Chapter Text
Of the many races inhabiting the glamorous planet of Penacony, werewolves were the most notorious for their unmatched sense of smell. That was one of the main reasons why nowadays, the name of the Bloodhound Family became pretty much synonymous with the law enforcement, having been asked to aid them time and time again. Such was the case with Gallagher: though he may not have always agreed with the methods employed by the local police and security officers – be it due to their naivety, bureaucracy, or needless cruelty, he was nevertheless not a stranger to lending them his help, or more accurately – his nose.
This case was no different. Perhaps the only remarkable thing about it was that for once, he was acquainted with the supposed victim – a woman named Siobhan. They were not the bestest of friends, but he’d visited her bar a couple of times before. Since he also liked to dabble in bartending, they would exchange some useful tips occasionally.
And now, she has gone missing. She hasn’t been seen at work in nearly two weeks, and her friends haven’t had contact with her, either. Eventually, the Iris Family intervened and asked for a more ‘specialized’ detective to intervene.
Eugh, he hated to think of himself as a detective. He wasn’t one. At best, he was just some guy with a side hustle trying to make sure the cops didn’t fuck things up too badly.
There was one more thing about Siobhan’s disappearance – the woman was an alpha. Sad to say, but usually the majority of the city’s kidnappings and other such mishaps happened to omegas in heat, for equally unfortunate reasons. Recently, however, there has been a trend of alphas going missing, or going away unexpectedly, then coming back acting as if nothing strange had happened. Some of them were quite the influential figures within the families. Many victims displayed symptoms of memory loss, or felt confused overall. ‘It’s like they got brainwashed or something, creepy shit’, the police chief told Gallagher when he was explaining these bizarre incidents to him.
And without fail, almost every person who was lost and/or found has either been seen around the Oak Family’s mansion, or has had some dealings with the family head. It was there that Gallagher was sent to investigate.
Frankly, he thought these accusations were exaggerated at first. Not that he doubted for a minute the new family’s head had his fair share of skeletons in his closet, with that stupid smirk always plastered onto his cherubic face, but Gallagher couldn’t believe he’d actually be such an idiot as to make himself obvious. And yet, as he approached the mansion’s grand, golden gate, he could’ve sworn he vaguely sensed a weak trace of Siobhan’s scent in the area. That could’ve been him going nuts, too, but it was admittedly a bit unsettling.
So, they were snatching alphas, eh? Maybe Gallagher himself should be scared, then. Oooh, he was quaking in his boots, for sure.
One would say it was unwise to send a solitary alpha to investigate this specific case, while others would consider it genius, since he was the perfect bait. Really, though, he wasn’t feeling particularly nervous. He was well past his prime already. Penacony was the world’s center of hedonism. If anyone wanted to build some macabre living collection, they’d have many beautiful specimens to pick from before they even thought of taming this cranky old dog.
He arrived just in time for his appointment with the renowned Mr. Sunday. One of the mansion’s servants led him through the winding corridors to the study. He’d been there before. It was kind of unavoidable with how many matters this family liked shoving their feathery heads into. The damn place was making him miserable every time. Long, empty hallways made of white marble, columns and railings resembling a place of worship more so than something any humanoid species would call home. They weren’t very good at nesting, those birds. Then again, some doves did reportedly like to lay their eggs on raw concrete and call it a day.
The matter at hand was serious and Gallagher knew it, yet he still couldn’t help himself from making these snarky remarks in the privacy of his own mind. He had to entertain himself somehow. Truth be told, he wasn’t looking forward to meeting with that brat at all. Sunday, in his opinion, had no finesse whatsoever in his tasteless, ass-kissing façade. Sure, he still had years of learning ahead of him but in Gallagher’s experience, types like him rarely turned into shrewd masterminds. The smiling mask of a fool often concealed the face of a maniac who was grasping at straws, desperate to stay in control of something. Anything.
His philosophical wonderings were abruptly cut short when he set his foot in the office.
As soon as he laid his eyes on Sunday, sitting at his desk like the perfect host, Gallagher was hit with a mix of scents so strong it took all of his self-control not to cover his mouth and retch. By a miracle, he limited himself to biting his lip and wincing. The sensation could only be described as getting assaulted with some sort of a weaponized scent bomb. Overstimulating in none of the fun ways.
Once the employee left, the two of them stared at each other in a polite but increasingly awkward silence. Gallagher felt like he just got flashbanged, unable to collect his thoughts. Some people had intense scents, and some were very poor at the art of masking the scents of those with whom they interacted throughout the day. But this was a different situation entirely.
For one, Halovians had rather distinct scents to begin with. Gallagher was never a huge fan of them. Sunday himself has always reeked of spicy floral notes, the kind that scratched your throat when inhaled. Church incense times one hundred. Being next to him was comparable to guzzling down someone’s shitty attempt at mixing cinnamon whisky with stale, month-old rosewater.
One hundred? Nah, make that a million, actually. The man was obviously in heat, too. Quite curious, he had to admit. He wasn’t aware that the clan head was an omega. To maintain his status in spite of that, he must’ve been a little wiser than he gave him credit for.
But that wasn’t the gist of the problem. Besides his own scent, there were more than a dozen others rubbed all over him. Alphas, of course. Somehow, Gallagher doubted these belonged to the other inhabitants of the house. That guy was... getting around, huh. Honestly, what did he do? In the past, Gallagher had passed through brothels that smelled like less of a mess.
Trying to answer that question instantly made him more nauseous. Way to start off the conversation on a bad note.
Whatever. What did he care for Sunday’s private dealings, anyway? He came here to find Siobhan.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Mr. Gallagher?” His host offered kindly. As usual, there was something hiding behind that sweet smile of his. He must’ve noticed his reaction. Of course, he would’ve known a werewolf was able to sense what was going on right away.
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m going to stay very long. Don’t wanna trouble you.” He replied, but plopped down on the leather armchair anyway.
“I was told that you were seeking a meeting with me because of some ongoing investigation for the Bloodhounds, is that correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Naturally, I accepted the offer, as I’m willing to aid you however I can, but... To be honest, I gave it some thought and I couldn’t figure out just what could this meeting pertain to. The past couple of weeks have been exceedingly peaceful. Myself, I’ve hardly left the mansion at all.” Sunday made himself more comfortable in his seat, resting on one of his elbows. “Surely I’m not the one being suspected of anything, right?” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly.
If he was actually involved in something sinister, he was being awfully nonchalant about it.
“The famed head of The Family? A suspect? How could something so dreadful even cross your mind, Mr. Sunday?” For sheer amusement, Gallagher tried to return his saccharine smile, though he had no doubt his rendition was much more grotesque. “Nope, but you and your staff could potentially be key witnesses in a case that might’ve taken place in the area. So, you said you haven’t left home in a while? That doesn’t sound much like you, as far as I know. Might I ask why that is? A health problem, perhaps?”
Although Sunday’s smile didn’t wane for a second, his eyes narrowed in a less-than-friendly manner.
“Mr. Gallagher, I don’t believe I need to explain my current ailment to someone with a sense of smell as keen as a werewolf, do I? Some topics aren’t appropriate to be discussed in a professional setting, which I fully consider this meeting to be.”
Oh, nipping at the ankles already, was he? It seemed that the buzzing hormones had this unruly pup’s tempter even shorter than usual. Maybe, just maybe, the interrogation wouldn’t be as boring as Gallagher had anticipated.
“Ahah, of course, pardon me. Even though we have all this tech around us, at the end of the day, we’re still slaves to our nature, aren’t we?” He mused, and before Sunday treated him to another contrived reply, he reached into his pocket and took out Siobhan’s photograph. “Let me not bother the family head extensively during this... sensitive time, then. I’ll make it quick. Have you seen his Halovian lady anywhere in the area recently?”
He slid the photo across the desk, allowing Sunday to take a good look at it. Though he watched his expression closely, the sight of Siobhan didn’t affect it in the slightest.
“Hmm, I think I recognize her face... Siobhan. She is from the Iris Family, is she not? I might’ve visited her bar with my sister a few months ago, if I recall correctly... The memory is foggy. I’m not exactly a regular at these sorts of... establishments, you see, I can’t stand the wet dog smell they tend to have.”
He really wasn’t holding any punches this time around. His mask was paper-thin, almost translucent. One wrong move, and oops! He just might let it slip and show his real face to someone.
Gallagher almost liked him better that way. He even let their eyes meet for a brief second.
That aloof attitude of his wouldn’t lead him anywhere good. Someone had to teach him a lesson and then maybe, maybe he would volunteer to scrape him off the pavement in the aftermath. That someone wouldn’t be Gallagher, though. He had no knack for teaching.
“I see. Let me mark that down... Have you been in any contact with her since?”
“Hmm? No, why would I? It’s not like all Halovians on Penacony know each other, Mr. Gallagher.”
He’s come to realize, even though Sunday’s voice was soothingly soft, he really disliked the sound of his name coming from his mouth.
“That was not my implication at all.”
Sunday let out a deep sigh. “Why is it then that I’m being questioned? I have not seen this woman in months. If she’s been in the area recently, I wouldn’t have known, because I spent that time cooped up in my bedchambers. I wish I could help you, but I fail to see how that’s possible. You might have better luck asking my staff.”
“Alright, alright.” He rushed to quell his temper a bit, then took out several other photos. “How about these? Do any of these people ring a bell?”
Sunday put a finger to his mouth, deep in thought, or at least pretending to be so.
“Let’s see... similar case, I’m afraid. I recognize some of them. These two are from the Alfalfa Family, and this gentleman is a high-ranking member of the Nightingales, I believe. I might have seen the others in passing, but I might as well be telling that to myself now, under pressure from Mr. Detective.” He looked up at him with another smile, but strangely, this one felt kind of different. Just a few degrees warmer than the rest. It would’ve almost been pleasant if he didn’t call him that word just then. “I’m assuming all of these people were seen in the area, yes? But I don’t understand whether I am looking at a roster of victims, or suspected criminals.”
Whenever he fluttered those silly wings behind his ears, his scent became stronger, like he was fanning it his way on purpose.
Gallagher swallowed heavily, getting his head back on track.
“Technically neither, yet. By a very strange coincidence, everyone here has either gone missing or was missing and then found again, and before then, all were last seen near the Oak Family’s mansion.”
“Oh dear. Well, that is very unfortunate, but you have to admit, we are located in the middle of a busy downtown area. Regardless of how strange it might seem, I don’t think it can be ruled out that it was, in fact, just a coincidence. As much as I hate to say it, if you’re looking for organized crime on Penacony, this would be the street.”
It would indeed, Gallagher thought, except The Family was Penacony’s largest, most dangerous mafia at the end of the day.
He then continued to ask him a few more tedious and useless questions, but none of them led anywhere.
This conversation was hitting a dead end. It was pointless.
Sunday was a decent actor, but he definitely wasn’t telling the whole truth – he established that, at least. If he was truly as surprised about being questioned as he claimed, his reactions would’ve been more natural. He had his own agenda for everything, but he was not an awful man at his core. If it was a genuine shock for him to hear about people disappearing on his home turf, he wouldn’t be avoiding involvement with the investigation at all costs like he was now. Instead, everything Gallagher just witnessed had to have been carefully planned. He knew that sneaky little bird pretty well by now. This, whatever this was, was too squeaky clean for its own good, almost like his mansion.
Nevertheless, his alibi was untouchable. Omegas in heat tended to be a bit... single-minded. No court would believe that he’d be able to orchestrate not one, but several kidnappings, murders, or whatever the motive of this was, while in that state. What would his reasoning even be? Was he building a harem? Tsk. It wasn’t impossible, but it’d take a lot of effort to convince any cops to dig into his case that deep. Let alone make such accusations against someone so influential.
Somehow, he had a hunch that interrogating the staff wouldn’t be much more fruitful, either.
Gallagher eventually said his goodbyes and let Sunday walk him back to the door. When the other leaned over to grab the doorknob, he got a whiff of that intense mix of scents again.
To be fair, it was impressive that Sunday was even able to hold a conversation this well considering he had an alpha in front of him. It’s not like either of them were taken, to Gallagher’s knowledge.
Ah, well, maybe he’s truly lost his edge already. He was far more collected now than when he was a youngster, too. Back then, he might’ve been the one struggling to sit through a civilized meeting with him. That disgusting stench all over Sunday was also strongly suggesting he wasn’t exactly starved for entertainment.
Oddly enough, Gallagher found himself leaning in a little closer than he wanted to, but he wasn’t going to beat himself up over it – unexpectedly, it led to another discovery.
Siobhan. This time, without a trace of doubt, this was Siobhan’s scent, mixed in and nearly lost among a dozen others.
His eyes widened.
Even if Sunday was lying and he met with her before her disappearance, this still wouldn’t explain why her scent was still on him. It’s been two weeks since then – the time which he supposedly spent entirely in the confines of his own home. If he were to withdraw that claim, that would subsequently remove his alibi and rise more suspicion regarding his involvement with the other victims.
That was it. He got him cornered.
However, as much as Gallagher believed it should, sniffing people was not exactly considered definite proof in Penacony’s courts. Now that he knew he was on the right track, there had to be a way for him to collect some evidence.
“Mr. Gallagher...?” The quiet question snapped him back to reality.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Full moon’s coming in a few days, getting antsy as usual.” He waved his hand dismissively before shoving it back into his pocket, and with great relief, stepped out of that stinking office.
“Understandable. Yet, I can’t help but feel a sense of regret that we only ever see each other over such... unfortunate circumstances.” Sunday said, still standing at the door.
“Huh? What now?” He looked over his shoulder; it wasn’t even an act, he genuinely barely heard what the other was mumbling, and what he did hear wasn’t making much sense.
“Ah, nothing. Goodbye, and may your investigation go well.”
Gallagher decided not to waste time on talking to the staff. Whatever crazy schemes were taking place, they were most likely taking place under this roof, and the employees would definitely cover their boss’ feathery ass.
What he really wished to do was snoop around the mansion, but with how cautious everyone was it didn’t seem possible. Plus, he was just getting started. He’d rather not burn any bridges yet, so instead, he headed straight for the exit, ready to lay low until dusk.
When he returned, the sky had long taken on an inky hue, and the golden gate to the mansion has been locked for several hours. It was of no concern to him though; the estate was so large, it didn’t take a lot of effort to find a spot that was unlikely to have any security cameras and climb the fence.
Well, maybe the latter did take some effort. It turned out in this aspect, he wasn’t twenty years old anymore either. His joints ended up a little sore, hands and knees gained a few unnecessary scratches on the landing too, but he was sure he’d live.
The bird’s backyard reeked about as much as he did himself. Gallagher wasn’t going mad – there were a dozen, maybe even more, scents lingering around. For once in his life, he wished he were wrong. He already expected this to end up being much more of a hassle than just finding one missing woman.
What did feel like insanity however, was circling the mansion several times, trying to find evidence. From footprints to burial mounds, Gallagher was keeping his eyes peeled. Werewolves enjoyed a decent night vision, though it would undoubtedly be better if he could change into his more... fluffy form at will. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of a hilarious face Sunday would put on if he ever got a chance to see him like that.
After he’s made his fourth or fifth circle, questioning himself more and more with each, a helpful waft of evening breeze finally led Gallagher to a breakthrough. The horrific odor of several alphas’ scents piled on top of each other reached his nostrils again, more intense than before, and this time, it clicked just right. He got the bright idea to look up instead of down. Bingo.
Maybe looking for a bird’s nest up in the treetops should’ve been more obvious in the first place, and that’s exactly what he did next. He found a nearby tall, old oak tree – how poetic – and scaled it until he got himself a branch that let him peek into the second floor’s windows whilst staying hidden among the leaves.
One of them was slightly open. Just a tiny gap, but it was enough to lead his nose to the right spot. This time, it was much harder to hold himself back. As he crawled towards the window, Gallagher gagged, and was forced to cover his face with his arm. That did not obscure his view. Unfortunately.
The sight that unfolded before his eyes was... hard to register as real, at first. And once it did, he instantly wished to unsee it, preferably erasing it from his memory forever.
In the vast room, lush in opulent decorations and velvet furniture, a group of people kneeled on the floor in a circle, all in various stages of undress. Maybe a dozen or so. With no mistake, the majority of them were the faces he had come to recognize for the photos he showed to Sunday a few hours prior.
The fractions of seconds in which his eyes swept across the room were some of the most stressful Gallagher had experienced in years; alas, there she was as well. Siobhan was kneeling among this bizarre congregation with a dazed, absent expression on her face. Damn it.
The room itself also had a strange, foggy aura to it. It could’ve been just some fancy incense, but at this point, he really couldn’t put it past Sunday to spike it with some nasty drug.
Now, the man of the house was present on the scene, too. He was splayed on a pile of cushions in the center of the circle, surrounded by even more of his ‘guests’. One of them was balls-deep in him already, fucking like his life depended on it, whilst Sunday entertained another three with his hands and mouth. It was pretty darn jarring to see those dainty hands which stayed gloved most of the time not only bare, but rubbing against dirty old cocks, though Gallagher had no doubts that was exactly what the youth was getting the biggest kick out of. Even with his mouth stretched and full, it was impossible to peel that stupid smirk off his face.
That weird juxtaposition applied to the rest of his body as well; he was really much smaller than he seemed in his usual prim and proper layers, skin as white and smooth as porcelain. Maybe those alphas felt sorry for their blasphemy too, because every now and again they planted kisses on his shoulders and back, or caressed all four of his limbs.
Holy hell.
He’d seen a lot of debauchery in his days, but this was a level nobody could ever brace themselves for.
Fighting back nausea, Gallagher reached for his phone, planning to call one of his friendly cops. It was his first instinct. However, as he was scrolling down his contacts list, his head cooled down a bit.
This wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill crook he was dealing with. Sunday was so untouchable, in order to make as much as a scratch on his perfect image, he needed solid proof.
With much hesitation, he turned back around and started recording this questionable show, thinking he’d have to consider burning his phone after the fact. The thing was brand new, too.
He tried hard not to pay attention to it, but his hands were trembling. Although he couldn’t hear much of what was happening inside the mansion, he was still very much able to smell it. And among all those scents, Sunday’s was now the strongest.
Fittingly, the latter’s body was also somewhat shaky. After wiping a streak of seed leaking down the corner of his mouth, he gestured at more people to come over. Next round, from the looks of it. How many would it take before he was satisfied?
As a new batch of alphas began to surround him, the man standing behind him became more frantic. He must’ve been close.
All of the sudden Sunday turned around and grabbed the man’s face, cupping it while he stared him down intensely. Within seconds, the alpha froze, burying his nails in the other’s soft thighs. Once Sunday let him go, he stumbled behind, and almost immediately pulled out of him. He was still hard as a rock and, from the look on his face, not at all satisfied from this outcome, but whatever Sunday did to him, he was unable to resist it. All that was left to do for him was to stand in line with the rest of the crowd swarming Sunday’s front, and wait for his turn while another person eagerly replaced him.
A few minutes of utter depravity later, it happened again – some alphas were getting a bit pushy fighting for Sunday’s attention. But with just one glance, a flap of his tiny wings, and some quietly muttered spell, they collectively turned into obedient lambs.
This was news to Gallagher, too. Halovians were known for their singing abilities, and that also included different variations of siren songs and serenades, so hypnosis might’ve as well been on the table. But for an omega to do it...? He was using them like marionettes for his own pleasure without actually letting anyone knot him or mark him. It would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so chilling.
But it was also a train wreck he couldn’t take his eyes off. Who knew how much time Gallagher spent on that tree, watching that filthy birdhead drool and moan while scoring every position under Asdana’s many stars. Every now and then, one of his louder screams sneaked through the open window, ringing in his ears like a bad case of tinnitus. Though the night was chilly, his palms were sweating, making it harder to keep the phone in his grip. He was about to start pushing his memory card’s limit, but as minutes relentlessly passed, he did not see Sunday reach a climax even once. Soon, the mob started to swarm him more and more, getting clingier, until they buried him under their bodies almost completely.
The sound of his own frustrated growl seemed to have finally snapped him out of it. Sheesh, was he under some sort of hypnosis, too? Gallagher’s body felt so numb he had to gradually remind himself of all of its functions. All but one – his second wake-up call came with realizing that somewhere along the way, he got a bit more riled up than he wanted to. Ah, so it wasn’t just anxiety that had his stomach so cramped up. Thank the Aeons it was dark enough that nobody would notice him going home with his dick trying to poke a hole through his pants as if he were a hormonal teen. This had better not put him on some kind of registry.
“For him?” He asked under his breath, disappointed with himself. “’s not worth it bro, there’s plenty less poisonous fish in the sea.”
Sadly, his lower half insisted on disagreeing.
That was enough evidence. He stopped recording and shoved the phone back into his pocket before carefully climbing the tree down.
Any wise man would advise him to carry that video straight to the nearest police station or the Bloodhound Family’s headquarters, but he had enough foresight to know things in Penacony weren’t always so simple. He couldn't have known just how far that brainwashing went, but there were people who had managed to make it out of this sick harem unscathed. Sunday wasn't necessarily fully controlling them, and he needn't lure the alphas into his mansion. A pretty lad like him would attract everyone in the area with no effort once they got a whiff of him being in heat. And if those people did indeed come there on their own, or were brainwashed enough to convincingly claim that they did, no cop would be able to drag them home by force. There was still the possibility of the Oaks trying to sweep the whole thing under the rug, too.
Fuck, poor Siobhan. She might’ve fallen into the trap, but she didn't deserve to stay in it.
"Think old mutt, think." Gallagher muttered to himself as he strolled down Penacony's never-sleeping streets a while later.
Sunday has always been a prideful little birdie. Even without any serious accusations made, he wouldn't want this video to fall into the wrong pair of hands.
There might have been another way of going about things. More shady, yes, but there was high chance it'd also be more successful.
Before making any rash decisions, Gallagher decided to sleep on the matter first. If he could get any sleep that night, anyway.