“A meeting with a man whose only goal is to take us down,” Brigg mumbled. “It may well be that the task force intends to kill us off, which means that I won’t stand a chance if I give myself away.”
“So that’s what you’re worried about. You think your Dire Wolf might show himself.”
Brigg nodded. “It’s absurd, really. I’ve concealed him from my colleagues for decades. But something inside me is on high alert; it’s almost as though my Wolf knows that he’s in danger. I’m having a bit of a hard time fighting him back today.” He turned once again to look at the building. “Something in there is calling to him, summoning him. I don’t know what, but it’s making him—okay, us—uneasy.”
“It’ll be all right,” said Cillian. “Besides, what’s the worst that the director could do?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He could lock me up and shove the key up his arse?” Brigg turned to his friend, a hard frown dragging the corners of his lips down. He grabbed the handle of the car’s door. “If I’m not out in two hours, call on the Dragons. Tell them that things have taken a turn for the worse.”
“Will do,” Cillian replied. But even as Brigg prepared to slip out, his companion stopped him. “Listen,” he said, “Roth wouldn’t steer you wrong. He’s a good Alpha, and now that he’s come into his full strength, I trust him more than ever. Take comfort in the knowledge that he wanted this meeting to happen. There’s a reason for that, whether we understand it or not.”
“He’s a good man. I know.” With that, Brigg popped open the door. Without another word he made his way towards the building.
He could only hope that no Dragons would have to be summoned today.
Chapter 3
Brigg’s throat had gone dry by the time he’d slipped inside the building and marched down the hall to the door labelled Director Robert Collins.
His hand trembled as he lifted it towards the handle, his Dire Wolf’s deeply honed instincts reminding him once again that this meeting was probably a very bad idea. This Collins might be a savvy fellow; he might know the tell-tale signs of a shifter by now. If he figured out what Brigg was, the jig would be up. Life as he knew it would end, and probably not in a particularly pleasant way.
Doesn’t matter how big the risk, he thought. It’s not like I have a choice now. This is too important.
His resolve hardened and he pushed the door open and stepped inside, only to find himself in a waiting room of some sort, complete with a receptionist, an assortment of unattractive chairs, and rickety wooden table coated in outdated magazines.
When the receptionist’s eyes met his, she studied him intently as humans often did, no doubt trying to sort out what made him tick. Brigg pushed his Wolf away, commanding him to conceal himself. Almost immediately, the woman seemed to lose interest.
“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to a chair that sat against the far wall. “He’ll be with you in a moment.” With that, she went back to playing some game or other on her mobile. Candy Pummel or Bonbon Bash or whatever the hell it was called.
What a thing, Brigg thought as he took a seat in an uncomfortably small vinyl-upholstered chair, to live such a responsibility-free life that you can devote your energy to exploding colourful candies on a small screen without fear of being punished for your genes. What a thing to live wrapped up in the blissful privilege of normalcy.
To be fair, he preferred the idea of living in fear to that of living as a human. Even during the worst moments of his life when he’d found himself utterly alone, isolated and terrified, he’d never once wished his animal away. His Dire Wolf was as much part of him as his heart was, and the idea of surrendering him in favour of a banal, predictable life didn’t appeal, even if it would have meant a existence of relative comfort and safety.
“Mr. Brigg,” a voice called out, yanking him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the face of the man who must be Director Collins: a short, oily, red-faced piece of work who definitely lived up to his inhuman reputation as the leader of a band of miscreants. He also seemed to be in serious denial about his hair loss, a poorly-distributed comb-over providing horrific evidence that he didn’t possess an ounce of good taste or judgment. “Come on in.”
Silently, Brigg rose to his feet and followed, a would-be prisoner walking towards the chamber that could very well spell the end of his life. It seemed unlikely that he’d meet his doom just now, however. It was impossible to ignore how much taller he was than Collins; how he could break the short, squat man in two if he wanted to.
His Dire Wolf knew it, too. We can take him, he growled into Brigg’s mind. We can end this, here and now.
Calm, he told the beast that paced inside him. Stay calm. Don’t show your anger. Don’t let him see you. Don’t give him the satisfaction of uncovering your existence. If Collins found you out, he’d see it as a victory.
“Raymond, is it?” asked the director as he shut the door behind them.
“They just call me Brigg,” the shifter replied, his tone abrupt. He’d always hated his first name, an all-too human necessity bestowed upon him by non-shifters.
“So, Brigg, you want to speak to me,” Collins said. His tone was cheerful, as though they were about to sit down to a spot of tea and an animated discussion of last night’s cricket match.
“I do,” Brigg replied. “In fact, the moment I heard about the existence of the task force, I decided I wanted to be involved in any way that I could.”
Collins raised an eyebrow, a smirk rendering his unattractive face even less appealing. “I must say, I’m surprised that you even know of our existence. We’ve been keeping the task force under wraps for various reasons. To say its existence is classified is…something of an understatement.”
“I have my ways,” said Brigg. “It’s my lot in life to be well informed. But I must say, I’m a little confused. It was my understanding that this organization is affiliated with Scotland Yard. Why would you keep it a secret from the Yard’s investigators?”
Collins’ jaw clenched. For a moment he looked panicked, confused, even, as to how to answer the question. “It’s complicated,” he said, “and confidential. Nevertheless, you understand that this is a highly sensitive matter. You haven’t discussed it with your colleagues at the Yard, I hope.”
“I haven’t.” A lie. He’d heard of the task force’s existence from a friend who worked in his department, in fact. But there was no need to throw the poor bastard under the bus; if this building was as well-guarded a secret as its director seemed to think, anyone who revealed its existence could be out of a job, or far worse.
“Good,” said Collins. “But before we continue, I need to ask you where it is that you see yourself fitting into the ranks here.”
Brigg narrowed his eyes. I want to shut this place down. To destroy it. To kill you and all men who are like you.
“Your organization is set up to find and capture shifters, are you not?” he said. “My skillset is, and always has been, tracking. It’s what I do. I have connections in London’s dark corners; I am all too familiar with its criminal underbelly. If you want to locate shifters, I’m your man.”
Collins sucked in his lower lip, which made him look like a tomato on the verge of turning itself inside out. “I have looked at your file,” he said. “You have a good reputation in the field. Amazing, really. You seem to hunt criminals down like a bloodhound, though I’ve no real idea how you do it.”
“Practice,” said Brigg. “I’ve had lots of it.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’d be a fool to say that you wouldn’t be useful to the task force. But perhaps we should start you off with something other than a straight-out hunt for shifters. I have a project in need of a…leader, let’s say, and I’m beginning to think you’d be an ideal candidate.”
Brigg tensed. Some tedious side project was not part of the plan. He was supposed to walk into the headquarters, find out what the hell was going on behind closed doors, and help get word out t
o London’s shifters of what would befall them if they didn’t band together against the humans. There was no time for whatever menial task Collins had in store for him.
“I’m all ears,” he said, but his voice was tense with impatience. Please don’t tell me you want me to do fucking paperwork, or I’ll have to eat your face.
Collins smiled, his cheeks rounding into repugnant balls of rough crimson.“Well, the thing is, my men brought someone in yesterday,” he said. “A shifter. A Lioness shifter, to be precise. Very beautiful creature, she is…very beautiful indeed.” The words trailed off as though he’d moved into some deviant fantasy about his captive. He leaned forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, lips wrenching up in an unattractive grin. “She’s sexy as all fuck, if I’m to be honest. I’d love to have a go at her. Except that she’s, well, rather likely to murder me if her cat comes out. Not to mention what my wife would do.” With that, he let out an awful sort of laugh that annoyed Brigg enough to make him dig his fingernails into the underside of his chair. A fantasy was beginning to unfurl in his mind that involved Collins on the ground, his entrails shredded by a Dire Wolf’s claws.
“Where is this shifter?” he asked. That was the real question. What exactly was Collins doing to his captives?
“I’ll show you. If you’re interested in helping, that is,” Collins leaned back in his chair, his voice returning to its normal level. He seemed a little put out that Brigg hadn’t joined in on his sexual fantasies about his prisoner. “If you’re going to work with us, you’ll need to know the workings of the prison. We run a tight ship, you see.”
“Prison,” Brigg repeated softly. It wasn’t a surprise, of course. He’d feared that the task force was caging its victims, a cruelty that he could hardly fathom. The Dragons’ Guild sometimes imprisoned shifters, but only if they’d turned violently on their own. In recent weeks they’d captured three Grizzlies who were found guilty of kidnapping and extortion. They’d agreed to release the men on the grounds that they never return to London. To incarcerate their kind for more than a few days was considered beyond immoral. Over time, it was enough to tear a shifter apart from the inside. Only in the most egregious circumstances had the Guild’s prisons ever held a captive for long, and only for the greatest of crimes.
“We have a series of cells below this building,” said Collins. “Not nearly enough to deal with London’s whole deviant population, of course. We’re working on that, though; don’t worry. In the meantime, the Lioness is here. Not that she’s in particular need of a high-security detention centre. Let’s be honest, she’s probably harmless. No history of violence, no priors of any sort. She’s really quite dull, considering what’s living inside her. Works a desk job for a second-tier tech company.”
“I’m still not sure that I understand what you want me to do with her,” said Brigg. “I assume that you’d like me to assess whether or not you should let her go?”
Please tell me that’s why I’m here.
Collins let another laugh escape from his middle-aged belly. “Oh, no. Not in the least,” he chortled. “We can’t let any of them go. That is, unless they agree to help us. Which brings me to you.”
“Me? How so?”
“I’ve heard that, as well as being a splendid tracker, you’re excellent at negotiating. That you have a gift when it comes to bending the will of perpetrators and witnesses alike.”
“Yes, you might say that I’ve had some experience with talking people out of murder, among other sins.”
Collins’ eyes brightened. “Well, let’s just say that our beautiful prisoner is a little…difficult. I’d like you to speak to her. You’re accustomed to negotiating with tough subjects; maybe you could explain to her that her options for the future are becoming more limited, the longer she resists helping our cause. See if she’ll work with us. Who knows? Perhaps a woman with her skillset would be able to help you with your tracking.”
“Perhaps.”
“This is all based on your willingness, of course.” Collins rose to his feet and wandered over to a generic-looking painting of Paris that hung on the wall. “I want you to spend time with her. Work with her, get her to tell us how our enemies work. She’s…well, she’s stubborn. During her first few days here, we tried offering her money, but she didn’t seem to want it. She wouldn’t sign anything. Wouldn’t submit. Insisted, in fact, that she doesn’t even know any shifters. Can you imagine that?”
Brigg shook his head.
“We gave up on her,” Collins continued, “but I think someone with your skills might be able to render her useful.” He turned to face Brigg, sizing him up for a few seconds as though trying to assess his merit. “You’re a handsome man,” he said. “Maybe you could charm her with those looks of yours. See what you can find out. Ask her to tell you where the shifters congregate, who their leaders are, that sort of thing. She must know something. To be honest, we’ve grown quite desperate.”
Brigg’s jaw dropped. He wanted to laugh out loud. “You mean to tell me you don’t have any leads?”
Really? This so-called task force didn’t yet know anything about the Dragon Guild’s headquarters or the identity of the Dire Wolves’ Alpha? Well, that, at least, was some good news.
Collins narrowed his eyes to angry slits. “Are you saying that you do know something?” he asked. “I don’t think I need to tell you how serious an offence it is to conceal such information.”
Brigg shook his head, suppressing his giddiness. “Of course that’s not what I meant. I simply assumed that an organization as…highly skilled…as this one would be in possession of a good deal of Intelligence. Apologies if I offended.”
Another smirk slipped over Collins’ lips. “It’s fine,” he said. “Needless to say, I’m eager to find the shifters’ leaders and take them down. I’m glad to see that you are as well. So, let’s get this ball rolling, shall we? Are you on board for helping with the lovely Lioness?”
Brigg nodded, a smile tweaking his lips upwards. For the first time since he’d woken this morning, he felt empowered. It turned out that this Collins was nothing more than a disorganized fool, trapping shifters with no plan whatsoever of what to do with them. He was an amateur at best.
An amateur who’d chosen to go after a very dangerous foe.
“I’ll help,” Brigg said. “That is, as long as you agree to play by my rules on this particular matter.”
“Fine,” said the director. “I have no doubt that whatever rules you throw my way, I’ll approve them. Just as long as you help our cause. Use the woman in any way you can.”
“Trust me, I will. So, where is she?”
Chapter 4
When the door to Sinead’s cell creaked open, a stream of bright light flooded the uneven stone floor. She threw a hand up to cover her eyes, wincing the burn away. “Too bright,” she murmured. “I don’t like it. Make it go away.”
Through squinting eyes, she just barely made out the fuzzy, tall shadow that was moving towards her. One step. Two steps, and then darkness came again as the cell door slammed shut.
For a moment she wondered if she’d just imagined the whole thing.
I’m alone again.
I’ll be alone forever.
But in contradiction to the despairing words, something lit up at the opposite end of the cell, and suddenly she could see that the shadow had a hand. It held something—a phone, perhaps—as its tall form leaned back against the closed door. She guessed now that it was a man who’d entered her domain, though as far as she could tell, he wasn’t dressed in military garb like the guards. He wore a coat, like he’d just wandered in from outside. A civilian.
Somehow, that only served to render him more frightening.
Sinead pulled her chin up weakly and tried to focus on the visitor’s face. As if to help her, the hand twisted the phone around to shine the light on a set of features that told Sinead in no uncertain terms that it was a man that was now standing in her locked cell, mere fe
et away.
That didn’t help.
Men were her enemy. It was men who’d put her here. It was men who’d ruined her life. There was no comfort in seeing yet another of their kind.
“Sinead,” a rich, dark voice said quietly, the familiar syllables swirling around her head in the dark, reminding her that she wasn’t entirely clear-headed. The world was still a strange, awful dream. “Are you all right?”
“Do I…do I know you?” she asked, not sure if the words were coming out clearly or as a jumble of mush from her lips. Someone had shoved cotton balls in her mouth, she was sure of it. Nothing felt right, least of all her tongue, which had forgotten how to move.
She tried to lift her head again, but it rocked sideways like a loose bobble. So she moved her eyes to stare up at him, focusing for just a moment on his expression. But it was too dark. Once again, he’d become an apparition.
“No,” he replied, his tone soft-edged. “Clearly you’re not all right.”
Sad, she thought. He’s sad. My captor is sad, poor wanker.
“Why…are you here?” she asked.
He slipped forward and held something out towards her, and she locked her eyes on it, squinting in the dark. A bottle of water. Or was it poison?
“Drink this,” he said. “They told me it’ll help you.”
Her chin tucked down into her chest, she pulled her eyes up to his to try and read him again.
“What is it?” she groaned. God, she wanted to rise up, unleash the Lioness and kill him for the simple crime of wandering into her cell. As if he was some saint who was going to do anything for her whatsoever. She knew perfectly well that he’d say a few words, try a few underhanded tactics, and eventually he’d leave her to a life without light or hope. The bastard would return to his nice life with his nice family and forget the rotting corpse he’d left behind.
“It’s just water with a little something in it. I’m not here to hurt you,” he told her. “I wouldn’t do that.”
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