Chapter Text
“Then why don’t you?”
Rafe wanted a reaction; JJ could scent it off him the second he had the Kook pressed against the backside of the Chateau.
Fist raised like JJ was ready for a fight, albeit unsteady, trembling, because he didn’t want to make a sound, didn’t want to wake the Pogues up from their restful slumber, unlike what JJ was getting because his role is that of a guard dog.
He should’ve, JJ could have punched him right then and there if the latter hadn’t pushed him.
Making the blonde ferociously pace back and forth, blunt nails digging half crescent moons into palm like it’s the only way he can calm himself from ripping Rafe’s head clean off his shoulders.
Jaw tight, teeth clenched and working overtime as he heavily scrutinized the rich boy when he peeked around the corner, JJ got a little closer to see what Rafe was tweaking out over, but was met face to face with him instead.
“They’re here.”
Okay… fuckin' vague.
Shouldering past JJ like it’s the only warning he would get, “What d’you mean, they’re here? Are you fuckin’ high?” He’s glancing over his shoulder, loosely following behind but barely.
“Christ. Haven’t been on that shit since—y’know what? Just shut the fuck up.”
He stopped and watched Rafe retreat for a moment longer until he heard the distinct, familiar voices he’d heard back on Figure Eight when the first body appeared.
“The other body was found in the Cut this time,” Rafe stopped, rolled his shoulders, and drawled the words like he was speaking to a dumb child.
JJ rolled his eyes, “Yeah? I know this, so what? Why are you here—inside the Cut? You ain’t belong here—go back to your side.” JJ quickly shot back, voice raised octaves enough for flashlights to flicker in their direction.
Rafe grabbed the sleeve of JJ’s t-shirt and tugged him along, harshly, making the boy trip over his feet like his boots weren’t tied. “Don’t you have fucking legs?” Hand scrambled away, but soon caught a fist full of JJ’s hair to yank him up like some mangy mutt. “Use them.”
Gingerly, with some stumbling, JJ obeyed.
“Y’know,” JJ drawled, attempting to shake away the hand that clutched his hair.
Ultimately freeing himself with a quick shove, “Anyone ever tell ya that you seem like the type t’have a hair-pulling kink?” Steps barely in tandem with the latter, “I’d ‘preciate it if I wasn’t the victim of—whatever sick fantasies y’ got—also? Ya ain’t exactly my type so there wouldn’t be much reaction from me…”
Rafe, who sharply and instinctively whipped around, got in JJ’s personal space, where only a hairbreadth of a gap is between them, and their noses nearly skimmed.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up longer than—I don’t know—five minutes?”
“Whew-y!” JJ exclaimed, riddled with adrenaline that he’d been able to get under Rafe’s skin so easily and by just a short spring of taunts.
Those voices shifted in their direction.
Thankfully, Rafe quickly reacted by slapping a hand over JJ’s insolence and dragging him away from Routledge’s backyard, behind a tree to blend into the darkness. At least staying there long enough to let the Hunters pass by, or go a different direction.
He tried to yank his face away from the grip over maws, and to no avail, he wasn’t released, which led JJ to his next set of skills, and that’s biting the outer palm hard enough until he felt the puncture, and equally heard it. But Rafe kept his hand there, as if the bite from the wolf didn’t faze him the slightest.
Distinct voices grew closer to where they once were, similar to the ones JJ had heard before, but near Figure Eight.
JJ tried to wiggle free, to run away, but Rafe had the boy back against his chest and hand sheathing insolence with his lips near the shell of JJ’s ear, “I’m trying to save your ass. It would be beneficial if you would stop moving around!” Rafe hissed there, and JJ felt it deep in marrow—in his gut, a warning, but a hidden second thing under the surface— undiscovered. Just grazing the surface makes its sentiments known for a fleeting second.
He is shoved away from the eldest male when the voices fade again, giving them some room to breathe and for JJ to recollect his bearings.
The marbles that wobbled wildly in his cranium, trying to wrap his thoughts around what the hell was going on.
Phalanges fisted blonde tresses while slumped partially against the tree that Rafe guided them to, supposedly to save JJ’s ass—probably his too. “Ain’t need your saving. Matter fact—you’re the last person I need saving my ass!” He stood, face-to-face with Rafe, who had personally taken a much closer step until their noses were a hairbreadth away from grazing the other.
“Fine.”
Darkened orbs glare a hole into oceanic eyes. “Don’t come crying wolf to me when your ass is caught.”
“Didn’t plan on it!”
“Good.”
JJ bitterly laughed, “Great.” Pivoted hard, soil disturbed beneath engravings of his black boots when marching away with fists held at sides, reining back the urge to whip back around and sock Rafe Cameron in the damn nose that’s sniffing in places where it doesn’t belong.
“Yeah. That’s right, Maybank. Walk away like you always do, it’s the only thing you’re good at doing!” Rafe called after him, edging the border of taunting JJ, and it worked because he did exactly what he had imagined seconds ago.
Spins around, albeit more challenging this time, like he had a purpose that required being fulfilled, and the only way he could do that was if he took initiative on the impulses—the intrusive thoughts that never leave him alone, even on a good day.
Arm reeled back, came forward full throttle as knuckles smack hard against Rafe’s jaw—hair flips messily as JJ’s shoulder went at an angle, and body stumbled backwards from the momentum and power put into such a pregnant weaponized assail.
The eldest male stumbled backwards, laughing manically. This was the most pain he’d felt for a long time, and it was exactly what he craved. What he wanted, and JJ wondered for a split second how much duller Rafe’s life could get.
He’d hate to see his boring, sad little life behind the scenes.
JJ felt like he had whiplash the second Rafe’s knuckles met his chin, merely knocking him back further than his punch did.It started there, right at that exact moment when the fight continued.
Missed swings, guts sucker punched, and sharp wheezes. Right down to hair-pulling and legs locking like they’re scripted into WWE. Limbs haphazardly aiming to maim, violent attempts against the other, close enough to kill, yet faraway from their minds because the only thing that their thoughts consisted of was—making the other hurt.
It doesn’t matter who wins.
Somehow, the two wound through someone’s lawn, destroying a tandem of objects and items in their path.
By the time the adrenaline simmered just enough, a heavily breathing JJ was slumped against the inside of some random outdoor shed.
The rear of his skull leaned back, and eyelids reduced to slits as he squinted toward Rafe, who stood almost identical to how JJ was sitting, slumped—undeniable, wicked smirk coiling lips like a serpent in the sand with a plan.
Both battered and bruised.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Maybank,” He drawled, bringing JJ’s attention to the latter now, straightening his head and squaring his shoulders defensively.
It’s when Rafe looked over at him, with this cold, hard stare, and for a second? JJ thinks he saw a spark of something else, something he couldn’t explain, but it elicited a feeling throughout his core. “You’re not my type either.”
Why did that make his stomach knot, like Rafe buried a knife to the hilt, twisted and wrenched it free, leaving JJ to bleed out a slow, painful death?
But his emotions are guarded, at least JJ thinks they are. “Ah-ha! Glad to know the feelings mutual.”
There’s resignation in both of them, silent but there, scraping away the layers of tension and uncertainty, and ignoring the opposing factions, how vampires and werewolves aren’t meant to get along, not that JJ and Rafe have ever gotten along.
But still… this time, it’s forbidden.
With the treaty fractured, hunters on both ends of the island patrolled left and right with no end in sight. This meant that both of their movements would be restricted, more so now than when the curfew fell into place.
JJ scrutinized Rafe closely, as if he were mentally carving away the facade and peeling back the layers carefully, digging in and inspecting what lay beneath. Weaved in muscles and tendons, burrowed deep in arteries—opened and raw.
He could see right through Rafe because at that moment, Rafe’s facade slips, a second where JJ gets a brief glimpse of it all. Rafe’s not just playing the villain; there’s real frustration and fear under his cocky mask.
JJ felt it too.
The fear of the unknown. Of what is out there, hunting them like some messed-up, twisted blood sport.
—
Two days later, JJ was still thinking about Rafe. He swore that if he thought about him long enough, he would dwell on their encounter, on the tension of their close proximity due to hunters sweeping acres of land for any sighting of the supernatural.
They had to spend two hours in someone’s backyard shed, two prolonged hours with an ache in JJ’s jaw and a need to bite with everything that Rafe threw in his face to elicit a reaction that never came.
It became too much so that Rafe would come up in conversations with the Pogues. Each one had heard his name, either once, twice, or more times, that they didn’t have enough fingers to count it all.
Sarah caught wind of this, and that’s where JJ currently was. She’d approached his languid posture, relaxed and deep in concentration because these fish wouldn’t catch themselves.
“Hey… JJ,” He glanced over his shoulder at her, flashed a bright, brimmed smile while simultaneously reeling the line in. Nothing. “Can you talk?” Her voice softened; it made JJ’s stomach grow queasy.
Was John B. and Sarah going through it, and did she need some advice? ‘Cause he ain’t the one to go to for it.
“Ah, mackerel ain’t latchin’ right now, so—yeah. Guess so,” he said as he reeled in the line, latched the hook to set aside, and pivoted around as his arms traversed his chest slowly.
Lower back mashed against the worn-away wood railings. “Sup?” Brow inclined with a quirk.
She tucked a strand of blonde behind the ear shell, “Um. I keep hearing the Pogues say you’ve been bringing Rafe a lot. I guess—“
She looked down at dirty cuticles, he assumed she must’ve just realized how filthy they were since they’ve all been hands-on around the yard.
Making it more cozy and enjoyable for them to get together.
“I guess—I just want to know what that’s about, if it’s okay?”
The tip of his tongue prodded the interior of his cheek, casting his gaze to the shore past
Sarah’s shoulder before shifting from one foot to the other and looking down, chin pressed to chest, and chuckling.
Not because it’s funny that she was asking, simply that Rafe had taken up so much space inside his thoughts as if he lived rent-free there—he hadn’t realized they’d noticed, JJ didn’t.
“Ah, that? Ain’t nothing. I mean—it is something—not in like that way—but yeah, guess I been talkin’.” Jesus Christ, JJ. “Caught his ass snooping behind the Chateau, so I had a li’l talk with him and that—well, that ain’t end well. Made a damn right mess of some folks’ back yards—sorry guys—But uh, other than that? Nada else.”
“I’m sorry.”
He’s looking at her now, bewildered by why she was apologizing. She didn’t even do anything wrong, and yet he noticed she always apologized on his behalf.
Like she was at fault for the way he was raised, and all the learned behavior from Ward.
“Nah. Don’t go doin’ that, Sarah Cameron. Ain’t your fault, a’right? ‘M serious.” Arms wrapping around her, providing the Kook gone Pogue—a hug, to console.
—
The following night, some hunters were trekking the Boneyard for any suspicious tracks that would lead them to the source of what was making the killings in Kildare.
JJ was there for the same thing; he noticed a tandem of tracks that seemed uneven, jagged, like whatever or whoever it was was unsteady. Too many emotions were hitting them all at once. He examined the footprints along the sand and altered them into something similar to those of a dog’s, but with larger pads imprinted deeply.
There’s another wolf in town, and JJ was eager to figure out who exactly was lurking about.
—
Like clockwork, a routine engraved in JJ’s limbs.
He snuck out at curfew, sniffing clues that would lead him to the source. It was close, and he felt it in his marrow. The leads would run dry, just as the Sheriff’s department lacked.
He was always out until dawn and then crawled his exhausted self back to Big John’s land, passing out in the hammock, and some days, he would wake up with a blanket wrapped around him.
Some mornings, there would be a hot cup of coffee at the ready with a hint of something else, but he couldn’t discern what it was.
Bitter, though, it burned his throat and made his stomach queasy. However, it seemed to aid the growing symptoms of the oncoming full moon, whatever it was.
Maybe Kiara had successfully made a Wolfsbane potion?
—
It’s here, the scent of something very different from what everyone in town smells.
It was as if this person wasn’t from here but from a different locale with different, meaner people around them. All at the tips of his fingers, trailing lightly—careful of slivers—along the wooden railing that led up to the Hawks’ nest.
The wolf felt it too; JJ could feel how it shuddered awake beneath skin and made goosebumps arise the closer he got to the top.
Barely even making it when he’s kicked hard enough to go flying backward, lower back crashing into the hardwood, attention drawn to the crack of his neck—such a powerful kick, JJ swore he almost blacked out because when he looked up all he’d seen was glittering spots. A pain sharp in the rib cage when he moved, slumped to one knee from lack of oxygen that was knocked out of him.
The tip of a blade is pressed beneath JJ’s chin, forcing the boy to look up at the assailant. The scent of iron was heavy before him, and not just from the dagger digging threateningly into his flesh.
“Ya betta spit out one good reason, quick—else yuh droppin’, right ‘ere, right now.”