relative…” He made an annoyed movement like he had an itch on his back. “I keep asking how I got myself into this. Stuff like this, what I’ve been doing? Nice dinner at home with the family? Never would have thought of it.” His expression was confused, wondering. Like he really had just woken up from a nap and found himself in another country. “Anyway, his wife got out the photo album and Amelia ID’d faces in old pictures. Broke a little ice that way. The kids are cute. For kids, you know.”
And that was almost as astonishing as Amelia hunting for ghosts in Whitechapel.
Phone in hand, Caleb returned, smiling, a gleam in his eye like a wolf who’s spotted prey. “We’ve got our first stop.”
Chapter 17
CALEB DROVE us to a neighborhood in south London called Brixton. Dawn hadn’t yet broken, but the sky had paled to a gunmetal gray. Soon, it would become light. Shadows played strangely.
“Not the best part of town, is it?” I said, whispering. We’d passed street after street of row housing, endless three-story buildings of brick walls stained by decades of soot and graffiti. They might have been a hundred or more years old, but they looked tired and decrepit rather than quaint.
“Depends on who you are and why you’re here,” Caleb said. His focus wasn’t on me, but out and around, scanning his territory. “Some vampires like staying in neighborhoods like this. Helps them keep their cover. They certainly don’t mind a little thing like crime rates. I suppose we could have brought along your soldier friend for more backup.”
“No,” I said. “I want to leave him out of this.” Tyler had his own problems, he didn’t need to fight my fights, too.
After turning the next corner, Caleb nodded. “Right, there he is.”
He was one of Caleb’s lieutenants, a man with dark skin and a shaved head. In his midtwenties, he was tall and broad, tough. Pure enforcer, though he ducked his gaze and slouched when Caleb looked at him.
The British alpha parked on the street and rolled down his window. “Find anything?”
“Don’t know just where the fangs are holed up, but there’s a pair of wolves patrolling the end of the block. I stayed downwind of ’em, they haven’t spotted me.”
“Whose?”
“Solomon’s.”
“Good man,” Caleb said. “Let’s walk, shall we?”
The four of us got out of the car.
“Which one is Solomon?”
“Master of Istanbul. You probably met him at your fancy meeting.”
Which one at the convocation had he been? It didn’t matter. We could chalk him up to Roman’s side, now.
“Cormac, maybe you’d better wait here,” I said.
“I’ll be fine. They won’t know I’m there.”
I believed him. “Just stay back behind the others.”
“Here, take this with you.” He offered me a slender dagger tucked in a black leather sheathe. If I pulled the knife out, looked at it, the metal would wink, edged with silver.
I shook my head. “I don’t need that.”
“It’ll give you authority,” he said.
“I don’t need it. I don’t want to take a chance of having it used against me.”
“It’ll make me feel better,” he said.
“No.” I glared and walked away.
“Don’t take it personally,” Ben said to him.
“You want it?”
“Hell, no. I’m likely to trip and cut myself on it.”
Cormac standing guard with his silver daggers should have made me feel better. But I had this sneaking worry that he was right, and that we would need the weapons.
I’d learned to carry myself with a straight back, my chin up. To move as if I was powerful, no matter what I felt. A far cry from the old days, my earliest time as a werewolf when I cowered at every stray noise or cold glance. A far cry from before I became a werewolf even, when I was a pampered college kid willing to go along with whatever flow was carrying me. I wondered sometimes—if I’d been stronger then, would it have prevented any of what came after from happening?
I had to work to show any confidence here, on a street with no lights, with blackened and broken windows staring down on me, where the air smelled unfamiliar and a distant shattering of glass distracted me. Ben walked at my side, unflinching, and I couldn’t tell if he was faking it, too. Cormac was, as he had indicated, out of sight. Surveying from a secure location, an ace in the hole.
Caleb’s enforcer followed us, and he ducked his gaze when I looked at him.
“There he is,” Caleb said, nodding ahead. I turned my nose to the air, smelling. Our quarry didn’t just smell of wolf; he carried a trace of his Master’s scent with him, too. “You want to do this or should I?”
Ben’s fists clenched, and he tensed, ready to pounce. They all expected this to turn out badly, didn’t they?
“I’ll do it,” I said evenly. This was my idea, right?
“What about me?” Ben said.
I squeezed his hand. “Stay close.”
“Kitty. Be careful.”
I moved ahead. The others fanned out in a protective arc behind me. I could hear their steps on the asphalt, even the soft hush of their breathing. We were a pack on the hunt.
A figure darted ahead of us, crossing the street. A second one prowled in the shadows of the row houses, looking like he wanted to try to flank us. We were in the wide open; we’d see anyone trying to get the best of us. The guards probably hadn’t been expecting a frontal assault.
“Hey!” I called. “I just want to talk!” My voice echoed along the empty street as if we were in a cave. Even the clouds hung low, ceiling-like.
“Talk. To say what?” The one moved from the shadows, coming to face me in the middle of the street. He kept glancing over his shoulders, probably looking for the inevitable ambush. He was powerfully built, broad shoulders, defined muscles along his arms, visible under short sleeves. He showed teeth when he scowled.
“Calm down. I really do just want to talk.”
“Don’t move any closer,” he said. His accent was precise, as if he’d learned English rather than growing up with it. I stopped advancing. But I also wouldn’t lower my gaze.
“You ever think about leaving? Walking away from this? From Solomon?”
The werewolf huffed a nervous chuckle. “And do what?”
“Whatever you want.”
He shook his head, like he thought I was joking.
“You know you’re just cannon fodder, right? You stay with him, you’ll get killed eventually. Messily, probably. You know what happened at Hyde Park tonight?”
“That’s not normal.”
“How many of your pack did you lose tonight?” He scowled and didn’t answer. “There’s a war coming. It may get to be normal. You might want to ask yourself if you’re on the right side.”
He fidgeted, nervous, and ducked his gaze, just for a second.
“You don’t owe him anything,” I said, pressing.
“He looks after us—”
“By using you to fight his battles?” I raised a skeptical brow. “Solomon serves Dux Bellorum. He may have told you that Dux Bellorum’s army has no opposition. That the coming war will be easy to win. But they’re wrong. Because we’re here to stop him.”
