Jamee's face fell slightly, the look of quiet defeat erasing any spark of optimism. "We have time to prepare," he said softly. "But it's not enough."
Cass's heart clenched. Her hope wavered, teetering on the edge of despair. "What do you mean?" Her voice was barely a whisper, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.
Jamee met her gaze, his eyes steady and filled with an unspoken sorrow. "Cassandra... the Vorvolak will feed tonight."