But, the wailing of an ambulance followed by several police cars flying down the road towards her building let her know in the clearest terms possible that there was no escaping this. Taking a deep breath, she punched Kyle's number into the phone and let it ring.
CHAPTER 6
"I'm telling you, there's no chance we can beat the dragons; not a chance in hell."
"Maybe not alone, but if the rest of the bear clans finally got their asses in gear and worked together for once, then we'd have something like a chance."
"The bear clans working together? What the fuck do you think the odds are that any shifter group would ever stop fighting amongst each other for even a week, even for a goal of something like knocking the dragons off of the top of the heap?"
"I'm just saying, it's possible."
"It's about as possible as you getting laid without having to pay for it."
"Ha, fuck off."
Kyle Thorne watched the conversation unfold, a wry grin on his face. Sitting in his apartment over drinks with a few friends, he shook his head as the conversation inevitably turned towards the subject of how the bears of New York could take their rightful place as the most powerful shifters in the city.
Kyle knew that such talk was nothing more than bluster, each of his friends coming up with one scheme or another that would turn the balance of power in the city away from the ancient dragons who'd dominated it since their arrival at the beginning of the twentieth century. Most of the plans, if Kyle could even dignify the boneheaded schemes with a word like that, involved the bear currently speaking somehow arising as the most powerful shifter in a millennium, uniting the seven bear tribes of the city, and catching the dragons by surprise, the decadence and arrogance of the ancient beasts leading to their ultimate downfall.
As much as he might like the idea of a new species being on top, especially his own, Kyle knew first-hand just how powerful the dragons were. Ancient beings with near-supernatural power, they lorded over the shifter societies with tight regulations and a careful, but distant eye. Kyle knew that it was fortunate that the dragons preferred to rule from afar, viewing the wolves, bears, foxes, tiger, and other shifter societies as not worth their attention; they could easily take a more controlling stance on the various species, should they desire it.
"Hey, Kyle, what do you think about all this?" asked Tom, a sandy-haired, lanky young man in a black-and-white suit, an old friend of Kyle's and, like all of the other men in the apartment, a fellow bear shifter.
"Yeah," said Kenneth, a beefy, stocky man with luminous, blond hair that hung in loose tresses about his chiseled face, his outfit a simple white t-shirt and a pair of dark-green jeans. "This whole thing can't last forever."
"What ‘whole thing'?" asked Kyle, sitting forward and joining the conversation, his fingertips on the rim of his martini glass, "the thing where the dragons are on top? As always?"
"Yeah, that thing," said Kenneth.
"I don't care how big they are," added Alain, a handsome, olive-skinned import from one of the Barcelona bear clans, a man with oil-black hair and a slim-fitted, dark-blue suit with a white dress shirt unbuttoned to the half point, "they can't be that powerful."
"I assure you," said Kyle, lifting his drink, his eyes on the crystal-clear liquid within, "they are that powerful. More powerful than you know."
Tom emitted a dismissive ‘tsk’ noise as he sat back in his chair and brought his pint glass of beer close to his thin lips. "I bet they're all talk. You just get the masses scared with a dangerous reputation, then you don't have to even bother keeping them in line; they'll police themselves for you."
"No," said Kyle, "you don't get it."
"Alright," said Kenneth. "You're the only one who's even seen one of these assholes in person; care to tell us what’s so goddamn scary about them?"
Kyle's eyes narrowed as he thought back to the night he stumbled upon a gathering of dragons. He and his mate had been investigating them, hoping to answer the very questions that the bears tonight were trying to puzzle out. He and Gillian, the girl he'd pledged himself to, and she to him, swore to figure out the nature of the beasts, the elusive clans of ancient beings that had supposedly ruled from the shadows for thousands of years.
And, they found them.
Kyle remembered deafening voices, strange and ancient rituals, then the towering figures of the dragons as they loomed over them. Then, finally, fire. A flame so hot that he could feel it on his skin just by thinking about it.
"Well?" said Alain. "Let's hear it."
Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but not a word came out; it was as though he simply couldn't express in words what'd he'd experienced that night.
But, thankfully, before any of the men could grill him for answers, the ring of his phone sounded.
"Some other time," said Kyle, realizing he'd been saved by the bell.
The men groaned, Alain whipping a cashew at him from the bowl on the coffee table, Kyle swatting it out of the air, his cocky smile returning to his face as he walked away to answer the call. Looking down at his phone, he saw that it was an unknown call from an area code he couldn't recognize. He swiped to answer and brought the phone to his face, stepping out on the balcony as he did.
"Kyle Thorne."
"Oh, hi, um, Kyle?" came the woman's voice on the other end, a voice he couldn't recognize, but seemed all at once familiar.
"Now, who's this?" asked Kyle, hoping that it might a booty call from one of his previous conquests that was now falling into his lap.
"This is, um, this is Josephine. Mr. Delany's assistant? The one you met today?"
The voice sounded strained, exhausted, stressed, as though the woman it belonged to had just finished crying.
"I remember you," said Kyle, making his tone slightly more neutral, remembering what he'd told her about calling him if anything strange happened. "What's up?"
"It's . . . it's . . . Mr. Delany . . . Mr. Jane . . . ."
Kyle placed his free hand on the balcony, his eyes scanning the city skyline as he listened.
"What about them?"
"He . . . he . . . killed him . . .," she barely managed to get the words out.
Kyle's eyes went wide as he realized what had likely happened.
That fucker, he thought, killing a human. What the hell was he thinking?
"Where are you now?" asked Kyle, his voice calm and serious.
"A bar in the financial district . . . near my office. Barley and Rye is the name."
"Are there people around?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'm going to send a ride for you. It's going to be a silver Mercedes, the driver's name will be Marcus. You can trust him. Just tell him your name, and he'll bring you to my apartment."
"Okay."
Her voice was small and faraway-sounding; Kyle could tell she was in some state of shock.
"Just stay put. Don't move, don't talk to anyone until you see that silver Mercedes out front–got it?"
"Yes."
"Tell me what I said."
"Don't move, don't talk to anyone until I see the silver Mercedes out front."
"Good. I'll see you soon."
"Okay."
Kyle hung up the phone and took a long, slow breath. If what Josephine said was right, then the Bianchis were ready to start a major conflict, ready to break the rules of the shifter societies in order to solidify their ever-increasing power base.
But, if they were caught doing what they're doing by the dragons–killing humans without running it through the proper channels–then they're playing a dangerous, goddamn game.
Turning his back to the city, he opened the balcony door and stepped back inside, his friends back in the middle of another argument about one thing or another.
"Okay, okay, party's over," said Kyle, talking over the three men.
"What?" said Alain, disbelieving. "Already?"
"Emergency," said Kyle.
"Yeah," said Kenneth, sitting back in his seat w
ith a knowing smirk on his face, "pussy emergency."
Kyle shook his head, wishing it were that simple.
"Nope, it's a real one."
"Woah," said Tom. "What's going on?"
Kyle looked away for a brief moment, unsure of how much he should tell the group.
"Could have some wolf problems," he said. "And, I'm gonna leave it at that for now."
"Fuckin' wolves!" said Kenneth. "Snooty motherfuckers can't keep the peace for a goddamn week!"
"Always one plot or another with them," said Tom.
"I'll fill you boys in when I know more, but for now, I need you to all get the hell out," said Kyle.
"Fine, fine," said Alain, standing up along with the others. "But, I'm not gonna forget that you said the first round was on you."
The men filed out, walking past the sheet Kyle'd hung over the claw marks.
"What's the, uh, story here?" asked Tom.
"Later, later," said Kyle.
With that, the men left.
Kyle strode to the bar and made himself another drink, his mind on the problem ahead. Walking back towards the window, he looked over the city as he sipped his whiskey, scolding himself for letting the Bianchis take their plan so far right under his nose.
You're a goddamn, society, intelligence agent, he told himself, you're supposed to be the one who knows about this shit; not one of the ones who react to it.
But, before he could think too long, a low, melodic chime sounded through his apartment, letting him know that he had a visitor.
Damn; driver's not fucking around.
"Send her up," said Kyle to the intercom.
Minutes later, a soft knock sounded on the door. Opening it, Kyle was presented with the Josephine, her frame seeming even smaller than before, her dark hair draped over her shoulders, framing her delicate features, her gray eyes looking up at him expectantly.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside and leading her in, her intoxicating smell trailing behind her.
And, as she walked, Kyle couldn't help but allow his eyes to drift down her body, taking in the curves that were hidden by her work clothes.
Not now, not now, he thought, trying to put himself in a professional state of mind.
"Wow," she said, looking around the spacious, modern interior of Kyle's apartment. "This is, um, quite the place."
Kyle allowed himself a smirk; he never grew tired of the effect that his penthouse apartment always impressed whatever women saw it. But, he had to remind himself once again to focus on the task at hand.
"Sit down," he said. "What's your drink?"
"Um, nothing for me," she said.
"You've had a rough night; something strong will help you relax."
"Vodka," she said, looking up at Kyle. "With some tonic."
"Vodka it is."
He walked over to his bar and prepared the drink. Once done, he sat down across from her, handing over the chilly glass.
"Okay, lady, let's hear it. I want every detail, no matter how stupid or inconsequential it seems. Go."
"Well," said Jo, her voice still small, the shock still running through her body, "it started when I needed to go back to the office . . . ."
She then informed Kyle of all the details, the claws, the red eyes, the scream of Mr. Delany as he fell to his death–all of it. Once she finished, Kyle sat back, allowing the information to soak in.
Fucking wolves, he thought, goddamn, fucking, stupid wolves!
He gritted his teeth as he thought about the Bianchis; he couldn't even begin to imagine how many society laws they'd broken in their reckless pursuit of power.
"I'm going to be blunt with you; you're in some serious shit right now," said Kyle, deciding to give it to her as straight as possible. "You've seen some things that people like you weren't meant to see."
"'People like me'?" Jo asked, her eyes wide. "What does that mean?"
"Humans," said Kyle.
A moment of silence hung in the air.
"What?" demanded Jo, "humans? What does that mean?"
"We're . . . not like you," said Kyle. "I, and others–like the Bianchis–are part of a group of . . . let's say, supernatural beings. We're called shifters, named for the fact that we can shift into animal forms whenever we want."
"You're joking, right?" asked Jo, taking a long sip of her drink, as though trying to swallow the information. "This is all a sick joke or something; it has to be."
"You think what you saw tonight was a joke? Are you laughing?"
Jo went silent.
"You–you humans–aren't supposed to know about any of that. This group that we're in, this collection of all of the different species and the clans within them, are known as the Society. Just about every major city has one, and New York's is one of the biggest."
"How . . . how many are here?"
"Thousands," said Kyle.
Jo sat back, letting this information soak in.
"You're telling me that there are werewolves living in the city, right under everyone's noses?"
"I'm telling you that there are a number of species–wolves, lions, foxes, tigers, reptiles and more–living here in the city, right under everyone's noses."
"And . . . the wolves are bad?"
Kyle took a quick sip of his drink, trying to buy himself enough time to formulate a simple answer to a very complicated question. He hated letting humans know of their world, if only because he hated having to explain the complexities of the society to those who'd never heard a word of it.
"Yes . . . but no. Wolves can be scheming fuckers when they want to be, always looking for ways to get the edge in the power plays that are constantly happening between the clans. But, they can be clever and devious, which can be useful traits if they're being used for the greater good. And, they're usually smart enough to keep their cloak-and-dagger shit amongst themselves, not with other clans, and especially not with humans."
"Then why are these people, erm, or, wolves, whatever, doing what they're doing?"
"We don't know that much about the Bianchis, to be honest. They've been off the radar for a while, and it looks like the reason for that was so they could build up their power and resources before making an appearance back on the scene."
"And, that's bad?"
Kyle scoffed. "A group that has billions of dollars in resources, ambitions of domination, and doesn't seem to mind killing humans who get in their way? Yeah, I'd say that's bad."
"Who are you, then?" asked Jo. "Are you just some good-hearted, real estate agent or something?"
"No, no, no," said Kyle, having an internal chuckle at the idea of being called ‘good-hearted,’ "I'm with a group called the Sapiens, just a fancy way of saying ‘those who know.' We're in charge of intelligence in the society, keeping track of who's doing what, what clan is trying to fuck over another, what ambitious shifter is trying to make a move to power that might cause too much disruption–that kind of shit."
"So, you just decided to be a real estate mogul for fun?" asked Jo, raising an eyebrow.
"Hey, when you're good at knowing how things work, you might as well use it to make some money. Besides, the business almost runs itself at this point."
Jo took a long sip of her drink, taking in everything that Kyle had just told her. Several moments passed, and Kyle could tell that Jo was on the verge of running out of gas as soon as the last drops of adrenaline worked their way through her system. He'd been through this process enough times to know that he needed to get her to bed, soon.
"I think you're done for the day," said Kyle, standing up. "I've got some extra bedrooms; you can crash here until we get all of this sorted out."
Jo rose wordlessly, as if being compelled by her fatigue more than any conscious thought. Kyle, seeing she was unsteady on her feet, grabbed her arm, helping her walk.
And, as he touched her, he felt a strange pulling–a curious urge to bring her closer, to protect her. She seemed small and delicate next to him, in a way that inspired an urg
e in him that he sometimes forgot he had.
Get your head together, he thought to himself as he led her down the hallway to one of the spare bedrooms, you think this about every goddamn human; you think they all need you to look after them . . . especially when they look like she does.
Jo looked up at Kyle with worn-out, sleepy eyes, and he felt an instant longing as soon as her gaze met his. They came to a stop, and Jo stood in front of Kyle, as if waiting for instructions.
"Bedroom's behind you," he said, casting a glance at the door just behind Jo.
"Yeah . . . bedroom's behind me."
She's more out of it than I thought.
Kyle realized that she'd need help. He opened the door to the room and placing his hand on the small of her back, led her in. As soon as Jo's eyes fell upon the bed, she collapsed onto it, her slender legs dangling off the edge.
Shaking his head, a smirk on his face, Kyle was nonetheless pleased that he'd be able to keep Jo safe, at least for this night. Squatting down, he pulled her shoes off, set them on the floor, and pulled her legs long ways onto the bed before pulling the covers over her body.
The city in the windows behind her a backdrop, Kyle took one last look at Jo before shutting the door.
This is gonna be a goddamn mess, he thought. Let's see if I can see this one through to the other side.
CHAPTER 7
Josephine awoke in a restless fit, her eyes darting here and there, looking around the strange room where she found herself.
Where the hell am I? she thought frantically.
But within seconds, the events of the previous night–the murder, the wolf, Kyle–all came flooding back with terrible clarity. Jo lay in bed for several moments, not wanting to get up, as though she could keep the world at bay by staying here in this room. Looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she observed the city at dusk, the sky a soft lilac as the sun rose behind the shrouded silhouettes of the skyscrapers beyond.
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