Grimm: The Killing Time (21 page)

Now if he could only remember where Bud Wurstner lived…

* * *

Both Monroe and Rosalee still found the shop to be oppressively hot. Rosalee continued wearing a T-shirt, but Monroe had removed his shirt entirely. His muscles were larger, more defined, and harder than when he was in human form. His skin was covered with a light coat of dark brown fur, and she found the whole primitive look appealing. But she did her best to ignore how he looked. Too many people were depending on them to find a cure. Besides, they’d already fooled around once tonight. That should be enough. Right?

She snuck a look at Monroe, who was paging through another in a seemingly endless supply of old books. She bit her lip and quickly returned her attention to her own book.

“This is driving me
insane!”

Monroe gripped the large leather-bound book, his claws dimpling the cover and threatening to pierce it. He’d already damaged a half-dozen books, either by clawing their covers or throwing them around the shop, which in turn caused all kinds of other damage.

Her feelings of physical attraction toward him were swept away by a wave of irritation so intense it bordered on fury. Rosalee didn’t think she could take much more of his temper tantrums. And she
knew
she couldn’t take him damaging any more books—especially this one.

“Be careful,” she said, trying to keep the words from coming out as a growl. “That book—which you are dangerously close to shredding—used to belong to my great aunt. It’s been in the family for generations.”

Monroe didn’t put the book down. Instead, he gripped it harder, looking at her in defiance, as if daring her to press the issue. Rosalee, however, was not in a mood to back down.

“It’s
special
to me,” she said, emphasizing the word by lowering her voice to a throaty near-growl. But Monroe gave no indication that he picked up on her message.

“It’s bad enough that it’s written in German,” he said, “but the type is so tiny, you practically need a microscope to see it.”

“I’ll look through it then. Maybe you should take a break.”

This is like Umkippen
, she thought. If Wesen forced themselves to woge over and over, there was a danger that the Wesen side could take over, leaving them at the mercy of their most primitive instincts. The longer the
Ewig Woge
kept them in Wesen form, the more their control over their bestial sides would erode until nothing would be left but pure, savage animal drive.

She reached for the book, moving slowly so as not to trigger the beast that was increasingly taking him over. He didn’t snap or snarl at her, but he did take a step away from her and angle his body, as if to block her reach.

“I’m fine,” he said. “If either of us needs a break, it’s
you
.”

Rosalee raised her eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve been getting kind of growly over the last half hour or so.”

Rosalee tried to hold it in, she really did, but she just didn’t have the control right then.

She swept her arm through the air, intending to make a gesture taking in all the damage that Monroe’s temper had caused. She already had her next words framed in her mind.

Look at this place! You’re the one responsible for this mess, and you have the gall to say that I’m the one who needs a break?

But she misjudged the distance, and instead of passing close to Monroe’s bare shoulder, her hand—more specifically, her claws—grazed him. Her claws might not have been as long or sharp as Monroe’s, but they could do some serious damage of their own, especially when backed by the strength of her anger. A deep scratch appeared on Monroe’s skin, and beads of dark blood welled forth.

At first he only looked at the scratch, as if he wasn’t certain what it was. But then his head snapped around to face her, eyes burning with anger. He bared his teeth, and he began breathing faster, oxygenating his blood in preparation to fight.

Rosalee hadn’t meant to hurt him, but she had. Sure, it was only a scratch, but in the grip of the
Ewig Woge
, even something as minor as an accidental scratch could feel like a deliberate attack. Still, that was no reason for him to act like a big baby about it. He was a big, bad Blutbad, wasn’t he? About time he started acting like it.

With a start, she realized that she’d been giving in to her own inner beast without even being aware of doing so. The loss of the rational self was the ultimate nightmare for most Wesen, and Rosalee was no exception. For a time—too
long
a time—she’d been hooked on Jay, a drug that had no effect on humans but was highly addictive for Wesen. She knew all too well what it was like to lose herself in pure sensation that felt like it was real, but which was actually just an artificially induced lie. The
Ewig Woge
was the same thing: it was a hormone imbalance that mimicked a disease, but it
felt
as if her animal side was fighting and clawing its way up from the depths of her being, determined to be free of the flesh-prison that had kept it caged for far too long.

She could feel herself teetering on the edge, on the verge of losing control. She used every ounce of mental and emotional strength she possessed and employed the same fierce willpower that had finally allowed her to walk away from Jay and never touch it again.

I’m not an animal
, she told herself.
I’m not.

She gave it everything she had, but in the end it wasn’t enough.

She returned Monroe’s snarl with interest and took a swipe at his head, intending to claw deep furrows into his cheek and jaw. His reflexes were too good, though, and he raised the book he was holding and used it as a shield. Her claws struck the back cover and took a chunk out of the leather. This drove him even further into a rage, and she reversed the direction of her hand and knocked the book out of Monroe’s grip with a backhanded blow. Deep inside, she recoiled at further damaging the heirloom, as she watched it fall to the floor, but the beast inside her felt only a surge of gleeful satisfaction at having deprived Monroe of his pathetic makeshift shield.

Monroe roared and reached for her with his clawed hands, but Rosalee wasn’t about to let him get hold of her. She spun around and ran toward the back room, where she’d have more room to maneuver. Fuchsbau might not be as strong or as bloodthirsty as Blutbaden, but they were fast, sly, and clever. As far as Rosalee was concerned, intelligence could beat primitive savagery any day—as long as you kept moving, that is.

The back room was where the shop’s bulk supplies were kept—large canisters of spices and dried roots, huge jugs filled with liquid extracts and essential oils, jars of dehydrated vegetables, bags of nuts and seeds, and more. Rosalee was a firm believer in having supplies on hand at all times, and the shelves were so full, they bowed from the weight of the contents. There was also a large refrigerator/freezer for those materials that needed to be kept fresh, and it too was jam-packed.

She knew she had only seconds before Monroe caught up with her, so she ran to one of the shelves, grabbed a canister, and spun around just in time to see Monroe claw past the curtain that separated the front of the shop from the back. Snarling, he fixed his gaze on Rosalee. She saw no sign of the man she loved in those blazing crimson eyes, saw no hint of anything even remotely human. Monroe as she knew him was gone, and all that remained was an angry, violent beast. This didn’t upset her, though. In many ways, she was little more than a beast herself right then. But there was one difference between them. She was a beast who was prepared. She jerked the lid off the canister, cast it aside, and as Monroe charged toward her, she hurled the canister’s contents in his face.

The ghost pepper was reputed to be one of the hottest chiles in the world, and Monroe got an industrial-sized blast of it dried and ground. He howled in pain and doubled over, coughing and rubbing furiously at his eyes. He started wheezing as his throat began to swell, and tears streamed from his reddened eyes and dripped onto the floor. The ghost pepper powder would’ve caused anyone who was attacked with it to react violently, but the effect was a thousand times more intense for Monroe, given his heightened Blutbad senses. For him—at least in terms of pain—it was almost like being splashed in the face with sulfuric acid.

The beast in Rosalee felt malicious triumph at having neutralized an enemy so thoroughly, but the woman in her felt only horrified guilt at having hurt the man she loved.

Strike now, while he’s helpless
, her beast told her.

All she had to do was rush forward, extend her claws to the fullest, and slash them across the Blutbad’s throat. It didn’t matter how strong and fierce he was. Once he started bleeding, it would all be over in seconds. She had to do it. It was the only way to make sure she’d be safe.

You could run
, Rosalee thought.

He’d only give chase
, her beast replied.
And after what we did to him, he’ll be so furious he won’t stop until he’s caught us, clawed us open from neck to crotch, and is feasting on our entrails.

Monroe would never do that, Rosalee told herself. Except he wasn’t Monroe any more, was he? At least not all the way. No more than she was Rosalee Calvert. She was Fuchsbau, she was speed and guile, and she would survive, no matter what it took.

She didn’t give in to the beast so much as it took control of her, and she moved toward Monroe, growling softly, claws raised.

Monroe was still wheezing and tears continued to fall from his eyes. He dropped to his knees and fell forward. His hands splayed in the chile powder and nearly slipped out from under him. Rosalee’s mouth curled into a cruel smile at the sight of his humiliation. The mighty Blutbad, brought low by a sniffer full of ghost pepper!

Now that he was on all fours, she wouldn’t simply finish him off with a single swipe of her claws. She would grab hold of his hair, lift his head to expose his throat, sink the claws of her free hand into his flesh, get a good grip, and tear—

Before she could go any farther, Monroe jumped to his feet and pressed his hands, both of which were covered with chile power, to her face, one hand over her mouth, the other her nose. She inhaled from surprise before she could stop herself, and fire exploded inside her nasal passages, and her throat felt as if it was filled with blazing hot shards of broken glass. She tried to push Monroe’s hands away, but he held them firmly against her face. Tears gushed from her eyes, and she tried to cough, but since Monroe’s hand covered her mouth, no sound came out. She thought he intended to smother her to death, and she started beating and clawing at his chest. But then he pulled his hands away and stepped back.

Now that she was able to breathe, she attempted to draw in deep lungfuls of air, but her throat had swollen to the point where it felt like she was breathing through a straw. She gasped, wheezed, coughed, and choked, and all the while two miniature Niagras gushed from her tear ducts.

The entire time this was happening, Monroe stood and watched. His eyes were still red and swollen, but they weren’t as teary as they had been. His breathing was harsh and ragged, but steady enough, and he no longer coughed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know it’s not much fun.”

“Not… much…
fun
?” she gasped out. “It feels like I inhaled… gasoline, and then… swallowed a lit match!”

She hurt like blazes. Who the hell actually ate ghost peppers on
purpose
?

It took several more moments for the worst of her physical reactions to pass. When they did—when she was able to more or less breathe freely again—she realized something.

“I can think clearly again,” she said.

Monroe, despite still being in Blutbad form, seemed like his usual sweet self, without any sign of the bestial rage that had gripped him. She remained in Wesen form as well, but she too felt no anger and no pressure to act on instinct.

“It’s the ghost pepper!” she said, almost giddy with excitement. “Something in the powder helped counter the effects of the
Ewig Woge
!”

“Some of them anyway,” Monroe said. “We’re both still pretty hairy.” He gingerly touched the claw marks Rosalee had left on his shoulder. “And by the way,
ow
!”

She stepped forward, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him. His lips tasted like chile powder, but at this point, she didn’t find the sensation of heat unpleasant, not in the slightest.

“Sorry,” she said.

He put his hands on her waist.

“
I’m
the one who should be sorry. I can’t believe I—”

She kissed him again to shut him up.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “It’s the
Ewig Woge
. But at least now we have a place to start looking for a treatment: the ghost pepper, the hottest chile in the world!”

“Actually,” Monroe said, “that’s up for debate. In 2013, the
Guinness Book of World Records
decided the Carolina Reaper was—”

Rosalee kissed him again, and this time they didn’t break apart for several minutes.

When they separated, Monroe sighed. “Back to work?”

Rosalee grinned, feeling hope for the first time in hours.

“Back to work,’ she said.

* * *

Bud had spent the last hour or so trying to settle on a hiding place. He’d found several good ones in the basement, attic, and crawlspace, but they were all occupied by his family. The Eisbiber had a saying:
Strong together; safer apart.
They tended to scatter when they had to make it more difficult for predators to find them. When you hid in a group, you gave off more body heat, scents were intensified, and the sounds of respiration were louder.

He was proud of his family’s skill at hiding, but unfortunately, they hadn’t left him with many choices for his own hiding place. He currently stood in the living room, considering his remaining options. He was contemplating hiding in the garage, or maybe going old school and digging himself a hole in the backyard, when his phone rang. He was so full of anxiety at that point that he actually jumped several inches into the air when he heard the ring. Grateful that no one had been around to see him overreact, he answered the phone.