“Wait, wait, you’re saying we just vote for the Alpha? What’s Alpha about that?”
Raff grinned. “Well, for one thing, she got the most votes. Besides, bloodshed among friends is unnecessary. We’re not monsters.”
“We are monsters,” I said. “One of the classics, in fact. Mummies, vampires, and werewolves. We’re in the top three.”
Raff’s grinned dimmed. The dude took himself way too seriously. I decided to change the subject rather than argue the point.
“So what’s this lead?” I asked.
“How do you feel about nightclubs?”
“Ambivalent. Also, depends on the kind of club. We talking a meat grinder bro-fest, a tasteful goth club, a dance party rave…?”
Raff’s grin widened again. “Better. It’s a supernatural club.”
I did not see how that was better, unless it also contained the cure for werewolfism and a vampire who was willing to make me immortal the minute I was cured. Oh, and baskets of cheese fries (I was starving). And somehow, I doubted that was the case.
Chapter 14
Crow used to be called Crow & Branch until about ten years ago when the owners, whoever or whatever they were, decided to go for a more modern aesthetic. They renovated the place, ripping out the wooden bar and floors and replacing it with sleek white furniture and black walls and floors.
I learned that from the bar’s Wikipedia page, which meant whatever Raff claimed, it wasn’t that good of a supernatural bar. Good supernatural hangouts did not have Wikipedia pages. (Bats, the vampire bar, was not listed online.)
Once we reached the front of the line, I was even less convinced this was anything but a gigantic waste of our time. For one thing, no one in this line looked the least bit supernatural. No pointy fae ears, no skin pale enough to be real vampires, no subtle air of magic that hung around sorcerers and shifters. Then again, Raff and I didn’t exactly look supernatural, either.
Most of the people in the line in front of us were turned away. The bouncer, a woman in leather and lace with skin almost pale enough to be a vampire, told us in a rote tone that suggested heavy repetition that this was a private club and only members were being admitted this evening. I shot a worried look at Raff, because I wasn’t a member and he didn’t look like the kind of guy who was a member of any night club.
The bouncer waited patiently for us to leave the line. Raff showed her something on his phone screen. She did a half-roll of her eyes, giving up part way through like we weren’t even worth the effort, but then she said, “Wrists.” Raff held out his right arm, so I did the same. She put blue paper bands around each of our wrists. “You have one hour, wolf boy. And behave.”
“Of course,” Raff said. She pulled back the velvet rope to let us through.
Inside, it felt like any other nightclub. White tables and chairs glowed under the black lights and loud music strained the subwoofers. The only difference between this place and any other club I’d been in was how pathetically empty it was. The dance floor was totally devoid of dancers and only a few of the booths and barstools had occupants. It was honestly kind of sad.
“Why are they turning people away?” I asked Raff, speaking loudly over the music. “Seems like a crowd might liven up the place.”
“Because it’s supernaturals only. Pretentious bullshit, but that’s how they roll. It’s also why we’re on a tight time limit.”
I stopped walking. “That makes no sense. We’re supernaturals. I mean, barely, but we are. It’s not like it’s biology that makes us turn into wolves every time the moon is a circle. That’s definitely magic.”
Raff pulled me into an alcove that housed an employee entrance and some all gender restrooms. It was a little quieter, so we could speak without shouting. “Supernaturals who are born do not respect supernaturals who are made. We’re lesser, except vampires.” He said ‘vampires’ like it tasted sour in his mouth. “For some reason, they’re considered full-blown supernatural creatures, but we aren’t.”
“Well, they are magical creatures all of the time, while we’re sort of limited in that area.”
Raff huffed. “Figures you’d agree with them.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Look, we’re short on time and the person we’re speaking with is not someone you want to offend, so if you could try to be polite I’d appreciate it.” The look I gave him must not have conveyed my utter frustration that he thought I needed to be told to be polite—as if he hadn’t just witnessed eight hours of me being polite at work—because he added, “At least don’t be offensive.”
“I’m not going to embarrass you,” I said sharply, and left the little alcove.
Raff went up to the bar and I hung back, close enough that I could hear their conversation (Raff asked where someone named Vaselythe was, and she gave directions) but not close enough that I might accidentally say something rude about the little green horns sticking out of her head or the green tint to her skin that looked like more than a trick of the light. I was pretty sure they were real, and I didn’t know what she was. Asking was probably not polite so I kept my mouth shut and followed Raff as he headed upstairs. The top of the stairs was roped off with velvet and a sign that read “V.I.P. Area” but there was no bouncer to enforce it.
“The bartender told us to come up here,” he said to me with a shrug, and a stepped over the rope. I did the same.
It was quieter up here. The thumping from the speakers below shook the floor, but the sound wasn’t traveling that well, which was a relief. The floor upstairs was crimson and the furniture was black with red accents, lit by actual candles, which was probably a violation of some fire code.
There was one occupied table at the very back. It was a corner booth that could seat six people easily, but only one guy was sitting there, back against the wall, bent over a laptop.
The man in the booth—this had to be Vaselythe—was absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous, the kind of beautiful that should have been in a modeling studio having his face photographed for perfume ads. His skin was milky pale in the dim light but not the ivory white of vampire skin. His hair was inky black and fell around his pointy ears, which stuck out between his silky locks. His features were sharp, as if carved from marble by a loving, artistic hand. He wore a black button down shirt with the top buttons open and a silver rings on his fingers.
I gaped openly, unable to control myself. The more I looked at him, the prettier he became. Everything about him was perfect, from the angles of his cheek bones to the curve of his narrow shoulders. He was thin and long, elven in build. Was he an elf? Did elves exist?
I honestly didn’t know. I’d been a hobby scholar of vampires and the undead, but had never read much about whatever other creatures might be roaming our world. More and more I was kicking myself for my short-sightedness. But then, you couldn’t become another species like you could become a vampire, so nothing else had held my interest.
Raff and I approached his table. Without looking up, Vaselythe said, “Not interested, thanks,” in a thick British accent. Raff hesitated, moving his hands around like he didn’t know what to do with them and finally looked back at me for help.
“Uh, hi,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m Charlie Lear, and this is my friend Raff.”
“I didn’t ask who you were.” He finally raised his gaze above his computer screen and it landed on me. And then, he smiled. I nearly fainted. It was tight and strained, but it was a smile. No one this beautiful had any right to exist, and yet he was smiling at me. My hand flew to tuck a loose hair back behind my ear and I cursed my basic work makeup. “Wolves.”
It wasn’t a question, just a statement. I didn’t know how to respond so I said, “Actually, at the moment we’re investigators.”
The man raised a thin black eyebrow. “Are you? I didn’t know you could change your stripes. Or in your case, your fur.”
“We’re looking for a group of men who are attacking our kind,” Raff said. “I was told you tend to monitor… uh… problem
s and might have some information.”
“I do keep abreast of certain situations, and how they may or may not affect my clientele. But I do not keep track of those who might hunt mortals with supernatural afflictions.”
It felt like a slap in the face and the slightly smug curve of this elf guy’s lips told me that was exactly his intention. Jerk.
“So you don’t know anything,” I said.
Raff stiffened beside me. I guess I couldn’t help being rude after all, but hey, he started it.
“I know many things, little wolf,” Vaselythe said. “Such as how arrogance tends to get people in trouble.”
You’re one to talk, I thought, but Raff already looked like he was going to choke on his terror, and my own heart was pounding against my ribs, so I kept it to myself.
“If you can help us find these men who are killing our kind, we would be grateful,” Raff said, with a slight bow.
Vaselythe stared, slowing tapping his long fingers against the table. His fingernails were polished and looked razor sharp. Suddenly the ground shifted beneath me and I saw the monster hiding beneath the mask of beauty, dark and deadly, his eyes burning red. Then the mask clicked back into place. I shivered. Whatever Vaselythe was, he was dangerous.
“I’ll keep an ear to the ground, as it were, but I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you at this time,” Vaselythe said finally. “Now please leave my club. And tell your alpha wolf that my debt to her is paid.”
“Of course,” Raff said. “Thank you for—”
“I did say leave. And I will not ask twice.”
I swallowed and turned to go, without bothering to thank him, since clearly he didn’t want us in the same room for another second.
Downstairs, I marched straight up to the bar, where the bartender with the horns was cutting lemon wedges for cocktails. “Hello,” I said.
She eyed me dubiously. Her yellow eyes had slit pupils, like that of a snake. “You don’t have a drink pass,” she said mildly.
“Good thing I don’t want a drink, then,” I said. Honestly, I’d need to read up on supernatural bars before deciding whether it was even safe to drink at them. I’d had soda water at Bats, but vampires weren’t big on poisoning mortals. That would spoil their food source. Taking food and drink from one of the fae, though, always came with obligation. I didn’t know if that was true of whatever this woman was, but I wasn’t going to take the risk. “Have you heard anything about a recent group of supernatural hunters? Maybe one focused on werewolves?”
She picked up her cutting board and swept the lemon wedges into a clear plastic storage container and then looked up. “You’re a werewolf? And they let you in?”
I shrugged.
She grabbed another couple of lemons from a bowl. “About two months ago, my coworker—a shifter—got jumped on his way home from work. The guys were human but carrying guns with silver bullets. He said the silver smell was overwhelming. There were five of them and they all wore camouflage. Called themselves the Guardians for Pure Life and shot him in the leg.”
“Oh my God. Is he okay?”
She nodded. “His leg is still healing, but he got away. Said he did a number on at least one of them, wasn’t sure the guy would live, but it’s not like any of us bothered to follow up.”
Silver was fatal for werewolves like me. Silver poisoning was a slow, miserable way to go, and a shot in the leg would be deadly unless dealt with immediately. Even then, the leg would probably need to be amputated. But for a shifter—someone’s who born with the ability to shift between their human and animal forms at will, and not at the behest of the moon—silver poisoning would just make them violently ill for a few days. Like food poisoning, but worse. If these guys were shooting with silver bullets, it was very lucky I hadn’t been hit when they’d fired through my window or I’d probably be dead even if they’d only grazed me.
I shuddered.
Raff appeared at my side. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. We were just chatting,” I said. The bartender nodded and started cutting up limes as she had the lemons. To her, I said, “I don’t suppose you’re willing to give me your coworker’s information so I could ask him some questions.”
She stopped mid-slice, the knife hovering in the air. Then she sighed, set the knife down, and wiped her hands on a bar towel. “I’ll give you his number. But only if you promise not to harass him. He doesn’t want to chat with you, he doesn’t want to chat, got it?”
“Yes. Totally!”
I sounded too enthusiastic, but this was the only lead we’d gotten. She scribbled the name “Brandon” and a phone number on a bit of receipt paper and handed it over.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Sure,” she said. She pointed to my wrist where the blue band I was wearing had faded to white. “Looks like your invitation has expired. The door is that way.”
I didn’t argue, and neither did Raff. At least now we had a next step.
Chapter 15
“I’ve never met a shifter,” I said, as we walked from the car toward a small house in Interbay. We’d had to park a little way down the street and were now trudging uphill to where Brandon lived with his girlfriend. Or at least, I assumed the woman I’d spoken to was his girlfriend. She lived with him, anyhow, and had said he’d be happy to answer questions about his attackers two months ago. That was encouraging. I hoped she was right.
“They’re nothing special,” Raff said, a little defensively.
“They’re more special than us. They can control when they turn,” I said. I didn’t love turning into a wolf, but having no control over it made it a hundred times worse. Shifters could become their animal selves at will, and even better, they could turn back whenever they wanted. That seemed pretty special to me. Way more like a superpower than a super curse. “And they can be themselves in animal form. Keep their wits and stuff.”
Raff stopped walked. It was so abrupt that I nearly fell down as I turned to see if he’d tripped. Instead, he was staring at me like I’d just spoke in Russian, his face pensive and sad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, gazing back and forth between the path ahead and Raff, searching for whatever had literally stopped him in his tracks.
“You really don’t know anything about being a werewolf.”
I shook my head. “I know enough. I mean, I am one.”
He scratched stubble on his cheek and then sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“No.” I folded my arms over my chest. “You keep acting like I don’t know anything because I don’t hang out with the pack or play pack politics, but I know plenty. I know it feels like our bodies are on fire and our bones are cracking every time we shift. I know we can’t control the timing. I know I have to chain myself to a wall so I don’t hurt anyone. So tell me, Raff, what am I missing?”
He pressed his lips together into a fine line and folded his arms over his chest, mirroring my stance.
“See? There is nothing! You’re just mad because I don’t enjoy being forced to turn into a monster every month against my will because you think it makes you magical or something.”
“Charlie,” he said, his voice low.
“What, Raff? What is it? You want to tell me how great it is being a mindless wolf because the full moon makes us? Because I gotta tell you, I’ve been doing it for three years and—”
“Charlie!” This time his voice was sharp, brooking no argument, and his eyes were wide.
I froze. That’s when I heard the sounds of paws padding against the pavement and the soft panting of dogs. No, not dogs. In my periphery, I saw a coyote, its reddish gold fur glistening beneath the street light. It was bigger than most coyotes, and as I slowly turned my head, I realized it wasn’t alone.
We were surrounded. Coyotes approached from all sides, appearing out of the shadows from behind parked cars, trees, and yards. We stood in a gap between houses, where no windows looked out directly upon us, and I doubted that was a coincidence.
/>
The last coyote emerged from behind a car in front of us. It growled menacingly as it approached.
“Shifters,” Raff whispered.
No duh, I thought. Although to be honest, it was hard to tell. They were larger than any coyotes I’d ever seen but otherwise, they looked perfectly normal. Except that I didn’t think real coyotes would stalk people in the middle of a residential street.
“We’re here to speak with Brandon Roberts,” I said, turning in a slow circle. “We just have some questions.”
One of the coyotes to my right sniffed the air, as if trying to get a scent. It barked. One of the others barked in response. And then one of the coyotes off to the right shifted.
It was such a fast process that it caught me by surprise. The coyote convulsed. I could hear bones crack and sinew stretch and snap. I winced. I didn’t know if the change was easier for shifters—it seemed to be faster—but I knew it had to be painful.
Less than a moment later, a naked man stood where the coyote had been. It was a chilly November night, but the man didn’t seem bothered by the cold or his lack of clothes. He was a well-built guy with tan skin, taller than Raff, and a little more buff, with red hair that had sandy streaks through it. He looked human but there was an otherworldly air about him, something hard to put a finger on other than a sense that he wasn’t entirely human. Most mundane mortals would shrug off those feelings, telling themselves they were captivated by his handsome face or burly build, or just plain imagining things.
“You halflings are in coyote territory,” he said. “Better run back to your wolf den.”
Moon Cursed: The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles, Book 1 Page 9
