Archive of Our Own

Hanzo takes a sip of tea, looking out his study window. The sun is rising, the barest sliver of it appears from behind the mountains, sparkling on the lake that constitutes his backyard. The clouds look like paint splashes, glowing in vibrant reds and oranges against an indigo backdrop. It’s a gorgeous sight and would be inspiring if that was what Hanzo is writing about. 

But it isn’t.

Right now, nature’s beauty is anything but inspiring.

With a sigh, he places his cup down, reading for the thousandth time the paragraph he typed out hours ago and cringing. He’s just about ready to delete it all, every single word of this godforsaken story. People like murder mysteries , Winston, his publisher, told him. Easy words for maximum payoff . 

Easy words, his ass. The start was easy—Jack Morrison, a hardened detective on the cusp of retirement investigates a series of disappearances and subsequent murders that mirrors a cold case, the first of his career that he was unable to solve. Just like last time, there is no pattern that he can find; the people are of differing age, race, gender. They have no close connection to each other. What differs from last time, though, is that the killer starts to taunt and tease Jack with notes and messages left at the victim’s houses. 

Soon enough, it becomes personal. Over the course of the investigation, Jack’s motives shift. Although he tells himself that he’s doing it for the victims and their families, the reality is that he is doing this for himself. This killer has bested him at every opportunity and is always two steps ahead. Jack’s reputation is on the line and he will stop at nothing to be the one to bring the killer to justice.

The problem Hanzo is facing at the moment is sticking the landing. In this final act, he will reveal that the kidnapper and murderer is Gabriel Reyes, Jack’s former patrol partner. Gabriel was thought dead, lost in the line of duty some thirty years ago, but at some point, he turned against everything he once stood for. Revealing Gabriel’s connection to Jack, that their lives have been intertwined for decades, has to be perfect . It needs to be believable, he has to leave his readers shocked.

The scene is laid out perfectly in his mind. It’s night, a storm hammers the little cabin where they have their confrontation. If Hanzo closes his eyes, he can hear the rain pelting down on the roof and smell the petrichor in the air. He can hear Gabriel’s maniacal laugh as Jack tries to come to terms with the fact that the man he once cared for is now a monster.

Despite all that, he can’t find the right words. No matter how much he tries, how many variations of the same sentence he types out, he despises every single word.

What also doesn’t help is that the view out of his window right now is sickeningly beautiful. 

Hanzo groans, sitting back in his seat. Maybe it’s him. It would’ve been easy to write a random serial killer in a shitty, unimaginative police procedural. Easy words for maximum payoff . Clearly, Winston hasn’t written one of these novels before.

What’s the point of writing something that doesn’t have a heart or soul? Words for the sake of words? There is none. So Hanzo sits here with no one else to blame but himself for this hole he has dug himself into.

At least he has a nice view. He moved from New York to this idyllic little town, Cascade Shores, for inspiration for this novel. It sits on the outskirts of Tahoe National Forest, a population of only 450. It’s not unlike the town where Jack and Gabriel face off and this cabin in the woods, coupled with the chill of fall heading into winter is supposed to mirror the final act.  

It’s the first time he’s moved for the sake of a draft. He considers himself quite imaginative, he’s seen the world hundreds of times over, but this story is kicking his ass. He knew it would be a challenge, but this is bordering on impossible. It proved difficult to imagine what snow-capped mountains and quiet country life was like when he was surrounded by buildings and blaring horns at all hours of the day. If he hadn’t already spent nine months writing this novel and a chunk of his savings crossing the country to rent this cabin, he would trash it. 

It is nice being in the middle of the forest, though. This is the first time in a long time he’s had a chance to enjoy the quiet serenity, to breathe in the crisp air without it being saturated in pollution. At the very least, the cabin was a steal; he has booked for three months to start and should be able to extend it; heading into winter it has no other bookings until summer.

So that leaves him a little over eight months to get this story done and dusted before he has to leave. If he hadn’t already been here for a month, wasting every moment of his writing time typing and deleting words then he might feel a bit more confident with it.

Sighing again, he saves his work and closes the laptop. There’s no point forcing words because he knows he’ll hate them next time he looks at them. He downs the rest of his tea, then picks up his tablet for some mind-numbing mobile games and trashy TV before bed. As he is about to close the curtain, he glances out of the window and sees a wolf looking at him from across the lake. Just before it turns and heads deeper into the forest, its amber eyes unmistakably glow in the low light. 

Just his luck. On top of everything else, he now has a wolf problem.

“What can I get you today?”

Hanzo glances over the laminated menu one last time, finger flicking gently over the curled, pliable corner. He’s torn between the seafood platter and the steak. Most places can’t do raw fish well, not as well as home at least, and he’s not sure if a diner in the mountains would do it justice, regardless of it being the chef’s special. 

“I’ll get the steak,” Hanzo decides as his stomach growls. “Rare. And fries to go with it.”

“Not a problem,” Brigitte, the waitress says, jotting his order down on a notepad. She looks at him and smiles. “Anything else?”

“I have an allergy to garlic, I would appreciate it if it’s avoided in my meal.”

For a moment, Brigitte looks at him critically, a single eyebrow raised. He studies her in return, and despite her hair covering her ears, the tip of one pokes through. Hanzo notes that it’s particularly pointed. He then notices her pendant, emerald green and shaped like a leaf. He’s seen that before, worn by the elven people of the Scandinavian Mountains.

“Of course,” Brigitte says quickly. She must’ve noticed his leering. “I’ll have your meal out shortly.”

“Thank you.” Hanzo watches her as she enters the kitchen, disappearing behind the closed door. He unlocks his tablet and searches the town, deep-diving into its history. He had chosen Cascade Shores because it resembled his fictional town, but he didn’t really give much thought about it being a hub for those like him. He’s spent so much time in the city, around humans, that he had forgotten that isolated towns like this one are full of mythics.

The visit from the wolf with the amber eyes yesterday seemed like a random chance. Now with Brigitte, it seems like it’s more than a coincidence.

Unfortunately, his search comes up fruitless. It’s not unexpected; mythics don’t advertise themselves. In an ideal world, there would be no need to hide but such as it is, humans are cruel and a source of immense pain for his kind. 

Putting his tablet into standby, he observes. Sitting in the back corner of the small diner is the only other patron; a woman with sharp cheekbones and wine red lips and snow-white hair, even though she doesn’t look older than forty. She’s reading a novel, utterly absorbed by it, chewing her food slowly as she turns the page. Hanzo can smell her rose-scented perfume, so strong it’s almost like he is walking through a rose garden in the middle of spring. 

She glances up, catching his gaze and doing a double-take. She doesn’t take her eyes off him and for whatever strange reason he can’t look away. The longer she stares at him, the more on edge he feels, almost like she’s staring into his very soul and judging him for every single bad thing he’s done. She smirks, a devious little thing that grows and grows until it’s impossibly large, showing off a row of sharp, rotting yellow teeth as her pale flesh starts to blister and burn. Horns protrude from her forehead, growing larger, curling in on themselves, not unlike a ram. The lights above her grow brighter, her reddish-brown eyes glow ruby red as the glare of the overhead lights reach a point where it triggers his photosensitivity—

Tearing his gaze from her and sucking in a deep breath, Hanzo blinks several times as his eyes adjust from the sensory overload. It has been a long time since he has encountered power that raw; she is one powerful warlock. When he closes his eyes he can see her, with those sharp teeth and horns and burnt skin. His head throbs like it’s caught in a vice. 

When the pain settles down and he catches his breath, he risks another look at her. She’s sitting there, just as absorbed in her book as she was before their unnerving stare down. It’s almost like she never once looked up from it.

This town is home to mythics. There’s no doubt about it.

Taking a sip of water, the door to the diner opens and a law enforcement officer steps through; the local sheriff it seems, from the embroidered patch on his sleeve. He takes off his hat as he sits at one of the stools at the counter, resting it on top. His hair sits on the longer side of short and it almost looks like he just rolled out of bed, the strands stick out this way and that. He runs his hand through it, long, slender fingers attempt to tame it as he sighs, so loud, so bone aching Hanzo feels it.

Brigitte steps out from the kitchen with a plate in her hand and sets it down onto the counter in front of the sheriff. “Thanks,” he says, picking up his cutlery. 

Hanzo tries not to let his eyes linger on the man, the last thing he wants is to be caught staring again, but he wants— needs to know if this man is mythic too. The sheriff and Brigitte share a silent conversation, hushed whispers Hanzo can’t quite hear but when Brigitte glances his way one too many times, he knows the discussion is about him.

They stop their conversation when the bell from the kitchen rings out. She picks up a plate and walks it over to Hanzo. To her credit, her smile seems genuine. 

“Steak, rare, and fries.”

“Thank you,” Hanzo says, smiling back.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

With a nod, she heads back to the counter. She doesn’t talk to the sheriff anymore, instead, she sets about wiping down the tables.

Halfway through his decent steak—the first promising meal Hanzo's had in this town that wasn’t cooked by him—the sheriff approaches. Hanzo sits back, placing his cutlery down on the table.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Mind if I sit down?” The sheriff asks, and Hanzo gestures to the seat opposite him with the wave of his hand.

“Thanks. The name’s Cassidy. I haven’t seen you in town before.”

“I moved here a month ago,” Hanzo replies, picking up a fry. Cassidy’s gaze lingers on his fingers. “For work.”

Cassidy’s eyes snap to meet his. He’s got a subtle frown on his face, his eyes are narrowed slightly. “And what is work?”

“I’m a writer. I needed a change of scenery, to get into the mood for the final act.”

“Fair enough,” Cassidy says, watching intently as Hanzo eats the fry. “Staying long?”

“Another two months, at least.”

Cassidy stands, then, and he smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. His tongue flicks over one pointed, sharp-looking canine tooth. “Well, welcome to Cascade Shores. If there’s any trouble, just give me a holler.”

“I will. Thank you for the warm welcome.”

“Of course. Have a good night.” And with that, he approaches the counter, picking up his hat. “Thanks, guys,” he calls out and gets two sets of “bye’s” in response. 

Hanzo keeps his eyes on Cassidy as he saunters out of the diner and into his car parked out front. Just before he drives off, Cassidy glances at him, and Hanzo catches a glimmer of amber in his eyes. 

He remembers just before he went to bed; the wolf staring at him from across the lake just as the sun was rising, as its eyes that glowed the same way.

It could be nothing. It could be a trick of the light, the streetlamps shining on the window of the car. There could be another wolf in town.

Or, Cassidy is the wolf that paid him a visit this morning.

And if that’s the case, then Cassidy just lied about not seeing him in town before.

Every night plays out the same. Hanzo stares at the handful of words he manages to write throughout the day, hating every single one and inching closer and closer to deleting the entire draft. As the morning sun’s first hints illuminate the black sky, the wolf stares at him, disappearing into the forest as the sun peeks over the mountains.

It’s been a week since the wolf’s first visit. It doesn’t get close, it doesn’t stay longer than a minute. It just leers from across the lake with those sparkling amber eyes. Is it a warning? A threat? Hanzo doesn’t know.

Aside from the stalking wolf, Hanzo keeps to himself. His visits into town are limited only to the grocery store for supplies. He has noticed people’s eyes lingering on him longer than usual. They’re still friendly towards him, but now, it seems artificial, fake; niceness for the sake of niceness. 

He suspects the townspeople are trying to figure out if he’s one of them. He would think, given his schedule, that much would be obvious. But humans also sleep during the day and wake at night for the sake of shift work.

A week ago, he felt comfortable in this little town. The thought of an extended stay through winter was warming up to him.

Now, not so much.

It’s too cold for November.

Early November, granted, but it’s freezing. He woke up to an utter deluge rain, pounding on the roof so hard he thought the roof was moments from collapsing. While it's since stopped, right now, as he heads into town to run some errands, it’s starting to sleet. While given ample warning thanks to his weather app, he wasn’t truly prepared for this sudden cold snap. All he wishes for now is the warm, dark confines of his bed, instead of driving his way into town with next to no visibility.

As he takes the windy mountain road's turns slowly, red and blue flashing lights cut through the mist. Then, a spotlight, aimed at the ground, and people standing under it. Hanzo slows to a crawl lest he sprays water on the officers in view, and as he gets closer, he can smell blood laced on the drenching rain, strong and intoxicating. He drags his tongue against his cuspid teeth as the people come into focus; two officers and two paramedics tending to someone on the ground. One of the officers—Cassidy looks at him as he passes, a frown pinches his brow. 

Hanzo doesn’t stop driving. He looks in the rearview mirror, and Cassidy still has his eyes on him. There’s something in his stare that doesn’t sit right with Hanzo; it’s accusatory and suspicious. Whatever has happened, whoever they are tending to, coupled with the blood he can still smell, it has to be serious. 

When he can no longer see Cassidy in his mirror, when the flashing lights are lost to the misty darkness, Hanzo wonders what happened. He sees Cassidy's face in his mind; that wasn’t the look of a man who had discovered someone who met their end via accident. If Hanzo had to hedge his bets, he’d say that Cassidy was dealing with someone who met an untimely, violent end and has no idea who the suspect could be.

And that look Cassidy gave him could indicate that he is now a suspect.

It appears this town has another layer of mystery to it.

He pulls into the parking lot of the diner. It wasn’t his intention to stop for a meal but coffee, breakfast, and searching the news for anything sinister is a much better use of his time than shopping for blackout curtains.

Rushing inside as the rain comes down in sheets, Hanzo places an immediate order for coffee with Brigitte before glancing over the menu. He orders the steak and fries again, rare of course, and takes his coffee to a table. The diner is empty save for the staff, he can’t help but look at the table in the corner where the woman from two weeks ago was sitting at. A shiver cascades down his spine; he can feel her eyes on him yet she is nowhere to be seen.

Ignoring the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, Hanzo’s first port of call is the town’s obituaries. No deaths reported in at least a month, the last was someone who died peacefully in their sleep. He finds the town’s local newspaper, searching for murder, which comes up with nothing. Missing persons, though, that’s the gold mine. Despite the small, two-paragraph articles which Hanzo believes should be bigger news than it is, three people have gone missing over the last two months. Searches for them inside the forest have come up fruitless. 

Hanzo cannot help but grin at this mystery. One person is unlucky. Two, a coincidence. Three? Three is suspicious.

The first to go missing is Gérard Lacroix, principal of the local high school. His wife, Amélie, a dance instructor, said his disappearance is uncharacteristic. Gérard went missing on September 1st and has been missing for nine weeks now, seemingly gone without a trace.

The second is Mina Liao. She teaches physics at the school. And there’s a link. Mina went missing five weeks ago. Hanzo checks the dates of the two reported cases, they’re separated by an exact month; October 1st. That’s peculiar.

And the third, Jamie Fawkes, a janitor at the school, who was last seen just three weeks ago on October 10th. The same day Hanzo first saw the wolf across the lake. Curious. 

He checks the latest headlines and nothing about who was on the side of the road. He supposes it’s too soon to run it, but it’s something he will be keeping an eye on. So far he’s only been paying attention to national and local New York news, especially with the election looming. He didn’t think a town as sleepy as this one would have news to report that wasn’t benign stories of kittens rescued from trees and baking fundraisers.

If he knew Cascade Shores was this eventful he would have used it for inspiration for his story. Especially since two of the disappearances happened while he was here in this town. If anything, this proves that he needs to pay more attention to his surroundings.

Hanzo’s plate is placed down on the table, he gives an absent ‘thank you,’ as he shifts his search to the missing people’s social media. But when he hears someone clearing their throat, Hanzo looks up, seeing Cassidy standing above him.

Placing his tablet on standby and setting it down on the seat next to him, Hanzo shifts his plate in front of him. “Sheriff Cassidy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Of course,” Hanzo replies, picking up his knife and fork and cutting into the steak.

“How’ve you been settling in?”

“Well enough,” Hanzo replies, lifting the fork to his mouth. He chews on the steak, the juices hitting the spot as he sighs contentedly. 

“That good?”

“This diner does good steak.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky in that regard. I haven’t seen you around town in a while.”

“I had no reason to go out.” Hanzo cuts into his steak again, picking up two pieces on his fork and shovelling them into his mouth. The steak is amazing today.

“I can’t help but notice you use Mountain Pass Road to get into town.”

“Just today,” Hanzo replies. He picks up a few fries, dipping them into the steak’s juices. “I usually take River Road but it is hazardous at the best of times.” He shoves the fries into his mouth, devouring them like it's his first meal in weeks. He hasn’t felt this ravenous in a long time. Though he supposes it has been a while since he last sought out proper nutrition.

“Understandable. When did you move here?”

“Almost two months, now.”

“Do you have an exact date?”

Hanzo, mouth hanging open and ready for another bite of steak, pauses. He licks his lips and sets the fork down on his plate. There was no missing the fact that this was an interrogation, but now it’s as clear as a cloudless night. “I arrived in Cascade Shores on September 7th.”

Cassidy just nods. “Did you check out the area before then? Visit the town, see if it was a good fit before moving?”

“No. I needed a change of scenery, so I searched for properties for rent in the woods. When I found one, I packed my car and drove across the country.”

“Across the country?” Cassidy is good at remaining neutral, but Hanzo catches the slight twitch in his eyebrow. “Seems an awfully long way to come for a change of scenery. Where’re you from?”

“New York.”

“So why pick here, this little town all the way in California instead of one in, I don’t know, Philly?”

“A little town like this is where the characters in my book will face off.”

“That’s right, you’re a writer. What genre?”

“Mystery.”

Cassidy hums. His lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. “So we talkin’ murders, disappearances, stuff of the like?”

“Yes," Hanzo answers without hesitation. There's no point lying to him, and writing about murders and disappearances isn't intent to perform said acts.

“Interesting stuff.” Cassidy’s eyes linger on him as the silence only stretches, and Hanzo stares him down.

From across the table, Hanzo can see the pulse in Cassidy’s neck jumping, he can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. All that blood pumping through his veins, what Hanzo wouldn’t give to run his fingers through his hair, yank his head back, sink his fangs into that delicious artery and drink him up. 

And his smell . Hanzo didn’t notice his scent the first night they met but tonight he’s heavenly . Strong notes of an earthy spice like cinnamon and an underlying muskiness leave Hanzo’s head swimming. Hanzo’s eyes shift from Cassidy’s beard to his hair; it’s a little on the greasy side and probably why he smells so good. Hanzo's fingers twitch—all he wants to do now is bury his face in it and get drunk off his smell.

Cassidy clears his throat again, and Hanzo meets his gaze. “Anyway, nice chatting with you. Again, if you have any questions, concerns, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Hanzo licks his lips, he smiles as Cassidy stands. “Of course.” He watches Cassidy leave the diner, race to his car to avoid getting drenched by the rain and sits in it. He drags a hand down his beard as he works on the car’s computer but every so often he glances up at Hanzo, watching him eat. Hanzo even raises his mug in a toast when their eyes meet. 

And that's the last time Cassidy looks up at him. Cassidy is no doubt looking him up, corroborating his story. All Cassidy will find is that he indeed arrived here two months ago, that he did traverse the country all the way from New York.

Right now, Hanzo’s got nothing to hide. Cassidy can do all the digging he wants, he won’t find anything that will link him to these current disappearances.

There’s nothing like a good mystery to get the blood pumping. 

Hanzo is currently looking into the history of the three missing persons, along with their close family and friends. It’s a peculiar case for a sleepy little town such as this, where everyone knows everyone. He doesn’t believe that it’s one of the townspeople responsible for these disappearances, they’re all incredibly close. He has witnessed it first hand at the grocery store—the conversations, the anecdotes, the in-jokes. They’re all friends.

No, whoever is behind these disappearances has to be from outside this town. And it’s completely plausible given Cascade Shores is a stop on the way to the campgrounds in the forest. It’s where a large part of the town’s income comes from; people come through here all the time for supplies.

If it is someone from outside, though, then that is some serious commitment to kidnap people over a series of months .

Despite it not being reported in the local newspaper, Hanzo learned from overheard conversations at the grocers that the body found on the side of the road yesterday was Gérard Lacroix. One said that he was barely recognisable with the number of lacerations on him. Another seemed to suggest that the body had been dumped there after death due to the lack of blood present at the scene. That is something Hanzo himself has since corroborated, taking a late-night walk to the site where the body was found. There was no splattering of blood on the foliage, no sizable pool of it in the dirt where his body laid.  

So, the current questions are: Who is responsible? Why are they doing this? Where are the missing persons being held?

But those are thoughts for another day. Hanzo can hear the distant rumble of thunder, and according to weather reports, one hell of a storm is approaching. He stands up, stretches his arms over his head until his shoulders let out that satisfying crack , and heads into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. As he’s filling the kettle, the winds shift and strengthen, as he places it on the stove to boil, the telltale pelting of heavy rain hammers the cabin roof. 

Sighing blissfully, he opens the door to the back porch and steps outside; the frigid air sends a chill down his spine. He leans against the wall, eyeing a bolt of lightning strike from behind the mountain in the distance. Exactly two seconds later the rumble reaches him. 

This is the inspiration he needs for his story. Maybe now he can move on from his deeply, eternally hated opener line: It was a dark and stormy night.

Closing his eyes, he thinks about Jack Morrison, getting into his mindset. This is a man who has traversed the country searching for Gabriel, the person who has taunted him and outsmarted him at every turn. The plan going forward is that Jack follows a series of clues which he should recognise as a trap, but he’s not in his right mind—he’s too focused on bringing down Gabriel and finally beating him at his game.

The rain comes down harder, he hears another rumble, louder and closer than the last one. The storm batters Jack as he traverses the edge of the woods on foot, the rain so heavy he can’t see more than three feet in front of him. The lightning illuminates the road, he doesn’t see Gabriel until it’s too late, his arms are raised in the air, a large branch in his hands as another crack of lightning strikes the ground.

Jack falls with it, vision blurry as another lightning strike sets the night alight. He sees Gabriel approach, standing above him as he passes out.

The kettle whistles from inside the cabin and Hanzo opens his eyes. With the scene now clear in his mind, he’ll be able to get some serious writing done tonight.

Just as Hanzo's about to head into the cabin, another bolt of lightning strikes in the treeline. It’s bright, he has to look away as his eyes start to burn, and when he does, he sees that familiar glint of amber from beside a nearby tree. Another strike, and this time the wolf’s hackles are raised, its teeth bared.

This is the closest the wolf has ever gotten to him. It’s so close Hanzo can smell its wet hair. Now illuminated by the lights of the cabin, Hanzo can hear it growl over the pounding rain and the whistle from the kettle. 

Calmly, despite his heart which hammers in his chest, Hanzo steps back into his cabin, closing the door and locking it. He peers out of the window as the wolf sniffs the porch where he was standing. It disappears from view, then, and Hanzo races into the kitchen, looking out of the window but it is gone.

Breaths quick and shallow, Hanzo takes the kettle off the heat so it can stop its incessant whistling, then closes the blinds in the kitchen and living room. Up until now, the wolf has kept its distance. There were a couple of days where it didn’t appear at all.

Now, though… This was a message. A warning. Intimidation. 

I’m watching you .

Hanzo finds the second body.

He was out for a walk just after dusk along a walking track close to his cabin. The sun had just crept below the horizon, the stars started to pop in the cloudless indigo sky one by one. He had his telescope on him, he was going to start his day stargazing before the approaching snowstorm hit.

Halfway up the track, he spotted someone lying on the ground. He thought it was an injured hiker at first, but their clothes were tattered and mangled and stained with blood and dirt. Their face was next to unrecognisable, and if Hanzo hadn’t spent hours looking at the three missing persons he wouldn't have been able to identify that the person on the ground was Mina Liao.

Mina’s injuries were horrific, to say the least. She looked like she had been in an explosion or vehicle accident, given the countless lacerations and bruises on her. Her limbs were bent at impossible angles, clearly broken. Given the nature of her injuries and the fact that there was no massive pool of blood on the track, she was dumped here.

Two bodies now have been dumped close to his cabin in the short time Hanzo has been in this little town.

He called the sheriff, and Cassidy’s team were on sight within minutes. Hanzo told Cassidy his story, his movements leading up to finding her, and despite Cassidy's clear scepticism, Hanzo was released without charge. 

And now, Hanzo sits in his cabin, staring out the window as dawn greets him. He spent his entire night just looking at nothing, more than a little frightened, wholly regretting this move across the country. It’s not that he’s afraid of his safety—if anyone tried to take him down he would be able to fight them and win, no matter how many there were. 

What’s eating him up is the paranoia of being wrongly accused of crimes he didn’t commit because it’s easy to blame the stranger. Whatever evidence they have linking Hanzo to these murders are barely circumstantial at best, but that doesn’t mean the finger won’t be pointed at him. Towns as small as these, where everyone knows everyone… he doesn’t stand a chance.

And then there’s whatever the fuck the wolf wants. Whether figuring out if Hanzo’s connected to these disappearances or trying to pin them on him to save someone in the town, Hanzo has had enough of it.

He should’ve stayed in New York. It would have been easy—look at a couple of pictures of the mountains during a storm. Surely there are nature cams he could find for inspiration. It would have been just as easy to pick the hundreds of mountain ranges to stay at between here and home. 

But no. he had to upend his life and dive right into a fucking real-life murder mystery. He enjoys writing them, but being tangled up in one wholly fucking sucks.

The only, only good thing to come out of this is, in his heightened paranoid state, it makes it easy to get into Jack’s mindset. Hanzo right now feels like prey, with the hunter—both the wolf and Cassidy—circling around him like a shark.

If only he could distract himself with his novel instead of staring out into the nothingness as he spirals into panic.

Insomnia fucking sucks.

Hanzo has had his bouts of it in his lifetime, but never like this. He’s coming up on his sixth straight day of sleeplessness and right now, he feels that there’s no end in sight.

He thanks this storm for being his saving grace. The blizzard hit harder than predicted and the snow has closed most of the roads. The constant cloud cover means that the daylight hours are darkened. He’s got a massive supply of firewood to see him through it, as well as supplies to last two weeks. The weather is set to improve in three days in any case.

Until then, he spends his waking hours watching trashy TV and attempting to write. He didn’t think it was possible but the daytime programs are worse than the nighttime alternatives. At least he can tune out infomercials. The midday hallmark movies are truly something else; bad dialogue, overly dramatic music, and identical storylines leave much to be desired yet they keep pulling him in, and he despises himself for it.

If he had the determination and stamina to write with Netflix on then he would, but he doesn’t have a background show. Anything he puts on as noise he ends up watching. That’s why infomercials are so good; no one willingly watches that trash.

Bad movies aside, the complete solitude from this storm has been nice, he will admit. He hasn’t been to town, he hasn't stepped outside, hell, he hasn’t opened his curtains in a week. He hasn’t seen the wolf in that time; he doesn’t know if it’s leered from across the lake or sniffed at his porch, or not come close at all because of the cold snap. Either way, it’s been good to completely disconnect from the outside world and focus inward, on his mental health and his writing, even if he’s only getting in mere minutes of sleep. 

If only he could write more than a few dozen words at a time. He could finish his novel and leave this town, its problems, and its inhabitants who leer at him behind. 

With a sigh, Hanzo closes his laptop, tossing it onto the bed beside him. He rubs his dry, tired eyes, wishing that words would stop eluding him. It’s a rare talent that he can think up amazing passages, detailed scenes with perfect dialogue, but whenever he sits in front of his draft, his thoughts refuse to manifest. What he does end up typing out he hates with every fibre of his being.

Same shit, different house.

Right on cue, his thoughts drift to Cassidy. He’s starting to think it’s a self-defence mechanism; whenever he starts to feel slightly apathetic, he’s reminded of that time in the diner when his senses, his desires were going into overdrive. Had Cassidy not been so obviously interrogating him, Hanzo would have propositioned him. A night of hard, rough sex to melt the tension away, and Hanzo would’ve used the opportunity to bury his face in his hair, get drunk on his utterly intoxicating smell, lick him, taste him.

And not for the first time this week whenever he thinks about Cassidy, Hanzo lets his head tip back against the wall as he slides his hand into his pyjama pants. When the embers in his core begin to burn in a blaze, he pushes the band down and tightens his grip, imagining dragging his fingers through Cassidy’s beard, his hair as he drinks him down. He bites back a moan as blinding release pulsates through him, and when the high fades, he uses an old t-shirt just within reach to clean up, dropping it on the floor when he’s done.

He lets out a long, loud yawn, and with it, slinks back down into bed. He doesn’t bother to check the time, he doesn’t bother to turn the TV off. At this stage, he’ll either sleep or he’ll be up in an hour, pissed off that slumber has once again escaped him.

Hanzo sits in the diner. The warlock with the white hair sits at the same table from all those weeks ago, once again absorbed in her novel. Hanzo stares at her for minutes and this time there’s no trickery. She’s just a person reading a book as she eats.

The little bell above the diner door rings and Sheriff Cassidy steps inside. Cassidy doesn’t go to the counter, he instead approaches Hanzo. He’s got a thick, cream-coloured folder in his hand, he doesn’t bother to say anything, just drops it down unceremoniously in front of Hanzo.

Hanzo opens the folder and inside are photos. The first is a shed or garage, there’s a large meat hook in the centre of it, and directly underneath it on the floor is a pool of dried blood. 

The next photo is of a series of tools—knives, saws, hammers, plyers. There’s blood and viscera on them.

The one after was taken from a CCTV camera. It’s black and white and a little grainy, but there’s no mistaking the license plate; it’s his car.

The next several photos are complete and utter fabrications. The first is a selfie with Gérard— Hanzo holds a knife to his throat. Hanzo hears a ringing in his ears but he ignores it, analysing the next picture of him sawing through someone’s leg. 

Nausea creeps up Hanzo’s throat as the next picture is of him and Mina, she's crying and he's licking a trickle of blood off her face. He analyses the photos but they appear genuine—there are no obvious signs of forgery or photoshopped tricks.

Hanzo throws the photos down on the table, refusing to look at the rest of them. The lights above him glow, brighter and brighter, he feels fingernails dig into the skin on his neck, blood trickles down his pale grey shirt. He looks up and sees the white-haired woman with her burnt flesh and yellowing teeth laughing maniacally. He hears a snarl, Cassidy has transformed into the wolf and lunges at him, sinking his teeth into his arm—

Hanzo wakes with a scream, shooting upright. He takes in his surroundings; the TV playing some shitty sitcom with a fake laugh track, his laptop beside him. Underneath his fingertips, he feels the soft flannel sheets. 

Closing his eyes, he inhales and exhales slowly, over and over until his heart no longer jackhammers in his chest. He glances at the clock, it reads 21:32. Given it was still daylight when he closed his laptop means he got some decent sleep in, but he could’ve done without the fucking nightmare. He checks behind him in any case and he is of course alone. His arm aches, though, he turns on the lamp and confirms there aren’t any bite marks. It’s the same when he checks his hand for blood after touching his neck. Nothing to indicate that it was more than a nightmare. 

Perhaps he was sleeping at an odd angle and his mind decided to translate the pain into an attack. Whatever the reason, dread roils uneasy in his gut.

Then, he hears an ear-splitting scraping sound, like metal on concrete, just outside his window. A shiver wracks his entire body, his stomach does flips.

What is wrong with him? First, frightened by a simple nightmare and now panicked by a noise outside? No. He’s better than this. He’s stronger than this. It’s probably a bit of debris blowing with the wind. Nothing more.

But as it happens again, absent any wind, he knows it’s not nothing.

Picking up his phone from the nightstand and turning on the flashlight, he steps out of bed, onto the cold floorboards beneath his feet. The air is frigid; the fire must've gone out while he was asleep. He will deal with it as soon as he checks out his window.

Every step he takes towards it has his hackles rising. He can feel his claws growing, his tongue scrapes against his fangs as they descend. Sucking in a breath, he reaches for the curtain and in one quick movement, he pulls it aside.

He sees nothing. No object, no person, no animal—wolf or otherwise.

It must have been his imagination, then. It has to be. A lingering hint from his nightmare. He looks out the window for a few moments and just as he’s ready to close the curtains and tend to the fire lest he freezes to death, the wolf appears out of the darkness, snarling.

Hanzo growls. Enough is fucking enough and he’s sick of being terrorised by this thing. He races to the front door, slips on his boots and steps outside, walking through the inch-worth of fresh snow around the perimeter of the house to his window. The wolf is gone, but he sees its paw prints heading back into the forest.

Hanzo races off, following the paw prints. The deeper into the forest he goes, the more of a canopy there is, and eventually, the snow disappears completely and he loses the trail. He sniffs the air, trying to catch its scent but the snow on the evergreens above dampens his senses; all he can smell is the sweet and woody notes from the pines surrounding him. 

Looking left, right, then in front of him, Hanzo decided to continue forwards, further into the forest. He ducks and weaves between branches, snow reappears on the ground as he passes bare trees.

Suddenly, he is hit with a familiar scent; earthy spiciness and muskiness that he recalls from sense memory whenever he thinks about Cassidy. He follows it to a small clearing to his left, where dead trees, perhaps blown over by a storm years ago, litter the ground. They’re covered in fresh snow, and right now, it’s eerily serene. With the break in the storm, there isn’t a sound, no signs of life despite Cassidy's smell which is achingly strong.

Then, Hanzo feels the cold press of a gun muzzle between his shoulder blades.

Ambushed. Him. This entire situation has completely fucked with him.

“Turn around, nice and slow.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrow at the low timbre sound of Cassidy’s voice. He doesn’t retract his fangs or his claws as he turns, he keeps his hands in view; non-threatening for the moment, as he eyes the frankly ludicrously large revolver in his hand.

Cassidy stares at him through narrowed eyes, his gaze shifts and lingers on Hanzo's hands before he lowers the gun. “The hell are you doing out here dressed like that? ”

Hanzo looks down at himself, at his tattered old t-shirt and his flannel pyjama bottoms. He doesn’t realise how cold it is, or that he can feel the snow freezing his hair until he sees the flakes which have settled on his bare skin. He meets Cassidy's gaze. “Chasing a wolf.”

Cassidy tsks, he rolls his eyes as he holsters his gun. “Come with me before you end up with hypothermia.”

Hanzo walks beside Cassidy past the dead trees to a cabin. It’s well removed from any nearby roads, despite the black pick up truck parked beside it. Hanzo didn’t think there were cabins beyond his; the forest seemed too thick for it. Smoke billows out of the chimney, the lights are on inside.

“You live here?”

“When I need to get away from it all for a while,” Cassidy says, opening the door. The burst of heat, along with the strong waft of cinnamon coming from inside is heaven. “Shit’s been tough recently.”

“Indeed.” Hanzo toes out of his boots by the door then beelines for the open fireplace. He holds his hands out, claws retracting as he lavishes the heat. 

“Here,” Cassidy says, holding out a blanket. Hanzo takes it, wrapping it around himself. “Care for a drink? Tea? cocoa?”

“Cocoa, please.”

“All right.” Cassidy leaves the living area, entering an adjoining room and returns shortly after with clothes in his hand. “Put these on. Staying in those wet clothes will only freeze you more.”

Hanzo takes the clothes; a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt. It’s not necessary since he can’t feel the cold and ultimately it’s an inconvenience, but he shouldn’t turn down the offer; there’s no point freezing when he doesn’t need to. “Thank you.”

“Bedroom’s yours to change in if you want,” Cassidy says, tilting his head towards the room he stepped into. “Warmer than the bathroom.”

With a nod, Hanzo steps into the bedroom. He closes the door but leaves it slightly ajar, more for Cassidy’s sake than his own. Hanzo tries to not focus on the heady smell of cigar smoke and cinnamon and an underlying note of desert dust that reminds him of the red sands of the American Southwest. It's so rich he can practically taste it.

He shifts the thoughts of licking Cassidy’s skin in the back of his mind as he places the blanket on the neatly made bed. He undresses, peeling out of his t-shirt, slipping the blue flannel shirt on, before changing his pants. He pulls the hair tie out of his tangled hair, doing his best to smooth the strands before tying it up in a high topknot.

He doesn’t spend any longer inside Cassidy’s bedroom than he needs, not that there is anything to glean about Cassidy in his barren room; it’s nothing but a bed and a nightstand. Picking up his clothes and the blanket, he turns to leave, and eyes the small framed picture on the wall. It's the only thing in this room to indicate that this is indeed Cassidy's cabin. Cassidy stands shoulder to shoulder with the white-haired warlock from the diner. They’re younger, teenagers if Hanzo were to guess, he’s got his arm draped over her shoulder and they both have the biggest grins on their faces. The peculiar part of the photo is that it’s old; it’s black and white, but yellowing and starting to fade.

They both have some years under their belts. It could be useful information to have in his back pocket.

Hanzo leaves the bedroom then, eyeing Cassidy in the kitchen tending to the stove. Heading to the fireplace which now has a clotheshorse placed in front of it, Hanzo drapes his wet clothes on the rungs, then wraps the blanket around himself and sits on the sofa.

“Here you go,” Cassidy says, handing him a mug.

“Thank you,” Hanzo replies, curling his hands around the navy blue ceramic. He looks at the cocoa, complete with two marshmallows bobbing on top and a dollop of whipped cream. He takes a sip, letting the rich liquid sit on his tongue a moment before swallowing. Underneath the sweetness, he can taste cinnamon, and he tries not to smile too wide. “My compliments,” he says, raising his mug in a toast.

Cassidy sits opposite him on a stool he pulled from the kitchen counter, bowing his head. He takes a sip from his own mug, his eyes slide closed his eyes and sighs. “There is nothing better than a warm fire and some sweetness to melt away the cold.” 

Hanzo merely hums, taking another sip of the cocoa. He looks around the cabin, it's just as empty as the bedroom; no photos, no personal effects. It makes sense, Cassidy did say this was just a retreat. It makes the photo on Cassidy's bedroom wall all the more telling.

“So you were chasing a wolf?”

Hanzo meets Cassidy’s steely gaze. “I have seen it frequenting my cabin for the last month. I got fed up with its harassment.”

“Harassment is a strong word,” Cassidy says, smirking dangerously. “Maybe it was just checking you out.”

“There are better ways to check me out,” Hanzo replies, a little too flirtatious than he intended, but preens when Cassidy unsubtly looks him up and down.

“All right,” Cassidy says, low and husky. Hanzo feels an unwitting spark of warmth in his core. “Maybe it was seeing if you were a danger to the good people of this town. A few of us went missing around the time you arrived in Cascade Shores, and two have come up dead, as you’re well aware.”

“Indeed. And I assume, since I was not eviscerated in these woods, that it has deemed me innocent of these crimes.”

“I’d say so.”

“So it was mere coincidence, then, that it disappeared just before you appeared.”

Cassidy shrugs. “Call it whatever you want. Coincidence. Fate. Part of a grander plan.”

“A grander plan,” Hanzo says, suspicion leaching into his tone. “And what might this plan be?”

“There are some things I prefer to do off the books. Things that,” Cassidy grins, he licks a canine, “require a certain skill set .”

“And what might those skills be?” Hanzo takes a sip of his cocoa without taking his eyes off Cassidy.

“Someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty. Who can handle themselves in a bloody situation.”

Humming, Hanzo rests one arm against the back of the couch. “And why would you assume I am that person? I am just a writer, after all.”

Cassidy leans forward, he drags his hand down his beard. “Obsidian Raven.”

Hanzo tries not to show his surprise. That was the mythic nightclub he visited in Reno to refuel after ravenously eating his steak two weeks ago. He hooked up with an enigmatic dragon with amethyst scales and eyes that shone like topaz. Hanzo has seen a fair number of dragons in his lifetime but never anything like her in his years alive, and it’s rare to find a creature he hasn’t sunk his teeth into. Her blood was hot, it tasted like woodsmoke mingled with cloves and produced one of the best highs he had ever experienced. She gave him his number for another round if he was keen, something he is absolutely going to take her up on.

But that’s beside the point. Either Cassidy was in that nightclub the same night Hanzo was by sheer coincidence, or Cassidy followed him. He tends to believe the latter; Cassidy might not have revealed his hand yet but he doesn’t need to.

Licking his lips, Hanzo levels Cassidy a dark stare. “Visiting a nightclub is hardly proof that I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice those fangs and claws when I approached you,” Cassidy says with a dangerous glint in his eye. “Point is, I know what you are. I know how enticing an offer I’m making.”

"I assume the offer is to take out the perpetrators who have committed these crimes you were investigating me of committing?"

"The very same."

Hanzo cannot help but scoff a laugh. “So you’re sentencing these people to death, then? You alone; judge, jury, executioner?”

Something immediately snaps in Cassidy’s eyes; they grow dark as the night. “They killed two of our own,” he growls, pointing a finger at Hanzo. “It was my job to protect them and I failed .” He stares at Hanzo a moment before sucks in a slow, deliberate breath, sitting up straight. “The third is still alive,” he says, calmer, “I can’t lose them too. I won’t allow it to happen. I can take on the people who did this alone, but I’d prefer someone to have my back.”

“Then why not ask one someone you know? Why drag me, a stranger , into your fight?”

“Lotta folks in this town don’t have the skillset to help. Some don’t want to. And I don’t need anyone . I need a hunter. And you, Hanzo Shimada,” Cassidy says with a sly smirk, “sit pretty high on the hunter tree.”

Hanzo cannot help but smirk back. “And yourself, Sheriff Cassidy? How high do you sit?”

“I know you know,” Cassidy answers. His eyes shimmer amber, that same glow Hanzo’s seen across the lake and outside his cabin countless times.

Hanzo grins. “So were you stalking me to figure out if I was a suspect, or if I had the right skill set for the job?”

“Both, honestly.” Cassidy chuckles, his whole body relaxes. “People go missing around the time you show up, they end up dead close to your house, I’m gonna do my damndest to figure out if you’re the one doing it. Could tell what you were straight away. Aside from your scent , the fact that you’re home during the day, out at night, have that garlic allergy and the photosensitivity… It’s a fairly easy conclusion to come to.”

Hanzo merely hums. Cassidy knew straight away what he was, but still insisted on terrorising him for an entire month? That doesn’t sit right with Hanzo. “Why didn’t you just knock on my door tonight and ask for my help? Why drag me out into the woods?”

“Easier to defend myself in wolf form in a place where you don’t have the advantage. I know you don’t feel the cold but it can do damage. I’m honestly surprised it took this long for you to take the bait.”

Hanzo frowns, then is hit with blinding realisation. “The night in the storm.”

“You didn’t bite so I had to try again.” 

“It was pouring .”

Cassidy lets out a surprised little giggle that is hotter than it has any right to be. “Since when did a little rain hurt a vamp?”

He’s got a point. Proof Hanzo's become soft living amongst humans.

“So... Are you in or out?”

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Hanzo truly considers the offer. The things Cassidy is asking him to do, he hasn’t done in a long time. He rid himself of that life centuries ago. He enjoys the solitude now, drinking his fill when he needs it, experiencing those highs as an indulgence .

But to go back to the old ways just for one night… He was prepared to do that tonight, chasing Cassidy through this forest. Despite the paranoia clawing at him, feeling that bloodlust course through his veins and experiencing the thrill of the hunt felt good. And knowing he’ll be able to drink more than his fill and flex those muscles which have been dormant for so long… How could he turn that down?

Hanzo grins, he feels the tingling in his gums that precedes his fangs growing out. He cannot help but drag his tongue along his cuspids. “Tell me all the information you have on these disappearances.”

“Come with me.” Cassidy stands, he enters an adjoining room. Hanzo follows into a den, he walks to the desk where Cassidy takes a seat. Sitting on top is a map of Cascade Shores, with five cabins in close proximity circled. 4 have been crossed out, Hanzo notes his cabin is one of them.

“I was a suspect,” Hanzo says, tracing a finger over it. Cassidy already revealed that information but seeing it here as physical evidence makes it real .

“Yep. Not for long, though. This one is the one we’re after.” Cassidy taps a finger over the only cabin which isn’t crossed out.

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely. I scoped it out like I did yours. Blood’s thick there, they’re doing nothing to hide it.”

“Forgive my bluntness,” Hanzo says, and Cassidy looks up at him. “But how did it take you this long to figure it out? You were staring at me from across the lake for a month.”

“Back then, they were slow. They cleaned up the blood I suspect. Now they don’t give a shit. Whether intentional or not, it’s their fuck up that we’re going to capitalise on.”

“What’s the plan?”

Cassidy folds the map in half, revealing the plans of the cabin underneath it. “It’s a two-bedroom cabin the same as yours. Same layout.”

“Convenient.”

“There’s five of ‘em. Young, twenty-somethings. Couldn’t get close enough to know what they are, but they’re armed and one at least is awake at all times keeping an eye on things.”

“Smart.”

“I haven’t seen them in town, but I’ve seen their truck drive through enough times.”

“They know what they’re doing.”

“They’re fuckin’ dangerous,” Cassidy growls. 

“Good thing we’re more dangerous.”

Cassidy’s eyes snap to meet Hanzo’s, he pumps his eyebrows. “Knew you were the right choice.”

“Despite being a suspect.”

“You ever gonna let that go?”

Hanzo winks sultrily. Being this close to Cassidy, wearing his clothes, Hanzo is utterly smothered in his intoxicating smell. His eyes drop to Cassidy’s plush lips, it would be so easy to kiss him, to roughly turn him in his seat, sink to his knees and suck him off. 

But out of the corner of his eye, Hanzo can see the plans to the cabin. There is a person who needs their help and they shouldn’t literally fuck around. 

Yet.

Turning his attention to the plans, Hanzo eyes a small shed beside the cabin. “Is this where they’re keeping the victim?”

“Yep. Jamie Fawkes. Janitor at the school by day, on a road construction crew by night. Would take some serious shit to keep him knocked out.”

“What is he?”

“An afanc. You ever met one?”

Hanzo nods. “They’re Welsh from memory. I met one once upon a time that was like a crocodile.”

“Jamie’s Australian, so he's more like a platypus. Don’t wanna get on his bad side, believe me.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” Cole taps the shed on the plans with a finger. “Blood’s thickest there.”

“Is he alive?”

“He was as of an hour ago.”

“Then we shouldn’t delay.”

Cole looks up at him, he grins from ear to ear. “Are you Licensed to Slaughter? ”

Hanzo scoffs at the use of his draft’s name. “You did some serious digging on me. Those details have not been made public.”

“Made a call to your publisher. He was concerned for your wellbeing and told me all I needed to know.”

“He never told me you had called.”

“Asked him to keep it on the down-low. Didn’t wanna tip you off.”

Hanzo folds his arms across his chest. “Good to know where his allegiance lies.”

“He did corroborate your story and told me you wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Cassidy smirks dangerously. “Does he know what you are?”

“Well, he has been my publisher for seventy years. And I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Hanzo cannot help but lean in, face to face with Cassidy as he matches Cassidy’s smirk with his own. “ Much ,” he says, voice low and husky.

Cassidy exhales slowly, his eyes drop to Hanzo’s lips, just for the barest of seconds. Hanzo relishes , he starts to feel that intense warmness in his gut when he imagines roughhousing Cassidy, just a little bit in the bedroom.

And all too soon, Cassidy blinks and sits back. “Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat. “We got a job to do.”

They pull up to a cabin two miles from Hanzo’s, headlights off as they stay just within the tree line. The clouds part, the light of the full moon glints off the hood of the black Jeep parked beside it. 

Even though the curtains are drawn in the cabin, light filters through around the edges of the windows. Hanzo opens the truck door and he doesn’t need to visually confirm that this is the place where the other two murders occurred—he can smell the blood heavy in the air. Hanzo looks off to the left of the house, he can just make out the tool shed in the darkness. 

Cassidy climbs out of the car, sniffing. He looks at Hanzo, eyes narrowed. “Let’s move.”

Hanzo sticks to the shadows approaching the decrepit wooden shed. The blood is so thick in the air Hanzo can practically taste it. There’s a saltiness to it, akin to salt air on an ocean breeze. His fangs grow, he tongues over them in anticipation.

Glancing at Cassidy as they approach the padlocked door, Cassidy nods as he draws his gun. Hanzo pulls down on the lock, it snaps like a twig. He swings the door open and the smell of copper is so overwhelming he has to remind himself that the man sitting in the corner is not his prey. He’s blindfolded and gagged, his clothes are soaked in blood. His rope-bound wrists are wrapped in bandages, and when they approach he turns away from them.

“It’s all right. It’s Sheriff Cassidy.”

The man almost sobs, relief washing over him as he tries to shuffle closer. Cassidy holsters his gun and reaches out, first lowering the blindfold, then removing the gag. 

“Thanks,” Jamies says, eyes on Hanzo.

Cassidy glances over at him. “He’s with me. What’d they do to you?”

“They drained us.” Jamie holds out his wrists as Cassidy unties the rope around them. “Selling our blood, organs, bone marrow on the black market.”

“Bastards,” Cassidy growls. “Are you okay? Can you move?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. They’ve just drained me so they won’t be back for a while, but it might be worth booking it outta here.” Jamie stands and immediately collapses under his shaky legs. Hanzo reaches out and catches him before he hits the floor. “Maybe not.”

“We’ve got you.” Cassidy drapes Jamie’s other arm over his shoulder, and slowly they make their way back to the truck, placing him in the back seat.

Jamie sighs as he sits back, head falling against the headrest. “Thank you. You’ve got no idea how much I tried to fight. Did manage to sting one of ‘em, they’ll drop soon. If you’re going to rip and shred, be careful of that one.” He looks at Hanzo. “It’ll end you.”

“Noted,” Hanzo says.

“They got me at the school. Came up behind me and knocked me out. Didn’t see it. Didn't have a chance to fight.”

Cassidy hums, he places a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get them. Do you know what they are?”

“Haven’t got a clue. Used tools instead of natural talents , but that don’t mean anything.”

“Stay here and rest up. You can tell us all about it after.” Cassidy closes the door, then stands in front of the cargo bed. He takes off his jacket as Hanzo approaches. “You know the plan,” he murmurs. 

“Leave none alive.”

Cassidy shrugs out of his shirt, placing it inside his jacket. Goosebumps roll down his skin, now exposed to the frosty air. Hanzo tries not to let his eyes linger on his chest for too long, but he definitely notices the flattering dusting of hair, the various scars, his hardened nipples. “In and out. No one can know we were here.”

Hanzo nods, setting his eyes on the cabin as Cassidy undoes his belt, giving him privacy. “Shame we do not know for certain if they are mythic or not."

“Don’t matter. We might be hard to kill, but not impossible. Ready?”

Hanzo closes his eyes. He lets himself be consumed by the metallic tang of copper, utterly salivating as his fangs drop again. A snarl escapes his throat as his claws grow, he glances at Cassidy and nods.

Cassidy’s eyes glow amber, he hunches over himself as fur covers every inch of skin. His nose grows into a snout, his hands and feet into paws. Right now, he’s not the wolf that’s been taunting him, he’s a hunter; his sole purpose is to kill.

Cassidy takes off and Hanzo follows, sprinting for the cabin. He pounces for the front door, his sheer strength knocks it off its hinges. Before Hanzo steps inside, Cassidy is already at the throat of one assailant, his screams die in his throat. 

Hanzo eyes the second one, a man who stands from the couch. He picks up a shotgun resting beside him, aiming it at Cassidy. In an instant, before the guy can even react, Hanzo dashes over to him, fingers tangling in his hair to yank his head back, fangs puncturing deep into his throat. The moment blood touches his tongue he knows what these people are. 

With a growl, Hanzo wraps his hands around the man’s biceps, and with a rough tug, rips the man’s arms from his sockets and tosses them across the room. The man screams and Hanzo’s hand curls around his throat, pushing upwards until his neck cracks and pops and falls at an impossible angle.

Hanzo drops the body to the ground, turning to face Cassidy. “Humans.”

Cassidy snarls, races for one of the closed bedrooms when a gunshot goes off; that door comes off its hinges too. Hanzo is ready to follow when he hears a creak from the other side of the room, towards the kitchen. A beaded curtain hangs in the doorway, swaying. 

Hanzo sprints through the beads, seeing a person cowering in the kitchen holding a knife in their shaky hands. Not wasting any time, Hanzo digs his claws into the man’s torso and bites his throat, drinking him up too. When he’s had his fill, when the man has almost bled out, Hanzo snaps his neck with a quick twist of his hand.

Another gunshot goes off, immediately followed by a pained whimper. Hanzo’s hackles raise, he rushes out of the kitchen and smells wolf blood in the air. He growls, heading to the second bedroom, seeing a man standing above Cassidy, gun aimed at his head. Cassidy growls, tries to stand but falls. He’s bleeding out from a wound in his hindleg.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hanzo lunges for the man, pinning him to the ground and sinking his fangs into his flesh. The man struggles, flails, and from the corner of his eye Hanzo sees the gun in the man’s hand, aimed at him. Hanzo bites down on his throat, blood floods his mouth, and he drinks him down, not stopping until the man is long dead.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Hanzo turns his attention to Cassidy, eyeing the wound in his back leg that isn’t healing. Hanzo pries the gun from the dead man's hand, keeping his hand on the wooden grip as he flicks the safety on and carefully ejects the magazine, noting the silver bullets. Frowning, he touches the barrel cautiously with the back of his hand, and when he doesn’t react to it, he tucks it into his pants.

“Lucky you have me,” Hanzo murmurs, analysing the gunshot wound. Cassidy won’t heal, not if he’s been in contact with silver. Fortunately, the bullet has gone through and through so Hanzo won’t have to dig it out, and it's nothing a bit of his blood won’t fix. Keeping his gaze on Cassidy’s golden eyes, Hanzo brings his wrist to his mouth, biting into his skin and puncturing his radial artery. He holds out his arm, Cassidy looks at him then licks his wrist. Hanzo watches the gunshot wound close. 

Hanzo pulls his arm away from Cassidy as his puncture wounds close. He stands and eyes the body lying on the bed—every blood vessel under his skin is black, his skin is a garish green, his eyes are wide open, irises are milky white. Hanzo has never seen someone meet their end in this kind of manner. 

Seems this part of the country is ripe with mythics he has never encountered. 

Cassidy stands on all fours, shaky but okay. He approaches the closet door, sniffing at it. Hanzo opens it up and inside are two fridge-freezers. He opens the upright one first, its shelves are lined with specimen jars of blood. The chest freezer beside it is full of labelled bags, the two sitting on top read hippogriff heart and siren spleen.

Hanzo hears Cassidy leave the room, and he follows, back out to the truck. With a grunt, Cassidy shifts back into human form.

“Mother fuckers ,” Cassidy seethes, pulling his pants from the tray. Hanzo waits till he’s buckling them up before approaching. “Fucking humans. The worst of the worst.”

“Taste like shit, too.”

Cassidy glances at him, huffing a laugh. “It’s like fast food. Fine to start, then it doesn’t sit right in the gut for a while.”

“I haven’t fed from a human in a long time. Not since I discovered there was a whole range of mythics who taste exquisite .”

“Don’t blame you.” Cassidy buttons up his shirt, reaching for the gas can and handing it to Hanzo. “Douse the place.”

With a nod, Hanzo takes the gas can, entering the cabin. He pours gasoline on the bodies, in the closet, in every room of the cabin. When he steps back outside, Cassidy is fully dressed, holding up a box of matchsticks. He lights one up, ignites the rest of them, then tosses it inside the open cabin. It goes up in flames, they watch it for a moment, listening to the roar in the dead quiet of the night. When the heat becomes too much they take a step back, the flames lick the shed and it too goes up in flames. When it’s apparent they’re not going to set the entire woods ablaze, they drive away.

Cassidy drops Hanzo at his cabin with little more than a passing thanks. Hanzo heads to the shower to scrub himself clean of the blood, staying under the cascading hot water until it goes cold. As he dries himself and dresses, flashes of his carnage appear in his mind; the bloodlust, the sounds of choking, of clothing and flesh tearing like paper. Hunting takes its toll, emotionally and physically, it’s the reason why he stopped it and transitioned into a quieter life.

He will be grappling with the guilt of this night for a long time.

Taking his bloodied clothes, he places them in the fireplace and sets them alight. He builds a fire on top of them, piling on logs to keep the fire burning for hours.

Hanzo gives a passing glance to his laptop, still sitting on his bed, and deems the night a write-off. He heads to his fridge, plucking a bottle of beer. Just as he’s about to sit down on the couch in front of the TV and let the gross human blood sitting uneasily in his gut digest, he hears a knock at the front door.

He opens the door to see Cassidy standing there. He too is freshly showered, but he looks exhausted .

“Hey,” Cassidy says, smiling weakly. “I uh…” his gaze shifts to his feet. “It wasn’t my intention to drop by so soon.” He then meets Hanzo’s eyes. “But I didn’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Hanzo stands aside, letting him in. Cassidy toes off his boots, leaving them beside the door, before sitting on the couch. Hanzo doesn’t bother asking, he heads to the fridge, picking another beer and handing it to Cassidy as he lets out a bone-deep sigh.

“Thanks,” Cassidy murmurs, twisting off the cap. He takes a small swig.

“How’s Jamie?” Hanzo asks as he sits beside him.

“He’ll be fine. Got a doctor friend who’ll say we found him in the woods, a camping trip gone awry. She’ll say she treated him for exposure, cuts and bruises and the like in her report.”

“So that’s it, then?” Hanzo takes a pull of beer.

“We’ll investigate the burnt-out cabin tomorrow, deem it non-suspicious, then leave it at that. Owner will claim insurance, the fuckers inside aren't around to suck more of us dry.” Cassidy lets out a sardonic laugh. “Win-win.”

“Yet you aren’t celebrating.”

“They might have deserved it, doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. I don’t like killing for the sake of killing.”

“They would’ve killed Jamie without hesitation.”

“I know,” Cassidy says softly. He looks at the beer in his hands, thumbing the corner of the label. “If I’m lucky, their families will accept the report and that’ll be the end of it. If not…” He inhales and exhales deeply. “They won’t have anything on us. Not on my guys, not on the doctor. No paper trail, no evidence to indicate we did what we did.”

“ If there is an investigation, then we shall cross the bridge if it comes to it.”

Cassidy meets Hanzo’s gaze. “We?”

“I was a part of this, too. If there is pressure, I will not let you face it alone.”

“Thanks,” Cassidy says with a small but genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “And thanks for everything. For your help, for saving Jamie's life. For saving mine.”

“You're welcome. It was good to flex those muscles again.”

“Good to hear. As long as you don’t go flexing those muscles on my town.”

Hanzo huffs a quiet laugh. “I am a writer these days.”

Cassidy merely hums, he takes a sip of beer as he sits back on the couch. His hand settles on his thigh, he swipes his thumb over his wound.

“How are you feeling after the injury?”

“Feels like it never happened.”

“Good.” 

“Didn’t think vamp blood could heal silver wounds like that.”

“Freshly fed, I can heal silver wounds on other mythics. The fact that the bullet had an exit wound also helped.” Hanzo shrugs. “If the roles had been reversed I would not have fared so well.”

“Lucky it was me and not you, then.” Cassidy holds out his beer in a toast. “To a productive night.”

Clinking his bottle against Cassidy’s, Hanzo takes a pull. He tries not to let his eyes linger on Cassidy, tries not to think about tangling his fingers through his hair, smelling it. He tries not to wonder what he tastes like, tries not to get his hopes up for the pure feeling of euphoria from drinking wolf’s blood. But all he can hear is Cassidy’s steady pulse thrumming in his ears, calling to him like it’s an invitation. 

All he can see in his mind is Cassidy standing out in the cold, shirtless, covered in all that body hair.

“How’s that human blood settling?”

“Barely,” Hanzo says with a groan.

Cassidy’s hand settles over Hanzo’s shoulder, warm through his shirt. “Look. I’d be lying if I said I just came here to chat.”

Hanzo’s eyes snap to meet Cassidy’s, then he notes the sly little smirk on his lips. “And I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about you, Sheriff Cassidy.”

“Cole.”

Hanzo rushes in, kissing Cole, and he kisses back, hard, bruising. Cole's hand shifts from Hanzo’s shoulder to his hair, pulling out his hair tie and weaving his fingers through the still-damp strands. Underneath the beer, Hanzo can taste lingering cigar smoke on his tongue, and a shiver cascades down his spine—Cole will taste delectable .

Hanzo pulls away from Cole, then, dotting kisses along his cheek, over his beard, and onto his neck. He licks along his pulse, feeling it flutter against his tongue. He can hear Cole’s heartbeat, pounding fast . 

With his slow, steady exhale, Hanzo feels his fangs drop. He doesn’t bite Cole, not yet; he drags them against Cole’s skin as his hand settles on Cole’s crotch, palming him. Cole whimpers, he arcs into the touch, and Hanzo looks him in the eye and smirks.

Hanzo stands, then, taking Cole’s hand and leading him to the bedroom. He doesn’t close the door—Cole will feel the cold more than him—and shoves him hard against the wall. Cole lands with a thud and a groan, but that doesn’t deter him, he reaches out, grabbing fistfuls of Hanzo’s shirt and pulling Hanzo into him, yanking his head back by the hair and kissing his neck.

Cole’s other hand slides up Hanzo’s shirt, his palm drags against his stomach as Cole makes his way to his pecs, squeezing and massaging. Hanzo quickly, roughly unbuttons Cole’s shirt and he sighs contently when his hands settle on bare skin and coarse hair. He feels the pressure in his sweatpants as Cole sucks on his neck; this scenario is now more than wishful thinking. It's real . 

Hanzo drags his hands down Cole’s torso, catching on his jeans. He opens them, then reaches inside his underwear, wrapping his hand around Cole’s already hard cock. Cole exhales, stuttered, his breath warm against Hanzo's neck.

Pulling back, Hanzo looks Cole in the eyes as he tugs long and slow; they flutter for the briefest of moments. He squeezes a little harder, picks up his pace, and when Cole lets out the barest of little moans, a mere taste of what this evening will offer, Hanzo takes back his hand. 

Cole whines and Hanzo grins at him as he takes a step back lifting his shirt over his head. He drops his shirt to the floor, preening under Cole’s leering gaze as his eyes trace down his body. Hanzo can feel his erection, straining and tenting his sweatpants, he cups himself and Cole bites his lip.

Wordlessly, Hanzo hooks his thumbs into his sweats and pushes them down. Cole’s eyes remain transfixed on his cock, just for a moment, before Cole pushes his jeans and underwear down, kicking them away. He takes himself in his hand, his cock is gorgeous; long and thick and framed around a thick mane of pubic hair.

Hanzo flicks his head towards the bed and Cole smirks slyly, climbing on. He sits with his back against the wall and Hanzo settles in front of Cole’s legs, hands on his knees as he pushes them apart.

Lying flat on the bed, Hanzo presses gentle kisses to Cole’s inner thigh. He licks a long stripe where his femoral artery is and smirks when he sees the hairs on Cole's leg stand on end. Looking Cole in the eyes, he presses his lips to his skin, his hand wraps around Cole’s cock, tugging shallowly.

“Have you been with a vampire before?” Hanzo asks.

“Once.”

“How was that experience?”

“All action, no talk.” Cole huffs a laugh. “Kind of put me off, if I’m being honest.”

“And yet, you’re here.” Hanzo presses another kiss to Cole’s thigh and licks his skin, tightening his grip around Cole's cock.

Cole exhales forcefully. “If you’re lookin’ for permission to feed, ain’t gonna stop you. Just as long as you don’t drain me.”

“Still so paranoid,” Hanzo says, dragging his fangs along Cole’s thigh.

“I was born with trust issues.”

Hanzo’s eyes snap to meet Cole’s. His tone was airy but there was an underlying note of cynicism. “You can trust me.”

Cole smiles softly. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Hanzo holds his stare for just a moment. They might have only gotten to know each other tonight but after everything they’ve been through, there’s a mutual understanding that they’ll always have each other’s backs, no matter what. 

They’re mythics. That’s what they do. 

This could be the beginning of a new, wonderful chapter of his life. Whatever happens after tonight, whether this is a single hook-up or the beginning of something more with Cole, he wouldn’t object to staying in Cascade Shores beyond writing his novel. It’s been so long since Hanzo was a part of a community of people—of mythics— who cared deeply for each other. For the first time in centuries, he could have someone watching his back.

He could have a constant, fresh supply of wolf’s blood, too, and that would be hard to give up beyond one night. 

But those are thoughts for later. Right now, this is only tonight , and if it remains that way, he’ll be fine with that.

Hanzo licks Cole’s thigh one last time, then sinks his fangs into his skin. Cole is careful to keep his leg still but Hanzo feels his hips jerk when he gasps. Rich arterial blood fills Hanzo’s mouth, it has a smokiness to it, and he can’t help but moan as he swallows it down. His eyes slide closed and his hips roll against the bed, autonomous; it's desperation but he can’t bring himself to stop, it feels too fucking good. He enjoys every last drop of Cole's blood for the short minute he has access to it. It slows to a trickle then eventually stops, thanks to his coagulating saliva.

Pulling away from Cole’s thigh, he licks his lips as he eyes the two puncture wounds and teeth indents. He shifts his gaze to Cole, pokes out his tongue, then bites down with his fang. He’s quick to lick over Cole’s wounds, his tongue heals the fastest, and he watches the two small holes close.

Retracting his fangs, Hanzo shifts his mouth to Cole’s cock, licking his balls then up his shaft in a long, slow stripe. He tastes the saltiness pooled on the crown, cutting through the metallic tang, and he sighs contentedly as he takes him in his mouth.

Cole hums as Hanzo starts bobbing. Hanzo can already start to feel the effects of Cole’s blood—every sense is heightened but he focuses on smell and hearing; listening to the quick thumps of Cole’s heart pumping faster and faster. Then there’s his smell, sweat and soap and that underlying spicy muskiness that makes up his natural smell, and all of it combined takes Hanzo onto another plane of existence. He dry humps the bed as he curls his hands around Cole’s thighs, gripping tight as he utterly swallows Cole down, right until his nose is pressed hard against Cole’s pelvis and buried in his pubes.

“ Fuck ,” Cole hisses. His hand, just for a brief moment, settles on Hanzo’s head before he pulls away. “You got lube?”

Hanzo comes off him, then, slowly as he applies suction. “Drawer,” Hanzo murmurs, glancing at his nightstand.

Cole reaches over, opening it and looking inside. He’s quick, swiping up the lube without his eyes lingering on his various toys which also inhabit that drawer, placing it into Hanzo’s waiting hand.

Hanzo sits up onto his knees, shifting back to give Cole room to lie on his back. Cole spreads his legs and bends them at the knee as Hanzo quickly lubes up his fingers and rubs them against Cole’s hole. He keeps his eyes on Cole as he pushes in with one finger to start and Cole moans, his hands settle on the back of his knees, keeping his legs upright.

Hanzo sucks in a breath; Cole’s tight and warm, he lavishes that eager pull. He’s quick to insert another finger, slowly penetrating, stretching him open as he scissors his fingers. When Hanzo curls them, stroking Cole’s prostate, Cole moans . It’s quick, it’s unabashed, it’s desperate , and Hanzo smirks wickedly as he pushes down harder.

Cole’s back arches, Hanzo feels him tighten around his fingers. Cole’s cock jumps and bounces in a frantic search for contact, for friction, and Hanzo takes hold of it in a tight fist, swirling his thumb around his leaky slit.

“You are ruthless ,” Cole mutters. Then he looks up, gaze boring into Hanzo, his eyes are alight with desire. “Fuckin’ keep that up I’m gonna come before you’re inside me.” 

Hanzo smirks, he gives Cole’s prostate one last massage before pulling his fingers out. He doesn’t bother asking about protection; they’ve drunk each other’s blood, they can’t get more intimate than that. 

Lubing himself up, he wipes the excess on his hand around Cole’s hole, then lines himself. Cole’s mouth hangs open as Hanzo pushes in slowly, biting down on his lip.

Curling his hands around the back of Cole’s knees, Hanzo pushes Cole’s legs back further. He sucks in a slow, stuttered breath; Cole feels tighter with every inch, Hanzo can hear the quick thudding of Cole’s heart in his chest, he can see the pulse in his neck leaping against his skin.

When his hips press flush against Cole’s ass, Hanzo drags his hands down the fronts of Cole’s thighs, fingernails drag against his skin as he rakes them up Cole’s torso. He lavishes the hair beneath his fingertips, the plushness of his pecs as he gives them a firm squeeze.

He leans down to kiss Cole, and Cole meets him; hungry, greedy, shoving his tongue into Hanzo’s mouth. Hanzo rolls his hips as Cole’s legs tightly wrap around his waist, he swallows down Cole’s desperate moans.

This close, he can smell Cole’s hair, and he breaks off the kiss to bury his face in it, getting drunk off the smell of shampoo and that spiciness and dryness that reminds him of the desert. Every breath he takes sends pleasure crackling through him like lightning.

But with each passing moment, all Hanzo can focus on is the thumping of Cole’s heart. He shifts downwards, kissing Cole’s neck, over his carotid artery. Cole doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to when Hanzo feels him tighten around his cock. He licks a stripe up Cole’s neck, along his pulse, feeling it jump against his tongue. His fangs grow out, he drags them against Cole’s skin before sinking them into his flesh. 

Cole moans, his hands grip Hanzo’s hips tight, pushing and pulling. Hanzo wraps his arms around Cole tight and gives him what he wants; fucking him hard and fast as he drinks his fill before the coagulant takes effect. 

When the blood stops, he pulls up, looking Cole in the eyes. Cole curls a hand around the nape of Hanzo’s neck, pulling him down into a searing kiss which is frankly all tongue as Cole licks into his mouth, his tongue drags against Hanzo’s fangs. 

No one has ever kissed him like this, no one has been this demanding of him in a long time. Usually, Hanzo’s the one in control—he has that effect on people—but this with Cole almost leaves him breathless. 

When Cole has had his fun, he takes Hanzo’s hair in a handful and jerks his head back. Hanzo cannot help the moan that passes his lips; the pressure on his scalp is delectable.

“Do the tongue thing,” Cole breathes.

Hanzo grins. He pokes his tongue out and punctures it, and Cole’s eyes go wide as he sucks in a stuttered breath. Hanzo licks Cole’s neck, utterly laps at him, and Cole moans, throaty, desperate as his hips buck wildly. 

When Hanzo can no longer taste blood, he hooks his arms under Cole’s shoulders and lifts him up. It catches Cole by surprise, he lets out a shout and his hands grip Hanzo’s shoulders tight as Hanzo presses him against the wall. 

Hanzo thrusts faster as he kisses Cole’s chest, along each scar his lips find, against bare skin and hair. He makes his way up to Cole’s neck, tasting Cole's sweat gathering on the hollow of his throat. Too soon it becomes too much—Cole’s smell is so fucking strong, so fucking heavenly he’ll be able to smell it from sense memory for the rest of his life. He bites down on the meat of Cole’s pec as he unashamedly inhales , relishing the feeling of hot flesh beneath his lips. Pleasure sparks through him like fireworks, the pressure in his core grows with each passing moment.

When Hanzo’s lips close around Cole’s nipple, Cole moans, his fingernails dig into Hanzo’s skin. Hanzo tears himself away from Cole’s chest and looks up at him, seeing his eyes glow that familiar amber. He wraps his hand around Cole’s cock, tugging roughly. 

Cole moans again, low and throaty. He looks down at Hanzo with hooded eyes, his fingernails dig so deep into his skin that Hanzo’s sure he’s bleeding, but he doesn't fucking care, not as Cole tightens around him, shooting his load onto the hair around his navel.

As come dribbles down Hanzo’s hand, as Cole clenches down on him tight, the pressure in Hanzo's core finally explodes . Hanzo stutters to a grind, his head falls to Cole’s chest and he breathes in his smell, the muskiness is almost overwhelmingly, achingly strong. He just wants to bask in it forever. 

Cole cups Hanzo’s face, and Hanzo lifts his head, kissing Cole soft and tender. He peels Cole away from the wall, sitting back on his knees as Cole settles in his lap. Hanzo looks up at Cole, just stares at him, imagining a scenario where this is normal; a partner, a person he can trust by his side always.

He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. But after decades spent in nightclub bathrooms and dirty motel rooms, why can’t he have someone to cuddle up to?

Burying those thoughts in the back of his mind, Hanzo sweeps Cole’s sweat-stuck hair aside as he focuses on the present. Cole smiles, pressing a soft kiss to Hanzo’s forehead. He then lifts himself up on his knees slowly, Hanzo slips out of him. 

Courteously, Hanzo reaches for his t-shirt on the floor and hands it to Cole, he wipes his torso clean. Stepping in the adjoining bathroom, Hanzo ignores the pang of severe loneliness bubbling in his chest and cleans up. When Cole steps inside, Hanzo offers him his shower.

As Cole washes, Hanzo changes his pillowcase when he notices met an unfortunate end with a drip of come on it. He lies down, despite being amped up on wolf’s blood and knowing he won’t sleep. Usually, he feels like he’s experiencing the high of orgasm for hours and literally nothing can bring him down, but tonight it’s different; he still feels great but he can’t shake this sudden depression. Perhaps it’s a side effect of the human and wolf blood mixing. Perhaps it’s the fact that he fucked someone in his bed for the first time in years.

He knows he’ll be disappointed if this was just a one night stand. Cole could be using tonight to blow off some steam after a bloody night. Whether something develops between them or not, it seems that Hanzo place again where he wants to be with someone again. 

Hanzo yawns, it catches him by surprise. He supposes, though, after the hunt and his current bout of insomnia, that he’s reached a limit that not even wolf’s blood can counteract.

He might just get a full day’s sleep finally.

Cole emerges from the bathroom completely naked, and Hanzo takes him in. This might be the last time he sees Cole and all that glorious hair. But as he bypasses his clothes on the floor and heads to the bed, Hanzo cannot help but smile. Cole pulls the covers back and lies down, rolling onto his side. He meets Hanzo’s gaze smiles back.

“You gonna sleep?” Cole asks.

“Unlikely. But I will lie down with you.” 

Cole shuffles in closer, draping his leg over Hanzo’s. “Good, ‘cause I love to cuddle.” He closes his eyes and in what seems like an instant, he’s asleep. His breaths are deep and rhythmic, his heart rate significantly slower.

Hanzo huffs a laugh; he would kill to fall asleep that fast.

He watches Cole sleep for the longest time; minutes, hours, he’s not sure. It feels good having someone to share his bed with again. Those quick, negotiated sessions for the necessity of a feed and sex before leaving and returning to his cold and empty bed have well and truly taken their toll. 

Whatever happens after tonight, Hanzo has to make sure he doesn’t form an attachment. Attachments lead to disappointment, which leads to heartache. He’s got a life to return to on the other side of the country once this bubble shatters, after all.

With a sigh, Hanzo looks at Cole one last time, then slowly leaves the bed. He’s got a story to finish, and it’s not going to write itself.

Cole wakes before sunrise.

He’s clearly not a morning person; he looks asleep when he shuffles out of the bedroom only in his jeans which aren’t zipped up. He blearily looks at the TV, on its usual infomercial channel, for a good moment, wordlessly staring. Hanzo decides against talking to him; it’ll either go in one ear then out the other, or he won’t want to talk.

Cole sniffs the air as one infomercial ends and the next begins, then makes his way to the kitchen, to the fresh pot of coffee Hanzo put on. Hanzo left a mug on the bench for him on the off chance he woke when the sun was up, he eyes it, gives it a sniff, and when he deems it clean, he pours himself some. He doesn’t go to the fridge for milk or cream, he doesn’t even wait for it to cool down, he drinks the entire mug of steaming liquid like he’s utterly parched.

He pours himself a second, this time slowly making his way to the couch and sitting down with a groan. “Morning.”

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Well enough.” He takes a sip, sighing after he swallows. “Good coffee.”

“It is from my local café. I bought enough to last me six months.”

A smirk teases Cole’s lips. “Planning on staying that long?”

“Unlikely, I just wanted to make sure I had enough to last me.”

Cole takes another sip. “Fair.” Then he eyes the laptop sitting on Hanzo’s lap. “How goes the writing?”

“Good, actually. I had been stuck writing this particular scene but I’ve managed to make my way through it. It will need heavy edits, but words were written and I didn’t immediately hate them, so I’m calling it a win.”

Cole just raises his mug in toast, then slinks down the couch, resting his head against the back and closes his eyes. Hanzo watches him for a long moment, and he is a sight to behold; from the hair on his chest, the scars which mar his arms and torso, the fact that he didn’t bother to do up his jeans, exposing the top of his pubic hair and his underwear.

Hanzo could get used to waking up to this for the next few centuries.

Swallowing down that ball of hope, Hanzo turns his attention back to his writing. He rereads the passage without any harsh criticism and writes a few quick notes for when it comes time to edit, and how he wants to continue on. 

It’s the final fight; after being knocked out, Jack wakes inside a cabin, the floors and walls are covered in plastic. He’s tied to a chair, wrists and ankles bound and he can’t get free. The killer approaches, then, dressed in black, wearing a mask Hanzo hasn’t quite settled on; it’ll be the skull of some animal, a barn owl or other nocturnal creature. All that’s left is the revelation that it’s Gabriel, then Jack freeing himself of his bindings and putting Gabriel down.

He honestly didn’t think he would get to this point in his story given his less than ideal experience writing here. Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe it’s the wolf's blood pumping through his veins, maybe it’s definitive proof that he’s not going to be locked up for eternity. 

Maybe it’s the sex that was done out of mutual want , instead of need.

He glances up at Cole again when he snores. His head lolls to the side, and Hanzo utterly beams.

It falls just for a brief moment when he realises that the ball of hope he thought he successfully kept down has escaped.

Placing his laptop on the coffee table, he takes the steaming mug from Cole’s hands, then drapes a blanket over his chest and lap.

There’s no way he can give Cole up. He can’t go back to his cold, solitary life.

He has never, ever been more certain about a decision in his life.

A long, loud, incessant car horn pulls Hanzo from sleep.

His eyes flutter open, his room is pitch black; at least it’s night. Everything is still and quiet for a short moment, and just as he’s about to drift back into sleep, several car horns screech out, followed by shouting and swearing.

Fuck New York.

He got too used to the serenity of Cascade Shores. Of waking up to eerie silence that made him feel like he was the only person in the world. The smell of nature, of evergreen pines and oaks and still water, not the stench of rotting rubbish and piss that he had somehow grown accustomed to before his vacation.

Now, he can’t fucking stand the city.

With a sigh, Hanzo heads to the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. From there, he heads into the kitchen, puts on a pot of coffee, picks up the hardcover proof of his novel and phone sitting on the counter and sits in his lounge chair. 

A smile teases his lips as he traces his finger down the cover. It’s a picture of Jack and Gabriel in the storm, standing apart from each other like a noon showdown. A bolt of lightning separates them, illuminating them in the darkness of the night. The words Licensed to Slaughter adorn the top, followed by H. Miller, his current pen name, underneath it.

He received it in the mail yesterday and he can’t believe it’s finished. While it takes the crown for the hardest thing he’s written, he’s so proud of it. Early reviews are promising; people are enjoying its twists and turns, several have called it a page-turner. That makes it all worth it.

Hanzo shifts his attention to his phone, unlocking it and opening his emails. There’s nothing from Winston thankfully, then he checks the news, the weather, the traffic, his socials. While on a twitter deep dive into six-word horror stories, he feels strong, warm hands settle on his shoulders.

Hanzo smiles, he puts his phone on standby. “Good morning.”

“‘Morning.” After all this time, Hanzo still loves that sleepy little rumble that greets him every day. Cole kisses the top of his head before hooking his chin over Hanzo’s shoulders, hands linking across his chest. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Hanzo replies, resting his head against Cole’s. “At least I woke up when it was dark today.”

Cole hums. “Those fucking cars.”

“I don’t know how I used to put up with them. At least this will be the last time.”

“Absolutely. I’m itching to get back to Cascade Shores. I don’t mind cities, but it just reminds me how lucky I am to live in the mountains.” Cole presses a kiss to Hanzo’s temple. “ And how lucky I am to have you to share it with.”

Hanzo cannot help the smile that blooms on his lips as he picks up Cole’s hands and brings them to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “ I am the lucky one,” he says, looking at him.

With a warm smile and a peck on the lips, Cole slips from his grip. He enters the kitchen, pulling the lone two mugs drying beside the sink and fills them with coffee. He brings them back, sitting on Hanzo’s lap after he hands him his coffee. 

“You know,” Cole says with a sigh, “I often think about how different things might’ve been had you picked a cabin in Philly’s mountains.”

“You would likely be dead,” Hanzo says, wrapping his arm around Cole’s waist.

Cole huffs a laugh. “Probably. Though, I would’ve convinced someone else to take on that cabin full of fuckheads with me.”

“Then I would be alone. Hating the smell of this infernal city.”

“Who knows, you could’ve found someone else in those mountains in Philly.” Hanzo glances up at Cole, he waggles his eyebrows. “You could be in their bed, drinking their blood and fucking them .”

Hanzo smirks playfully, he shrugs. “I could be.”

“Glad you picked Cascade Shores, though.”

“Me too.” Hanzo looks around his living room, at the stacked boxes, ready to be packed. The only thing to do now is load everything onto the hired trailer, drop the keys off at his realtor’s and get the fuck out of this city. Meeting Cole’s eyes, Hanzo cups Cole’s cheek and pulls him into a kiss. He breathes in Cole's smell, buries his nose in his hair and relaxes, sighs contentedly, and closes his eyes. “Me too.”