Moonlight Heart: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 4)

by K. R. Alexander

  Yes, huge problem. Yes, a lot of heroin and crystal meth. He made a point of telling me he was clean and didn’t go in for that.

  “I’ve seen too many friends—” Giving a dramatic thumbs down gesture. “You know?” Then he waved to order his next drink, asking if I wanted one as well. He’d downed his cocktail in slightly longer than it took most people to down a shot. These things weren’t cheap either, around ten pounds a pop, which, with the exchange rate, would have been enough for a great dinner in Portland. One of my favorite things about my now home city was the unbelievable food.

  We talked more about drinks and drugs, mine almost hitting bottom and Jimmy insisting I needed another, when Andrew appeared beside me. He was as breathless as he’d been emerging from the bomb shelter.

  “Nothing!” he shouted in my ear, totally ignoring Jimmy while my tattooed host stared at him. “Let’s get out of this bloody place!”

  I set down my glass. “Thank you so much, Jimmy. I’ll text my friend. I’m sure she’ll turn up. I really appreciate your help.” I thought of shaking his hand, but he didn’t look in the mood.

  Instead, Andrew and I wormed our way along the bar, heading again toward the bathrooms and a back door. Jason crouched ahead of us, skulking and squeezing through dozens of legs that pressed in at him. Many people turned, looked, jumped in surprise. But, even if they caught a glimpse of him, he only looked like a big black dog in the dark, keeping himself low. They would have made trouble at home. These people were used to pub dogs and no one seemed put out enough to raise a fuss.

  We burst from the mess and Jason started searching up and down, around and beyond the door.

  The street was dark and quiet compared to inside, yet still beating with the music. A dozen people were hanging around back here also, out for a break, most of them smoking cigarettes and talking loudly as if still inside, hyped up on the club buzz.

  “Were you drinking?” Andrew had his nose in my face.

  “Of course I was drinking. What did you think I was going to do at the bar?”

  “Ask questions.”

  “That’s what I did. And to do that, I had to…?” I waited for him to finish the sentence but he didn’t. “Let’s find the others. Unless Jason has something.”

  Several people out here were gawking at the wolf and we hustled him and ourselves to the end of the street while I texted Isaac.

  “Anything?” Andrew asked Jason from the corner of his mouth.

  I thought Jason had a trail there for a minute, pacing back and forth, head low. A sweep to the street bore nothing and he padded along after Andrew with his head and tail drooping.

  “I do know he’s around here sometimes,” I said. “I talked to someone who’s actually seen him, though it doesn’t sound like a good hangout for Dieter. It’s got to be the farther out place. One more club.”

  “Oh, bollocks,” Andrew muttered as the others came around the corner to meet us.

  Chapter 18

  Andrew had collected himself by the time we’d all walked to the second most likely club and paid another cover charge.

  The other four tried a street by street search around the building, again checking visually, with Jason, and asking around if they saw likely suspects. This bit concerned me because I worried we’d be nabbed by the police if we all started asking up and down London for a smack dealer. Yet he had to be near.

  Considering it was less than half an hour to closing—a Thursday night and early hours—the place was packed, nearly as busy as the last one. In spinning red and yellow lights, a mass of men danced on the floor, lined a stairway up, and crowded around a long, glowing bar. A few more, waxed, tanned, and toned, stood on platforms, dancing in bikini briefs and shoulder harnesses. And some of the guys on the floor weren’t wearing any more than that either.

  “Andrew!” I caught his arm as he flinched from a light in his eyes. “Take off your shirt!” Shouting again in the DJ’s wake, plus throbbing noise in the whole place.

  “How much did you drink?” He called back. “I can’t change here.”

  “No, take your shirt off and start asking questions.” I pulled him by the hand toward the stairs. “And act like you’re not bothered by the environment.”

  “What the hell do you think I’m acting like now? My true feelings?”

  Could I spot users in this mess? I could try. And Andrew could get them to talk.

  “I’m sorry.” Stepping close against him as a man in fishnet brushed past. “Maybe we could get Kage to come in?”

  “Not bloody likely.”

  No… Andrew was holding up pretty well in here. I couldn’t expect anyone else to have a go.

  “It’s just that you’ll have to do the talking,” I said. “I’ll see if I can find anyone who looks suspicious. Then you ask for the favors. This is a gay club.”

  Of course it was. My life was getting so weirdly homoerotic lately my biggest surprise should have been that the last place hadn’t been one.

  “It’s just like the first.” Andrew still gripped my hand, wincing at another light blast. “Only more … red. And those chaps.” Watching a nearby go-go dancer.

  “Come on. Don’t say it’s for you. Say you’re trying to find him because you saw your friend with him last night and you’re afraid it was a dealer. Does anyone know about this guy? That sort of thing. Got it?”

  “Don’t worms see through that rubbish?”

  “I think you can get away with it. And I’ll keep my mouth shut. The whole American thing gets suspicious.”

  Andrew nodded, struggling to tear his gaze from all the motion and confusion. He pulled his shirt off over his head, drawing attention as he did so.

  I folded and rolled it. “You’re the one who should have had something to drink. And a joint. Relax, please. This doesn’t fly if you look like you’re being threatened.”

  “Give me a minute, all right?”

  “Around bathrooms will be a good target area and quieter anyway.”

  As Andrew followed me along the foot of the stairs a handsome blond in a polo shirt ran into him coming down them.

  “Hey?” Hand going to Andrew’s bare shoulder to stop himself, looking him over. “I’ve never seen you here before. I’d remember.” Grinning.

  “Fuck off,” Andrew snapped, moving on.

  “Wow—” Polo shirt jerked both hands back to show his palms. “No worries, mate.”

  I grabbed Andrew’s hand again and yanked him after me. “I’m sorry, Andrew, but are you going to work with me on this or not?”

  “I told you to give me a bleeding minute. Moon, it’s hot in here. Smells like gin poured into worm sweat poured into a toilet.”

  “Just like the last place also. Smell any heroin?”

  “What’s that smell like?”

  “I’m … not certain, now you mention it.”

  Behind the stairs, we avoided a couple guys making out, then a threesome, then found Andrew a quiet nook to have his minute.

  He shut his eyes, took deep breaths, twisted at the waist, rolled his head around, and pushed a hand through his hair, adding some fluff on top where it was already longish and thick—model hair.

  “Okay?” I asked when he seemed to be breathing normally. “Have your charm back?”

  He bowed his head and grinned broadly at the concrete floor, like he was stretching out his face, practicing in front of a mirror.

  He nodded.

  “No telling anyone to fuck off?”

  Another nod.

  I gave him a quick hug. “We’ll be fine. They’ve got to start emptying out soon anyway. Seems like it should be just the time to find Dieter around. I’ll start looking. Anyone I indicate, see if you can dig up information.”

  Andrew squared his shoulders, looked out to the main dance floor, and did the vow sign—like crossing himself.

  “Andrew? I’m sorry. I’m pushing you too much. I’m sure we could find another—”

  He gave his head a quick shake.
“I’m fine.”

  And he was once he’d been able to adjust his senses to the space and I could lead him to potential marks.

  I found a guy there in the hall, leaned back against the wall, eyes shut, looking like he was going to fall asleep—pale, sunken, hair thin.

  I stood back, yet could have been right there and still maybe not heard what was said. I just had to wait.

  Andrew went up, smiling, leaned a shoulder into the wall by him, relaxed. Two minutes and he was back to me, shaking his head.

  “That bloke’s out of it.”

  “That’s why I chose him.”

  “Too out of it. I could hardly make sense of what he was saying. Someone else.”

  We kept looking.

  Two more around the bathroom doors. One who seemed instantly suspicious and backed from Andrew, flapping his hands, then hurried away. Another who had an opposite reaction. He must have thought, “Hey, do you know of—?” was a pickup line because he was all over Andrew like body oil. As soon as I saw the way that guy was moving, hands to Andrew’s chest and face, almost falling against him, I changed my mind. No junkie: that one was simply drunk.

  I tried to catch Andrew’s eye, shaking my head, wanting him to know he could skip the questioning and disengage. He couldn’t see me between the gloom and that man leaning into his face—either murmuring sweet drunken nothings or making indecent requests.

  I texted. Skip him.

  Andrew scrambled to get his phone from his pocket and show the guy he was busy. He fled back to me.

  “Sorry. He was only drunk.”

  “No. Really?”

  “I’m really sorry to be exploiting you, Andrew. You’re doing a good job. Let’s try upstairs and if we can’t find anyone to talk to, we’ll head back out—see if the others have spotted anything.”

  Upstairs was better. Not so blaring, not so blazing, less of a crowd. Most people were heading down as closing time drew near.

  Here, Andrew was able to shine and slip his way through a few dead-end conversations as easily as Mercury with his winged feet. I saw less likely candidates, yet Andrew took more initiative here and invaded a group at a standing table, all of whom turned their attention to him.

  My phone vibrated and I stood off to the side against the railing to check.

  Jason has picked something up. We can’t find him. But he was definitely here. You might want to see the road. Know if it’s the same you scried.

  From Isaac.

  We’ll be out soon. Can you send a picture of the street?

  I turned back to the group. Andrew was gone. All dispersed. Still plenty of guys up here to make it confusing as I looked left and right in the dark balcony and twisting lights.

  I was starting a text to Andrew when I finally spotted him. He stood at the wall with a young guy in goth makeup and a mesh shirt. Andrew was kissing him, holding him back against the wall, while mesh shirt was feeling down his body.

  Phone buzz.

  Text from Isaac with the image struggling to load. My phone connection overseas hadn’t been great. I was paying a lot extra for the service at home just to have it at all. Would be nice if it worked better.

  Andrew talked to mesh shirt, holding his face while the guy had his hands on Andrew’s waistband.

  There it was: very dark, but could be the alley from my scry. Hadn’t there been a brick wall like that?

  Could be it. How do we get to you if we come out the front door?

  Kissing again.

  Turn left all the way around. Left out the front door, left at the corner, left again as soon as you can, and that’s the back street we’re in.

  Thanks. See you soon.

  I was beginning to wonder if I needed to intervene. But, this time, when I looked up, Andrew was almost beside me.

  “Let’s go,” he said, clearly in a rush.

  “Did you learn something?”

  “Come on.”

  We hurried down the stairs, squeezing among the throng. I lost him again for a minute, but he caught up at the door, bursting outside with me and gasping for breath.

  I walked beside him. “Are you okay?”

  “Thought I’d lose some of the shipment with all the package-grabbing,” he panted. His hair didn’t look so gelled into shape now either.

  “You’re a good sport.”

  “Glad you think so, darling. I aim to impress.”

  “You look like you put on purple lipstick.” As we took the next left, I fumbled in my bag for a tissue.

  Andrew scrubbed his mouth and neck with it.

  “So what’d you learn? Did that guy know him?”

  “He wouldn’t admit to it.” Andrew stuffed the tissue in his pocket and I passed him his shirt.

  “All that and he still wouldn’t help?”

  “Oh, he helped plenty.” Still breathless.

  “He did?”

  Rounding the final corner into the back alley, Andrew pulled his shirt over his head. The other four were walking up to meet us, the upright ones giving him funny looks as he finished dressing.

  Andrew ignored them and faced me. With a flourish, he pulled a snack-sized baggie from his pocket. Inside was a tiny cluster of white powder.

  I recoiled. “You stole illegal drugs off that guy?” Barely controlling my voice into a hiss. “Can you not be around humans for two minutes without picking a pocket?”

  Andrew gave me a sad, disappointed look. “You wound me, Cassiopeia.” He turned away. “Come here, sniffer.” He squatted down on the pavement while Jason padded up to him.

  “You see,” Andrew went on to me as he popped open the bag. “The trouble with tracking a particular stinking dead thing in a stinking, rotting cesspool of urban sprawl is that it all becomes one in the same.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Jason mentioned that.”

  We watched as he held the bag out to Jason.

  “So, I repeat—” Andrew looked over his shoulder at me as Jason sniffed the bag. “What does it smell like?”

  Jason’s ears pricked. His eyes widened. It was one of those cartoon moments when you could see the lightbulb. Like he’d been waiting all his life for someone to tell him, “This is an apple.” Oh. That simple.

  Jason trotted away.

  We all ran after. And stopped.

  He only went twenty yards, turned to face the wall that was the back of the club, and stared at it like a sheepdog.

  I looked also. And, the moment I did, I saw it wasn’t just a dark wall in dark shadows in a dark alley. There was a little figure standing there in a dark coat with a hood over its face.

  Chapter 19

  Of course, Dieter had been there all along. Or at another club earlier and shuffled over here. But we would never have spotted him on our own. No one would. Even a cat would have walked right past without noticing.

  Jason had picked up that he’d been around, but never could pinpoint him in the rotten city reek. Maybe Dieter even used some of his own vampire charm to disperse his odor, I’m not sure. But he couldn’t hide the powder. As soon as Jason knew that was a smell to hit on, understood what it was, we had the vampire—who was either waiting for more clients or already done his trades and simply meaning to slip past us.

  “Dieter?” I stepped forward while he hissed, pressing back into the brick wall as if he thought we still hadn’t spotted him. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Hssshhh—”

  “Dieter?”

  Isaac rested a hand on my shoulder, close beside me, his gaze on the hunched figure no bigger than a child.

  “We’d like to talk to you,” I continued. “We brought you something. We wanted to talk about—”

  “Cahhh—”

  “Do you remember who we are? We spoke with you several—”

  “Shhhaaa—no!” Flapping frail little hands at Jason as Jason growled at him. “Böser Hund! Stirb! Stirb! Intruders! Breaking the truce! Böser Hund! Very bad!”

  “Jason, give him space. Dieter? We jus
t want to talk.”

  When Jason stepped behind Isaac and myself, still showing his teeth in the darkness, Dieter made a break for it. His way clear, waving his boney hands and hissing, he rushed off down the alley. He was heading north, the direction of Bateman Street. And he did so at about the same pace an infant first learns to crawl.

  We all watched. No one exactly rushing to grab him.

  “Böser Hund! Truce-breakers! Go back! Go!”

  Kage was chuckling.

  “What is it?” I asked, looking around. “What’s that mean?”

  “Bad dog,” he translated, still laughing. Then, to Jason, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just telling you.”

  All of this “running” caused Dieter to cough. He coughed and hacked and sputtered until finally he came to a stop. The little form shuttered with the force of his gagging and choking.

  He’d made it about ten feet from us, but most of that had already been distance separating us before he’d started.

  After a minute of choking, bent over with his hands on his knees, he turned back.

  Encouraged, I took another step. “Dieter. Do you remember telling us to find Max? Your friend Maximilian?”

  Hissing and wheezing.

  Dieter had not wanted a word with us last time we’d talked. But he had talked.

  “We told you we’d find him in return for information about what’s happening in the south?” I went on.

  Hiss, hiss. “Go back! Stirb!”

  I looked around to Kage on my right. “What’s that mean?”

  “Uh … death? Or die? It’s not happy birthday.”

  “Dieter—”

  Hiss.

  Then I saw he wasn’t turning back to us at all. He reached to grab the handle of one of those little bag trollies that elderly people and anyone needing to free up their backs or hands can push with heavy packs or grocery bags. It was just a light, fold up hand truck, and it did indeed have a beat up black bag resting on it.

  I remembered the vision, the sight of him handing out bags for bottles of blood. All those bottles must be heavy. How could blood keep? Down in that hot underground?

  Don’t start with thoughts like that.