Dark Hunt

Naomi Clark

QueeredFiction

Durban

A QUEEREDFICTION PRESS BOOK

First published by QueeredFiction in 2011

Copyright © 2011 Naomi Clark

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Any characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

in a retrieval system, or transmitted—in any form

or by any means—without the prior permission,

in writing, of the publisher. Nor may it be otherwise

circulated in any form of binding or cover other

than that in which it is published.

DARK HUNT

First Edition

ISBN 978-1-920441-16-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-920441-17-3 (Electronic Book)

QUEEREDFICTION PRESS

Gillitts, Durban

Republic of South Africa.

www.queeredfiction.com

Book Design by Jemstar eBook Services

Acknowledgements

Thanks once again to James, a marvelous editor and all-round fabulous person to know. Thanks also to Anjena Damodar, who checked my French for me. Any mistakes are mine, not hers! As always, I’m grateful to Different Star and Cally Beck for beta reading duties, as well as Andrea Blythe, who offered invaluable advice on treating burns. Finally, big thanks to Kyle, who keeps me fed and watered while I write, and to my parents, who tell everyone they can about my books. I love you all!

Testimonials

“Wow. Clark’s wolves are compelling and real.”

Sherwood Smith

“[M]akes you breathe the air of another world, feel all the pleasure and pain of another being, and stirs the heart.”

Lark Neville

DEDICATION

For everyone who read and enjoyed Silver Kiss.

Thank you for embracing Ayla and Shannon and making it

possible for me to write more of their adventures!

One

My first view of Paris was a McDonald’s across the street from the entrance of Gare du Nord train station. I’d expected can-can dancers and mimes and couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “Surely we didn’t come all the way to France to eat Big Macs?” I asked Shannon, tugging on her sleeve.

She was busy snapping photos of the impressive Gare du Nord, angling her camera up to take in both the pale blue sky and the massive statues at the corners and center of the roof. “I could murder a Big Mac,” she replied absently. “I’m starving.”

I grimaced. I’d spent the train ride from London to Paris day dreaming about veal tartare and Boeuf de Chalosse. I could have stayed in England and eaten Big Macs. “Shall we go find the flat then?” I asked, setting my suitcase on the pavement so I could pull my street map from my coat pocket. “It should be within walking distance.”

“In a minute,” she replied, still snapping pictures. “Did you know all these statues represent different cities? I’m trying to figure out which one is London.”

I turned to scan the row of stately statues and couldn’t see anything that conjured up images of red buses or Big Ben. Leaving Shannon to it, I surveyed the street once more, inhaling deeply to see if Paris smelled any different to home. Ignoring the familiar greasy smell of burgers and fries, I took in the scents of fresh lilies from the flower vendor nearby, the smoke of cigarettes, and the lingering odor of the train station—a weird mix of sugary pastry and coffee from the coffee shop near the entrance—and metal from the trains. My wolf wagged her tail at the new smells. It was like England but different. I felt myself relax, suddenly conscious of how glad I was to not to be at home.

Shannon, apparently satisfied she’d found London, tucked her camera away and picked up her own suitcase. There was a steady flow of people entering and exiting Gare du Nord, and we were jostled on all sides as we exited the station. My wolf, normally so prickly about crowds, took it with good grace. We were both excited to be in a new city with our mate, ready to have some fun and adventures. I had my priority firmly fixed in my mind; I’d find a street mime this week if it killed me.

“Okay, which way?” Shannon asked as we crossed the road to stand outside McDonald’s. “Maybe we should just take a taxi.”

“No! If we walk we’ll find our way around the city better.” There was no way I was getting into a cramped car after three hours on a cramped train. I glanced around to get my bearings. I’d only just put the map away, but already the route from Gare du Nord to Montmatre had faded from my head, pushed out by the sights and sounds of Paris. Music drifted from an open window overhead, fast-paced French vocals that were wonderfully exotic to me.

A little old man, wrapped up in an overcoat and battered beret despite the warm March weather, shouted out news headlines from a newspaper stand a few feet away. I remembered enough French from school to pick out a few words—Morte and Mystère and maybe something about downstairs. I grinned, loving the musicality his rich accent gave the words.

“Ayla,” Shannon said patiently, tapping my arm. “Stay with me.”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Flat. Right.” I pulled out the map again, twisting it around to get it lined up with the street we were standing on. “If we go this way, we should end up on Rue d’Amsterdam.”

Shannon peered over my shoulder at the map, a frown on her lips. “Are you sure?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if I’m not. We’re on holiday, we’re exploring.”

She kissed my cheek and smiled. “Okay then. Let’s go.”

We only got lost twice. Each time Shannon just smiled and shook her head and let me mess around with the map until we got back on track. It wasn’t really like her. Normally she’d insist on taking the lead, being the practical one in the relationship. But ever since the events with Sly last month, she’d treated me differently. Like I was fragile, breakable. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the kid-glove handling. After all, I was the werewolf, she was the human. If either of us was breakable, it was Shannon.

On the other hand, dealing with Sly and Silver Kiss—a drug that turned werewolves into ravening beasts—had certainly thrown me in danger’s path. I’d escaped lightly compared to some of the other Pack members; Moria Clayton still needed physiotherapy after Sly broke two of her legs. Molly Brady, a cub Sly and Alpha Humans had forced into fights as part of their sick game, was still withdrawn and might never fully recover from her ordeal. And Eddie, one of our alphas, had lost his life trying to bring Sly down. I’d never agreed with Eddie’s methods, his blackmailing and bullying, but nobody deserved to die like that, shot between the eyes defending his Pack.

So yeah, I understood some of Shannon’s behavior. Sometimes at night I still woke up in a cold sweat knowing I could have died. It could have been me instead of Eddie. Then I’d roll over to huddle closer to Shannon, soaking up comfort from her warm, sleeping form, reminding myself that I was okay. I was alive.

It didn’t help that we’d been going through a rocky patch during all the trouble with Sly and the Alpha Humans. The extra strain had pushed us both almost to breaking point. While I was out helping my Pack alphas hunt down the drug-dealing feral and his wolf-baiting ring, Shannon was at home helpless and frightened. It had given her too much time to think, too much time to regret our move from the north of England to the south. We hadn’t spoken about that recently—there’d been too much else going on. Sly’s trial was scheduled to start in the summer. We’d both spent endless hours giving statements to the police, going over the whole ordeal again and again.

The issues, I knew, would come up again. Sly’s arrest and impending trial had forced us to put our lives—and our problems—on hold, but that wouldn’t last forever.

That was why we were in Paris now, blundering our way up and down Rue de Clichy looking for the Moulin Rouge. The holiday was going to help us sort out our problems, help Shannon and I get back on solid ground. At least, I hoped so.

“You didn’t tell me Joel’s place was in the heart of the sex district,” Shannon remarked as we walked past yet another seedy-looking porn shop. This one had sailor outfits in the window. “Doesn’t seem like him.”

“It’s his parents,” I corrected. “I think technically it’s in the Opera Quarter.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t seem like them either.” Shannon lingered outside a classier looking adult shop with swirling pink writing on the window, advertising videos, toys and more. “I like those shoes.”

I pulled back to look at the towering black heels. “Glory would love them.”

“Do you think people can actually walk in those?” She seemed fascinated and I had to drag her away from the shop. I hadn’t come to Paris to look at shoes.

“We’re not far now. Let’s get settled at the flat and then you can come back and look at shoes, okay?”

Shannon let me drag her away, indulging me. I wondered if I ought to be taking advantage of this new, pliable Shannon and demanding some kinky sex, breakfast in bed or something. I saved that thought for later. It was midday, I was starving and I wanted to dump our luggage so we could go eat somewhere fancy and French.

The Moulin Rouge appeared as if by magic as we walked up the street, the red windmill unlit but still just as enchanting as I’d imagined. It looked so out of place amongst the crepe vendors and sex shops, yet somehow it also made these things more glamorous, touched by the promise of glitter and dance. We lingered outside to take photos and check the prices for shows.

“It’s expensive,” Shannon said doubtfully.

“But worth it. We could do a meal and a show one night. We should. We can’t come to Paris and not go to the Moulin Rouge! Glory would never forgive us.”

She smiled. “We’ll come back later.”

I nodded and we headed away from the Moulin Rouge towards the flat. It was all uphill from there and by the time we’d clambered the stupidly steep sidewalk—past the cheese shops, bakeries, and boulangeries—I was so hungry I could have cried. My wolf, cooped up too long, wanted release. She wanted to break free and race through this new city, explore all the corners, learn all the secrets. I tipped my head back to stare at the sky. It would be a new moon tonight. I wondered if the Parisian werewolves would be welcoming.

Joel’s parents had holiday homes in Barcelona and Rome as well as Paris, but as far as I knew, they never used any of them, preferring to holiday in Scotland. It baffled me, but I wasn’t going to argue their choices. It meant we had free access to a beautiful flat in the Opera Quarter for as long as we wanted.

“This is gorgeous,” Shannon said as we stood outside, getting our breath back. “I can’t believe they don’t just live here.”

It was a small block of flats, only three stories high. The brick was a rich cream color, with dark ivy creeping up the sides. The windows were small, with iron bars curling around the wooden frames. It was all rustic and...well, French. Like Shannon, I fell in love instantly. “Have you got the key?”

Shannon nodded. Inside we climbed the rough, creaking wooden stairs to the third floor. The building was silent; I supposed all our new neighbors were at work or out miming. I liked the silence. This would be a sanctuary for us, somewhere to chill out and put the chaos and mess of the last few weeks behind us. Shannon unlocked the front door and the scent of vanilla flooded the hall, making my nose twitch.

“Wow,” she said, stepping aside so I could enter.

Definitely wow. The flat had clearly been built with wolves in mind; it was open plan and the furniture was comfortable and simple. There was a sofa in the lounge area and a farmhouse style table in the kitchen area. Nothing you could break or ruin with a sudden, violent change. The decor was very much to Joel’s taste, lots of cream and powder blue. Off the living room was a double bedroom with an en suite, also showing Joel’s hand at work. The bedroom was decorated in plum and chocolate, the bathroom in cool greens and yellows. Joel, an architect by trade, loved nothing more than a new house to furnish.

“Perfect,” I announced, leaving our suitcases in the bedroom and throwing open the window to diffuse the vanilla. As soon as I found the source, I was binning it. I hate vanilla. Shannon snuck up behind me to wrap her arms round my waist and hug me, resting her chin on my shoulder. She was wearing new perfume, swapping her usual sandalwood and jasmine for cherries and dark chocolate. I turned in her arms to nuzzle her neck, nipping lightly at her collarbone where the scent was strongest. My wolf loved the new perfume, wanted to lick the scent off Shannon’s body.

“So what first?” she asked me. “The Louvre? Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower...”

“Food,” I said promptly. My breakfast fry-up seemed like a long time ago. “How about we explore round here for the rest of the day and save the proper tourist stuff for tomorrow?”

We had a week and a checklist of places to visit. I wanted to draw out the experience as much as possible, savor every second of our time here. I knew that all too soon we’d be back in England, facing all the issues we’d had before we left. I was in no hurry to get back to that.

We set out arm-in-arm to explore Montmartre. Parts of the area were glorious tourist traps, the streets lined with tiny shops all selling the same tacky souvenirs, from red and yellow Chat Noire bags and socks to Eiffel Tower keyrings and an endless supply of berets. Shannon posed in one, looking so perfectly elegant in her skinny jeans and white top that I had to buy the beret for her.

After an hour or so of aimless wandering and peering into shop windows, we found a bistro and sat at one of the street tables to eat our soupe à l’oignon.

“I hate to say it,” Shannon said through a mouthful of soup, “but it puts Vince’s cooking to shame.”

“Don’t ever tell him that,” I warned, watching passers-by come and go, trying to pick out the wolves from the humans. “It’ll kill him.”

There was another newspaper vendor on the street, his booth also stocked with postcards and keyrings, and I singled him out as a wolf straight away. He had that distinctive musk of Pack, hidden under the smell of tobacco and too much cologne. Once Shannon and I were finished eating and paid up, I hurried over to him, prepared to try out my rusty French skills while Shannon picked out postcards for her parents.

“Pardonezmoi,” I started.

“I speak English,” he cut in with a touch of impatience. He must get sick of tourists mangling his native tongue, I thought. “You want a paper? Keyring?”

“No thanks.” I waved away the magazine he thrust at me. “I was wondering, where do the wolves go to run round here?” It was a relief not to have to ask that in French. I figured there must be a local park for wolves to stretch their legs. The twisty streets and hills of Montmartre didn’t offer any real place to exercise and I couldn’t go a whole week without a proper run.

He looked at me a little blankly. “No park, we run on the streets. You are not a city wolf, no?”

“Well, yeah, I am, but...” I shrugged helplessly, hoping the gesture conveyed my thoughts. No park? That was ridiculous! I’d seen plenty of green spaces on my street map, but nothing significant near where we were staying. I didn’t fancy going all the way to the city limits every time I needed a proper run. “What do you do then?”

He gestured around himself, at the busy roads and bustling streets. “We have all this. Walk the streets, smell the city, hunt the rats, no? Visit the river. There are parks,” he shrugged, somehow implying that parks weren’t for real wolves, “but Paris is not about parks.”

“Oh.” I hid my disappointment and surprise. I thought I’d done a good job of it, until he laughed in my face.

“You will see. No wolves go running alone after dark anymore anyway.” He shoved a newspaper under my nose. “Le Monstre, you see? The Monster.”

“Monster?” I stared at the headline, picking out the same words I had earlier, outside Gare du Nord. Morte. Mystère. “Mystery death,” I echoed as Shannon left the rack of postcards to join me.

“Oui,” the vendor nodded, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You take my advice, cherie, you stay at home after dark, non? Le Monstre, he likes wolves just as good as humans.”

***

“What do you think it is really?” I asked Shannon as we strolled down by the Seine an hour later. Le Monstre screamed from the headlines at every newspaper stand we passed and people grabbed copies with exclamations and soft curses. Funny how swearing sounded so much more eloquent in French. “A feral wolf? Or maybe Silver Kiss has found its way to France.” Sly had forced some of the drug on me the night Eddie was shot; I found it all too easy to believe it could turn an average werewolf into a monstrous killer.

“It’s probably all just tabloid speculation,” Shannon said. “I don’t know enough French to be sure, but the paper looked like a red top, so it’s probably a stray dog mangling pet rabbits or something.”

That wasn’t as exciting a theory as monsters, or even ferals—werewolves that had given themselves completely to the wolf. The paper man, I decided, was probably playing the whole thing up to spook us silly tourists. No amount of blood-and-guts headlines were going to keep me inside after dark. Paris was the city of light, after all.

I shook off visions of a scarlet-lit Moulin Rouge pinwheel. We still had an hour or two of daylight to spend. The Seine was flat and dark, its banks lined with street artists and more souvenir stands. No mimes, I noted with disappointment. The vendors were already starting to close for the day, packing up their wares and shaking their heads when people approached. The sun was sinking slowly, spreading patches of gold light across the streets and the river. Couples of all ages wandered up and down the bank, hand-in-hand, talking in low murmurs and a mix of languages. It was all exactly as peaceful and romantic as I’d hoped and I pulled Shannon to a halt to kiss her.

She responded warmly, cupping my face in her hands. Someone across the street wolf-whistled and we broke apart with a laugh, Shannon’s cheeks glowing from the brief, hot kiss. “We’ll never get to Notre Dame if you keep this up,” she scolded me lightly, taking my hand again.

“Well there’s no rush, is there? We won’t be able to go to the top at this time of day anyway, I shouldn’t think.”

Shannon was keen to see the famous gargoyles. I was a little dubious about trekking to the top of the cathedral. I’m not scared of heights, not exactly. My wolf just doesn’t like being so far away from the ground. I fully intended to get to the top of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe during our stay, but I knew it would be easier said than done. Notre Dame, I thought, would be a good first test for my animal side.

It was a long walk down the Seine to Notre Dame and a dusky spring evening had fallen over the city by the time we got there. It was a beautiful sight, rising up out of the darkening street in a blaze of pale light, the sandy brickwork glowing. The Gothic arches were dramatic, the sheer size of the cathedral awe-inspiring. I wondered how long it had taken to build that, how many people had worked to carve those arches and pillars. There was an evening service just finishing as we arrived. People were streaming out of the doors and making it almost impossible for us to squeeze past and get inside.

Once inside though, it was as if the street outside vanished completely. The silence was heavy. People crept around the rows of pews mutely, gazing upwards at the bluish-purple stained glass windows with almost reverential awe. I found myself doing the same, as Shannon and I wandered around. Stone statues of saints and the Virgin Mary stood in every corner, proud and dignified. Every curve of stone, every kaleidoscope of rainbow glass was elegant and beautiful, almost overwhelming in their splendor. I’d imagined the cathedral would smell like a library—all dust and old paper—instead I smelled melting candle wax and floor polish and a cool, plastery scent wafting from the walls.

“It’s beautiful,” Shannon breathed in my ear as we paused before a tall orange-brown statue of Louis XII. “I can’t wait to get up there and see the gargoyles.”

I stared at the vaulted ceiling and my stomach twinged at the thought of being all the way up there. It felt like an impossible feat to my wolf. I pushed the pinch of fear aside. I’d be fine. I’d been higher than that in planes and I’d been fine, so...I’d be fine.

Hungry again, with my wolf restless and eager to be free after a long day of confined spaces, I dragged Shannon from Notre Dame. I promised her we’d be back for the gargoyles later in the week and we headed back the way we came. Darkness had truly fallen. Although the streets were still busy, I got the sense that the crowds were thinning out, that nobody planned to linger and watch the lights of the cathedral or sit by the river. People were moving, determined to get wherever they were going as fast as possible.

I wondered again about Le Monstre, wondered if a body had been found nearby. I hadn’t seen any police cars or even police officers and my wolf-senses weren’t picking up anything weird or unusual. I figured Shannon and I were safe enough walking back to Montmartre.

I hadn’t quite realized how long a walk it was though and by the time we were back on Rue de Clichy I was ravenous and Shannon was exhausted. “We’ll take the Metro next time,” she announced as we trudged up the stairs to our flat. “I’m not ruining my heels trekking across Paris every day.”

I was about to tell her she was far too soft when I heard weeping from up the stairwell, on our floor. Not just sobbing, but hysterical, breathless crying, like somebody was in real gut-wrenching pain. There was shouting too, a male voice. Not really angry, but exasperated and tired. Shannon heard it too and frowned at me.

“Sounds like the neighbors are home.”

“What do we do?” I whispered, suddenly feeling awkward. It sounded like they were out in the hall and I didn’t want to have to creep past some domestic dispute to get to our flat. On the other hand, if the crier—a woman—was in trouble, I wasn’t going to ignore it either.

Ever decisive, Shannon marched up the stairs, making sure to stomp her heels as she did so the arguing couple couldn’t possibly ignore our arrival. Sure enough, as we reached the hallway, the argument stopped. I rounded the corner of the stairwell to see a heavily-pregnant Asian woman leaning against the wall between our flat and another that I took to be her own. A man with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips stood in the doorway of the other flat, looking guilty and embarrassed. The woman smelled of Pack, the man like a human.

There was only a narrow space between our front door and theirs and it felt smaller with the pressure of his anger and her misery. They stared at us in uneasy silence and my wolf reacted like it was a challenge to us being there, my inner hackles going up. I edged closer to Shannon, trusting her to diffuse the tension.

“Bonsoir,” Shannon said brightly as we moved past the woman. “Excuse us, please. We didn’t mean to eavesdrop...”

The man swore violently, his accent American rather than French like I’d been expecting. “This is exactly what I’m talking about!” he told the woman, who stared at him with trembling lips, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. “There’s no privacy, there’s always an audience, isn’t there? Fuck this. I can’t live like this, Sun.” He stormed past me, down the stairs, without a backwards glance.

The woman burst into tears and my wolf’s mood switched, suddenly eager to comfort a Pack mate. Pack was Pack wherever you were—one of the things I liked least about it, sometimes—and a pregnant wolf was an especially precious creature. “Oh hey, don’t cry, it’s okay,” I said, wrapping my arms around her. She fell into my embrace without hesitation, recognizing a fellow wolf and reaching for the comfort that represented. “Come on, come into our place,” I told her, glancing at Shannon, who opened the door and ushered me and the woman inside.

We sat her down on the sofa and I fixed her a cup of tea while Shannon sat with her and talked her out of her tears. Shannon was much better at that kind of thing than me. By the time I presented Sun with her tea, Shannon had her talking without sobbing.

“Feeling better?” Shannon asked her as I sat down to join them.

Sun nodded, then shook her head and shrugged. “Mike’s not a bad guy,” she said. “I mean, it’s hard for him, you know?” She had an American accent too, the sort of middle-of-the-road nowhere accent that you heard on TV. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, smearing mascara and shimmery purple eye shadow down her cheeks. “This holiday was supposed to fix everything!”

I winced; her words struck close to home.

“What happened?” Shannon asked, taking Sun’s hand and rubbing her back. Shannon saw a lot of weeping women working as a PI. Adulterous spouses had been her biggest source of income for years.

Sun stroked her bump absently. “He’s human,” she said simply, as if that explained it all.

And it did explain some of it. Shannon and I knew as well as anyone all the problems that came with being a human-werewolf couple. I think Sun was too distraught to realize it was a human woman holding her hand, otherwise she might not have spoken so bluntly. Shannon stiffened almost imperceptibly and loosened her grip.

Sun didn’t notice, just carried on petting her bump and wiping her eyes. “I don’t blame him,” she said. “The whole situation is just so...fucked!” She began crying again then, burying her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Shannon glanced at me, looking helpless, probably wondering how on earth we dealt with Sun. Crying women were one thing, but heavily pregnant, hysterical women were well outside my experience. Part of me just wanted to send her on her way, as cruel as that sounded. This was supposed to be mine and Shannon’s holiday. I didn’t want us to spend our first night in Paris comforting a babbling mother-to-be. We couldn’t do that though and not just because she was Pack. Stifling a sigh, I knelt down in front of Sun.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” I suggested. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems.”

Sun sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to waste your time, really. He’ll be back once he’s calmed down, it’s fine. He always comes back.” She stood, pushing her untouched tea into my hands. “Thank you, really, but it’s fine. It is.”

“Well, look,” I said, rising with her, “we’ll be in all evening if you want a friendly ear or anything, okay? I’m Ayla and this is Shannon.”

“Sun Jung Nam,” she said, managing an unconvincing smile through her tears. “And thank you guys. I didn’t mean...” She waved her hands in a vague way that could have meant anything.

I smiled and patted her gently on the back as she left. “We’re just across the hall if you need anything.”

As soon as the door fell shut, Shannon sighed heavily, reaching for the abandoned tea. “I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but I really hope she doesn’t come back.”

I curled up beside her, resting my head on her shoulder. “She’s probably very nice when she’s not in the middle of a domestic.”

“I don’t care if she is. I’m not spending our holiday playing agony aunt to some stranger.”

“Grouch.” I poked her affectionately. “What about love thy neighbor and all that?”

“I don’t think that counts on holidays,” she replied.

“Either way,” I admitted, “I hope she doesn’t have any more domestics tonight at least.”

“Who’s the grouch now?” Shannon teased, “I thought you’d be pleased to have a wolf neighbor to play with.”

I shook my head. “She won’t be shapeshifting any time soon. She looks ready to pop.” Shapeshifting during pregnancy was mostly risk-free for the first three months or so, but after that the strain it put on the body and the baby made it too dangerous. The shifting instinct faded as the pregnancy went on and the market was full of potions to help suppress it—teas loaded with Jamaica dogwood, creams made with valerian and skullcap. My mum had taken lavender and lemon balm when she was pregnant with me, which sounded vile, but apparently did the trick. Mum swore she hadn’t even wanted to shift during the whole pregnancy.

I couldn’t imagine how anyone lasted for six months without changing. The frustration must be unbearable. Just the idea of it made my wolf scratch and claw for freedom. It gave me a lot of sympathy for those poor Tudor noblewomen who were forced to stay in darkened rooms for the whole of their pregnancies. It sounded like total hell.

Too worn out to think about eating out now, we raided the surprisingly well-stocked kitchen—I saw Vince’s hand at work there—and threw together a quick cheesy pasta dish. Afterwards, we curled up on the sofa again, flicking through TV channels and giggling at the surreal French adverts. Despite my earlier words, I listened for any sign of trouble from Sun’s apartment. I heard nothing and eventually we drifted off to sleep, tangled together too tightly to think about moving to the bed.

The screams woke us.

Two

I leapt off the sofa, knocking Shannon to the floor, and rushed to the window. As I flung it open, warm night air hit me, carrying a scent like rotting fruit with it. I sneezed and stuck my head out, trying to find the source of the noise. A single streetlight flickered nearby, casting patchy light over the narrow cobbled street. Directly opposite our building was a small newsstand, the neon sign casting green and red light over the staff leaning out the door, looking around for the screamer.

It only took me another second to find her. A few feet further up the street, kneeling beside a shadowy form, hands clutching thick black hair as she rocked back and forth, was Sun. Her high-pitched, wordless scream bounced off the stone walls all around her.

“Shit.” I ran for the door, my wolf on red alert. Pack in danger, nothing else mattered.

Shannon grabbed me before I reached the door, pulling me back. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Sun.”

Eyes wide, Shannon joined my dash for the door. All my earlier bitchy thoughts disappeared as we ran down the stairs to the street. What could cause those bloodcurdling shrieks? My stomach lurched. I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.

Out on the street, the shop staff and customers surrounded Sun. One man was trying to pull her away from whatever she knelt beside, others were shouting and waving. A woman fiddled with her mobile phone. The scent of rotting fruit was stronger, a salty tang of blood coupled with it. I wanted to gag, both from the smell and the dread gnawing at my stomach. I grabbed Shannon’s hand to slow her down, gut instinct telling me she didn’t want to see this.

As I pushed my way past the people with a mumbled excuse moi I knew that the fallen form Sun screamed over had to be Mike, but knowing it didn’t prepare me for seeing him. Sun cradled him in her arms, his body limp and pale. His eyes looked so dark against paper-white skin, like black holes. The sickly-sweet smell pulsed off him, sticking in my throat. The killing wound was at his throat—a rough, vicious bite that had pierced the artery. Blood still ran in thick rivulets down his neck and shoulders, soaking into his dark shirt and Sun’s white skirt.

My wolf’s reaction was fast and visceral: fear so sharp and bitter it left me frozen and useless.

“My God,” Shannon breathed, dropping down beside Sun to pry her hands away from Mike. “Sun, come on, let him go,” she said gently. “You don’t want to get all upset and risk the baby—”

“Fuck the baby!” Sun shrieked, throwing her off. “I am upset!”

Upset was hardly the word. As much as I admired Shannon for keeping her cool and trying to help, there was no way I’d get between Sun and the dead man right now. I noticed one of the onlookers, a wolf, hanging back too. His eyes glowed green in the streetlight, wide with the same weird fear that gripped me. I wanted to ask him why he was so scared, see if he could explain my own reaction to me, but I didn’t know how.

Instead I watched as Shannon and another waiter gently forced Sun away from Mike’s body, pulling her to her feet and dragging her back. My wolf whimpered and whined in my head. It took all my willpower not to turn and flee the scene. That sweet, bitter scent hanging over Mike touched some primal part of me, triggering a deep terror that shot past my human, logical side and hit the animal hard.

I’d never wanted to run away so much in my life and I had no idea why.

Shannon marched Sun over to the doorstep of our apartment building, sitting her down with a firm order. “Ayla,” she called me.

Turning my back on Mike, shamed by my sense of relief, I hurried over to them. “What happened?” I asked Sun, crouching down in front of her.

She stared at me blankly, tears streaming down her face, thick black hair in tangled disarray. She clutched her bump fiercely, rocking slightly on the step. “He didn’t come back,” she sobbed breathlessly. “I waited and he didn’t come back. He always comes back, or he calls me, he lets me know where he is, but he didn’t and I just knew there was something wrong—”

“Stop.” Shannon knelt next to me, taking Sun’s hands in her own. “Take a deep breath, Sun. You have to calm down.”

How could she possibly calm down with her dead boyfriend only a few feet away and that smell seeping through the air? We needed to get Sun away from here, far away from here.

I bit down on my own impulse to run. I could hear the word police flying back and forth between the people around us. I hoped they’d show up fast, taking the responsibility for the scene out of our hands. It was a selfish, cowardly thought and I knew it wasn’t how I really felt, but I couldn’t help thinking it. My wolf was desperate to get away. I’d never felt her so scared or cowed before and it added another layer to my fear. Sweat beaded between my shoulder blades and my skin prickled in the warm night wind. I was tense, poised to leap up and run.

Sun was taking Shannon’s advice and breathing slow and deep, her eyes fixed on the cobbled street. “He’s dead,” she mumbled. “Oh God, he’s dead. What am I going to do?”

“The police will be here soon,” I told her. “They’ll take care of everything.”

“I need to get away from here. That smell...” Sun lurched gracelessly to her feet, casting around for an escape route. The apartment block was at the top of a narrow, steep street. The only way to go was down towards Rue de Clichy. Sun bolted surprisingly fast and disappeared into the shadows.

I ran after her instinctively, grateful for an excuse to leave the scene and the terror it inspired in me. Maybe the same terror moved Sun. I heard Shannon shout my name, heard her heels clicking on the cobbles as she followed, but I didn’t slow down. The wolf was taking over, and the wolf wanted plenty of distance between us and Mike’s corpse.

I raced past closed shops and open bars, past bright light and jazzy music as I followed Sun. I shoved aside knots of people crowded in the streets, people who’d ignored Sun’s earlier screams and who ignored her headlong flight down the street now, wrapped up in their drinking and smoking. The thrill of movement chased away some of my irrational panic, and the odors of smoke, alcohol and warm bodies washed away the cloying smell that had freaked my wolf out so much. I felt better. More myself, more in control the further away from Mike I got. By the time I caught up with Sun, as she leaned heavily against a fetish shop window, I was calm enough to be thoroughly embarrassed by my own nerves.

“Sun.” I reached for her carefully, not sure what her reaction would be. She was bent double, clutching her bump.

“It’s kicking,” she wheezed. “It hurts.”

It took me a second to realize she meant the cub and then I was even less sure what to do with her. Pregnant people worry me. I helped Sun stand upright, bracing her shoulders while she gasped for air.

“Oh God, that smell,” she moaned. “It made me so sick.”

“Me too,” I agreed, rubbing her back for lack of any other ideas. “But it’s okay, we’re away from it now.”

Sun nodded, pale skin flushed by the pink lights of the fetish shop. “I didn’t kill him,” she said abruptly.

I gaped at her. “Of course you didn’t! Why would you even say that?”

She turned away then, hair falling to hide her face. “I don’t know, I just... Well, it had to be a wolf, didn’t it?”

I thought of the newspaper headlines. Le Monstre. I thought of the killing wound, Mike’s throat ripped out with one messy bite. Sun was right and she was wrong. People would cry wolf because of the wound, but I hadn’t smelled any wolf around Mike’s body except Sun. Of course, I could have missed it, panicked by the strange rotting fruit smell and its effect on me.

“Nobody will think you did it,” I assured her. “Shannon and I saw him storm off earlier, after all. And who’s going to believe a pregnant woman would kill her cub’s father anyway?”

Sun laughed bitterly. “He’s not the father.”

I didn’t think there was much I could say to that, so I rubbed her back and waited for Shannon. She arrived a few minutes later, face etched with worry. She slapped my arm lightly.

“Don’t run off on me like that!” Before I could apologize, she turned her attention to Sun. “Sun, the police are on their way,” she said, fighting for breath a little. “You have to come back and tell them what happened.”

“I don’t know what happened!” Sun wailed. “I went out to sniff around for him and there he was, just there, on the street... dead.” She shook violently, clutching at me for support. “Somebody dumped him right there for me to find.”

“Okay, so you need to tell the police that,” Shannon said calmly, slipping into PI mode. “You tell them whatever you argued about, tell them he went off to calm down, tell them everything.”

Sun’s eyes shone with fright. “They’ll think I did it.”

“No they won’t. Listen, should we call someone for you?” Shannon asked. “Family, Pack? You must have someone somewhere.”

Sun shook her head, the simple gesture loaded with emotion and my heart sank for her. “You’re a lone wolf?”

She shrugged. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Then let’s go back and get this sorted out, okay?” Shannon suggested. Her no-nonsense tone seemed to have a pacifying effect on Sun. The other woman wiped her eyes and nodded. I had a glimpse of her wolf, scared but determined, and I wondered again about that rotting fruit scent as we slowly made our way back to the apartment.

It wasn’t blood or flesh, I knew that much. It wasn’t anything to do with Mike’s wound or his death. I knew what all those things smelled like, and none of them made the wolf panic. The closest thing I could think of was wet rubbish, the kind of smell you got from the bins behind fast food restaurants, but that wasn’t right either. Smells like that intrigued the wolf, not panicked her.

***

The police were on the scene when the three of us reached the apartment. No cars; the street wasn’t wide enough, but there were several officers there, distinctive in their squat round hats. One had rounded up the shop staff and customers and lined them up outside the shop, presumably questioning them. Two more officers knelt by Mike’s body and a third was cordoning off part of the street with yellow tape. Yet another officer was standing at the door to the apartment block; he gestured us over sharply.

“You are the girlfriend?” he called to Sun.

She nodded, but didn’t budge. She didn’t want to get any closer to Mike. I sympathized. Bad enough that it was her boyfriend laid out there like a slab of meat, but there was that smell wafting around us again. Already I felt tense and edgy, on the verge of snapping. Sun’s stiff body language told me she felt the same.

The policeman came to her when he realized she wasn’t going to him. “Please, we must take a statement. You will come to the station, d’accord?” He looked at me and Shannon. “You two also.”

I nodded, suppressing a sigh. God. I was sick of giving statements. I’d spent hours giving statements since Sly’s arrest. Statements against him, statements against Alpha Humans, statements on behalf of Eddie... If I’d known I’d be doing the same thing in Paris, I would have stayed home.

***

The Préfecture de Police was somewhere I might have wanted to visit for interest’s sake. It was on the Île de la Cité, an island in the Seine that also housed Notre Dame and the Sainte-Chapelle, where apparently there was a piece of the True Cross. When we’d visited Notre Dame earlier, I’d never imagined I’d be back so soon, riding in a police car at that. Sun sat in the back between me and Shannon, gripping both our hands so hard that I’d lost the feeling in my fingers.

It didn’t take long for Shannon and me to give our statements, but it was close to midnight by the time Sun was done. We waited for her in the grim reception area, me flicking through pamphlets on crime prevention to see how many words I recognized, Shannon filing her nails and yawning widely.

Sun emerged from the interview room with a female police officer supporting her. Tears had dried on her face, leaving shiny tracks down her skin. Her hair was a ruffled mess, like she’d been pulling at it and her eyes were dark and shadowed. She looked exhausted and fragile and Shannon and I both leapt up to greet her.

“I want to go home,” she whispered, releasing the police officer to take my hand.

“We will need to speak to you again, perhaps,” the officer told her. “But Oui, go home, sleep. It is the best thing right now.” She patted Sun sympathetically on the arm.

We took a taxi back to Montmartre. Outside the apartment block there was no sign of the horrific scene we’d left. The police had worked quickly to move Mike’s body and there was no sign anything had ever happened. All that lingered was that smell and even that was fading fast. Sun hesitated and stumbled as we approached the front door.

“I don’t think I can go in.”

“It’s fine, Sun,” I said, taking her arm. “You can stay with us tonight if you want to.”

She looked so pathetically grateful. I forced myself to ignore the flicker of annoyance I saw on Shannon’s face. I understood it; it had been a long day and a longer night. I just wanted to curl up with Shannon and sleep but I couldn’t push Sun away. She couldn’t possibly be alone at a time like this. If she were at home, she’d have Pack all around her, supporting her while she grieved her mate’s sudden, violent death.

Right now, I was all the Pack she had. Of course I couldn’t turn her away.

While Shannon scrambled around in the kitchen to make some tea for Sun, I ushered her into the bedroom. “You can sleep in here tonight. Shannon and I will share the sofa.” My back twinged in anticipation of an uncomfortable night. I’d be better off shapeshifting and sleeping on the floor.

“I don’t want to put you guys out,” Sun said in a tiny voice. She stood in the middle of the room looking lost and forlorn while I fussed with pillows.

“Don’t be silly. Just get yourself to bed and try to sleep, okay? In the morning we can call your family or—”

“No.” Suddenly she was fierce, eyes flashing. “No, I can’t call them.” She sat down on the bed, clawing at her hair. “They don’t even know I’m here.”

I chewed at my lip; a habit leftover from when I’d had it pierced and used to suck on the lip ring. Sly tore the ring out in a fight and I’d been left with a long white scar in place of the piercing. I kind of wanted a new piercing to replace it, but couldn’t decide what. Kaye, the piercing specialist at Inked where I worked, had suggested a tongue bar, but my wolf cringed at the idea of a piece of metal through the tongue. I couldn’t imagine how it would affect my sense of taste in wolf shape. I forced my attention back to the present.

“Sun,” I said, sitting down with her, “you don’t have to tell me, but... Are you a lone wolf?” Having been one myself for so long, I felt a spark of kinship with her that went beyond the usual bond of Pack. When she didn’t answer, I carried on. “I was, for years. I only rejoined my Pack last year.”

She looked at me in surprise. “Why did you leave? Why did you go back?”

I shrugged. There was no simple answer. “I left because my parents wanted me to be straight and I was sick of fighting about it. I came back because I missed my family.”

She blinked at me. “Oh my God, you and Shannon are a couple? I just assumed... Oh God, I can’t kick you out of your bed now!” She rose, but I pulled her down.

“You stay here and you sleep,” I said firmly, then added, “think of the baby,” for lack of any other convincing argument.

She rubbed her bump in that absent way and nodded. “Thank you. I mean it, thank you so much. All this...” She laughed. “I’m going to go crazy when it sinks in.”

I couldn’t think of a response for that, but was saved when Shannon entered with a steaming mug. “I found some herbal tea,” she said. “It’s vanilla and blackberry. It might help you sleep.”

“It smells delicious,” Sun said without much enthusiasm. She took the cup and set it on the bedside table, then simply stared at her hands.

Shannon and I glanced at each other and backed out of the room in mutual accord. In the soft silence of the living room, we curled up on the sofa, sinking into each other. “Not how I imagined our first night in Paris,” she whispered to me.

I shook my head. “What do you think happened to him?” I glanced out the window at the darkened city, wondering if Mike’s killer prowled the streets of Montmartre right now, stalking its next victim. I shivered.

“It looked like an animal attack,” Shannon replied. “But it wasn’t messy enough.”

I nodded, thinking of my own kills. With the best will in the world, with the best skill, no kill was ever really clean. I could take out a rabbit or a deer with a single, strong bite to the throat, but there’d be splatter afterwards. Blood gushing over my fur and the animal’s to soak the ground. There’d been none of that outside. Mike had been bleeding sluggishly when we found him, but I hadn’t noticed blood on the street. There should have been some from a bite that savage.

“He was killed somewhere else and moved,” I guessed, remembering how Sun described finding him. Just there on the street, she’d said..

“Would a wolf do that?”

I considered it and had to admit there was no real answer. “I don’t know. Maybe. Why not? But why would a wolf kill him and drag him somewhere else?”

“Why would a human?”

We fell silent then, too tired to talk anymore. The first streaks of dawn light poured through the window as we finally fell asleep.

Three

When I woke, stiff and aching, the sunlight streaming through the window told me it was nearly midday. Shannon moaned as I gently slipped out of her arms to stretch. There was no sound from Sun coming through the bedroom’s closed door. My wolf whined for fresh air and I opened the window, leaning out over the iron railings to stare down at the street. Inhaling deeply—filtering out the scents of coffee and tobacco from the shop—I could still pick out the sweet-rot smell. Faint, but there and still making my stomach churn and scaring my wolf. People strolled by, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the horror of last night. Yet every now and then someone stopped and sniffed the air with a frown. It didn’t take long to figure out the common factor; those who paused were always a wolf. Didn’t humans smell it?

When I pulled the window shut, the sudden slam woke Shannon. “Ayla?” She sat up, rubbing her eyes and raking her hair away from her face. I smiled, forgetting the weird smell. She always looked so beautiful like this, half-asleep and angelic. Since we hadn’t exactly spent the night as I’d hoped, I couldn’t help feeling a pang of lust as I looked at her.

“Salut,” I said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her. “Ready for another exciting day in Paris?”

She grimaced. “I’m not sure I can handle any more excitement on this holiday.” She stood, pulling me to my feet to hug me. We’d both fallen asleep in our clothes and I ran my hands up under her top to caress her bare skin. She shivered and stepped away, face flushed. “Don’t get me started,” she warned. “The last thing Sun needs is to come out and see us rolling around on the floor.”

“It might cheer her up,” I objected, regretting the words even as I said them, gloom settling over me. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Shannon kissed my cheek and headed for the kettle. “Why don’t you go and look in on her? She needs to eat.”

I peeked into the bedroom while Shannon made tea. Sun lay on her back, the bed sheets tangled around her legs. One arm was thrown across her eyes, like she was trying to block the world out, the other was draped over her bump.

“Sun?” I whispered. She jerked up with a squeak, eyes wide.

“Oh my God.” A sort of sick realization fell over her face. “It was real, wasn’t it? Mikey’s dead.”

I nodded, my heart aching for her. Holding out my hand, I said, “Come on. Breakfast.” To my surprise, she came with me.

Shannon served us all more of the weird vanilla and blackberry tea. I didn’t mind the taste of vanilla as much as the smell, but I still couldn’t drink all of it. Sun sipped it automatically, staring down into the dark purple liquid with damp eyes.

“What do you want to do, Sun?” Shannon asked her softly. “Is there someone we could call?”

She shook her head, repeating the same words she’d told me last night. “Nobody knows I’m here. This was just supposed to me be and Mikey.” She sobbed and quickly wiped her tears away. “I need to get out there and find the bastard,” she muttered into her tea.

“No.” Shannon rested her hand on Sun’s, squeezing. “No, you can’t do that. You cannot even think of doing that! You’ve got to be at least seven months pregnant and this is a job for the police, okay?”

I had to smile, a little bitterly. It sounded like the start of one of the many conversations—arguments—Shannon and I had during the whole Sly mess, when Eddie was pressuring me to help him kill the feral and stop the supply of Silver Kiss. Shannon and I had never argued as much in six years together as we did during those weeks. Hearing her talk to Sun with the same tight anxiety in her voice brought back a rush of nasty memories.

Dammit, we were supposed to be moving away from this.

I tuned back in to hear Sun say, “I’m starving,” in a sort of sullen-teenage girl way that meant she just wanted to end the conversation. It made me study her closely; try to assess her age through the caked-on makeup. I’d thought she was about my age, but when I looked carefully, I realized she must be a few years younger. I wondered how the hell she’d ended up pregnant in Paris with a man who apparently wasn’t the cub’s father.

“Okay,” I said, abandoning my tea. “How about we all get cleaned up and go out for breakfast?”

Shannon shot me a look I couldn’t figure out, then shook her head. “I could do with a bath,” she said.

“Me too.” Sun bit her lip. “I can’t...” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ll go clean myself up.” Without another word, she left the apartment for her own.

“What?” I asked Shannon when our front door closed.

“We can’t take her on, Ayla.” Shannon pushed her own cup away. “She needs her family.”

“She’s a lone wolf—she doesn’t have family.”

“Yes she does, she’s just chosen to ignore them,” Shannon corrected me. “Being a lone wolf doesn’t mean her Pack has abandoned her, does it? It means she’s abandoned them.”

“Well, yeah,” I admitted. “But we don’t know why. Maybe they turned on her when she got together with a human.”

Shannon sighed. “I don’t think it matters. The point is we just can’t take her on! We’re only here for a week; it’s supposed to be a holiday—”

“I know, I know.” I held up my hands in defeat. “But we can’t leave her alone just yet either, can we? Let’s see what we can do this morning, okay? See if we can persuade her to call her Pack or...I don’t know, get in touch with the local Pack and see if they can help? Then we can forget all about this and just enjoy our holiday.”

“Fine,” she relented. “I get the shower first then.”

I shrugged. It didn’t seem much to give up.

***

An hour later, the three of us were making our way down Montmartre’s mazey streets looking for somewhere for breakfast. There were plenty of boulangeries and patisseries open, the smells of cinnamon, warm brie and baking bread making my mouth water. But Sun needed somewhere to sit down, so we were looking for a café or coffee shop.

Eventually we found a small café tucked away down a side street where Sun and I devoured bacon and brie baguettes, while Shannon picked daintily at a croissant and sipped at thick hot chocolate.

“So,” I said to Sun, sinking back in my seat after finishing off the last of my baguette. “What are you going to do now?”

She blinked at me, her eyelids flashing lime green eye shadow. Glory would have loved to raid her makeup bag. “What can I do?” she asked. “I can’t go anywhere, the police told me not to leave the city. I can’t do anything to help Mike, not really, not without risking the cub. I only have enough money to cover me for another week and after that I’m screwed.” She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears shining in her eyes. “Yesterday I knew exactly where my life was going, you know? Me and Mikey, we had a plan. And now...”

“What was your plan?” Shannon asked, stirring her hot chocolate. “Were you travelling or something?”

“Mike’s grandfather lives in Spain,” Sun explained. “We were gonna go there until the cub was born, you know, see how we liked it.”

It didn’t sound like much of a plan to me. It sounded like something a couple of crazy teenagers would come up with. I had to shake my head at it. “Well, you can still go to Mike’s granddad, can’t you?”

“I never met him.” Sun couldn’t hold the tears back anymore; she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, careful not to smudge her makeup.

Shannon signed. “But he’d welcome you, surely? You’re carrying—”

I nudged Shannon, shaking my head. I had no idea what the deal was with Sun and her cub, but I was pretty sure she didn’t want to talk about it now anymore than she had yesterday. “What do you want to do?” I asked Sun. I felt mean, like I was bullying her, but she had to do something. It was obvious she couldn’t just drift around Paris by herself.

“I... I guess I could get a job. I’ve done bar work before. I don’t really know...”

“Sun.” Shannon leaned forward, her expression carefully schooled to patience. “Why won’t you call your family? Or Mike’s family, come to that?”

Sun sighed deeply, picking at a few crumbs on her plate and avoiding both our gazes. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“Probably not as complicated as you think,” Shannon argued. “Ayla and I know what it’s like for a werewolf to date a human. Nobody ever says it’s a bad thing, but you know people are judging you anyway.”

Sun shook her head. “It’s not just that. Nobody knew Mikey and I were dating. I guess maybe it’s different in Europe. In the States, in my Pack, humans and werewolves do not date.”

“I know—” Shannon started, but Sun cut her short.

“No, I mean they do not date, as in it’s forbidden. The Pack doesn’t allow it. The alphas think it’s why our fertility rates are dropping, you know? Because of the mixing of blood?”

I nodded. It was a theory that had been thrown around for years, but I’d never heard of any Pack outright banning wolves from seeing humans. Like Shannon said, maybe there’d be some silent disapproval, but rarely anything more than that. “So the cub...” I began, unsure how to phrase the question I’d wanted to ask all night.

“We have this thing,” Sun explained. “It’s kinda like arranged marriages, you know? Our parents pair us up with other wolves they think would be suitable for us.” She rolled her eyes. “My mom and dad found me a nice Korean wolf from the next town. They figured that would be perfect. And, you know, Dae was nice and it was fine for a few months. My parents were like, over the moon. And then I met Mikey.” She closed her eyes, lips trembling as she smiled. “And it was like I’d met my soul mate, you know? He was so perfect for me, but we couldn’t be together, and there was the cub. So we just... We had to...” She buried her head in her heads, sobbing wretchedly.

I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for her or slap some sense into her silly little head. She’d cheated on her mate, abandoned her Pack and left her unborn cub without a father or a Pack. Whether this Dae had been nice, miserable, or schizophrenic didn’t really matter. Surely the cub’s welfare should have come first?

I gave myself a mental slap for that. I sounded liked my mother. The realization shocked me. I knew as well as anyone how restrictive Pack life could be; I couldn’t imagine how pissed off I’d be if my parents forced a mate on me. Really, how different was Sun’s situation from mine eight years ago?

Shannon tried to persuade Sun to call home, but Sun was adamant it wouldn’t happen. I understood why, even if Shannon didn’t. . A pregnant wolf was a precious thing—Sun would be welcomed home and pampered until she gave birth. Nobody was going to hurt a mother-to-be, but once the cub was born, the shit would hit the fan,  It wasn’t fair.

Then again, a sensible, mother-like part of me whispered, Sun had nothing right, absolutely nothing. Surely the smart option was to go home until the cub was born, use the Pack and its resources to put her life back together, then get out once she was back on her feet?

Actually, that wasn’t mother-like at all. My mother would never be so mercenary. A little uncomfortably with my own thoughts, I tuned back into Shannon and Sun’s argument.

“I can’t fly now,” Sun said with a faint air of triumph when Shannon pushed it. “I’m too far along.”

Shannon threw up her hands. “Then you need to figure out what you’re going to do, fast.” She shoved her chair back and stormed to the counter to pay our bill.

Sun shrank into her seat a little. “I’m messing things up for you guys, aren’t I?”

I started to say no, but didn’t bother. She’d know I was lying. Shannon and I were supposed to be sorting out our own problems and this situation just threatened to give us more.

“We’ll sort something out,” I said instead, a vague enough promise that I wasn’t really promising her anything.

Shannon returned a few minutes later looking pleased with herself. “The waitress said there’s a community center—I think that’s what she meant—for wolves in La Rive Droite. Fancy a walk down the Seine again?” she asked me.

I nodded, privately hoping we’d get to see parts of Paris besides the river at some point on the holiday. Sun looked glum, but didn’t protest, so we set off for the nearest Metro station.

Four

It was easier to find the community center than I’d thought. Rive Droite was heavily built-up, but elegant all the same, the buildings tall and colorful, aged and quirky. So the converted warehouse, painted with blue full moons and cartoonish wolves, stood out a mile away. The words Loup Garou were painted on the door in bright green paint and someone had tacked a sign underneath reading Enfants bienvenus de la lune! I knew lune meant moon and I was pretty sure enfants was children, so this had to be the place.

“Looks closed,” Sun said doubtfully when I rapped on the door.

There wasn’t any noise coming from inside the warehouse, but we lingered on the doorstep hopefully for a few minutes. “Maybe they’re not open until later?” I suggested.

Just as we were about to leave, the door creaked open and an elfin-looking girl peeked out. “Oui?”

“Um,” I said. “Parlez-vous Anglais?”

“Yes, very well,” the girl said, sounding proud of herself. “Wolves, yes? Come in, please.” She held the door open for us.

Inside the warehouse was decorated with the same wild graffiti that tagged the walls and doors: garish murals of wolves hunting, baying under moons, and Hollywood-like wolfmen walking on two legs, long-limbed and misshapen. Those pictures reminded me too much of Hesketh, the human police officer who’d used a wolf strap to turn himself into a monster. I looked away hurriedly, bile in my throat.

There was a pool table at the far end of the long, narrow room and a bar next to that. From here it looked like it was stocked with soft drinks and sparkling water, not a sign of anything stronger. A small section of the warehouse was blocked off with screen walls and there was a bank of second-hand computers along one wall. A vending machine sat near the bar, along with a couple of old arcade games with zombies and aliens painted on the sides. The floor was strewn with threadbare blankets and rainbow-colored beanbags. It was bohemian, ragged and clearly all put together with more love than money. I liked it.

“Welcome to Loup Garou,” the girl said shaking all our hands. She was a tiny thing, shorter than me, with cropped hair dyed electric blue and a faded Disturbed t-shirt. I liked her immediately too. “Je suis Clémence.”

We introduced ourselves and Clémence led us over to a small lounge area in a corner of the warehouse, opposite the screened-off area. Two patched suede sofas stood at right angles to each other, with a widescreen TV between them. A coffee table held a bowl of fruit and a selection of magazines and newspapers. We settled down, Sun reaching for a plum from the fruit bowl. Clémence looked at us all expectantly and I realized I had no idea what to say to her now we were here. I looked at Shannon, who looked at Sun.

“Sun, maybe you should explain...”

Sun dropped her plum, looking stricken. “Me? I...”

“Sun is a lone wolf,” I said, hoping that term made sense to Clémence. There might be some exotic phrase for it in Europe that I didn’t know. I wish I’d paid more attention in French classes at school. “Her Pack is...not around and she’s stuck in Paris, at least until her cub is born.”

Clémence’s face crumpled in sympathy. “Ah, le pauvre bébé,” she crooned, reaching across to pat Sun on the knee. “And the father?”

“Dead,” Sun said abruptly. I suppose it was easier than trying to explain. Clémence surprised Sun by hugging her and kissing her on both cheeks.

“You are a poor baby too, no? Loup Garou will help. We are...” She paused, flicking her fingers as she searched for the right word. “…a support group.”

Sun seemed surprised at the other girl’s easy acceptance and they fell into a broken conversation, half-French, half-English, about Loup Garou’s work. I listened with interest, picking up what I could. They were, as Clémence said, a support group; somewhere wolf kids could come and hang out, somewhere wolves struggling with family, work, friends, illness, whatever, could come for companionship, support and even counseling, judging from the pamphlets and posters on the walls. I guessed that was what the screened-off bit was for; an attempt at some privacy.

Shannon nudged me, drawing my attention to one of the papers on the coffee table. It was today’s, but the headline was almost identical to yesterday’s. Le Monstre. The words leapt out at me, and I grabbed the paper before Sun could see it, scanning the article to pick out any words I recognized.

“It’s not about last night,” Shannon whispered to me. “See?” She pointed to a sentence containing the word Saint-Michel, a district quite some way from Montmatre. “It’s probably too soon for the press to know about last night.”

“So probably just speculation,” I mused. My gaze drifted to the murals once more, those upright wolf-men sending a shiver through me. I’d never seen anything that the word ‘monster’ described better than the transformed Hesketh. Wrapped in my dead cousin’s fur he’d become a twisted nightmare wolf-monster. If Hesketh had discovered the magic of a wolf strap, others might too. I closed my eyes, trying to remember what he’d smelled like. I’d always thought I’d never forget that scent, but now I struggled to recall it.

“Ayla?” Shannon elbowed me and I opened my eye to see Sun and Clémence staring at me.

“What?” They both looked so serious. It worried me.

“We can help Sun with some things,” Clémence told me. “When Thérèse arrives, she will help more—she is training as a counselor. She can help Sun decide what to do once she has the baby, but we cannot help with a home.”

“Well, you have a home already,” I pointed out. “The apartment...”

“Rented,” Sun said. “Mikey... I... We hired it for a couple of weeks, all paid already, and I have enough money for food and stuff, but I’m not due for another six weeks at least.”

I saw where this was going and grabbed Shannon’s hand for support. “Well...”

“Sun needs a Pack,” Clémence said simply. “She cannot stay in France, but the immigration laws for wolves are different in England, yes?”

I had no idea. I glanced at Shannon, who shrugged. “Different, not easier. Sun could stay in the UK for three months without a visa if her circumstances were deemed exceptional.”

“They are!” Sun cried.

“But after that, you’re back at square one,” Shannon finished.

“Well, that’s okay, isn’t it? In three months, I’ll have given birth. I’ll know what to do once I’ve had the cub.” Sun dug her purple-painted nails into the sofa, face grim. “Three months is plenty of time, right?”

“D’accord,” Clémence said, as if it was all arranged. “We can help with the fine details once Thérèse is here.”

“Great,” Shannon said. “Sun, maybe you should stay here and chat with Clémence? Ayla and I will come back later.”

I’d never heard Shannon so keen to get rid of someone. Usually she was all about tact and diplomacy, especially with people like Sun—fragile and in need of help. We left Sun and Clémence talking about grief counseling and as soon as the door of Loup Garou slammed shut behind us, I rounded on Shannon.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so against Sun? She’s all alone, she just lost her boyfriend—she needs help!”

“I know and it’s horrible,” Shannon conceded. “But for God’s sake, Ayla, this week is supposed to be about us! We’ve been here a day, and already you’re embroiled in Pack politics.”

I tried to suppress my growl and failed miserably. “Don’t,” I said. “Please don’t. This is nothing like Sly. She’s a stupid kid, she’s in way over her head, and she’s all alone. You can’t possibly think it’s okay to ignore that.”

She turned away from me, staring up at Loup Garou. “I don’t think that. Of course I don’t,” she said softly. “I just wanted this week to be perfect. You and me in the most romantic city in the world. We should be having fun.”

“We will.” I grabbed her arm, pulled her round to face me. She looked distraught and I couldn’t bear it. After all the strain and tears of the past several weeks, I couldn’t stand it if she started crying now. “We’ll start right now. Where shall we go? The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre…wherever you want. We can go back to Notre Dame, see the gargoyles.” I smiled tentatively and was relieved to see her smile back.

“How about the catacombs?” she suggested, prying my hand off her arm to clasp it. “Feel like spending the day underground looking at bones?”

“Sounds like a werewolf’s dream.”

***

It was a bit morbid, but I’d been looking forward to visiting the catacombs for ages. There were rumors that as far back as the twelfth century, wolves had buried their dead there in secrecy, hiding the lupine skulls and bones from humans down in the mass graves of Saints Innocents cemetery. Regular church burials were avoided, historians reckoned, because of the risk of exposure. At a time when all of Europe was rife with stories of witches, vampires and devils, the danger of a dead werewolf being found and used as proof of witchcraft meant Packs were forced to ignore the usual rituals for burying their dead and to sneak corpses into mass graves.

By the eighteenth century, those corpses were nothing but bones and the Parisian government was looking for new ways to handle their dead. The catacombs were built and the bones were moved to the underground caverns that were all that remained of Paris’s stone mines. At the time, nobody had questioned the animal skeletons mixed in with the human ones, but after wolves were forced into the open during the First World War, archeologists went down into the catacombs to investigate. Wolves were separated from humans, as much as possible, and now all werewolf remains were housed in their own sepulture.

It was a piece of werewolf history from before humans knew we truly existed, beyond all their myths and fairy tales. I grinned to myself, imagining row upon row of long, narrow skulls, each one a soldier, a farmer, a wolf in hiding.

It was late morning when we reached the Barrière d’Enfer city gate. There was a long queue to get down underground, people pouring out of the bottle green art-nouveau building that served as the entrance to the catacombs. The building was filled with school kids and adults alike. The kids were all carrying sketchpads and chatting excitedly, whilst the adults wielded cameras and were far more somber. Shannon pulled her own camera out and began snapping pictures of the entrance.

“It’s such a striking contrast to the stonework around it,” she told me, gesturing at the creamy stone of the next building. “It just looks macabre.”

I thought it looked kind of dull, given what was underneath, but I don’t appreciate art the way Shannon does, so I didn’t argue. We queued with the students and teachers. If I inhaled deeply enough, I could catch the scent of damp stone and dry earth, almost buried under the smells of the crêpe stand across the street and the mixed perfumes and shampoo tangs of the crowd. It was a strangely exciting smell, age and death and history. My wolf twitched inside me, wanting out to explore those new smells properly. Two days without even a quick shift was two days too long for my animal half.

Eventually we were heading down a narrow spiral staircase into the catacombs. The chattering kids were silenced as if by magic as darkness crept over us, the only sound the soft gurgling of an aqueduct hidden somewhere nearby. The smells of stone and earth were richer now, filling my head with images of vast caverns and underground streams, like something out of a fantasy novel. I wondered if wolves had hidden down here when the witch hunts swept across Europe in the Middle Ages and anyone who looked or acted differently was fed to the fires.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Shannon whispered to me as we reached the bottom of the staircase and found ourselves in a long, twisting hallway. The crowd began to break up as small tour groups drifted down the hall towards the caverns of bones.

I nodded, soaking up the silence. My wolf wasn’t keen on enclosed spaces, but something about this place put her at ease rather than on edge. The greyish stone and eerie half-light of the hallway didn’t seem creepy to me, but exciting. We reached the ossuary entrance, a stone portal inscribed with the words ‘Arrête, c’est ici l’empire de la Mort’, where Shannon had to stop and take more pictures.

“Any idea what that translates as?” I asked her. The only word I recognized was mort, a word I’d already seen too much of yesterday.

“Stop, this is the empire of Death,” Shannon intoned in her best scary voice, which wasn’t very scary at all. The portal was pretty intimidating though, huge and pale, with those forbidding words hanging over your head as you walked through. I had a pleasant little shiver of fear, the kind you get watching a horror film or waiting for a roller coaster to start.

Beyond the portal, the skeletons began. The arrangement of bones was neat and orderly, with occasional bursts of arty patterns, like the heart shape made of skulls and shinbones. The bones were all yellowed with age, some of them cracked and chipped. Wolf skulls with empty eye sockets stared down at me from shadowy recesses, some heartbreakingly small—cubs, nestled in stone alongside their elder Pack mates. I ran my fingers over the smooth, dry bones, awed by the sheer number of them.

Every now and then we ran into rusted gates that blocked off access to parts of the catacombs tour groups couldn’t visit. It was at one of those gates that I noticed a smell that shattered my wolf’s happy calm.

Sweet. Rotting. I gagged.

“What’s wrong?” Shannon asked, slowing down to join me at the gate. “Ayla? Something wrong?” She peered through the bars of the gate with me, down the passage into blackness. You couldn’t see more than a foot ahead, but that horrible smell was coming from down there somewhere. It was faint, nothing like as strong as it had been round Mike’s body last night, but it was unmistakable. How could Shannon not smell it? I glanced at her, saw no sign of revulsion or even awareness on her face. She couldn’t, I realized. She couldn’t smell it at all.

“Le Monstre,” I said softly, letting my wolf move forward in my head, sharpening my senses without actually letting her out. She was nervous now, on edge and ready for flight. It was such an unnatural response for her—for me—that I didn’t know what to make of it. But with my senses switched on high, I was sure of one thing.

Whatever Le Monstre was, I didn’t think it was here. The smell was stale, maybe a few days old, which might explain why Shannon didn’t notice it. It was still strong enough for a wolf’s senses, but too faint for a human’s. Maybe the creature had a lair deeper within the catacombs, or had made a kill here recently. I couldn’t smell flesh or blood, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the gate either. I needed to know what Le Monstre was, where it was. I curled my fingers round the bars, rust flaking off against my skin, and inhaled that scent, desperate to identify it.

“Ayla.” Shannon tugged at my sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“Is there a tour guide around?” I asked, barely hearing her question. “They need to get someone down there.”

She looked around. We’d started out tagging along behind a small group, but split off to visit the wolf caves and now we were alone, surrounded by shadow and bone. It was too easy to picture some lurking horror down in the darkness, feeding on human flesh. Panic burst through my wolf and suddenly I did feel claustrophobic and trapped; trapped down here with a monster that might be just on the other side of that gate.

“I think they’re just up ahead,” she said, nodding to a curve in the corridor. I heard hushed voices from around the corner. “Why? Ayla, will you please tell me what you’re doing?”

“Le Monstre,” I said again. “It’s been here, Shannon.”

“You think the thing that killed Mike...” She trailed off, pulling me back from the gate. “Let’s go find someone.”

I was happy to let her drag me off. My wolf was whining and clawing inside me, wanting to run. The strange calm of the catacombs was gone and all my wolf wanted now was fresh air and clean, safe smells.

Shannon found us a tour guide a few minutes later, in one of the wolf caves. He was explaining something to a group of the school kids, waving his arms around to gesture at the wall of skulls while they sketched furiously. We waited until he came to a pause in his speech and then Shannon grabbed him.

“Excuse moi... Parlez-vous Anglais?” she asked. He shook his head. Not the best start. I was practically hopping in my desperation to tell someone about Le Monstre. That rotting-fruit smell clogged up my nostrils, making my stomach churn and I almost felt like if I could just tell someone about it, it would go away. The poor tour guide, confronted with one near-hysterical werewolf and one human with limited French skills, dragged one of the students from his group to help translate.

In fits and bursts we got our message across. I waited for the guide to launch into action, call the police and solve the mystery. Instead he stared blankly at us, then began raging in French, his tone leaving me in no doubt that what he was saying was very, very crude.

The schoolboy wedged between us, his eyes wide with glee, was happy to translate. “You tourists with your ghost stories and fucking idiot rumors, you think we have time for this shit?”

The tour group fell silent for a few seconds, then the kids started giggling helplessly. The tour guide gestured violently towards the cavern entrance, telling us without any need for translation to get out.

Shocked, I backed off before my wolf recovered her nerve and went for the guide’s throat. Shannon followed me hurriedly and we quickly found ourselves at the exit to the catacombs, both of us a little breathless and confused. My hands were shaking, my wolf furious and frightened.

“He didn’t believe me!” I growled, indignation rising in me. “How could he not believe me?”

“Well, be fair,” Shannon said. “All you’ve got is a funny smell and a gut feeling. And I didn’t smell anything.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Ayla, stop.” Shannon took my hands. “We can’t do anything here, okay? Let’s just go.”

I wanted to argue, but she was right. This wasn’t my city, it wasn’t a Pack problem and I couldn’t do anything with weird smells and instinct. I wasn’t happy about it by a long shot, but this wasn’t about me, was it? This holiday was about us.

We left the catacombs subdued and edgy. So far this week wasn’t working too well. I glanced at Shannon as we threaded our way through the busy street for the Metro station. She looked tired and drawn, eyes dark. My heart twinged and I took her hand, determined to put Le Monstre and Sun aside and focus on my mate.

“What do you want to do now?” I asked her, forcing a bright note into my voice.

She glanced around as if seeking inspiration. “To be honest, I could go for a drink.”

“Right,” I said. “So we need a fancy little Parisian wine bar. Something near the Eiffel Tower, or down the Champs-Élysées?”

“Sounds perfect.” There was an equally false brightness in her voice. The episode in the catacombs had left me off-balance and frustrated. I wanted to push it aside and I had no doubt Shannon did too. To be sworn at by a tour guide was embarrassing, being laughed at by a bunch of children was just salt in the wound. A nice glass of wine would do a lot to make us both feel better.

We found a seafood restaurant on Avenue de Suffren, where we had an amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. I sat gaping at the massive iron tower soaring up over the rooftops. Even from a few streets away it looked huge and despite my fear of heights, I couldn’t wait to see what Paris looked like from so high up.

Over a stupidly expensive bottle of white wine and a plate of sea salt roasted sardines, we both relaxed. I wasn’t always a huge fan of seafood—it wasn’t a natural part of a wolf’s diet, and my wolf tended to turn her nose up at anything too fishy—but the food was delicious and the wine was crisp. The scent of apples and grass in the alcohol banished the rotting fruit smell from the catacombs.

Shannon stretched out in her chair, tangling her feet with mine under the table. “So,” she said, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “Tell me exactly what it was about that weird smell that got you so upset.”

I dropped my fork, surprised. “I thought we couldn’t do anything about that?” At least she believed I’d smelled something. With the tour guide’s vicious reaction, it wouldn’t have surprised me if Shannon had thought I was imagining it.

“We can’t,” Shannon agreed. “But I’ve never seen you get like that over a smell alone.”

She hadn’t seen me when I’d caught Hesketh’s scent all those months ago, I thought grimly. Of course, that hadn’t been her fault. She’d been in hospital with broken ribs while I hunted down the copper who’d skinned my dead cousin. “It’s just...not right,” I said finally, after chewing my answer over for a while. “Unnatural.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Unnatural? You don’t mean man-made, I take it?”

I shook my head. “It’s not like a chemical or anything. It’s... I don’t know.” I speared a sardine, angry at my own inability to describe the scent. Not many people realized that a wolf’s—a real wolf’s—sense of smell wasn’t as good as say, a gun dog’s, but werewolves relied more on scent than any other sense in hunting. A weird quirk of evolution, but true anyway. I hated not knowing why this scent upset my wolf side so much. The immediate, gut-wrenching fear it caused in me—and Sun, too, I thought—didn’t really seem to be anything to do with the type of smell it was.

I tried explaining that to Shannon without much luck. “It’s like...you know the smell of the sewerage plant near where we used to live?” I asked. Before moving back to my home town, we’d lived up north in a town near Newcastle, with a massive recycling and sewerage plant just on the outskirts. Shannon grimaced and nodded. “Well, I knew that was an unpleasant smell and my wolf didn’t like it, but the smell didn’t bother us, you know? I know the smell of Le Monstre isn’t really that awful, but it does upset me. Us.” Upset, I snorted mentally. I wasn’t ready to admit aloud how the scent terrified my wolf; terrified me.

Shannon sighed. “Well, I don’t really get it, but I’ll take your word for it.” She finished her wine and saluted me with her empty glass. “Let’s go collect our mother-to-be, shall we?”

Five

The Loup Garou was full when we got back; wolves in human form playing pool and using the computers I saw one or two furred shapes lounging near the TV, muzzles tucked under their tails as they napped. One of them was bright blue—Clémence, I guessed. Euro-pop music played just a little too loudly, shimmery, synthetic beats drowning out the TV and the click of pool balls. The bitter smell of cigarette smoke filled the air and I thought I could smell Silver Kiss too, which gave me a nasty jolt. Not the kind cut with aconite that drove wolves wild, but the regular herbal kind. Still, the scent was tied together with violence and death in my mind and my wolf curled her nose in disgust at it.

I couldn’t see Sun anywhere, but her scent was still fresh. Holding Shannon’s hand, I wove us through the crowd of wolves. Mostly teenagers, I noticed absently and wondered how many of them were runaways and outcasts. I wondered too if I should warn Clémence about Silver Kiss. If it, or some variant, had made its way across the channel, the aconite cut cigarette might have too.

“There she is,” Shannon said, distracting me. She nodded towards the bar and I saw Sun’s thick black hair glowing with bluish highlights. She had her back to us, shoulders slumped. A tall, dark-skinned wolf sat next to her, one hand stroking her back with long, soothing sweeps.

“Sun?” Shannon ventured as we joined them.

Sun glanced round at us. She was crying, tears shining on her cheeks. Her carefully applied rainbow makeup was ruined and she looked ready to collapse, but she forced a smile when she saw us. “Hey guys. Did you have a good morning?”

Shannon and I exchanged looks. “Yes,” I said decisively. No point telling Sun about the catacombs; it just wasn’t what she needed. “How are you doing?”

Her smile faltered and instead of answering, she gestured to the werewolf next to her. “This is Thérèse, you know, the counselor Clémence mentioned. Thérèse, this is Ayla and Shannon. They’re looking after me.”

Shannon squeezed my hand a bit too hard at that, but when I looked at her, I knew she was melting. You couldn’t look at Sun right now, vulnerable and lost, without wanting to help her. You’d have to have a heart of stone and Shannon just didn’t. “Nice to meet you,” Shannon said to Thérèse.

“And you. Sun has told me how kind you’ve both been.” Thérèse stood to shake our hands. She was even taller than I’d thought, surely pushing six feet. Slim and elegant, she looked like a catwalk model, with cheekbones to die for. Her lime green dress fairly glowed against her skin and her long hair was woven into hundreds of beaded braids. I wondered what happened to them when she shifted. “Sun says you are her neighbors?”

“For this week, anyway,” I replied. “After that...” I shrugged. “I suppose we don’t know what happens after this week.” I looked to Sun for an answer.

She wiped her face, resolute all of a sudden. “I can’t go home. They’ll make me outcast.” I opened my mouth to protest that, but she shook her head, cutting me off. “They will, Ayla. You don’t know my Pack.”

“But the cub—”

“They might take it away from me.” Panic flashed through her eyes. “Maybe your Pack is different, but mine won’t give me a choice. What I’ve done, what me and Mikey did, is unforgiveable.”

I had to give her that one. Not all Packs were that controlling or strict, but I knew from my own experiences that if you didn’t fit their particular mould, you had it tough. Hell, I’d run away for just that reason. And Tina Brady, an outcast wolf we’d helped during the Silver Kiss case, could vouch for it too. She was kicked out of the Pack after she cheated on her husband and had aborted an illicitly conceived cub. Technically her daughter, Molly, had still been part of the Pack, but none of them had lifted a claw to help when Molly went missing and wound up part of Sly’s werewolf fight ring.

“So what do you want to do?” Shannon asked, taking the bar stool next to Sun. Her tone was gentle, promising support. That was the Shannon I loved best, compassionate, giving. I was relieved to see that side of her back.

“Well.” Sun swallowed hard, staring at the floor. “I want to contact Mike’s family. They need to know what...what happened. And after that, I guess... I guess I’d like to go to England with you guys. I’m not asking you to take me in or anything,” she added hurriedly, as if to stave off any rejection. “You know, I can take care of myself and everything once I’m over there, but...”

“We’ll help,” I said and Shannon nodded, patting Sun’s knee. “Whatever we can do, we’ll do it.”

Thérèse beamed “Très bon. And as long as you are here, the Loup Garou will help, okay? You are welcome anytime.”

“I’d like that,” Sun said.

“Great,” Shannon said. “So how about we take you home and start looking into moving you to England.” She looked at me. “Maybe we can get in touch with Joel and Vince and ask them to get things moving?”

I nodded. Joel’s family was pretty tight with the Pack alphas; they’d be able to grease the wheels a bit. Not that I thought any Pack member would refuse to help a pregnant wolf in need. Sun hugged Thérèse and we set off back to Montmartre. I kissed Shannon on the cheek as we stepped back outside into the pale sunshine. “Thank you,” I murmured.

“Don’t be silly.” She flushed. “She’s got nobody else, has she?”

We both gazed ahead at her. Sun was a few feet in front of us, head down, pace heavy as if the effort of lifting her feet to walk was too much. “I promise this won’t turn into Pack politics,” I told Shannon.

She smiled wryly at me. “If it does, I’m pushing you off the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

***

Back in Montmartre, it was obvious Sun was in no state to do anything practical yet. It turned out she hadn’t eaten since that morning, and while Shannon expressed loud disbelief at Thérèse and Clémence’s neglect, I ran out to the nearest boulangerie and came back with enough fresh bread, cheese, fruit and cold meat to feed several pregnant werewolves.

It was late afternoon and Shannon and I had planned to walk down the Champs d’Elysee to see the Arc de Triomphe. Now that Shannon had decided to help Sun, however, there was no stopping her. While I fed Sun, Shannon set herself down on the sofa, fired up her laptop and was sending emails within minutes, fingers tapping furiously on the keyboard.

“Will you send something to Vince?” she called to me. Sun and I were sitting at the kitchen table, devouring massive doorstop sandwiches stuffed with brie and grapes. I left mine reluctantly to join Shannon at the laptop. I’d promised Vince I’d stay in touch while we were away; I hadn’t thought it would be for anything like this.

Hey, we’ve run into a bit of a weird problem... We have a pregnant wolf with us. She’s got no family and wants to come to the UK. Do you think you and Joel could give the alphas a poke and explain to them? She needs somewhere to stay, some grief counseling, support, all that stuff. I don’t know what else, but all she’s got are the clothes on her back.

I paused, considering and after a second added:

btw, do you remember Hesketh? Do you remember what he smelled like? Hope you and J are okay. Paris is lovely. xxx Ayla

I hit ‘send’ and passed the laptop back to Shannon. “Should get things moving.”

Sun finished her sandwich, yawned massively and smiled sweetly at us. “You guys are amazing. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d probably just crack up.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re going to be fine.”

Her lips trembled, but she fought the tears with a visible effort. “I guess I’ll go take a bath and get some sleep.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Give us a shout if you need anything,” Shannon said as Sun left. Sun nodded, waved and slammed the apartment door close behind her, leaving me and Shannon in a reflective silence.

“Do you think she should be on her own?” I asked.

Shannon shrugged and went to snag a sandwich of her own. Sitting at the table, she smiled a little sadly at me. “I think I’d want to be alone, if...if anything happened to you. I can’t imagine wanting anyone around me.”

“Don’t get morbid,” I scolded her softly. “I’m indestructible.”

She laughed then. “Adamantium claws, is it?”

“And kryptonite bones.”

“Kryponite was Superman’s weakness,” she pointed out. “Kryptonite bones would probably just give you cancer.”

I pulled a face at her. “I had no idea you were such a comic book geek.”

“My dad loves Superman. I always preferred Wonder Woman, personally.”

I laughed and crossed to the window, needing fresh air. I itched to change shape; the sight of the wolves in Loup Garou nagged at me, reminding me that my own wolf had been locked inside too long. My claws might make an involuntary appearance if I wasn’t careful. I should have asked Thérèse about places to run. “How about a walk?”

“Champs d’Elysee?” Shannon brightened. “We can find somewhere for dessert and it’ll be dark by the time we finish and then we can go up the Arc and see the City of Lights at its best.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

***

Two hours later, it sounded like less of a plan. There were nearly three hundred steps to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and even for a healthy young wolf that was hard work. Especially when the staircase was narrow and spiraling, the steps shallow and the passageway crammed with other tourists who also wanted to see the City of Lights in all its night-time glory. I resisted the urge to whimper and cling to Shannon as we climbed higher and was pathetically grateful for the halfway point where we could stop and catch our breath.

“Are you okay?” Shannon asked me when I collapsed onto one of the benches along the wall, guzzling from my water bottle.

“Just...okay.” I didn’t want to admit I was slightly freaked out by the height. Notre Dame was tall enough, but the Arc dwarfed it. At this rate I’d never cope with the Eiffel Tower. Shannon sat next to me, rubbing the small of my back without comment.

This mezzanine-style rest point had a few models of the Arc, big free-standing posters detailing the history and construction of it and a gift shop. I managed to overcome my weak knees enough to poke around in the gift shop while Shannon read the posters. Would it be really tacky to buy ‘I Heart Paris’ socks? Probably not quite as tacky as the ‘I Heart Paris’ t-shirts, I decided, paying for a pair.

“Ready to carry on?” Shannon asked while I tucked my socks into my bag. “Only another forty-odd steps to go.”

“We should have taken the lift,” I grumbled, following her to staircase to the top of the Arc.

“But that only comes as far as this floor,” she pointed out. “We’d still have to climb these stairs.”

I could learn to hate my mate, I reflected, sucking in a deep, calming lungful of air. The view would be worth it, I told myself. It was safer than being in an airplane, anyway. Right?

Shannon took my hand as we emerged from the staircase out into the mild night air. The sky overhead was cloud-free and inky blue, stars sparking while a thin slice of silvery moon cruised through. I released the breath I’d been holding, taken aback by the unexpected beauty of it. The moon called to me, stirring my wolf, and I had to close my eyes for a second and remind myself to be human. Tough to do, when all I wanted was to rip off my human skin and sing up to that moon with my wolf voice.

Shannon moved away from me; I heard her boot heels tapping on the stone and opened my eyes. No point getting all the way up here and not actually looking, even if my stomach did churn a little at the thought, my créme brûlée suddenly feeling like not such a good idea.

There weren’t many people up here, I noticed. A couple stood off near the edge, the man taking pictures whilst the girl leaned over the safety railing. I quickly averted my eyes, looking for Shannon. She was on the other side of the Arc, her camera flashing. I joined her, clinging to the safety rail and staring out across the city. For a second I forgot the height and the moon, dazzled by the glimmering, glowing spread of Paris beneath me.

Champs d’Elysee was like a river of light, tall buildings sparkling, car lights flashing by. I could see Notre Dame from here, looking like a model and glowing a pale yellow in the darkness. Off in the distance, the Eiffel Tower cast a blazing reflection across the Seine, a fairytale building, magically huge even from here. I held my breath, listening to traffic rush around the Arc, hearing the faint howl of wolves somewhere down amongst all the light and clamor.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“Imagine the view from the top of the tower,” Shannon said, spinning to take a picture of me gaping stupidly down at Paris. “We’ve got to go up tomorrow night, Ayla. It’ll be amazing.”

I believed her and cast another glance at the tower. Well, we probably wouldn’t be able to go all the up to the top at night, would we? Too dangerous. I could deal with being half way up. Probably.

We spent a few more minutes at the top of the Arc de Triomphe. I was entranced by the flow of traffic down Champs d’Elysee and Shannon slid her arm round my waist, kissing my cheek. “This is what I wanted when we came here,” she murmured in my ear.

I turned to kiss her properly, tasting sugar and chocolate on her lips from her dessert. I wanted to lick the flavor from her, until all I could taste was Shannon, pure and naked. My wolf rumbled inside me and I felt my vision shift from color to sepia, wolf’s sight. I pulled back from Shannon reluctantly, blinking to shake away the change.

“You okay?” Shannon asked.

“Fine.” I pressed my hand over my eyes, focusing on pushing the wolf back. “I really need to find somewhere to shift.”

“You can shift in the flat, can’t you?”

I could, but it wasn’t the same as having somewhere wild and open to run and hunt in. Still, it would do for now. “You done taking pictures?”

Shannon nodded, tucking her camera away. We stared at the city together while my vision switched back. As much as I enjoy my heightened senses, I preferred human, color sight to the wolf’s limited view. Once my human vision returned, we headed back down the stairs. It was much easier to tackle them going down, rather than up, but I still heaved a quiet sigh of relief when we were back on the ground, under the massive bulk of the arch.

It was too dark to see the engravings under the arch, listing historic French battles and victories, but Shannon spent a few minutes snapping pictures anyway. Once she was satisfied, we linked arms and headed for the Champs d’Elysee. It was a roundabout way back to Montmartre, but it was still early and neither of us were ready to call it a night just yet.

When we did reach Montmartre, we were seduced into wandering in and out of the numerous sex shops lining the streets. One in particular—a three story, neon-red bedecked palace called Sexodrome—was just too much to resist. I dragged Shannon in, giggling like a schoolgirl at the array of toys and clothes on display. Rows of stripper heels in garish colors faced racks of porn DVDs, with shelves of vibrators and lubricants lining the walls. Couples and groups wandered the store, all looking far too serious to me. Surely I wasn’t the only person who found all this neon, fur and plastic wildly funny?

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in this,” Shannon teased me, plucking at the hem of a French maid costume. “It’d bring a new meaning to breakfast in bed, anyway.”

I eyed the skimpy dress warily. “I’d rather see you in that.” I pointed out a cheerleader outfit. “You could do your hair in bunches, put on some knee-high socks...”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m a bit old for the schoolgirl look, don’t you think?”

“Something more grown up then?” I nodded to the racks of bondage gear on the opposite wall. Nipple clamps, whips, and handcuffs hung up next to corsets and thigh-high plastic boots. Shannon blanched.

“That’s maybe too grown-up,” she decided, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the display. I followed without protest; bondage never was my thing. I’d dated a girl briefly when I was a teenager who’d wanted to tie me up, but it had been a colossal failure. The wolf hated anything that reminded her of cages and traps; being handcuffed to a bed was a nasty trigger. Nobody got hurt, but our relationship hit the rocks very quickly.

Truthfully, domination wasn’t as big a part of werewolf culture as books and film had you think, at least as far as sex went. Of course we had our Pack alphas and a bigger, stronger wolf would always hold a psychological advantage over a smaller one when it came to fights. I might nip a cub’s ears if I thought he needed it and an alpha might use his clout to push other wolves around—and did in fact, I thought, remembering Eddie with a grimace. That kind of dominant social behavior didn’t cross over into sex as often as humans thought. Shannon had been pretty surprised, the first time we slept together, at how careful I was with her. When I’d dated wolves, I’d been less careful, but I could still honestly say I’d never been interested in hurting anyone for pleasure. It seemed sort of counter-intuitive to me.

Still, there were enough werewolf/human bondage porn films available in the Sexodrome that I had to admit I might be a bit sheltered in that respect.

Every shop was a variation on the Sexodrome we quickly discovered, either smaller and tackier, or smaller and classier. We found ourselves at one point back in the shop we’d seen on our first day, with the shoes I’d thought Glory would like. There we did cave in and buy a book of erotic fantasies. Shannon got that same serious look on her face as she paid that I’d seen on the other shoppers.

“I’m going to read one of these to you later,” she announced, sliding the book in her bag. “Maybe on the Metro or something.”

I flushed at the thought. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She smiled wickedly and squeezed my rear. “Try me.”

I wanted to. It was nearly midnight and I was suddenly very eager to get to bed. Back out on the street, the red windmill of the Moulin Rouge blazed in the darkness, people pouring out of the doors chattering and squealing. We really had to go and see a show before the end of the week. The images of corset-clad, can-can-ing showgirls painted over the entrance to the building was too enticing to resist.

I was so relaxed and happy that I hadn’t spared a thought for Sun or Le Monstre all night and it wasn’t until we passed one of those newspaper stands that I remembered. The stand was closed up, but the day’s headlines were still slapped across the wooden boards of the shutters. Une autre victime du Le Monstre de Paris. I pulled Shannon to a halt to look at it properly. It was today’s paper and my heart thudded at the sight of it, certain it must be about Mike.

“It’s not,” Shannon said after a few minutes of scanning the front page. “I don’t think so, anyway, it doesn’t mention anyone named Michael or Mike.”

“So this is a completely different killing?” I shuddered, suddenly cold and feeling very exposed on the busy street. I glanced around. Nobody else seemed scared, despite the dire warnings the newspaper man had issued to me the day before.

“I think so. Come on, let’s get home.”

We hurried back to the flat, both a little more somber than we had been. There was no sound from Sun’s flat, although light leaked out from under the front door. I considered knocking, just to check that she was okay, but decided against it. Maybe a little peace and quiet would do her more good than being fussed over. I knew I’d hate it if I was being constantly asked if I was okay, even if it was well-intentioned.

In our own flat, Shannon disappeared into the bedroom while I poured myself a glass of water and chugged it down. I wondered if Vince had replied to my email yet. After seeing the headline I couldn’t shake the image of Hesketh in his wolfman form, towering over me like a nightmare made flesh. I could so easily see a creature like that stalking the streets, preying on helpless victims.

I pictured Mike, the savage wound in his throat. It had been a messy bite, the kind of killing blow a wolf could easily deal. And of course a wolf was the obvious suspect, as much as I hated to admit it. What Paris was dealing with was probably not some vague, shadowy monster, but a wolf gone rogue. Maybe, at a push, a creature like Hesketh had become, a human using wolf skin to turn themselves into a killer.

With that unpleasant thought in mind, it took me a few seconds to notice Shannon when I walked into the bedroom. I nearly walked straight past her to the bathroom, until she cleared her throat and I glanced towards the bed. “Oh...”

She lay naked on the plum-colored sheets, her fair skin glowing against the rich color. She gazed at me through her eyelashes, lips pouting, fingers trailing idly over her stomach. Her blonde hair shone in the low lamplight and the beret I’d bought her yesterday was perched jauntily on her head, drawing a wide grin from me.

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” she asked, fluttering her eyelids at me.

I practically pounced on her, snarling in frustration as I struggled to rip off my clothes. Shannon laughed as she helped me, rolling me underneath her and pinning me down so she could pull off my top. Hungry for her, I locked my arms round her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. We fumbled on the slippery sheets, Shannon scrambling for my jeans zip, me tangling my fingers in her hair, knocking the beret off. Finally we managed to claw me out of my jeans and my underwear followed fast.

For a hot second we simply clung to each other in silence, gazing into each other’s eyes. In the dim light, she looked angelic. I didn’t want to move and break the spell, just wanted to stare at her forever, push away the fights we’d had over the past few weeks and the strange, dark turn our romantic break had taken. Her skin was soft and warm, and she nestled into me with a breathy sigh, pushing her breasts against me.

I moved—slowly, so slowly, drawing out every second—down her body, tongue and fingers caressing that beautiful skin as I did. Shannon moaned and sighed, shifting her hips, guiding my attentions where she wanted them. After a while, she lost patience and flipped our positions, taking mere minutes to render me senseless with quick, wicked lashes of her tongue. I lost patience even faster than her and it was only a few minutes more before we were rolling around in the sheets, nipping, scratching, kissing.

Somewhere in the midst of it all I heard a door click, heard footsteps in the hall, but it barely registered and was quickly forgotten as I was far more interested in nibbling my way up Shannon’s leg and listening to her squeal in mock protest as I did.

Later, lying breathless, hot and happy in Shannon’s arms, I wondered again if I should go check on Sun. I asked Shannon. She kissed my neck. “Stop fussing,” she ordered me. “I had no idea you could be such a mother hen.”

I didn’t push it. This evening had been exactly what we’d come here for—time together away from the Pack, romance, fun. I didn’t want to ruin that, didn’t want to leave the warm circle of her arms, so I pushed Sun out of my mind and turned my attention back to my mate. Neither of us were ready to sleep just yet.

***

I knew I was dreaming because Graham Hesketh was dead. But in the dream I was terrified as I crept through his dank, dirty house, quaking as I tip-toed up the stairs, following a bitter, musky smell towards the bedroom. In the dream, blood splattered the stairs and walls, great gushes of dark crimson blood dripping down the off-white walls. I trailed my fingers through it, shuddering at the sticky sensation. I followed the trail of blood to its end, through the hall littered with corpses—rabbits, cats, birds. All torn to pieces, glassy-eyed and drenched in blood.

In the dream, I knew that wasn’t right, that wasn’t what it had been like, but it still scared me. So much death, all tangled up with that sour smell that made my eyes water and my nostrils burn. I wanted to run, just like I’d wanted to run that day, but I kept going, picking my way through the bodies, driven by anger and fear.

Shadows filled the house. In reality it had been daylight, but in the dream night filled the bedroom, thick and black. Hesketh stood by the bed, naked, wolf strap in hand. As I watched, frozen in the doorway, heart barely beating, he wound the strap round his waist. I screamed as thick fur flowed over his body, as his limbs twisted and lengthened and his jaw distorted and changed. I screamed and covered my ears to drown out Hesketh’s wicked laughter.

He didn’t turn into a wolf. He turned into a monster, too tall, limbs all long, eyes toxic yellow and full of murder. He laughed and slashed at me with his jagged claws and in the dream I was still frozen. I couldn’t dodge him, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as his claws ripped through my skin, spilling my intestines to the blood-soaked carpet. And there was no Vince to help me, no Glory to save me, there was just me and Hesketh; monstrous, murderous Hesketh, slashing away, tearing me to pieces until I was nothing but a bloody pulp.

Six

I woke up with a start, sweating and burning hot. Darkness pressed around me and for a second I didn’t know where I was, thrown by the unfamiliar scents of the room. I rubbed my hand across my stomach, gripped by the memory of my guts spilling out bright and lurid. But my skin was smooth and undamaged. I twisted round to stare at Shannon, to make sure she was okay. She didn’t stir, huddled under the comforter, sleeping soundly. Something in me uncoiled at the sight of her, my nightmare fading a little. The scent didn’t, though. Now I’d dreamed it, I remembered it as if I really had revisited Hesketh’s house. Bitter, rank, and sour and nothing like the sweet-rotten scent of Le Monstre.

I settled down again, curling into a ball, Shannon’s warm breath tickling my neck. I didn’t think I’d sleep again—wasn’t sure I wanted to—but then Shannon shifted in her sleep, draping her arm over my waist, and I relaxed enough to nod off again.

***

The urge to change shape woke me before dawn. I wondered if the nightmare had triggered it. It felt like the wolf was trying to claw her way up my throat and out my mouth. She would not be ignored anymore. Careful not to wake Shannon, I slipped out of the bedroom and into the dark living room. I was certain that I must have gone longer without shifting before, although I couldn’t remember when. I think just knowing there was nowhere for her to run made the wolf more frantic, more determined to change.

I stretched out on the carpet and let the change roll over me, welcoming it with a dizzy sense of relief. The swift cracks and snaps of my bones as my body reshaped felt good, like letting out a breath you’d been holding too long. Minutes later, I padded around the room in wolf-shape, investigating it all over again with a keener nose and sharper eyes. I found a stray grape under the kitchen table and chased it around the room, tossing it in the air and catching it before swallowing it with a gulp.

Over at the open window, I placed my front paws on the sill so I could get a good whiff of the world outside, taking in all the usual scents of a city still sleeping: cats, rats, spilled alcohol and dropped food, mixing with the aromas from the newsstand opposite—fresh bread and inky newspapers. I wagged my tail, satisfied the world was as it should be. Even with my sharper wolf nose, I couldn’t smell Le Monstre anymore, its odor masked by time and fresher scents.

I dropped back to the carpet, pacing restlessly. The flat was too small for me to do much and although it was tempting to head outside and go for a quick run round the quiet streets, I resisted. I’d promised Shannon I wouldn’t go off without her and I meant to keep that promise, determined to stop her feeling excluded from the wolf part of my life. It hadn’t been a problem before we moved back to my home city. Up north I had been a lone wolf, but almost as soon as I’d rejoined my old Pack, it was like my life had split in two—Pack life versus personal life. I still wasn’t sure how to deal with that, but my promise to Shannon felt like a start.

So I hopped onto the sofa, worrying at my claws and tail, waiting for her to wake up so we could go do something.

I’d dozed off again by the time she did emerge from the bedroom, naked and yawning, finger-combing her tangled hair in a vain attempt to get it under control. I twitched my tail lazily at her and she paused to scratch me behind the ears on her way to the kitchen. It was disorientating, watching her through the wolf’s eyes. She was still my mate, but with the human part of my mind pushed way back, the wolf couldn’t help but think she was the wrong shape. No tail, for one thing. But she still smelled delicious. I rolled onto my back, legs dangling in the air, laughing at myself.

“We should check on Sun,” Shannon told me, setting about making two cups of tea—real tea, not the herbal crap. “Will you go? I don’t fancy waking a sleeping werewolf.”

I loped through to the bedroom to change back and throw some clothes on. The change hadn’t been long enough and the wolf grumbled inside me, feeling cheated. I promised us both a real run tonight. I hadn’t seen any werewolves out and about in wolf shape last night, but I’d smelled them, seen the public changing booths on street corners here and there, so it wasn’t like it was banned or anything.

I pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and threw a t-shirt on, then went to see if I could rouse Sun. My polite knocks on her front door got no answer, but it was open when I tried the handle. A little alarm bell rang in my head. I remembered vaguely hearing her go out last night, but didn’t remember hearing her come back. My heart skipped. “Sun?” I called, entering the flat.

It was a mirror of ours, done in bold, Mediterranean colors. A suitcase lay open on the sofa, clothes spilling out. They had to be Mike’s; there were lots of baseball and football shirts. I wondered if he’d been packing or unpacking when we’d interrupted his row with Sun.

“Sun?” I tried again, heading for the bedroom. “You okay?”

Silence greeted me, somehow both heavy and hollow. The flat felt dead, the air stale. The bedroom was empty; I knew it. Sun was gone. I wet my lips as I pushed the door open, worry churning like acid in my stomach.

Her bedroom was sumptuous, lots of jewel-colored pillows on the bed and wildly exotic prints on the walls, showing rainbows and humming birds. Jewelry covered every spare surface, big chunky necklaces and drop earrings. Makeup and perfume took up any spare space and I sneezed repeatedly as the cloying scents of flowers and fruit hit me. Dresses and bras were strewn all over the floor, heels piled haphazardly against the wall. It was like an explosion in a boutique.

Sun was nowhere to be seen.

I slumped against the wall, feeling sick. Shit. Shit! Why didn’t we check on her last night?

I rushed back into the living area, trying to catch a fresh scent amidst all the perfume. Out in the hall, her scent was clear, and my first impulse was to race down the stairs onto the street to follow it. I checked the impulse though, remembering my promise. Instead I dashed back into our flat, shouting for Shannon.

“She’s gone!”

“Gone where?” Shannon was sitting on the sofa, laptop open, sipping her tea.

“No, she’s gone, Shannon.” I ran my hands through my hair, biting my lip. “She went out last night—I heard her—and she’s...gone.”

Shannon set her laptop aside, frowning. “Do you think she went to Loup Garou?”

“In the middle of the night?” I could feel frantic panic bubbling up in me.

“Well, maybe she went for a run, or—”

“No! She’s pregnant, she can’t shapeshift!” Shannon’s refusal to get upset with me somehow made me more upset. “She’s drinking that tea for it, remember? She’s hurt. What if she’s hurt, Shannon?”

“Stop.” She rose and came over to me, catching my hands to hold me still. “Let me get dressed before we start running around like headless chickens.”

I fidgeted in the doorway while she quickly showered and dressed. I wanted to yank her out of the shower and march her into Sun’s flat, but I curbed the impulse. Not only would it piss Shannon off, it wouldn’t do any good. Sun was gone; she wouldn’t be any less gone with me panicking about it.

My wolf instincts pricked me, reminding me that this wasn’t just some silly girl wandering off by herself. It was a silly pregnant, bereaved werewolf girl wandering off by herself in a city where people were being murdered seemingly every night. I fought those instincts. Even a pregnant grieving werewolf was capable of looking after herself, I told myself fiercely. Sun wasn’t stupid. I was pretty certain of that.

After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, Shannon joined me, dressed and smelling of soap. I took her hand and hurried her across the hall to Sun’s flat. Shannon poked around, far more calmly than I had.

“Well, she didn’t take her purse,” she said, lifting the strappy red leather bag from the sofa. “And her keys and money are all in here still. So she wasn’t planning to go far.”

“So she’s in trouble. Shit, Shannon, it was the middle of the night! Where could she have gone with no money?”

“Can you track her? There must be a scent.” Shannon dropped the bag, a wary alarm on her face. She wasn’t ready to freak out yet, which kept me from flying off the deep end. Shannon was good at stuff like this; it was her job after all. She’d figure out where Sun had gone and why and everything would be fine. I nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to sort through all the overpowering scents in the flat for the freshest.

“It’ll be easier in wolf-shape,” I muttered, dropping to my knees to sniff at the doorway. Sun had chosen a citrus scented perfume with orange notes yesterday and the tang lingered around the door. I followed it out the hallway and down the stairs, onto the street, where the smell mingled with other smells that had come and gone through the night and early morning.

“Need to change?” Shannon asked when I hesitated, trying to figure out which way Sun had gone.

I wanted to, but I didn’t think it would make much of a difference. “The trail’s almost cold already. Too many scent trails crisscrossing.” I bit my lip in frustration. Paris was a big city, far bigger than my relatively small East Anglian home town, with more scents to sort through than I’d normally have to deal with. Even in wolf shape, I’d be overwhelmed. And of course, I didn’t know this city like I knew my home town. I couldn’t guess at where a grieving, isolated wolf might go for comfort or privacy or help. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted finally.

“Okay.” Shannon rested her hand on my shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “Well, she can’t have gone that way.” She gestured behind us, up the hill that our apartment block was on. The street went up a few meters more, then hit an untidy brick wall. On the other side of the wall was a sheer drop to a train track. Still, we peered over the edge, neither of us actually saying that we were doing it to confirm Sun hadn’t thrown herself in front of a train or something. “She must have gone into the city,” Shannon continued, pulling me back.

“Maybe we should just go to Loup Garou,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck to try and ease the tension knotting there. “It’s where I’d go if I were her and if she’s not there, they might be able to help us look for her.”

“It’s only just gone seven,” Shannon said, glancing up at the pale blue sky. The sun cast watery sunlight over Montmartre, promising hotter hours ahead. “Do you think anyone will be there?”

“Hopefully,” I said grimly, “Sun will be there.”

***

She wasn’t. I’d hoped so much Sun would be, I’d almost convinced myself of it. That we’d push open the door to Loup Garou and see her sat at the bar safe and sound. Instead, we pushed open the door to see Clémence, human-shaped and naked, curled up on one of the sofas near the TV, fast asleep. A faded tartan blanket was tangled round her legs and she had a death-grip on a stuffed pink teddy bear. An empty pizza box and a few beer cans littered the floor near the sofa.

I suddenly felt embarrassed and awkward, like we’d intruded, which we obviously had. Shannon gripped my hand.

“We should go,” she whispered.

Clémence stirred at the sound of her voice, moaning and rolling over, the bear clutched to her chest. She blinked sleepily at us, looking far less embarrassed than I felt. “Bonjour,” she yawned. “Excusez-moi, je ne vous ai pas entendu. I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “It’s our fault, it’s early, we didn’t think...” I trailed off, realizing Shannon was staring at Clémence. Not obviously, but her eyes kept flicking back to the girl’s bare chest. She had a nipple ring, I noted absently. Maybe Shannon liked nipple rings. I squeezed her hand, not sure whether I was annoyed or amused. Shannon jumped slightly and pulled free of my grip.

“We were looking for Sun,” she said. “She went out last night and didn’t come back—we thought she might have come here.”

Clémence shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. “I haven’t seen her since she left with you.” Concern rubbed the last traces of sleep away from her face. “She is okay?”

“We don’t know.” I wondered if Clémence would be offended if I told her to cover up. “But she didn’t take her bag or anything, so we thought...”

Clémence swung her legs to the floor, wrapping the tartan blanket around her shoulders. It covered her breasts, but left everything else bare and I glanced quickly at Shannon to make sure she was keeping her eyes at a safe level. She was. I relaxed a little. Clémence patted the sofa, inviting us over.

“Sorry for this.” She gestured vaguely at the pizza box and cans. “I am moving in with Thérèse once her boyfriend moves out.”

“Do you always sleep here?” Shannon asked.

Clémence shook her head. “My landlord asked me to move out after the murders.” She nodded to the stack of aging newspapers on the table. I picked up the top one, saw the now-familiar Le Monstre headline. “He says people will panic if they know a werewolf is their neighbor.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I bristled with indignation. “He can’t do that. There’s no proof this is a werewolf, is there?”

Clémence shrugged. “What else?” she asked, sounding tired again. “Humans do not kill this way.” Realization dawned on her face. “Oh merde, you do not think Sun has been attacked?”

Shannon and I exchanged looks. Neither of us had said it, but I knew we’d both thought it the minute we realized Sun was gone. “No,” Shannon said. “No, I’m sure she’s just wandered off to think and deal with everything, but in her state...”

Clémence wrinkled her nose. “She is close to giving birth, you think?”

“Oh, no.” I realized she’d misunderstood and remembered too that we hadn’t told her a whole lot about Sun’s predicament. I had no idea how much Sun herself had told her. “Listen, Clémence, Sun’s boyfriend was... He died. It was...”

“Le Monstre,” Shannon supplied when I hesitated, unsure if we should be telling Clémence Sun’s business. “Just a couple of nights ago.”

Clémence’s jaw dropped. “Merde. You’re sure? Le Monstre?”

“We’re assuming,” Shannon admitted, “based on what we can make of the newspaper articles.”

“And the smell,” I added.

Clémence nodded, expression grim. She grabbed one of the papers from the pile and read the cover article to us. “Throat torn out, little blood at the scene, wolf officers report strange smell at the scene...” She looked up at us. “This is like Sun’s boyfriend?”

I nodded. “She found him herself.” I shuddered, remembering her bone-chilling scream, the frozen fear the scent had triggered in me.

“And people think it’s a werewolf?” Shannon asked Clémence.

She nodded. “My neighbors are all human. They all say, what else kills like this? That’s why my landlord asked me to leave. He worried about what might happen.”

“To them or you?” I asked.

“Both.” She shrugged. “France has a long, dark history with wolves, you know? People do not forget.”

We sat in glum silence for a few minutes, before Clémence rose, inadvertently flashing Shannon—me too, but I was too busy watching Shannon’s reaction to notice. “Excuse me. I will shower and change and we will think what to do, okay?” She sloped off towards the bar, disappeared through the door behind it.

“Should I get my nipple pierced?” I wondered aloud, gazing at the wall mural.

Shannon flushed. “I wasn’t staring.”

“You really were.”

“Well I wasn’t staring because I’m attracted to her then,” she snapped. “Not everyone’s as comfortable being confronted with naked strangers as you are.”

I started to argue, decided we were being ridiculous, and stopped. “I feel really bad for Clémence,” I said instead, kicking a beer can and sending it rolling under the sofa. “I can’t believe her landlord kicked her out like that.”

“At least she had somewhere to go,” Shannon said. “And you know, I hate to say it, but what else could be behind the killings? People don’t kill like this.”

“You don’t know that. All that dark history Clémence was talking about—you know they reckon most of the supposed werewolves burned in the Middle Ages were just humans. Insane, cannibalistic humans.”

“But the throat wound.” Shannon tapped the newspaper. “That’s typical of wolf kills, isn’t it? I’m not saying it absolutely is a werewolf, but it’s more likely, don’t you think?”

I grudgingly admitted it was, despite my doubts. “That scent around Mike though, and down in the catacombs, that wasn’t a wolf scent. That wasn’t like anything I’ve smelled before.” I glanced over at the mural again. “I think it’s something like Hesketh.” I was sure the scents were different now, but that didn’t mean anything. What else could it be?

“Someone using a wolf strap?” She nodded, pursing her lips as she mulled the idea over. “It could be. But you know... Sun and Mikey were arguing when we met them.”

“So?”

“So they argued, he walked out on her, he shows up dead. And she’s first on the scene. Normally that would make her the prime suspect. Especially now she’s missing.”

I bit my lip. It had crossed my mind, briefly, that she might have killed Mikey. A crime of passion, but ... “But Sun can’t exactly wolf out at the moment and the other killings, those couldn’t all be her.”

“No, I suppose not,” Shannon agreed. “I’m sure the police are looking into all the possibilities.”

Which was a subtle way of saying ‘it’s nothing to do with us’, I thought, and it wasn’t, of course. For what felt like the millionth time, I reminded myself that we were in Paris to spend some quality time together. The fact that we’d immediately ended up babysitting Sun was a crimp in the plan, but it didn’t mean we had to involve ourselves in every crisis we stumbled across. Right?

When Clémence returned, her hair was damp and she wore rumpled clothes. “D’accord,” she said, sitting down and fixing us both with a serious look. “How are we to find Sun?”

“We thought we could track her from her flat, but her trail’s pretty weak and there were too many other scents around,” I told her. “We came here because we couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d go. She hasn’t been in Paris long.”

Clémence beckoned us over to the computers and switched one on. “I can put a message on our forum. Maybe someone will see her and let us know.”

It was worth a try. There probably weren’t many pregnant American-Korean werewolves in Paris. “How many wolves use this place?” I asked as Clémence typed furiously.

“Uh, they come and go, you know? Maybe a hundred or so? Lots of kids hang out here after school, lots of students use it. We have one or two homeless wolves who sleep over sometimes,” Clémence replied. “Thérèse is working on getting us some money to do more, like maybe some night classes.”

“Cool.” I admired Clémence’s determination. There was nothing like this setup back home and I wondered how much difference it would have made to lone wolves or outcasts like Tina, to have this kind of support centre. Unconnected to the Pack, but rooted in the werewolf community, it would be perfect. We could do with a place like this back home.

The idea brightened me up and I resolved to at least look into it while I was waiting to hear whether I’d been accepted into the community support branch of the police. I probably wouldn’t find out until after Sly’s trial, so there was plenty of time to get the ball rolling if I could.

“D’accord, message up,” Clémence announced. “But we should not wait to hear back. Is there anywhere she mentioned, anywhere she would want to go?”

“Without her bag?” Shannon shook her head. “If she’d gone off on a social jaunt, she’d take her money, at least.”

“And it was well after midnight,” I added. “I don’t think this was a sightseeing thing.” I tried to bury the thought that it could be a killing thing. Sun couldn’t possibly be responsible for so many deaths, not in her condition.

“We should call the police,” Shannon said.

Clémence bit her lip. “She hasn’t been gone too long yet. They might do nothing.”

“Well how about any local alphas?” I suggested.

“We could try,” she said. “One of my ex amoureux...uh, like, my past lover? She is the daughter of an alpha.”

I should have guessed Clémence was gay. It still startled me a little though and I found myself shifting closer to Shannon, subtly moving between her and the younger wolf and feeling incredibly petty and stupid while I did it.

Clémence chatted on, oblivious. “Olivie probably is still asleep—she’s not a day person, you know? But she will definitely help.”

“And in the mean time, what?” I asked, looking at Shannon. “What do we do?”

She sighed and spread her hands helplessly. “I don’t really feel like sightseeing, do you?”

I shook my head. Clémence patted my arm comfortingly. “Why not go see the Musée de l’histoire de Lupine?” she suggested. “Kill an hour or two there, then come back here and we will find Sun.”

She sounded so cheerfully determined that I couldn’t help but catch some of the optimism. My wolf wagged her tail cautiously. Surely with Clémence’s resources, we’d find Sun in no time. Two wolves had to be better than one, right?

Seven

The Museum of Lupine History was a weird mix of art and hysteria. Clémence’s comment about France’s long, dark history came back to me as Shannon and I stepped inside to be greeted by a massive black and white blow-up of a seventeenth century woodcut. It depicted an alleged werewolf—Jean Grenier—tearing apart a cherubic little girl in vicious detail. He was shown as a man-wolf, balanced on his hind legs and using his forepaws to hold the girl while he ripped her throat out. His eyes were wild, his jaws foaming. The little girl’s face was frozen in a horrified scream, whilst terrified peasants crowded at the edge of the scene, helpless and furious.

“Nice,” Shannon observed.

“Stupid thing was, back then wolves were still in hiding,” I complained, staring at Grenier’s beastly face. “Grenier was probably just a random madman, but because of people like him, we get lumbered with the child-eating reputation.”

She laughed at that. “Or maybe he was a real werewolf and just got careless with his takeaways.”

I had to give her that one. Nobody would ever know if people like Grenier were real werewolves or just regular human lunatics, so they were free to portray him however they liked. That, it turned out, was the main theme of the museum. There was nothing about werewolves in World War One, when trench warfare forced us to go public. There was nothing on werewolves’ contribution to society in recent years in military, in construction, in medicine and in just about every facet of modern life. No, it was just one exhibit after another showing the worst of wolf history and more than a little pseudo history thrown into the mix.

The exhibit on the Inquisition was especially depressing. Pictures of werewolves burning at the stake, coupled with graphic descriptions of the torture methods used to get confessions from suspected witches, wolves and vampires. Iron maidens, thumbscrews, bootikins; I hurt just reading about them. Some lupine historians thought that once there’d been all kinds of supernatural creatures in the world, not just wolves. Fairies, vampires, other species of shifters...and all wiped out in the Middle Ages. I stared at a photo of a vampire from a recent film, the actor made-up to look pallid and corpse-like, but still very alluring. Sharp cheekbones and delicate fangs that didn’t look capable of piercing an apple, let alone human flesh. He held a swooning beauty in his arms, her expression rapt as he bared those useless teeth at her. I wondered if Hollywood would romanticize vampires so much if they existed today, picking on virgins and bleeding them dry.

“This place is miserable,” I told Shannon after the torture-chamber display. The room was full of life-size models of racks and ducking stools, the walls lined with yet more pictures of people burned alive. I knew I was imagining the smell of smoke and ash, but in the dimly-lit room, surrounded by instruments of death, it was hard to think of anything else. My wolf, restless again, hated it. She longed for sunlight and open spaces and this cramped room of torture-porn contraptions was too much for her.

Shannon nodded. “I think we’ve seen enough,” she agreed. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so depressing.”

“No wonder so many people think Le Monstre is a werewolf,” I said as we headed for the exit. “The whole bloody country’s conditioned to see us as cannibals.”

A passing tourist entering the museum shot me an odd look. I ignored him, focusing on the smell of ham and cheese crêpes cooking on the street outside. My wolf wanted meat, wanted to hunt, in fact. This morning’s little romp round the living room felt like a lifetime ago and hadn’t done much to take the edge off the wolf’s impatience.

“I need to change,” I told Shannon, feeling the wolf scrape her claws inside me, pushing her way to the front of my mind. It was an itch I couldn’t scratch, a burn I couldn’t relieve. Changing this morning for such a short time had probably just made things worse, frustrating the wolf with a quick taste of freedom.

We scanned the street for a changing booth, but there was nothing nearby. “Can’t you wait till we get to Loup Garou?” Shannon asked.

I shook my head. I could have, but I didn’t want to. Running around Loup Garou wouldn’t be any more satisfying that running around the flat. I needed real exercise, the chance to stretch my legs and work off this bubbling energy before it got the better of me.

Once, when we were kids, Vince and I had dared each other to see how long we could go without shifting. I didn’t have much impulse control as a child: I lasted a day before I gave in. Vince did much better, lasting a whole three days. The problem was, when he reached his limit, he was in school. Geography, I think. He didn’t choose to end the dare and shapeshift. His wolf took over and he fell into an involuntary change in the middle of the lesson. It was all down to good luck and a very patient teacher that nobody was hurt. Suppressing the instinct to shift was dangerous. Some pregnant wolves coped just fine, the maternal instinct to protect the cub overriding the urge to shift. Others needed all the help they could get to keep it under control, all the herbs and potions on the market. For the rest of us, it was dangerous to ignore the instinct, physically, psychologically and socially. Vince could have hurt someone—could have hurt himself. The pair of us got a severe dressing down, a week’s worth of detention and weren’t allowed to sit next to each other in class for the rest of the year because we were clearly corrupting each other.

The memory of Vince’s shift had stayed with me. It was like an epileptic fit almost, limbs shaking, body seizing as the wolf forced itself out. Unlike a controlled shift, where you were at least ready for the flashes of pain and could keep a grip on yourself, an involuntary shift grabbed you by surprise and threw you into wolf shape in a riot of agony and nausea. I didn’t fancy going through that in the middle of dinner in a fancy Parisian bistro.

In the end, feeling a little dirty for it, I ducked into a public toilet and shifted in the disabled cubical, passing my clothes under the door to Shannon beforehand. The change was a massive relief, my wolf body feeling far more natural, far more comfortable than the human body I’d abandoned. I sniffed around the cubicle quickly to make sure there was nothing interesting I’d missed with my dull human nose, then nudged the door open to join Shannon.

I butted my head against her hip, demanding attention, and she ruffled my ears quickly. “Happy now?” she asked. I swiped my tongue across her hand in the affirmative and she grinned down at me. “Then let’s see if Clémence has found our wayward mother-to-be yet, shall we?”

I resisted the urge to growl at Clémence’s name, obviously more jealous than I’d let myself believe. I kept quiet though, feeling very proud of myself for doing so, and trotted down the street with Shannon, pressing as close to her as I could without knocking her over. The day had turned bright and warm and the streets of Versailles were crowded. We had to push our way through knots of teenagers and aimless wanderers. It wasn’t quite the run I’d wanted, but it was better than nothing and there were plenty of interesting things on the pavement for me to sniff at, causing Shannon to grumble in mock-annoyance.

“If I knew all it took to make you happy was the occasional piece of dried-up chewing gum—” She broke off with a yelp as a brick came flying out of the crowd, smashing into the wall behind her.

I yelped too, leaping away from my tantalizing bit of gum to look for the culprit. Shannon jumped away from where she’d been standing, shaking with adrenaline. “Fucking hell...”

Another brick crashed into the pavement at my feet, missing me by a hair’s breadth. I barked, leapt in front of Shannon to protect her. Shannon was looking around, blonde hair whipping across her face as she searched the crowd. Suddenly she cried out, drawing an instinctive snarl from me.

“You little twat!” she shouted. “What is wrong with you?”

I spun in the direction she was yelling, saw a teenager hefting a third brick in his hand a few feet away. The crowd had cleared around him, people either stopping to watch with gaping interest or hurrying past with their eyes fixed firmly ahead. He spat at us, face twisted in a nasty sneer.

“Chiennes de loup-garou!Allez vous faire foutre: vous assassinez les monstres, chacunes d’entre vous!” he called. A few of the people watching cheered, apparently agreeing with whatever he had said. “Vous, les monstres ne devriez pas être autorisés en ville!”

I had no idea what he was saying, but I didn’t like his tone one bit. I padded across the street towards him, hackles raised, a growl rumbling up my throat. It didn’t really matter what he’d said. He’d attacked my mate. Never throw bricks at a werewolf’s mate. You’ll live longer.

The boy eyed me without fear. Smug arrogance radiated off him. He probably thought he was safe out on the street, surrounded by people. I took another step, my growl building. I’d make him afraid.

“Ayla,” Shannon called, her voice wary. I ignored her. The boy was still poised for attack, the brick clasped firmly in hand. The people around us were shrieking and backing away, wiser than the boy.

Ears flat against my skull, body low against the pavement, I stopped a foot away from him, coiling myself to strike. Blood pounded in my head, drowning out my human self, my common sense. All I knew was the scrawny human in front of me had tried to hurt my mate and he needed to be punished for that.

I had no idea what I would do to him. He was just a cub, silly and young. Should I cuff him with a paw, snap at him to scare him and leave it at that? As angry I was, I wasn’t stupid, but in the end I didn’t need to decide, because without warning, the boy threw his last brick at me.

It hit me square in the face, knocking me back with an anguished yelp. I lost my footing as I scrambled away from him, colliding with a passing cyclist. We both went down in a mess of limbs and bike wheels. Crying, I tried to untangle myself, but only ended up scratching the poor kid beneath me. The brick-wielder yelled triumphantly and took off, vanishing into the crowd, who pulled back together to hide him like it was choreographed.

Shannon appeared at my side, crying my name as she wrapped her arms around me, helping me detach myself from the battered bike frame. The rider, swearing viciously, shoved at us both, sending Shannon sprawling to the pavement and me crashing on top of her. I was dizzy from the brick-blow, the world spinning too much for me to control my limbs. I fell.

Shannon squeaked as I landed on her. I closed my eyes with a whine, my entire face throbbing with pain. Was I bleeding? Had I chipped a fang? I couldn’t tell; it felt like my entire head had swollen up like a balloon. I didn’t dare open my eyes in case there was an angry mob circling us.

“Ayla, are you okay?” Shannon threw her arms round my neck, hugging my limp body to her. “Look at me, Ayla.”

I opened my eyes, twisted my head round so I could see her. Lying on top of her like this, I had to be crushing her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her face was tight with anxiety, but she seemed okay. I tried to lick her nose and missed completely, my vision a little too blurry for me to judge the distance between her face and mine.

“How many fingers, Ayla?” she asked me, holding her hand up.

I whined and dropped my head to her chest. I didn’t want to count. I was too dizzy to count. Wolves weren’t supposed to count.

She levered me off her gently, sliding me to the pavement. She knelt next to me, helping me get my feet back under me. My stomach lurched and I forced back a mouthful of bile. Closing my eyes again, I breathed in deeply, trying to shake off the burning headache forming between my ears.

“That little shit,” Shannon muttered, cupping my muzzle in her hands to check me for injury. “Oh, Ayla, you’re bleeding.” She touched the side of my head gingerly and a flash of pain shot through me. I yelped and pulled away. “Don’t be a baby,” she ordered. “It’s not that bad. Let’s get back to Loup Garou and see if they’ve got a first aid kit.”

Feeling sick and sorry for myself, I followed Shannon, pressed close to her heels, telling myself it was for her protection rather than my own.

***

Clémence was seated at one of the computers when we got back to Loup Garou, fast-paced trance music pumping through its speakers. She didn’t notice us enter straight away, then I saw her inhale sharply and swing round in her chair to face us. “What happened? Who is bleeding?”

“Some idiot outside the Lupine Museum started yelling and throwing bricks at us,” Shannon explained. Clémence swore, leaping up and running to the bar.

I whined and padded over to the sofas, flopping onto one with a sigh. I’d been hurt worse—Sly had hurt me far worse, several times over—but somehow this just felt worse. An insult as well as an injury. Here we were, supposedly in the most romantic city in the world, getting bricks lobbed at us for no reason. It wasn’t fair.

Shannon sat down with me, running her fingers absently through my fur. Her touch was soothing; I closed my eyes and soaked up the attention. Clémence joined us with a big green first aid box and started rooting through it. She produced a pack of antiseptic wipes and reached for me. Shannon snatched the pack from her hand.

“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. It struck me that maybe I wasn’t the only one a little jealous of Clémence. The thought made me grin, which made my face ache. I winced, flattening my ears. “Hold still,” Shannon told me, cupping my muzzle in one hand and wiping at the gash along my cheek with the other. The antiseptic stung almost more than the original injury had and I struggled not to flinch as Shannon applied it.

“What happened?” Clémence asked again. “Tell me, please, exactly?”

Shannon told her and Clémence swore some more. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot to tourists?” Shannon asked her dryly.

She shook her head. “It is not because you are tourists, it is because Ayla is a wolf. Since the murders started, stupid people have decided all wolves must be killers.” She scowled. “I know some wolves this has happened to. That’s why we don’t go running anymore—it’s not safe.”

It occurred to me then that in the past few days, I hadn’t seen a single werewolf in wolf shape. I had assumed the werewolves of Paris had particular places to shift and run, like Moreland Park back home. Now I thought back to the newspaper vendor on our first day in Paris, telling me that wolves didn’t go out after dark anymore. Maybe it wasn’t just because of Le Monstre. Maybe it was because of the humans who thought Le Monstre was a wolf.

“Can you change back?” Shannon asked me when she was done cleaning my wound. She tugged my clothes from her bag as I slid off the sofa and slunk behind it. Shannon’s careful work with the antiseptic wipes was completely undone as I shifted back to human, my skull changing shape, skin and muscle moving around to accommodate my suddenly smaller head. The process set the wound bleeding again. Once I was fully human, I touched the gash gently, my fingertips coming away wet with blood.

“More wipes?” I asked Shannon as I pulled my clothes on. Whilst she dug in the first aid kit, I noticed Clémence give me the once over, smiling broadly as she did. I ducked my head as I tugged my top on, pretending really hard I hadn’t seen her checking me out.

I sat next to Shannon and tried to take the wipes from her, but she insisted on doing it herself, then bandaging the gash. In human form, it was a thick cut across my cheek, nearly up to my eye socket. I would have preferred not to bandage it, hating the feeling of the gauzy material on my face, but it just wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“How many fingers?” Shannon held three fingers up for me.

”I’m not brain-damaged.”

“Then tell me how many fingers I’m holding up,” she insisted.

I rolled my eyes. “Three. I’m fine. I’ve just got a bit of a headache.”

“You should report this to the police,” Clémence told me. ”I am making everyone I know who gets attacked report it, or it will just keep happening.”

Shannon and I exchanged glances. “I’d rather not,” I said. “We’re only here for a few days. I don’t want to get mixed up in anymore madness than we are already.”

“Speaking of which,” Shannon spoke up, “any word on Sun?”

Clémence’s face turned grave, which told us everything we needed to know. She shook her head. “I was on the forums when you came in, nobody has seen her.”

“Shit,” I muttered. Shannon took my hand, squeezing it hard.

“Maybe she’s back at the flat?” she suggested.

I was about to answer when the door flew open and a mob of wolves entered, all chattering and laughing at the top of their lungs. Thérèse was with them and Clémence leapt up on seeing her, rushing over to plant a passionate kiss on the taller wolf’s lips. Thérèse laughed and returned the kiss, but she looked sad to me, eyes shining as if she might cry. The two off them split off from the main group to huddle in the corner near the doorway, voices low.

“Lover’s tiff?” I asked Shannon. She shrugged.

“Are you alright, Ayla? Really? How’s your head? Maybe we should take you to hospital. You might need stitches.” She twisted in her seat, moving her leg up so she was half-kneeling on the sofa, hands moving to stroke my hair. I kissed her.

“I’m fine, honest. It hurts, but it’ll heal up overnight. All I need is a couple of painkillers and I’ll be good as new.”

We hunted through the first aid kit for pain medication, while the wolves who’d arrived made themselves at home. Most of them headed straight for the pool table; the rest either gathered at the bar or sat down at a computer. They were all young, late teens, maybe, and happy to ignore the adults in the room, even when Clémence and Thérèse’s low-pitched conversation grew rapidly louder.

After a few heated exchanges, Clémence threw her hands up in exasperation and stomped back over to us, face flushed with anger. “I am sorry,” she said. “I think perhaps you should leave? Thérèse, her boyfriend, he is not happy with her and she thinks he might come here.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked, glancing at Thérèse, who was sidling up behind Clémence looking even closer to tears than she had before.

“I hope not,” she said, taking Clémence’s hand. “But I do not know. He can be...unkind sometimes.”

Clémence swore. “He is a bastard. He is one of these stupid humans who think wolves are the killers and he tells Thérèse she is an animal, a dog.”

Shannon’s eyes widened. “And you’re with him because?”

“She is not with him anymore,” Clémence said fervently. “She is with me and he can’t change that.”

She sounded so fierce, so proud. My heart went out to her and I realized that she reminded me a little of myself a few years ago. Full of wildness and determined to shout the world down. Her words just seemed to agitate Thérèse though, who gripped her hand even harder and shook her head.

“Clémence, please can we all just go somewhere, in case he comes? Please? If he hurt you, I would—”

Right on cue, the door slammed open again.

Eight

A man-mountain strode in. Silence fell over Loup Garou as the other wolves turned to stare at him. The trance music Clémence had playing was an odd, jarring soundtrack to the sudden tension, too upbeat and cheerful. Thérèse cringed at the sight of the newcomer, ducking behind Clémence, who bared her teeth at him in a vicious snarl. “Allez vous-en, Patric, elle ne vous veut pas ici.”

The man—Patric—spat at her. “Au pas, merde,” he ordered, voice rough with anger. Clémence didn’t even flinch and I felt a spark of admiration for her. Patric was the size of a small truck and I bet most people, most wolves even, would have thought twice about taking him on. His eyes flashed as he stared down at Clémence and Thérèse. His nostrils flared and his fists bunched at his sides, as if he was barely able to restrain himself from hitting Clémence. He leaned over her, trying to intimidate her with his bulk, a display of aggression a wolf couldn’t help but respond to. How they responded depended entirely on how dominant that wolf was.

Clémence was very dominant. She squared up to Patric without a flicker of fear. The other wolves began moving slowly towards them, stiff and alert, like they were waiting for a signal from her. My throat went dry as scenarios flashed through my head. Fists flying, blood spilling, wolf on human, teeth in flesh... It could happen. Fury shone from Patric and Clémence. Thérèse, cowering behind Clémence and clinging to her like a child, didn’t help the situation. Whether Clémence saw the other wolf as her mate or not, a threat to one of the Pack was like a spark to an oil spill.

Hell, I felt it myself. Patric was trouble and the urge to step in and help the Pack filled me. I rose slowly, the wolf rising inside me. Shannon grabbed my arm.

“Don’t,” she said. I looked down at her, saw fear in her eyes and tried to push the wolf down. I’d promised. I’d promised her and I wouldn’t break my promise.

Then Patric slapped Clémence, Thérèse screamed and I lost it.

I couldn’t help myself; Thérèse’s cry dragged the wolf out of me. I dove at Clémence, knocking her to the floor and out of Patric’s reach. He grabbed for Thérèse, who stumbled away and tripped, landing hard. The rest of the wolves rushed to surround her, all still human, but sporting fangs and wolf-eyes, ready to change if Patric pushed them. And he would push them. I saw it in his eyes, smelled it in his sweat. He was outnumbered, hopelessly outmatched, but he’d push anyway.

Clémence writhed under me, spitting and cursing. We’d landed awkwardly, me with my knees in her midriff, pinning her to the floor. She tried to buck me off with a twist of her hips, but I held her down.

Patric ignored us, his attention focused on Thérèse and the wolves ringing her. “Vous la petite salope, vousvous mettez dans l’embarras. Chien. Animal.”

I snarled at that, understanding his tone, if not his words. Thérèse growled too, shoving aside one of the wolves. “C’est terminé! Laissez-moi tranquille, Patric,” she snarled, sounding far braver than her shaking hands indicated.

He shook his head and strode towards her, muttering words I couldn’t follow. Thérèse quivered, but stood her ground whilst the other wolves stood firm behind her. He swept his eyes over them and dismissed them, focusing on Thérèse. They snapped and spat at each other, too fast and furious for me to even try to pick anything out. But the body language told the story—Patric looming over her as he had Clémence, using his size as a weapon. As tall as Thérèse was, Patric still dwarfed her and she reacted to it visibly, hunching back and avoiding his eyes. But she was trying so hard to be brave, matching him insult for insult, refusing to back down.

Clémence finally succeeded in shaking me off, rolling sharply so that I was underneath her, then springing up to place herself between Patric and Thérèse again. Shannon hurried to my side. “We should call the police,” she whispered, helping me to my feet.

I wasn’t so sure that would help. It would probably just make things worse, I thought. Clémence screamed at Patric, her hands capped with thick claws and her eyes wolf-amber. Thérèse was trying to hold her back while Patric looked ever closer to exploding and striking out.

And in a snap-second, it went from shouting to violence, just like I’d known it would. Clémence poked Patric in the chest, her claws ripping through his t-shirt. He reacted, lashing out and knocking her back. It was like dominos falling: Clémence fell into Thérèse, who slipped, her high heels sending her skidding into the knot of wolves behind her. A few tumbled over. The two that didn’t immediately rushed Patric.

In horror films, violence is always so stylized, so staged. Every spray of blood, every broken bone is lovingly framed and shot, perfectly displayed for the audience. It gives them time to react, to be sick or excited or stunned. In real life, it’s nothing like that. Everything’s too quick and confused. One minute Patric was standing there, shoulders heaving, eyes set to pop from his head. The next, two of the older wolves dived at him and he was on the floor, fists swinging, yelling in pain and rage.

In seconds Clémence was straight back on her feet, a howl ripping from her throat. She dove into the writhing mess of bodies on the floor and for a second I thought she was pulling the wolves away from Patric. Then he shrieked. A sound that hurt my ears and drove the wolf crazy, the sound of a wounded animal, of prey cornered. Only Shannon’s death-grip on my arm kept me human.

Thérèse screamed at Clémence, rushing to grab the other girl by the hair and haul her away from Patric. The other two wolves kept fighting, though Patric was holding his own. The scent of blood, human and wolf, filled the air. I bit my lip to try to focus on keeping the wolf at bay. She desperately wanted to join the fight.

Clémence and Thérèse rolled away from Patric, now engaged in their own struggle as Clémence tried to escape Thérèse’s clutches. Clémence was changing, electric-blue fur sprouting on her arms and face, body elongating and popping until Thérèse was forced to let her go.

Wolf-shaped, Clémence leapt at Patric again and I had to act. She’d kill him if I didn’t. I wrenched free of Shannon’s hold and threw myself at Clémence once more. Together we hit the wall, Clémence’s head striking hard. She yelped and went limp in my arms. I dropped her, sprang to my feet and darted toward Patric and the wolves.

Luckily no teenaged wolves had joined the fray. They were youngsters, lacking the confidence to interfere in older wolves’ battles. They watched, the battle lust shining in their eyes, but they didn’t dare get involved. That helped. Patric had one of the older wolves pinned beneath him, pummeling his face. The sound of his fist hitting flesh was sickening, the smell of the blood gushing from the wolf’s nose and split lips intoxicating. The second wolf clawed at Patric’s bloodied back, but the big man didn’t seem to notice.

I grabbed the second wolf by the shoulders. His claws raked down Patric’s back as he tried to hold on, tearing through the shirt and into the soft flesh. I flung the wolf away from Patric. He hit the sofa, scrambled to his feet and snarled at me, poised to attack again. Thérèse jumped in with a hard slap, shouting something that made him cringe.

I went for Patric. Getting him in a throat lock I tried to wrench him off the wolf he was pounding into the floor. He was heavy, pure muscle and about a foot taller than me. It took a lot more effort to move him than I’d thought. With a grunt of effort, I managed to pull him back, locking my legs round his waist to get more leverage.

He fell back, crushing me. The air shot from me in a pained squeak. Patric swore and clambered to his feet. For a second I thought he’d go straight back to beating the crap out of the bloodied, dazed wolf on the floor. His whole body still vibrated with the need to act, to hurt. I got to my knees, ready to tackle him again.

Thérèse came to the rescue again; she grabbed Patric’s hands, spilling out a flood of garbled, teary French. She gazed up at him, dark eyes glowing, lush lips pleading and whatever she said, it softened him. His shoulders slumped and the fight in him died. The atmosphere in the room shifted, all the rage melting away. I dropped back to the floor, relief filling me. Shannon knelt behind me, wrapping her arms round my shoulders to hug me.

“You scare the hell out of me sometimes,” she whispered.

“I scare the hell out of myself,” I confessed, swallowing hard.

Thérèse and Patric headed for the door, tension still strung between them. Thérèse was careful not to touch him as they walked and Patric stared straight ahead. I wondered if he thought that by ignoring the carnage he’d created, he could ignore his part in it. When the door slammed shut behind them, it was as if someone let the oxygen back into the room. Around me wolves relaxed with huffs and sighs, exclaiming to each other with that kind of hysterical laughter you use to hide how freaked out you really are.

Clémence sat up, shaking her head and whining. Her wolf form vanished, leaving her human body in shredded clothes. She rubbed her head and swore softly. “Thérèse?”

“She left—she took Patric out,” I said, leaning back in Shannon’s embrace. “Don’t,” I added when Clémence staggered to her feet to go after them. “Don’t, Clémence, let them sort it out, okay?”

She looked like she might argue, then one of the younger wolves said something to her and she noticed the wolf Patric had beaten. With a cry, she dashed to him, crouching down to gingerly touch his battered face.

“Oh, Adrien... Merde.” She helped him get upright, then snapped at one of the watching wolves. He hurried to grab the first aid kit still sitting on the table. With Clémence barking orders, he started cleaning the blood from Adrien’s face.

I stood, pulling Shannon up with me, unsure what we should do now. My face ached and my head pounded, adrenaline making me twitchy. I wanted out, away from the smell of fresh blood and the fading aura of violence.

“Can we help?” Shannon asked Clémence. The other woman shook her head, eyes glistening with tears.

“No, please. It’s fine. I should... Thérèse... She...” She broke down and stood quickly, heading for the bar. Everyone watched, but nobody moved to comfort her. It’s hard seeing your alpha, your leader, weak and vulnerable; impossible to know what to do.

Shannon and I didn’t have that problem; Clémence wasn’t my alpha and Shannon didn’t care about Pack protocol. We joined Clémence at the bar. She stood behind it, twisting open a bottle of coke, muttering about wanting vodka as she did..

“If she goes back to him, I’ll die,” Clémence declared, rubbing her eyes. “I’ll just die.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Shannon said, resting her hand on Clémence’s knee. “She’ll be back, I’m sure.”

“But she went off with him!” Clémence protested. “He will talk to her and make her go back to him. He always does!”

“After what he just did?” I shook my head . “I’m sure as soon as she knows he’s not going to beat anyone else to a pulp, she’ll be right back.”

Clémence wiped her nose and plucked at the hem of her ruined shirt. “You should go find Sun,” she said . “She might be home.”

I’d forgotten Sun. Hardly surprising, but once I realized it, guilt gnawed at me. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“If she is back home, I’ll have some serious words for her,” Shannon muttered. She leaned in and kissed Clémence on the cheek, surprising me and Clémence too, I think. “It’ll be fine. Just relax, okay?”

We gathered our things, pausing to check on Adrien. He was perched on the edge of the sofa, face bandaged up like a mummy whilst the other wolves crowded around him, chattering excitedly. Now that the danger was over, Adrien was apparently a hero. Just for getting his face flattened. Kids.

I took Shannon’s hand, eager now to get home and see if Sun had indeed shown up. My gut said no, but I desperately wanted to find her back at the flat, sweeping around in one of her rainbow dresses, singing to her baby bump or something.

“Oh, wait.” Shannon released me and rummaged in her bag, pulling out a business card. She handed it to the nearest wolf. “My number, in case Sun comes here first.”

He nodded solemnly—although I’m sure he had no idea what she was talking about—and tucked the card in his shirt pocket. With one last glance at Clémence who was still slumped over the bar and sobbing softly, we left.

***

Sun wasn’t back at her flat. The place was as empty as we’d left it, the sunlight glowing off the scattered dresses and jewelry in the bedroom. It felt like a crime scene, frozen at the moment of the foul deed. I felt like we were intruders; like every second we spent there destroyed evidence.

“Come on,” I said to Shannon, who was staring at the mess of clothes on the sofa.

“Do you think Sun could do it?” she asked me suddenly. “Kill Mike, I mean? Do you think she’s capable?”

The question surprised me. I’d thought we were done with that line of thought. “I don’t know... I mean, of course she’s capable, same as anyone’s capable of hurting someone else. But that doesn’t mean anything. Shannon, come on.” I tugged at her sleeve. I didn’t want to hang around in Sun’s flat without her there, not when we had no clue when or if she’d be back. It felt dirty, voyeuristic.

“I just keep thinking that they were fighting when we ran into them. And she did find him,” Shannon said, face troubled. She didn’t want to believe it, but that sharp PI brain couldn’t dismiss the facts either.

“That’s what the police call circumstantial evidence, I believe.” I dragged her out of the flat. “Come on, Shannon, she’s a bimbo. She’s a heavily pregnant bimbo—you really think she could get the jump on a big man like Mike? And she definitely couldn’t have killed the five or six other victims. She can’t shift for one thing, can she? A wolf in human shape couldn’t kill a man like that.”

She unlocked our front door and stepped aside to let me in. “True, but she could have set it up to look like the other murders, couldn’t she?”

“She’s a bimbo,” I repeated, although a little sliver of doubt troubled me now. Maybe Shannon was right. Maybe that was why Sun was so insistent she couldn’t contact her family—she was on the run. Maybe she hadn’t just left Dae. Maybe she and Mike murdered him to escape her cruel, restrictive Pack. And then they’d argued, maybe Mike had wanted to turn himself in, so...

I shook my head, knowing I was being ridiculous. “I just can’t picture Sun as a murderer,” I said. “She’s all sunshine and rainbows. Where did this come from anyway?”

“I don’t know.” She raked her hands through her hair and slumped on the sofa. “Why else would she run off? Maybe the guilt’s got to her.”

“But she ran off without even taking any money,” I pointed out. I sat down next to her, rubbing her knee absently as I thought it over. “No, she’s not a killer, Shannon.”

Shannon pulled her laptop onto her lap and switched it on. “I suppose Sun isn’t exactly a femme fatal,” she admitted. “But what does a murderer look like? If you could tell a person’s mind just by looking at them, you’d save a lot of lives.” Her fingers danced over the keyboard. “You’ve got an email from Vince.”

I dragged the laptop across to read it.

Hey girlfriend, missing u! Joel says hi too and Glory says bring her back a nice Parisian boy. Why u asking about Hesketh? I don’t really remember, but Glory says it was like bad meat or something. What’s all this about a pregnant werewolf too?! What are you up to out there? X

I sat back, huffing. My nightmare and the memory of Hesketh returned. His whole house stank like a butcher’s bin, sour and rotten. Nothing like the too-sweet, rotting fruit smell of Le Monstre. And whilst my wolf had known Hesketh was unnatural, I’d never been frozen in fear by him; if anything, his presence, his existence, had infuriated the wolf, driven her to attack. Le Monstre was something different, something beyond my experience.

Shannon read the email too. “Well, scratch that theory then,” she said, once I’d explained my dream. “That leaves us with wolf or human.”

“We shouldn’t even be thinking about it,” I said, draping my arm around her shoulder. “We should be enjoying ourselves.”

She laughed, resting her head on my shoulder. “I think we can probably give up on that for today, don’t you?”

I touched my face wound. “Yeah, okay. What shall we do instead?”

***

We did nothing in the end, which wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind. It was nice anyway. I curled up on the sofa with a battered copy of Desire by Moonlight, one of the early Katrina Pagan novels, and Shannon sat at the other end with her laptop, checking her business emails and searching for restaurants near the Eiffel Tower. It was peaceful, relaxing and exactly what we both needed. Whilst Sun and the drama at Loup Garou didn’t entirely leave my mind, the adventures of a leather-clad werewolf government agent and her sexy demon lover did a lot to push it back.

“What’s she fighting in that one?” Shannon asked me as she rose to make a cup of tea. She stopped to flip the book up in my hands and see the pulpy cover, with its B-movie like colors and graphics.

“Vampires,” I said. “It’s always vampires.”

Shannon clicked her tongue at me. “I’m sure those books lower your IQ, you know.”

“Don’t be a snob,” I scolded, not really paying attention to her. “They’re fun.”

So fun in fact that the next time I looked up the sun was setting outside, dusk sliding slowly over the city. I stretched, set my book aside and decided I’d go and check Sun’s flat again, even though neither of us had heard a sound all afternoon. I just couldn’t help but hope she’d sneaked in while we were distracted, and was just taking a nap.

But no, of course the flat was still empty. I stood in the doorway, despair filling me. If she didn’t show up soon, I’d call the police. I should have already, but I wasn’t sure how long somebody had to be missing before you could report it. And what could we tell the police? A girl we just met and didn’t know had gone off without telling us? So what?

But my gut instinct was that she was in trouble—in danger even, given the killer stalking the streets—and I hated doing nothing.

“Ayla!” Shannon’s frantic cry sent me racing back to our flat, my heart jolting at the panic in her voice. She stood in the middle of the living room, TV remote in hand, staring at the screen with a look of horror on her face.

“What? What is it?” I rushed to her side, fully expecting to see some reporter standing by while Sun’s body was dragged from the Seine or something.

I had the reporter bit right.

The crowd of angry people wielding bricks and hammers, spades and tire irons swarmed around a warehouse building, all screaming and shouting at the top of their lungs, I hadn’t expected. It took me a split second to recognize the building and remember Clémence’s prophetic words from that morning. People will panic if they know a werewolf is their neighbor. I clutched at Shannon, digging my nails into her arm.

“No,” she said, looking at me and guessing my thoughts perfectly. “No, Ayla, we can’t. You can’t go down there. There’s nothing you could do.”

“But Clémence—”

“No!” She turned to grab me, eyes pleading. “Look at that mob—you could be killed! Crushed, trampled, beaten to death...”

“And what about the wolves in Loup Garou who could be beaten to death?” I demanded, pulling away from her.

“The police will take care of it.” She sounded doubtful though and I didn’t see any police on the TV. It was a big mob, clearly out for violence; I wouldn’t fancy a policeman’s chances against them.

I looked at Shannon, desperate to make her understand. My wolf was buzzing, furious at the thought of other wolves in danger and the urge to get there, to do something, was overwhelming. “Please Shannon...”

“What would you do?” she challenged me, face flushed with anger and worry. “What would you do, Ayla, if you went down there? Disperse the mob single-handed?”

“I don’t know! But I can’t do nothing. Please, Shannon, I can’t just watch.”

“You promised,” she said simply.

For a heartbeat, I hated her. Hated her for holding that over me when wolves were in danger and every instinct I possessed screamed at me to go and help the Pack. Hated her for asking me to watch, even though she was right—what could I do if I went?

I think she saw it too; pain flashed over her face, fast and anguished. I think in that moment she hated me too for wanting to go. Then she threw her hands up in a gesture of pure defeat. “I’m coming with you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, biting my lip.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But I am sorry.”

She smiled weakly at me as she slipped her shoes on. “It’ll probably all be over by the time we get there.”

***

We caught a cab to Loup Garou at Shannon’s insistence; I think so I couldn’t just shapeshift and run off without her. I fidgeted endlessly in my seat, worrying at the seat belt, fretting and focusing all my willpower on keeping the wolf at bay. Shannon gripped my hand so hard I was sure she’d leave bruises. Deep down I knew she was as worried about Clémence and her little Pack as I was.

The police arrived the same time we did. We watched them pour out of their cars and dive into the mob circling Loup Garou. Fists flew, batons crunched against bone and people screamed, but they made little impact. The mob outnumbered them and had righteous anger on its side. They were firm in their belief that they were protecting their families, their own lives, by striking out at the werewolves in their midst. The smell of blood, sweat and fury hung in the air like storm clouds about to break.

Shannon and I hovered at a safe distance, neither of us sure what to do now we were here. A small group of onlookers, growing by the second, gathered around us, shouting support or insults, I thought, judging by their tone. I suddenly felt terribly exposed and vulnerable. When someone behind me grabbed my arm, I yelped and spun round ready to defend myself, only to find Thérèse looking down at me with panic in her eyes.

“Clémence is inside!” she cried. Her whole body trembled. Her face was tear-stained and the earthy scent of wolf rolled off her. She was on the edge of a shift and in this volatile crowd, that could be very dangerous.

I held onto her as if I could keep her in human shape that way. “What happened?” I shouted to make myself heard over the cries of the mob.

“Patric! We argued... I told him I was leaving him and he said...” She sucked in a deep breath. “He said he would kill Clémence, that we were both bitches to be put down. His friends, they came with him, telling people they had found Le Monstre. They said Clémence is Le Monstre and she is inside!”

And just like that, a mob was created. I was surprised we didn’t have pitchforks and burning torches too. Anger flamed inside me, both at the stupid, mindless mob and at Patric for being a wolf-hating, violent son of a bitch. A small part of me was furious at Clémence and Thérèse, who like Sun, were so blind and ignorant to the consequences of their actions. I hadn’t been that stupid at their age, surely?

Well, yeah. I thought of all the brawls I’d been in before I met Shannon and realized I probably had been.

There was a loud cracking of wood as someone kicked open the door that kept the mob out of Loup Garou. I whirled around and stood on tiptoes to see a bulky figure shove his way through the mob and inside.

“Patric!” Thérèse broke away from me and raced into the crowd towards the door.

I chased after her without a second thought, leaving Shannon shouting my name, her voice quickly lost in the din. Thérèse had already vanished from sight as I plunged blindly into the seething mass of people, keeping my head down to avoid getting my face bashed in. It was impossible though; I got elbows in the face, heavy boots crushing my toes and fists in the spine. I was going to ache in the morning. My cheek wound throbbed horribly as someone’s nails raked across it, more through clumsiness than anything else.

I was battered and bruised by the time I reached the door. People pushed back and forth, struggling with each other. There were police, who’d penetrated far enough into the mob and were attempting to drive people back. I swerved sharply to avoid a baton in the ribs and found myself smack up against the wall of Loup Garou, a few feet from the door. I wanted to shift badly, my wolf telling me it would be so much easier to weave through the surging crowd on four legs, low to the ground. That wasn’t true, of course. I knew the moment someone in the crowd cried wolf, there would be a target on my back. Being low to the ground in the middle of the mob set on rending someone limb from limb was not an advantage, it was suicide. I clung to my human self and tried to ignore the claustrophobic anxiety filling me as I scrambled my way to the broken door.

It had fallen shut in the chaos, but I rammed through, letting it slam behind me and hoping nobody followed. The inside of Loup Garou was in near darkness, the only lights the bluish glow of the computer monitors. It lent a weird atmosphere to the place, like I was inside an arcade game. Thérèse was not as far ahead of me as I’d feared. She wept as she ran towards the bar, where Patric and Clémence squared off like boxers, snarling insults at each other.

I hurried after her with no idea of what I was going to do when I got there. Ahead of us, Patric grabbed a handful of Clémence’s hair and slammed her face down on the bar. She yowled, the pained sound not quite drowning out the wet crunch as her nose broke. Thérèse screeched and threw herself at Patric, fists pounding on his broad back. He shrugged her off without looking back and she sprawled to the floor. With a growl, she yanked on his ankles and he too went face-first into the bar.

Clémence, blood streaming down her face, dropped to the floor, shifting as she did. She was fast—the fastest I’d ever seen. One second human, the next in between human and wolf, bones stretching, fur flowing, but she still wasn’t fast enough. She was in that dangerous between stage—not human, not wolf—when Patric rolled over and jammed his feet into her ribs. He shoved her against the bar and used the momentum to get himself upright. Without hesitation he reached down and grabbed her by the scruff, hauling her off the ground.

Clémence, now all wolf, twisted and struggled in his grip. Thérèse and I launched ourselves at Patric, clawing and punching and trying to force him to release Clémence. With a roar that would have done a wolf proud, he spun, flinging Clémence over the top of the bar and sending her crashing into the shelves of bottles. She crashed to the floor in a shower of liquid and broken glass, and lay still.

“Bastard!” Thérèse screamed at him, her eyes blazing, hands curled into fists. A change was taking her; it snapped in the air around her and called to my own wolf.

“Lesbian bitch!” Patric retorted, lost in his own primal rage. “Murdering dogs, all of you!”

Thérèse threw her head back and howled, black fur rippling down her long neck as she did. Claws sprang from her fingertips and she slashed at Patric, ripping open his shirt and leaving wide, bloody scores on his chest.

He yelled and stumbled back, only to swing his fist at her. Thérèse dodged, falling to her knees to complete her change. Patric immediately swung his leg back to boot her in the ribs as he had Clémence. I dove at him, hitting him hard in the chest and knocking him out of range.

Patric was big and strong, but against three angry werewolves, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. He couldn’t take us all out.

Luckily for him, it didn’t come to that.

At the other end of the warehouse, the door flew open and the mob poured in I smelled the reek of petrol a second before a bottle smashed open at my feet, drenching my legs and shoes in petrol. It was followed by another that sailed into the wreckage of the bar and another that hit Patric, coating him from head to foot.

Pure animal panic gripped me. Fire. There was going to be fire. I forgot all about Patric. In that second I forgot about Clémence and Thérèse too. All I wanted was to escape before the fire started.

And then an idiot sparked up a lighter and my only thought was that I’d broken my promise to Shannon for nothing.

Nine

Suddenly nobody was fighting to get into Loup Garou anymore. Everyone was fighting to get out. Screams of rage became screams of fear, the mob shoving and swearing and crying as they all tried to squeeze through the door at once.

For the four us up at the bar, it wasn’t so easy. . The flames leapt across the wooden bar, sizzled down wires and cables to hit the computer banks. A rapid succession of soft explosions filled the air as each machine blew in turn. Smoke and fumes engulfed us as the fire spread insanely fast, wood crackling and snapping, sparks flying. Within seconds I was blinded by smoke. I pulled my t-shirt up to cover my mouth and nose in a vain attempt to keep my lungs clear.

Searing heat raced over me, but mortal fear kept me stupidly locked in place as brilliant blue and orange flames rushed to surround us. Behind the bar, Clémence howled, trapped by the rising flames . Patric stomped desperately at the flames licking at his feet, then ripped his shirt off, throwing the petrol-soaked cloth into the roaring flames. He faced me, sweat-stained and petrified. He jabbered at me in French. The only word I understood was death.

Between us, Thérèse lay squirming, her body still in the throes of her change. Oh shit. In that half-way stage, she was the most vulnerable, her entire body and mind focused on shifting shape. Little things like not inhaling smoke wouldn’t register until it was too late. I saw the change complete. I saw Thérèse suck in a deep breath of toxic, scalding air. My heart dropped. She coughed and whined frantically, clawing her way to her feet with blind terror on her face. Another wrenching howl rose from Clémence who was probably sucking in just as much smoke as Thérèse.

Only Patric and I were in a position to get them out and I wasn’t sure I trusted him to help.

I realized with dread that there was no time to think about it. It was either act now or burn now. Burning alive was not how I planned to die. Clutching my t-shirt to my face, I looked for a way through the flames to reach Clémence.

The bar was aflame, hot air stinging my cheeks and cooking the sensitive flesh around my wound as I fought for a way though. Old wood burned easily, and for a second I despaired. Even if I got to Clémence, I couldn’t get us back through that fire again. There was no way out.

Then I saw the door at the side of the bar, the one she’d disappeared through this morning. Okay. There had to be a way out past that door, a back entrance, a window, anything. Anything would do. Taking a deep breath, I dove through the flames and landed in an ugly heap on the floor next to Clémence, who lay wheezing and limp in a torture bed of broken glass. Raw agony raced over me as my skin burnt and my hair sizzled. The sick scent of burning flesh and hair turned my stomach. I gritted my teeth and got to my knees. Ignoring the broken glass cutting its way into my bare arms, I rolled the blue wolf onto her side, trying to get her to her feet.

She didn’t resist, but she didn’t help either. She was a dead weight in my arms; too weak, too scared to do anything. As I stood, clutching her like a sack of potatoes, my t-shirt slipped down and I inhaled hot air and toxic smoke. I spluttered and my eyes watered until I couldn’t see a damn thing, just blurred flames jumping closer and closer. I almost dropped Clémence then and fled.

I didn’t though. I held on and staggered towards that door, praying for freedom, praying for oxygen. I couldn’t see if Patric had followed my lead and grabbed Thérèse. I couldn’t hear them over the roar and hiss of the fire. I just had to pray for them too, pray he wasn’t such a bastard he’d leave Thérèse to die.

My skin scorched, hair smoking, eyes stinging, lungs aching, flames chasing me, I somehow got us to that door and landed a solid kick at the frame. It didn’t budge. I shrieked and kicked again and again, cursing it for being so damn fireproof when everything else was burning so merrily.

“Break!” I screamed at the door, catching another lungful of smoke. I was going to drop Clémence. She was too heavy and I was so hot and so scared. I’d never see Shannon again if I didn’t get out of here, and If I dropped Clémence I might have a chance, I might get away...

Patric materialized through the flames, Thérèse slung over his shoulder. Face grim, he kicked at the door. It flew open with a crack and we stumbled through, coughing and gasping for fresh air. The corridor beyond filled with smoke almost before we could breathe. For a second I was lost, trapped. The urge to dump Clémence hit me again.

Patric snapped me out of it shouting desperately, “Sortie de secours!” I shook my head dumbly and he shoved past me. “Fire door!” he bellowed.

I followed without thinking, trusting him to get us out. Down the corridor, past a flight of stairs, flames licking at my heels. Heat scalded me, my arms blistering. I wondered how much smoke was in my lungs. My pulse and heart raced. My lungs ached, my breath coming in short, sharp huffs.

Patric moved like a charging bull and didn’t stop for anything. His energy kept me going, kept me struggling onward. Clémence, hanging limp in my arms, grew heavier with every step. Patric led me down the corridor round a corner where the smoke hadn’t yet reached and there, thank God, was a fire exit. He kicked at the bar, sending the metal door crashing open and bringing oxygen pouring into the narrow corridor.

I screamed as the fire reached out from behind me. It jumped and leapt, fed by the sudden rush of air. There was a soft roar in my ears. My jeans caught fire and seconds later the pain hit. I dived the last few feet to freedom, dropping Clémence and throwing myself onto the pavement. I rolled, slapping at the flames darting up my legs. Only when I was sure the flames were out, did I drop onto my back with a cry, squeezing my eyes closed to try to stop them from stinging. It didn’t help. I opened them, trying to take stock of my surroundings. The back of Loup Garou was grey and bland with none of the murals that decorated the entrance. There were bins and rubbish bags gathering untidily on either side of the fire exit, plastic already sagging, melting in the heat. Small, tatty-looking houses ran up and down the street and their owners were spilling out to look at the drama.

There were sirens somewhere nearby. Fire engines, I hoped. Flames snapped and hissed as fire ate Loup Garou. I propped myself up on my elbows, breathing deep and slow, every inch of me aching and shaking. Great shoots of flame climbed into the dusky sky, scorch-bright against the gathering dark. Clouds of smoke billowed through the upper windows of the warehouse. I’d been in there. Shit. I’d been right in there. I felt sick.

I wanted to move, get further away from the fire, but my legs refused to work. I just lay there while people gathered around me. Someone bent over Clémence, pulling her eyelids open to check on her. She lolled her tongue out, wheezing, and tried to get to her feet. She failed once, twice, legs skidding around clumsily. I couldn’t think why she was trying so hard when she was obviously so weak. Then it clicked. I looked around for Patric and Thérèse.

He sat at the edge of the road with his head in his hands. Thérèse was sprawled at his side. He’d just dropped her as soon as it was safe, I thought, like I had Clémence. He wasn’t looking at her, she wasn’t looking at him. Whatever had moved him—moved them—to this, it was gone, fallen away. I couldn’t help feeling a spurt of anger, wondering how much of tonight’s chaos was down to Patric. Down to all three of them.

Then again, the raging mob probably should take a share of the blame.

I groaned and forced myself to sit up. The burns on my legs stung like a bitch and needed attention. Scrapes and bruises covered me and I wanted to plunge into an ice-cold lake more than anything in the world.

After I find Shannon. Guilt hit me. God, she was going to be so mad. I shivered and tried to stand. I had to find her.

Before I could do more than straighten myself up, I was surrounded by paramedics. Where the hell did they come from? My head spun as they jabbered and prodded at me, a mix of English and French making my ears ring. I was too surprised to protest as they bundled me—all of us—into waiting ambulances.

“My girlfriend, I need—” I was cut off by an oxygen mask slapped over my mouth. I inhaled out of sheer instinct, then tried to rip it off, only to get a firm dressing down in fast flowing French from the paramedic. He forced me to sit on a stretcher next to Patric, whilst Clémence and Thérèse were tucked into another ambulance. Clémence started howling as the doors were shut on her, a frantic sound that tore at me and I resisted the desire to howl back. I couldn’t have anyway, wearing the oxygen mask. I just sat there as the ambulance started up, sirens whirring, the vehicle carrying me away from the burning building and Shannon.

***

I hate hospitals. I mean I really hate them. I hate the bleachy smell, I hate the crappy art that’s supposed to be all soothing and pretty. I hate the whir and beep of machines, the vacant look in the eyes of people in the waiting room. All of it. But what I hated most of all about the Hôtel-Dieu de Paris was that Shannon wasn’t there.

I’d stupidly hoped she would be. That she’d be there at the door waiting for me when I was rolled out of the ambulance. When she wasn’t, I started crying. I couldn’t help myself. Great, childish sobs tore from me, making my sore throat ache even more and sending throbs of agony through me. I buried my head in my hands as I sat in the emergency room, a werewolf nurse treating the burns on my legs. Where was Shannon? Where did she think I was?

The hospital was quiet, the emergency room almost empty. Aside from me and Patric, there were a couple of kids who’d clearly been in a fight of their own; blood dripping from noses and wide cuts on foreheads. I stared at the blotchy red marks on my legs dispassionately, wondering if I was in shock and that was why they didn’t really hurt anymore. The nurse had cut my jeans off me with practiced ease and was carefully smoothing burn gel over my skin. I flinched a little at her touch, but the gel was delicious on my skin. I closed my eyes and moaned in relief.

On the bed across from me, Patric grunted and snarled as his own burns—worse than mine, over his arms and legs—got the same treatment. Where was Thérèse? I wondered. Clémence would have been taken to a wolf room for treatment. I mentally ticked off her injuries. Smoke inhalation, a broken nose and probably a concussion. She’d be one pissed wolf when she came round. Disoriented and traumatized, she’d not be the best patient for a general ward. Thérèse, however, I had expected to see being treated alongside Patric and myself. Had she been hurt worse than I realized? Or had the fact that she’d been in wolf shape automatically meant she was assigned a wolf room?

I ran my hands through my hair as the nurse wrapped up my burns. I’d been letting my hair grow out a little from the shaggy crop I usually wore, fancying something I could style for a change. Of course, the fire had wrecked that prospect: I could still smell the crisped scent of frying hair and guessed from touch I’d lost an inch or two here and there around the edges. I sucked in my cheeks, tears welling in my eyes again. Where was Shannon? I needed her.

“D’accord,” the nurse told me, handing me one of those scratchy hospital gowns to wear. “You will stay overnight and in the morning you may go.” She smiled brightly at me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, I have to go. My girlfriend—”

“Non, absolument pas ,” she said, smile turning to a frown. “You could be very ill, very hurt.” She pointed to Patric too. “You both must stay for observation.”

I gaped at her. Didn’t she understand? I didn’t know where Shannon was and I needed her. “No, I can’t.” I jumped up, wincing as judders of pain ran through me. Fuck. Okay, I was hurt. I probably shouldn’t be running off. But dammit, I was a werewolf. It wasn’t like I needed skin grafts like a human might. I could shift and heal a lot of the minor damage. I didn’t need fucking observation. I needed to get out of here and find Shannon. God. Who knew how many hospitals there were in Paris? She could be working her way through every one right now!

The nurse held my upper arms gently, trying to push me back onto the bed. I threw her off. “I’m not staying! I’m fine.”

She set her hands on her hips, looking me up and down. “You are a wolf, yes?” When I nodded, she rolled her eyes. “No shifting, d’accord? You will split the burns.” She made a popping gesture with her hands. I squirmed, hating the visual. “No shifting for at least two days.”

My wolf howled in horror at the very idea, but I nodded meekly, biting my lip. She was right. Stretching the skin around and under the burns would burst the blisters and bring on a risk of infection, which would just land me right back in hospital. Once she was sure I understood, the nurse shrugged and let me go. I felt Patric’s eyes on me as I discarded the hospital gown and pulled on my jeans, now denim shorts but still more or less wearable. I hobbled out of the emergency ward towards the exit.

Nobody tried to stop me and I stepped into the cool night with a sigh of relief and a building sense of urgency. Where could Shannon be? Still at Loup Garou, watching the warehouse smolder? Back at the flat, pacing and waiting for me? Wandering Paris looking for me? I didn’t have my phone and I didn’t know where to start looking. The sobs came back, ugly and harsh.

The Hôtel-Dieu de Paris wasn’t far from Notre-Dame. That at least gave me my bearings as I wandered into the night. I headed towards the glowing cathedral, focusing on it to keep the lost-puppy feeling at bay. A sort of dazed melancholy sunk into me, along with a nasty headache from the crying. My lungs felt clogged, although the paramedics had assured me on the ambulance ride that they were clear. I was hot and itchy and I wanted a cold shower and a warm bed.

But I wanted Shannon more. The need gnawed at me as I reached Notre-Dame, the great towers casting shining, rippling reflections in the river. It was only two nights ago Shannon and I had stood here together, gazing up at the cathedral for the first time.

There was a seating area just outside the cathedral; a square of concrete and flowers where kids sat smoking and tourists stood snapping pictures. I found an empty spot and sat with my head in my hands, knowing I should head home. Shannon was a perfectly sensible woman; she’d be there. She’d be waiting for me.

And we’d probably have a massive row about me running into Loup Garou after Thérèse. I groaned and rubbed my eyes, my scraped palms rough against my face wound. The gash from the brick was scabbing over already and I resisted the urge to pick at it. I tipped my head back to stare up at Notre Dame, the night wind carrying a torrent of scents that my wolf-brain filtered and discarded automatically. Cooking meat, river water, damp wood, blooming flowers, cherries, chocolate—

Oh!

I sat up, heart racing; cherries and chocolate. Where? Where was she? Shannon had to be nearby for me to pick up her perfume. I jumped to my feet, ignoring the spike of pain in my legs, and scoured the square for her. There weren’t that many people around; she ought to stand out. Frustrated, I searched strange faces for a familiar one.

“Ayla!” Shannon was running towards me like she’d dropped from the sky, just there suddenly. I ran to meet her, throwing my arms around her. We kissed frantically, words tumbling between kisses, both of us scrambling to speak.

“Where did you—”

“What on earth were you—”

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

Finally I pulled away from her, laughing and crying. “I was just about to head home! What are you doing here?”

She fished our Visitor’s Guide to Paris from her handbag. “Hôtel-Dieu de Paris is Paris’s emergency centre. I saw the ambulance and I just... Where else would you be? The fire...” She bit her lip, eyes shining with tears. “Oh God, Ayla, why do you keep doing this to me?”

I opened my mouth uncertain of what would come out—an apology, an argument—but Shannon flung herself into my arms again, kissing me so hard I flinched away. Then she looked at me carefully, taking in every scrape and bruise, even my frazzled hair. “Ayla...”

“I’m fine,” I said, offering her a tight smile. “Really, I am. I just need a bath and I’ll be perfect.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Maybe a haircut too.”

She managed an equally tight smile. “What were you thinking?” There was no anger or accusation in her voice, just a sort of resigned sadness that was almost worse.

“I wasn’t,” I said frankly. I took her hand and we started walking, slowly. “I’m sorry, Shannon, I’m so sorry, but I just wasn’t.”

She sighed, turning slightly to brush a lock of hair from my eyes. “You’re so impulsive,” she muttered. “What am I going to do with you?”

She wasn’t angry at all, I realized with a jolt. She was relieved. Definitely sad, either with me or for me, but mostly relieved. I gripped her hand a little tighter. “You’ll have to get me a collar and chain,’ I joked as a wash of relief ran through me too. “Keep me on a short leash.”

“Now there’s an idea.” She gave me a real smile then, sweet and sultry at the same time. Despite all my aches and pains, I couldn’t help but feel a flush of arousal. It seemed wildly inappropriate under the circumstances, but I liked the heat that smile sparked in me a lot more than the heat I’d experienced so far tonight. It would be okay, just for a few hours, to forget about Sun and Clémence, wouldn’t it? Forget other people’s problems and just enjoy this holiday like we were supposed to be .

I inhaled Shannon’s luscious cherry-chocolate perfume and decided that I would do just that.

***

We took the Metro back to the Opera Quarter and strolled past the sex shops towards our flat. It was still pretty early—before ten, I guessed—but the streets were almost deserted. Maybe my nerves were shredded from the drama of the evening, but the lack of people in the heart of such a touristy area of the city set me on high alert. The bars and restaurants were full, but nobody sat at street tables and nobody stared out of the windows as we passed. It was like all those diners and drinkers were pretending the outside world didn’t exist. Unconsciously, I pulled Shannon closer to me, until we were almost tripping over each other.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I scented the air, searching for the one thing I didn’t want to smell: sweet, sour, rotting, wicked. “Nothing,” I told her when I didn’t find the scent. “I’m just jumpy.” I tried to convince myself of it as we walked past the neon-lit Moulin Rouge. Le Monstre wasn’t lurking in the shadows. This was just a quiet night. Maybe, I told myself, everyone had gone to watch Loup Garou burn.

We rounded the corner and headed up the hill to our flat. The silence and stillness was unsettling. How often did utter silence fall in a city? No cars revving, no cats fighting, no music blaring from open windows. It was unnatural. My wolf cringed inside me, waiting for the hammer to fall.

It didn’t happen. No shock attack came, just a slow, creeping sense of wrong as we made our way up the hill. And a slow, creeping realization that yes, I could smell it. That the air was gradually filling with that cloying scent that made my wolf quake and my stomach turn. It was here. Le Monstre was stalking us.

I swallowed. My throat felt tight. “Shannon...”

“Hmm?” She didn’t smell that evil scent, I realized. Didn’t notice that anything was wrong.

“Nothing.” I decided I didn’t want to scare her. I glanced around, tried to pick out some hint of where it might be, how close, how dangerous. The streets were dark, the lamps out as if by design. There was no moonlight to chase back the shadows. Le Monstre could be anywhere. Ahead. Behind. Shit, it could be fucking anywhere. The smell made it hard to think straight, to stay calm. I couldn’t concentrate.

I picked up our pace, desperate to get to the flat. To get inside where I knew we’d be safe. We were minutes away. Maybe Le Monstre was stalking other prey. The wind could be carrying the scent from blocks away. I could be imagining it was close, still jacked up from the fight and the fire at Loup Garou. I just didn’t know. I didn’t trust my instincts. I couldn’t when my wolf was so edgy and scared, like a cub on her first hunt. I looked this way and that, peering into every shadow, expecting some horror film monstrosity to lurch shrieking from the darkness any second.

“What’s wrong?” Shannon asked me, her heels clopping on the cobbles as she trotted to keep up with me. “Ayla?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” I said through gritted teeth. We were nearly home, nearly safe. We’d get inside and I’d switch on all the lights and laugh at myself for being such a coward.

“Well slow down then,” Shannon said. “Take pity on the poor human in her high heels, okay?”

I inhaled, sucking up that rotting-fruit smell. It was stronger, I was sure of it. I listened, wishing I was wolf-shaped so I could flick my ears around and gather up every whisper of sound. But there was nothing to hear, except our own feet slapping on the pavement and Shannon’s puffing breath as she tried to keep up with me.

Why couldn’t I hear it? It was nearby, it had to be for the smell to be so strong, but I couldn’t hear a damn thing. Nothing moved in absolute silence, nothing in our dark little corner of the world. It frightened me. There was nothing that made no sound at all. Even the stealthiest of wolves rustled the grasses in the park, or tapped their claws against the pavement.

I was imagining it. The wind was carrying the scent. I was tired, hurt and strung-out. I chanted it to myself over and over as that sickly-sweet smell clogged up my nose and sent raw fear ripping through me. I quickened my pace again, sweat beading on my brow. I wanted to be inside, I wanted light. I wanted locked doors.

“Ayla, Slow down, for God’s sake!” Shannon pulled free of me so sharply I stumbled on the cobbles and slipped. I landed on my rear with a thud and a yelp. Shannon cried out. “Oh shit, I’m sorry...” She leaned down to help me up.

A rush of air and sweet rot hit me. I gagged, rolling onto my side to vomit. Eyes down, dizzy, I didn’t hear it strike. All I heard was Shannon scream.

Ten

For a second I couldn’t react. My body heaved, my head spun with that nauseating scent and it took me precious seconds to get myself under control and back on my feet. “Shannon!” I yelled, searching for her. She couldn’t have gone far...

My blood ran cold when I saw her—them—across the street. It, the thing, Le Monstre had knocked her clear across the street and now it loomed over her, trying to get a grip on her while she thrashed and kicked and screamed.

Le Monstre was like some terrible bird. It moved constantly, almost too fast to see, shifting through the shadows to claw at Shannon with ragged nails. A long coat, black and iridescent like an oil slick, masked it from me, but I thought it was slight, with no weight or muscle to it. Its back was to me so I couldn’t get a glimpse of its face. But I could see Shannon’s. I could see the pure, mindless terror etched there.

That spurred me into action when all I wanted was to cringe and cower away from Le Monstre like a frightened cub. I held my breath to block out the worst of the terror-inducing scent and charged the creature.

It was moving so unpredictably that I barely made contact. I ploughed into it, a glancing blow off a bony shoulder. Le Monstre spun to slash at me and I got a quick, clear glimpse of its face. Ruddy cheeks and a thin face, like skin stretched too far over too much bone. Eyes like black pits that sucked in the light. I recoiled, a primal horror filling me, my wolf wanting nothing more than to turn tail and run.

But I wasn’t going anywhere, not without. Shannon. Le Monstre hissed at me, lunged forwards and struck me hard across the face. I never saw the blow coming. My wound ripped open, blood streaming down my cheek, and Le Monstre licked its ice-blue lips, smiling with feral glee. My stomach flipped and I thought I might puke again.

“Ayla!” Shannon kicked out, her sharp heels striking Le Monstre’s leg. It spun and dove at her, pinning her down and snapping at her. She shrieked and the rich scent of her blood spilled into the air. My wolf curled and twisted inside me and I reached for her, determined to shift regardless of my wounds. I wanted this horrible monster off my mate. I wanted it dead with my teeth in its throat.

The shift didn’t come.

I couldn’t transform. My wolf was... Hiding.Scared. Terrified. I couldn’t do it.

I jumped at Le Monstre, pounding my fists against its back, screeching Shannon’s name. The creature swatted me away like a fly, like I was nothing, The simple movement sent me flying. I hit the pavement, bracing myself with my palms and ripping them open. My legs folded under me, the tender burns scraping against the rough surface, sending fresh agony through me. I ignored the pain, forced myself back to my feet. Le Monstre flew at me.

Before I could react, it had me back on the pavement, bony fingers grasping my wrists with a strength I couldn’t believe. It lowered its head to mine, the sweet-sick scent overpowering me, choking me. It licked my cheek, dragging its tongue across the bleeding gash. I gagged, whimpering as it lapped up my blood. Searing panic ran through me and I screamed at the top of my lungs as Le Monstre raised one of my bloody palms to its lips and licked that too. It was disgusting, its tongue dry and rough. I screamed in its face, bucking my hips and kicking my legs.

The thing hissed in my face, breath fetid and reeking of blood. My blood, Shannon’s blood. Mindless with terror, I snapped at it, my teeth sinking into its beak-like nose. It cried out, a piercing sound like a trapped rat. Wrenching free, it a small chunk of frozen flesh in my jaws. I gagged, spitting the hard, bitter flesh out. Le Monstre jumped away me, racing back to Shannon.

“No!” I clambered to my feet, trying again to call the wolf. Nothing, fucking nothing. The only weapon I had and I couldn’t use it. Tears streaked down my face as I chased Le Monstre across the street, too fucking slow to stop it swooping down on Shannon again.

She moaned as it bit her, the sound triggering a storm of fury and fear in me. I wouldn’t lose her. I couldn’t. This thing wouldn’t take her from me. I leapt, hitting it squarely this time, and knocked it away from Shannon. We rolled a little way down the hill, limbs tangling as we scraped and snapped at each other. The creature barely weighed a thing, but it was so strong and for every half-assed blow I landed, it hit back harder, enough that I saw stars. Fighting blind—too dizzy and disorientated to know if I was striking in the right direction—I struggled to gain the upper hand before Le Monstre landed a debilitating blow.

With speed and agility on its side, it worked its way on top of me and spindly legs clamped around my waist. With a quick movement it raked its sharp claws over my eyes. I howled. For a few seconds I was truly blind. A few seconds was all Le Monstre needed to sink needle-sharp fangs into my neck.

Paralysis crashed over me. For a long horrific moment, I simply lay there on the cold cobbles while Le Monstre slurped greedily at my neck, at my blood. Then Shannon moaned, feeble and pained. Shannon! Fury gave me renewed strength.

I grabbed the creature by its greasy hair and ripped its fangs from my neck. I screamed as my flesh tore and hot pain flared through my neck and shoulders. The creature struggled against my grip, but I held on. I let its strength pull me up from the ground, flipped over and with a shriek unleashed all my wolf strength and smashed its head against the pavement. It cried out, a harsh, cawing noise, and went limp. Savage, I smashed its face down again for good measure, then staggered to my feet and stumbled towards Shannon, my breath coming in ragged gasps, blood running down my neck to soak into my t-shirt.

Shannon didn’t move as I approached. Oh God, is she dead? Dead like Mike. No, please don’t let her be dead, let her be alive, please Shannon, please... I collapsed at her side and pressed my shaking fingers to her bloodied throat. I felt light-headed and sick. Please, please, please...

There was a pulse. Oh God, she’s alive. I wept, pulling her into my arms and dragging her hair back to get a better look at her wounded throat. Her hair was slippery with blood—mine and hers—and with my quaking hands it took me two attempts to scrape the heavy, wet tresses away. The bite was rough and raw. It had torn through the skin. I fingered my neck, realizing we sported a matching pair. Gritting my teeth, I dragged us both to our feet. I had to get her inside and into the light. The light was safe. Safe, safe. My wolf agreed, clinging to the image of light. Sunlight, lamplight, firelight, it didn’t matter because the darkness was dangerous.

Shannon hung heavy in my arms, her breathing shallow, skin chalky. I glanced back at Le Monstre, expecting to see it still face-down on the street, unmoving. It was gone. Gone, only the sickly-sweet smell lingering. I swallowed my fear and made myself move. We were minutes from the flat; I could see the building ahead. “Please,” I whispered, “Please let me have hurt it enough to drive it away.” Please don’t let it be lurking ahead to finish us off. I didn’t have the strength, didn’t have the courage to face it again.

***

Something heard my prayers. We made it to the apartment building. Dragging Shannon up the stairs was the worst experience of my life, worse than anything Sly had put me through, worse than anything I could imagine. She was breathing, but blood dripped from her throat and I was convinced she’d bleed to death in my arms before we reached the flat. I was still bleeding heavily too and stars flashed before my eyes as I fumbled for the keys. I was pretty sure I was going to faint and I wanted to be safely behind a looked door before I did.

Wavering under Shannon’s weight, I inched us in and slammed the door shut. Then, spent and exhausted, I slid down to the floor, ending up with Shannon in my lap. For a few minutes I stayed there, fading in and out of consciousness. The world went black and white, hot and cold and all I could think of was blood. My blood, Shannon’s blood; rich and salty and seeping into the air. I jolted out of my stupor. We were still bleeding.

I had to clean Shannon’s wound and dress it. The thought burned in my mind.

I don’t know how I got her into the bathroom, but I managed. There I rested Shannon carefully on the floor in a nest of towels. I grabbed the rosy pink face cloth from the sink, soaked it in warm water and knelt over Shannon to dab at the vicious bite. Once I’d cleaned away most of the blood, I held the cloth to the bite, pressing down as hard as I dared.

Dully, I knew I should call an ambulance and the police. I knew there was forensic evidence that I was potentially destroying, and that Shannon needed medical attention, not just a wet flannel pressed to her neck, but I was too tired. So sore and beaten and I needed to sleep. Blood dripped sluggishly from my neck; I patted at it absently, hardly noticing the pain. Every inch of me hurt so much already. I just wanted to slump down on the floor next to Shannon and close my eyes, just for a second...

I gritted my teeth and resisted the desire. Bad. It would be a very bad idea to fall asleep now. My bleeding was slowing and feeling the wound with my fingertips I could tell it was already closing over, but Shannon wasn’t so lucky. Her blood flowed and it didn’t stop and wouldn’t without stitches. She needed a doctor. Hell, I wanted a good dose of antiseptic or something sloshed over me. Who knew what germs were crawling in Le Monstre’s bite? I couldn’t pass out. Not even for a second. I grabbed the rim of the sink and hauled myself up onto the toilet. Whimpering, and hating myself for it, I checked my burns. The bandages were torn, but there wasn’t much, relatively speaking. My shins were red and blistered and my stomach churned at the sight. The healing process would kick in soon though, and in a week or two there’d just be pink, shiny skin.

Right. I’d survive. Now for the important stuff: Shannon. I stood, wobbling dangerously as a head rush hit me. I braced myself against the wall, hot and woozy, and closed my eyes until the moment passed. I made my way through the bedroom and into the living room by sliding along the wall like a snail. My head pressed against the cool plaster, eyes fixed on my shuffling feet. Every step sent a fresh pang of pain through me and only the image of Shannon unconscious on the bathroom floor kept me moving towards the phone.

When I got to the stupid phone, I remembered I didn’t know anywhere near enough French to ask for an ambulance or for the police. I didn’t even know the number for emergency services. I swore bitterly, rubbing my scraped palms against my scabbed cheeks. Whose bright idea was it to come to bloody Paris?

There was a soft knock at the door and I glanced up to see it open. My heart raced. Oh fuck, what now? What else could today possibly throw at me? I didn’t have any fight left. I didn’t even have the energy to feel shock or relief when Sun poked her head round the door.

“Ayla, hey, I heard— Oh my God. What happened to you?” She gaped at me.

“What happened to me? What happened to you?” I countered with a small fission of anger, self-consciously covering my neck wound with my hand. Sun looked fine. Not at all like someone who’d been kidnapped or attacked or abused or anything. Certainly not like someone who’d been out on a killing spree. Her make-up was bright and flawless, her hair was glossy. She was fine; glowing, in point of fact. “Where have you been?” Anger stirred in me, but I didn’t have the energy to actually be angry with her, not right now. “We thought you were gone. Hurt.”

She blinked at me in surprise and came into the flat, hovering uncertainly in the doorway like I might launch myself at her. “Oh God, I don’t even know what happened. I just needed— Ayla, are you okay?” She inhaled sharply. “You smell like— Oh God, is that...” She pressed her hand to her mouth, looking as sick as I felt.

I leaned forwards, dizzy again, overcome with a desire to lie down and close my eyes. It felt like I’d been slowed-down, and everything else was going too fast: Sun’s chatter, the beat of my own heart, the rush of my blood in my veins, it was all too fast, too overwhelming. The room was spinning, color dripping from the walls as everything started to melt around me. “Ambulance,” I choked out. “It bit me... Shannon too.”

Sun rushed to my side, snatching the phone from the coffee table. “Oh my God, just stay still, okay? Where’s Shannon?”

“Bathroom,” I croaked. I really wanted to throw up, but even in my haze, I was scandalized by the idea of puking on Joel’s parents’ nice carpet. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. It didn’t help. Brilliant lights flashed in my head and the image of that creature biting into Shannon’s soft throat danced before me, lurid and violent. I opened my eyes to make it go away, but the lights in the flat were suddenly too bright. I groaned and hoped Sun knew what she was doing because I was pretty sure I was dying. My brain was turning to mush and I wondered with a weird clarity if there was poison in Le Monstre’s saliva.

Sun was leaning over me, saying something about Le Monstre, but her words all ran together and she was far too close. Her mouth looked huge, her sparkly purple eye shadow blurring with her dark eyes to form black pools. I flinched and turned my head away, assaulted by the apples-and-blossoms perfume she wore, the sound of her voice, everything. I wanted to shove her away, but my arms were too heavy.

I’d been drugged before, but Silver Kiss was nothing like this. Silver Kiss had fired me up, turned on the aggression and turned me into a senseless animal. This was dragging me down, drowning me. I remember thinking that actually, it might nice to just give up and then the world spun away from me and I dropped into blackness.

***

I woke up in hospital, locked in a wolf room. It took me a few bleary seconds to realize it. I saw the bars on the windows, felt the restraints at my ankles and wrists, and went straight into panic mode. I thrashed helplessly against the restraints, howling.

The door flew open and a couple of nurses rushed in, one holding a needle in his hand.

“No!” I screamed when he gripped my arm to inject me. “No, please!” I couldn’t face being drugged.

“Calm down. Oui?” the nurse said firmly, releasing me. “You will hurt yourself if you struggle.”

I obediently went still, relaxing as much as I could. The nurses, convinced I wasn’t about to start ripping throats out—ouch, bad thought—undid the restraints. I relaxed completely, wriggling my feet and wrists to get the feeling back. I assessed myself quickly, relieved to be thinking clearly, and discovered that whilst I still ached, that was the worst of it. When I lifted my hand to prod my bite wound, the second nurse scolded me in French and wagged her finger. I took that as a sign that prodding wasn’t allowed.

“Where’s Shannon?” I asked them. “My girlfriend, Shannon Ryan. Did you bring her in? I need to see her.”

They conferred quickly and the nurse with the needle told me, “She is in our intensive care unit. You should not see her yet.”

“Intensive care?” My heart dropped. ‘Why? What’s wrong with her?” Is Shannon dying? I tried to sit up, but the nurse gently pushed me back down again.

“It is poison. She is not awake. Please, you should rest. You are not well either—you had the same poison.”

Rest when Shannon was intensive care? How the hell was I supposed to do that? I licked my lips, trying to stay calm. If I freaked out, they’d dope me and I couldn’t stand that. “Please tell me what’s happening. I need to know.”

The needle nurse sat on the edge of the bed, face professionally compassionate. “You and your girlfriend came in last night. The doctors have not identified the poison yet, but you have recovered, so we think it is not fatal.”

I didn’t point out that being a werewolf gave me a leg-up. I was in the wolf room, they knew what I was. “And Shannon?”

“She will recover too,” the nurse said firmly. “She is having the best care.”

I wouldn’t believe that until I could check for myself. “When can I see her?”

“When you have eaten and bathed and the doctor says it is okay.” The nurse stood. “Breakfast will come and then you can shower. Your friend went to fetch clean clothes.” He studied me with a frown. “Perhaps you would like to speak to the police?”

I tried to pay attention to his words, but my mind was fully focused on Shannon, poisoned and unconscious. Maybe dying? No, no, they said she’d recover. “Friend?” I echoed stupidly, realizing he was waiting for an answer. “Police? What?”

“You were attacked, non?” he asked.

Yes. Of course we’d have to talk to the police. As far as I knew, we were the only people who’d been attacked by Le Monstre and survived. The police were going to be very interested in what we had to say, especially considering our involvement in Mike’s death. I nodded glumly at the nurse, who smiled brightly at me, patted my knee and left with his colleague in tow.

They were almost immediately replaced by Sun, who slunk into the room looking sheepish and worried. She was carrying a shopping bag bulging with clothes. I saw t-shirts belonging to me and Shannon. Sun had just thrown our entire wardrobe into the bag just in case, I guessed. Seeing her in the light of day, with a clear head and the pain receding, I was angry. It was irrational; I knew that. She was an adult and whatever she’d done, wherever she’d been, it was absolutely nothing to do with me. Still it was her disappearance that had driven me and Shannon to Loup Garou. If we hadn’t gone there looking for her, we might not have gone back later and then—

I cut off the train of thought. It happened. Throwing blame around wouldn’t fix anything. Besides, Sun looked so anxious and eager to please that I couldn’t possibly be mean enough to yell at her. I forced a smile. “Hiya.”

“Hey, how are you doing? God, you scared the hell out of me last night! What happened? Is was that thing, wasn’t it? The same thing that killed Mike. You stank of it.”

“Sit down, Sun,” I said wearily. Her hovering made me feel claustrophobic. “It was that thing, yeah.” No point lying to her.

She sat in the chair next to the bed. “Holy shit,” she said, sounding shaken. “You could have been killed, Ayla. You and Shannon both could have died.”

I nodded and we sat in grim silence for a few seconds, both contemplating what could have been. Sun shook her head as if shaking the thought away and pulled a bag of grapes from the bag. “I thought you might like these. Are you okay? Really?”

I accepted them gratefully. My throat was bone dry and the grapes were sweet and juicy. I was sure I’d never taste anything as good again. “It was...a crazy night. A lot of stuff happened.” I decided not to tell her about Loup Garou. I didn’t want to risk setting her off; didn’t relish the idea of a crying and hysterical Sun. “What happened to you? Shannon and I thought you’d...well, we didn’t know. We were really worried about you.” I tried not to sound accusing, but I obviously failed, because her face fell.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! If I’d thought you’d be worried I would have left a note or something. I just wasn’t thinking straight.” She threw her hands up. “I can’t think straight at the moment, you know? Every time I think I’m okay and I’m done crying, I remember something Mike said or did, or I see his clothes, and I just...” She trailed off, visibly struggling to control herself. She sniffed and smiled weakly at me. “So I couldn’t sleep the other night. Everything smelled of him. I went for a walk, thinking I’d tire myself out and I know that was really stupid, just going off alone like that, so don’t tell me off, okay?”

I nodded, mouth too full of grapes to tell her off anyway.

“So, I was outside the Moulin Rouge and I just broke down. We were going to go, we had a reservation there, we’d had it planned for ages. And this really nice old couple saw me crying and insisted I go home with them for the night. They said a pregnant woman shouldn’t be stressing herself out like that. So they took me back to their place and I spent the night there.” She sniffed again, dabbing carefully at her eyes. “I’m so lucky, Ayla. Everyone’s so nice to me. You and Shannon and Clémence and those guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you all right now.”

Of course everyone was nice to Sun. I slumped into my starchy pillows, trying not to roll my eyes. It wasn’t her fault, after all, that everything around me was going to hell. “I’m glad you’re okay,” I told her, meaning it. “Well... Are you okay? How are you feeling today?”

She plucked a grape from the bag and stared at it. “I don’t know. I spoke to Mike’s family this morning. I thought it would help, but it just reminded me how far away from home I am.” She blinked tears away. “It made me feel lonely.”

I reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers carefully. I understood completely. Shannon was only minutes away from me and I felt like she was on the other side of the world. At least for me it was just a matter of time before I saw her again. Sun had no such comfort.

Eleven

Sun excused herself so I could shower and change. The helpful nurse, who peeled the bandage off my neck, guided me to the bathroom and I gratefully locked myself into a stall. I stripped off my nasty hospital gown and studied myself in the mirror on the back of the door.

I was a total mess. I scrunched my face up as I studied my frazzled hair, poked at the various scrapes and bruises and gingerly rubbed the scab on my cheek. The brick incident seemed like a lifetime ago already, unimportant compared to what had followed. I flinched at the sight of Le Monstre’s bite; the skin around the puncture was a lurid greenish-yellow, and the wound itself oozed pus. Poison, I thought with a grimace, poison that slowed you down and made you drowsy and unable to fight. I remembered my first impression of Le Monstre, some kind of horrible bird. As I turned on the taps and waited for the water to heat up, I reconsidered that impression. If it used poison, maybe it was more like a reptile.

I was pretty sure it wasn’t human. Nothing human moved that fast, was that strong and stealthy. It wasn’t a werewolf, not with that scent and those needle sharp fangs. It had drunk our blood. If it had the chance it would have drained us both dry, then ripped out our throats, just like its other victims. A blood drinker!

I stepped under the shower, shivering despite the hot water sluicing over me. I didn’t believe in vampires. I didn’t! Yeah, there were legends, there was folklore, there were old wives’ tales. There were endless Hollywood films and countless books—books I read and adored—but that was fiction. When you died, you stayed dead. There was no coming back from the grave. I knew that as surely as I knew the scent of Shannon’s perfume.

I closed my eyes, feeling again the snap of my teeth on the creature’s nose. It hadn’t bled and it’s flesh had been cold—frozen. My wolf whimpered inside me, still scared; scared of the dark and the creature that lurked in it.

I showered fast and dressed faster, feeling vulnerable despite the sunshine streaming through the windows and the bustle of the hospital. I was back in Hôtel-Dieu de Paris. If I’d known, I’d have stayed after the fire and saved myself some time.

Stupid thought. I sighed and headed back to my room with my nurse in tow. She escorted me to my bed with a stream of cheerful French. The only words I understood were ‘chocolate’ and ‘banana’ both of which sounded great to me. After I’d settled myself back in the uncomfortable bed, wound re-bandaged, the nurse presented me with a tray of hospital food: cold chicken salad and a pastry filled with banana and chocolate that set my mouth watering.

I couldn’t eat the salad. What I wanted was a fat, juicy steak, hot and still pink in the middle. Cold chicken and wet lettuce did nothing to satisfy my appetite. My wolf, already anxious and eager to escape the wolf room, didn’t want her meat brought to her. She wanted to go and hunt it for herself. Just the thought of shapeshifting made my burns itch. I resisted the urge to scratch them, pushed the wolf firmly aside, and ate my pastry.

The nurse was loudly pleased with my appetite, so I pushed my luck and asked if I could see Shannon. She shook her head at that.

“Mademoiselle Ryan is not to be disturbed.”

“But I’m her partner,” I objected. “Family must be allowed to visit, surely?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. Sensing it was a dead end, I changed tactic. I could always go and find Shannon by myself, I reasoned, if I could shake the nurse. I asked about Clémence and Thérèse instead. I didn’t know their surnames, but Clémence was easy enough to describe and there’d only been one massive warehouse fire in Paris last night.

It turned out Thérèse had been discharged already, but Clémence had not and I was more than welcome to visit her. I found her in a small mixed ward, propped up in bed with a music magazine and a box of chocolates.

“Clémence!” I hurried to her side, surprised at how pleased I was to see her. My wolf wanted to curl up on the bed with her and soak up the presence of another wolf. I managed to resist, but only just.

Clémence beamed at me. She reached out to hug me and I realized she needed Pack contact as much as I did. “Ayla! I’m so happy you’re okay!”

We embraced carefully, wary of each other’s injuries, and I sat down next to her bed, helping myself to chocolates. She looked as battered as I was; her nose was in a splint and she had a beautiful black eye, all mottled purple and blue. Her lip was stitched and she had numerous burns and scrapes up and down her arms. “Do you remember anything about the fire?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Patric being a bastard. That is all, really. The nurses say you rescued me.” She smiled again, a little shy. “You saved my life.”

I flushed. “Well, I just... Well…” I didn’t know what to say to that. She was gazing at me with a touch of awe that made me uncomfortable. “You’d have done the same for me, I’m sure. What about Thérèse?” I asked to deflect the attention away from me. “Have you seen her? Is she okay?”

Clémence’s smile turned soft and dreamy. “She’s good, très bon. I don’t like it, but Patric saved her. She came to see me before she left and told me.”

From her sweet smile, I guessed all was well between them despite Patric’s interference, so I didn’t press for more. I pinched another chocolate and tried to think of something else to talk about. I couldn’t help glancing around the ward for Shannon, even knowing she wasn’t there.

“What happened to your neck?” Clémence gestured at the dressing. “This is from the fire?”

I touched the dressing, feeling a little flicker of pain. “No, not the fire.” Should I tell Clémence? Should I tell her before I tell the police? I was a bit surprised they hadn’t visited already. Two women brought in, in the dead of night, both attacked and poisoned. Surely that was the kind of thing the hospitals had to report? Although the nurse who’d been there when I woke up had made it sound like it was up to me to call them. Maybe it was like rape cases—no complaint, no crime.

Clémence regarded me curiously, waiting for me to go on. “Something else happened? Oh! Where is Shannon?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. The ward was quiet, there weren’t many people in the beds and a lone nurse drifted around checking charts and smoothing bed sheets down. I shifted my chair closer to the bed and leaned in towards Clémence. I felt conspiratorial, almost guilty as I told her. “We were attacked. We—”

“Le Monstre.” That awed look was back on her face, her voice hushed and her eyes wide. “Mon dieu, Ayla! Is Shannon—”

“She’s here, somewhere. They’re saying it’s poison. It bit her—bit us.” I peeled the dressing back. She gasped and covered her mouth, paling. “I need to tell the police.”

“Ayla.” Clémence held my wrist, keeping me close to her. “What is it? It is not a wolf, is it?”

“I…” I couldn’t say vampire, even though the word was blazing in my mind. “No, it’s not a wolf. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a wolf.”

Clémence smiled grimly. “I knew it. I said it, all the time. But you think... You don’t think it is human? It is an animal?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. It looks human. It...” I trailed off, the memory of the creature’s hands on me, its teeth in my throat sending cold waves of fear through me. My wolf whimpered and the sound emerged from me as a squeak. “Whatever it is, my wolf is scared stiff of it. Just that scent made me want to tuck my tail up and run away.”

Usually fear made me reckless and determined to prove to myself that I could be afraid and act anyway. With Le Monstre it was different. Last night, if Shannon hadn’t been with me, I would have run away. I rubbed my arms absently, wondering if Le Monstre would have caught me if I had.

“So you must go to the police, non?” Clémence said, dragging me back to the here and now. “And I must also.” She sighed. “I hope they arrested the bâtard who started the fire. Now I have nowhere to sleep at all!”

“What about Thérèse?” I asked. “I thought the two of you were moving in together?”

Clémence growled softly, drawing a few nervous stares from the beds around us. “Not yet, not while Patric is still around. I don’t want him to hurt her because of me.”

“Why doesn’t she go to the police? She could get a restraining order or something.”

Clémence shrugged. “She is too soft. She wants to help everyone she meets, fix them, you know? Some people you cannot fix, I think.”

She said it so wistfully, I wondered if she meant Patric or Thérèse. We fell into silence, picking at the chocolates and watching nurses and patients go back and forth, until I lost my patience and grabbed a nurse to ask if I could see Shannon. With Clémence’s help, I managed to persuade the nurse to take me to the intensive care ward and my heart leapt with gratitude and anxiety.

“I could come with you?” Clémence offered. “I would like to be out of this bed.”

I hesitated. “I’d rather see her alone, if that’s okay?”

She patted my knee and nodded. “But you will come back to see me? Maybe they will discharge us?”

I promised I would and followed the nurse.

***

I was relieved to find the ward mostly empty. A young man wrapped in plaster from neck to knee occupied one bed; apart from him it was just Shannon, tucked away in a corner, machines around her beeping softly. Every note told me that yes, her heart was still going. My muscles uncoiled, the tight feeling of a rope binding my heart and lungs faded away. She was okay.

Shannon was alive, but she was so pale. There was a greenish tinge around her eyes and lips, but she was chalk-white everywhere else. Her chest rose and fell slowly. A drip line fed clear liquid into one arm. She looked so small and fragile, like a gentle hug would snap her in half. I sat in the chair next to her bed and took her hand. Her skin was icy to the touch and she didn’t stir. I bit my lip, trying not to cry. I’d built up this stupid romantic fantasy that I’d take her hand, kiss her lips and she’d wake up like a princess in a fairy tale.

She didn’t, she just lay there, pale and lost to me. They’d cleaned and bandaged the wound at her neck, but I was sure I could smell pus and rot underneath the sterile cloth. Germs, I thought again. Who knew what infections and bacteria were creeping through her? Who knew what else that thing had fed on before attacking us?

I cleared my throat, tears threatening. “Well,” I said thickly, “this hasn’t been quite the holiday we planned, has it?” My voice sounded too loud in the close silence of the room and I felt guilty for talking at all. If I didn’t talk I felt I’d just bawl my eyes out, though, and I really didn’t want to do that. There was a chance Shannon could hear me—they said coma victims often responded to voices of their loved ones—and if she could, I didn’t want her hearing me weeping and wailing.

So I talked, slowly and carefully to keep my voice even and calm. “Maybe we should have gone to Spain or Italy instead? Maybe even Scotland? We could have spent the week drinking whisky and taken walks on the moors. I would have liked that. We’ll probably need another holiday to get over this one, anyway.”

I pulled at the scar tissue on my lip, forgetting for a second there was no ring there to play with. Had she twitched? I was sure she’d twitched, sure her eyelids flickered. I held my breath, studying her face intently. “You have to wake up, Shannon,” I told her, my voice finally breaking on her name. “We haven’t been up the Eiffel Tower yet. You haven’t seen your gargoyles and I haven’t seen a single bloody mime.” I scrubbed my tears away, not wanting them to fall on her, and held her cold hand tighter. “Please Shannon, please. I love you.”

“Miss?” a kind voice said in my ear. “We must check her now, please.” The nurse who had brought me here hustled me out of my seat.

“No, I just want to sit with her,” I pleaded, refusing to release Shannon’s hand. “I just want to talk to her, in case it helps her...”

The nurse’s smile was heartbreakingly gentle. “She will be fine. But you must rest too. You can come back later.”

I didn’t want to come back later, I wanted to stay now. I opened my mouth to tell her, then changed my mind. Kicking up a fuss when they wanted to treat Shannon didn’t seem very clever. Instead, I bent down to kiss Shannon’s dry lips. She still smelled like herself, under the odors of hospital, salves and ointments. Still my Shannon, delicious and soft. “I’ll come back,” I promised her. “You won’t even know I’m gone.”

***

For lack of anything else to do, I went searching for Clémence and found her checking herself out at the main entrance, loudly and angrily. I didn’t need to understand French to know the argument she was having with an exasperated doctor was about to turn nasty.

She saw me and her eyes lit up. Grabbing me, she dragged me over the doctor. “Aha! This is my friend. I can stay with her, d’accord?”

“What?” I jumped, feeling like I’d missed something crucial.

Clémence gestured disparagingly at the doctor, who scowled at her. “This...man says I cannot leave unless I have somewhere to go. I am telling him, what business is it of his where I go? But he is un imbécile. So I tell him, I will stay with you, yes? We can look after each other.”

“Well, I don’t...” I started, then stopped myself, Pack instinct overriding my objections. Was I going to kick her out on the streets, with Le Monstre and her girlfriend’s psycho ex? “Yeah, of course. Of course you can.”

Clémence turned on the doctor in triumph and another hot argument broke out. Finally he agreed that if I was discharged, then Clémence could check out as long as she was definitely going to be staying with me. I think he just wanted rid of the argumentative Clémence. I didn’t object.

***

Half an hour later Clémence and I escaped the hospital and holed up in a café nearby. I was desperate to get home and pack some clothes for Shannon. In her haste, Sun hadn’t packed any of Shannon’s jeans or skirts, and nothing of mine would fit her., But I could tell Clémence wasn’t as keen. Maybe it would have been too sharp a reminder that she didn’t have anywhere to go herself.

So we huddled together at a tiny table; Clémence with an espresso, me with a hot chocolate that I really wished had been laced with rum. I picked idly at a slice of raspberry cheesecake and wondered how soon I could go back and see Shannon. From the wistful look on Clémence’s face, I guessed she was thinking about Thérèse. I couldn’t help asking, “So are things going to be okay with you and Thérèse?”

Clémence shrugged, stirring her coffee absently. “I think so. I don’t know. She and Patric were together a long time. I think she worries about leaving him. She worries about being out with me, you know?”

“This is her first lesbian relationship?” It wasn’t any of my business, but talking was better than moping silently into my cheesecake.

“Oui. I think she is scared what the Pack will think, you know? She has plans...” She waved her hands vaguely, as if Thérèse’s plans were just too mysterious to even contemplate. “And maybe she thinks being with me will stop them.”

I got that. It hadn’t been a problem for me and Shannon, but I knew that Shannon had dated a girl who’d been paranoid about people finding out. Shannon had been her guilty secret. Me, I’d always dated people who weren’t afraid to hold my hand in public. Coming out to my parents had been hard enough, coming out to the rest of the world had been easy in comparison. I told Clémence as much and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Oui!Exactement! My mother cried for days. ‘Where will my grandchildren come from?’ But Thérèse wants children, also. We think maybe one day, when she’s qualified and I have a degree and a good job, perhaps we will adopt or she will have you know...” She made a few more vague hand gestures, which I interpreted as artificial insemination. She chattered excitedly then, eyes glowing as she talked about their plans for the future, the degree in business management she wanted to do. I listened, letting her happy babble push away my gloomy thoughts. By the time we’d finished our drinks and cake, I couldn’t help but feel more positive. When I went to see Shannon again, she’d be awake and she’d tell me my vampire theory was ludicrous and everything would be fine. It had to be.

“Shall we go?” I asked Clémence. “I really need to pack some clothes for Shannon.”

She nodded. “You have a washing machine, maybe?” She raised the hem of her t-shirt, sniffed it and grimaced. “All I had was at Loup Garou.” A quick flicker of sadness passed over her, then she smiled brightly, if falsely, again. “I do not wish to stink up your house!”

I looked her over. She was shorter than me, but about the same build. “You can borrow some of my clothes. I’ve got stuff that will fit.” I showed her the bag Sun had packed.

That earned me a real smile. We threw some money down on the table and headed for home.

***

Summery RnB music pumped through the hallway when we reached the flat. Sun’s front door was open and she was squatting on the living room floor, digging through a suitcase. “You okay in there?” I asked, poking my head round.

She jumped, then turned to smile at me. “I’m just sorting through Mike’s things to send back to his folks. I thought I’d get upset again, but actually it’s nice.” She lifted up a pinstripe shirt and inhaled the fabric. “Everything smells like him.” Her smile turned sweet and sad and I suddenly felt awkward and intrusive.

“Well, if you need me...” I started.

Sun dropped the shirt and eased herself to her feet. “Oh my God, I’m being so rude! Are you okay, Ayla? How is Shannon?” She glanced at Clémence and took in her disheveled state. “Clémence! Are you okay? I saw on the news this morning about the fire... I can’t believe so much bad stuff is happening all at once...” She pressed her fingers to her lips then, flushing. “I mean—”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Why don’t you come and have a cup of tea with us?”

She laughed. “Right. The English cup of tea cures everything, right?”

Personally, I thought, if I was going to turn to drink to solve my problems, tea would be my last choice. It nothing else, alcohol might dull my ever-pressing need to shapeshift. Maybe Sun would lend me some of her dogwood tea? Whilst Sun and Clémence made themselves at home, setting the kettle to boiling and searching for biscuits, I went to the bedroom to check my assorted wounds. All the bruises and scrapes were healing fast and the gash on my cheek would soon be nothing but scar tissue. The bite of my neck and the burns on my legs were still nasty-looking though and I reluctantly decided shifting was out of the question for at least another day. I sighed as I pulled my jeans back on.

“How do you stand it?” I asked Sun back in the living room. “I mean, when was the last time you shapeshifted? Isn’t it driving you mad?”

“It did at first,” she replied, handing me a cup of watery tea. “For like, the first three months I was just crazy, even with all the herbal supplements they give you. All I wanted to do was hunt, you know? But then my doctor told me if I shifted in the first trimester, I’d have to stay as a wolf for the whole pregnancy.” She sniffed. “Well, that’s fine for ferals, but I need manicures, you know?”

Clémence and I both laughed. Although checking out Sun’s lime-green nails, I had no doubt she was deadly serious.

“One of the local alphas, he says it is good for us to be as wolves when we have cubs,” Clémence said. “He says there would be more cubs if we lived more like wolves.”

It wasn’t a new idea. Plenty of wolves and humans alike believed our declining birth rates were down to us becoming ‘too human’. I’d done Lupine Psychology for a term at school—until I realized Drama wasn’t as much work and switched—and I’d read all the essays on how we’d mentally separated from our wolf side over the past hundred years or so, to fit in better with humans. How that ‘coming out’ on our part was the start of our falling numbers. I wasn’t sure how much I believed that particular theory. We’d been living side-by-side with humans forever, after all. Just because one day they realized it, didn’t mean we stopped having cubs.

Clémence and Sun happily chattered away about pregnancy and cubs, while I sipped my tea and thought about the secrecy wolves had lived in throughout history. We’d hidden away, living by night, holding our Lupercali ceremonies in secret, our hunts in the dead of winter in the thickest forests where no humans would see us. We walked as men under the sun, as beasts under the moon. We’d endured witch hunts, Inquisitions and Satanic panics before our secret existence was revealed to the humans we’d been lying to for so long.

It added up to about two million years or so of living undetected. It made me realize that it wasn’t that much of a stretch to imagine that something else could be out there, hiding right under our noses.

Twelve

With Clémence and Sun sat at the kitchen table discussing baby names, I grabbed Shannon’s laptop and logged onto the internet. My head was swimming with images from the werewolf museum; pale-faced, seductive vampires plunging elegant fangs into naked flesh. It hadn’t been like that; this creature wasn’t like that. There was nothing beautiful or romantic about Le Monstre.

The internet didn’t have much that dispelled the romantic Hollywood vampire cliché. Every website I found was full of excited teenage girls swooning over sexy immortal men and daydreaming about becoming vampires themselves. It was a phenomenon I was familiar with. I loved a good sexy vampire story myself—Katrina Pagan’s world was full of brooding bloodsuckers looking for their soul mates. Hell, the same romantic mystique had gathered around werewolves. In America it was pretty hot right now for human teenagers to pretend to be wolves. They gave themselves ‘pack names’ like Claw and Sabre or whatever, and wore wolf jewelry. I suppose it was like being a Goth, but slightly more pointless. The craze hadn’t made its way over to the UK yet, but I was sure it was just a matter of time.

Still vampires seemed to cast their own spell. Wolves were cool, yeah, but we were old news now, mundane, out in the open for examination. Vampires were mythical, alluring and mysterious. People loved them, fawned over the legends and stories and had created a whole cult around these creatures that didn’t exist. It was sort of scary.

I chewed my lip. If these kids had seen the creature I’d seen last night, they wouldn’t be so excited.

A bit more browsing threw up a few sites on Eastern European folklore that fitted better with what I’d seen last night: haggard, stinking corpses who could apparently be baffled by garlic and grains of rice. I doubted that, but at least that kind of vampire made more sense than the emo sex symbol kind, in a sick sort of way.

I sighed. I needed Shannon. Research and rooting truth out of crap was her job, after all. I checked my watch. It was three-thirty; only two hours or so since I’d left her. Evening visiting hours were between six and seven, and I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to see her if she hadn’t regained consciousness. I’d probably used up all my goodwill with the nurses by insisting they let me visit this morning. I’d go anyway, of course. Even if all I got to do was stare at Shannon through the ward windows, I’d go.

“May I borrow this?” Clémence asked, slinging herself onto the sofa beside me and tapping the laptop. “I should go to the Loup Garou forum and tell people what has happened.”

I closed down my vampire windows and handed the laptop over. Sun eased herself onto the sofa between us.

“So what will you do?” she asked Clémence. “Did you own Loup Garou, the building I mean?”

Clémence shook her head. “We rented. We used the money from the vending machines and bar, and we charged people some small money to use the computers. Sometimes the Pack helps if we are short. Helped,” she corrected herself with a frown. “I don’t know what we will do now.”

“There must be somewhere else you can use until the warehouse is repaired,” I said.

She shrugged. “Until we know how bad the fire was, I don’t know. I will speak to the alphas and see what they think.”

She looked lost. They both did. As much as Sun seemed chirpy right now, there was still a fragility about her. It didn’t help that her future was up in the air. I could sympathize. I felt like nothing had gone right since I had moved back home. My cousin’s murder was still unsolved. The brutal mess with Sly and Silver Kiss with all the tension that had caused between me and Shannon, and now this stupid holiday. It had been meant to undo that tension, but now Shannon was comatose in hospital and I was babysitting one pregnant werewolf and one homeless one. I rubbed my face, a headache tingling behind my eyes. What had brought us to this point? My return to Pack life, to all its politics and rules?

Well, yeah. Okay. I knew part of it involved that. I’d been a lone wolf for most of my adult life and as much as I loved being back with my family and friends, I still felt a little trapped by the Pack. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t figured that out, or that moving down south had left Shannon isolated and rebuilding her PI business from scratch. What I didn’t know yet was whether these things were teething problems or part of something bigger. Something I worried that me and Shannon couldn’t fix by running away to Paris for a week. Not that Paris had given us a chance to even try.

I chewed my fingernails until these dark thoughts forced me to my feet. Pacing the room. I suppressed the urge to whine and growl. I needed Shannon. I needed her to tell me I was being silly and that vampires weren’t real. I needed her to tell me that our only real problem was adjusting to the changes we’d made in our lives.

Sun and Clémence watched me pace. They both seemed as twitchy and nervous, affected by my own anxiety, I thought. Seeing their faces tight with worry, I forced myself to stand still, stopping by the window and smiling at them. “Shall we do something?” I asked. “I feel like a walk.” I needed to do something and sitting here until six o’clock was just going to make me miserable.

Sun shook her head. “I want to finish going through Mike’s clothes. You guys have fun though” She offered me a soft, sympathetic smile as she left, like she knew ‘fun’ wasn’t really an option.

“You should speak to the police,” Clémence told me. I winced as Sun paused in the doorway, face curious. “They must know Le Monstre is not a wolf,” Clémence continued. “Think—it could save lives!”

***

Sun covered her mouth, eyes wide with shock as she turned to me. “You haven’t been to the police yet, Ayla?”

“I haven’t had a chance!” I protested. “I’ve been in hospital, Shannon...”

“That thing killed Mikey!” Sun shouted, surprising me with the force in her voice. “You saw it, you fought it, you need to go to the police right now and tell them everything!”

“I’m going to!” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead, feeling the headache pulsing through again. “It’s all been a bit mad, you know, Sun? I haven’t exactly had time for statements yet.”

“But this is important! Ayla, they might catch it!”

“Sun, I promise, I swear I’m going to the police.” I lowered my voice, trying to sound calm in the hope it would soothe her too.

She didn’t look calm, standing there in the doorway with one hand on her bump and the other clinging to the door frame as if it was all that was holding her up. Her face was pale and her eyes frightened. For a second I thought she might actually collapse. “What if it comes back? What if it’s waiting for us...?” She broke off with a panicked sob.

I rushed to her side, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a hug. She sagged against me and let me guide her back to the sofa. “Sun, stop it,” I told her. “There’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” Not sure what else to say, I added, “Think of the baby.”

Like magic words, they snapped her out of the sudden panic. She shook her head, rearranged her hair, and sighed long and slow. “I think I need to lay down. The baby’s kicking.”

That sounded much better than her freaking out on the sofa, so I helped her back to her own flat, settled her in bed with a drink and left her to it. “And if you’re going to wander off in the dead of night again, leave us a note, alright?”

She flushed and promised me she would. “Not that I’m going to,” she added with a shudder. “I can’t believe I did at all, after everything...”

“Just relax and get some rest. I’ll come and see you later.” Hopefully with Shannon, I added silently.

Back in our flat, Clémence was sitting on the edge of the sofa looking nervous and embarrassed.

“I upset her, non? I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I told her. “I don’t think the extra stress is doing her any good.”

Clémence stared at her hands. She clasped them together in her lap and nodded. I suddenly felt like I’d acquired two adolescents. Tucking them in, telling them off, what was next? Mashing up their vegetables? “You’re right though,” I continued, wanting to take that kicked-puppy look off her face. “I should go to the police. Will you come with me, help me translate?”

She brightened at that, jumping up. “May I use your bathroom first? And borrow some clothes, s’il te plaît?”

I rummaged through my clothes while she showered, finding a pair of jeans and a faded long-sleeved Chemical Brothers t-shirt. Clémence muttered a few French insults about my taste in music under her breath as she pulled it on, which I easily ignored since I didn’t understand them. As the shower at Hôtel-Dieu de Paris had been a rushed affair, I took my turn in the bathroom and then, clean and dressed, we headed for the police station.

***

I didn’t realize how nervous I was until we were actually there, sitting on scratchy plastic chairs in the bland reception area. I flashed back to my first night in Paris: Mike dead on the cobbles, Sun screaming, that bittersweet scent poisoning the air. The police taking us to the station. And here I was again, with Clémence instead of Shannon and my own story of horror and blood in the quiet Parisian night. My wolf grew more impatient and restless with every tick of the wall clock. My head ached, my legs itched, my heart pounded. What if the police didn’t believe me? The tour guide in the catacombs hadn’t; why should anyone else? And what did I tell them anyway? I didn’t know the French for ‘vampire’ but I bet I’d recognize the French for ‘crazy werewolf bitch’ when I heard it.

In the end I kept it simple. A stern-looking wolf officer took my statement, with Clémence translating when my broken French failed me. The officer nodded seriously and made notes as I told him how Shannon and I had been attacked on our way home, how the attacker had bitten us both, landing us in hospital. I left out words like ‘monster,’ ‘vampire,’ and ‘poisonous fangs’. I made it sound more like a mugging by some cracked-out freak—a cracked-out human freak.

The officer seemed very interested in that. “You think he was a human?” he asked me via Clémence. “Not a werewolf?”

“I’m sure,” I said firmly. “He definitely didn’t smell anything like a wolf.” The officer nodded. As a fellow wolf, that meant more to him than it would a human officer, but it didn’t help much. It was something I knew I’d hate, working as a community support officer—if I ever became one. The idea that you could know, completely and without a doubt, who’d committed a crime, but not be able to use that knowledge to convict them would chafe at me.

The interview didn’t last much longer. The officer wanted to speak to Shannon. I told him with a lump in my throat that it might not happen today. He told me he’d contact the hospital himself, scolded me for not coming to the police earlier, and sent us on our way.

Outside the station, I sagged against the wall and tried not to sob. “What shall we do now?” I asked Clémence in an effort to distract myself.

She shrugged, seeming no happier than I was. “I would like to go see Thérèse. I think maybe alone?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” I asked her, touching her shoulder. “Patric...”

“I need to see her,” Clémence insisted. Her lips were straight and thin, eyes serious, and I decided to leave her to it. Obviously keeping her distance until Patric was off the scene only went so far.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay at the flat if you need to,” I told her. “If I’m not there, I’m sure Sun won’t be going far.”

We parted with a hug, and Clémence left me feeling lost outside the police station. I didn’t want to sit in a café and it was too early to visit Shannon. I’d forgotten to pack her fresh clothes anyway. Without her, the idea of doing the tourist thing was unappealing. It seemed pointless visiting the museums and galleries by myself, when it was Shannon who would really appreciate them.

In the end I hopped on the Metro and went to Le Bois de Boulogne, Paris’s largest park. Even if I couldn’t shapeshift and go for a run, it lifted my spirits a little to see some trees and shrubs, to smell honeysuckle and pond water. Humans and wolves lounged around on the trimmed grass, having picnics, playing with kids, reading, throwing Frisbees. Shouts and laughter echoed through the park, along with barks and playful howls from the wolves. I was surprised to see wolf and human so at ease amongst each other after my recent experiences, but it all helped me relax and feel a little bit less alone.

I stretched out under a leafy tree and stared up through the branches at the cloudless sky. The sounds of the park washed over me and my wolf stirred, interested in the fresh scents and the presence of so many other wolves. I hadn’t seen this many wolves all in one place since we arrived in Paris, and the earthy smell of Pack was a comfort I hadn’t realized I’d needed. Funny how one smell could mean home and safety and another terror and danger.

Did the creature know the effect its scent had on us? Maybe it relied on it—a weapon against the strength of a wolf. It hadn’t been afraid of me after all, assuming it knew what I was. It had attacked like I was nothing, no threat to it at all. I rubbed my neck absently, trying to piece together what I knew to make sense of it all.

A creature that fed on blood, hunted by night and was strong enough and fast enough to take out a werewolf. An apex predator that had managed to stay hidden from wolves and humans for...well, who knew how long? Hundreds of years? Thousands, maybe? There couldn’t be many of them, I guessed, or time and technology would have forced them into the open as it had us wolves. I’d never heard of killings like these before, or least not that I could remember. If they did happen, I thought, maybe they were blamed on wolves, leaving the real killer free and safe.

After all, who believed in vampires, really?

After a while, lulled by the whisper of the wind in the trees and the comforting sounds and smells of wolves around me, I drifted off.

I dreamed about fire and blood. I was running through the streets of Paris screaming for Shannon and couldn’t find her. In the dream, everything burned. The buildings and cobbles, the people and animals, all blazed, tossing flames at me from every direction. I shifted shape and raced through the smoke as a wolf, trying to pick Shannon’s scent out from the burning wood and metallic tang of hot blood. I couldn’t find her and it was getting so hot, my fur singing, my eyes stinging. I had to get out, had to escape the inferno, but I couldn’t leave Shannon...

I woke up with sweat dripping down my face and my heart pounding. I’d rolled onto my side, twisting and turning as I dreamed, and grass blades tickled my nose. My burns itched fiercely and for a second I couldn’t figure out where I was. I lifted my head, half expecting to see orange and blue flames spitting around me.

But I was still in the park, surrounded by flowers and trees and my heart slowed in relief. The sun was setting, faint rays of pale yellow blurring across the sky. The park was still busy, but everyone was lethargic now. Couples lay together, limbs tangled. Children napped in their parents’ laps and panting dogs sprawled at their owners’ feet. Everything felt lazy and calm, a world away from the chaos and violence of my dream.

I sat up, wiped the sweat from my face, and checked my watch. Shit. Six-thirty. How had I slept so long? I leapt up, heart racing again at the thought I’d miss Shannon’s visiting hour. What if she woke up and I wasn’t there?

I raced for the nearest Metro stop, ignoring the twinges of pain in my legs as I did. Through the park, past the dogs and kids, onto the road, where I dodged the traffic, narrowly missing being hit by a moped. I shoved through the crowds pouring down the steps to the Metro platform, desperate to get ahead of them and onto the train. A few people cursed or elbowed me. Pelting across the platform, I leapt through closing doors onto the train. Stumbling, I bumped into a young man. He snapped at me, smoothed his hair and then turned his back on me. I flipped my finger at his back, feeling childish, but too tense to care. Images from my nightmare swam in my head as I clung to the pole in the middle of the carriage. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something. That I had to get to Shannon as soon as I could.

I made it to Hôtel-Dieu de Paris at quarter to seven, gasping for breath, red in the face, and frantic to see Shannon. The good news was she’d been moved from intensive care into a general ward. The nurse ushered me through with a sympathetic smile. The ward was crowded, families clustered round beds and milling in the doorway. I slipped through, homing in on Shannon’s bed. Please let her be awake. She had to be, I had to talk to her, hold her, hear her voice.

My heart, already working overtime from my race here, flipped and fluttered when I saw her sitting up in her bed. I dashed across the remaining distance between us, resisting the urge to fling myself at her. “Shannon! God, let me look at you.” I clasped her outstretched hand, tears filling my eyes at the sight of her pale, smiling face.

“Miss me?” she asked throatily.

I crouched at the bedside, clinging to her. She looked so fragile, tired and small. Her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow in a rough tangle and the cuts and bruises on her face and arms looked ugly and vicious. I ran a finger gently down one long scrape with a fresh rush of loathing for the creature that had put her here.

“How are you?” I asked, nuzzling her palm.

“Sleepy,” she replied with a rueful smile. “And sore. But okay. The doctor said I can probably go home in the morning, if I get through the night without any problems.”

“That’s fantastic!” I raised myself enough to kiss her cheek. “What time? I’ll come and get you.”

She stroked my hair, the gesture weak but so welcome, so reassuring. “Calm down,” she laughed. “It’s a probably, not a definitely. They’ll give me a final once-over in the morning and then decide.”

“Well, I’ll be here,” I told her firmly. “If I have to carry you home, I’m taking you.”

She closed her eyes with a sigh. “I’d like that.”

I moved into the bedside chair, still holding her hand as tightly as I dared. “I spoke to the police earlier. They’ll want to see you too.”

She nodded. “I don’t remember much, to be honest. Just you freaking out for no apparent reason and then that thing...”

“That’s it?” I was oddly disappointed. As much as I didn’t want to believe in vampires, part of me wished she did remember more, so that I could at least clarify my own scattered thoughts. That was what Shannon did. She helped me think clearly. I needed that right now.

She shrugged, then winced at the movement. “I’ve pieced things together from what the nurses have told me. But none of it makes much sense. Poison? Biting?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t a wolf, was it? Someone on Silver Kiss or something like that?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“But a person... Unless he was some kind of drug addict or...I don’t know, a cannibal? I don’t know, Ayla.” She looked at me pleadingly, as if I could solve the mystery for her. “What the hell was he?”

“It,” I corrected without thinking. I had no real idea whether Le Monstre was male or female, but ‘it’ felt a better fit to me. The creature was inhuman. “I don’t know, but I think...” I stopped myself before I could actually say the word. Shannon stared up at me, face paper-white, looking exhausted and frail. I bit my tongue. Now wasn’t the time to spring vampires. Not that there could ever be a great time for it, I thought.

“I don’t know,” I said again finally. “It’s police business, though, isn’t it?” I smiled bitterly at my own words. Hadn’t we said the same thing time and time again with Sly, when Eddie was blackmailing me and Shannon into helping him track the feral down?

“Yeah.” Shannon relaxed into her pillows a little. “You’re right.” She smiled up at me. “Now, are you okay? You look like shit.”

I ran my hands through my hair self-consciously, pulling out a few stray bits of grass. “I feel a bit shit,” I admitted. I showed her my burns and caught her up on the situation with Sun.

“Stupid girl,” Shannon muttered when I told her about Sun’s midnight walk. “Well, at least she’s safe. What about Clémence? Is she okay?”

“She’s...staying with us,” I said, an edge of apology in my voice. “She’s got nowhere else to go.”

Shannon sighed and closed her eyes again. “I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?”

I flushed and said nothing, glancing at my watch instead. Seven o’clock already? It felt like I’d barely sat down. Around us, people were kissing their loved ones goodbye and pulling on their coats whilst a stern-faced nurse stood at the door, looking pointedly at the clock on the wall.

“I don’t want to leave you,” I whispered to Shannon.

“You could try hiding under the bed,” she said.

“That nurse looks like she’d check under the beds.” I leaned forwards to kiss Shannon on the lips this time, ignoring the slight chill of her skin. “I suppose I’d better go before she forces me out.”

She slid her fingers along my cheek and into my hair, making the kiss deeper. “Come back in the morning?”

“Do you even need to ask?” I kissed her once more and rose reluctantly. “I’ll be on the doorstep at the crack of dawn.”

“As long as you don’t sleep on the doorstep,” she said. “I want you safely behind locked doors tonight. Promise me.”

I remembered how her kid-glove treatment had started annoying me before. Now it didn’t seem patronizing or smothering. The threat of real danger, something my wolf couldn’t handle, made Shannon’s worries very real and her words very serious. “I promise,” I said softly, glancing out the window over her head. The sky was dusky. Night was falling and I was a long way from home.

Thirteen

Sun must have been waiting for me. She jumped on me before I even had my key in the lock. “Ayla! How’s Shannon? Are you okay? I was worried you weren’t coming back tonight.” She followed me inside, looking pointedly towards the window. The only light outside came from the restaurant opposite, a patch of bright yellow from the open doorway.

“Shannon should be home tomorrow,” I said, throwing myself onto the sofa and pulling my shoes off. “She was awake when I went to see her, but still weak. I think we’ll be spending a lot of time lazing around here for the rest of the week.”

“You haven’t really told me what happened,” Sun said, nestling onto the sofa next to me.

“There’s not much to tell,” I said vaguely. “You know about the fire and everything.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t anything to do with the fire, is it?” she persisted. “I’m not a baby, Ayla, for God’s sake. You don’t have to keep things from me.”

I felt a flicker of irritation then. I didn’t have to tell Sun anything. We didn’t know each other, after all. She wasn’t Vince or my mum, someone I’d confide in. She wasn’t my friend, she was someone chance had brought into my life. Why should I tell her anything?

I bit my lip, hating myself for being so bitchy. Whatever had happened to me and Shannon, we’d both lived through it. Sun hadn’t been so lucky. I rubbed my eyes and tried to sweeten my thoughts.

“I’m not keeping anything from you. Well, I am,” I corrected myself, “but only because...” I gestured at her bump. “You don’t need any extra stress right now, do you?”

She frowned. “You think wondering about that creature isn’t stressing me out? Look, I know we don’t know each other very well, Ayla, and I know you guys don’t owe me anything, but please don’t push me out, okay?” Her voice trembled slightly, making me feel like even more of a bitch. “I can handle it. I need to know about the thing that killed Mikey.” She pointed at my throat. “How bad is Shannon, really? What are the doctors saying?”

I locked my fingers together and stared down at them. “The doctors say she was poisoned. We both were, but it burned out of my system quicker, I suppose. Shannon got bitten worse too, so she had more in her bloodstream anyway. But she’s going to be fine,” I added quickly, hearing Sun gasp. “I went and reported everything to the police today.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, the quiver gone from her voice. I glanced at her, surprised by the fire in her eyes. She looked determined and quietly angry. Thinking dark thoughts, I guessed.

“I don’t know what to say,” I confessed. “It wasn’t a wolf. It looked human, but it doesn’t smell like any human I ever met. It’s fast, it’s strong and it bites.”

“I knew it wasn’t a wolf!” Sun said. “I told the police officer that, but he said it couldn’t be anything else!” She bared her teeth. “If I could get my claws into that bastard, I’d...”

I blinked, surprised by the venom in her voice. She sounded older suddenly, a different wolf to the one I thought I was getting to know. I had Sun down as a bubbly bimbo, when she wasn’t lost in grieving. The bright clothes, the sparkly make-up, the madcap elopement with Mike... None of that said hunter or dominant to me. But now, with that flash in her eyes and a snarl in her throat, she looked wild, dangerous. At least, if you ignored the baby bump.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned her. “Me and Shannon barely got away and there were two of us.”

She leaned back with a sigh, rubbing her bump. “I hate doing nothing. I feel like I’m in limbo, you know? A few days ago, we had plans. We had a future planned and today I’m just waiting for everyone else to make things happen for me. That’s not me, Ayla.” She dabbed at her eyes delicately. “I can’t even arrange his funeral myself.”

“I know how you feel,” I told her, rising to raid the cupboards. There wasn’t much to eat, but I didn’t feel like going out. Like the tourist spots, visiting luxury French restaurants didn’t seem right without Shannon. I found enough odds and ends to make some sandwiches, wishing all the time for one of Vince’s big comfort meals. Lamb stew or beef casserole; something hearty and warming.

Sun turned her nose up at my cheese sandwiches. “I kinda want some meat. Maybe like a steak or something? I might go out...”

“In the dark? Alone?” I pointed to the window as she had. The newsstand was already closed by the time I got back from the hospital, so we couldn’t even nip across for chocolate bars. “I think it’s cheese sandwiches or go hungry, unless you’ve got anything in your place.”

She pouted and I knew she was about to suggest we go out together. A sharp rap on the door meant I didn’t have to find out if I was right. Grateful, I headed for the door. I knew it was Clémence before I turned the handle. The scent of Pack mingled with my own smell from the clothes she’d borrowed was unmistakable. As was the delicious aroma of tomato sauce, melting cheese and sizzling pepperoni from the pizzas she was carrying.

“I thought perhaps this would be a thank you?” she said, setting the three pizza boxes on the coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” I grabbed a slice. Sun, I was happy to see, followed my lead. “Are you okay? How’s Thérèse?” I’d half expected the other wolf to be with Clémence.

Clémence growled. “Her parents were there. They do not like me, they blame me for the fire! They would rather she is with a merdeux like Patric than a woman. Stupid, stupid.”

Sun patted her shoulder. “You guys need to get away from all this shit,” she told Clémence. “That’s what me and Mikey did. Everyone was against us so we just said, to hell with it, let’s get out of here!”

I bit my tongue. Who was I to tell anyone that running away never solved anything? I’d left home much younger than these two and I’d turned out alright, hadn’t I?

Clémence was shaking her head anyway. “I am not ashamed,” she said fiercely. “I don’t have to run away.”

“It was so romantic though,” Sun sighed, back to the Sun I knew best. “Just the two of us, sneaking away in the middle of the night...”

“I’m surprised they let you on the plane,” I said. “I thought you weren’t allowed to fly when you’re pregnant.”

She waved that away. “I was only twenty-six weeks when we flew out. It’s still okay in the second trimester. I couldn’t do it now. That’s why we had to go at such short notice, you know?”

“But you don’t miss your family? Your Pack?” Clémence asked. “I think they must be very sad you are gone.”

Sun shrugged. “Pack life isn’t for everyone,” she said. “I mean, I’m looking forward to meeting all your friends in England,” she told me hurriedly. “And I’m really grateful to you guys for helping me so much, but I wanted a future with Mike and he would never be part of the Pack.”

I bit my tongue again, hard, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Exhaustion hit me as I finished my last slice of pizza and suddenly all I wanted was to crawl into bed and hug Shannon’s pillow. The pizza sat heavily in my stomach and my eyes ached. Despite my nap in the park earlier, I felt like I hadn’t slept for days. Too much had happened too quickly and hardly any of it made sense.

“I’m really sorry,” I told my guests, hauling myself up. “I’m going to bed. You two are welcome to stay if you want.”

I left them squabbling lightheartedly and went to change my burn dressings. On my discharge from Hôtel-Dieu de Paris I had been given enough bandages and aloe vera cream to keep me going for a day or two. I slathered my legs in the stuff, pleased to see the skin was healing nicely. By tomorrow I’d be well on my way to shapeshifting without tearing wounds open. The thought made my wolf twitch inside me. I’d go back to that park. I’d have a real run surrounded by trees and open skies, away from the crowded streets.

My extra dressings weren’t waterproof, so as much as I loved the idea of taking a long, hot bath, I didn’t. I had a ridiculous image of sitting in the tub with my legs dangling over the side, then slipping and cracking my head open when I tried to get out. Instead I went to bed and rolled over to Shannon’s side, burying my head in her scent. That beautiful, mouth-watering perfume and her unique body scent, the one I could have picked out from any other in the world. I ran my fingers across the pillow, longing for the morning as I fell asleep.

***

I dreamed about fire again, whimpering as phantom heat rushed over me and smoke blinded me. I woke face down in the pillows, choking on a stray feather and rolled over to find Clémence leaning over me. I yelped, scrambling away from her shadowy figure. “What’s wrong?” I whispered, heart in my throat.

“You were crying in your sleep. I was worried for you.”

I sat up, careful to pull the sheets up with me and cover myself. “I’m fine. I had a nightmare, but I’m fine.” I flashed her a reassuring smile, but guessed from her expression it wasn’t that convincing.

“I had a bad dream also.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, turning towards me. My eyes adjusted to the light, so I could see she was still wearing my top, but had abandoned the jeans. “I am trying very hard to be brave, but everything is so crazy.” She smiled, lips trembling. “Do you feel like that?”

The darkness and warmth of the room made her question seem intimate. I couldn’t answer for a second or two, feeling weirdly vulnerable. No, not vulnerable, not really. I felt... Guilty. Clémence shouldn’t be in the bedroom; this was mine and Shannon’s space. I remembered Clémence checking me out in Loup Garou and wondered with a start if this was some kind of seduction attempt. My pulse raced. Shit. I couldn’t deal with it. Not after every other bloody thing that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

“I’m not...” I wet my lips, shifting down in the covers a little so as not to expose any skin. “Yeah, I suppose. Everything will seem better in the morning though. It always does.”

She ran her hands through her hair, shoulders sagging. “I do not think so. In the morning I will still have no home, Thérèse’s parents will still hate me, and her stupid ex-boyfriend will still be around. C’est tellement désespéré. I don’t see how it will be better in the morning.” Her voice broke and her shoulders slumped as she began weeping.

Realizing seduction was the last thing on her mind, I felt stupid and awkward. I moved to comfort her. Wriggling my way across the bed, struggling to keep covered, I wrapped an arm round her shoulders. “Come on, don’t cry,” I murmured. “Clémence, you know...” I hesitated, trying to think of something helpful and wise to say. Nothing sprang to mind. “You have to just keep going,” I said finally. “No matter how bad things seem, you have to keep going because everything changes. This too will pass,” I added. It was something my mum always said. When I was a kid it drove me crazy. I didn’t want to wait for things to pass; I wanted them to be better straight away. I hoped Clémence was more patient than me.

She sniffed and turned her head so she was nestled in the curve of my neck. “You are very strong, Ayla,” she told me. “I don’t think I am strong enough to keep going sometimes.”

“Of course you are!” I shrugged her off, forcing her to look me in the eye. “Clémence, I’ve only know you two or three days and I already know you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. Look, life is shit sometimes. That’s just the way it is and you can either keep your head up and get through it or give up and...and...drown in shit. And that would be pretty awful, right?”

To my surprise she started laughing. Her shoulders shook and she grabbed me and kissed me on both cheeks. I reeled back, prepared to fight her off, but she simply bent over, howling with laughter. “Vous êtes trop drôle. No, it would not be nice to drown in shit.” She straightened up, grinning at me as she wiped her tears away. Her eyes shone in the darkness, wide and bright and she ruffled her hair, looking sheepish. “I am sorry. I am imposing. Thank you for cheering me up, Ayla.”

“You’re welcome.” I snuggled back under the covers, bemused by her quick change of mood and cheered by her laughter. “Are you okay out there? Do you need a pillow, a sheet?”

She shook her head. “Sun gave me a blanket. I am very comfortable, merci, just...a little sad.”

“Me too,” I sighed. “But everything will look better in the morning, I promise.”

She nodded, lingering in the doorway. “If you have more nightmares, I will come and cheer you up.”

“Likewise,” I yawned. “Night.”

She closed the door softly and for a second the room felt colder and emptier. I almost wanted to call her back so we could curl up together and offer each other a little comfort. Nothing sexual, just the need to be close with another wolf. I resisted the urge, hugging Shannon’s pillow close to my chest. If it were Vince or Glory on the other side of the door, I wouldn’t hesitate, but with Clémence it just wouldn’t have been right. She wasn’t my Pack, regardless of how we’d been thrown together. Even if she was, there was only one woman I wanted to cuddle up with in the dark.

***

I spent the night tossing and turning, resisting the urge to scratch my itching legs to pieces. It was a relief when the sun finally rose. Light peeked through the curtains and gave me an excuse to stop trying to sleep. I went straight to the bathroom and ripped off my dressings. My legs looked much better, the skin white and patchy instead of red and blistered, though the burns were still warm and tender. I rubbed them cautiously, wondering if I dared take a bath. It was probably going to really hurt. I decided to risk it. I felt grimy after my restless night and the thought of going to meet Shannon stinking of sweat didn’t appeal to me. I’m sure it would be the last thing on her mind, but still. A wolf’s got to have standards.

I ran myself a lukewarm bath. After some thought, I wrapped my legs loosely in bin liners and kept them propped up on the bath edge as much as possible. It was the most uncomfortable bath ever, and I only just avoided slipping and cracking my head getting out, but it did the job. I dressed with a spring in my step, excited to be bringing Shannon home—they had to let her out today, they had to—and the thought that I might be able to shift later. Scratch that—I would shift later. If I didn’t, the choice would be taken from me. The wolf was too restless.

I spent a few minutes playing with my hair, trying to make it look less burnt, then gave it up as a bad job and went to check on my makeshift Pack. Clémence was curled up on the sofa under a soft green and blue tartan blanket that didn’t look sparkly enough to belong to Sun. She was fast asleep, snoring lightly, and I didn’t have the heart to wake her. I set about quietly making myself a hot chocolate and sat at the tiny kitchen table with Shannon’s laptop, watching the sun through the window as it slowly climbed up over the city.

There was an email from Vince waiting for me amongst some junk mail. I opened it with a sense of yearning, desperate for some normality, some idle chat and home gossip that would carry me away from the madness.

Hey, where you at, girlfriend? Everyone over here’s going mad about these killings in Paris. U and Shannon okay? Alpha Humans are loving it—they’ve got this big campaign on about rabid werewolves and all that shit. A couple of wolf kids got beaten up at the local school yesterday. Nothing serious, but everyone reckons it’s Alpha Humans. Hope ur safe over there—let me know so we know u haven’t been eaten by monsters! Xxx

As I read, shivers crept down my spine, a mix of anger and unease. Typical Alpha fucking Humans! They were latching onto this horror story and spinning it to their own ends. It was just another piece of anti-wolf propaganda to them, with no concern for the truth, or the tragedy for the victims and their families. I reread the email, pausing at the news of the attacks on wolf kids before skipping to the end. I couldn’t think about that. It reminded me too much of Adam.

I fired back a reply, lying through my teeth. We were fine and having a lovely time, I told Vince. There was no point telling him the truth; he’d tell Joel, Joel would tell Glory, Glory would tell everyone, and before I knew it, my parents would be on the doorstep insisting I come home.

By the time I’d finished my hot chocolate, it was nearly seven o’clock. High time I found some food, I decided. Clémence hadn’t stirred, but I didn’t want to leave her to wake to an empty apartment, so I reluctantly shook her awake. “I’m going out,” I told her. “Do you want to come or would you rather stay? Sun should be up soon; you can keep her from doing anything crazy.”

Clémence laughed, then stretched and yawned. “I think I will stay with Sun. You are going to fetch Shannon, yes? You are coming back here then?” She sounded anxious.

“Yeah, we’ll be straight back,” I promised. “I don’t think Shannon will be up for doing much.” I planned to make sure she didn’t do much. As much as I wanted to salvage the week and do all the touristy things we’d planned, I didn’t want Shannon to wear herself out. Rest and relaxation was going to be the key. We could always come back to Paris, if Joel’s parents didn’t mind us turning their flat into a shelter for down-and-out werewolves.

Although, I reflected as I waved goodbye to Clémence, maybe Barcelona would be a better choice next time.

***

To my delight, Shannon was waiting for me in the reception area. She sat in a corner near a tall potted plant, still looking too pale for my liking, but she was there, ready to go. I couldn’t ask for more than that. She stood when she saw me, smiling brightly and I rushed to her, gripping her elbows gently to steady her.

“I won’t collapse,” she laughed, kissing me. “I feel much better.”

I brushed her hair from her face and examined her critically. Definitely still too pale, but she did look better. Not as tired. “Let’s get out of here, then,” I said. “I’m sick of hospitals.”

We headed out hand-in-hand and at my nagging, made straight for the café Clémence and I visited yesterday. Shannon looked like she could do with a good meal, not that crap the hospital served. Over a cheese and ham omelet, I filled Shannon in on everything that had happened while she was bedridden. She listened in silence, a slight frown on her lips.

“You weren’t joking about Clémence then. How long is she staying?”

I shrugged. “I suppose until she and Thérèse work out their living arrangements.”

Shannon laughed. “You know what? If almost dying in a fire and getting beaten up by her ex-boyfriend hasn’t motivated Thérèse to move in with Clémence, I don’t know what will.”

I frowned. “Don’t say that. We don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors.”

“We know what’s not going on,” she argued. “Clémence is homeless, the project she’s dedicating herself to is in ashes and her girlfriend is doing nothing to help. Does that sound right to you?”

I shifted in my seat. It didn’t. “But it’s not our business.”

“It is if Clémence is staying with us.”

Sensing an argument approaching—one that could quickly become the old Pack argument I had quickly grown to hate—I changed the subject. “I suppose we should go past the police station before we head home.”

Shannon nodded, a brief shadow flicking over her face. “I’m not sure I want to.”

“Why not?”

She stared down at her omelet, her face flushed. I leaned forwards to cover her hand with mine. “Shannon?”

“It sounds stupid...”

“It won’t to me,” I assured her.

“It’s just that I’ve been thinking about the...that night. A lot.” She rubbed the back of her neck. Nervous? That wasn’t like Shannon. “And I know it sounds ridiculous, Ayla, but the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that whatever attacked us wasn’t human.” She lowered her voice at her final words, hushing herself as if she couldn’t bear to say them.

“Not human,” I repeated, my heart skipping. “So...werewolf?”

She shook her head. “I know how wolves attack. Bloody hell, if that thing reminded me of anything, it was a junkie. Remember that case I did back north a few years ago? The cokehead?”

I nodded, grimacing. Shannon had spent almost three months tailing a married man whose wife thought he was having an affair. It turned out his secret love was coke and prostitutes and lots of them. One night he’d realized Shannon was following him and attacked her. The memory still made me growl. She’d been fine—just bruises and scrapes—but only because he’d been too high to throw a punch properly.

“Well, it reminded me of that. Desperate. Needy, craving something. It was motivated by hunger.” She shook her head. “I know that sounds stupid, but that’s how I feel.”

I nodded slowly, hoping she’d say ‘vampire’ first so I didn’t have to, but she lapsed into silence. I gave her a nudge. “Hungry,” I said. “And the fact that it bit us, the fact that it poisoned us...”

Her hand rose to her bite wound automatically. “No human or wolf I ever heard of has a sedative in their saliva,” she said finally, then looked up at me at last, lips pursed. “What do you think it was?”

I drummed my fingers on the table, making the cutlery rattle. I wondered if I might be misreading Shannon’s meaning. What if she laughed at my theory? I really would feel stupid.

On the other hand, did it matter? It wasn’t as if I could go to the police and tell them to stock up on garlic and wooden stakes. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to actually say ‘vampire’ aloud either. It was just such a crazy word. It turned the world upside down to even admit the possibility. “I think it’s some kind of apex predator,” I said carefully. “Something really rare and dangerous, something like a werewolf, I suppose, but...”

“Something like a leech?” Shannon offered. “A vampire?”

The word fell between us, heavy and unreal. I heaved a sigh of relief, sitting back in my chair and nodded. “Yeah. Yes. A vampire. It’s insane, but…”

“Is it that insane?” she asked reasonably, sipping her coffee with a gleam in her eye. “You’re a werewolf, after all. You’re a human being who turns into a wolf—or a wolf who turns into a human, if you want to be pedantic. That’s pretty insane too.”

“No it’s not! Wolves have been around just as long as you puny humans,” I argued. “We’re not some kind of freaky monster, we’re completely natural creatures.”

“Well, you would say that,” she teased me. “But when wolves announced themselves to the world, every human on the planet thought ‘freaky monster’, because who ever heard of humans turning into animals outside of fairytales and horror novels? It was just crazy.”

I took her point and it wasn’t far off my own thoughts really. “Fair enough, but vampires. I mean, they’re dead, aren’t they? All the stories say that, every book, every film, says they’re the walking dead. That is crazy. Dead things don’t walk around attacking passers-by for blood.”

“Maybe they’re not dead,” she countered. “That’s just folklore, after all. Think how many legends and stories there are about werewolves that are complete rubbish.”

God! There were too many to count. Drinking water from a wolf’s paw print turned you into a werewolf. Being born on Christmas Day made you a werewolf. Pacts with Satan, certain flowers picked at certain times of day, the list was endless and all so wrong. A little voice in my head whispered, what about Hesketh and his damn wolf strap? It hadn’t made him a werewolf, but it had made him something else. I sighed. Still, not all the stories were true, so I was willing to accept that the stories about vampires might not all be true either.

That didn’t make me feel any better about their existence.

Fourteen

“Of course,” Shannon said as we headed for the Metro home, “it doesn’t matter what we think, because nobody else is going to believe it. They’re going to say it’s a wolf and all the killings will likely go unexplained.”

“Not if they keep happening,” I said. “Eventually forensics will prove something, won’t it?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think this thing will stick around for that.” Shannon took my arm as we headed down the steps to the Metro platform. We were jostled by passers-by on all sides and she wavered as we walked. “The way I see it, this thing will move on. What are the odds it’s been in Paris its whole life but only just started killing recently? I bet it moves around to avoid being caught.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” she admitted. “I just lay there thinking of every vampire film I’ve ever seen, wondering if it would come to finish me off. Wondering if it could get into the hospital without an invitation.” She smiled ruefully. “I got myself into quite a state.”

We waited on the platform. I inhaled deeply, smelling cigarettes and perfume and the distant tang of gas. “They must be rare,” I said, returning to an earlier thought. “If there were as many of them as there are werewolves, we’d know about them. These killings would happen all over the world, all the time, and someone somewhere would know.”

Shannon nodded. “Rare, specialized predators, constantly on the move for new hunting grounds. Or maybe they’re like tigers and have territories?”

“Maybe they hibernate?” I suggested. “Like, they only need to feed every few years or so, and the rest of the time they sleep.” I thought of the catacombs. “They might go underground.”

“Sounds like a horror movie monster to me.”

“Well, that’s what we’re saying, isn’t it?” I glanced around, wondering if anyone was listening in on our conversation and gawking at us in disbelief. “We are talking about vampires, Shannon. Dracula and all that shit.”

“I can’t see that creature running around in a dinner jacket. Bit of a giveaway.”

“So you don’t think we need to stock up on garlic and stakes?” I relaxed a little, lulled by Shannon’s light tone.

“We’re talking about something that lives underground, maybe in graves, if that particular bit of legend is right. Do you think it would even notice garlic?” She shook her head as a train pulled up and we piled in, squeezing through the narrow doors along with everyone else. “The most sensible thing we can do is stay in after dark, Ayla,” she said, finding us a pair of seats by the window.

My wolf whined in protest and the sound slipped past my lips. “God, I need to shift.” I resisted the urge to scratch my burns. I’d change the dressings when we got home and hopefully I’d be healed enough that I could shift, even if it was just for a trot round the flat.

“Maybe we can go for a walk later?” Shannon suggested. “If you’re up for it, we can find a park.”

“And you can throw sticks for me.” I rested my head on her shoulder, smiling wryly. “I’ll be up for it. I just don’t want you wearing yourself out.” From this angle, I could smell the bite wound at her neck, the antiseptic the nurses dressed it with. A chill ran through me as I pictured that creature—the vampire—biting into Shannon’s throat.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” she yawned. “A hot bath and a good book sounds like heaven right now, to be honest.”

That didn’t really mesh with my plan of racing around a park chasing sticks, but I just nestled closer to her and stayed quiet. I’d told Clémence that Shannon would need rest and she did. I could take another night without shifting if need be. I didn’t want Shannon pushing herself so soon. Who knew what long-term effects the creature’s poisonous bite might have? Yeah, I told myself, I’d settle for a quiet afternoon in. Hopefully we could lock Sun and Clémence out of the flat for the rest of the day and have some real peace.

***

Montmartre was a hive of activity. We stepped out of the Metro station and straight into a crush of people. It took me a second to realize they were all heading in the same direction in a hectic rush, like wasps swarming to jam. Shannon and I were pulled along in the current, caught up in the frantic excitement of the crowd as people yelled and chattered to each other. I was reminded nastily of the mob outside Loup Garou before the fire; everyone was hyped up and buzzing; energy poured from them, combustible and unpredictable.

“What’s going on?” Shannon gripped my hand tightly to avoid being pulled away.

I heard sirens in the distance. “That’s coming from Rue de Clichy,” I realized, picking up my pace. “God, you don’t think…?”

“It’s broad daylight,” she said before I could finish. “Slow down, Ayla.”

I didn’t. My wolf was clawing at my insides, roused by the excitement and expectation flowing through the crowd. Instinct powered me forward, towards the sirens and I tugged myself and Shannon free of the stream of people, darting up one of the side streets to find a quicker route towards the police cars.

“Ayla!” Shannon stopped dead, forcing me to do the same and I narrowly avoided slamming into a little old lady loaded with shopping bags. “Slow down!”

I glanced back at her with a flush of guilt. She was pale and breathing hard. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” I dropped back to her side. “I’m sure the sirens are near our place, is all.”

“Oh lord, what now?” She closed her eyes briefly. “You don’t think Patric found Clémence or something, do you?”

The thought jolted me back into action and I started moving again, Shannon in tow. She let me pull her along, although I was careful to keep a slower pace this time. A few minutes and a wrong turn later, we found our way back to our street, seconds ahead of the wild crowd of rubberneckers making their way up the hill.

Two police cars were parked at awkward angles between our apartment block and the newsstand opposite. A man in staff uniform gaped out the front door. One impatient-looking police officer leaned against one of the cars, face like thunder. Shouts and snarls echoed out of the doorway of our building, and I recognized Clémence’s voice with a sinking heart.

She burst out the front door, wild-eyed and red-faced. The police officer straightened, barking at her. Three more officers followed her out of the building, one wielding a pair of handcuffs.

“Oh shit,” Shannon muttered in my ear.

Shit was right. I didn’t know what to do. My wolf’s instinct was to get between Pack and the threat. My human instinct was not to interfere until I knew what was going on. With Shannon holding my hand in a death-grip, I followed my human instinct.

As we watched, the three officers surrounded Clémence. For a second, I thought she might shift; there was a ripple in the air around her like the wolf was about to emerge, but before she could, one of the officers tackled her, pinning her face-first to the pavement. I winced in sympathy as he twisted her arms behind her back—he had to be a wolf to manhandle her so easily—and slapped the cuffs on her.

By now, the crowd had edged closer and as the officer hauled Clémence to her feet, one of them tossed something at her. The can thunked off the side of her head and she spun with a howl of fury, trying to rush into the crowd. A few giddy screams went up, like riders on a roller-coaster, scared but safe. The officers wrenched Clémence back towards the cars. It took all three of them to get her inside one of the vehicles. As the cars peeled away, sirens whirring, so did the crowd and within a few minutes, it was like nothing had happened.

“Shit,” Shannon said again. “What the hell was that?”

We dashed into the building, heading for Sun’s flat. Her door was open and the sound of wretched sobbing filled the hallway. At first I thought it was Sun, but when I peered into the room, I saw Thérèse face-down on the sofa, hugging a cushion, her whole body shaking. Sun knelt on the floor next to her, stroking her hair and muttering quietly.

“Sun?” Shannon whispered. “What’s going on?”

Sun looked up, relief spreading across her face. “Oh my God, thank God you’re back! I don’t know what to do! The cops just marched in and started shouting and then Clémence started shouting and then she showed up.” She nodded at Thérèse and threw her hands up with an explosive sigh. “I can’t deal with this stress, you know? It’s so bad for the cub!”

“Okay, sit down,” Shannon ordered, taking Sun by the shoulders and guiding her to the kitchen table. “What happened?”

Sun placed her palms down on the table and sucked in a deep breath. “Ask Thérèse. She started it.”

I took Sun’s place on the floor next to the sofa, gently touching Thérèse’s arm to get her attention. “Thérèse? What’s going on? Why did they arrest Clémence?”

She lifted her head, dark eyes distraught, cheeks smeared with tears, and began babbling in French. I held up my hands, making a pleading face and she cut herself short. She wiped her eyes and started over in English. “Patric is dead.”

“I... What? When? How?” My mind raced. Surely Clémence hadn’t...She’d disappeared for age yesterday, after all, but... No, no, of course not. She’d been in no state to go off murdering anyone. I’d have known, anyway. I’d have smelled it on her.

“His friend found him late last night,” Thérèse explained, her accent thickened by tears so the words sounded broken. “Like all the others, Le Monstre.” She broke off again, another flood of sobs overwhelming her. “His throat is torn out and they say it is a wolf and they ask me who would hurt Patric and they know about the fire and so...”

I took her hands, stopping her. We didn’t need to hear any more. I glanced over my shoulder at Shannon. She was frowning. “Surely there’s no evidence,” she said. “They’ll have to release her.”

“It’s all my fault,” Thérèse wept. “Je suis si désolée, tout est de ma faute.”

“It’s not your fault at all!” Sun said hotly. “Is it your fault there’s a madman running around Paris, ripping people apart?” She clutched at her bump as if in pain, then waved Shannon away when she reached for her in alarm. “Well, it’s not her fault is it?”

“Je me sens si ridicule. I am supposed to be a counselor, I am supposed to make things better, and now everything is worse! Clémence, ma petite louve, je suis tellement désolée.” Thérèse looked up at me, despair stamped all over her pretty face. “What will happen to Clémence?”

I suddenly had an unexpected understanding of what being a teacher to a class of hormonal teenagers was like. Between Sun and Thérèse, the atmosphere in the room crackled with a hot mix of werewolf energy, anger and misery. I felt like I was about to be hit by lightning and my wolf coiled and tensed inside me, waiting for the strike. I imagined Sun going into premature labor, pushed over the edge by both Thérèse’s turbulent emotions and her own. Then I pictured Thérèse shapeshifting and going on a guilt-fuelled rampage. I pressed my hand to my forehead with a groan. It wasn’t that far-fetched; high emotion was often a trigger for shifting, especially in younger wolves.

“Clémence will be fine,” I said, forcing a note of false cheer into my voice. “Like Shannon says, they can’t charge her with anything because she hasn’t done anything.”

Thérèse shook her head. “You don’t know Clémence. Her temper ... she may do something stupid.”

I could picture that all too easily as well. “I’m sure she’ll be back here in an hour or so, just fine,” I said. “In the mean time, she wouldn’t want you sitting here crying, would she?” I wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. I guiltily thought Clémence might love the idea of Thérèse weeping over her.

“She always told me Patric was bad, that I should leave him.” Thérèse sat up, staring down at her hands. “And I knew she was right, he was bad, he was very cruel, but I still loved him, vous savez? With me, he was different, until the end. And I love Clémence too, I don’t want her to be taken from me too...mon beau loup, ma belle fille...” She trailed off into incoherent French, burying her head in her hands.

Shannon and I swapped tired looks; so much for a peaceful afternoon. So much for the whole bloody holiday, in fact. It was probably time I gave up hoping we’d have a nice, romantic day together this week. For the first time since we’d fallen out over Pack politics weeks ago, I was actually ready to throw up my hands and say, ‘You’re right. This is insane and I don’t want to be part of it.’

I didn’t though. Instead I sat next to Thérèse, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles and chattering at her until she calmed down and stopped crying. “I don’t know what to do,” she announced, wiping the last smudges of tears from her cheeks. “I should go to the police and tell them they are wrong.”

“The best thing you can do is stay put,” Shannon advised. “I’m sure Clémence will call you as soon as she can.”

Thérèse looked doubtful. “Oui and what am I do to until then? I cannot go home. I cannot face my parents, not now.”

“Stay here with me,” Sun said, smiling at her; a sad, sympathetic sort of smile. “You and Clémence have both been so kind to me, and I know exactly how you’re feeling right now.”

Thérèse nodded and I felt a tiny bit relieved that she wouldn’t be camping out with us. I was pretty sure that made me a terrible person, under the circumstances, but I just wanted a few hours alone with Shannon, away from the chaos and the angst, away from arrests and death and vampires. I liked Sun. I liked Thérèse and Clémence, I really did. But once again I felt like we were being dragged down into a mess that was nothing to do with us, just like we had been with Sly and the Silver Kiss problem. We were trying so hard to have a normal life together and at every turn something happened that fucked it up. I was sick of it.

Shannon must have felt the same, because she stood up with a big fake smile. “Well, we’ll leave you two in peace then. We’ll be right next door if you need us.”

We left them to it, shutting ourselves in the sanctuary of our own flat. Except it didn’t feel like much of a sanctuary, I realized, looking around the cool, elegant living room with a sudden pang of homesickness. There was nothing of ours here and I wanted our stuff with a kind of childlike longing. Our books arranged alphabetically by Shannon on the shelves, her grandmother’s china shepherdess on the windowsill, my collection of hand-painted mugs. I sat down on the sofa with a sigh and a fresh craving for a plate of Vince’s lamb casserole.

Shannon slumped against the door, running her hands through her hair. “My God. What next?” There was a faint touch of hysteria in her voice.

“A bath and a nap?” I suggested. She looked frail to me, like she could also do with a hearty helping of casserole.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be here, Ayla. In here, I mean,” she clarified, gesturing around the flat. “Let’s go and do something. We can just go and sit in a pub all day, I just don’t want to be cooped up in here.”

Being cooped up in a pub didn’t sound much better. “How about a picnic?” I offered. “We could grab some food and find somewhere nice to hang out—maybe down by the river or...” I grabbed our guidebook from the coffee table, flicking through it for inspiration. “Oh! We could visit La Marais! It’s Paris’ gay district, apparently.”

Shannon perked up at that. “Really?”

“Yeah and the Picasso Museum is there.” I wasn’t big on modern art, but Shannon could happily wander around staring at abstract pictures of pigs playing pianos for hours. I was prepared to do the same if it took that haunted, exhausted look off her face.

“Well, I’d say that settles it,” she decided. “Let me just shower and change and we’ll get moving.”

While she did that, I ran down the street to one of the little delicatessens on the hill and bought enough food to supply an entire Pack of picnicking werewolves: meat, bread, chocolate Florentines, pâtés and cheese. I hesitated before putting a massive wedge of garlic-infused brie in my basket, then decided I was the only one who’d know how paranoid I was being and added it. Outside the sun was shining, the sky was a beautiful pale blue and people walked the streets in t-shirts and sandals, sunglasses reflecting the glow of the sunlight on the white-washed buildings. Paris looked peaceful, relaxed. But I was already thinking about sunset, about darkness blanketing the city and bringing out Le Monstre, about the creature’s bittersweet rotten scent and inhuman speed. About poisonous saliva and the icy fear the creature instilled in me and my wolf.

One wedge of garlic cheese probably wouldn’t be enough.

***

A couple of hours later, we were sat on a bench in one of La Marais’s public squares, happily eating our way through the mountain of food I’d brought. A neat green lawn spread out in front of us, a fountain bubbling tranquilly in the centre while kids ran around throwing coins and pebbles into the water. A redbrick stately home rose beyond a tall row of box hedges and Shannon’s camera was working overtime.

“How about a night club later?” she suggested, finally setting the camera down and snagging a Florentine. “I can’t remember the last time we went out dancing together.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” I asked, meaning are you sure we should risk it?

“Ayla,” she said, mock-serious, “I don’t think we can come to Paris’s gay district and not visit a night club. Glory would never forgive us.”

That was true. I decided we’d be safe in a club full of people—Le Monstre wasn’t stupid; all the attacks had been on quiet, empty streets. Like any good predator, Le Monstre hunted smart.

Except, I realized as I bit into a chunk of garlic brie, that wasn’t really true. The creature had been hitting the same areas repeatedly—Mike, me and Shannon, all in Montmartre. It had also been attacking regularly—how many deaths had there been since we arrived in Paris? Two or three, at least and those were only the stories that the papers got hold of. Le Monstre wasn’t hiding it’s kills either. How smart was that, really? If it wanted to avoid capture, it should be hunting more widely and hiding the bodies. No, I decided, the creature wasn’t smart. This kind of hunting... Well, in the animal kingdom I’d say it was greedy or desperate. Maybe that was normal for vampires? Maybe, like I’d suggested earlier, they hibernated most of the year and then went on killing sprees to feed themselves up.

“Penny for ‘em.” Shannon nudged me, then popped a piece of chocolate in my mouth.

“Thinking about—” I stopped, the words muffled by nuts and melting chocolate.

“The vampire,” she finished for me. “Don’t. It won’t help anything.”

I swallowed my chocolate. “I can’t help it. I can’t know something like that exists and not think about it. It makes me wonder what else is out there we don’t know about.”

“Demons?Witches? All the beasts and ghouls Katrina Pagan takes on?” she suggested. “Vampires could just be the tip of the iceberg.”

I regarded her, surprised. “You sound almost excited about it. Don’t tell me you want a world where gargoyles and snakemen and whatever else are running around everywhere.”

“Well,” she replied thoughtfully. “I’m not crazy about the idea of vampires. But snakemen? Is that so different from werewolves?”

I shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “This is silly,” I muttered. “This creature is probably just a one-off freak. Like a...I don’t know, like a radioactive mutant or something.”

She cracked up at that. “Now that is silly!” She shook her head, starting to clean up the remains of our picnic. “How about a walk round the shops?”

I agreed, happy to leave the conversation behind. The idea that werewolves weren’t the only ‘other’ race out there unsettled me and I wasn’t really sure why. It was a relief to leave the thought behind and focus on shopping. Le Marais was full of boutiques and quirky little shops full of fake tattoos and biker fashion. All way beyond our budget, but it was fun to pretend. We also found a bunch of antique stores and spent an hour or so poking around them, admiring massive, gold-framed mirrors and gaudy jewelry. It was easy to forget all about vampires, Thérèse, Clémence, mob violence and American runaways. To have the holiday we were supposed to be having: just me and Shannon. Just the two of us holding hands and teasing each other as Paris revolved around us; bright, romantic and colorful. By the time the afternoon had started fading away, I was definitely up for a night club. There didn’t seem any other way to spend the night in La Marais.

Fifteen

We ate in a restaurant with a live cabaret act; lots of feathers and sparkle that renewed our eagerness to visit the Moulin Rouge before we headed back home. On the recommendation of one of the singers, we headed to Mixer after that, a small gay bar nearby. Neither us were dressed for clubbing—me in my torn jeans and a Placebo tour t-shirt faded almost beyond recognition, Shannon in much nicer jeans and a plain rose-pink shirt—but we agreed that we couldn’t be bothered to go home and change.

It didn’t seem to matter once we were inside though, lost in a crowd of flamboyantly-garbed men and women and surrounded by pulsing trance music. With a few beers inside me, all I cared about was pulling Shannon close and jumping around to the beat. It helped to work out some of the tension and frustration my wolf still felt. I’d have to shift tomorrow, regardless of whether my burns were healed enough, but the dancing helped take the edge off the need to change.

In the swirl of green and blue lights, with countless scents of shampoo, cologne, sweat, and alcohol, the sound of the music, voices shouting over it and the clink of bottles and glasses, everything that had happened this week seemed a million miles away. I slid my hands over Shannon’s hips and up under her shirt, plucking at her bra and laughing when she squealed and pushed me away playfully.

After a good long stretch on the dance floor, jostling and flailing like idiots, we retreated to a seat in the corner, wriggling on the leather sofas to make room between a pair of pretty, punky boys and a woman dressed from head to foot in fishnet and latex. The corner was dark and hot, intimate, and our playful flirting turned intense. I bit gently at Shannon’s throat, loving the chocolatey smell of her perfume on her skin. She ran her fingers along my legs, scratching lightly through the holes in my jeans.

Every touch and kiss strung me tighter and tighter, until I knew we had to get out of the club and back to the flat or somewhere quiet and private. That would do. I pulled Shannon to her feet, whispering wicked suggestions into her ear. She smiled sweetly, letting me lead her from the club and out onto the bustling street. People were still queuing to get into Mixer and the bright lights and pounding music from other clubs made for a dizzying mix on top of all the beer I’d drunk. There were men and women dressed in everything from hot pants and feather boas to 20s-style flapper outfits with sequins and sky-high heels and shrieks of laughter echoed down the streets. Once again, it all seemed so far away from our little corner of Montmartre, with the fading scent of blood on the cobbles and the endless flood of tears from Sun, Thérèse and Clémence.

I felt guilty for resenting the three of them, but the beer helped numb my conscience. Didn’t Shannon and I deserve more than babysitting and dealing with their traumas? Hadn’t we come to La Marais to get away from just that?

“I love you,” Shannon said suddenly, kissing my cheek.

“I love you too.” I stopped walking to swing her into my arms and kiss her properly. “Do you feel like... You don’t think this holiday was a mistake, do you? What with everything that’s happened?”

We started walking again, hand-in-hand, while she contemplated her answer. “I know it’s not going quite as planned,” she said. “But you know, it has made me rethink a few things.”

“Like what?” My stomach knotted, sudden worry filling me.

“The whole Pack thing,” she gazed down the street, all the love and desire gone from her eyes and replaced with a thoughtfulness that didn’t help the knots in my stomach at all. “Wherever we live, you’ll still be a werewolf. You’ll still be drawn to other werewolves and you’ll still be involved with Pack politics, just as wherever we lived, I’d still be a PI and still be getting involved with cheating husbands and junkies.”

“Yeah,” I said cautiously.

“So...maybe I was being unreasonable, blaming everything that happened on the Pack. I mean, obviously some of what happened was the Pack’s fault,” she added. “Or Eddie’s, specifically, but does that mean I should be holding it against you? I love that you want to help everyone you meet solve their problems. I love that you care that much. It’s one of the things that first attracted me to you.”

Some of the anxiety drained away. “Oh.”

“It’s just...” She hesitated, as if the next words were thorny and tough to spit out. “When we were up north, you didn’t bother with the local Pack, really did you?”

I wondered if that would always be the sticking point. I’d had wolf friends when we lived in Northumberland, but I’d kept away from getting too involved in Pack life because I was living as a lone wolf. It was a deliberate choice, one I’d made as a seventeen-year-old running away from the rigid, old-fashioned expectations of the Pack and my parents. Lone wolves answered to themselves and owed the Pack nothing. It was the right kind of life for me then.

Sometimes I wondered if I’d been wrong to give it up, but rejoining the Pack had given me a second chance at a relationship with my parents, given me back my friendship with Vince. I’d always think those things were worth giving up a bit of independence.

“No,” I answered Shannon finally. “But it was different then.”

“I know.” She kissed my cheek again. “Look, you know why I get so angry and upset about it, don’t you? It’s because I get scared for you.”

“I know. Like I get scared for you when you’re off stalking potential wife-beaters and rapists,” I countered.

“And that’s my point,” she said. “I know I’m not being very clear about it, but what I mean is, we are who we are and we both know that—have known it as long as we’ve been together. And you’ve never asked me to give up my job. So I can’t ask you to give up the Pack.”

Relief warmed me. It was exactly what I’d been waiting for her to say ever since we moved back home. That she understood. That she accepted. I still sensed a ‘but’ lurking behind her words though. “But?” I prompted.

She sighed and smiled wistfully. “But I still miss Northumberland.”

There would always be that. I bit my lip, wondering if there was a solution that would make us both happy.

I didn’t know if I felt better or worse about our future, but I definitely wasn’t feeling amorous anymore. I clasped Shannon’s hand tight and sighed as we moved away from the crush of late-night revelers and towards empty, silent shops. “We should find a taxi,” I said.

She nodded, scanning the streets. “Could just take the Metro?”

“I’d rather take a taxi,” I said firmly. Away from the club, with a cool night breeze starting to penetrate my alcohol haze, the threat of Le Monstre was firmly back in my head.

We hailed a taxi at the end of the street and twenty minutes later we were back in Montmartre on our own doorstep. The journey had passed in silence—not awkward or unhappy, exactly, but both of us were feeling reflective, I think. Shannon looked tired again; her cheeks flushed with the effort of getting herself up the stairs. I slipped my arm round her waist and she leaned against me gratefully as I unlocked the door. Sun’s apartment was silent and no light showing under the door. I hoped for her sake that Thérèse had left her in peace.

Shannon shut the front door behind us and turned, pushing me against the door and cupping my face in her hands. She rested her forehead against mine, eyes wide and bright in the darkness. “Bed?” she whispered.

I Eskimo-kissed her, stroking her hair. “Bed,” I agreed. I lead her through to the bedroom, stripping off her clothes slowly. The smells from Mixer clung to the fabric, strangely intoxicating. Shannon lifted my t-shirt to skim her nails down my stomach, sliding her fingers down the waistband of my jeans and plucking at my underwear with a sly smile that made my breath catch in my throat.

She moved me back gently until I was forced to drop onto the bed. She went to her knees, pulling my jeans off and making her way up my legs with soft butterfly-light kisses. I leaned back, eyes closed, whimpering with pleasure. Her fingers eased slowly inside me, slowly out again, drawing out the pleasure and firing me up until I was twisting and writhing on the sheets, begging her to either stop or to go further, much further.

She complied, teasing me with lips as well as fingers. I couldn’t take much more. I was going to burn up. The world was spinning and Shannon was driving me crazy and I wanted to howl her name out...

...and then someone was banging on the front door, shouting for us both.

“Ignore them,” I mumbled as Shannon paused, looking round.

“What if something’s wrong with Sun?” she asked, standing and reaching for her clothes. “She might have gone into labor.”

“She’ll be fine.” I sat up, intending to pull Shannon down onto the bed, but she was already dressed and hurrying for the front door. I swore softly, grabbing my jeans and following her. The hot ache between my thighs faded as I recognized Sun’s voice. She sounded frantic. Afraid. What now? My heart lurched as Shannon opened the door and Sun practically fell into her arms, one hand on her stomach, the other clutching Shannon’s shoulder.

“She’s gone!”

“Thérèse?” Shannon asked, straightening Sun up.

The other woman played with the belt of her silky dressing gown nervously, tightening and loosening it as we escorted her over to the sofa. “She’s really drunk and really mad and she just took off! I couldn’t stop her!”

“When?” I asked, pressing a hand to my forehead at the image of a drunk, angry werewolf on the loose. “Has Clémence been released yet?”

Sun shook her head. She looked beyond exhausted: face pale, eyes bloodshot. I felt a stab of genuine concern for her. She was suffering more than anyone else involved in this mess and I kept forgetting that.

“Why do you think Thérèse has gone all batshit crazy on me? She’s been waiting for hear from Clémence all day and there’s been nothing. She started drinking a couple hours ago and I guess she just finally cracked.” Sun shrugged, lifting her hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “I tried to stop her, but she just ran off and I can hardly go after her like this.” She patted her bump. “I hate dumping on you guys all the time, but you’re both just so sensible and calm about all this shit.”

I didn’t feel sensible or calm. I felt on the verge of a raging headache or a massive meltdown. “When did she take off?” I was amazed to discover I did sound calm and sensible.

“About ten minutes ago. I thought maybe she’d come back and I didn’t want to bother you guys, but...”

“Okay,” Shannon said. “So what do we do? I suppose if there’s been no word from Clémence, she’s still with the police and she’s not going to be released at this hour.”She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. “It’s nearly midnight, after all.”

“Thérèse might just go home,” I suggested. “Did she say...”

Sun shook her head. “She was crying and ranting about Patric and the thing that killed him. I don’t think she’s going home. She was in such a mess. God, if she’s out there, drunk and crazy, she’s going to get herself in real trouble.” Sun gripped my arm. “We can’t just leave her in the state she’s in. She’s going to hurt someone, or get herself hurt.”

Shannon and I looked at each other with a sort of grim acceptance. Shannon shook her head. “I wish I had my bloody gun.”

***

Sun wanted to come with us. “What if I go into labor?” she shrilled. “You can’t leave me on my own!”

We could. Shannon pointed out that going into labor at home was much better than going into labor on the streets. Sun relented without much fuss in the end, settling back down on her sofa with a few token grumbles.

Shannon and I dressed in silence, she probably wondering the same thing that I was; what the hell were we doing? It was edging ever closer to midnight, there was a blood-drinking monster on the prowl and we already knew that the pair of us were no match for it.

“Just so I know,” I said as she fastened up her sturdy walking boots. “You think this is insane too, don’t you?”

“Completely,” she replied. “But I also know I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to Thérèse and we didn’t do anything.”

I nodded, throwing a jacket on over my t-shirt. I was ready to go. My wolf scratched inside me, reminding me once again that I needed to shift and that a wolf had a much better chance of tracking Thérèse down than a human. I resisted. Mostly because I was worried I might lose myself in the wolf after going so long without a proper shift. I could forget I was supposed to be tracking Thérèse. There was always the chance the wolf-mind would take over; it was a chance you took every time you shifted.

“Ready?” Shannon asked me. I nodded, pushing the wolf to the back of my mind for now. Later, I promised. Later, I’d shift. The burns had healed enough and the need to shake off this form was a constant itch in my skull.

Out in the hall, Thérèse’s scent was strong, splashed with white wine and wolf musk. She hadn’t shifted, but I could tell she’d been close. I was willing to bet she’d be in wolf-shape by the time we caught up to her. We followed her wine-and-wolf trail out onto the street, into the night. For a second I lost her scent. Like the night Sun went missing I struggled with dozens of confusing scents. Then I found Thérèse among the stale odors and the hot oil, fresh flowers and sizzling meat filling the streets. Her scent blazed in my mind, a red hot thread leading down the hill towards the Moulin Rouge and the neon lights of sex shops. Shannon and I followed.

The urge to run grew stronger. Throw off the human skin, nose to the ground, racing through the streets. Two things kept me from giving in: Shannon’s hand clasped in mine—I didn’t want to leave her exposed and vulnerable—and the sudden surge of people leaving the Moulin Rouge. The dark glass doors beneath the red windmill were thrown open. Men and women dressed to kill spilled out onto the street, laughing, screaming and twirling each other around with glee. The scene at Loup Garou was fresh in my mind: the mob, the fire, how fast it all happened. Confronted with this crowd, I wasn’t sure that the sight of a wolf wouldn’t trigger the same mob mentality.

So I gritted my teeth and held onto my human shape, clinging to Shannon’s hand and focusing on Thérèse’s scent. She’d past the Moulin Rouge, heading down the street past bars and sex shops, towards the centre of Paris. Was she heading for the police station, Loup Garou, or just home? God, I’ll feel stupid if she’s just gone home. Relieved, but stupid.

“Where do you think she’s heading?” Shannon asked, as if reading my mind. “Where would you be going, if you were her?”

“To find Clémence, I suppose,” I said. We’d left the noise and bright lights of the Moulin Rouge behind and had come to a crossing; a pharmacy and steak house to one side, dark, unlit streets to the other. The crowd had thinned; we saw small groups of people moving quickly from one patch of light to the next, nobody walking alone. My skin prickled as I wondered if they were thinking about Le Monstre too, thinking about the new bodies showing up night after night, bloodless and mauled.

Unconsciously, I pulled Shannon closer as I paused to sniff the air. Thérèse had stopped here for a while, maybe deciding where to go next. In the end, she’d headed right, down the unlit street. Of course she had. Why stick in the safe, well-lit parts of the city when you could creep off down dingy back streets?

“This is the opposite direction to Loup Garou and the police station,” Shannon objected as I tugged her down the dark and sloping street. “Know what I think? She’s heading for where Patric was found.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Just a guess, but if she was looking for Clémence, surely she would have started at the police station?”

“Or she’s just gone home,” I offered. We didn’t know where Thérèse lived, or where Patric had been found. I wished we’d thought to ask her earlier today. “If she’s as drunk as she smells, she probably just wants to sleep it off.”

Shannon shot me a skeptical look. “If you believed that, we wouldn’t be out here.”

I glanced at the buildings bordering the street. The shops here were boarded up, their signs faded and worn. There were no cars anywhere, but rusted bikes were chained to lamp posts. Abandoned by their owners, I guessed. Overflowing bins dropped empty beer cans and cigarette butts onto the cracked pavement and the smell of damp wood and rot hung over the buildings. It was hard to believe we were in Paris and hadn’t been transported to some crappy London council estate or the set of a horror movie.

No, there was no way I’d be here right now if I thought Thérèse was curled up at home nursing a wine-induced headache. “She definitely came this way.” I stopped by one of the abandoned bikes, inhaling sharply.

“And she shifted, too.” Shannon scooped up a bundle of clothing from near a bin. They reeked of Thérèse. “Just dropped them on the street, didn’t even try to hide them.”

If Thérèse’s human scent was a hot, red blaze in the night, her wolf scent was an explosion. A rich, deep scent like berries and spices, dry autumn leaves and dried fruits. It was like a drug for my wolf. She loved it, wanted to drop down and roll around in it. I felt my fingernails shift . Glancing down, I saw black fur flowing over my fingers, down from my short claws to my wrists. A shiver of pain ran through me as bones contracted, shrinking down to wolf-size paws.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“You okay?” Shannon peered at me. “Your eyes have gone wolfy.”

I blinked and the world, already dark, was drained of color. Wolf vision. “I need to shift.” Panic welled in me. I was already shifting, the choice taken from me by Thérèse’s gorgeous musk and my wolf’s mounting frustration and impatience with my human body. The shiver of pain became a fire of agony ripping through me as my spine bowed and I fell to my knees, joints locking, bones stretching and shrinking.

My clothes shredded and I kicked my shoes off as my feet and legs shifted. My senses lifted and sharpened, making Thérèse’s berries-and-leaves musk even more intoxicating, drowning out the stink of rot and rubbish that filled the street. My eyesight adapted fast to the change, my hearing too, so every distant sound hit me, briefly making my head spin. The distant chug of a car engine stalling, the music and laughter spiraling down the street from the Moulin Rouge. Somewhere up ahead, a train rumbled by.

My burnt skin stretched painfully as the shift completed and shockwaves of agony rolled through me as my body ripped the tender flesh apart and then pulled it back together again. It couldn’t have taken more than a minute, but it felt like forever. Then, mercifully, it passed and the night wind rushed over me, ruffling my fur and cooling my too-hot body.

For a few seconds, I lay on my side, lungs heaving as the change set in. Wolf instincts filled my head and I forgot about Shannon, forgot about Thérèse, despite her scent clinging to the pavement where I sprawled. All I could think of was running. Hunting. It felt so good to be in wolf shape after so long caged in human skin. I needed to stretch my legs, to work off some of the energy burning through me.

I stood, testing my back legs cautiously. The bare skin ached from the burns, but I knew a good run would work the aches away. The street stretched out before me, empty and narrow, leading away from the tumult of city noise and chaos that was so familiar, promising more interesting corners to explore.

Tail wagging, I trotted off, ignoring the lure of another wolf’s scent. I made it a few feet before my mate jumped into my path.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, kneeling in front of me to bring herself down to my eye-level. I stepped back with a whine, surprised to find her there. I didn’t want a human tagging along; she’d never keep up and she’d shout at me if I tried to kill anything.

“Ayla, we’re looking for Thérèse, remember?”

I whined again, impatiently. I wasn’t interested in Thérèse. I wanted to find somewhere big and green, crawling with rats and rabbits. I didn’t think Thérèse was anywhere like that. I stepped around my mate, batting her with my tail as I passed.

She followed, shouting my name with ever-increasing annoyance and desperation. I had reached the end of the street and fastened onto a promising rodent odor, when her voice finally penetrated my brain enough to stop me.

“Stop... stop...” She panted, running after me. I sat down to nibble at my claws grumpily while I waited for her to catch up. “Ayla, are you actually following Thérèse or are you going off after pizza crusts or something?”

I growled halfheartedly at her, resenting her for spoiling my fun. It was such a perfect night for a run. A crescent moon hung over the city, throwing slivers of light that were lost amongst the neon signs and street lights. The air was clear and cool and I was sure a treasure chest of fun things to chase and sniff waited for me beyond this street.

Shannon wasn’t bothered by my growling. She knotted her fingers in my ruff and forced me up, dragging me back to where I’d shifted. I let her, grumbling softly the whole way. Among Thérèse’s discarded clothing, I caught her rich scent again and some human part of me leapt forward, remembering that I was here for a reason. I shook away some of the wolf and let the human take control. I wasn’t ready to shift back, but I couldn’t let my wolf’s desires distract me. I focused, channeling the need to hunt into finding Thérèse. The trail was fresh and warm; she couldn’t be too far ahead.

With Shannon at my side, I set off again. As we left the dingy street we passed by the enticing rodent smell and I sighed with regret. Once we found Thérèse, I told myself, I could spend as much time as I liked chasing rats.

Sixteen

Thérèse led us a merry dance up and down the dark, narrow streets. Her trail circled endlessly, sending me in loops and down one dead end after another. At first I wondered if the alcohol had messed with her wolf senses and got her lost. Then I realized she was looking for a trail of her own.

It hit me as we left behind the crooked, dilapidated side streets and emerged on one of Paris’s bigger roads, leading down towards the Place de Concorde. Her path straightened out again and entwined with another, sickeningly familiar scent. I froze, a whine escaping my lips as I recognized that rotten bittersweet odor.

“Ayla?” Shannon crouched down next to me, one hand resting on my back. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t respond. My head spun with bloody, violent flashes of memory and for a second I just wanted to turn tail and run yelping back to the flat. I wanted to drag Shannon back with me. Thérèse couldn’t, she wouldn’t…would she?

“Ayla?”

I whined, pushing my nose into Shannon’s palm. I wasn’t ready to give up wolf-shape, but communication between wolves and humans was a fine art. Humans didn’t get body language the way wolves did. I settled for sitting back and inhaling deeply, then shaking my head violently, hoping she’d figure it out.

Shannon frowned, then understanding snapped into place and she paled, her fingers tightening in my fur. “It’s that thing, isn’t it?” she whispered. “Shit.”

I growled a response, trying to crush my fear without success. That Thérèse was after Le Monstre was bad enough; that Le Monstre had been on a big, busy road was even worse. Wasn’t the creature worried about being seen? Another sign of desperation? I added that thought to my hibernation-binge feeding theory. Was the vampire reaching some kind of boiling point, needing to hunt as much and as often as possible? For a second, I was tempted to shift back so I could discuss it with Shannon.

We didn’t have time to chat about the feeding habits of vampires though. Thérèse’s trail was still warm and the vampire’s was fainter. I forced myself to my feet. Thérèse might not actually find Le Monstre, but if she did two wolves were better than one, weren’t they?

“Do we keep going?” Shannon asked, standing. “I mean, this is a bit more than we expected, isn’t it?”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. We had to keep going. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to Thérèse because we had been too scared. I licked Shannon’s hand, the closest to a kiss I could manage, and turned back to Thérèse and Le Monstre’s trail.

I stuck close to Shannon as we wound through the streets. There were few pedestrians about, but every time we passed someone I felt angry, suspicious eyes on me. My face throbbed in phantom pain at the memory of the brick-throwing incident, and I kept my head down and my tail tucked in, trying to make myself small and innocent. Shannon kept her gaze straight ahead, ignoring the hostile glances and mutters thrown our way.

I was relieved when we moved deeper into the maze of back streets, following Le Monstre and Thérèse into silent, dirty alleyways littered with rubbish and stinking of piss and cigarettes. The air felt dead and stale, the slap of Shannon’s boots on the cracked pavement the only sound.

Le Monstre’s scent was growing stronger. It wormed its way into my brain, calling up old primal instincts and filling my head with images of dark, wet caves and great, thick forests. Hiding places, places where a wolf could tuck herself away and wait for sunrise. I imagined a distant world, foggy and twilit, where werewolves and vampires roamed and humans cowered round their fires, praying we’d be too busy hunting each other to hunt them. I imagined wolves and vampires locked in an eternal, bloody battle for dominance, wolf strength versus vampire cunning and then I realized something.

I was reading too many Katrina Pagan books.

“This is horrible,” Shannon whispered. She hugged herself, glancing at the street ahead. The street lights flickered and buzzed, adding to the broken atmosphere. “This is the kind of place where I’d expect to be attacked by a vampire.”

I was almost hoping for a confrontation. Despite the icy fear crawling through me at the vampire’s scent—or maybe because of it—I wanted this to be over. Stalking through the darkness, down one crappy street after another with no sign of either Thérèse or Le Monstre, was infuriating. How could Thérèse have got so far ahead so fast? On my own, I’d probably have overtaken Thérèse by now, but I could only go so fast without leaving Shannon behind. I growled to myself, trying to suppress my frustration.

Le Monstre’s path now stuck to these back alleys, away from open streets and main roads. As we followed, I decided the vampire was going to ground. This wasn’t the trail of a creature on the hunt, but one heading home. Good and bad news—if we could corner the creature in its lair, we might have an advantage over it. On the flip side, as all wolves knew, cornered animals fought the hardest. Anxiety for Thérèse spurred me to pick up my pace despite Shannon.

To her credit, she kept up as I darted down yet another side street. I could hear her gasping as she stuck to my heels and felt a flicker of worry for her, wondering if Le Monstre’s poison was still lingering in her system. I couldn’t slow down though. The sense that we’d wasted time, that Thérèse was in way over her head, fired me on.

I stumbled over my own feet when we came out of an alleyway onto a main road. This was a change of direction for Le Monstre. Like most of Paris’s big roads, it was wide and lined with tall, pale brick buildings. A few cars shot by, but there were no pedestrians in sight. No nightclubs, restaurants, or bars; these buildings were offices, all silent and dark now. I paused, lifting my head to scent the air. Shannon stopped too, wheezing and leaning against a wall for support. I heard her muttering curses under her breath, but tuned it out, flushed with sudden excitement and dread.

I knew where we were. I knew where Le Monstre was heading. Shannon and I had walked down this street just a few days ago, heading eagerly for one of Paris’s big tourist attractions. The catacombs!

I whined to get Shannon’s attention, but she was gasping for air and swearing softly. I huffed, setting my ears back and waited until she straightened. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing still shallow. I felt a flicker of guilt. The catacombs were guaranteed to be an unforgiving hunting ground, no place for humans. She shouldn’t be here, I thought.

“I’m okay,” she said, as if reading my mind—or maybe my body language. “Come on, let’s go. Or have we lost them?”

I managed an awkward shake of my head and lowered my nose to the pavement. Still clear and strong, Thérèse’s berries-and earth musk called me on while the vampire’s rotten-sickening-sweet stench warned me off. There was no going back though. I pushed my worries about Shannon’s health aside. She wouldn’t thank me for babying her, she wouldn’t leave me, she’d want to go on with me whatever happened, whatever the risk.

Alright then. We set off again. I tried to keep my pace steady for Shannon’s sake, but knowing we were so close made it difficult. My wolf-self was in full hunt mode, sensing the end game. My human-self barely managed to temper those instincts.

We trotted down the street towards the catacombs entrance and Shannon exclaimed softly when the green gateway building appeared. “Wish that bloody tour guide had listened to us,” she told me. “We might be at the top of the Eiffel Tower right now instead of back here.” There was a tremor of fear in her voice, matching the acrid splash of fear in her scent. She was trying hard to mask it, but her body couldn’t lie.

My guilt returned as my wolf-self wrestled with my human-self. I wanted to find Thérèse desperately; Pack instinct demanded it, but I wanted Shannon safe. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her hurt again. The image of the vampire sinking its venomous fangs into her throat was still violently clear in my mind. The wolf reminded me that Shannon was human, dangerously vulnerable and without a weapon of any kind.

I stopped, flopping to the pavement to shift back to human form. Pain and the cold night air washed over me. I scraped my hands and knees on the pavement as I hauled myself to my feet. Shannon threw her coat over my shoulders, worry etched on her face.

“What is it, Alya?” she asked me.

“I think you should go to the police,” I told her.

She physically recoiled, as if the words were a slap in the face. “Excuse me?”

“We’re going into the catacombs, Shannon,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “It’s not safe for you.”

“It’s not safe for you, either,” she argued. “I’m not letting you go after that thing alone.”

I started to point out Thérèse would be there, then decided it wasn’t the most convincing argument. “I don’t want you to get hurt, or worse—”

“Right and I don’t want you hurt or worse,” she cut in, eyes narrowed. “You’re not leaving me out of this, Ayla. You don’t know how hard it was for me to sit around waiting when you went off after Sly, imagining all kinds of horrible things had happened to you.”

“But—”

“But nothing. We do this together or not at all.” She took my hand firmly, squeezing my fingers. “You’re not leaving me behind.”

Together or not at all. The words rang in my ears, holding a far deeper significance than I’m sure Shannon had meant to give them. Like this was our whole relationship over the past several weeks, condensed down to its very essence. I stared at her, drinking in every detail; from her wind-tangled hair down to her scuffed boots. The not at all choked me. I returned the pressure on her hand, smiling weakly.

“Together, of course,” I said.

***

I dropped back to the ground and quickly into wolf form, grateful for the warmth of my fur. The barred metal gate to the catacombs entrance hung open. Shannon ran her fingers over the gate’s lock. “Ripped open,” she said, pointing out the bent and strained metal. “Thérèse, do you think?”

More than likely; I didn’t think Le Monstre would give itself away by destroying the entrance to its hideout. Unless it was desperate. Desperate, the word kept coming back to me. I wasn’t sure if it was just wishful thinking on my part. What did I know about vampires? How could I possibly hope to predict how this creature thought?

Creeping carefully through the gate, Shannon led the way into the entrance house with me shadowing her. She picked through the drawers of the front desk, emerging with a heavy torch, longer and thicker than her forearm. She grunted with the effort of lifting it, but clung to it anyway as we headed down the spiral staircase leading into the catacombs.

During the day, surrounded by other people, the catacombs had been solemn and hushed. At night, knowing an emotionally-charged werewolf and preternatural killing machine were down in the dark somewhere, the catacombs were sinister. The echoing drip of water was the only sound. The chill creeping off the stone walls and countless bones crept past even my fur. I laid my ears flat against my skull, hackles up. Shannon walked beside me, that heavy torch in one hand, her other hand resting on my head.

She switched the torch on, sending a too-bright beam of light down the tunnel, bouncing off the polished skulls and worn stones. I’m not ashamed to admit that the light made me feel better. I was scared, walking into the darkness, the tap of my claws on the stone joining the drip of water in a clumsy rhythm; really scared.

“Which way?” Shannon whispered.

I scented the air, confused by the fetid water and the hundreds of people who’d tramped through the catacombs already today. But there it was, burning strong over all those over scents: sweet-rot and berries. The vampire and Thérèse. I veered away from the main tunnel down one of the smaller side passages, lined with fewer bones. I already knew where we were heading. The memory of our first trip here and that barred gate beyond which I’d been convinced Le Monstre had made its lair. I hoped my hunch was right.

Shannon flashing the torch over the walls as we walked, sending bugs skittering for darker corners. “Do you hear that?” she asked me suddenly.

I flicked my ears, surprised she’d heard it first. My nerves must really be jangling. It was distant but undeniable. Whimpering, echoing softly down the tunnels. It could only be Thérèse. My heart raced and I ran. Shannon cried out, unable to stick to my side as the tunnel grew narrower, the floor more uneven. She fell behind and part of me was secretly glad. If she couldn’t keep up then maybe she’d be safe.

Thérèse’s whimpers grew louder. My heart beat faster and the wolf took over. Claws scraping on stone, tail whipping against the walls, a snarl building in my throat and suddenly, I came to a crashing halt. A barred gate blocked my way. It was locked. I whined and scratched at the metal, boiling with frustration. Had I taken the wrong tunnel? No. I was sure I hadn’t. Thérèse’s scent was strong; she’d come through not long ago. There was no blood and no signs of a fight and I took it to mean that she’d come through on her own legs, not dragged by Le Monstre.

Thérèse’s whines—so close and yet so far—clawed at my brain, demanding I do something. Stupidly, I bit at one of the bars, the impact jarring through my teeth and down my throat, and then I barked, as if I could open the gate that way. Seconds later, Shannon skidded to a halt behind me, grabbing the bars and rattling them.

“Shit! There must be another way in.” She shone the torch against the walls like she was expecting a magic doorway to appear, or that one of the thigh bones lodged in the wall might turn out to be a lever to some secret entrance. “Maybe there’s a key in the office. We might have to go back...”

I barked, shaking my head. There was no time. Forward was the only way. Somewhere ahead Thérèse barked, feeble and desperate. She was hurt, she was trapped. I knew it. I pawed at the gate again, trying to make Shannon understand. She frowned, handling the rusty padlock.

“You could probably rip this right off in human shape,” she muttered, tugging at it experimentally. She hefted the torch high and slammed it down on the padlock. A nasty, screeching shring rang through the tunnel and Thérèse’s whines stopped abruptly. The padlock didn’t give. Shannon swore and smashed the torch on it again, then once more, battering the heavy, battery-loaded handle against the rusted chain. The beam of light flashed on and off and on again. Tortured metallic shrieks grated against my ears and I flinched back from Shannon, fascinated by the grim determination on her face.

I didn’t notice the smell of rot and sweetness because it lay upwind of us. Not from behind the gate, but from behind us.

***

The vampire flew from the shadows and crashed into Shannon. She screamed, falling into the gate. The torch fell from her hand, light bouncing around the passage and blinding me for a second. My vision cleared in time to see Le Monstre’s face lit by the powerful torch beam in horrible detail as it reared over me.

Reptilian.That was my first thought. Cold eyes, hissing tongue. That corpse-pale skin, bluish lips pulled back to reveal blood-stained fangs. Fangs aimed right at me.

Fear iced my blood, froze my muscles and for a long, dreadful instant I thought I was going to die. I wanted to drop and bare my throat, like I would for any dominant wolf. As Le Monstre loomed closer, the smell of death and terror on its breath, I whimpered and cowered back like a cub, mesmerized by the glow in its red eyes. I was helpless. I was dead meat.

The vampire’s fangs grazed my shoulder, sunk into my skin. I had a funny, disorientated moment to wonder if my fur would get stuck in its teeth before Shannon screamed again. It was a war-cry this time, a furious battle-shriek as she rose to her feet and grabbed the torch. The vampire tore its fangs from me in a spray of blood, spinning to face Shannon as she ploughed the torch into its face.

My own yowl of pain drowned out the vampire’s cry as the torch cracked into its skull. The salt-rich tang of my own blood flowing down my shoulder was enough to jolt me out of my stupor. In the narrow corridor, the vampire had nowhere to fall but onto me. I snapped instinctively, my own fangs crunching down through its coat and into its arm. The taste of bad meat exploded in my mouth and I had to let go. The vampire hissed and swiped at me with jagged nails, ripping into my muzzle and drawing more blood.

Shannon raised the torch for another blow, but the vampire was too quick. One thin hand pressed to its face, it darted away, down the tunnel. Shannon made to go after it, but I barked, spitting a mouthful of foul-tasting blood and stopping her dead. She turned to me, chest heaving, torch still held like a weapon. The wild, murderous expression fell away from her face.

“Oh Ayla, God...” She dropped down next to me, touching the bite on my shoulder gently. I whined and pulled away. “Is it bad?” she asked anxiously. “What do we do?” She glanced down the tunnel, then at the gate. Thérèse hadn’t made a sound since Shannon started battering the padlock and I wondered again if she was hurt. Did we chase the vampire or try to get to Thérèse?

I took a cautious step and pain lanced through my shoulder. That made the decision for me; I couldn’t run down a vampire in wolf-shape. With a grimace and a growl, I shifted back. The pain intensified, sucking my breath from me and for a second I thought I might pass out. The shallow bite shouldn’t have cause such pain, but it had been loaded with vampire venom. How long until it spread through my body and I did pass out?

With Shannon’s help, I got to my feet, clutching at the sticky shoulder wound. “What now?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Thérèse,” she said without hesitation, giving me her coat again. “Maybe you can rip the lock off?” she added hopefully.

I yanked the padlock, wincing at the grinding shriek of metal on metal. Shannon’s assault with the torch hadn’t really done much damage to it. “It might give,” I agreed with less hope. The vampire had bitten into my right shoulder and I was right handed. Werewolf strength was all well and good, but I was just clumsy and uncoordinated with my left hand. I braced my bare foot against the gate and gripped the padlock. I pulled, the gate creaked. I wrapped my right hand around the lock too, ignoring the flare of pain in my shoulder. Shannon held onto my hips, offering a little leverage, and I leaned back, twisting and yanking at the padlock with all the strength I could muster.

It seemed to take forever, with my shoulder burning, Shannon’s fingers digging into my waist and the lingering smell of the vampire clogging up my nostrils. I felt like bits of me were peeling away, sloughing off under the vampire’s poison. My head spun and my vision blurred. When the lock finally broke, the padlock coming away with an ugly groan, I collapsed, falling back into Shannon’s arms with a groan of my own.

She staggered under my weight and we ended up back on the floor staring past the swinging gate at the black, bone-filled tunnel beyond.

Seventeen

I Leaned on Shannon as we headed down the tunnel, feeling dizzy, my body stiff and aching. My shift had stopped the bleeding, but my shoulder felt tender and sore and wrenching the padlock off hadn’t helped. The floor was rough here, stone and bone shards stabbed into my feet. The smell of rotting meat and stale blood was overpowering. “I feel sick,” I muttered. Surely it hadn’t been this bad last time?

“Be sick then,” Shannon said, helping me down to my knees. “Better out than in.”

I threw up, a stream of black bile that terrified me, as if my insides were rotting. I didn’t have much to compare the effect of vampire bites to. Silver Kiss had made me wild, an animal inside and out. I could almost prefer that to this heavy lethargy. Getting up again was too much effort; I had to cling to Shannon while she hauled me back up, wiping my mouth with her sleeve like I was a messy toddler. God forbid we ran into Le Monstre again. I’d be dead before I even realized it.

Light-headed and trippy, I stumbled on down the passage with Shannon’s support, trying to pick Thérèse’s scent out from the bad-meat-old-blood stench. It was hard to concentrate when my legs and eyelids felt so heavy, but Shannon wouldn’t let me stop.

“We go on together,” she reminded me, one arm wrapped round my waist to support me, her free hand shining the torch on down the passage. “If you stop, I have to stop too and then what happens to Thérèse?”

It kept me going, kept me focused. The tunnel seemed so long. I started to think maybe I’d imagined hearing Thérèse. I kept waiting to hear the clang of the gate behind us as the vampire slammed it shut and locked us down here forever. Then the tunnel turned narrow, the ceiling low, so we had to stoop to avoid scraping our scalps on rough rock. Showers of crumbled rock sprayed down every now and then, coating us in dust as we jogged loose stone. The passage way twisted and there was nothing ahead but the drip-drip-drip of water. I was about to give up when a thin whine drifted out of the darkness.

“Thérèse?” Shannon called.

No reply. I tensed, uneasy. It was too easy to see the trap laid out, Thérèse as bait. I gripped Shannon harder, forgetting my wolf-strength until she winced and pulled free. “I’m not sure about this,” I whispered.

She turned to me, face ghoulish in the glow of the torch. “It’s not Thérèse?” she asked.

“No, it doesn’t feel right. It’s like we’re being lured in.”

Shannon glanced down the tunnel, looking as uneasy as I felt. “It can’t have known we were following. What do you want to do?”

There was no choice, really. Trap or not, Thérèse was still down there somewhere and I didn’t have it in me to abandon her. I knew Shannon didn’t. Using the rough walls for support, I kept going, trying to listen both for Thérèse’s whines and the vampire I was sure was creeping up on us. It’s what I’d do. Not really a wolf’s hunting strategy, but my human brain approved. Lure the prey in with a temptation they can’t resist, then strike.

Hell, maybe it was a wolf’s strategy. It was pretty much how Sly had lured all those young wolves into his fight club.

I pushed that thought away with a shiver. Sly was a long way from here. Shannon and I pushed on.

Finally the passage started to widen again and the bad meat scent grew stronger. So did Thérèse’s musk and my heart surged. “Thérèse?” I called softly, my voice bouncing off the walls. An answering whine bounced back and Shannon and I looked at each other. I felt a surge of hope and dread. Shannon took my arm, helping me move faster and we stumbled on, almost tripping over each other in our rush to get to Thérèse.

Then as if by magic, the passage turned into a cave similar to those in the tourist part of the catacombs. It was wide and high and round, the walls lined with bones. Shannon’s torch beam swung around the cave, sweeping over wolf and human remains. This wasn’t a neat display of arty skulls and stones. This was a graveyard, thigh and jaw bones broken and shoved into the walls at crazy angles, skulls gone yellow with age piled on the floor in pools of dark water. Cobwebs hung from shin bones and jutting rocks and the air was stale, reeking of death. Staring at the mounds of bones, I wondered how many were ancient and how many were Le Monstre’s victims.

In a nest of broken bones in the far corner, her black fur melting into the shadows, Thérèse huddled, sides heaving, eyes closed. Shannon rushed to her while I staggered behind, clutching at the wall for support and grimacing every time my fingers touched a smooth, cool bone. By the time I reached them, Shannon was on her knees, the torch propped against the wall, her hands smoothing Thérèse’s fur.

I more or less fell to the ground, scraping my abused legs on pebbles. I didn’t want to think about the other shapes that pressed against my skin. “Is she okay?” I slid my hands under Thérèse’s muzzle, lifting her head a little. She whined but didn’t open her eyes.

“Look at her back legs.” Shannon drew my gaze down Thérèse’s long, lean back. Her hind legs splayed out at sick angles behind her, and an image of Moira Clayton flashed into my head, the night we’d gone after Sly. Her legs mangled, twisted and healing in the wrong position; permanently damaged. Thérèse’s were the same, exactly the same. My stomach churned.

Bait, I thought again. Cornered, crippled and left for dead, left to lure me and Shannon here. I looked around at the discarded bones, smelled the odor of recent deaths, fresh kills on the air. This was the vampire’s lair and we’d strolled in like walking Happy Meals. Shit. I started shivering uncontrollably, cold and fretful. “We need to get out of here.”

“Can you carry her?” Shannon asked doubtfully.

I shook my head, hugging myself. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to stand up again. “You need to shift, Thérèse,” I told her, lifting her head again and rubbing my fingers gently into her fur, trying to get her attention. “It’ll help.”

She huffed at me, flattening her ears against her skull. “I know it hurts,” I said. “I know it hurts like hell, but you have to shift.” I could almost taste her pain. Looking at her hind legs, I could certainly imagine the brutal strength it had taken to break them, the agony she must be feeling, but if she was human, she had a better chance of getting out. In human shape, me and Shannon could support her. Wolf-shaped, she was stuck.

“Will shifting fix her?” Shannon asked.

“Not entirely, but it might fix the worst of the damage.” I reached out for one of Thérèse’s legs cautiously and she jerked violently, yelping and snapping at me. Her eyes flashed in the darkness, dangerous and wild. She wasn’t all there, I realized. Booze and werewolves is a bad combination at the best of times.

“Thérèse, come on. Snap out of it.” I gripped her muzzle and shook her head firmly. If I was wolf-shaped, I’d grab her throat, but I doubted very much I’d get my human mouth through her thick fur to make my point. I growled too, putting all my anger and fear into the sound. Thérèse’s ears went back, flat against her skull and she whined submissively. “Right, so shift,” I ordered. I kept eye contact with her, reinforcing my dominance, but half of my attention was focused on the cave, listening for Le Monstre, certain it was sneaking through the shadows to corner us.

Shannon clearly felt the same; she kept the torch beam roving around the cave, scanning every corner and constantly coming back to the entrance to the cave. The bitter tang of her fear filled my nose. I gave Thérèse’s muzzle a sharp tap to hurry her up.

Thérèse rolled onto her back and shudders rippled through her, pained yelps escaping her mouth as the change took her. I could barely stand to watch as her twisted back legs lengthened and straightened, the broken bones knitting back together at nasty angles, shards digging through her newly-human skin and sending little spurts of blood flicking across the cave. The crunch and grind was sickening. It was the worst change I’d ever seen. I couldn’t imagine the agony Thérèse must be in.

When it was done she lay naked and human at my knees, covered in bruises from head to toe, blood streaked up both ravaged legs. She gasped for air, little hurt sounds that tore at my heart. Her left leg was especially mangled, shin bone jutting sharply out to the side, bulging under her skin. Tears poured from her dark eyes. I was amazed she wasn’t screaming her head off.

There was no way that Thérèse was walking out of the catacombs. I wrapped my arms round her shoulders, easing her into my lap for a hug. “Thérèse, we’ve got to get out of here,” I told her softly, hoping she could hear me. “I think I’ll have to carry you.”

“You can’t.” Shannon swung the torch round to shine on me, blinding me. “There’s no way you can carry her.” She gestured at my shoulder.

I patted the bite absently. It was tacky, throbbing, but whatever pain I was in couldn’t possibly compare to Thérèse’s. She huddled against me, pressing her face into my stomach and whimpering like a cub. “What choice do we have?” I asked Shannon. “You can’t carry her.”

“I... I could go and get some help,” she suggested. She fished her phone from her pocket. “No reception down here, but if I head outside, I can call an ambulance...”

I was shaking my head before she’d even finished speaking. “You can’t go wandering off! If that thing—” I couldn’t finish the sentence; the very thought made the words stick in my throat. “Help me get her up,” I said firmly.

We were wasting time and as I saw it, the only choice that made sense was for all of us to go now. No splitting up, not when Le Monstre knew the catacombs and we didn’t, not when I was hurting and Thérèse was mauled. We might outnumber the vampire, but there was no way we had the advantage. If we stayed here bickering over the best course of action, I had a horrible feeling we’d end up trapped. Better we make our move.

Shannon and I managed to get Thérèse up, her arms round our shoulders, her legs dragging uselessly along the floor. She bit her lip and mumbled endlessly in French, nothing I could understand, but I was betting it was close to fucking hell, I fucking hurt.

Our progress was achingly slow. Thérèse’s weight tugged at my shoulder and we couldn’t go too quickly without jolting her legs and hurting her further. It felt like forever before we even reached the cave entrance and there we hit a new problem. One I might have remembered if my head hadn’t felt so fuzzy.

The passage way we’d come down was narrow and winding; too narrow for two people to walk side by side, let alone three. “Shit,” I muttered. My head pounded as I tried to come up with a brilliant solution. If I carried Thérèse as I’d first planned, I could probably manage, if Thérèse didn’t mind getting her head bumped here and there. There was no other choice.

Shannon took the lead and I swung Thérèse into my arms as carefully as I could. With her being so much taller than me, it was awkward and my shoulder screamed in protest. I gritted my teeth and followed Shannon. . The minute we were outside, I would give in to the pain and the poison and the weariness and collapse. Just lay down on the pavement and sleep. The thought was a lure, pulling me on. Outside, outside, outside... Safety, escape, freedom.

We moved along in silence, hearing nothing but Thérèse’s ragged whimpers and our own footsteps on the stone. Shannon checked her phone constantly for a signal. I couldn’t relax, waiting for Le Monstre to leap out from some hidden alcove or the thick shadows. I couldn’t help wondering if there was a whole nest of vampires living down here, like one of those god-awful horror films Dad liked to watch when Mum was out, full of cannibal mutant families.

The very thought of more than one of these creatures nearly drove me mad with fear. I picked up my pace as much as I could, forcing Shannon to move faster to avoid me treading on her heels. Finally we reached the wider sections of the tunnel and I could smell rusted metal ahead. We had almost reached the gate. From there it was just a few minutes to the streets of Paris.

“I want Clémence,” Thérèse said with surprisingly clarity. Her voice was loud in the quiet cavern, echoing off the bone walls. She started struggling in my arms. “Where is she? Where’s Clémence?”

“We’re taking you to Clémence,” I told her quickly, trying to keep her still. It was impossible to do; she was so lanky, I couldn’t keep her arms pinned and hold onto her at the same time. “Thérèse, please, I’m going to drop you if you keep—”

A sound; a single sound, close but impossible to pinpoint, froze me. It froze Thérèse too. She went limp in my arms, eyes wide. Shannon didn’t hear it, but she stopped when she realized that we had, turning to flash the torchlight at us. “Trouble?”

“Shh,” I hissed. Was that it again? Or was that dripping water?

No. My blood ran cold when I heard the sound again, a little closer this time. A footstep; a single footstep that told us we were being stalked. The creature was working hard to conceal how close it was, moving one cautious step at a time. Creeping up from behind us!

“How the hell did it get behind us?” Shannon whispered.

“Doesn’t matter.” I nudged her forward. “Just keep moving.”

Thérèse went still in my arms again. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered. “I don’t want to die, Ayla. I need to see Clémence.”

“Nobody’s dying,” I said firmly. The gate was close. I eyed Shannon, wondering how she’d do moving Thérèse on her own. Shannon was slight, probably average strength for a human woman. She wasn’t a health nut by any means, but she looked after herself. She always said you never knew who you’d have to run away from as a PI. I doubted she could carry Thérèse, but maybe she could help Thérèse limp on.

I hustled us along, not worrying about hurting Thérèse. Her legs and arms scraped along the walls. It had to be killing her, but she didn’t complain, just clung to me, breath hot on my neck. Shannon jogged along, not quite running, but quick enough that her growing panic was clear. It fed mine, my wolf clawing me up inside, telling me to go faster and get the hell away from the monster sneaking up on us. I wanted to dump Thérèse and shift, drop into my stronger, speedier animal body and race away from the danger.

It took every shred of control I had not to. I bit my lip, the sharp pain keeping me focused on being human, on reaching the gate. We rounded a corner, going too fast and Shannon slipped. She fell with a cry, dropping the torch. There was a crack and the torch beam flickered rapidly, off-on-off-on.

“Fuck!” Shannon snapped, grabbing the torch and smacking it. The light buzzed but stayed on, nowhere near as bright as it had been. She aimed it down the tunnel, swearing when it barely lit a few feet of the path ahead. “We’ve got—“

“Don’t worry,” I ordered, my voice husky as the wolf battled for control. “Just keep moving.” Sweat beaded on my face and my teeth sharpened, pricking my lips as I spoke. We were so close to the gate, but I could smell Le Monstre now. I thought Thérèse could too, because her nails had become claws and they were slicing into my arms, drawing blood.

Shannon obeyed, clutching the torch to her chest and pelting off down the passage. She was soon lost in the clinging darkness. Panic seized me as the thought of multiple vampires came crashing back and I ran after her as fast as I could. It felt painfully slow, burdened down as I was with Thérèse in my arms, my limbs throbbing in pain and my head full of cotton wool. With the scent of Le Monstre on the air, my wolf tried to take over, her primal fears driving her to scratch at my mind.

Several times I nearly went crashing to the floor, but each time I managed to catch myself, my reflexes a little better with the wolf edging her way into my head and counteracting some of the vampire venom. Before long I’d caught up to Shannon. Thérèse was snarling under her breath. I ignored her as I skidded to a halt next to Shannon, who leaned against the wall, panting for breath.

“Is it still following?” she asked hoarsely.

I nodded. Our thundering footsteps had drowned out Le Monstre’s, but I could still smell it, always drawing closer. Thankfully, we’d reached the gate. It swung open, the damaged lock clanging against the bars. I pushed Shannon through and followed, setting Thérèse on the floor. She groaned, head rolling back against the wall.

“I can’t go on,” she said. “My legs...ils me font trop mal.” She rubbed her legs, smearing blood on her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said, gripping the gate and staring back down the passage, expecting to see Le Monstre emerge from the darkness. “We’re okay now.”

I could feel Shannon’s eyes on me, smell her sweat all mixed with terror and anger. “Ayla,” she started.

I slammed the gate shut before she could finish, with me on the wrong side. In the passage with the vampire. Shannon screamed and rushed the gate, but I grabbed the metal latch that closed it and slammed it across with an ear-ringing clang. I had my hands the bar at the same moment Shannon did, twisting with every shred of strength I had left to make sure it stayed closed. Shannon slapped at my hands, yelling my name, but she wasn’t strong enough to pry me off. I turned the lock into a mangled mess, too twisted and jammed for a human to open.

“Ayla!” she pleaded. I saw tears shining in her eyes. “Don’t, please, don’t you dare...”

“I’ll be fine.” I gripped her fingers, clinging tightly to the bars of the gate. “I promise.”

“We said... You said...”

I pressed my face to the bars, grabbing her chin and pulling her in for a quick, sweet kiss. “I promise,” I said again. “Just try to get Thérèse out, okay? I’ll follow, Shannon. I promise I’ll be right behind you.”

I’m not sure she believed me. I don’t think I would have believed her, if our positions were reversed. If our positions were reversed, though, I could have ripped the gate open. Shannon could not. “Please,” I said when she didn’t move, loading the word with all the urgency I was feeling. “Please go, I’ll be right behind you.”

She started to speak, but a rasping hiss from behind me silenced her. We both froze, staring wide-eyed and breathless at each other through the bars of the gate. My wolf howled inside of me, a primal wash of dread filling me. Shannon’s fingers dug into mine and I was horribly aware of the slow trickle of blood from Thérèse’s claws sliding down my arm.

“Go,” I said once more, the word like shards of glass in my throat.

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

I wet my lips, desperately racking my tired brain for something to say that would make her leave.

The vampire launched itself from the darkness, hit me full in the back and slammed me face-first into the gate. My head rang and Shannon’s shriek burned my ears. God, I wish she’d just run. I wish we’d all just run.

Eighteen

The vampire’s strength pinned me, grinding my cheek against the bars while its wicked nails ripped at my back. I couldn’t even scream, all the air knocked from me. But Shannon screamed for me, wrenching hopelessly at the gate. From the corner of my eye, I saw her fist fly through the bars, punching the vampire in the side of the head.

It recoiled with a hiss, giving me a second to twist and throw it off. It hit the floor hard but sprang back fast, on me again before I could do more than get back on my feet. I grabbed its hair, yanking at the greasy locks as hard as I could to get some leverage. I managed to pull us both down to the floor and get my knee up into its groin.

It didn’t react. I tried again with more force. This time Le Monstre responded by biting my bleeding arm, digging in deep. I yelled, slamming my fist into its face, aiming for the same spot that Shannon had. It shook its head like a dog with a bone and I felt its teeth cut into muscle and bone. I writhed beneath it, trying to throw it off again, but all I managed was to hurt myself as those fangs sunk further in. I panicked, thinking of the venom working its way into my blood stream and grabbed the vampire’s head with my free hand, shifting my nails to claws and jamming my thumb straight into its eye.

There was a wet popping sound that turned my stomach and the vampire tore its mouth from my arm with a roar. My own scream echoed it. The vampire reared back, hands pressed to its ruined eye. Gunky fluid covered my thumb and I wiped it off on my leg, trying not to notice the agony in my right arm. Internally I waged another battle, fighting my wolf and trying to stay human.

The vampire swiped at me, missing my face by inches. I rolled back against the gate, felt Shannon clutch at me and shook her off. Why wouldn’t she leave, dammit? I used the gate to haul myself back to my feet, watching the vampire for its next move.

It flew at me again, slamming me into the gate before I could react. It was so fast! As my head bounced off the bars, it struck me that being human wasn’t that important. Not as important as surviving. At least as a wolf I had teeth and claws to match the vampire.

As the vampire slashed at me again, nails scraping across the bloody mess of my arm, I gave in to the wolf, shifting.

It was a dangerous move and it hurt. Though I shifted fast—nowhere near as fast as Clémence—it took precious seconds to complete the change and in that time, I was terrifyingly vulnerable to the vampire’s attack.

Le Monstre didn’t waste the opportunity. It was on me as I shifted, slashing and snapping as I writhed and kicked. Shannon’s frantic screams tore through me as my hearing notched up towards wolf-sharp. I struggled as I shifted, my paws striking at the vampire’s face and stomach. I smelled its blood, bitter and sweet and vile, and barked in triumph as my human voice melted away.

Still, I was definitely the worse off by the time I’d finished shifting. I was covered in shallow cuts and scrapes and I couldn’t put any weight on my right foreleg. I hadn’t thought it through. Two good human legs definitely gave me more options than three good wolf legs. I danced back and forth as the vampire darted at me over and over, trying to fend it off with quick snaps and bites.

A shrill squeaking rose up behind us; I barely paid any attention, but I saw the vampire glance past me to the gate. While it was distracted, I shot forward, grabbing its arm in my jaws and clamping down hard. The vampire roared again, the sound chilling me. It was something from another age, something far removed from werewolves, a sound with nothing human in it.

I held on despite the foul taste in my mouth and the slow, hazy fog filling my head. That nasty grating sound carried on and the vampire clawed at my head and neck, trying to shake me off. Then it dug its nails deep into the bite on my arm, sending red hot lances of pain through me. I wanted to scream, wanted to cry, to curl up in a ball and whimper. I didn’t. I hung on until the taste of the vampire’s blood overwhelmed me, acid on my tongue, and I was forced to let go.

I spat a mouthful of the awful stuff on the floor, shaking my head. Bad idea. The world spun and I stumbled, stepping onto my right paw and collapsing with a cry as white hot pain flashed up my leg.

The vampire latched onto me like a leech, fangs plunging into my already-ruined shoulder. Stars sparked before my eyes and my head felt like it might explode.

There was a final, grating clunk-clank like some massive machine chugging to life, and something warm fell on top of me, crushing my hind legs. I howled, bucking to move it. The smell of blood, berries and Pack hit me and somewhere in the muzzy back of my head, I realized Thérèse had wrenched the gate open. With her on top of me and the vampire holding me down, I felt crushed, drowning. I closed my eyes, trying to gather myself for some kind of action—what, I had no idea. There probably wasn’t much I could do.

Thérèse dragged herself off me, crawling towards the vampire with teeth bared. She was still human, but she looked savage, streaked with blood, eyes wild. She grabbed its arm and pulled. There wasn’t much strength behind the motion, but it was enough to let me rip myself free of the vampire’s bite. Fresh waves of pain raced through me and for a second I thought I’d pass out.

The vampire snapped at Thérèse, but she pulled back in time to avoid its fangs, and slapped it, her palm cracking across its cheek. Again, there was no real power in the blow, but it was another distraction while I pushed myself to my feet. I had to lean against the wall to stay on my feet, lumpy bones and jagged rocks digging into my ribs. Everything was swimming, spinning and blurring. I wanted to be sick.

The vampire was on its feet again, looming over Thérèse, who couldn’t even get to her knees. It struck at her, a cruel backhand that sent her crashing into me and we both went down. I got a mouthful of her hair; I was sure she got a mouthful of my blood. I was blinded, scared and barely able to move. I struggled to get Thérèse off me. Desperation gnawed at me.

Fast, hard steps pounded past me. I caught a whiff of sweat and Shannon’s perfume and desperation turned to fright. No, no, no... What was she doing, what could she possibly do?

I heard a monstrous cacophony of noise, a smack of something heavy against something fragile, bone breaking, the vampire’s wail. Thérèse dragged herself off me, sobbing loud enough to hurt my ears, but it paled in comparison to Shannon’s screams. My heart raced fast enough to burst. She’s hurt, she’s hurt, oh God, I need to see, I need to move. She was hurt. She couldn’t be...

It took long, awful seconds for my vision to clear. When it did, I saw Shannon standing over the fallen vampire, raising that heavy torch and slamming it down on the creature’s face over and over and over, the light flashing on and off with every blow. The crunch as the torch hit flesh was sick, blood splattering from the vampire’s broken nose. Shannon screamed as she attacked, hair flying about her face, skin ashen. Her arms trembled with the effort and sweat and spattered vampire blood dripped from her.

It was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen and I couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t move to stop her. The vampire tried to fight back, swatting weakly at her legs and tearing rents in her jeans, but Shannon didn’t even notice, she just kept pummeling Le Monstre with the torch, even though she could barely lift it anymore. Her screams were turning to sobs, ragged and gasping.

I forced myself to claw my way towards her. Thérèse did too, both of us so slow it was like we were moving through tar. Every inch of me burned with pain and the urge to stop and just fall into unconsciousness was overwhelming. But Shannon, Shannon...she drew me on.

I kept moving until the vampire’s leg was within reach and then I bit down hard, severing muscle and tendon. I had to let go of the cold meat between my teeth almost immediately, unable to stomach anymore of that bitter blood in my mouth.

The vampire didn’t react, and I realized Shannon had beaten it unconscious. It lay limp, blood from its nose and mouth pooling around its head. I glimpsed the tip of a broken fang floating in the pool and felt a spark of grim satisfaction.

Shannon continued her assault, either not knowing or not caring that the creature was no longer putting up a fight, no longer moving. Thérèse reached my side and plucked at Shannon’s jeans, calling her name.

“Shannon, mon ami, please, we must go now, please. It is done, it can’t hurt us now.”

Her words seemed to penetrate the animal haze around Shannon. She sucked in a deep gulp of dusty catacomb air. The torch fell from her grasp, landing next to the vampire’s battered head. She covered her face with her trembling hands and for a second none of us moved. Shannon sobbed, the sound muffled by her hands. I thought maybe she was crying my name.

***

It felt like a lifetime had passed since Shannon and I went down into the catacombs, but when the three of us finally dragged ourselves out—Thérèse with a hell of a lot of help from a silent Shannon—the sky was still dark, Paris still sleeping. I was too numb to be surprised, but a part of my brain noted that nothing had changed above ground and thought that it should have. It should be daybreak, at least, a physical sign that the fight was over, that good had triumphed over evil. The sun always rose at the end of vampire films, didn’t it?

We got as far as the street and then it was as if we all gave up in unison. My foreleg was useless; I’d only got myself this far by propping myself against the walls and dragging myself along. When we were outside, I figured I didn’t have to move anymore and finally gave in to the urge to simply fall over. Shannon helped Thérèse down onto the pavement, her broken legs curled awkwardly underneath her, before she sat herself down next to me and buried her face in my fur.

She stank of vampire blood and spent adrenaline, but it smelled like heaven to me. I turned my head to lick her arm, the only part of her I could reach and she laughed. “God, Ayla. Let’s go to Scotland next year, okay?”

I huffed my agreement. Shannon pulled herself back to her feet, pushing her hair from her face. She pulled her phone from her pocket, checked the screen, and cursed. “Smashed in the fight,” she said, showing me. She cast around, searching for something. I was too dizzy and tired to figure out what she was doing, but then she set off with purpose across the road and I noticed the phone box. Relief settled over me like a blanket. She’d call an ambulance or the police. Someone else could take care of everything now. I closed my eyes and gave in to the call of darkness.

***

I came to in hospital; Hôtel-Dieu de Paris, of course, my second home. I was human and my right arm was swathed in fresh white bandages. A drip fed into the arm, some liquid that made my eyes water. My head ached, my body felt heavy and sore, my throat felt like sandpaper. I sneezed, which made my entire body pulse with pain.

“Bless you,” Shannon said. I jumped, glancing over at her. She was slumped in the chair next to my bed, pale and red-eyed. She had an impressive collection of bruises and cuts up and down her arms, but other than that she looked...not okay. She looked haunted. Her eyes were shadowed and she looked somehow smaller. Like the night’s events had taken something physical away from her. I pictured her bashing in the vampire’s skull and knew I’d nailed it. Something had changed in Shannon. Violence left its mark, maybe more so when you’d committed it than when you’d been the victim.

“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching for her hand. It seemed an incredibly lame question. Clearly, I thought, she wasn’t.

But she smiled for me, raised my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles. “I will be.”

“What happened?”

“I called an ambulance. Thérèse is in surgery right now, but based on the doctors’ faces when she got here, I don’t know how much good it will do.” She shook her head. “Poor girl. You got off lightly. Your arm’s infected, but they tell me good old werewolf healing will fix you up in a week or so. You’re probably going to feel like you have the flu for a while.”

“Am I allowed to shift?” I asked hopefully. The idea of being banned again made my headache much worse.

Shannon nodded. “As soon as you’re discharged, you’re free to going running around in whatever body you like.”

I sighed and settled back against my pillow. “And ... everything else?” I asked, unable to say the word vampire, hardly daring to ask at all, with that dark light in Shannon’s eyes.

She stared at the floor, clenching and unclenching her fists. For a long time she said nothing, throat working as she swallowed. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “The police arrived, but I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Do you think I killed it?” She looked up then, gazing at me pleadingly. I didn’t know what she was pleading for. Did she want to have killed it? Did she want me to assure her that no, the vampire was probably off licking its wounds? Surely not.

I settled for a flippant answer, hoping it was the right choice. “You can’t kill the undead, Shannon. Everyone knows that.”

To my intense relief, she laughed. It was a bitter, short laugh, but some of the darkness left her eyes. “I’m never leaving England again. I might never leave the house again.”

I’d be happy with that. I closed my eyes, feeling dizzy again. My arm itched and our too-brief conversation had exhausted me. I reached for her again, sighing with contentment when she leaned over to kiss my forehead. “Go back to sleep,” she told me gently. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

The next couple of days were like that, me drifting in and out, Shannon always there when I woke up. She still looked drawn and tired, but we didn’t talk about it. We spoke very little in fact. While the vampire venom worked its way out of my system, I couldn’t concentrate long enough to hold a proper conversation. At the end of the first day Shannon told me Thérèse would be discharged in two weeks, with a full recovery on the cards. Considering the gruesome state of her legs, it seemed like a miracle to me. According to Shannon, the doctors agreed.

The second day Sun came to visit, bringing the biggest bouquet of flowers I’d ever seen, a riot of orange and pink orchids and roses. “For both of you,” she said, arranging them on the windowsill over my bed. “For Mikey.”

She looked ready to pop. “Are you staying in Paris until the baby comes?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “I still want to go to England with you guys. I can’t go home, Ayla, I couldn’t stand it.” She confessed that she’d heard from her family, via Mike’s. “They’re pretty unhappy with me right now, but they’re cutting me a break given the…circumstances. They think I’m going home after the baby’s born.” She patted her bump protectively. “They’re wrong.”

She’d changed too, I thought dimly as sleep took me again. There was steel in her voice that I couldn’t match up with the fluffy-headed wolf I’d known this past week. Maybe she’d always been made of steel and Mike’s death had rocked her? Or maybe it had put the steel there. Sun didn’t mention Le Monstre. It was like we were all just going to pretend it hadn’t happened. I wasn’t sure if I was okay with that or not.

***

They had to release at the end of the second day, because Shannon and I were supposed to be heading home the next day. I was sent packing with an armful of pills and a stern lecture in French that I didn’t understand. The tone was clear enough that I guessed I was being told not to come back any time soon.

Shannon was waiting for me in the reception area, a paper in her hands. Without a word, she showed me the front page. Under the headline, ‘Horreur dans les Catacombes,’ there was a big, full color picture of the tunnel in the catacombs with its broken gate and a pool of blood. No vampire. No body. I wet my lips, staring at her.

“No body,” she echoed my thoughts. “The police are looking at it as potentially another Le Monstre killing right now.”

“So Clémence...?”

“Released this morning. I haven’t seen her, but it was on the news.”

We hailed a taxi and were soon on our way back to Montmartre. For the first few minutes, neither of us spoke, but then I had to ask, “Do you think it’s still out there?”

“I’m trying really hard not to think about it at all,” she confessed, clinging to my hand. “But I suppose the answer must be yes.”

I shivered, bile rising in my throat. “I can’t wait to get home.”

“We have to tell the police what we know,” she said, surprising me. “If it is still out there, they need to know everything before someone else dies.”

She was right, but my stomach churned at the thought of going to the police. “They’ll never believe us. We’ll be hauled in for questioning and all kinds of shit. I can’t face it, Shannon.”

“Ayla.” Her voice was gentle, and I guessed she was preparing to say something she knew I’d hate. “We have a responsibility here. This isn’t a Pack situation where you can keep it secret and hope for the best. People’s lives are at risk.”

I rubbed my face with a groan. “I know.” The Pack comment stung, but I swallowed the instinct to snap back. I couldn’t face an argument right now either. “Maybe we can make an anonymous phone call? Or send a letter or something? I can’t sit in a police station and talk about vampires, Shannon. I really can’t.”

She frowned, looking like she might argue, but in the end she nodded. “I need to tell someone,” she said finally. “I need to get it out of my head. I’ll call.”

“Anonymously?” I was being a coward, I knew and both my human and wolf selves hated it. But I hated the thought of being dragged into a messy investigation more. I tried reminding myself of my ambition to be a community support officer, told myself I’d be dealing with this kind of shit one day if I saw my ambition through. I should be brave and do the right thing, I knew. It didn’t help.

“Anonymously,” she agreed with an edge of reluctance.

I leaned back against the taxi seat, cool leather soothing against my sore head. “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for, but I felt like I should.

“Don’t be. None of this is your fault.” She rested her head on my good shoulder, snuggling up against me. “I want this to be over as much as you. But I can’t just sweep it all under a rug and carry on like it didn’t happen.”

She didn’t say it was a wolf/human divide; that violence and bloodshed was a big part of werewolf life and we handled it differently. She didn’t say it because it wasn’t true; humans were just as capable of violence and bloodshed as wolves and when you stripped away all the bullshit, we were all animals underneath. She didn’t say it. But I felt it.

Nineteen

We made the call as soon as we got home. It took a while, with the officer at the front desk having to find someone fluent in English, but we got it done. Shannon clutched the phone receiver the way she’d held the torch, with a death-grip, like it was a weapon. She kept her voice level and calm; she didn’t use the word vampire.

I sat holding her free hand, listening to the officer on the other end of the line carefully clarifying Shannon’s statement. The catacombs, yes? There was a fight, yes? She didn’t want to leave her name, no?

Finally, she hung up with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped and a little more of the weary darkness fell away from her. “They knew most of it already,” she told me. “I bet they’ve been combing those tunnels for every scrap of evidence they can find.”

“That wasn’t the point though, was it?” I reminded her. “You needed to tell them.”

She closed her eyes and fell into my arms. I held her as tightly as I could, rocking her and kissing her hair. “We’ll be home soon,” I promised her.

***

We spent the day curled up together on the sofa, dozing, reading, and not talking very much. Late in the afternoon, there was a knock at the door, and I smelled wolves. I opened the door to find Sun, Clémence and Thérèse on the doorstep, all wearing matching looks of expectant pleasure.

“Ayla!Mon héro!” Clémence pounced on me, almost knocking me over, and hugged me hard enough that my ribs creaked. “You save us from fires, you save us from monsters, you are like a superhero!”

Cheeks flaming, I wriggled free of her crushing embrace. “Don’t be silly,” I mumbled. “Come in. Are you all okay? Does anyone want tea?”

Everyone wanted tea. Clémence insisted on making it though, escorting Sun to the sofa and helping Thérèse, who was in casts and on crutches, over to the kitchen table to sit down. Shannon and I sat together, exchanging baffled looks. Clémence was like a domestic whirlwind, making drinks, making snacks from the meager supplies in the cupboards, chatting wildly about nothing and generally being too hyper to bear.

“Clémence, how are you?” Shannon interrupted her finally. “The police and everything...are you okay?”

She turned a genuinely bright smile on Shannon. “I am excellent, trés bien. All is well, yes? Everyone is safe, nobody is dead or in jail. We are all fine.”

It was such a simplistic way to look at things, but her determined cheer was catching. “I suppose we are, mostly,” I agreed finally.

“Mostly,” Shannon echoed, her hand tight on my knee.

“So, we need to do something big to thank you both,” Clémence continued. “Thérèse and I, we owe you so much.” She shot her girlfriend a fond smile, which Thérèse returned. I imagined they’d had quite the reunion. I wondered if they’d get past Patric’s death and Thérèse’s hang-ups and see that fondness turn into something more solid.

“We have a present for you,” Thérèse said. “Well, it is a surprise, anyway. I hope you both like surprises.”

Sun squealed and clapped her hands together. “I do. I love surprises. I get to come, right?”

“We are all going,” Clémence announced. “D’accord?” she asked me.

I didn’t really think we were being given a choice. We drank our tea, ate our snacks and then Clémence hurried us out of the flat and down the hill towards the Moulin Rouge.

It was almost six o’clock and the doors were open, people queuing to get in. The art-deco paintings of corseted girls glowed in the green light of the sign over the door. Everyone I could see was wearing formal wear; silky dresses, dinner jackets, sparkly earrings. My heart skipped as I realized what Clémence’s surprise was.

“Clémence, we’re not dressed for this,” I protested, tugging at my t-shirt. “Can’t we go back and—”

“We will be late!” She laughed at me, shoving me into the queue. “There is no dress code. We are paying, we wear what we like, d’accord?”

I wasn’t convinced, but as we stood in line, I saw one or two other casually-dressed people join the line. Next to me, Shannon buzzed with excitement, her eyes fixed on the velvet-darkness of the Moulin Rouge’s interior. I relaxed completely. For the first time since the catacombs, exhaustion didn’t line her face. I decided then that Clémence was right, or she would be. We would all be fine.

***

Our little group got a few funny looks as we entered the Moulin Rouge. Except for Sun—who wore a shimmery silk purple, pink and blue dress—we were all dressed down. Nobody said anything, but I could sort of tell that the staff taking our coats were thinking dirty thoughts. I thought only Thérèse’s pitiful appearance stopped them actually voicing them.

They didn’t stop us from entering and nobody stopped me wandering round the gift shop staring greedily at Moulin Rouge perfume, jewelry and fountain pens, all way out of my price range, but so pretty to look at. The perfume would smell amazing on Shannon, musky and sweet.

Finally we were ushered through to the main room, a massive affair packed with tables and hung with chandeliers, red velvet draped everywhere. Most of the tables were already full. The waiter took us to one to the left of the stage, close enough that we’d have a perfect view of the show once it kicked off.

“This is amazing,” Shannon said, taking the seat next to me. “Clémence, you shouldn’t have done this. It’s too much.”

“Not at all!” Clémence threw her hands up. “We owe you so much more.”

“We thought this would be a perfect Parisian thank you,” Thérèse added, patting Shannon’s hand, her eyes serious, her smile warm. “A small one, compared to all you have done.”

I thought I might cry. I managed not to, but my eyes definitely watered a little. I was still feeling the after effects of Le Monstre’s venom, kind of fluey, I could use that as an excuse if anyone noticed I decided.

“It’s gorgeous,” Sun said, easing into her seat, her large bump making the process overly elaborate and complicated. “Oh my God, do you think they’ll have ponies in the show? Mikey told me sometimes they do.”

Thérèse was already flicking through the menu. “I came for my sixteenth birthday and they had dogs then. Little poodles. Very sweet, very well-trained.”

I could imagine. Dogs didn’t like wolves, as a rule. I had an image of a pack of poodles running riot over the stage, tripping up dancers in their efforts to get away from the wolves in the audience and had a fit of giggles. When I shared the image, Sun giggled too, but the others simply shook their heads and sighed, like the pair of us were the naughty kids lowering the tone.

The Moulin Rouge’s food didn’t compare to some of the restaurants Shannon and I had already eaten at, but I couldn’t have cared less. The champagne was great and it flowed freely. I was already well on my way to being drunk before the show started and happier than I’d been for... Well, yeah, okay. The whole holiday. If our luck held, who knew, I might even see a mime before we left Paris.

Shannon kept leaning in to kiss me or stroke my hair, her own champagne going down just as easily. Every little touch was like a blessing, a silent affirmation, we’re okay. I’d been expecting anger, rows, after what I’d pulled in the catacombs, but they hadn’t come yet and I thought now they might not come at all. I held her hand under the table until the food arrived, and then I shifted my chair closer to hers so our legs were pressed together while we ate.

I picked over my salmon, eyes fixed on the big stage. The curtains were drawn, but I could smell bodies moving behind them and the excitement whispering through the packed room was building as the countdown ran down to the moment that the curtain would pull up and the show begin.

I almost squealed when finally the curtain did rise and the lights went down. Suddenly the stage was alight with glitter and jeweled tights and screaming with fuchsia feathered headdresses and massive deep blue feathered fans. Wild, carnival music played and I watched entranced as the dancers kicked and whirled and spun their way across the stage.

It was magical. The dancers were an even mix of wolves and humans: the wolves using their strength to throw humans through the air, the humans turning gracefully as they flew, like birds and butterflies in their brilliant outfits. Every time I held my breath, sure they’d fall or crash as they were tossed higher, but every time the flying dancer landed safely in a waiting wolf’s arms and the audience shouted their wonder.

For what felt like far too short a time, we were dazzled by one routine after another, the outfits ranging from traditional can-can skirts to futuristic silver affairs, to elegant ball gowns with elaborate wigs. There were no ponies, much to Sun’s disappointment, but there were poodles—just as well-trained as Thérèse had said. It was magnificent—the music, the acrobatics, the artistry of it all—I could have watched it forever. If I lived in Paris I’d be here every weekend. maybe every night.

I didn’t want to leave when it was over. Shannon had to drag me out of the gift shop before I spent every penny we had on souvenirs we couldn’t afford. I did manage to snag a bottle of perfume while Sun distracted her, tucking it in my bag to present to Shannon when we were alone.

Out on the street, the cool air was a relief after the heat of the Moulin Rouge. People milled around taking photos of the windmill and dancing their own clumsy versions of the can-can. “Thank you so much.” I hugged Clémence, flushed with excitement and happiness. “That was amazing!”

“Good.” She hugged me back. “You deserved a beautiful last night in Paris after this week.”

I didn’t want to say goodbye to her or Thérèse now it had come to it. Despite everything, I felt like we couldn’t yet. We all ended up in a cocktail bar across the street, downing French martinis and Cosmopolitans, teasing Sun who pouted over her sparkling water and getting drunker and drunker until the barmaid insisted it was high time we all went to bed.

By then it was impossible for me to tell if the fuzzy head I had was down to drink or vampire venom, but I still had the presence of mind to remember Le Monstre, remember that there’d been no body. The thought sobered me and after Sun, Shannon and I tearfully hugged Clémence and Thérèse goodbye, with lots of kisses and promises to stay in touch, I insisted on waiting for their taxi with them, which meant we had to do the whole tearful kissing and hugging thing all over again when it finally arrived.

Shannon and I clung to each other as we staggered back up the hill and it was Sun’s turn to tease us for being lushes as she trailed after us. Climbing the stairs proved difficult but finally, with a lot of giggling, we were outside our front door. Sun had to unlock it for us.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning,” she said, hugging us both. “It’s been an amazing evening.”

“Amazing,” I agreed, since I was at that stage of drunkenness where all I could do was repeat everyone else’s words.

Shannon pushed me inside, waving good night to Sun and we made it as far as the sofa before we both fell over. I landed on my bad arm, too drunk to notice and wrapped my good arm around Shannon, pulling her closer to me for a kiss. She tasted of cranberries and vodka. Amazing.

“I got you a present,” I told her, fumbling to get to my bag.

“Oh?” She sat up. A shaft of moonlight fell through the window, casting a glow around her pale hair. She looked like an angel and for a second all I could do was stare and be grateful she was mine.

“Yeah,” I said finally, an idea blooming in my cocktail-filled head. “Tell you what, go and get into bed. Naked. Wait for me, okay?”

She obeyed and I gave her a minute or two before following. She lay on the bed sheets, skin bare, a smile curving her lips. I had the perfume bottle in hand and her smile grew when she saw it. “You didn’t.”

“Obviously I did.” I waved the red bottle around to prove it. “So, where do you like being kissed best?”

She laughed. ”What?”

“Coco Chanel said women should wear perfume where they want to be kissed,” I told her. “So where do you want to be kissed?” I knelt over her, perfume at the ready. “Here?” I spritzed her throat lightly and leaned in to kiss there, her skin tasting as sweet as I’d thought. “Here?” Her wrists next. She sighed with pleasure as my lips caressed her. “Where else?” I asked her softly, circling her nipple with my fingertip.

It turned out there were a lot of places Shannon liked to be kissed.

***

Twelve hours later we were leaving Paris. Sun would follow in a week or two, after all her paperwork was sorted. Clémence and Thérèse had waved us off at the train station, promising they’d be over to England for a visit soon. I was surprised at how pleased that made me.

The train chugged out of the station and before long Paris was behind us. I rested my head on Shannon’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. She still smelled of the Moulin Rouge perfume, but more than that, she smelled like home. A place was I was glad to be heading back to.

A quick scan of the papers at the station offered no new information about Le Monstre. No more killings, which was good, but no trace of the creature either. At least not that were being reported. I wondered if thoughts of the vampire would ever leave me. There were too many mysteries to it still. I had my Katrina Pagan novel on my lap, a book where vampires were seductive and oddly predictable in their bloodlust. A world far away from the creature we’d fought.

The train sped on down the tunnel. I stared out the window, seeing nothing but darkness. I tried not to think about anything but home, our bed, my family, Vince’s cooking. But I couldn’t help but think of Le Monstre, vanished from the catacombs without a trace and this long dark road to England. It seemed the perfect escape route.

“Nobody will ever believe us,” I told Shannon. “If we tell them what it was like, they’ll never believe it. Vampires are supposed to be beautiful and classy and all that.”

She glanced at my book. “Well, anyone who takes their ideas from that kind of junk deserves to have their blood sucked.”

I tapped her knee to scold her. “You might like them if you try them.”

“I’ve had enough vampires. Werewolves suit me fine.”

I sighed and glanced out the window. “I’ll be glad to be home.”

“Me too.” She sounded like she meant it, . Our new home, our new city, not the North and our old home.

“Do you mean it?” I asked, anxiously. I wasn’t really expecting our relationship problems to be solved, given the nightmare week we’d had, but I hoped we’d at least reached a truce on the issue.

Shannon rubbed her forehead, the motion sending another waft of perfume my way. “We don’t need to pack up and head back north just yet, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said finally. My heart leapt. “After everything that’s happened, I just want a quiet life for a while.” She turned to smile at me. “I hate moving house.”

Something came loose in my chest and I couldn’t suppress my sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I murmured.

She kissed me. “Together or not at all,” she told me. ”That’s us, right?”

I returned the kiss, hoping she could taste my love in it. “That’s us.”

Bonus Material

DESIRE BY MOONLIGHT extract

Curious about Ayla’s favorite literary heroine Katrina Pagan? Wondering how to lay your hands on a copy of Desire by Moonlight by Meredith Greening? Exclusively to the DARK HUNT Bonus Materials is an extract of this delicious pulp novel of the werewolf assassin who takes out vampires for the government.

A WOLF IN GIRL’S CLOTHING

The short story A Wolf in Girl’s Clothing takes us back to how Ayla met Shannon...or rather how Shannon met Ayla.

Desire by Moonlight

extract

Meredith Greening

I Had an hour until sunset. I spent it holed up in my sleazy motel room checking my vampire hunting kit and trying not to think about the weird conversation with Grady. I’d rescued him from that bastard alpha because it was the right thing to do, not because I expected anything in return. I certainly hadn’t expected this sudden proclamation of devotion and I didn’t know how to deal with it. Grady had to understand that our current living arrangements were temporary, that he’d have to find his own place and live his own life. And Thamuz could not know about Grady’s crazy crush on me. I so did not want a demon and a werewolf coming to blows in my redecorated house. I’d only just paid off the kitchen.

Still, that was an issue for tomorrow. I couldn’t solve my domestic problems from here so I put them out of my head.

It had been a while since I’d needed my vamp kit—the Division for Preternatural Control had been training specialists for the past year so I could use my talents elsewhere. My polished wooden stakes and vials of holy water were a little dusty after being stuck in a black leather bag for so long. I tested one of the stakes by impaling my stained pillow, figuring the motel owner could never tell the difference, and decided they were still sharp enough to serve. The Donnellys had been adamant that they didn’t want the vampire that turned Kimberley dead, but rather brought to justice. As far as I was concerned, there was no difference when it came to vamps.

Satisfied with the stakes, I turned my attention to the new toy Finch had sent me. It looked kinda like a flare gun, but Finch’s neat note explained it actually projected UV light, guaranteed to stop a vamp in its tracks for up to thirty seconds. I grinned, an excited little snarl escaping me. I couldn’t wait to try this baby out on a bloodsucker.

Weapon check done, I dressed for the occasion. My DPC uniform of black leather was going to be hot as hell on a sultry summer night like this, but it afforded me the best protection if it came to a fight and I was pretty sure it would. This vamp had already taken out three police officers and a former Marine—it wasn’t going to go down easy. But then again neither did I.

Werewolves are tougher than the toughest cops, although you’d never get the cops to admit it. I pulled on the leather, enjoying the cool feel and heady scent, following it with a pair of shit-kicker boots. I’d always wished I could be like She-Ra, kick-ass in high heels, but really? Heels are only good for falling over at the wrong moment, be it in combat or the middle of a date. I wore them only under duress and never gracefully. Give me a pair of steel-capped combat boots every time.

My phone rang as I finished lacing the boots. I grabbed it without checking the caller ID. “Katrina Pagan.”

“Kat,” Thamuz growled down the phone. “Why is the runt still in your house?”

I groaned inwardly. So not the time for this. Tham sounded pissed. Like, fire-starting pissed. I hoped he wasn’t around anything flammable. “He’s got nowhere else to go, Tham. We’re working on it, okay?”

“Work faster,” he ordered, an angry rumble in his dark-velvet voice. “I don’t want him there. The place stinks of his musk.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not crazy about it myself, but what do you want me to do? I can’t just kick him out on the street.”

“Why not? He’s an adult.”

“He’s a victim of sustained, serious sexual abuse,” I said sharply. “He needs a little compassion, dammit.”

Tham sneered. “Where I come from, there’s no compassion for the weak.”

My temper rose, my beast infuriated by his dismissive cruelty towards another werewolf. “Well I guess that’s the difference between you and me, Thamuz. I take care of people. I pride myself on it. I may not be wild about Grady crashing with me, but that’s the way it’ll be until he’s back on his feet. If you can’t get that through your thick demon skull, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Dammit, Katrina!” he roared, so loud I actually had to hold the phone away from my ear. “The boy is obsessed with you. It’s painfully obvious and I don’t want him around you!”

“Jealous?” I smirked.

He roared again, incoherent now, just pure rage. I winced. Okay. Not the best time to pick a fight with my lover. I sighed and tried again. “Look, Tham, you’re being irrational. After everything Grady’s been through, a sexual relationship is going to be the last thing on his mind. He just needs some stability and normality for a while, okay? And it’s my house so it’s my call. You don’t have to like it but you do have to accept it.”

He fell silent, so deadly quiet that for a second I thought he’d hung up. Then, finally, he spoke again. “This discussion is not finished, Katrina.” And then he did hang up.

I sat down on the hard motel bed, cursing viciously. Why did he have to be such an alpha dick? He didn’t own me and what I did in my own home was my business, not his. Hell, knowing how furious it made him that Grady was there just made me want to keep Grady around. I can be perverse like that.

I tossed my phone aside and resolved not to think about it. Night was falling and I had a vampire to kill.

***

Small towns like Chesterbury all look the same after dark. Sure, there might be a bar or two open, filled with locals chewing over gossip and scandal, but mostly people just stayed indoors and kept to themselves. That was especially true right now, when everyone knew there was a vampire on the prowl. It made my life a hell of a lot easier. On my first vamp assignment my crew had to fight off a local mob as well as the nest of vamps they were trying to kill. It got ugly. I had the scars to prove it. Never underestimate a farmer with a pitchfork, that’s all I’ll say.

But Chesterbury’s residents were smart; the sheriff had listened to my advice and enforced a curfew, so now, an hour after sunset, the town was as still and quiet as the grave. I stood outside Al’s Convenience Store, letting my sharpened senses adjust to the flurry of scents and sounds filling the thick night. I’d come to know the scents of Chesterbury well over the past two days—hay from the fields around the town, the warm, musty smell of sheep that had my inner wolf drooling, as well as the mix of petrol and the busy, hurried humans common to any town or city.

But under all that, slight but for me unmistakable, was the cold scent of dead flesh and old blood. The vampire.

My wolf bristled, recognizing a natural enemy in that scent, and all my hunting instincts screamed at me to shapeshift and go after the bastard with tooth and claw, the way it was meant to be. There was no honor for the wolf in fighting with guns and holy water. That was cheating. Hell, my human self agreed—I wanted the pleasure of sinking my fangs into the vampire, rending him limb from limb for his crimes, for the lives he’d taken and ruined. For a second I trembled in the shadows, torn between the two halves of myself. It was always this way when my blood was hot, my passions flaming. Between the vampire and his victims, Grady and Thamuz, I was in flames and the wolf was seductive, offering an easy escape from the pressures and tangles of my human life.

But no. I resisted, holding firm to my human shape. DPC protocol meant that I had to at least read the vamp his rights before I staked his black heart. I couldn’t do that in wolf form and I didn’t want to have to lie to Commander Knox again. After the Santa Fe mess, he was unlikely to go as easy on me.

UV gun in hand, I headed west from Al’s, towards the edge of town. I passed the Donnellys’ house on the way and paused briefly, sniffing around the back and front yard to see if Kimberley or her maker had been back since she’d turned. But their scents were faded, their trail cold. It occurred to me for the first time that I might be taking down two bloodsuckers tonight, not just one. There was every chance Kimberley was still with her maker. It had been a week since her attack—by now she’d be in control of herself, presumably, learning to hunt and kill. An irresponsible maker might leave her to her own devices, let her make her own way in the world, but a newbie vamp wouldn’t last long alone and there’d be a trail of mauled bodies leading anyone right to her. No, I had to assume that they were together. If I hadn’t been so distracted by Grady, I would have figured that out earlier and planned for it.

Some nights you just can’t catch a break.

I moved on, picking up a fresher trail from the vamp at the corner of Whaler’s Street, the main road through town, and followed it toward the outskirts where cute little cottages gave way to barns and fields. The musk of the sheep was much stronger here and once again my hunting instincts flared up. Years of self-discipline kicked in and I forced my wolf self to ignore the easy prey in the fields. We were after much more challenging, rewarding game.

Moving alone through the darkness, I felt good. There was no moon but my night vision more than made up for it. A light wind ruffled my thick black hair and the silence of the town meant every sound of the night was sharp and clear. Owls swooping down on mice, foxes rustling through the hedgerows, crickets whirring in the long grass. It was a beautiful night to hunt the undead and I sank into it, letting go of every other thought and worry. I had a clear line on the vamps now—Kimberley too. Yes, I’d stake her too. I had to. The Donnellys had already said goodbye to their daughter; I wouldn’t feel a shred of guilt over putting her down if it meant saving other lives.

Out on the old Cattle Drive Road, the farm buildings were ruined and rundown and the scent of vamps was overwhelming. Their lair was somewhere nearby. These ramshackle old barns and outhouses made for perfect dens—far enough out of town to be private, but close enough that the bloodsuckers didn’t have to wander far to hunt. I wondered how long the maker had been holed up out here in the countryside. Vampires weren’t roamers as a rule; they found a city, staked out their corner of it and stayed there. Unless they were forced out by another vamp, they didn’t venture far and countryside killings like those in Chesterbury were pretty rare, simply because they were so hard to cover up. The government may have accepted shapeshifters, but the rights granted to us were still withheld from vamps because, ultimately, you didn’t make friends with things that wanted to eat you. With the New Blood political faction pushing for vampire rights, the bloodsuckers were working hard to present a civilised image to the world. Vamps like this one undid all that good PR.

Good thing I was here to mop up the mess. Not because I thought vamps deserved better treatment. But because, sometimes, there was a deep satisfaction to be had in killing something.

I vaulted over a low wooden fence into a barren field that might once have been ripe with golden corn, but was now bleak and lifeless. Fitting, really. A hundred yards away, an old cattle shed wafted the scent of rotting wood and undead flesh on the cool night wind. I circled around, putting myself upwind of the shed. Vamps didn’t have the same keen sense of smell that shapeshifters did, but they were still predators. I wanted to keep the element of surprise. I kept to the shadows, moving with silent expertise, the UV gun in one hand, a stake jammed in my belt. My little pouch of holy water vials was hooked on the belt too. My senses were on high-alert, my wolf ready to rumble. I grinned, knowing to any onlookers I’d appear feral and wild. Good. That was how I felt.

I stole up to the barn, listening of any signs of life—or unlife—within. There was a faint scuttling and I smelled rats. I peeked my head through a hole in the old wood that was the size of my fist. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the absolute dark within the shed and at first, when they did, I thought it was empty. Then I realized what I’d mistaken for a pile of old feed sacks was actually a person. Well, a vampire. It huddled against the far wall of the narrow building, head bowed, arms hugging knees. It was a submissive posture by anyone’s standard and I was guessing this was Kimberley. So where was her maker?

There was only one way to find out.

I stalked round to the shed door, gun at the ready, and kicked in the splintered wood with one good shot from my shit-kickers. The wood cracked and gave way and the vampire in the corner shrieked in surprise, leaping to their feet. Now I could see she was definitely Kimberley Donnelly—she had her mother’s fair hair and delicate looks. Her eyes blazed vampire-red though and she hissed at me, baring her fangs.

I wasn’t impressed. I’ve seen Tham with a hangover. Now that’s scary.

“By the authority invested in me by the Division of Preternatural Control, I order you to back the fuck up,” I told her, brandishing the UV gun. “Give up your maker and you won’t be harmed.” Lies, of course. I had to take her out before she started her own killing spree, but she didn’t need to know that, right?

She laughed, an edge of madness in it. A sound that told me she’d looked into the abyss for sure and that something had definitely looked back. “You think I’m stupid? You think I’m just going to hand myself over?”

“You will if you’re smart,” I replied. “But I’m guessing you’re not that smart.”

“Smart enough not to fall for the whole ‘no harm will come to you,’ routine,” she spat. She tensed, preparing to lunge at me.

I snapped on the UV gun. In the heavy shadows of the shed, the white light was utterly blinding, like fire from heaven. Kimberley shrieked and dropped to her knees, clutching at her head. I reached for my stake, ready to finish the job.

That’s when the second vampire hit me from behind.

He sent me flying and I dropped the UV gun. The light stayed on, but the second vamp kicked it out the door before I could grab it. Then he was on me again, pinning me to the ground. Fuck, these bloodsuckers were fast! We grappled for a second, each trying to get the advantage, but we were pretty evenly matched in strength. At least Kimberley would be out of action for a little longer. I had to buy Finch some chocolates or something.

After a bout of futile wrestling, the vamp stopped struggling with me abruptly, pulling back a little and giving me a clear view of his face as he studied mine.

Holy shit, he was hot.

It was a totally inappropriate thought, but damn, you had to see him. A face like an angel and eyes like all the temptations of hell. Golden hair fell across those eyes, shining even in the darkness. My heartbeat skipped and I’m not ashamed to admit I had a couple of wicked thoughts in the split second before he snarled, “Katrina Pagan. I knew it.”

“Have we met?” I still had my stake in my belt, along with my holy water. I couldn’t really get to the water pinned like this, but with a little luck I might reach the stake. I inched my hand slowly down towards my belt.

“Your reputation precedes you, wolf,” he said, in a velvety voice to rival Tham at his best. “Perhaps I should be honored they sent such a fierce killer for one lowly vampire.”

“Two lowly vampires,” I corrected, jerking my head towards Kimberley, who was rolling around in agony a few feet away, clawing at her eyes. “Did you get lonely, vamp? Just needed a little female company? How sweet.”

He hit me and stars flashed before my eyes. I snarled, my inner wolf surging forward so my hands became claws and I hit back, raking my claws down his face. He hissed in pain and leapt off me, back to his feet and in a fighting stance. I scrambled up too, stake in hand now.

“Wolves,” he said. “You’re all so fucking smug and superior, you shapeshifters. You’re no better than us. Worse, really. You’re just animals pretending to be men.”

“Better than corpses pretending to be men,” I shot back. We circled each other warily. The scent of his blood, coppery and rich, excited the wolf. I forced my hands back to human—better if I got a chance to go for the UV gun.

“But we were men, once,” he said, smiling a smile so beautiful it was almost painful. “You never were. Shapeshifters have always been freaks. Mistakes of nature.”

I growled, anger rising in me. “Come closer and say that, leech.”

He feinted at me. I wasted a second reacting and in that second Kimberley pounced on me. She wasn’t very strong, but she caught me off-guard. I staggered as she thumped at me, shrieking madly. I swung at her with the stake, instinct taking over, and jammed it between her ribs. It was a death blow. She fell back, surprise clear on her pretty face even in the dark. Blood welled at her lips as she collapsed, pawing uselessly at the stake. It took her five seconds to die. I counted.

Her maker swore viciously. “Killing children, Katrina? Is that how you get your kicks?”

I swung back to him, braced for an attack. “I kill monsters.”

“You’re one of the monsters. In a different world, you’d be the one hiding in stinking cattle sheds, hunted down and slaughtered by fucking humans, not us!”

“Maybe.” I grabbed a vial of holy water. “But this isn’t a different world.” I flung it.

The vial shattered on impact, like it was designed to, and the vampire screamed as the water hit him. His angelic face burned up like I’d flung acid at him. He fell to his knees, his agony palpable. I needed to finish him now, whilst he was incapacitated, but if I yanked the stake from Kimberley it was possible that she might start to heal. Shit! Why didn’t I bring two stakes?

The only other option was to rip his heart out with my bare hands and my wolf just loved that idea. I let my hands shift back to claws, flexing them with feral delight at the idea of finishing this vampire the old-fashioned way. I grabbed a handful of his silky hair, jerking him upright. The smell of sizzling flesh hit me hard, whetting my appetite further. Hell no, it’s not pretty or ladylike, but I never claimed to be a lady.

He glowered at me, eyes brimming with poisonous hatred. “You can kill me, Katrina Pagan, but I’m just one vampire. There are countless more. And our numbers are growing all the time. You’ll never be safe in the shadows.”

I smiled and plunged my clawed hand into his chest, ripping his sluggish heart free with a crack of ribs and a spatter of dark blood. I released him and he slumped to the floor next to Kimberley, gasping his last breaths in anguish. “One down,” I said.

A Wolf in Girl’s Clothing

It was a cool spring evening, the sky dusky blue and orange, and the line outside the Glitz nightclub already stretched to the end of the street. It was a mixed crowd, from teenagers who’d probably be denied access unless their fake IDs were very good, to adults who surely could afford to spend their time and money somewhere less tacky. The outfits ranged from ridiculous—one group of men all dressed in afro wigs and tie-dyed jump suits—to a little scary—two girls in full bondage gear, complete with spike heels, collars and leather bras. From inside my car, with the windows rolled up, I could still hear the shimmery, bass-heavy music pouring from the doorway and I was parked right across the street. Up close, it was surely too loud to enjoy.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t there to enjoy it. I was being paid to stake out Newcastle’s tackiest nightclub. This, I’d learned through a week of meticulous investigation, was where Toby Miller spent his Saturday nights. With a woman who was most definitely not his wife of one year.

I sipped at my latte and flipped once more through the photos sitting on the passenger seat. Toby and his wife, Manda, made a striking couple, both tall and dark-haired with olive skin. She was model-beautiful, he was almost effeminately handsome. They’d have gorgeous children, should they have any. Looking at Manda, recalling her soft voice and sweet manners, it was hard to imagine Toby would play away from home, but as a PI I saw men cheat all the time. Women too, on partners who adored them, were clever, wealthy, attractive and seemingly perfect. There was no fathoming the human heart, I’d concluded. Or the werewolf one, for that matter.

I set the photos down and turned my attention back to the queue outside Glitz. Toby was tall, well over six feet, and with his dark good looks, he ought to stand out in the crowd. The bouncer I’d spoken to earlier in the week told me Toby always showed up around eleven, once the first rush of customers had arrived, always with the same girl. It was only nine o’clock now, but I never took chances on people. People change their routines, they make new plans. And people who might suspect their wives of hiring a private eye to follow them around... Well, I was confident Toby didn’t suspect anything, but again, I never took the chance. I would sit outside Glitz until closing if that’s how long it took.

It took another two hours, by which time my latte had gone cold and I was stiff and a little bored. It was a relief when Toby rounded the corner, arm-in-arm with a short woman. Even if I didn’t have his photos, Toby would have stood out to me in the Glitz crowd for not standing out. No glitter or fairy wings or neon plastic for him. He wore faded black jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with some band’s logo on it. His companion was almost as conservative, dressed in ripped jeans and a blood-red tank top. Her black hair was short, spiky and streaked with hot pink. I considered her carefully. She was pretty, in a sort of waifish way, but not a patch on Toby’s wife. If he was having an affair, he’d traded down.

I watched them queue, snapping pictures as they huddled together, so very comfortable with each other. Their body language was relaxed, close. The girl being so much shorter than Toby, she had to crane her neck up to speak to him. There was warm affection on her face when they did talk, but it wasn’t romantic. No hand-holding or kissing, no lingering gazes or subtle caresses. Perhaps they were just cautious—the odds of bumping into someone else you knew in Newcastle on a Saturday were pretty high.

After about twenty minutes of queuing, they slipped inside. I hurriedly grabbed my handbag, shoving my camera inside, and got out of the car. The queue had died down considerably since Toby and his companion joined it, so I was inside Glitz within ten minutes, having paid a ridiculous amount of money for the privilege. Thank God Manda was covering my expenses. I handed my coat in at the cloakroom, feeling a little awkward in the sequined sea-blue dress I wore underneath. I wasn’t usually one for spangle, but I wanted to blend in, so I’d teamed the dress with towering turquoise heels and shimmery green eye shadow, my hair pinned up in a silly, fussy do.

Compared to the majority of the clubbers, I looked pretty conservative, but I felt fake and obvious.

I wove my way through the crowd, gritting my teeth at the awful music. I wanted a drink. I imagined the music would be a lot more tolerable filtered through a couple of overpriced rum and cokes, but drinking on the job was a recipe for disaster. I settled for an overpriced bottle of water and went hunting for Toby and his friend.

The plan for tonight was simply to observe. Manda wanted evidence Toby was cheating—or, more accurately, she was desperate for proof he wasn’t—and this was my best chance to get that evidence. Toby was a careful man, Manda told me, private and cautious, so I didn’t think I was likely to catch him making out with this girl on the dance floor, but people gave things away all the time without ever realizing. If he felt relaxed and safe here, he’d let his guard down and then I might see those tell-tale touches and kisses that would confirm Manda’s fears. For her sake, I hoped I didn’t.

Glitz’s dance floor was a huge square painted with neon swirls and ultra-violent patterns that dazzled the eyes and flashed painfully under the strobe lights. Low plastic-covered sofas sat around the edge and I perched on one of these, grimacing as my bare legs touched something slick and sticky. I hoped it was just a spilled drink.

A metre or so away from me, amidst a knot of girls in fairy wings and tutus, Toby and his friend danced gleefully, clearly immune to the awful, repetitive bass thud of the music. Or even actually enjoying it. They did hold hands now, swinging each other around, occasionally hooking up with one of the fairies in a sort of improvised jig before returning to each other. Under the flashing pink and green lights, the girl looked oddly magical, her face alight with joy. I wondered idly if she was a wolf—they always seemed more energetic and vigorous to me, as if the wild animal inside was always just on the verge of breaking free.

Toby himself did not look cautious or careful as he danced. He looked liberated, throwing himself around without a care for how ridiculous he looked. According to Manda’s tearful recollections, he’d barely danced with her at their wedding, telling her he felt silly in front of their families. The man I watched now didn’t care about feeling silly.

But he wasn’t acting like a cheat, either. For all their touchy-feely dancing, there was still no sexual spark between him and the girl. They were both drinking; him knocking back alcopops, her on the beers. If they were having an affair, I’d expect the alcohol to lower their inhibitions, turn their touches hot and sensual. But after half an hour and six drinks apiece, it was pretty clear they weren’t about to start groping each other. I wasn’t ready to write off the affair theory, but I’d seen nothing to prove it yet either.

“Alright, doll.” A shirtless man thumped down next to me, grinning widely at me. “You here alone?”

“Yes.” I shifted away from him. He stank of cigarette and beer. Even if I’d been into men, he wouldn’t be my type. I could never kiss a smoker.

“Well that’s no good!” he cried, shuffling closer to me. “Why’s a pretty girl like you here alone? Come for a dance.” He grabbed my hand. I shook him off.

“No, thanks. I’m busy.” I debated flashing my PI’s licence, but the last time I did that in a night club, the idiot I showed it to thought I was part of some police drug raid, freaked out and tried to assault me. I could live without a repeat of that. “I’m waiting for someone,” I said instead when he started to protest my refusal.

He pouted at me, as if this was somehow attractive. “Well if they stand you up, you come look for me, alright, doll?”

I smiled as politely as I could and he left. Always a relief when they got the message. I glanced back to the dance floor and saw to my dismay that Toby and his friend were gone. “Shit,” I muttered, hurrying over to the fairies. “Hey!” I caught one by the shoulder. She spun around to hug me, coating me in glitter. “Excuse me,” I said, disentangling myself, “where did the tall guy and the girl go?”

She frowned at me blearily. “You mean Ayla? She went to the ladies’ room.”

Toby was unlikely to be with her, but this might be an opportunity anyway. I made my way to the toilets, fending off a few more invitations to dance on the way. I wondered if wearing my ‘No Boys Allowed’ t-shirt would have been a better choice.

The ladies’ room was humid and dimly lit and full of girls re-doing their makeup and sharing gossip and in one case throwing up in a sink. The girl I wanted leaned against the wall nearby, wrinkling her nose as if disgusted. I guessed she was queuing for the toilet since she didn’t strike me as the type to care if her eyeliner was smudged. I joined her, trying not to stare at the puking girl. I felt like I ought to hold her hair out of her face or something, since nobody else was, but I didn’t want to lose my quarry.

Up close, Toby’s friend was younger than I’d realized—early twenties at the most—and much prettier than I’d initially thought. She smelled like apples, sweet and sharp. I didn’t realize how close I’d got, or even that I was practically sniffing her hair, until she turned her head suddenly, meeting my eyes with a surprisingly fierce gaze.

“What?” she demanded.

I stepped back, heart in my throat, caught off-guard. “Sorry, I just...” I fixed a big, fake smile on. “I’m a bit drunk.” I managed an impressively drunk-sounding giggle. “You smell really nice!”

She eyed me suspiciously, but a little of the fierceness faded. “I haven’t seen you here before,” she said. “First time?”

I nodded, keeping the bright smile in place. “Thought I’d check out the talent in a new part of town.” I leaned into her, lowering my voice confidentially. “That tall lad you were dancing with...he’s fit! He’s not your boyfriend, is he?”

She cocked her head, regarding me with a curious smile. And then, before I had time to react, she pinned me against the wall. I squeaked a protest but she ignored me, as did everyone else. She caught my hands gently but firmly, strong enough that I couldn’t wriggle free. She leaned into me now, pressing her body against mine in a parody of passion, as if she might kiss me...

...but she didn’t. She pressed her lips to my ear and whispered, “You don’t smell drunk.”

I flushed, realizing a little too late I’d been right—she was a wolf and so of course her senses were far sharper than mine. Sharp enough to know I’d touched nothing but water all night.

“What do you want with Toby?” she demanded. There was a snarl in her voice but she didn’t bare her teeth. That was a good sign—it meant she didn’t plan on ripping my throat out just yet. She was trying to scare me, but didn’t want to hurt me.

I’d taken a course on lupine-human relations as part of my PI training. It hadn’t been mandatory, but I was convinced it should be. Knowing the other woman’s show of wolfish aggression was just that—a show—was all that kept me from slinking away with my own metaphorical tail between my legs. She was intimidating, for all her small size, her pixie face tight with suspicion, her eyes alight with anger. The soft little growl rumbling in her throat was so inhuman. It flicked some switch in my brain, the part that was programmed for fight or flight. I needed to diffuse the situation before she really did lose her temper.

“I just fancied him,” I lied quickly. “Wanted to check he was available, that’s all. I didn’t realize you were his girlfriend, okay?”

She scowled. “I’m not his girlfriend and he’s not available, so you can piss off, alright?” She backed off a little, giving me breathing space. The warmth of her body left mine and I felt a mix of relief and regret. Under different circumstances, I might have liked to be pressed so closely against her.

“Alright,” I echoed soothingly. “I didn’t mean any harm, okay?”

She took another step back and that might have been the end of it if the puking girl hadn’t lurched away from her sink and thrown up on us both.

I groaned in disgust as vomit splashed up my legs. The wolf—Ayla, the fairy had said—swore as her jeans caught the worst of it. The girl collapsed at our feet, weeping and muttering. Her hair was caked in vomit and she was deathly pale, eyes watering, make-up smeared across her cheeks. The wolf and I exchanged glances. Annoyance and concern showed on her face. I knew my expression was about the same.

“Are you okay?” Ayla asked, crouching by the fallen girl. She shook her shoulder gently. “Hey, can you sit up?”

I knelt too, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the dispenser as I did. I wiped my legs, trying not to think about it too hard. Once I’d cleaned myself as best I could, I helped Ayla ease the drunk girl into a sitting position and began wiping her face.

“I’m really sorry,” the girl slurred. “I feel really sick.”

“Are you here alone?” I asked.

“Dunno,” she said.

I sighed. “We should get you into a taxi. Best thing you can do is get home and sleep it off.”

“I’m hungry,” she whined.

“I don’t know if food is a good idea,” Ayla said. She got herself a handful of paper towels and helped me clean the girl. “Let’s just get you some water and see about a taxi, okay? What’s your name?”

“Vicky.”

“Okay, Vicky, let’s get you up then.” Ayla lifted her with ease, leaving me to pick up the mess of paper towels and bin them. I hurried after Ayla as she helped Vicky out of the toilets and back towards the bar. I wanted to make sure Vicky got home safely, given the state she was in, but I also wanted to stick close to Ayla. I wasn’t done with her yet and this little interlude might relax her enough that I could pry loose some information about Toby.

Between us, we managed to get Vicky to drink a glass of water and then helped her outside to the taxi rank. She clung to me as we walked, groaning and dry-heaving, but didn’t throw up again, thank God. When we got her to a taxi, she suddenly stopped, slapping her forehead.

“I don’t have my bag! Where’s my purse? My phone...” She burst into tears.

Ayla and I exchanged looks again, a silent accord passing between us. Ayla dug in her jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled five pound note. I rifled through my bag and pulled out my purse—dropping my PI licence in the process. The slim leather card holder I kept it in landed at Ayla’s feet and she scooped it up before I could. I frowned, more at myself than her, and bundled Vicky into the taxi. I snatched Ayla’s money and gave it to the driver, along with twenty pounds from my own wallet.

“Keep the change,” I told him. “Vicky, don’t throw up in the taxi, okay?”

She slurred her thanks and slumped down in the seat. I hoped she didn’t pass out before she got home. The taxi sped off. I turned to Ayla, trying to snatch back my licence.

She dodged me deftly and flipped open the card holder. “Shannon Ryan, private investigator,” she read aloud before handing it back to me with a scowl. “What do you want with Toby?”

The rapport we’d built up helping Vicky was disappearing quickly. I decided I may as well be honest—I had a feeling lies wouldn’t get me far with this wolf in any case. “His wife hired me,” I said. “She thinks he’s having an affair.”

Her jaw dropped, eyes wide. Yes, I decided, she didn’t like lies because she was an appalling liar herself. No poker face whatsoever. Her mouth flapped silently for a few seconds, fish-like, before she snapped, “He’s not!”

“He’s acting like a man who is,” I countered. “Sneaking off, lying to his wife about where he goes and who he’s with...”

“She wouldn’t understand,” Ayla jumped in. “She couldn’t... She wouldn’t get it.”

I folded my arms, resisting the urge to smile at her since I didn’t think she’d appreciate it. I admired her loyalty to her friend—her quick, hot defense of him—but I couldn’t go back to Manda with, ‘you wouldn’t get it’. Not only would I have utterly failed at my job, I’d have failed her too.

“Look,” I said, “I get that you want to protect him, but consider his wife. They’ve only been married a year, she’s worried sick he’s going to leave her. She’s at her wit’s end and he’s obviously lying to her about something. If not an affair, then what?”

“Well he’s not having an affair with me,” she said, then added quickly, “or with anyone else.”

“Then why is he lying to his wife about coming here with you?” I challenged.

That stumped her for a second. She glowered at me. “I don’t have to tell you anything. It’s not like you’re the police.” She made to stomp past me, back into Glitz. I caught her arm as she passed.

“I understand you don’t want to talk to me,” I told her, “but think about Toby. He’s living a lie and that’s going to get harder and harder for him. The guilt, the pressure, it breaks people down. I see it all the time. Whatever his secret is, eventually it will get out and it will ruin lives. His, his wife’s and maybe yours, if you’re involved. Is that what you want for him? Because if you’re his friend, or lover, or whatever, you can help him.”

She wavered, looking distraught. “It’s not that simple.”

“Tell me,” I offered. “Maybe I can help.”

She looked me up and down and laughed. “You wouldn’t get it either,” she said.

“You might be surprised.” I was gambling on Ayla. She might just walk away, go tell Toby his wife was spying on him and blow everything. But I had a feeling a girl who was willing to help a drunk stranger home even after she’d been puked on was a bit more of a soft touch than she let on. I hoped my appeal might tug at her heart strings.

Sure enough, the look of uncertainty was back. “I shouldn’t say. It’s not my secret to tell.”

I stepped closer, wondering how far I could push before I sent her scurrying away. “In the end, it will come out,” I told her. “It’s better Toby has the chance to tell Manda on his own terms than because he’s forced into it, or exposed by me.” I tried a smile. She smiled back reluctantly.

“He’s gay,” she said finally. “Manda doesn’t know. Nobody does.”

I bit my lip. It wasn’t the answer I was expecting, although it made sense. But... “Why on earth would he get married if he’s gay?” I asked.

She sneered at me. “Told you that you wouldn’t get it. It’s a different world for us, okay? His parents didn’t accept him, they pressured him, told him it was a phase. None of his mates wanted to know and he thought he could...pretend. Shut it off. He really cares about her, you know, he does, but he can’t... You know...” She trailed off, waving her hands vaguely.

“I understand,” I said softly. “I thought my parents would be the same so I pretended for ages. I dated this poor boy for almost a year before I decided I couldn’t take lying anymore. And then when I did tell my parents, they were fine with it.”

She gaped at me again. It was hard not to laugh at her. “You’re not gay.”

“I don’t really think that’s your call,” I replied. “Now look. I sympathize with Toby’s situation. Honestly, I do. But as his friend, is this what you want for him? A life of deception and fakery? Is it what he wants for himself?”

“You’re not gay,” she repeated.

“I didn’t know werewolves had gaydar on top of all the other heightened senses,” I teased, oddly enjoying her disbelief. “And I don’t think my sexuality is the issue here.”

She seemed to recover herself, swallowing hard and glancing back towards the club. “It would kill him,” she said pleadingly.

I had to admire her determination to protect her friend, but it was pointless. No matter how much she pleaded, I had an ethical obligation to tell Manda the truth. I folded my arms and regarded Ayla seriously. “Isn’t it better that he does this on his own terms?” I suggested.

She wavered, so I pushed. “If you want to help him, this is the best way. I have to tell his wife what I’ve learned.”

She chewed her lip, anger and anxiety playing over her pretty face. Finally, she nodded, determination replacing the worry. “Let me speak to him. Just...just don’t say anything to his wife until I’ve spoken to him, okay?”

She looked desperately earnest. I had to smile. “Here.” I rooted around in my bag and found my business cards. “Why don’t you call me in the morning? First thing. I’m meeting with Manda at noon.”

She took the card and managed an ever-so-slightly flirtatious smile. “So is this how you pick up girls?”

“I don’t date girls,” I told her, mock-serious. “I date women.” That made her laugh. It was a good laugh, wild and careless. I felt a tug of attraction that I firmly suppressed. “Go and find Toby,” I said. “Buy him a stiff drink and talk to him. Make him see sense.”

She nodded, gave me one last, nervous smile and headed back into Glitz. I sighed, shoulders slumping as she disappeared. I hoped she would talk to Toby. I was asking a lot of her, but she seemed like a decent person. If there was any way to forge a decent outcome from this investigation, I wanted it.

***

I went straight home after that, desperate to wash off my heavy make-up and change into my cosy old flannel dressing gown. I reflected on the night as I curled up on my sofa with a bowl of ice cream and resisted the urge to check my phone every five minutes. I didn’t expect to hear from Ayla tonight. Part of me didn’t expect to hear from her tomorrow either. In her position, would I make my friend confess to his wife? Or would my desire to protect him override that?

I couldn’t honestly say and that bothered me. I didn’t enjoy moral grey areas. They made my job a lot harder.

***

Contrary to my expectations, my phone rang at eight am, jerking me from a strange dream about wolves with fairy wings. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes and yawning. I’d gone to bed late—well after two—and the shrill ringing of my phone was offensively loud. “Hello?” I mumbled into the phone.

“Is that Shannon?”

It was Ayla. I suddenly felt a little more awake. “Yes, hello. Can I help?”

She was silent for a few long seconds and I thought she might hang up. “I spoke to Toby,” she said finally.

“How did it go?” I kept my tone neutral, encouraging her to talk. Too eager might scare her off, make her feel pressured and cornered. Another tip from human-lupine relations.

“It was pretty horrible,” she said frankly. “We had this massive row and he wanted to find you, but I wouldn’t give him your number, and... Well... It just wasn’t nice.”

“I’m sorry.” I meant it. She sounded despondent and I could too easily imagine her sad expression. She felt guilty, I guessed, responsible for Toby’s anger. That made me feel guilty. I didn’t want her to be upset. “But it’s not your fault,” I told her. “You did the right thing.”

“I know,” she said, although she didn’t sound sure. “He went home to talk to Manda in the end. He said he’d call me, but...”

“It’s early,” I said, checking my alarm clock. Very early, I thought with a grimace. “They’ve probably had a long, tough night.”

“Well so have I,” she said, sounding grumpy now. “Thanks to you and your ‘honesty is the best policy’ bull, which is completely hypocritical coming from someone who spies on people for a living, by the way.”

That stung. “I don’t think either of us are in a position to talk about honesty, are we?”

“Is that some sort of dig about me being a werewolf?” she snarled.

“What?” I laughed, more out of confusion than humor. “I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.”

She inhaled deeply and fell silent again. I wondered if I should hang up. I was too tired to deal with snappy wolves, even cute ones. I had a ton of chores to get through before I met Manda and I had a feeling I’d need all my mental reserves for that meeting. Just as I was about to make my excuses and hang up, Ayla spoke again.

“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault Toby can’t be honest.”

“It’s not yours either,” I told her gently, oddly touched by the apology.

She sighed heavily. “I should go then. I probably woke you.”

I started to say that no, of course she hadn’t, but that would be silly. We had nothing to talk about, no reason to prolong the conversation. I wanted to keep it going. I wanted to tease a smile back into her voice.

Instead, I said goodbye, hung up and tried to go back to sleep. I couldn’t. The image of Ayla’s face outside Glitz last night—worried and determined—came back to me. I wondered bleakly if I’d done the right thing by forcing her to get involved. I could have kept quiet, showed Manda the pictures and let her and Toby fight it out.

Of course, Ayla was the girl in those incriminating pictures, so she’d be involved either way. But I felt personally responsible now. She’d acted tough last night, but I’d seen flashes of a softer side, when she helped Vicky and when she so fiercely defended Toby. I guessed Ayla wasn‘t as tough as she wanted people to think.

***

“I’d rather he was cheating!” Manda screamed at me, flinging the photos in my face. “I could deal with another woman! But gay? How am I supposed to deal with that?”

We’d met in a small coffee shop, me figuring a public place might keep Manda from reacting too badly. I’d figured wrong. She was weeping openly, clutching a huge coffee mug with shaking hands. I had a nasty feeling I’d be wearing that coffee before too long. I reached for her hands, drawing the mug down to the table.

“Manda, I know this is hard for you—”

“I’m not paying you,” she said abruptly, pulling away from me and sloshing coffee onto the table. “I’m not giving you a penny!”

That wasn’t an unusual reaction when I gave clients unpleasant news. It didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Mrs Miller,” I said severely, deciding a more business-like tone was needed. “I understand you’re upset, but yelling at me in public isn’t going to solve anything.”

She cringed at that, glancing furtively around the cafe. One or two people were watching us, but they hurriedly averted their eyes when they saw Manda glowering at them. “I’m not paying,” she repeated, quietly now but just as firmly. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

I suppressed my sigh. “You wanted to know what your husband was doing, what he was keeping from you and where he was going on Saturday nights. That’s what we agreed on and that’s what I found out for you. I do understand—”

“No you don’t!” she shouted again, eyes glistening with tears. “I thought he was cheating on me with a woman! But he’s been out chasing men! How am I supposed to explain that to people? They’ll blame me, they’ll say I wasn’t enough for him...”

I didn’t want to listen to this anymore. I’d heard this rant before, or variations on it. I wasn’t in the mood for it today. It would get ugly. I held up my hands for silence and, surprisingly, Manda stopped shouting. “You’ve had a shock,” I said calmly. “Maybe you need to go visit a friend and talk this over before you and I meet again.”

She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes, nodding. “Alright. Fine. But I’m not paying.”

I smiled sweetly, pushing my own empty mug towards her as I rose. “How about you cover the drinks and we’ll call it quits?”

***

Outside in the pale spring sunlight, I spent a few seconds breathing deeply and pushing down my annoyance at the woman. I felt bad for her, I really did. Nobody deserved to be deceived so cruelly, least of all by their own spouse. But blaming me for bringing her the information she’d asked for was just sad. Not to mention highly irritating. I didn’t want to have to chase her for payment—it would be time-consuming and tedious.

I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and walked away from the coffee shop, feeling listless. I prided myself on solving my clients’ problems but I’d failed miserably with this case. It was times like this I wished I’d taken my gran’s advice and become a teacher instead.

“Shannon!”

A semi-familiar voice stopped me and I spun round to see Ayla emerge from a second-hand book shop. She waved at me, quickening her pace to catch up.

“Oh, hi.” I smiled, suddenly feeling a little brighter. “How’s it going?”

She held up a bag with the book shop’s logo on it. “Retail therapy. I need some entertainment today.”

She had picked books over TV. I liked that. “Buy anything interesting?”

She showed me a couple of trashy-looking paperbacks. We fell into an awkward silence, neither of us moving to leave, but neither of us able to think of anything to say.

“So what are you up to now? “ I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just...wandering really. I was... “ She trailed off, then wet her lips as if working up the courage to say something. I found myself waiting eagerly for her words, hoping they wouldn’t be ‘goodbye.’

“Are you busy?” she asked. My heart skipped. “I was just going to get a coffee and...”

“Not coffee,” I said firmly. I’d left Manda in the coffee shop and I expected she was still there, wailing into her mug. “I need something stronger.”

She grinned, eyes lighting up. “How about a beer? I know a good pub round the corner.”

I wanted to say yes. I liked her—she was cute, loyal, honest. All the things I liked in a woman. She was also a werewolf. I didn’t know if that was an issue for me or not, but it was certainly a point to consider.

It’s one beer, I scolded myself as Ayla waited for my answer, her pixieish face expectant and hopeful. It’s not like you’re committing to anything. “Sounds good,” I told her decisively. “Lead the way.”

She took me to a quiet little Irish pub, tucked away off the main street and treated me to a beer. I sank back in the faded leather seat and wondered how much of a coincidence it really was that Ayla just happened to be shopping so close to the coffee shop. “Have you spoken to Toby this morning? “ I asked her.

She contrived to look innocent and failed. I bit back a grin. She’d never make a poker player. “Oh, no, “ she said, staring into her cider. “Well, you know. We had such a terrible argument last night, so I felt like I had to call him today and try to get things straight. So to speak.” She cracked a weak smile at her own bad joke.

“And? “ I persisted gently.

“And he didn’t really want to talk to me. “ She began peeling the label off her cider bottle, shrugging as if his rejection didn’t hurt her. “He said Manda was meeting you today and he’d probably be divorced this time next week and that was that.”

I guessed Toby had either told her where I was meeting Manda, or she’d used her super-werewolf tracking skills to find the other woman. It seemed like a lot of effort to make for... Well, I wasn’t sure what for. Maybe she just wanted to find out what happened between me and Manda, to see if there was anything she could tell Toby that might heal their sudden rift. “So you just figured you’d come and hang out near a particular coffee shop?” I asked. “Just randomly, with no ulterior motive?”

She flushed. “I didn’t know you’d be there,” she said too quickly. “Toby just said that was where Manda liked to go to relax and I wanted to see her and let her know Toby hadn’t actually cheated on her. I just... I don’t know.” She threw her hands up in defeat. “I thought it might help. But it won’t, will it? It’s stupid to even think it. And then I saw you and...” She trailed off again, returning her attention to her cider label, cheeks flaming.

I smiled privately, heart fluttering a little, although I wasn’t sure why. Except I remembered how hopeful she’d looked when she’d invited me here. I remembered how sweet she’d been to Vicky the night before. I remembered how my day had seemed a little less frustrating when I heard her call my name. “And...” I encouraged.

She squirmed in her seat. It was adorable. “And I really liked your dress last night,” she finished.

This time we smiled at each other.

***

I wore the dress again when we went out for dinner the next weekend. And after that dinner there were picnics, cinema trips, night clubs and finally, a month later, breakfast. It didn’t take more than three dates for me to decide Ayla being a werewolf wasn’t an issue. Some differences, I decided, were only skin deep. Our similarities went down to the bone.

AUthor Bio

Naomi Clark lives in Cambridge and is a mild-mannered office worker by day, but a slightly crazed writer by night. She has a perfectly healthy obsession with giant sea creatures and a preference for vodka-based cocktails. When she’s not writing, Naomi is probably either reading or watching 80s cartoon shows and sometimes she manages to do all three at once.

QUEEREDFICTION PRESS

URBAN WOLF SERIES

0.5 • Wolf Strap*

1 • Silver Kiss

2 • Dark Hunt

*published in the QUEER WOLF anthology

y

Find NAOMI CLARK online!

http://www.naomiclark.net/

http://naomi-jay.livejournal.com/

http://twitter.com/#!/naomi_jay

http://www.facebook.com/naomijclark

SILVER KISS

an urban wolf novel

NAOMI CLARK

Ayla Hammond has come home.

After years as a lone wolf in a self-imposed exile she’s rejoining the pack and trying to mend fences with her parents. She’s convinced them to accept her girlfriend, but can a lone wolf change her ways? As if homecoming wasn’t hard enough, Ayla also can’t help getting involved in a missing person case.

REVIEWS

“Wow. Clark’s wolves are compelling and real.” Sherwood Smith

“What is there not to love? This is a must read!” The Pen & Muse

“It’s been a while since I read a book with just werewolves, and it was definitely refreshing.” Urban Fantasy Reader

“A fast-paced novel about werewolves, drugs and ferals.Real and gritty.”Bitten by Books

“A solid urban fantasy with bite.”Sidhe Vicious Reviews

“Enough action and mystery to keep you intrigued to the end.” SmexyBooks

“Her words flowed off the page and were so easy to read.” Smitten with Books

“My heart was pumping the entire time, ‘muy’ suspenseful.” Smoking Hot Books

“Silver Kiss is a great suspense filled urban fantasy. The action driven plot is well worth the read! You won’t be disappointed!” Wicked Little Pixie

“Naomi Clark writes an exciting mystery laced with conflict and complicated personal relationships.” Fiction Vixen

“Good literature makes you breathe the air of another world, feel all the pleasure and pain of another being, and stirs the heart. Naomi Clark’s Silver Kiss is such a novel.” Lark Neville

978-1-920441-12-8    (Paperback)

978-1-920441-13-5  (Electronic Book)

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