This time, they took it slow as they made love. When Keeli finally came, writhing naked and sweaty beneath his body, Michael increased his rhythm—tight, hard, fast—savoring the quick build. At the last moment, he pulled out. Keeli sat up, a blur, and then—shocking, unexpected—her mouth engulfed him, hot and wet, and he was still thrusting, and her hands brushed his balls.
He came in her mouth and she did not pull away. Her nails dug into his hips, holding him to her as he poured himself down her throat.
“Bet that was new,” she said. She grinned, wiping her glistening lips with the back of her hand. Michael could not answer her; he was still breathing too hard.
They got dressed in increments, helping each other with bits and pieces, touching and kissing. Michael savored the intimacy, drew it in with each careful breath. He had never been so close to anyone—had not even imagined that a person could feel so much for another. It baffled him, but that was good; he could take confusion, as long as it kept him near Keeli.
When they were finally presentable—or at least, as presentable as two people could be, smelling of sex in a den full of werewolves—Michael pulled out the remaining two DNA kits. Keeli sighed. Michael felt the same. This was not going to be easy.
They went to Estella’s home, the last door at the end of a canary yellow hall. She answered on Keeli’s third knock. Her sparsely furnished home was filled with werewolves. Everyone looked very uncomfortable.
Estella frowned. “You’re interrupting something.”
“Too bad,” Keeli said. “This will only take a minute.”
Estella’s eyes narrowed. She glanced over her shoulder at her guests. “All of you out. Jonathon, stay.”
“You sound like you’re teaching an obedience class,” Keeli remarked, as werewolves shuffled past her out the door. Michael smelled the faint odor of musk, wet fur. Watched how the men and women avoided looking Keeli in the eyes. Paid attention to the flare of their nostrils, the careful neutrality of their faces. And yet, not one person showed disrespect, disgust, or scorn. Keeli noticed—he saw it on her face, the tentative surprise. The distrust.
One person did not leave Estella’s home: a young man, tall and lanky, with a narrow pinched face. He looked like a scholar, but his hands were wiry and strong.
“Jonathon,” Keeli said.
“Is it true?” he asked quietly. He looked at Michael. “Are you going to find my mother’s murderer?”
Word traveled fast in the underground, it seemed. Michael nodded and Jonathon sighed. He ran his hands over his face. “I don’t want to see him. Please. Whatever Emily has planned, don’t involve me.”
“No stomach,” Estella muttered. Michael gave her a sharp look.
“Don’t measure courage in terms of revenge,” Keeli said harshly. “The math will come out all wrong.”
Estella snorted. “You don’t scare me, Keeli Maddox. You may have beat the crap out of Leroux’s Alpha, but that doesn’t make you strong enough to be our Grand Dame. Takes more than a little bloodlust to lead the clans.”
“I agree,” Keeli said. “I don’t want to be the Grand Dame. On the other hand, I don’t want Jas to snuff my grandmother. I’m not in a very good position, Estella.”
“You’ve made it worse with him.” Estella pointed at Michael. “You smell like you’ve been screwing each other’s brains out.”
Michael frowned. “Keeli, did you see any brains?”
“No, Michael. But then again, I was too busy being screwed to notice.”
“Ha.” Estella stepped aside. “Come in. I don’t want anyone to see you lingering at my door.”
“Why the hell not?” Keeli walked past her. “The entire clan was packed in here just a minute ago.”
Estella did not answer Keeli’s question. Jonathon also said nothing. He studied Michael, and Michael studied him back.
“Why are you different?” asked Jonathon. “I’m not scared of you.”
It was the first time anyone had ever said that to Michael, and it took him off guard. “Thank you,” he said. “I do not want to be frightening.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” Estella crossed her arms. “You’re like Ferdinand the Bull, or Casper the Friendly Ghost. The most snuggly little vampire in all the world.”
“Yes. Snuggly.” Keeli pulled out the DNA kit and stuck it in Estella’s face. “Don’t argue with me about this. Just do it.”
“Or what?”
“Estella.” Jonathon gave her a hard look. The blond woman blinked, startled. Without another word she took the kit. Keeli stared.
“What the hell was that?” she asked.
“Respect,” Jonathon said, low and hard. “You’ve earned it, Keeli. You did the right thing today, taking down Leroux’s Alpha. You did better than any of us.” He reached for the other DNA kit. “That’s what everyone was talking about when you got here. What we should have done—how far we let Leroux go in abusing our own, just because of a scent. You shamed us, Keeli, even the wolves who weren’t there.”
“She didn’t shame me,” Estella muttered, giving back her tissue sample.
Jonathon looked at Michael. “Thank you. I don’t agree with Emily, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want this … vampire … off the street. No one else should lose family to him.”
“I am the Vendix,” Michael said. “This is what I do.”
“Yeah?” He stuck out his hand. Michael, taken aback, shook it.
“Wasn’t so bad,” murmured Jonathon, a half-smile on his face.
“No,” said Michael. “I just hope the rest of the negotiation goes as smoothly.”
“Maybe it will.” Jonathon turned to Keeli. “Good luck on your investigation. I’ll … see you later.”
Estella stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Jonathon grabbed her hand and pulled her away until Keeli and Michael left the apartment.
“That was strange,” Keeli said, when the door shut behind them. “Strange, but good.”
“I agree,” Michael said, watching her. “But we have the DNA now. Let’s call Jenkins.”
They went topside to use Michael’s digi-encoder. They waited in an alley, in the shadows, and watched the sky darken into evening, the oncoming sunset. Keeli’s mood soured; it was clear to Michael that patience was not her strength.
A patrol van finally pulled in. Jenkins was at the wheel, and he was alone.
“I hate you,” Keeli said, when he got out of the car.
Jenkins glanced at Michael. “Good evening to you, too. Not getting any sleep last night really caught up with you, didn’t it?” he asked her.
Michael briefly closed his eyes as Keeli said, “No offense, but your idea of pleasant conversation makes me want to drive a power drill into my ears.”
“Why would I be offended?” Jenkins smiled. “You have the kits?”
Keeli tossed them into his outstretched hands. Jenkins glanced at the packets and withdrew a small white box from the deep pocket of his navy cargo pants. “DNA reader,” he said. “The latest tech. Those tissue samples you got started breaking down the moment they came into contact with the sampler. Now I just have to insert them in this thing and we’ll see if there’s a match with the werewolf markers we found on Crestin.”
The first sample tested was Jonathon’s. He came up clean. Michael stepped closer as Jenkins inserted Estella’s sample. He glanced up and down the alley, but they were alone except for pigeons plodding on the ground near a pile of garbage. He smelled old vomit and car oil. Maybe some pizza on Jenkins’s breath.
“Is there a reason for the personal visit?” Keeli asked. “You could have sent someone else. Or did you just miss us that desperately?”
Jenkins placed a hand over his heart, though his eyes never left the DNA reader’s screen. “It’s true, kid. I can’t live another minute without you.”
“Smart-ass.”
“Weevil.”
“Weevil?” He shook his head. “You can do better than that.”
“I’m trying to be respectful.”
“Yeah. I can tell.” He removed Estella’s sample. “She’s clean. Maybe third time will be the charm.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Murder never is.”
But Jas was clean. Jenkins gathered up the tissue samples and gave them back to Keeli. “I’m supposed to keep those, but this investigation is already playing under the radar, so the rules are mine.”
“Thank you,” Michael said. He studied Jenkins’s face as Keeli took back the kits, juggled them in her hands. Shadows and wrinkles lined the skin beneath the cop’s eyes. The corner of his mouth sagged. Jenkins caught Michael staring, and raised his brow in silent question.
“You look terrible,” Michael said. “Are things that bad?”
“You tell me,” Jenkins said. “I want to know what’s going on, Michael.”
“You’ll have to get more specific than that.”
Jenkins shook his head. “I can see right through you. Something isn’t right. Not with my bosses and the government brass, and not with you guys. All of you know something big. Shit, I’m lying awake at night, scared that the middlemen like me and my people are gonna get screwed.”
“We’re all screwed,” Keeli said. “In various, increasingly unpleasant ways. We might as well tattoo it on our foreheads.”
“You gonna tell me why?”
“No,” Michael said. “This is for your own good, Jenkins. There are things going on that could destroy your career. Just leave it alone.”
“Right,” he said. “Like I should leave alone all those UV lights that were installed last week, huh? The ones that got destroyed almost the same day they appeared? Or how about those two vampires who got gunned down by that mech? Or the mech itself? Don’t try to con me, Michael. I may not know everything, but the clues are there. I just want to hear it from you. The straight, honest truth. Between friends, no less.”
Michael stepped close. “Friends protect each other, Jenkins. That’s what I’m trying to do for you and your family.”
“Bullshit.”
“Please.” Keeli touched both their shoulders. “Don’t fight over this. We’ll tell you eventually, Jenkins, but not yet. We can’t.”
He looked like he wanted to argue—pigheaded, stubborn—but he swallowed hard, sucking down his words. “I’ll take that for now, but not much longer. I can’t afford to.”
“I understand,” Michael said, relieved. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” Jenkins began to walk back to his car. “The only way you can thank me is with the truth.”
The truth? Easier said than done.
They took a walk around the neighborhood and looked at the graffiti. The artists, along with their usual scrawled insults and concrete poetry, had managed correct and succinct depictions of current affairs in the city.
“We think we’re living such secret lives,” Keeli said, looking at a mural that showed some rather bloated wolves sucking vampire cock.
“Hm.” Michael pointed at another, smaller, picture that illustrated humans ramming a wooden spike down a vampire’s throat.
“Wrong spot,” Keeli said, tilting her head. “They need to go for the heart.”
“It’s art, Keeli. Allow them their drama.”
“I’m just saying.”
But the one that disturbed Keeli the most, which kept them both standing still for much longer than was wise, was a rough drawing of a werewolf and vampire feeding, together, on a human.
“Is it possible they know what’s going on?” Keeli wondered. “About the possible alliance? Or did the humans anticipate an alliance all along? Is it them doing this, trying to frame a werewolf for murdering vampires, keeping us from banding together before we’re destroyed?”
“Anything is possible,” Michael said, tearing his gaze away. “But don’t forget that traces of vampire DNA were found under Walter Crestin’s fingernails. This could be a different kind of setup.”
“You really think there are vampires so hot against this alliance they would kill their own kind just to frame us?”
An odd expression passed over Michael’s face. “Some, yes.”
Darkness pressed gently down on the streets; headlights flashed in their eyes. Cigarette tips flared bright in shadows. Keeli and Michael could see just fine; they were the only ones on the sidewalk who managed to avoid the piles of broken glass, used condoms, discarded needles. Prostitutes eyed Michael and Keeli but kept away, giving them wary looks while shaking their backsides at drivers.
“How do they know what we are?” Keeli asked Michael.
“Good survival instincts,” he said. “When you’re always prey, you learn to spot the predators.”
Keeli shook her head. “It shouldn’t have to be that way.”
“But it is. In all my years, I have never seen anything different. The cities may change, as well as the clothes and customs, but the people don’t. People don’t ever.”
“I changed,” Keeli said quietly. “I changed fast.”
Michael said nothing for a moment. He picked up her hand and cradled it in his elbow. Keeli felt like an old-fashioned girl being walked to dinner, a dance.
“I stand corrected,” he said, his voice dark and lovely.
“Of course you do,” she said.
He laughed, low, and it was strange—strange and wonderful—being normal and easy with a man, someone so different from Keeli and yet so similar.
And those differences should have been overwhelming—were overwhelming to everyone else—but Keeli could no longer give them any real meaning. Just a day—oh, God, a day—and she felt like she knew this man. All the essentials that mattered, and she was crazy—so crazy …
Michael stopped walking. “Do you hear that?”
Keeli listened hard. She heard car tires on pavement, the jeers of prostitutes. She heard men and women talking, cursing, the chatter of train tracks from far away. And above it all, light and lilting, came a man’s lovely voice, floating desperate melodies in shadow.
Keeli grabbed Michael’s shoulder. “Could that be the same person Richard and Suze talked about? He sounded dangerous.”
“I have heard that voice before,” he said. “Last night, just before the envoys entered the underground.”
“He must have been near Maddox territory. Do you think … do you think he was involved with Crestin’s death?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Michael pulled her into an alley.
“Wait,” she said, but he kissed her hard and jumped into the air.
“I can fly faster than you can run,” Michael said. “Please do not be angry, Keeli. I’ll meet you back at the tunnels.”
And then he was gone, zipping into the darkening sky.
“Hey!” Keeli shouted after him. “Hey, you stinky bastard! Come back here!”
Which did not bring him back, but did gather some very appraising looks from several nearby junkies who were jacking needles into their legs. Keeli scowled at them and trudged back home to the tunnels.
Walking helped her nerves, her irritation at being left behind. She worried about Michael, too. Of course, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was doing. He’d been alive a lot longer than Keeli—and she could certainly understand his reasoning. Flying was faster.
It was just … she wanted to help. She’d always been one to take care of herself first, but now she had this desire to do the right thing, to spread herself out in a way that did something for other people. That did something for her clan. For Michael.
She thought about this, letting her instincts guide her down the dirty sidewalks. The neighborhood got better. Less broken glass and broken people; cleaner buildings with actual business, and customers who looked askance at her pink hair and rough clothes.
Keeli moved down old Smokehouse Street, past the rows of underground clubs, which even at the dinner hour were already adding a thump-thumping to the air. Their long lines were filled by the early birds—young sharp kids with sharper eyes, who also judged her hair and clothes and attitude like it meant something, as if it were currency or power instead of just fun.
She walked past them to the calmer joints, the simple blue-collar bars with motorcycles and floozy women hanging out the door, talking shit about their bosses. They looked at her funny too, but their eyes were less feral, more tired. Nothing to prove. Just a hankering for a drink and some talk and maybe a soft bed or body to share it with. Keeli would not have minded a drink, but now was not the time—there might never be a time, certainly not to loosen control. Not here. Not with strangers.
Maybe with Michael.
Maybe. Maybe she trusted him that much. Maybe, yes. Maybe, definitely. Maybe she was insane.
You already covered that, she told herself. And there are worse things than being crazy.
Yeah, like being dead. Or living like an uptight asshole.
Raucous laughter made her veer down a side street. The men were far away, but Keeli had too many uncomfortable memories from the night before. Just because she could protect herself did not mean she wanted to go out of her way to find situations where she had to.
Keeli walked faster. The street was unlit except for the dim glow of light streaming down from several apartment windows, but even that did little to cut into the hard black shadows. She had no trouble seeing, but something about the darkness made her uneasy. The back of her neck prickled. She turned, walked backward for a moment as she scanned the street that had been behind her. Nothing. Everything was very still. Quiet.
Movement flashed at the corner of her eye, a lifting of shadow from shadow. Keeli whirled, crouching low. Barely breathing, she searched the narrow alcove where darkness seeped like oil.
She heard humming, then, so out of place it took her breath away. She listened, resisting the urge to take off screaming, Richard’s voice running a litany through her mind about blood and song and other, more frightening things. The humming was from a lovely voice, soft and eerie.
Very slowly, Keeli said, “Come out, come out, whoever you are.”
The humming stopped. The silence was almost worse. Keeli heard a deep voice, quiet and masculine and strained, say:
“I like that. You’re different from the others. The wolves. I think I like you.”
“Yeah?” Claws pushed through Keeli’s fingernails. Her muscles tightened. “Why the hell should that matter to me?”
“It means you should go now. You should run. Please.”
Shit, yes. But Keeli did not run. She said, “Who are you to tell a werewolf what to do?”
“I’m no one,” said the voice. “No one. Or everyone. I don’t know. Please. I’m not supposed to hurt you. Just watch, just watch, but I’m so hungry, too hungry to watch.”
Keeli edged down the alley, taking deep even breaths. Her heart felt like it was going to pound right through her ribs. “So find something to eat. There’s a restaurant right down the street.”
“It’s wrong to eat humans. It’s wrong to eat wolves.”
Keeli froze. She stared hard into the shadowed alcove and thought she saw a hand, pale and large.
“Go,” he said. “Please. There’s someone else I need to find, but I just had to see you close. I had to see your eyes.”
“Come closer,” Keeli said, tasting blood as her canines pushed into her bottom lip. Her claws felt sharp, tight. She glanced down the alley; it looked empty. No witnesses. No one else to get hurt. “Come on,” she said, taking a step toward the alcove. “Show me your eyes.”
“No,” he breathed. “I’m not right; I’m not good. I’ll hurt you.”
“Yes,” Keeli said. “You can try.”
His answering cry nearly deafened her. Heartrending, terrible, the sound cut through her ears and heart. Keeli staggered as something large flew out of the alcove—man-shaped, but so fast that all she could do was raise her hands before it slammed into her chest, knocking her to the ground. Breath left her lungs and she arched upwards, scrabbling for flesh. She tried to see—to smell—but the darkness pressing down on her was too thick, blinding, and she felt cloth, and—he is hiding his face—he was strong—oh God, he’s strong—and she dug her claws into where his eyes should have been, digging deep, screaming, screaming …
He rolled off her body, clutching his face. Keeli smelled blood. She scrambled to her feet, breathing hard.
“Come on,” she snarled, the wolf raging inside her chest, howling for release. She tore into her T-shirt, ripping it off. Her ribs began to shift. “Let’s try this again.”
The mask he wore had a tear in it now, a gaping hole that revealed blood on pale skin, a high cheekbone. She did not recognize his scent, which tasted strange, familiar yet alien.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, still covering his eyes. She heard shame in his voice and it made her gut twist.
“Sorry,” she hissed. “What good does that do me?”
He shook his head, backing away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again, and he looked at her—looked—and Keeli saw blood and the glitter of impossible eyes, eyes as bright as fire, even in the darkness shining—and she stepped closer, all of the sudden unmindful of danger. The man shook his head.
“No,” he said in a strangled voice.
He looked up at the sky, and then he was gone. Shooting up, flying away into the night. A blur, swallowed by the sky.
Keeli was left alone, shivering and half-naked. She stared at the sky, watching the retreat of violence, and felt very, very, afraid.