by Gaja J. Kos
It was an illusion, but as long as it made me feel better, I was more than happy to be a believer.
As four o’clock crept closer, I made my way back down to the tennis courts. I picked up some ghastly yellow cones from the shed we kept out back, along with two baskets nearly overflowing with training balls.
Like me, I knew Rihard was shaken from Christian’s death. I hated the fact—hated myself for even thinking along these lines—but going hard on him now was the ideal opportunity to test his nerves. See if he’d made any progress with Elsa.
If he could hold it together, I’d go straight to my office and register him for the Games.
I set the cones on the court to mark specific areas I wanted him to target, then went back to the moderate shade by the benches, drawn by the incessant ringing of my cell.
Rihard.
“If you’re about to tell me that you’re running late,” I said with a false growl, I’ll double your sprints, kid.”
He laughed, but there was a weakness to the sound that I didn’t particularly like. “You’ll have to quadruple them, Coach. I think the stress caught up to me.”
“Fever?”
“Nah, just… Just a little under the weather.”
“Don’t worry.” I let out a sigh. “I’ll let you go easy this time. You just—you take care of yourself, yeah?”
“I’ll be on the court first thing tomorrow, I promise.”
“You better,” I warned, but kept my tone light. If a day off was what he needed to pull himself together, it was a far lesser evil than having him break down.
I sat on the bench when the call disconnected, my gaze running across the cones clashing against the orange clay.
He’ll be fine, I told myself.
But somehow, the unease within me refused to lessen.
8
It always felt a bit odd to run on only two feet—and in sneakers at that. Luckily, exercising in a human manner had been part of my training regimen since I was eight, so the peculiarity of the situation quickly faded, the familiar strain in my muscles and the slight burning in my lungs taking its place.
Alec and I were going fast, constantly choosing the routes that had the most elevation gain. Although in the flat of Munich, it really wasn’t much, even with the Olympiaberg thrown in. Still, feeling the incline, however slight, just did something for me.
I never figured out whether it was the wolf inside me or if I was just a born trail runner, but my body seemed thrilled to have this variety.
Alec took a sharp turn left down a nearly overgrown path, momentarily catching me off guard. The bastard. I followed on his heels, closed the distance in a matter of seconds, then came up beside him when the trail widened enough to accommodate us both.
His steady breaths and sweat-touched scent wrapped around me, and I marveled at how easy it was to be in his presence, how the events of the previous day seemed to just fade away as if they had never happened. As if I’d never doubted his integrity, the distaste we’d shared for doping—and taking our players’ best interest to heart.
Sometimes, I couldn’t help feeling that I didn’t deserve him.
I’d tried apologizing again when we first met outside the compound just before the break of dawn, but Alec simply kissed me, told me not to be an ass, then took off running.
Needless to say, I more than gladly followed.
For two hours, we circled around the park, zigzagging down the paths and breathing in the air of a barely awakening city. Despite the fact that I wasn’t born a morning person, I loved seeing the sun-touched colors spread across the sky, the numerous shades fading and morphing until all that remained was a unanimous blue. And even more so, I reveled in the sensation of being alone with my pack.
This, I knew, originated from the wolf side of my existence.
Those of us living in cities didn’t have the luxury to roam the wilderness, so we came up with ways to experience at least an approximation of it. I sucked in a lungful of untainted air, my ears picking up the nuances of nature around us. The light burning in my muscles grew, and I welcomed the sensation. The peace it brought.
But as we crossed the bridge and neared the Olympiapark Tennis-Zentrum once more, the old unease slithered right back in.
I should have known the reprieve was too good to last.
We came to a stop in the shade beneath a thick copse of trees just beyond the entrance. I squinted into the distance, seeing a few employees trickle in.
“I have your list.” Alec’s words came out ragged from the run, but I could sense it wasn’t merely the physical exhaustion that gave them a grim edge. He grimaced. “It’s longer than I thought.”
I sighed, then stripped off my Dri-FIT shirt, rubbing it across my face to wipe away the prickling sweat. “Would’ve been too easy otherwise.”
“Isn’t there some law about threatening civilians?”
“We’re werewolves, Alec.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Since when has anybody thought of us as civilians?”
He didn’t answer. And he didn’t have to. Even a packless were like me, even in this new world where supernaturals and humans were able to coexist in moderate peace, was hardly a civilian. With the heavy-duty training every werewolf received—from controlling our shifts, to learning how to fight in both forms—it was hardly fair to stick us in the same bracket as non-military humans. It sucked, but it was a way to smoothen out the differences.
Although right now, that wasn’t a concept I was too thrilled about.
“Alec. Lotte.” We both groaned at the sound of our boss’s voice cutting through the air. “I noticed you haven’t finished the registrations yet.”
“We have until midnight,” Alec shot back, a slight whine to his tone.
I chuckled. “We won’t miss the deadline, boss.”
Schultz peeled himself away from the building and joined us under the trees. Dark circles rested beneath his eyes, and his usually elegant, although casual, appearance was a little craggy. It was probably my imagination, but even his heavy frame seemed lankier.
I reeled in my snappiness.
Schultz could be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but the Games, Christian—all of it was taking a toll on him, too.
“Everything will be ready for the Games,” I offered, ever the peacemaker. “Alec only has the last-minute arrivals to sort out, and I plan on finalizing the registration today. I’ll know soon enough if Rihard made the cut or not.”
Schultz nodded, a little absentmindedly, then squinted at the puffs of brilliant white that had started to rush across the blue sky.
Alec and I exchanged a glance, him shrugging slightly and me lifting an eyebrow. We both knew this subdued boss was just a temporary apparition. But it didn’t make me feel any less bad for him.
“Come on,” I said to him as I started back towards the compound, “we need to shower and you, dear boss, need to throw unruly amounts of paperwork on our desks.”
Dressed in jean shorts and a loose-fitted white tee, I made my way to Elsa’s office. The vampire seemed perky as usual when I spied her through the open door, swirling a half-empty glass of blood in her hand as she studied the folder spread before her. This time, her auburn hair was pulled in a high ponytail, the ends twisted into ringlets that brushed against her exposed shoulders.
On anyone else, a strapless dress would have looked mildly inappropriate in a work environment, but Elsa pulled it off with class. The beige complimented her dark skin, and even from this angle, I could see the cut offset her figure without being obvious.
A part of me had always envied her impeccable sense of style—although I knew at the same time that I would probably fall flat on my face if I ever tried walking in her trademark six-inch stilettos.
Since she was so immersed in work her vamp senses hadn’t picked up my presence, I quietly cleared my throat as to not startle her. She glanced up, her entire face brightening, and not a moment later, I was seated in the chair opposite her, drinking in her
easy demeanor.
Elsa wasn’t only an excellent counselor. She practically radiated good vibes, and those were most definitely lacking in my life right now.
“Came to check up on Rihard?” she asked.
I nodded. “I know he called in sick yesterday, but—”
“Oh, he made it to our morning appointment. He looked a bit…well, worn, but he seemed adamant to push through his hour. He even arrived early, you know?” She lifted an eyebrow. “It’s safe to say that he’s good for the tournament, Lotte. I think your threats to bench him made him realize he couldn’t go on like before. Really, my input was almost redundant.”
“I’m having a hard time believing that”—I laughed—“but thank you. For everything.”
“Hey, you’re not the only one who wants to see the kid make it.” Her lips curled up in a smile, but it faltered a little around the edges. If I hadn’t known why already, her next statement scattered any doubts. “How are you holding on?”
I trailed my index finger along the edge of her desk, then shrugged. “I’m managing.”
“If you ever need someone to talk to…”
“I know where to find you. Honestly, Elsa, I just think the Games need to start, and the subsequent madness will drown out everything else.”
She shot me a stern look—as always disapproving of my methods of using distraction to sort myself out—but in the end, only sighed and let me go. After all, she knew as well as I did that if my mental shit did threaten to hit the fan, I’d come to her.
The instant I was out in the hallway, I phoned Rihard. He answered on the second ring, his voice vibrant enough to give me hope.
“I take it you’re feeling better?” I asked, taking the stairs down two at a time.
“Much. Just needed to sleep it off like I thought. I can come in before noon if you need me to catch up.”
“Nah.” I unlocked my office door and strode over to the desk. “You’ve spent enough time out on the court this month. Just make sure you show up in the afternoon. I might have some good news waiting for you.”
He sucked in a breath. “I made the cut?”
“As I said”—I grinned—“show up, and you’ll find out, kid.”
He cursed me softly, then said his goodbye. I was still smiling when I plopped my ass down in my trusty swivel chair, but my mood soured as soon as I pulled a folded piece of paper from my back pocket.
Well, shit. Alec hadn’t been kidding. There were a lot of names he’d scribbled down, all of them in contact with Christian at some point or another.
So much for narrowing down my pool of suspects.
Although I supposed it was a place to start, at least.
I sighed and powered on the computer. Since the majority of the people Alec referenced were currently in the building, I couldn’t go around breaking into their offices. Besides, the disaster that had been my run-in with Alec yesterday at the infirmary put me off that kind of sleuthing for a while, if not indefinitely. But there was something I could do.
Schultz made certain his employees had clean pasts, but maybe something in their files could at least point me in the right direction. I wasn’t even certain what I was looking for, perhaps something as trivial as a cousin working in pharmaceutics, but it was worth giving it a try.
I entered my password and accessed the registry, then typed the first name in the search bar. Marcel Wald.
Forty-one. Former runner. Hired a year ago to take care of the off-court training. The data was quite extensive, but nothing out of the ordinary, so I quickly did a search on his relatives. The internet, bless its stalker soul, managed to produce several social media accounts.
But nothing that would mark him—or any of the people close to him—as a suspect.
I sighed and entered the next name on the list. The results were similar, although I did note Schweigher’s sister worked at a local fitness club. Access to food supplements—check. Motive—none. I scribbled down her info, just in case, then moved on.
By the sixth name, the stationary phone on my desk rang. I picked it up without scanning the caller ID and seriously regretted my decision when the IT’s voice rang in my ears.
“Our system noted you’re searching through the employee database,” he said in way of greeting. Kevin never was big on the whole small-talk thing. “Can I help you with anything?”
I cursed myself mentally. Of course they kept tabs on our computers. Wouldn’t want anyone Googling unsavory things at work. I bit my lip, sifting through the mass of thoughts for an answer that would seem likely but wouldn’t raise any red flags.
In the end, I went for the usual—a half-truth.
“I just remembered something the police said. They asked me if I knew of anyone else who might shed some light on Christian’s condition since they don’t have the resources to interview the entire Zentrum. I was just fishing for names that might help with their case.”
“Oh.” The sound of his fingers rushing across the keyboard filled the brief silence. “I’m emailing you a list of all the people who officially worked with Christian. There could be more, but this is what’s stored in our system.”
True to his word, a notification blinked on my screen. I opened the message, finding a list that matched the one Alec gave me, with a few differences that caught my eye.
“Thanks, Kevin. I owe you one.”
He disconnected without saying goodbye, and I printed out the new names, then wrote down the additional ones from Alec’s list next to them. My personal search was indefinitely stalled, and while I couldn’t go spying around the compound, my snooping hadn’t been a complete bust after all.
Satisfied, I picked up my cell and called Isa’s number.
“I figured your people could do a lot more with these names than me,” I said as I handed over the paper.
We were sitting in a small cafe in Pasing, tucked away from the main road and any curious glances. While I was fairly certain no one from the compound ever ventured this way, I had to admit the surrounding wall of greenery was a nice touch all on its own.
Although, in truth, that just might have had something to do with how…nice…Isa seemed in this casual environment. Her green eyes were filled with sunlight that bathed the enclosed terrace, and the light breeze ruffling her hair smoothened the sharp edges, giving her a distinctly feminine look.
I caught myself staring and quickly schooled my face before she noticed, cursing profoundly under my breath. Isa might be a treat for the eyes, but she had threatened Greta. I couldn’t let myself forget that underneath the gorgeous facade, she was still the Ice Queen of Fang.
In light of that, my attraction to her meant nothing more than ill-advised shit.
“You did good.” Her velvet voice rolled over my skin as she scanned the names.
“Thank you.” The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them.
Damn it, Lotte, you wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t bullied you into taking the job.
And yet it was nice to hear her praise. To know that I actually helped.
Great. Nothing quite like a conflicting situation to brighten my day. I scolded myself—again—then fixed my attention on Isa, but made sure it remained perfectly neutral.
“You only stopped playing professionally last year, didn’t you?” she asked once she folded the paper and slid it into the inner pocket of her black purse.
I frowned. “Yes.”
“And your rankings, they still hold?”
There was something glacial about her question—or perhaps it was the glint in her eyes, telling me this wasn’t just some idle conversation to pass the time while getting to know me better.
I wanted to lie, but all that came out was just another “Yes.”
Isa crossed her slender legs and smoothed down her skirt as it rose high enough to reveal her shapely thighs. Her red-painted nails danced across the hem, and I kicked myself mentally for following their tantalizing path. Was she…distracting me?
&
nbsp; Well, I wasn’t about to fall for her play.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “Why do you want to know?”
“Lotte,”—a smile touched Isa’s lips, but there was nothing pleasant about it—“I want you to enter the Munich Games.”
9
An incredulous laugh bubbled from my lips. “You want me to what?”
“Being a competitor is more likely to put you on the path of whoever is supplying the drug to the players,” Isa said coolly, completely ignoring the disbelief on my face. “You have the necessary qualifications for the Games, but with your recent retirement and lack of subsequent practice, it wouldn’t be unusual if you needed a little boost for the tournament. Besides,” she continued when I’d already opened my mouth to protest her idea and her blunt assumption of my rustiness, “this arrangement will give you access to areas where it would have otherwise been suspicious for you to loiter in.”
I frowned at her. “That’s all great on paper, but my retirement wasn’t exactly a small deal. Don’t you think people will wonder why I’m suddenly competing again?”
“Athletes change their minds all the time.” Isa waved a slender hand through the air. I got a distinct feeling she didn’t exactly hold sportsmen in high regard. “Perhaps you were struck with sentimentality. Perhaps you wanted to give support to your club after your protégé’s death and entered the Games with the purpose to start a fund in his name with the winnings. I trust coming up with an explanation won’t be too difficult for you.”
Clearly she underestimated the media attention my coming back would generate. I snorted, then leaned back in my chair, thinking over her proposition without incorporating all the additional shit it would stir.
My bruised pride was sent to time-out, too. Even though I knew deep down that I was rusty.
On its own, the plan wasn’t half bad. It certainly beat breaking into offices and interrogating my coworkers based on zero evidence or disgustingly insubstantial hunches.
