It was Violet, his old control-center operator from the PCA. 

So the PCA had found him. Of course they had.

His growl deepened.

“Down, boy, I’m here alone,” Violet sighed, trying the door handle from the other side of the door. Her eyes were round with shock when the door swung open on rusted hinges, unbothered by an obstacle of a lock. “Wow. Didn’t expect that to work.” She looked around, barely seeming to notice Jackson in his lupine form, much less be bothered or fearful of him, her eyes skimming the cottage interior. “Love what you…haven’t done with the place. What a literal shithole. Damn. And fix that door! It’s dangerous not having a lock.”

Jackson growled again, louder, before shifting back into his human form, cracking his neck as he straightened up within the small living space.

He stood naked after shifting, and because Violet didn’t bother hiding the fact that she was blatantly checking him out, he went to grab a pair of pants. 

“What I want to keep out isn’t stopped by door locks.” He paused with the buttoning of his jeans. “Well, maybe you’re an exception.” When he was finished, he snapped his fingers at her, as she was still staring at his ass, and folded his arms. “What are you doing here, Violet?”

The human had, of course, aged during their time apart. She looked to be in her mid-fifties now, the prime of her attractiveness, in Jackson’s opinion, while Jackson was still the same scruffy young man he’d always been. 

“You look good, Jackson,” she commented after a moment, her voice taking on a somber note. “Not great, but better than expected, given the circumstances.”

Jackson ignored the smalltalk, stiffening. “How did you even find me?”

“I think we should both sit down.”

“Where did you hide the PCA agents?” he demanded gruffly, eyes peering out through the threshold of the door to scan the treeline.

“I’m not with the PCA,” she said quickly, then sighed again. “No. No! I’m explaining all this at my own pace. I need a chair and some goddamn tea. Pull out your manners, kid.”

 Jackson frowned. “I’m older than you.”

“Then act like it.”

Jackson grumbled, forcing himself to relax as he put the kettle on the stove and stuffed fresh rosemary he’d foraged from the forest into an empty, chipped mug. When he returned to her, he discovered that Violet had taken up one of the two unbroken chairs. When he returned to her with a steaming mug, she frowned, sniffing at it. 

“What is this? Is that a twig?” she wondered dubiously.

“It’s tea,” Jackson barked, pulling the final surviving good chair close and leveling her with a look. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

Violet took a thoughtful sip of her drink, though didn’t react to it, folding the hands around the vessel as though thinking of what to say. “I…I’m part of the Delta group, Agent Jackson.”

He didn’t bother correcting her on his lack of ‘agent’ status, and instead shifted to sit up, his mind registering this new information with shock. “For how long? Since the insurrection?”

“Since always,” she said calmly. “I suppose you could call me their eyes and ears.”

“You were their spy. A rat,” Jackson translated blandly, unsure about how to feel about all of this. He didn’t care about the PCA, now. But he also, equally, didn’t care about the Delta group. It would be more fair to describe him as an uninterested bystander of a frivolous war, at this particular juncture of his life. 

“Fair enough. But I wasn’t spying on them…” She paused. “As much as I was spying on your little monster.”

Jackson’s vision seemed to darken around the edges at the mere mention, no, not even that, the sly suggestion of Clio. Even if his name was simply whispered on the wind, he saw red. Red of vengeance. Red of want. Wanting to bite into him. Just want. Want.

Jackson’s hands curled into fists as the back of them gently sprouted lupine fur. 

Violet noticed the small change and watched him curiously, before she cleared her throat and moved on. “I watched him as he began to change. Mainly to hide evidence of it so that the PCA didn’t foolishly terminate him out of fear, but he was, is, of great interest to the Delta group. ‘The greatest interest’ is perhaps an understatement. CL-10 is the end-all. The incubi are how this war will all play out.”

Jackson frowned, noticing the plural of the term, though said nothing. 

Violet smiled. “That’s right. You may not know this, Jackson, as few people had at the time, but Clio’s brother, a control specimen for Experiment 198, wasn’t terminated as he was originally supposed to be when they brought the infant back to PCA headquarters.”

“What?” Jackson asked softly, his mind clearing of everything and anything. His eyes instead immediately drew to the bassinet in the corner, imagining two infants within it. One had been scooped up by Jackson himself, while the other had been reaching out, grabbing for comfort.

He’d thought that infant had been killed shortly after. He’d put this belief under lock and key, compartmentalized, until he’d successfully come close to forgetting. 

With resolute guilt and helplessness, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of another boy who looked like his Clio. His Clio. He never imagined that the other child could have lived. 

Jackson rubbed the bridge of his nose, nearly trembling. 

By her even breaths, the speed of her heartbeat, and the sincerity in her voice, he knew what the past control-operator said was true. “Go on.”

Violet took another sip of her tea, grimaced, and set it down on the floor. “I’m going to tell you a little bit about incubi, as my team knows far more than the shoddy research the PCA attempted to collect when they had two little gods in their hands and were still unable to grasp the basics. The Delta group can be dated back to clans from the Middle Ages, having studied and passed knowledge and field research about incubi for centuries. 

“As of now, the PCA has the second incubus within their custody. After the insurrection, there was a possibility of it being lost, but the PCA were able to get a hold of him again. I believe he likes the name ‘Otto’. With the PCA in charge of Otto, it poses a great problem for us.” She shook her head, darkly amused by something she seemed to be dwelling upon. “What do you think the PCA’s mission is?”

Jackson leveled a look at her. He hardly cared what the PCA mission was, and he was increasingly annoyed that she had come here demanding that he recite some company motto. “Isn’t it to eradicate all paranormals?” he asked stiffly instead of snapping at her again.

“Wrong. In a sense. The PCA wanted to eliminate vis users, yes, but only because they couldn’t control them. They had no way of capitalizing from this bizarre occurrence. They wanted to find a way to sell it all: the strength, the enhanced mobility, the immortality…So they developed a longevity pharmaceutical, from Otto’s blood, that does exactly this. As well, earlier they had no way of controlling vis users, even the ones they made themselves. But with Otto, now they do. They finally got everything they wanted.” She laughed a little, without humor. “And they almost terminated their golden goose. I suppose it goes to show how in-over-their-heads they are.”

Jackson shook his head. “It’s kind of hard getting a caged bird to sing, isn’t it?”

“That was a standing issue, yes. But after the insurrection, they quickly realized that it was in the best interest of their enterprise to establish Otto’s… happiness, I suppose that’s one word for it. Brainwashing is another. Currently, they’re not forcing him to do anything. From what I know from the intel of our spies, the PCA have made Otto a pseudo-home, complete with actors playing as ‘Mom and Dad,’ his harem of chevaliers, and all the bloody hearts and sex he could dream of.”

Jackson felt his heart stutter, though he wasn’t sure why, at the word ‘chevalier.’ He was sure he had never used the word in context before, yet still it stood out to him. Chevalier. Knight. Knights of what?

Again, for that same odd reason, something inside of him was able to decipher what that name meant. Still, he needed affirmation. 

“What are the chevaliers?” he asked blankly.

She looked at him steadily, unflinching of the cold stare he sent to her, demanding and domineering. “I think you know what they are, former Agent Jackson.”

Jackson continued to stare until finally she relented, explaining.

“A chevalier is the word used to describe the … ‘minions’ of an incubi. Products of their direct power. They are paranormals, or humans, even, who have taken a drink of incubus blood. They develop what has been described in history as an unstoppable power. Their whole being revolves around whom they serve, the incubus who sired them. They are, as their name describes, knights of an incubus.” She paused again, sweeping a look over him from head to toe, measuring. “So how has your quality of life changed since you’ve become one?”

Jackson sat back, still staring. 

“You aren’t surprised,” she mused. “Though I suppose if your little monster had you wrapped around his little finger that tight, it would be difficult not to notice.”

“This is the last time I am going to ask,” Jackson seethed through grit teeth. “Why are you here?”

“I’ll cut to the chase. The PCA wants to create more incubi. They realize their enterprise might not be able to solely sustain itself on only obtaining Otto. In order to branch out, they’ll need more incubi to run their business.”

Jackson felt his hackles raise at the implication that the PCA could once again be chasing after Clio. All hairs stood up on end as he furiously brooded, nearly growling.

It’s not their right, he wanted to snarl. It was solely his. Chasing Clio was his burden, his prize, his hunt. The chase belonged to no one aside from him, and certainly not the PCA.

Instead of voicing his tangling dark thoughts, his wolf pacing within him like a caged animal, he instead had to enforce the use of his human voice to ask, “Will having just one more incubus, CL-10,” he snarled, for he couldn’t bear to say Clio’s name, “Will it really help them achieve this goal?”

She shook her head. “No. It won’t. Their plan is to breed them, Cl-10 and Otto.”

Jackson blinked, this answer bewildering him, distracting him from his previous dark thoughts. “How?”

“The incubi are a patriarchal species, and their breeding habits are just about as unusual as the rest of their abnormal makeup. Every mother succubus produces two male offspring. Twins. When those two incubi reach maturity, their instincts take hold of them, and they attack each other violently. Their goal is to kill the other, to achieve male dominance, and once their brother dies, the dead brother … in a sense, is then reborn as a female succubus. The remaining, dominant brother then gets to breed the succubus, releasing his seed, and then moves on. The succubus, however, gets the much shorter end of the stick. After bearing two more male incubi, her body will begin to deteriorate. All her power is transferred to her children, and a succubus dies about a year after giving birth.” She paused once more, allowing this information to sink in. 

It barely did. It felt like just words to him. Like a mad-scientist describing the bizarre nature of a bug he never had, or never would, encounter. A horrific fairytale that couldn’t possibly exist. 

Clio, again, had always felt like a fairytale; something pulled up from a dream more like an imaginary character, especially when he imagined the boy in the bassinet, staring up at him. 

It made sense, then. He had only been able to take down the succubus in the forest because she had been close to death. She’d already died before, and she perhaps hadn’t feared him for a single moment at the prospect of dying again. Perhaps she had found him that day, and had worked with a purpose. Perhaps her goal had been to herd Jackson to that very spot in the meadow, to make sure her children were found and safe, before she passed on. 

Jackson couldn’t help the rush of somberness at the sad, lonely thought. 

And Jackson had shot her dead.

“Incubi are rare for a reason,” Violet continued after a moment of unresponsiveness from Jackson. “Their breeding doesn’t allow them to produce large numbers. They are solitary beings, apart from the harem they create with their chevaliers. But the PCA plans to find a way to breed Clio to produce more incubi. I doubt they understand the full scope of how they breed, given their track record for lack of knowledge.”

“That’s not happening,” Jackson snarled before he even thought up the words. They seemed to have been released from somewhere from within his inner core, the fire in them an absolute, unbreakable vow.

Violet smiled at him, and this time, there was no ulterior motive to the gleam in her eye, just a bright understanding. “Delta doesn’t want that, either. In fact, we want your help in finding him, and bringing him under the protection of Delta.”

Jackson was already shaking his head. He had absolutely no desire to join any type of organization ever again, regardless of which side they were on. He had never been loyal to the PCA, but they had instilled in him the reality of what it meant to make promises of servitude to any organization.

“My hunt is mine and mine alone,” he said sternly, perhaps revealing far too much with this admission. He had yet to reveal that he was actively searching for Clio, though perhaps Violet had already made the obvious guess. Perhaps this Delta had been tracking him for a while, now, and his activity. He wouldn’t have been surprised, if they were as competent as they claimed to be.

Still, just as when he had learned that the PCA was hunting Clio, it did not sit well with him that this rebellion group, Delta, was searching for Clio as well.

“What if I were to say …” Her smile grew wider, as though she already had him, hook line, and sinker, “that we already know where he is?”

Jackson only had one question, one thought, one response that could possibly come from this revelation. 

“Where?” he demanded.