“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 to 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?”
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 feet 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.”
“I asked why you’re here,” she growled, “not why you’re not.”
“I’m here to negotiate with you. I need your help, just as you need mine.” He moved towards her, sensible enough to be cautious about it. The guards had probably told him not to wake her Lioness. They’d warned him that she had a sleeping monster inside her.
She almost wanted to laugh. Poor bastard didn’t have anything to worry about. She wasn’t sure her Lioness would ever wake again.
She grabbed the water from him, unscrewed its lid and took a long swig. It was cold, refreshing. For the first time in days, a little clarity started to make its way into her mind. Whatever was in the liquid was definitely doing the trick. It was nice to feel a little lucid for once.
“Negotiate what?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her dirty hand, a move that she immediately regretted. Ew. Please tell me you’re going to negotiate a long, soapy bath for me.
“The people who work here want information,” the man said. He had such a nice voice. A little too nice. Sinead found herself enjoying the sound; it was like a distant, lilting music. Seductive, even. She could have listened to him all day.
No. He couldn’t be seductive, and she couldn’t let herself enjoy him. This man was a pig, just like the others. She was only hanging onto anything positive because if she didn’t, she’d go completely mad. She was falling in love with a sound because she needed to believe that something in the universe was still beautiful.
“What kind of information would they want from me?” she asked. “I work for a tech company. I’m no one.” She knew the lie in her words. She knew what he meant. But she didn’t want to confront the awfulness of the truth—that a group of British men had thrown her into a cell under London because she wasn’t like them. They’d thrown her in because they didn’t like the idea of the giant cat inside her. She was their enemy because she had something they didn’t. Because she didn’t fit into their idea of normal.
“They want you to help them uncover other shifters. The ones who are causing issues in London, killing people. That sort of thing. If you help, then…”
She made a scoffing sound, then laughed. “I can’t help you, but even if I could, I wouldn’t. Don’t you see? This whole thing is fucking eugenics,” she said, gesturing towards her cell walls with her arms outstretched, a little of the water splashing out of her bottle. “You’re rounding us up like we’re…”
“Animals,” the man said, his tone hard for the first time. Sinead realized that his face was obscured in darkness again, his phone pointed at the floor. “Well, you are, aren’t you?” he asked. “You are an animal.”
She opened her mouth but stopped herself before growling at him. “Half animal,” she said. “But my déor is dormant right now, thanks to whatever fucking cocktail of narcotics they injected into me. My eyes are bleary, my sense of smell is choked. I’m no threat to anyone, and no use to them, either. I’m half-dead.”
The man
pulled his phone towards his face again and backed up against the wall, looking down at her with a strange glint in his eye. She wished she were alert enough to sniff him, to figure him out. She couldn’t tell if he was awful or nice, evil or kind. Couldn’t tell if he was there to make her life hell, or if he genuinely wanted to help her.
He was beginning to seem good, protective. But that might have been the drugs messing with her mind.
Of course, that was probably what he wanted her to think. It wasn’t like he’d offered her anything. He hadn’t said he’d help to free her, to guide her back to her life. Hadn’t said he’d get her some proper food, a change of clothing.
“No,” he said softly. “You’re quite right. You’re not a threat.”
He went silent after that for a moment, and then a familiar sound hit her ears.
Sniffing.
At first she thought she was the one doing it. Maybe her Lioness had taken over and was trying to assess him.
It took a minute to realize that the sound was coming from him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, waving her hand at him as if to shoo him away. “Don’t do that; I know I smell rank. I don’t exactly have a bath tub in here.”
“You really are a Lioness,” he said, ignoring her words. “They told me so, but I wanted to be sure. I wanted to find her scent on the air.”
With those words, Sinead’s head cleared, like the fog that had consumed her for days had been blasted away with one quick gust from a high-powered fan.
“Holy bollocks,” she gasped. “You’re a shifter.”
“Yeah. I am. A Dire Wolf, to be precise.”
She stared at him for a moment. His eyes gleamed in the darkness. Why hadn’t she seen that before? He was so tall, so broad-shouldered. She should have known immediately what he was.
But wait—how the fuck had a shifter waltzed into a locked cell under the Anti-Shifter Task Force’s headquarters?
There could be only one answer, and it wasn’t a good one.
Dire Wolves of London Page 2