Victuals & Vehemence - Septiplier

Chapter Two

"Jack, Angelmaker, Vincent," is the telegram. The omega reads the message and takes a shuddering breath of shock. The killer is becoming thirstier. Two kills in the same week. Now in Vincent Town, three towns over. This will make tracking him easier. He can get the reports from the motels, track who came in and who left to go where, chat with everyone, and gather information. Sadly, that means enduring alphas, but he will do what is necessary. The murders so close together makes it easier. It makes it more straightforward to know the time range the Angelmaker could have arrived in.

Standing, Jack gathers his things, breaths sharp as he steels himself. A hard ride with the posse, cutting the time down to just a day to get there. Fuck, and his heat only a week away. He can already feel the small signs of pre-heat, horny each night, higher sensitivity to alphas. He refocuses himself, fighting off the wandering thoughts that slip over him, that pull him away with warm, strong arms, loving teeth at his nape, and a deep, crooning purr that sends him whining. Focus.

It was requested the body of the victim was left untouched, the room uncleaned. He doubts anyone in that small town can stomach the sight of the Angelmaker's work anyways. He shuffles all the old crime scene pictures together, catching an errant glimpse of a severed arm amidst the photos. Bite marks fall in a pattern down the limb, with additional cuts made by a knife, where the canines would be- incredibly careful not to reveal the gender. By cutting out the canine marks, the Angelmaker hides his gender. Alpha's canines are sharp and large, omega's are sharp and short, beta's large and blunt, and women's blunt and short. With such attention to detail and prowess in every murder, everyone in the Edmundson Investigative Agency knew of the Angelmaker. Law enforcement across the nation knew who to call whenever the Angelmaker's works made an appearance. The nation's populace also knew of the controversy.

The omega.

Sean William McLoughlin, known as Jack to the public. He uses Jack because Sean feels soft to him, something an alpha murmurs in a deep voice, croons as it slips over the tongue. Jack was stable, simple. Jack isn't an omega name.

He carefully covers his scent to the best of his ability, using a cigar and puffing on it. Jack breathes the smoke over himself and rubs the ash into the insides of his collar and his wrists. A tradition he does, not to mourn, but to conceal. The omega has no god to mourn the crucifixion of. The only certainty he knows is the power of instinct. After Jack dashes water over his face and ruffles his hair, he cocks his hat on his head and heads out, bag slung over his shoulder. The other men have already received their telegrams because they go out much more often. Jack hasn't left this hotel room since he'd observed the body found in this town. PJ had brought him the telegram, before heading out again. Jack knows where the posse will be, so he departs, checks his horse, feeds him some oats, and hops on after securing the saddle properly.

He guides Hades down the street, and with a cluck of his tongue, he pulls the horse to a halt outside the saloon, letting out a whistle to let the posse members inside know it was time to roll out. He fidgets with the reins, not enjoying having to make such a loud sound that calls the attention to him. The alphas sitting out front perk up, eyes roving over the lean omega wearing a cowboy hat with guns holstered at his hips, riding astride the horse, not the usual side-saddle. Jack shivers, and he turns his head, averting his gaze, ducking down slightly, just in case they didn't like him sitting in a nontraditional manner.

One stands, brave enough to try his luck. He saunters over, leaning against a railing a couple feet from Jack's horse. Jack shivers as the scent of the alpha wafts over him, similar to that of all these frontier men, strong and sharp, raw, hinting of smoke and sweat as the base, with middle tones of coffee, and a high note of lime. The lime is a surprise and a sweet edge, more refined. It soothes the omega, who hails from an eastern city, Boston. He's not a high-born, but the city was always alive with fresh imports from around the globe. They are a thing far more rare and expensive out here.