Shadow Moon

by Gaja J. Kos

  2

  Eighteen. He was eighteen and the coroner was taking away his corpse.

  I stood out in the hallway leading from the locker room, listening to the myriad of policemen examining the scene. The stench of chlorine burned my nostrils, but the discomfort was a distant one, pushed into the shadows by the cascade of thoughts that rolled violently through my mind.

  No sign of foul play. Not even traces only a were’s superior senses could pick up. But with Christian’s age, a heart attack garnered additional measures.

  As much as I hated the sight, I was also grateful the police took their time.

  Alec’s fingers were fanned across the small of my back, his thumb moving in slow, calming circles. Yet regardless of how hard he tried, he couldn’t mask the restlessness of his energy. That telling tang of sorrow and concern that was embedded in his scent—and mirrored in mine.

  I shuddered, then leaned into his touch. The image of Christian’s slumped body, of his blond hair falling in light strands across his forehead as if he’d merely fallen asleep… It was burned into the back of my lids, assaulting me every time I closed my eyes.

  I couldn’t help thinking that if only I’d come here sooner…

  But the potency of death locked in the air told me it wouldn’t have made a difference. Christian had been gone for at least an hour before I walked through that door.

  “Ms. Freundenberger? Mr. Koch?” a voice called out from the locker room, followed shortly by the visual of a man in his late forties as he walked towards us through the open door.

  “Yes?”

  Mercifully, it was Alec who answered. I didn’t think I could even if I tried.

  “Detective Schwarzmann.” The man eased his somewhat crinkled gray jacket to the side, revealing a badge pinned to the waist of his pants. Munich PD. “You both trained Christian Schiller?”

  “I am—was his main coach,” Alec clarified. “Lotte assisted on specific aspects of his training.”

  The human scribbled down the information on a well-worn pad, then looked up at me. “And Ms. Freundenberger, it was you who found the body?”

  I nodded, swallowing the tremors wreaking havoc on my insides. There was no way Alec could take this one for me.

  One steadying breath later, I found my voice. “I came looking for Christian when Alec told me he missed practice. My trainee, Rihard, said he’d spoken with him earlier, about an hour and a half ago, so I came to check if he was still here.”

  “Was this something that occurred regularly?”

  I stared at the detective, hearing his words, but my mind was blank.

  Schwarzmann tried again, the hard set of his green eyes softening a little. “Did Schiller often stay in the locker room to skip practice?”

  “What?” I frowned. “No. He didn’t even like being late and took his responsibilities seriously. More than any teen I’ve worked with. But as one of the players we thought of registering for the Munich Games, he was dealing with a bit of pressure. I just assumed that maybe it had gotten to him…” I shrugged. “I’ve seen how irrational athletes can get under difficult circumstances. The Games are important enough to make someone’s career, if they succeed, and with his young age, the benefits would only be that much greater.”

  The warmth of Alec’s fingers at the small of my back increased, and I was grateful that he caught the tremors threatening to steal my voice away.

  “We both played professionally before we became coaches, so we normally wouldn’t concern ourselves over a bit of stage fright.” Alec sighed, and this time, it was me who traced caresses down his spine, offering what little strength I could. “Shit, I should have come here the moment he failed to show up.”

  “We aren’t certain if that would have even made a difference,” Schwarzmann cut in with an unexpected darkness in the tone of his voice.

  My hackles rose.

  “Would you two mind coming to the station to answer a few more questions? And we’d like to interview Rihard…” He glanced down at his pad.

  “Ackmann,” Alec supplied.

  “Thank you.” He penned in the surname. “We’d like to interview Rihard Ackmann, too.”

  I sat in a plain, upholstered chair that reeked of fear and devastation, cradling an industrial-smelling cup of coffee in my hands and waiting for Alec to finally emerge from the interrogation room. It felt like forever since he’d disappeared behind the door, but a quick glance at the clock told me it was only twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to strip apart Christian’s life, trying to figure out if there was anything malicious tied to his death.

  As if death itself wasn’t vile enough.

  My stomach rolled uneasily, and I closed my eyes to suppress the nausea. I’d thought I’d put all of this behind me when I separated myself from pack life, preferring to pursue a career in tennis rather than blood. Even during the tension leading up to the War, my parents had shielded me from the worst of it, and after, when the community worked on rebuilding itself and establishing peace, I wholly devoted myself to the good in life. Not the darkness. Or the sorrow.

  It was stupid to believe I could run away from it forever. But it had never even crossed my mind that the blow would come in the form of an eighteen-year-old kid.

  “Please call if you remember anything else.” Schwarzmann’s voice filtered through the murmurs of the precinct.

  I looked up in time to see Alec nod—to note the strain lining his handsome features and making him appear far older than his twenty-eight. Whatever they’d discussed in there, it definitely wasn’t good.

  And I was about to find out just how right I was in less than a minute.

  “Ms. Freundenberger,” Schwarzmann called out, “we’re ready for you.”

  Alec shot me a sympathetic look as I walked past him and the detective, our fingers touching briefly. But the flair of warmth was fleeting, and sooner than I would have liked, the bleak light of the interrogation room swallowed me whole.

  Another detective was sitting behind the metal table—Beitel, as he introduced himself right before offering me a seat. He was younger than Schwarzmann, although not quite enough to escape that hard edge dominating his features that I’d come to associate with his line of work. At least with those who’d been on the job for a while.

  I drank the final remnants of my coffee in a desperate attempt to calm my nerves, then plopped myself down, flinching just a little when Schwarzmann closed the door and claimed the empty chair by his partner’s side.

  The walls suddenly felt too tight, the air too thin, but I forced myself to breathe past the panic and calm the wolf inside who snapped at me and tried to break into a run.

  We didn’t.

  I didn’t.

  Exhaling, I leveled my gaze on the detectives.

  “I understand this is difficult,” Schwarzmann began, “but we have to ask these questions to learn what might have caused Schiller’s death.”

  I nodded.

  “Ms. Freundenberger, did your athlete ever use illegal performance-enhancing drugs?”

  The question caught me like a slap to the face. “What?”

  “To your awareness, did he ever take—”

  “Doping?” I exploded. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not.” To his credit, Schwarzmann actually looked uncomfortable. He smoothened an upturned corner of his pad with his thumb. “A heart attack at such a young age is a highly unusual occurrence. And with the surge of various performance-enhancing drugs made specifically for the supernatural athletes we’ve encountered over the past years, it’s, sadly, a distinct possibility the cause was chemically induced. If Schiller tried—”

  “No.” I crossed my arms. “He wouldn’t. He’s an excellent player. Has been even before he came to our club, before the drugs… He has— He had no use for them. Besides, we have a strict testing policy at the Zentrum. If he were using, it certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

  I couldn’t tell if Schwarzmann was
relieved by the information or frustrated that it brought him no closer to figuring out why Christian’s heart failed. But he believed me.

  Not that he had any real cause not to. The club kept records of all tests—tests they probably subpoenaed already. We checked urine, blood, as well as hair, cross-referencing compounds to all known drugs out there. If Christian had taken anything, even just once, it would have showed.

  “Look,”—I leaned forward, lacing my fingers together—“if I’d found out that Christian was on anything that every remotely smelled like doping, you would be the first to know. Neither I, nor Alec, look lightly upon performance-enhancing drugs. We make that clear when we take on new people, right alongside the fact that we wouldn’t think twice before handing them over to the authorities if they broke the rule.”

  Alec had probably told them something along those lines, because both detectives nodded—more to themselves than me.

  “How about rivalry?” Beitel asked. “With Schiller being such a rising star, there must have been some who weren’t thrilled…”

  I snorted. “Some is an understatement. Like I said before, he was an excellent player. Of course his talent rubbed people the wrong way. But not within the Zentrum. Our trainees might be enemies out on the court, Detective, but I assure you the situation is quite the opposite the second they get off the clay. I can’t, however, speak for the rest—”

  A loud, chiming ringtone assaulted my ears. Schwarzmann muttered a quick apology, then pulled out his phone and answered the call.

  The temperature in the room sank.

  The detective swore profoundly, already halfway out of the chair and towards the door with Beitel calling out after him. But Schwarzmann only waved his hand and reached for the handle—at the exact same time the door swung aside.

  A vampire stood facing Schwarzmann’s somewhat fuller form, her black hair swept back to reveal sharp, gorgeous features that made my breath hitch in my throat.

  Everything about her presence was demanding. From the regal black suit and neck-breaking pumps, the straightness of her back and slight tilt of her head, all the way to the piercing green gaze that met mine briefly before she focused on the two detectives glaring at her with outright hostility.

  “Detectives,” she purred, her voice pure velvet that gently masked the poison dripping off each syllable. “Thank you for your hard work, but I must inform you this case now falls under the jurisdiction of the Interspecies Crimes and Relations Agency. Your presence here is no longer necessary.”

  3

  It felt like I didn’t draw a single breath as the two detectives glared at the ICRA agent with enough hostility to make the air shimmer, but the woman seemed unfazed.

  She simply stepped past Schwarzmann, clearing the door, and lifted a single eyebrow in dismissal. There was nothing threatening in her manner, nothing that would hint at anything beyond the sheer arrogance the higher ranking agents were so notoriously known for, and yet the blood in my veins seemed to chill, my inner wolf shifting uneasily at the presence of a predator.

  For a moment, the violence inside the room grew so thick I worried it might actually escalate to blows—blows the two human detectives, regardless of how well trained or strong they were, could never hope to best. It was only when Schwarzmann nudged his chin towards the door in a silent command for Beitel to follow, effectively defusing the tension, that air finally flooded my lungs.

  As quietly as I could, I gulped it all down, not wanting to attract too much attention. While I’d never come across a case of ICRA terrorizing civilians, I seriously didn’t want to test out that theory now.

  Mercifully, the vampire’s piercing green gaze stayed on the detectives as they stomped outside. She waited patiently for the distance to grow, then shut the door behind them with a single well-placed kick of her heel.

  Somehow that snick felt like it sealed more than just the room.

  My fate, for instance.

  “Ms. Freundenberger, I presume.” Her melodic voice wrapped around me as she sat down on the chair Schwarzmann had previously occupied.

  She crossed one leg over the other, her spine still unnervingly straight, and head titled slightly to the side. Studying me.

  I fought the impulse to squirm.

  “I’m Senior Agent Isa Vogt, the new lead investigator on Christian Schiller’s case.”

  Right. As if her sending away Schwarzmann and Beitel like two dismissed pups hadn’t made that perfectly clear.

  “Look,” I started, keeping my face neutral, “I’ve already told the detectives all I could. Christian wasn’t using, we tested him regularly, and if his death is suspicious, I honestly don’t know who could be behind it.”

  “That’s fine,” she said with a smile touching the corners of her lips that I didn’t like at all. “I will have access to your interview shortly.”

  I let loose a breath. “So I can leave?”

  “Yes.”

  Hope fluttered in my chest, but another ghost of a smile that slid across Isa’s elegant features snuffed it out the very next second.

  “I do, however, want you to come to my office tomorrow at three.” She procured a card and held it out to me.

  Our fingers brushed as I tentatively took the piece of paper from her hand—a sensation I definitely wouldn’t have minded under any other circumstances. As it was, it was a challenge to keep myself from recoiling.

  Isa Vogt was a deadly, stunning viper. And I had a suspicion it was the deadly part alone ruling right now.

  “There’s something I wish to discuss with you, Lotte, and I would prefer to do it in the privacy of the ICRA building.” She waved her hand at the shabby, but functional interrogation room. “I would also appreciate it if you could keep our engagement to yourself. It’s a sensitive case, as I’m sure you’ll understand after tomorrow.”

  She stood up, the click of her heels ricocheting off the bare, narrow walls. I glanced down at the card, noting her office was located in the main building down in the city center. Even if it hadn’t said Senior Agent on the card in bold letters, that alone would have testified to her high standing within the Agency.

  I swallowed. I so did not want to get pulled into this, but her tone made it clear I really didn’t have much of a choice.

  “Tomorrow at three, then?”

  “Tomorrow at three,” I croaked, unsure what I hated more.

  That a thin strip of a vampire was ordering me around, or that some masochistic part of me was insanely attracted to her cool demeanor.

  Both seemed like a pretty good answer.

  The War had dumped a whole lot of shit on our doorstep six years ago.

  It had claimed lives, eroded the buildings, and infused our air with magic that even now smacked us in the face with changes we could never hope to anticipate. It had also robbed me of my girlfriend when the supernatural revealed itself to the wider population and she learned that her love wasn’t human after all, but came from a long line of powerful werewolves.

  Fear, loss, and broken hearts were kind of the dominant theme during those early years. But not all consequences were bad.

  I glanced at Alec’s gleaming brown fur as we ran down the earth-hewn paths of Olympiapark, noting how people got out of our way as calmly as they would for any two-legged, perfectly human jogger. After the shit day I’d had, I desperately needed this bit of freedom. Acceptance. The illusion that everything was all right.

  Oh, I knew damn well that it was a far cry from the harsh reality snapping at my heels, but right now at least, I had the luxury of not giving a fuck.

  I let my mind run as freely as my body moved. As the presence of nature swept through my senses and whisked away those whispers of rational thought I kept even through the change, I finally found peace. Nothing existed but the feel of compact soil beneath my paws, the rush of air ruffling my fur. With my senses sharp and without distractions that plagued human minds, I could sense even the faintest shifts in the terrain and anticipated obstacles
long before I actually saw them.

  The world seemed to murmur its secrets, guiding me along its trails.

  Alec was a soothing presence on my left, his steady panting and heartbeats giving my body a rhythm to follow. But when his energy brushed against mine, the contact brought that distant, rational human part of my mind back to life.

  Only this time, the threads of thought were not unpleasant. Quite the contrary.

  I lolled out my tongue, catching Alec’s scent.

  My mom could never understand why I hadn’t chosen to settle down with him, and it was a fair question—from an outsider’s point of view. Our love was bone-deep, unbreakable. The kind of affection not often found in this world.

  But Alec and I liked things precisely the way they were. Best friends, with a dash of intimacy thrown in whenever we needed it. It was comforting. Safe.

  Two disastrous break-ups—three, if I was snippy—were enough to convince me there were far better alternatives in life to channel my focus into than seeking and maintaining a true relationship between mates. To my luck, Alec was wired much the same way.

  If my first failed relationship had taught me that not everyone would be able to accept my wolf side, regardless of how much they claimed to love me, the second was an experience Alec and I both shared—our careers. Professional sports meant sacrifice, and sometimes people who claimed they could bear the weight crumbled under it instead. It was never easy, once the initial, blinding excitement waned and no amount of talks or drinks—or even fantastic sex—could make up for the fact that tennis came first.

  But Alec and I made no demands from one another. The single thing we swore on was to stand by each other’s side, regardless of what happened or where life took us.

  Right now, it was purely that unconditional support that still kept me going.

  We skirted around one of the smaller lakes, then pushed towards the renovated Olympiastadion with its soaring architectural peaks before taking the bridge that would lead us back to the compound. The day was beginning to filter into dusk, and by the time we reached the underground entrance, night had descended fully.