Wolf Central was the heart of the underworld, an abandoned 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 one 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.
Michael stared at the spit clinging to his boot. “I’ve had worse reactions, usually from vampires. At least our two peoples can agree on something. There’s hope for us all.”
The cart’s last stop was at the entrance to the Maddox tunnels. The giant gears set in the wall in front of them groaned to a halt. Keeli and Michael jumped off. There weren’t many other wolves around—while the Maddox clan suffered from the same economic downturn, the Grand Dame had found jobs within clan territory for many of the men. Construction, mostly, on a pay scale that wasn’t quite as high as topside work, but that still paid enough money to keep a family going. No one paid rent in the underground, but there were still utilities to chip in for, as well as food.
“Are all clan territories maintained like Maddox?” Michael asked, studying the brightly painted cement corridors, which were also decorated with the occasional large painting. Interspersed between them were framed drawings by the clan’s children; there had been a school art fair only two weeks before.
“As much as they can afford to be,” Keeli said. “We’re large, so we draw in more money from topside than the other clans. We also have more connections because of the Grand Dame Alpha.”
Michael paused to study a crayoned interpretation of a werewolf transformation. Jagged black spikes stuck out from the contorted stick figure, which had two very long fangs hanging down to its chest.
“That’s hair,” Keeli said, pointing at the spikes.
“Yes.” Michael smiled. “I can see that.”
Two clan members walked past Keeli and Michael; they stared at Michael with hostility, but at Keeli, their gazes turned confused. She realized at the very last moment what it must look like: heads bent together, shoulders brushing. Smiling.
Keeli met their eyes, daring them to say anything. They did not. Michael watched them leave. He said, “Perhaps we should not stand so close together.”
Keeli sucked in her breath. “Standing’s not a crime.”
His eyes flashed; hard, dark. “Your reputation—”
“Is not your concern. Just let it go.”
Michael’s jaw flexed. “Fine, then.”
Keeli said nothing else. She led him down a network of winding corridors that alternated between stark gray walls and bursts of vibrant color. They passed large arches that led into comfortable common rooms. Keeli smelled popcorn. Teenagers slouched on battered couches reading comic books. An old television played in the background.
Past the common rooms were the residential areas. Every fifteen feet they passed heavy steel doors. Rectangular spy slots were centered at eye level in each door. Below them, numbers.
“Homes,” Keeli explained. They took a left and the corridor widened. “And this is the Alpha core.”
She swallowed hard as they approached her grandmother’s rooms. There was no way to predict the Grand Dame’s reaction to Keeli bringing home a vampire. The chances of it being a warm welcome were severely limited.
Her grandmother, however, was not home. Keeli used her spare key to open the door and led Michael inside. He made a small noise when he saw the sitting room, and Keeli smiled to herself. It was a beautiful place, the lush decorations rich with Victorian and Asian influences. Music played softly; an opera. Aida, maybe.
Keeli poked her head into her grandmother’s darkened bedroom, calling out her name. It was empty, but she couldn’t imagine the old woman would be gone for long. A hot teapot sat on her rosewood desk, along with a large pile of paperwork. Keeli glanced at the top sheet; it was a note from First Union & Trust, the largest bank in Crimson City.
Keeli’s eyes widened. A fifty-thousand-dollar deposit had been made just that morning into the clan’s trust account. No mention of the source, but Keeli couldn’t imagine any of the wolves in Crimson City having fifty thousand dollars worth of change to plunk down for the clans.
“What is it?” Michael asked. He stood a polite distance away, not close enough to read over her shoulder.
“It’s nothing,” Keeli said, setting down the note in the exact same position she had found it.
Nothing normal, anyway. Maybe we’ve got a rich benefactor. It was Crimson City, after all, home of celebrities, movie moguls, and loaded plastic surgeons. Might be that someone with money to burn had a thing for wolves.
The gas fireplace had been left on. Keeli crouched before the flames, soaking up the gentle heat. After a moment, Michael sat beside her, his gaze still roving over the room. She felt his attention settle on her, but it was difficult to look at him, so she pretended to be engrossed by the fire.
“Your Grand Dame has excellent taste.”
That made Keeli smile. “This is her sanctuary. She has many demands on her time, but this place makes her feel safe. Strong. She does most of her work from these rooms. I believe she’s even holding the negotiations here.”
“She trusts you,” Michael said. “You have a key.”
“Oh … well, yeah.” Keeli wondered if she should tell him exactly who she was in relation to the Grand Dame. Michael ran his fingers through the thick rug covering the wood floor; she watched his hand, burnished gold in the firelight.
“About the murders,” Michael said. “Do you think the Grand Dame will help us?”
“Yes,” Keeli said, her gaze traveling up his wrist, his arm, to the hollow of his throat. She did this fast, hoping he would not notice, but when she looked into his eyes she found a quiet hunger that made her think he had noticed. Her cheeks warmed.
“Yes,” she said again, proud of her steady voice. “The Grand Dame has no love for the police, but she does know how these murders have upset the balance between vampires and werewolves. If there isn’t even an attempt to solve them, we can’t expect any good faith between our two peoples. Not enough, anyway, to build an alliance on.”
Keeli’s words, not her grandmother’s. She suspected the old woman did not give a rat’s ass that some vampires were dead, but if it meant keeping the clans safe, she would pretend to care even if it killed her. That was something Keeli could count on, and the only reason she had taken the chance to bring Michael here without first asking permission.
“And there hasn’t been any hint, not one rumor, about who could be doing this?”
Keeli frowned. “You’re assuming it is a werewolf, and not just someone trying to frame us.”
“True, but before the bodies turned to ash, the cause of death appeared to be consistent with an animal attack.”
“You’re assuming a lot, Michael.”
“I’m not assuming anything, but the only evidence we have suggests a werewolf, so I am asking about werewolves.”
“Fine. And the answer is no. No rumors, no nothing. The Grand Dame has had the Alphas questioning their people ever since the first death. It’s bad business having a werewolf go feral, especially in this city. All of us get blamed. We’re just lucky that it wasn’t a human who died. No offense.”
“None taken. I remember the last roundup.”
The last time a werewolf went on a rampage. Keeli ground her teeth. “The police grabbed every registered werewolf, including the Grand Dame, and imprisoned them. All the unregistered wolves had to hide out in the subtunnels, or topside in abandoned buildings. We had to live like that for three months until they found the murderer. He wasn’t even a member of any clan. Just an exile from another city. The city never apologized. They called it an unfortunate incident.”
“Where were you?” His voice was low, almost as quiet as the flames.
“In the subtunnels for a while, and then on the street. I was seventeen at the time, so it wasn’t so bad. I was old enough to take care of myself. But there were entire families put out, and that was bad. Especially during the full moon. We took to chaining ourselves in bolt-holes, or in sewer drains. Anyplace where we wouldn’t be seen or heard.”
“I did not know the transformation was involuntary.”
“Only when the moon is full. It’s the price we pay, our bargain with the wolf. One night a month the beast gets to play, and we can’t interfere, just prepare. It’s hell on the ones with jobs topside.”
Michael looked thoughtful. “The next time could be worse, Keeli. If this trend continues, the humans won’t need an excuse.”
“I know.” Keeli wrapped her arms around her knees. “It frightens me. All this crazy stuff happening—not just to us, but the vampires. Sometimes it feels like everyone hates us.”
Michael stared into the fire. “I have seen terrible things done in the name of fear and ignorance. It seems to be part of the human condition.”
“Not just humans.” Her throat ached.
They sat awhile longer, quiet and still. The silence felt good. After a time, though, Keeli found herself blinking hard, struggling to keep her eyes open.
You didn’t sleep last night. You’ve been running on adrenaline.
She swayed and her arm brushed Michael’s sleeve. He said, “You’re tired. You should rest.”
“I can’t,” she said, but her eyes drifted shut and her head felt impossibly heavy. “This is ridiculous.”
She fought, pinching her cheeks, digging fingernails into her palm, but she was just too tired, and here in her grandmother’s rooms she felt safe. Even with a vampire at her side, she felt safe.
Michael said something, but Keeli could not keep her eyes open against the firelight, the world so heavy on her body, and she sank and sank until the last things she felt were gentle hands on her wrists, holding her upright. …
The next time she opened her eyes, she thought of wrists. She thought of Michael, too, because he still held her—cradling her entire body snug against his own—and it felt so good. Too good.
Keeli snapped to full consciousness and began struggling against Michael’s hands. For a moment she froze inside his dark gaze; there was a story there, a new history only they shared.
And then she sensed movement, a shadow, and a dry voice said, “Well. Now this is interesting.”
Both Michael and Keeli looked up.
The Grand Dame Alpha did not smile.