Page 16 of Sins of the Fathers
He looked to Dawson. “Let’s go down to the coroner’s and see what we can find. Grady and Colt can hold the fort here.”
“Once Knox is back in a room, Colt and I can ward it and lay down salt and sigils,” Grady offered. “We’ve got this.”
Dawson felt torn, but he knew Colt and Grady could handle keeping an eye on Knox—and defending him if it came to that. And given the long-time bad blood between Rollins and the King family, being Denny’s wingman might keep his uncle out of jail.
“Okay, but call if you need anything,” Dawson warned.
Grady nodded. “Will do. Try not to get arrested. Or Tasered.”
Dawson rolled his eyes. “You make it sound like that happens all the time.”
“More than it does to most people,” Grady countered. “This family doesn’t bring out the best in the sheriff.”
Back in high school, Ethan and Aaron King had decided to teach Rollins and his shifter-jock friends a lesson for being assholes. The two King brothers had taken Rollins out drinking and gotten him black-out drunk.
When Rollins woke up, he was naked, lying on the cold steel of the veterinarian’s operating room table, with his balls wrapped in gauze and a brochure on “Care for your Neutered Pet” lying on his chest.
Photos were rumored to exist. It took a panicked call to the vet to discover that no surgery had been done, and Rollins took a lot of ribbing afterward. Despite the decades that had passed, Rollins had never forgotten the incident or fully forgiven the King brothers. That extended to Denny, who hadn’t been part of the prank.
“I’ll make sure he behaves,” Denny told Grady. “You boys keep a sharp eye out for anything hinky going on. I’ll let you know what I hear from my research guys.”
Dawson left the Mustang for Grady and climbed into Denny’s truck. “I know you’re thinking that this shifter thing is important, or we wouldn’t be jumping on it so fast. What’s up?”
“The Syndicate has been lying low for a while—and I can’t say that I missed them,” Denny said. “Ever since that warlock up near Boone disappeared, they’ve kept their heads down. Would’ve been nice if it had been permanent, but luck never works that way.”
The Kings were the guardians of Cunanoon Mountain and their corner of Western North Carolina, hunting the worst of the worst. They tended to look the other way at cryptids and supernatural beings that didn’t kill people or cause havoc. That included a fragile “truce” with the cluster of sentient creatures who ran a loose network of shady businesses. Some of those the Kings left to the human authorities, while others they ignored unless disappearances or bodies made it their business.
Vampires ran the betting parlors, bootlegging, and the strip joints showcasing sirens as an irresistible attraction. The last Dawson heard, an incubus and a succubus ran the local sex trade. Rumor had it the fae were bankers and attorneys for other paranormal creatures, along with dabbling in a bit of white-collar crime. Most of the time, those groups evaded human scrutiny by keeping a low profile.
Werewolves were the exception since they went for the rough work—loansharking, protection money, cargo theft, and chop shops. It helped that the Transylvania County Sheriff and most of his deputies were shifters—which meant they weren’t dependent on the moon and possessed extra strength and speed.
For the most part, things stayed civil. Hunters knew that the supernatural factions also had witches, cryptids, and ghosts on their side and paid off human helpers to evade notice. Sometimes, they even reported rogues to the Kings because the danger was bad for business.
Whoever killed the coyote shifters and tossed the bodies where they were sure to be found was making a statement—and a threat.
But who’s supposed to get the message—and what does it mean?
The police were gone by the time Dawson and Denny reached the scene. Dawson didn’t doubt that the sheriff would follow procedures. Rollins was competent and, regardless of his tiffs with the Kings, generally did a good job of keeping the peace and stopping the bad guys.
But despite being a shifter himself, Rollins wasn’t a hunter. He didn’t have the training or experience that the Kings handed down from generation to generation or the background in occult lore. Which meant that even with forensics, the deputies might have missed something.
“Not enough blood,” Denny observed as they carefully walked around the dark-stained spots in the tall grass. “Probably means they were killed somewhere else and dumped so they’d be noticed.”
“If they weren’t part of a local pack, why were they here?” Dawson mused.
The coyote shifters who settled on Cunanoon Mountain were a decent lot, despite old prejudices about their animal side. They didn’t bother livestock or pets, stayed out of trouble, and went a little overboard in their enthusiasm to be community volunteers. Dawson hoped that if word got around about the murders, it wouldn’t spark retaliation against the law-abiding packs.
“Stir up trouble?” Denny speculated as they both walked in ever-widening circles around where the bodies had been found, looking for anything the cops might have missed.
“Send a warning? Get revenge?” Dawson added.
“Muddy the waters? Get everyone upset, so we aren’t paying attention to the real issue? Something about this whole thing feels off,” Denny muttered.
The cops had already been at the scene, so footprints and tire tracks had been compromised. Dawson hoped they might find something the police had overlooked, a connection to a supernatural killer. But after half an hour, he and Denny had to admit that either the sheriff’s team had been exceptionally thorough, or the murderer had left nothing behind.
“Why would anyone want to flip off the Syndicate?” Dawson asked as they walked back to the truck. “It’s poking the bear. Who benefits?”
Denny started the engine and turned the truck around for the drive back to town. “Could be an upstart player who wants attention. Or maybe some kind of internal rivalry that wasn’t supposed to spill over where outsiders could see.”
