The hammer never fell.
January spent the next few days waiting for Warren to tell her that he knew she’d killed James, or for the pack to break down her door, but it never happened. It was only on the third day that she heard a whisper about James at all. One of the wolves who liked to hang out at the vampire bar mentioned in passing that he hadn’t turned up to a pack meeting, but that was it. January was fast figuring out that James wasn’t Mr Popular.
That still didn’t explain why no one was talking about the body.
By the end of the third day, January couldn’t wait any longer. She had to go back to the alley and see if James was still lying there. It seemed incredibly unlikely, as it wasn’t a particularly secret alley, but she had to know what had happened to him.
A chilling thought struck her.
What if he hadn’t really been dead? What if he’d got up and walked away, and that was why no one had found him? January shook the thought from her head. She’d felt something vital snap. No one but a vampire could walk away from what she’d done to James.
January tried her best to act casual when she walked past the alleyway where she’d last seen James, dead and bloody. Her eyes slid to the dingy passageway and she stopped walking.
There was nothing there, not even a stain from the blood that had pooled around the body.
Throwing caution to the wind, January walked towards the alley, intent on further investigation. Was she going crazy? Had she never confronted James and killed him?
“This is a surprise,” a familiar voice said right before hands grabbed her, yanking her arms behind her back.
She felt cold metal on her wrists when steel handcuffs were snapped shut. More chains bound her arms to her sides.
Warren Duchamp wasn’t taking any chances.
“What’s happening?” January asked, trying to look as clueless as she’d been the night she’d first met Warren.
The handsome vampire looked amused. “You killed my informer, James. For some reason, you staked him.” He frowned at her but then shrugged it off. “My guess is that you were coming for me. He tried to stop you, so you killed him.” Warren sighed. “Poor, faithful James.”
January choked. This vampire may be old, but he was certainly stupid if he thought James had been on his side.
Warren’s dark eyes narrowed. “Unless… there’s a different side to the story?”
Too late, January realised she’d been tricked. She’d basically admitted knowledge of James’ death and his actions.
January was half-lifted, half-dragged through the back entrance of the bar and down some steps, before she was unceremoniously dumped on a wooden chair. She looked around at the perspiring walls. The room was empty apart from a humming freezer and the chair she was sat on. She surmised that they must be in the basement of the bar.
January tried not to wince when her gaze slid across the floor, which showed several dark stains. This room had witnessed a lot of violence.
“Why do you want to kill me?” Warren asked.
He tilted his head and if January hadn’t heard his words, she might have thought he was asking her if she wanted another drink.
“I’m not trying to kill you. It was just James,” she said, but Warren smiled and shook his head.
“Nice try. You don’t plan to stake a shifter. Why not use a knife? Why not use poison?” His dark eyes opened wider, imploring her to confide in him. “You can tell me,” he said and golden light seeped from his eyes, the tendrils wrapping around January’s arms but having no effect.
“Where’s my promise of, ‘If I tell you everything, you’ll let me walk away unharmed’?” January said, wondering why she was seeking refuge in humour. Perhaps it was too many James Bond films.
The only difference was, she suspected that she hadn’t been cast as the hero in this situation.
“You’re not getting out of here alive,” Warren said, his voice never losing that sing-song tone that must help the glamour to work.
January frowned. She was being way too harsh on herself. She was definitely the anti-hero of the film - bad to the bone, but would win you over in time.
Unfortunately, time was something she didn’t have.
Warren shook his head. “I’m sure if I pushed harder, whatever strange resistance you’ve built up to my glamour would be overcome,” he said.
January tried not to react. Was it really possible to train to be immune to it, or was it just a tale Warren believed?
The vampire shook his head, his fangs extending down. “You can take your silence to the grave.”
With a lightning strike, he was at her side, delivering a killing bite to her neck.
Or what would have been a killing bite, had he not found that his teeth were instead sinking into the velvet and muscle of a large horse. There wasn’t time to think about it right then, but even January was surprised that her panicked transformation had matched the vampire’s quicker-than-the-eye-could-see speed. The chains binding her had snapped, and the handcuffs were a twisted mess of steel on the floor.
“What kind of horse…” Warren began, spitting blood everywhere and pulling out of the bite. His eyes fell on the horn and January realised her time was up.
She was about to find out if she was in the right job.