Chapter 17 : Angelina's Return
Monroe's living room window exploded inward at three in the morning.
I was halfway off the couch before the glass finished falling, sword in hand, enhanced senses screaming threat warnings. A figure rolled through the debris—female, bloodied, laughing with the manic joy of someone who'd just won a fight.
[WESEN DETECTED: BLUTBAD (FERAL-ADJACENT)]
[THREAT LEVEL: C-RANK]
[COMBAT STATUS: POST-ENGAGEMENT - INJURIES MINOR]
"Honey, I'm home!" Angelina straightened, brushing glass from her leather jacket. Blood matted her auburn hair, but none of it appeared to be hers. Her woge flickered—red eyes, extended fangs, the predator's grin. "Miss me?"
Monroe emerged from his bedroom, baseball bat raised, then froze when he saw who'd invaded.
"Angelina." The name came out flat. Dead. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Saving your ungrateful ass, apparently." She dropped onto Monroe's armchair like she owned it, tracking blood across the upholstery. "That Blutbad who escaped the warehouse—the one who was going to testify against me to every pack on the West Coast? He's not going to be testifying anymore."
"You killed him."
"I tracked him. Made him confess. Then killed him." She examined her nails, picking dried blood from beneath them. "You're welcome."
I lowered my sword but didn't sheath it. Angelina's eyes tracked the motion—predator assessing predator.
"You must be the weird Grimm." She smiled with too many teeth. "I've heard stories. Monroe's new pet project. The one who negotiates instead of kills."
"I kill when necessary."
"Do you? Because from what I heard, you let that Blutbad run instead of finishing him. If I hadn't cleaned up your mess, he'd have brought reinforcements."
Monroe stepped between us, though whether to protect me or restrain Angelina was unclear.
"You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be anywhere near Portland. There are packs hunting you across three states."
"Four states, actually. And a Reaper cell in Seattle." Angelina's casual tone didn't match the information she was delivering. "Speaking of which—that's the other reason I dropped by. Your Grimm friend here has quite the bounty on his head."
[ALERT: REAPER BOUNTY CONFIRMED]
[AMOUNT: $20,000 (PROOF OF DEATH)]
[SOURCE: EUROPEAN REAPER COUNCIL]
Twenty thousand. The number was both insulting and concerning—low enough to suggest they didn't consider me a serious threat, high enough to attract opportunistic hunters.
"And you're here to collect?" I kept my voice level.
Angelina laughed—genuine amusement, not performance. "If I wanted to collect, you'd already be dead. No offense, but you're not exactly dangerous. Monroe told me about the warehouse fight. Two kills against three ferals? Pathetic."
"I survived."
"Barely." She rose from the chair, circling me with a predator's grace. "The question is whether you're worth more alive than dead. Twenty thousand doesn't last. But a place in something bigger—something with resources, protection, growth potential—that's interesting."
Monroe grabbed her arm. "Angelina, don't. He's not what you think."
"What do I think he is?"
"Another Grimm who'll use you until you're not useful, then put you down like a rabid dog." Monroe's voice cracked. "I won't watch that happen again."
The history between them pressed against the conversation like a physical weight. Whatever they'd been to each other—lovers, partners, pack—it had ended badly enough to leave scars.
"I'm not offering to use you," I said. "I'm offering a transaction. You have skills I need. Combat experience, territory knowledge, a reputation that makes other predators think twice. I have resources you need—information networks, safe houses, legal cover when things go wrong."
"What kind of legal cover?"
"I have a Hexenbiest attorney on retainer. She handles problems that can't be solved with violence."
Angelina's woge flickered again—interest, not aggression. "A Grimm who works with Hexenbiests. Monroe wasn't exaggerating."
"I work with anyone who's useful and trustworthy enough not to stab me in the back immediately."
"And how do you measure trustworthy?"
"Time. Performance. Consequences for betrayal that make loyalty the smarter choice."
She considered this. The clock Monroe had been restoring sat on his workbench, gears exposed, ticking softly in the post-violence quiet. Glass crunched under her boots as she moved toward the broken window.
"Probation," she finally said. "I'll work with you, not for you. Three months. If you prove worth following, we renegotiate. If you turn out to be another typical Grimm with a messiah complex, I walk—and I take whatever information I've gathered with me."
[PACK CANDIDATE: ANGELINA]
[STATUS: PROBATIONARY (90 DAYS)]
[LOYALTY: LOW (TRANSACTIONAL)]
[COMBAT CAPABILITY: B-RANK]
"Agreed."
She extended a bloodied hand. I shook it, feeling the strength beneath her grip—the casual power of someone who killed without hesitation.
"I'll clean up and be back in two days. Try not to die before then." She vaulted through the broken window, disappearing into Portland's night.
Monroe rounded on me the moment she was gone.
"Are you insane? Do you have any idea what she's capable of?"
"Multiple homicides across four states, pack warfare, and a personal body count that probably exceeds fifty." I sheathed my sword. "I read her file."
"Then you know she's unstable. She'll turn on you the moment it benefits her."
"Probably." I started picking glass from Monroe's carpet—small shards that would cut his bare feet if left scattered. "But controlled chaos is still control. And right now, I need every weapon I can get."
Monroe didn't help with the glass. He stood by his broken window, staring at the spot where Angelina had vanished.
"She was different once. Before the hunting, before the kills. She was just... wild. Free. The packs couldn't hold her, and I thought that was beautiful." His voice was distant, remembering. "Then she killed her first human. And then she couldn't stop."
"Do you still care about her?"
"I care about what she could have been. What I was when I was with her." He finally turned to face me. "If you're going to use her, Cross, at least be honest about it. Don't pretend you're saving her."
"I'm not pretending anything. I'm building a team to survive the next eighteen days. Angelina is a weapon—dangerous, unstable, but effective. I'll use her the same way I'd use any weapon: carefully, deliberately, and with full awareness of the consequences."
Monroe was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Help me board up the window. The temperature's dropping."
We worked in silence, covering the broken frame with plywood from Monroe's garage. The night air seeped through the cracks, carrying distant sounds of the city.
"She'll test you," Monroe said finally. "Push boundaries, see what you'll tolerate. That's how she works—finding limits, then breaking them."
"Then I'll set clear limits and enforce them."
"And if she crosses them anyway?"
I hammered the last nail into place. "Then I'll deal with her the same way I deal with any threat. But until then, she's an asset, not an enemy."
Monroe didn't look convinced. But he didn't argue either.
Twenty days remained on the Reaper deadline. I'd just added a weapon to my arsenal—unpredictable, dangerous, and very likely to cause problems.
I'd take those odds.
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