by Ellis Leigh
He also kept his chat room on the dark web open. People there were still yammering about his heist, some trying to imply they’d perpetrated it. Some claiming it couldn’t have happened the way it did. The usual ignorant bravado and sour grapes. None of it important or anything to give much of his attention to.
It was a complimentary post that made him pause, made him stop multitasking and really look at that one screen. What had stood out wasn’t the comment itself, though. That honor went to the user’s name. Perhaps his senses had been heightened by Luc’s call, or the other wolf’s intuition had rubbed off on him, but looking at the chat screen, he knew the poster was Birdfoot from his game. She didn’t use the same Birdfoot username, but there was something about her phrasing. About the way the words flowed, a pull in his stomach that told him they were one and the same.
A simple two-sentence statement confirmed his suspicion.
“Action is the real measure of intelligence. Whoever thought up this plan had more brainpower than all of you saying it couldn’t have been done the way we all know it was.”
The same quote—action is the real measure of intelligence—had been typed in a game chat not three months ago. Deus remember being struck by it then, and the feeling hadn’t abated. Birdfoot must have read Napoleon Hill. Interesting. A modern woman reading a successful self-help author from the early twentieth century. Not what he’d have expected.
As he dove back into research on the Brooks Range area of Alaska, he couldn’t hold back the proud smile on his face. Gamer girl liked his moves. Even his wolf perked up at that thought.
2
“Good evening, Miss Blake.”
Zoe definitely-not-named-Blake stepped out of the car she’d hired to bring her home, steady as ever in the stiletto heels lesser women wobbled in. The ones most women couldn’t afford. The doorman held out his hand and helped her to her feet anyway, something she’d always found charming. As if she needed the assistance. As if he were somehow stronger or more physically capable than her. The old man wouldn’t last a second against her, but she allowed his kindnesses. It wasn’t his fault his human genes and strengths couldn’t compare to her wolf shifter ones.
“Good evening, Charles. Busy night?”
“Always, ma’am.” He held the door, bowing slightly as he opened the way for her. Such a nice old man. The sort that came from a different time—one she’d lived through. One she remembered a hell of a lot less fondly than the greeting cards and bastardized depictions of history did. Had they met back then, she had no doubt he wouldn’t have been nearly as kind, and she wouldn’t have controlled her instincts the way she did now. But times changed, and culture moved in new directions, even for wolf shifters like her.
The urge to hunt never did, though.
Easy prey.
Not tonight, beast.
She gave Charles a smile as she passed, keeping the wolf side of herself in check. Not letting the old man see the part of her that would rip out his throat without a second thought if she felt threatened. Nice old men didn’t deserve to piss themselves in fear just because her wolf felt feisty.
Zoe strutted through the lobby, her footsteps strong and confident. She’d lived in the revamped former industrial complex—now trendy, high-ceiling loft apartments—for the past three years. She’d gotten to know none of her neighbors but all of the building staff. A lesson learned over many decades honing her craft and refining her style. Neighbors came and went, too busy with their own lives to pay attention to the single woman on the top floor most of the time. But the staff stayed and paid attention. They noticed her odd hours and the animalistic tics that most people disregarded so long as they didn’t have to spend a lot of time with her. Humans tended to ignore the threats in their midst instead of dealing with them, a good thing considering how much of a threat she truly was.
But not today. Today, she was just the rich lady in the penthouse suite. Nothing more, nothing less.
She loved the building she lived in—adored the high ceilings, gaudy accents, and reclaimed details from a different time that always brought a smile to her face—but she’d need to move soon. Three years was longer than she usually stayed in one place, and the staff had begun watching her a little too closely. Staying put and falling into a routine meant giving people the chance to catch you doing something inhuman. Zoe had no interest in being caught.
That thought—the idea of being captured and caged—caused something to blow through her mind. Wispy and impossible to grasp. An itch, per se. An instinct so distinctive, even her wolf sat up and took notice. That feeling—that sensation of being uncomfortable in her own skin—usually meant it was time not just to move but to run. Sad, really. She liked Charles and his gentlemanly ways. But she’d learned over the years to trust her instincts, and those instincts were pushing her toward the exit. Soon. Not yet, but soon.
She inserted her key in the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse. Extravagant, yes. But so damn worth it. Besides, she deserved the finer things in life. She’d certainly suffered through not having them as a child.
Hell, she’d suffered through not having anything, including her freedom.
As soon as the doors opened to her private floor, the stress of the world outside slid away. From the dark wood floors to the soft white walls to the bank of windows wrapping two sides of her living space, the place fit her to a T. Safe and calm and totally hers. Perfection.
She crossed the floor, kicking off her shoes as she went, heading straight for the wall of glass that overlooked the city below. The lights of New York spanned as far as she could see, the borough of Manhattan laid out before her. She loved that filthy fucking town. Loved the greed and the corruption, the simplicity that could be found if you looked hard enough, and the strength of its residents. True, the noise, smells, and sheer volume of humans taking up space every day made her wolf long for open land, but it was easy to disappear in a place like New York. All the hustle, the mayhem. Even a wolf shifter working as a thief could go unnoticed.
Plus, all those distracted humans with shiny things in their pockets, homes, and banks kept her well fed.
Zoe pulled her latest shiny thing from her bag and held it up, taking her first truly good look at it since she’d stepped off the private jet two hours earlier. Huge, heavy, and worth more than she ever would have guessed, the sapphire and diamond necklace sparkled and reflected the lights of the city across the ceiling. A stunning piece, and one she’d been paid well to acquire. It’d taken her weeks of planning, three full days of prep, and all of twenty-three minutes to steal. Not bad for a mid-six-figure payday.
She stored the necklace in her safe before waking her computer and signing in to her chat account. She needed to send the buyer a message that she’d accomplished her task and set up the exchange so she could get the balance of the fee he owed her. The necklace might have been worth a fortune, but that was only based on what someone would be willing to pay. Zoe didn’t openly fence what she stole—it was too easy to get caught. She simply facilitated others acquiring goods. And she was damned good at her job. People got what they wanted through her—all they had to do was hand over some cash.
Message sent, she slipped into her pajamas, grabbed a pint of ice cream from the freezer that had been stuffed full of her favorite flavors, and headed to her living room where three large screens mounted on the wall glowed. Waiting for her.
“Hello, lover,” she purred, settling into her chair and grabbing her keyboard. The screens all came to life, different websites popping up on each one. Her workday was over, so tonight she planned on having a little fun. She logged in to her favorite online game, glad to see a few gamers she enjoyed playing with and against already on. This particular game took serious brainpower, and playing with someone who couldn’t keep up made her want to rage. No worries about that tonight, though. Even her favorite player, screen name Libidine, showed active and looked to be logging some excellent battles. That guy could really play.
If they paired up on a mission or two, her supply and health levels would be maxed in a few hours. Exactly what she needed.
“Time to play, boys.” She dove into her game, sticking to her one login for the moment. She had four, even though that was against the terms of service. First, she liked to break rules simply to break them. Second, sometimes she needed to distract some of the younger males in the group. True, the biggest distraction would probably be if she admitted she had a vagina instead of a penis, but she wasn’t up for the fallout. She played to relax, not to start World War III with some misogynistic jackass in the Midwest. So she let them swing their dicks around and talk smack in the comments, and she’d join in as another screen name when she needed to distract them, to keep them from playing their best by talking about tits and pussies and the whole legs for days and booty I want to bite bullshit. Men were easy like that—get their cock involved, and their brains fell out of their shoes.
But her main screen name, the one she’d just logged in to, wasn’t there for the bullshit. She was there to win.
Still, she kept another site up on the screen to her right. Kept her dark web message center open as she waited to hear back from the necklace buyer. She’d been expecting a fast response, but that hadn’t happened. Something that made her neck itch again. Delays were never a good sign. Maybe he didn’t really have the money he’d promised, or perhaps he figured he could knock her off to get her out of the picture and not have to pay at all.
“Or he’s sleeping, you big worrywart.” Zoe bit her lip and refocused on the game, but her concentration had been shattered. Accepting that fact meant opening another window, this one with her favorite chat room deep within her shady world. Heists from around the world were offered, accepted, completed, dissected, and bragged about on that discussion thread, all hidden away from the rest of the rule-followers and enforcers. It was like a club only a few were allowed entry into, an onion layer only the bravest could peel, and she was one of the few. She’d earned her spot.
Scrolling down the page, she caught one of her favorite ghosts being talked about again. The guy always made the biggest scores in manipulating data and hacking in to systems to slowly, subtly steal from the banks of the super-rich. Money or data—he took it all. While the perpetrator never admitted to the work, never took credit, she knew it had to be the same guy. The style of heist was distinctive, the smoothness of the plan and execution flawless. She’d become a fan of his work, and he’d recently struck again with a month-long data-drive heist that had netted him seven figures. Nice. So she commented on the post discussing the job with a simple message stating how impressed she was. Nothing too telling. And then she went back to her game.
Not five minutes later, a private chat window popped up. Libidine…who’d never spoken directly to her before.
So…you like my heist?
She stared at the screen, trying to put the pieces together. He hadn’t pulled off any heists in the game. At least, not that she’d seen. In fact, he’d been a little quiet for the past half hour or so. What heist?
The chat rolled on by on the right side, the one not tied to the game. The one about a heist where she’d commented under a different identity.
Her heart began to pound.
No clue what you mean.
She sent the message and sat back, her entire being on alert. Could Libidine and the data heist guy be one and the same?
He confirmed her suspicions by uploading a screenshot of the dark net chat to their game one, highlighting her post.
That’s my heist, and that comment is from you.
Fuckity fuck fuck.
Sorry, still no idea.
But she knew exactly what he was talking about, that her days casually playing her favorite game were over, and that it was time to move. She definitely knew all that.
And he knew too much.
So you’re the one who snagged the Kuhcaiden Emerald last year.
She froze. That job had been a total secret—a complete lockdown of information coming from both sides. The jewel had been stored in the home of a foreign dignitary in a country the one she claimed citizenship of had been at war with for a few years already. If anyone had found out, she definitely would have been picked up by secret government factions who would make her disappear. No one could possibly know.
But he did.
“Fuck the fates, how’d he put that together?” Zoe stood, pacing, staring at the screens. There was no way she could ignore this. He’d pulled two completely separate aspects of her life together to figure her out, which meant he could know everything about her already. Well, not everything. She doubted there was some sort of data file calling her out as a shapeshifter. That, at least, gave her a modicum of calm. Enough to finally reply.
You keep talking, I keep ignoring.
It was Libidine’s turn to go silent. Zoe continued pacing, swinging by the windows to make sure the drapes were closed. She suddenly felt exposed with all those windows she loved so much. Watched. Fucking Libidine, ruining her chill.
The chat room jumped, a new message from him finally appearing.
I don’t usually work with anyone, especially not females, but I might for you. I like your style.
With a speed she rarely used on such mundane tasks, she closed out of all her programs and turned off her computer. He knew…not just her crossover life, but that she was a female. He knew too much. Covers didn’t always work. As much as she loved blending into the human world in New York, there were times when her animalness caught someone’s attention. Some people were more perceptive than others, or some men decided to stare long and hard at her. She’d grown used to such things, knew how to react and defuse the situation. Knew what to do.
This was different. This was new and, to be honest, both flattering and terrifying at once.
From across the room, her phone pinged. Zoe approached slowly, like a bomb squad moving toward a suspicious package. No way. There was no way it would be him. She refused to believe it…until she saw the screen.
Don’t be scared. I won’t tell on you so long as you don’t tell on me, and if you don’t answer me, I’ll never bother you again. But if you ever want to pull a job together, the offer stands. Data and physical thievery could be fun. —Libidine
Zoe stared at the message for a solid minute, every scenario she could think of running through her brain. And when she finally landed on the only logical reason behind why Libidine had gone to the trouble to search out her private info, she threw the phone across the room.
“Definitely time to move.”
3
Just like every day that had passed since he’d made what he considered a huge mistake, Deus logged in to the chat room and immediately sought the user info for Birdfoot. Nothing. No updates, no activity. No fucking contact for almost a week, ever since he’d sent that text. She hadn’t been in any of the normal hangouts he’d seen her in previously. She hadn’t been gaming either. He’d been watching for her to pop up everywhere, but he’d come up empty. He could have cursed himself for being such an idiot—he’d pushed too hard, so she’d gone into hiding.
You’d think after over a thousand years, he’d have figured out how to be less of an idiot around others.
He couldn’t even figure out why he’d felt the compulsion to text her as he had. Offering something in person wasn’t his style—he liked keeping things online, keeping distance between him and those outside of his pack. He preferred anonymity to social interaction. But something about her had made him want to move their virtual contact into the physical world instead. Which was just plain ridiculous.
“Alaska,” he grunted, trying hard to distract himself with other screens so as not to obsess over Birdfoot. “What the fuck is up in Alaska?”
A question he’d been asking himself every day. The town Luc wanted info about was beyond isolated—it sat at the edge of the Brooks Range with no internet presence and no online records database that he could find. The place must have b
een tech-adverse, which made Deus’ job that much harder. He was actually planning to go up there and search out information the old-fashioned way—by talking to people and looking at microfiche files in whatever libraries or historical centers he could find.
The horror.
He was in the middle of contracting a private plane service—one he’d used to fly his brothers around the world at various times in the past—when his phone pinged with a text message alert. He glanced down, cursing the distraction, expecting a message from one of his Dire brothers, but the number came up unknown. The message could have only come from one person, though.
Are you going to hold up your end of the bargain about not bothering me again? Because I really don’t want to have to move just yet.
No sign-off, no name. None needed.
No moving necessary unless you want to move to Alaska temporarily for me. I need to do a hands-on job there and would rather skip it. Want to pretend to be me? Are you good with disguises?
He hit send and sat back, waiting. Tapping his foot and rolling his fingers over the trackpad of his laptop for no reason. What was this? Everything about this situation felt new, seemed different. Which, being over a thousand years old, were feelings pretty damn rare to come by anymore. And all the energy building up inside of him, the urge to hunt her down, seek her out, find her. What was that? He couldn’t decide if he was anxious or afraid, couldn’t figure out why he would be either of those things, but he definitely felt some nervous energy coursing through him. An energy that caused him to jump when her reply came.
I’m excellent with disguises but not really a roughing-it sort of girl.
And I’m not really a hands-on sort of guy.
