Darkening Moon

by Gaja J. Kos

  I sighed and peeled away from Voit’s car, then cut through the inky shadows. The quick spells of light and dark seemed determined to mess up my night vision.

  Gods, this day really couldn’t end fast enough.

  I narrowed my eyes, trying my best to hold on to that infusion of brightness Melina had gifted me, but it was a battle I was steadily losing.

  The air smelled of winter, and just as I inhaled deeper, trying to see if the weather was about to evolve into a freak snowstorm, I caught a scent that was far more pronounced than those coming from the bar should have been.

  Nostrils flaring, I glanced over my shoulder. But before I could even fully turn, hands slammed against my arms, fingers digging into flesh, and yanked me back.

  3

  In the split second I felt the ground disappear from beneath my feet, my werewolf instincts kicked in.

  I pivoted around, using the fall to twist free from my attacker’s grip. I caught myself on my hands, the hard, uneven surface of the asphalt scraping my palms until blood and snow mixed in watery smears of faded crimson. Ignoring the shallow sting, I rolled to the side—only to find myself coming dangerously close to a second figure.

  Shit.

  Muscles straining, I twisted my body and lashed out with a boot. The second attacker—a werewolf, judging by the smell of her—evaded my kick by an inch, but her maneuver bought me just enough time to recover and get on my feet. I felt, rather than saw, the first figure come at me from the side. A gust of chilly wind blew my way, but still I failed to pinpoint his race.

  The combination of scents that ran under the pulsing violence was too tightly interwoven for me to decipher while I was busy predicting their next move. Which, unfortunately, meant I had no idea what degree or flavor of nastiness the bastard was capable of throwing my way.

  Fists, it seemed, were the go-to weapon for now.

  As long as it stayed that way, it was fine with me.

  I ducked under one of his blows, then blocked the next. As our skin connected with bruising force, I shifted my weight and kicked back with a foot, aiming high and strong. By the feel of it, the sturdy sole snagged his werewolf partner in the center of her chest, but more importantly, it cut off her advance. Her breath came out in a hard rasp, the undulating presence of her scent lessening as she staggered back and gave me a brief opening. I wasn’t about to waste it.

  With a growl, I unleashed myself on the mysterious assailant, truly seeing him for the first time.

  He was tall and muscularly built, a godsdamned mountain of a man that easily matched my preternatural strength. My speed, too, despite the abundance of brawn.

  So much for trying to use agility to my advantage.

  I leaned back before his monster of a fist shattered my cheekbone, then switched up tactics and came at him with a merciless combination of punches.

  None snuck past the man’s guard, but his fixation on my hands blindsided him enough that I caught him unprepared with a kick to the groin. The bastard doubled over, my knuckles colliding with his face before he could suppress the pain. His body arched backwards, the knit hat he’d kept low over his brow flying through the air and revealing a thick mass of bleached blond curls.

  Movement from behind stirred my senses.

  The were was obviously back in commission, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off blondie who was already recovering and clearly intent on beating me into a pulp. Of the two, he was indisputably the greater threat.

  But that didn’t mean I could dismiss the female.

  In a moment of brilliance—or utter madness—I reared back into the werewolf. I rammed my elbow hard in her chest, aiming for her plexus, then threw my arm back. A satisfying crunch confirmed my fist had connected with her nose.

  She let out a shrieking howl, but the sound was lost to the night as I grabbed her, pivoted us both around, and sent her flying straight into blondie. He hesitated, just briefly, caught between catching the werewolf and shoving her aside.

  In the end, he settled on the latter.

  He got her out of the way with a brutal swipe of his muscular arm. The very second she did a nosedive towards the pavement, I was there.

  There was no fucking way he could get his defense up in time.

  Using my nails as if they were claws, I swiped at him. Four bloody gashes appeared down his neck, right across an odd-looking tattoo that reminded me of a vicious dark eye. The man hissed as crimson beaded and welled from the wounds, tinting the night with its coppery essence.

  I faked a blow to the gut, then caught him in the neck, the whizz of his breath one of the sweetest melodies I’d ever heard. But as I wrapped my hands around his head and rammed it down into my knee, something prickled at the sliver of exposed skin where my shirt had wiggled itself loose from beneath the waist of my pants.

  The sting lasted only a moment, then faded. I lashed out with a foot without looking.

  The blow found its target in another crunch of the werewolf’s already broken nose. She fell flat on her ass, tears glistening in her eyes as a fresh downpour of blood coated her mouth and chin.

  I wanted to finish her. Gods, I did. And if it weren’t for the approaching malevolence in the air, I would have.

  As it was, I barely had time to throw myself on the damp concrete as blondie’s form soared over me. Twisting around, I braced myself on my hands, body tucked in a crouch. But when I wanted to leap up, I found that my muscles weren’t obeying.

  I tried again, but my limbs resembled overcooked noodles. Fuck.

  Realization slammed into me in tune with the explosion of anger.

  The sting.

  The bastards had drugged me.

  My fury and shock must have shown on my face, because blondie smiled, approaching me with far less caution than was advisable. Sometimes the arrogant asshole syndrome was the absolute best thing a were could hope for.

  True, my surroundings were beginning to blur around the edges and my strength was at the very least halved, if not cut down to a quarter, but I was still far from helpless. I feigned a spell of dizziness, all the while chanting in my mind for him to close the bloody distance and do what he so obviously desired.

  It didn’t take long for him to grant my wish.

  His fingers closed around my throat while his free hand snaked around my rib cage. Scooping up what little strength I had left, I cradled it as I let him lift me up like some ragdoll, my body boneless and compliant—right up to the point when I planted my feet on the ground, clenched my hand around his wrist, and spun around.

  He shrieked in pain as he lost purchase on my throat, and his arm made a pleasant little snap. I released the broken limb, then kicked him in the nuts with everything I could muster.

  Blondie doubled over, but the drug—or just my own foolishness—made me forget one vital thing.

  He wasn’t the only threat out here.

  4

  The werewolf jumped me from behind. As weak as I was, the force of her body alone was enough to bring me to the ground. I howled as we rolled across the thin layer of snow, hoping to the gods the bartender would stop cowering inside and get his butt the fuck out here.

  With the music turned down low, he had to have heard the fight. And unless he was in on the ambush, the only reason I was still fighting alone was cowardice. Shit. Why was it my luck that the one person capable of helping was like me—evading violence, not running towards it?

  Although, at the moment, that particular statement was up for debate.

  I growled and head-butted the were, her blood smearing my face. My nose scrunched up at the sudden intrusion of its potent scent, but my groggy mind shoved the unpleasant sensation away. I wiggled a knee between our tightly pressed bodies and pushed with all I had.

  Which wasn’t much.

  The werewolf barely moved an inch.

  Cold bit into my back as she pinned me down and snarled into my face. I thrashed in her grip—with little result. I had a suspicion I couldn’t even beat a huma
n, drugged up as I was, let alone her.

  “You, dear, are coming with us,” she hissed, sending little droplets of blood to spray my face along with a chipped bit of tooth.

  Disgusting.

  So. Fucking. Disgusting.

  And I sure as shit wasn’t going anywhere with them.

  Unable to rely on my strength, I did the one thing that still remained in my arsenal.

  I yanked her shoulder-length hair.

  The cry of agony that shot through the parking lot infused me with hope that momentarily combatted the numbness. I pushed myself off the ground with her straddling me, then flipped our positions and let gravity take us back down. Her head crashed against a bump in the asphalt, eyelids fluttering as she flirted with unconsciousness—but the bitch refused to pass out.

  Her expression turned feral—only the moment was brief. At first, I couldn’t tell what planted that sliver of panic in her eyes, but then I heard it.

  Sirens.

  Sirens wailed in the distance, headed our way with exceptional speed. I barked out a laugh, although I wasn’t entirely certain if the sound even made it past the confines of my mind.

  The bartender hadn’t wanted to engage in a fight. But he certainly had no qualms calling the police to break it up.

  The were shoved me off, then ran over to blondie. He staggered as she hauled him up on his feet, but her grip kept him steady, their silhouettes already shuffling towards the brush. Anger surged, hot and thrashing, the impulse to hunt boiling in my blood. But for all my desire to keep them from running away, my damned treacherous body just wouldn’t oblige.

  So when the blue of the police lights spilled across the parking lot, all I could do was point the first officer in the general direction the assholes had disappeared to before the world faded to peaceful black.

  As far as passing out went, it hadn’t even been that bad. The ambulance must have arrived right alongside the police, and the medics pumped me with something wonderful that counteracted the tranquillizer’s effect. While my mind was still a bit fuzzy, the paramedic assured me the side effects would go away after a good night’s rest.

  Honestly, I was just glad I was able to sit up on my own and nestle the large cup of coffee the bartender had brought out—along with his apology for not throwing himself headfirst into the fight.

  I would have told him a piece of my mind if the delicious dark roast hadn’t ensnared my senses so completely. Definitely a redeeming quality.

  Besides, he had called the police, and while I was pissed that the two assholes got away, the evening wasn’t a complete bust. I was alive after all, and the burly, cinnamon-smelling cop who was now interviewing the bartender had written down every last detail of the fight I could remember, as well as the descriptions of my two attackers.

  He’d also sent a were in uniform into the brush to try and follow their trail, although I was betting the assailants knew how to use the incessant snow to their advantage and cover their tracks. They’d made some mistakes, but they were no amateurs.

  The upside was that with their scent all over me, at least one member of the force now knew the single feature of a person that could never be faked, regardless of how much perfume or soap they would scrub their bodies with. It was a promising start, if nothing else.

  “Hey, Lahm, did you call for another unit?” the cinnamon cop who’d interviewed me shouted across the lot.

  “No.” The other—a lean, good-looking man with tousled blond hair—stopped writing in his notepad and spun towards the driveway where a pair of headlights was rapidly approaching. “Ah, fuck.”

  Once I saw the make and model of the car, coupled with the sleek black paint job, “ah, fuck” sounded about right.

  I narrowed my eyes at the standard issue ICRA vehicle, fighting the nausea that rolled in the pit of my stomach. If the Interspecies Crimes and Relations Agency were here, then this ambush was more than just a bout of freak violence. Those went to the cops, even if the perps were supes, while the truly messed up cases fell under ICRA’s domain.

  A growl trickled from my lips.

  The absolute last thing I wanted was to deal with the Agency again. Once had been enough for a lifetime.

  I closed my eyes and focused on the coffee, inhaling its strong, marvelous aroma—only to find something sharper and far more enticing weaving through the air. I blinked, my spine straightening with a sudden jerk that would have probably caused me to spill the coffee all over myself if I hadn’t eased the mug to the side in time and limited the splash to my fingers only.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  My heart thrashed in my chest while my mind recoiled, but even the two vastly different reactions my body was intent on having didn’t change the hard truth. I knew the agent who stepped out of the car. I’d recognize her demanding presence anywhere.

  Buttoning up her black coat, she scanned the parking lot and issued a few commands in a voice too low for me to catch before pivoting around. Her vivid green eyes fell on me, then narrowed.

  Isa.

  Isa Vogt was here.

  And she didn’t look at all pleased to see me.

  5

  “Lotte Freundenberger.”

  Her voice was colder than the snow that persistently coated the ground, and I downright hated the spark of warmth that ignited inside me. I gave her a hard stare, although with the somewhat dazed state of my mind, it probably failed to deliver the desired amount of menace.

  “Isa Vogt.” I transferred the coffee from one hand into the other to wipe the spilled liquid off my skin. “I should have known you would show up the instant I got my ass kicked.”

  Something dangerous flared in her ancient eyes, along with a hint of fang pressing into her lower lip.

  “It does seem like you’re a magnet for the wrong crowd.”

  I snorted and arched an eyebrow. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  As my sarcasm spilled between us, the atmosphere experienced an abrupt shift. My hackles rose, but I didn’t let my discomfort show.

  “Do you think I wanted to be dragged out of bed just to deal with you?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, snowflakes melting into the thick wool of her designer coat.

  Well, she certainly didn’t look like someone who was pulled from sleep. Not with her immaculate hair and a perfect touch of makeup accentuating her face. Isa hardly struck me as the kind of person who would put a case on hold just to tinker with her appearance in front of a mirror.

  Unless…

  “Yeah? All dolled up like that—whose bed did they drag you from, Isa? Lost some of that prim and proper attitude since we last spoke?”

  The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Shit, it must have been the drugs, weakening whatever walls kept bullshit like that from escaping.

  I growled at myself.

  It was petty, but even more so, it was as far from what I wanted as it could be. After all, the only thing worse than seeing her after all that had happened between us—especially in the end when we’d nearly come to blows—was revealing she still had the power to get to me. That I still fucking cared.

  I might not be able to switch off my emotions, but that didn’t mean they were right. Or that I could let them run free.

  Changing the subject, I asked, “I suppose you want to know about the attack?”

  The steadiness of my voice surprised even me, and the fire raging inside lessened.

  For a moment, Isa studied me in silence, then nodded. “I do.”

  Grateful for this unexpected truce, I drank the remainder of my quickly cooling coffee, then told her everything I’d already said to the cops. She would get their report. I didn’t doubt for a moment that ICRA wouldn’t strong-arm themselves into the investigation, but Isa did prefer to hear everything with her own ears.

  Contrary to how it might seem, her request wasn’t motivated by wanting to be a pain in the ass. For all her faults, Isa was a good agent, and hearing statements firsthand kicked tha
t ever-churning brain of hers into a higher gear.

  She remained perfectly quiet until I finished, only her eyes giving away the faintest hint of her processing all the information, then pursed her red lips. “You don’t frequent Albtraum?”

  “No.” I glanced at the bar half descended in shadows, the edge of its flat roof already lined with snow. “Hadn’t been here in a couple of years, at least.”

  “So why visit now?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. There was no reasonable explanation for it, but something inside me urged that I should keep Voit’s sudden absence a secret. The thought of ICRA swarming the Zentrum just as we were on the mend would probably be that final nail in the coffin. But under that ran a deep sense of responsibility.

  Like it or not, my employees were pack. And even the most modern weres tended to shield pack matters from outsiders.

  Bitter amusement ran through my mind. For all my beliefs and desire to separate myself from the usual werewolf ways, I certainly shared more than a few behavioral traits with the rest of my kin.

  Of course it helped that by keeping Voit’s disappearance a secret, I would rid myself of Isa a lot sooner.

  I glanced at the cup, mourning the lack of coffee, then looked up at the agent in question. “I was hoping to catch a friend here. That’s why I came.”

  “And is this friend one of your sexual partners?” she asked dryly.

  A low laugh rumbled in my chest.

  “Oh, gods, no. He’s just a friend.” I frowned. “Why do you want to know?”

  Isa shrugged, an elegant and completely infuriating gesture. “Your previous bed mate turned out to have an unhealthy love for performance-enhancing drugs. Can you truly blame me for being cautious when it comes to the people you fuck?”

  My fingers dug into the white mug. So much for the temporary truce.

  Gods, I wanted to smack her right in her gorgeous face, but on the wings of my anger came another thought.