“Why are you here with me, Keeli? Why do you walk here alone, with me, in this dark isolated place? I’m a vampire. You should not trust me.”
“Is that a threat, Michael?”
“No, just curiosity.”
He saved your life. Not just your life, but your freedom. He protected you against another vampire. He was kind.
And face it—you like him. Despite everything, you like him.
Shit.
“I didn’t really think about it beforehand,” she said. “But thanks for bringing up the fact that it was a dumb move, and that I should be scared of you jumping my ass in this dark scary hole. You’re a real nice guy, Michael. Very thoughtful.”
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, quiet. Keeli rolled her eyes.
“You must be the most socially inept person I have ever met in my life. Dude. Do you think I would be down here in this crap hole with you if I thought I were in danger? Do you think that for one minute I would turn my back on you if I thought you were going to nix me? I would kill you first. Got that? All bets would be off, no matter how many nice things you’ve done for me.”
He stared, and it pleased her to no end that he seemed taken aback by her words. “I thought you were just trying to be brave,” he finally said, and in his voice she heard a puzzled curiosity that was touched by something soft, like wonder. “I did not want you to pretend if you were scared of me.”
She was scared of him, but her reasons were different from his, and she had no interest in explaining why moving closer to him with her eyes intent on his pale sharp face made her want to run screaming—screaming—because her body wanted his body and she had never ever felt that way about any werewolf or human, and that was wrong. So wrong.
“Let’s get something straight, Michael. I’m here with you because I made a promise, and I keep my word, no matter what. But I’m not stupid, and I don’t make promises to people who I think will stab me in the back.”
“So you trust me,” he said.
Keeli almost found herself saying “No,” but that was a lie—she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t trust him. Her trust, though, had come so smoothly, so naturally, that she had not even thought about it.
And that was terrifying. Because Keeli never gave her trust so easily, not even to members of her own clan.
“I trust you not to stab me in the back,” she clarified, though she wondered if that was all, if anything else would come so easily between herself and this vampire.
“Thank you,” Michael said.
Keeli’s eyes narrowed. “What about you? How do you feel about me?”
“We already discussed this. You gave me your word. I trust you to keep it.”
“I—” She stopped, confused. “Then why the hell are we having this conversation?”
Michael sighed. “I’m not sure anymore. I thought you looked uncomfortable. I just wanted to make sure it was not because of me.”
“Oh.” Keeli thought about that for a moment, trying to wrap her brain around the concept of a vampire making a werewolf feel comfortable. “Um, thanks.”
She began walking again, this time more conscious of Michael’s tall lean body shadowing her heels. She listened to the rustle of his clothing, and found herself concentrating more on his scent than the path.
“You smell like horses,” she said.
His steps faltered. Very quietly, he said, “I was raised with them. It’s the reason I’m bowlegged. I learned to ride before I could walk. But that was centuries ago. I should not still smell like home.”
Keeli shrugged, trying to imagine him on horseback, wondering where that had been and when. “It’s not so much a fresh scent, or even exactly the same as horse. It just has the same … essence.”
It took him a long time to respond. The tunnel curved and the ceiling sloped lower. Keeli heard the distant rumble of the subway.
“Have you ever ridden horses?” Michael asked. The question was so surreal, she laughed.
“Horses don’t like people like me. But when I was little, I always wanted to ride. I was obsessed. So when I was five my parents rented a car and took me out of the city to this place they’d heard of. A ranch. I got to stand on the fence and watch the horses.”
Green grass shining with sunlight. Warm wind on her cheeks. Her mother, laughing, leaning with her arms around Keeli’s waist, and around them both the arms of her father, hugging them close. A beautiful day. Safe. Loved.
Her chest hurt. She touched her breastbone, trying to feel the soft place where all her memories still lived. She hadn’t thought about that day for a long time. Too long.
“That’s how you know the scent, then.”
“Yeah,” Keeli said, still remembering her mother’s hair, winding golden through her father’s fingers. She caught herself drifting, and lifted her chin. “We’re nearing the end of this tunnel. Pretty soon it will empty out into the main underground thoroughfare that links up the entire clan infrastructure. It’s Wolf Central. Don’t expect a warm welcome. In fact, you’ll probably be lucky to make it through your first encounter without a matching set of scars on your face.”
“Lovely,” Michael said. “I’m a firm believer in the beauty of symmetry.”
She smiled, and stopped to look at him. “It’s going to be rough, Michael.”
“For you or for me?”
Her smile slipped away, down to her toes. “Both.”
She did not understand the look that passed through his eyes, but he nodded, solemn, and that quiet acceptance, the shadow of compassion, suddenly made her feel better. Like she were not alone in this strange endeavor, and that whatever happened, good or bad, she would have someone at her back. A partner. Even if he were a vampire.
“It shouldn’t be that awful,” she backtracked, even though Michael certainly did not look in need of reassurance. The tunnel walls vibrated, there was a loud roar, and then the noise faded, rushing into some unseen distance. They were close to the subway now. “Maddox is the largest clan in the city, and the strongest. It’s the reason my Alpha is the Grand Dame, instead of just a regular clan leader. Her word is law for all the werewolves in the city, and right now she’s banned any aggression between our two peoples.”
“Fleur Dumont, our leader, has done the same, though I’m not sure the ban is holding. I have heard some rumors of violence, and not just the murder we’re investigating.”
“Gangs,” Keeli said. “Yeah, I’ve heard the same thing. You guys are trying to ruffle our fur.”
“‘You guys … ’” he murmured. “Are vampires still all the same to you?”
Keeli glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t get touchy with me, Michael. I say it the way I see it. And except for you, I don’t think I’ve ever met a vampire who didn’t automatically talk down to me. I’m a werewolf, so they think I’m dumb. They think they can call me a dog, and I’ll sit up and fetch.”
“Who did that to you?” His voice was low, hard. Keeli frowned at his tone.
“Why does it matter? I don’t know who they were. Crossing paths, that’s all.”
The tunnel ended. In front of them was another steel door with a keypad set in the wall.
“Are you ready?” Keeli typed in the access code.
“Are you?”
Keeli raised an eyebrow. “Life doesn’t surprise me anymore, Michael. I’m always ready for anything.”
He moved close as she prepared to open the steel door. She felt his presence wrap around her body, silent and cool. His breath stirred the hair on her neck.
She opened the door. Light and noise made her blink, duck her head in brief discomfort. She felt Michael touch the small of her back—gentle, surprising—and she stepped through the door into the sweeping cavern, fighting the urge to run, to lose herself in the crowd.
Guess who’s coming to dinner? Keeli thought, and hoped it would not be her own head on the platter.
Chapter Seven
Wolf Central was the heart of the underworld, an ab
andoned subway station that had long ago been sealed off by humans for being too archaic and dangerous. Not too archaic or dangerous for werewolves, though, who had their own engineers, their own poor man’s way of fixing things. Globe lights hung from the domed mosaic ceiling, which depicted a turquoise world of frothing seas populated by myth: mermaids and gods, shining dolphins frozen in ocean flight. Romanesque columns rose from the pale polished stone floors, which echoed dull with footfall: the click of heels, the steady tread of softer soles. Werewolves, everywhere, of every size and color, from every clan. Laughing, talking—sitting on the many wooden benches scattered through the station. No territory disputes were allowed in Wolf Central—pissing matches had to be taken elsewhere.
Keeli glanced left; far away she saw the emerald shine of leaves. Greentale Park: an artificial garden with fake towering trees and the most realistic plastic foliage money could buy, all set up on the former train tracks. Thick, wild—Keeli remembered running small and fierce on Greentale’s winding stone paths, jolting to a halt to bury her nose into thick silk rose petals. Working hard for a scent, for anything different from the other flowers, and the trees and the grass. Roses were supposed to be special; she knew that from books.
When she told her father, he went topside to find her a real rose. She still had it somewhere, pressed within a novel.
Keeli suddenly wanted to show Michael that forest. She stamped down the urge. He might laugh. If not, he would surely pity her. But then she looked up into his face and found his eyes thoughtful, distant, and he murmured, “I never imagined such a place existed. It is beautiful.”
The tight knot in her stomach relaxed. Keeli smiled. “Humans cared more about things like beauty in the olden days. They did it right.”
“So did the wolves,” he said, turning to pull shut the door.
Keeli led Michael away, staying close to the wall. Every thirty feet they passed a door identical to the one they had just entered through. “More bolt-hole exits,” she explained. “All things in the underworld lead here.”
Michael’s gaze roamed over the cavern. He looked out of place; tall, sharp, and pale, with an agile grace that was every bit the hunter, more so than the wolves around him. Despite his youthful face, he carried himself with the elegance of age, a marrow-deep familiarity with his body that was dangerously alluring.
He’s a beautiful man. God. He’s hot.
She flushed, tore her gaze away before he noticed her staring. That would not do. Not at all. She glanced around to see if anyone else watched Michael, and found they both had garnered some attention. Wolves, mostly women, studied him with narrowed, questioning eyes. She saw some appreciation in their gazes, but mostly just hard curiosity, the kind with an instant judgment attached. It was possible they could tell he was a vampire by sight alone, but Keeli thought it more likely they believed he was a human man. She doubted anyone imagined her escorting a vampire into Wolf Central. Just wait until someone got too close, caught his scent.
“There are stores here,” Michael said, examining the rows of shops set up on the opposite side of the cavernous subway station. Neat little buildings with actual glass windows to show off an assortment of wares. Mostly clothes, and things for children. Parents liked to bring their children here to shop. It felt safer than topside.
“There’s a doctor’s office, too. Also a free legal clinic. One of the Donovan wolves married a lawyer, so he comes down a couple of times a week to give out advice. An old subway car got turned into a small food market. More of a meat locker than anything else, since it’s expensive to get good fruits and vegetables here. They go fast, though. Mothers with small children receive the first cut of what comes down.”
“There is food rationing?” He sounded surprised.
“There aren’t too many grocery stores topside that are within walking distance, and taxis are expensive. Werewolves don’t make a whole lot of money in this city. Not anymore. The Grand Dame has had to reach into the reservoir to help the clans.” Keeli steered them around a group of sullen young men loafing against a column near their path. She saw too many of these small packs lately, a product of the topside job slump. Bored young men, especially werewolf men, were never safe.
“The reservoir?”
Keeli hesitated. “Wolves who can afford it pay taxes to the Grand Dame, who holds the money in trust for the clans. When times are tough, she breaks open the bank.”
And it was a large bank—a lot of money had gone into that account over the years. But the Grand Dame, and all the other Alphas before her, had a responsibility to use the money wisely. That it was being spread out now was a sign of trouble. Keeli hated that werewolves were so poor, that she had to confess such a thing, but Michael lived in a pit. If any vampire understood the concept of poverty, it just might be him.
Much to her relief, his only response was a thoughtful nod.
They had to cross the station in order to reach New Moon pass, one of the four major underground thoroughfares that led to the city’s east side, and to Maddox territory. A free shuttle service ran on an automated pulley system, powered by energy siphoned off from the city—open-air carts that seated fifty people, and which ran on a one-track schedule that was a series of drop-off and pick-up points, back and forth along the entire distance of each thoroughfare, twenty-four hours a day.
New Moon had two carts on a double-track pulley system, and Keeli and Michael arrived just as one of them drew up to the waiting area. Werewolves—mostly women clutching purses and small children—descended from the cart. Several of them passed near Michael. Distracted, tired—still Keeli saw their nostrils flare, their eyes change. They whirled, gasps lowering deep into growls, and Keeli stepped in front of Michael.
“No,” she said. “He’s not a threat.”
“You’re blind, then,” snapped a flame-haired woman. She handed her baby to a friend. Fur flecked silver against her throat and her eyes flashed gold. She stood straight, tall, shoulders thrown back in challenge. Distinctive posture, which made her either an Alpha’s mate, or someone with enough status to pull off the comparison.
Growls, everywhere, simmered low in a multitude of throats. Keeli’s gaze flickered to the other nearby werewolves, who were responding to the threat by sinking low into the beast, even with wide-eyed children in their arms.
“Please,” Michael began, but several werewolves barked—loud, piercing sounds that killed every activity in Wolf Central. Keeli bared her teeth, hissing a warning. She ran her tongue over her lengthening canines, tasting blood as her gums split with the shift.
“Escorted vampires are allowed here under protection of the Grand Dame Alpha,” Keeli said, her words tumbling into a growl. “You all know why. Now leave him be.”
“Or what?” snarled the woman, clenching her hands into fists. “You’ll fight me? For a fang?”
“Helena,” whispered her friend. She, too, showed signs of transformation, but her eyes were clear, cautious. Her arms tightened around the baby. “Be careful. She is Maddox.”
Maddox. Not the clan, but the person. Mad Dog.
The change was instantaneous, a whispered ripple through the crowd. Keeli felt the other werewolves back away: slow, careful. Helena’s face stilled, the wolf draining from her body. Her shoulders dipped very slightly.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” Keeli said. “Just leave us alone.”
Helena left them alone. So did the other werewolves, treating them to a studied indifference that did nothing to hide the undercurrent of fear, interest, and resentment stirring in their eyes. Tongues would be wagging today, that was for sure.
Did you expect anything less? Keeli Maddox, defending a vampire? Ready to fight for one? You’ll never live this down.
Keeli lifted her chin. As if she cared what everyone thought of her. She had a job to do, promises to keep. Everyone who thought that was wrong could just go to hell.
She and Michael boarded the outbound cart. Not on
e person got on with them.
“I still don’t have a matching set,” Michael said, touching his unscratched cheek as the pulley groaned and yanked them down the corridor. Sidewalks lined the outer wall; they passed werewolves walking to and from the central station. The cart picked up speed.
“You’re hilarious.” Keeli studied his face. The breeze created by their movements ruffled his dark hair, the slender braids. His cheek glittered. “It could have gotten bad. You weren’t scared?”
“Were you?”
“Yes.” Keeli smiled. “But not so much for myself.”
Michael’s lips twitched. “Thank you for … defending me.”
Her first impulse was to insult him, but instead she found herself saying, “I think you would have done the same for me.” So easy—the words were easy—and much to her amazement, she believed them. She really did.
A genuine smile touched his mouth. “You know me so well? It’s been little more than eight hours since we met, Keeli.”
She laughed. “I know only what you show me, Michael.”
“I must be showing too much, then.”
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Maybe her face revealed her thoughts; Michael’s eyes darkened. He touched her bandaged wrist. Keeli glanced down at his arm. His sleeve covered the wound, but she knew it was there. She still remembered his taste.
“It was a rough night for us both, wasn’t it?” She tried to smile, but his hand was too heavy, its comfortable weight scattering her thoughts. Michael said nothing. He looked like he was studying their hands. There was nothing flirtatious about his actions—just a calm inevitability, as though touching her was the most natural thing in the world. A puzzle. He seemed just as confused.
This is dangerous. Yes, maybe—but it was several minutes before she pulled away.
The cart slowed at the appropriate stops, but all the werewolves who got on caught Michael’s scent and beat a hasty retreat.
“I’m sorry,” Keeli said, after the last stop resulted in a gob of spit on Michael’s boot. She was somewhat appalled by the behavior she saw, but not terribly surprised. Still, it wasn’t fair to Michael, who was doing absolutely nothing to incite such vitriol. It made her wonder just how many of her own knee-jerk prejudices were inappropriate.
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