At the sight of the victims, Bucky's expression shifted, subtly at first then more overtly, from gloomy to horrified, and then finally to grim. He'd seen death before. He'd hunted with wolves and torn both humans and animals to pieces himself. He had seen what hunters did, before the peace that's overtaken their modern world.

This wasn't the worst thing he'd seen, but it was close. It conjured some of the brutality he'd seen in the war, things that had been done to the POWs.

Whatever was doing this, it was more of a monster than he was, and that was saying something.

"All right, I see what I'm doing here now," he said grudgingly. He was a tracker, and a wolf's nose was better than a vampire's. More than that, he could take care of himself in ways the human law enforcement wouldn't be able to. "But what's the tsarina supposed to do while I'm doing all the work?"

Was that necessary? Not strictly speaking. The pictures had him rattled though, and Agent Romanoff was a convenient target.