Chapter 4 : The Predator's Trail
Monroe's kitchen smelled like chamomile and something earthier—dried herbs hanging from a wooden rack above the stove. The morning light filtered through lace curtains, casting geometric patterns across a table covered in Wesen lore.
"Most people think we're just werewolves with better PR." Monroe set down two mugs, the ceramic clinking against wood. "It's more complicated than that."
I wrapped my hands around the tea. The warmth seeped into fingers still stiff from a night of poor sleep. Daniel's apartment had felt wrong—too quiet, too empty, too much like sleeping in a dead man's skin.
"Explain it to me."
Monroe settled into the chair across from me, his movements careful, deliberate. The tension from yesterday hadn't fully dissipated. He still watched me like I might suddenly remember I was supposed to kill him.
"Blutbaden operate in packs. Always have. The alpha leads, the pack follows—hunting, protecting territory, raising young. Traditional structure going back thousands of years."
[BESTIARY UPDATE: BLUTBAD]
[SOCIAL STRUCTURE: PACK-BASED HIERARCHY]
[RECORDING...]
"But about a century ago, some of us started questioning that. Why hunt humans when grocery stores exist? Why give in to instinct when discipline was possible?" Monroe's fingers traced the rim of his mug. "We call ourselves Wieder Blutbaden. Reformed. We suppress the hunting drive, eat vegetarian, integrate into human society."
"And the others?"
"Wildesheer. Wild ones. They think we're traitors to our nature. Some of them..." He paused. Swallowed. "Some of them hunt Wieder specifically. Proving we've gone soft. Proving discipline can be broken."
[BLUTBAD ENTRY UPDATED]
[FACTION: WIEDER (REFORMED) VS. WILDESHEER (FERAL)]
[WEAKNESS NOTED: INTERNAL SPECIES CONFLICT]
The clinical categories felt insufficient. Monroe wasn't describing biology—he was describing a civil war.
"What about pack bonds? The victim in Forest Park had connections to Blutbad community."
Monroe's expression tightened. "Mating bonds are... intense. When a Blutbad chooses a partner, it's for life. The bond is chemical, psychological, spiritual. Breaking it—through death, betrayal, whatever—can drive a Blutbad feral."
"Even a reformed one?"
"Especially a reformed one. We spend years building walls against instinct. Grief can bring them crashing down."
I filed that information alongside everything else. The System catalogued data, but understanding required context. Monroe was giving me both.
"Your eyes do that thing."
I blinked. "What thing?"
"Flash. Silver. Like all Grimms." Monroe leaned forward, studying my face with unnerving intensity. "But different. Colder. Most Grimms I've seen, their eyes go silver when they're about to kill. Yours do it when you're thinking."
[GRIMM SIGHT: PASSIVE ACTIVATION DETECTED]
[NOTE: HOST DISPLAYS ATYPICAL MANIFESTATION PATTERN]
"Wonderful. Another way I'm not quite right."
"Maybe I think about killing a lot."
Monroe snorted. Almost a laugh. "You know, that's exactly what a normal Grimm would say. But you're not normal, are you?"
The question hung between us. I could lie. Should lie. Daniel Cross wouldn't know about transmigration, system interfaces, borrowed bodies. But something in Monroe's tone suggested he'd been lied to enough by Grimms.
"Normal got me killed." The words came out before I could stop them. Close enough to truth without revealing everything. "I'm trying something different."
Monroe held my gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and stood.
"The crime scene. We should check it again with fresh eyes—or fresh nose, in my case. There were layers I didn't catch yesterday."
Forest Park looked different in daylight. The rain had stopped, leaving the trails steaming slightly under weak October sun. Crime scene tape still cordoned off the murder site, though the forensic teams had finished their work.
Monroe moved through the underbrush with predatory grace, his nostrils flaring at scents invisible to human senses. I followed, watching the way his shoulders shifted, the barely perceptible changes in his posture when he caught something interesting.
"Three distinct Blutbad scents," he said quietly. "Layered. Someone tried to mask them with commercial products, but the base notes are still there."
"Three? The analysis only suggested one attacker."
"One attacker, yes. But three Blutbaden were present at some point." Monroe crouched near a fern patch, disturbing the fronds carefully. "The victim—she wasn't Wesen, but she was pack-adjacent. Married to a Blutbad who died two years ago. Some of his scent still clung to her."
[VICTIM PROFILE UPDATED]
[SARAH MARTINEZ: HUMAN, WIDOW OF BLUTBAD MARCUS MARTINEZ]
[CONNECTION TO WESEN COMMUNITY CONFIRMED]
"The second scent is the killer. Male. Young. Recently feral—I can smell the transition, like meat just starting to turn." Monroe's face twisted with disgust. "This wasn't someone born wild. He chose it."
"And the third?"
Monroe went very still. His hands, which had been steady all morning, developed a fine tremor.
"The third scent belongs to someone I know."
The air between us crystallized. Monroe's reformation hung by threads, I realized. Whatever name he was about to say threatened to snap them.
"Who?"
"Angelina." The word came out rough. "My ex. Wild. Dangerous. Currently wanted by three different packs for kills spanning eight years."
[NEW ENTITY DETECTED: ANGELINA (BLUTBAD)]
[CLASSIFICATION: WILDESHEER]
[THREAT LEVEL: C-RANK]
[RELATIONSHIP TO MONROE: FORMER MATE]
Former mate. The mating bonds he'd described—chemical, psychological, spiritual. Monroe had been bonded to a killer.
"You think she did this?"
"No." Monroe's jaw clenched. "That's the problem. Angelina kills for pleasure, for sport, for dominance. She doesn't frame people. She doesn't hide. If she wanted that woman dead, she would have left the body displayed as a trophy, not buried in ferns like someone was ashamed."
"So someone's framing her."
"Or using her as cover." Monroe stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "The killer knew Angelina's scent. Knew she'd be nearby. Knew the police would eventually connect the murder to a known Blutbad offender."
The pieces clicked together. Sarah Martinez hadn't been killed for what she knew or what she'd done. She'd been killed to cast suspicion on a specific target.
"This isn't about the victim at all," I said slowly. "Someone's cleaning house. Using murders to eliminate problem Wesen and their connections."
Monroe's expression went flat. Hard. The reformed pacifist peering out from behind eyes that remembered what blood tasted like.
"If someone's hunting wild Blutbaden, Angelina's near the top of every list. She's killed humans, killed Wesen, broken pack laws and Wesen Council edicts." He paused. "She also saved my life twice and never let me thank her for it."
Complicated history. The kind that didn't resolve cleanly.
"Where would she go to ground?"
"Industrial district. She has boltholes throughout the city—places no one else knows about." Monroe's hands had stopped shaking. Decision made. "We need to find her before whoever set this up does."
"Agreed." I started back toward the trail. "But we also need to find the actual killer. If we can prove someone else committed this murder—"
"Then Angelina becomes a witness instead of a suspect."
"And we find out who's orchestrating this whole mess."
Monroe caught my arm. His grip was stronger than human, the Blutbad strength bleeding through.
"You understand something, Grimm. If Angelina did kill that woman—if I'm wrong and she's actually responsible—I won't help you stop her."
I met his eyes. Red flickered at the edges, the woge threatening to surface.
"And if someone else did? Will you help me stop them?"
The silence stretched. A bird called somewhere in the canopy. Leaves rustled in wind that smelled like approaching rain.
Monroe released my arm.
"Get in the car. I know where to start looking."
Renard's Office — Same Time
Captain Sean Renard reviewed the forensic consultant's activity report with growing interest. Cross had requested files on animal attacks, visited the crime scene twice, and spent three hours at a residence in northeast Portland.
Monroe's residence. A known Blutbad, albeit reformed.
"Interesting." Renard's fingers drummed against his desk. The half-royal blood in his veins whispered of opportunities and threats.
His phone buzzed. A text from Adalind: Your Grimm problem just got complicated. He made contact.
Renard smiled. Complications were his specialty.
MORE POWER STONES And REVIEWS== MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ In The Witcher With Avatar Powers,In The Vikings With Deja Vu System,Stranger Things Demogorgon Tamer ...].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!