He walked to the door, nodded to Steiner, and vanished into the hallway.
Steiner looked down at me, still kneeling, still dripping. “You’re nothing,” he said. “Not even a wolf anymore. Just a hole for men better than you.”
He turned and left, slamming the door so hard the chandelier rattled.
I stayed on the floor for a long time, trying to pull my thoughts together, trying to remember what it felt like to have control over anything.
Eventually, I went into the bathroom and wiped myself off with a towel and put on the dress I’d worn up here. Then I’d left the room for the elevator.
As I rode down to my dressing room, I looked at my reflection in the black glass walls. My face was smeared, my body marked, my eyes red and raw. But somewhere deep behind them, I could still see a flicker of something that refused to die.
Maybe Jess would come for me. Maybe he wouldn’t.
But if he did, I’d make sure he burned this place to the ground.
Chapter 8
Arsenal
The alley behind Eyrie was a channel of silence, hot and breathless. City steam curled around the dumpster in the corner, rolling slow in the streetlight. The three of us were hidden in the shadow of the fire escape. I had Big Papa to my left, his titanic presence a calming force as always. Wrecker was on my right, boots planted, jaw locked. We looked like we belonged there. We didn’t, not really. Well, we looked that way to ourselves, anyway.
I checked my comms for the third time, thumbing the mic twice—a short pulse for “status good.” On the other end, a faint click in the static. Parker’s line, at the far end of the alley,tucked in the battered Sprinter van painted utility gray. If you stared long enough, it flickered, like a mirage. Aspen’s work. Her cloaking spell was holding; to normal eyes, the van didn’t even exist. Just like we didn’t exist.
The smell of burnt coffee and ozone rolled from the van’s exhaust. I catalogued every scent—Eyrie’s kitchen grease, the spilled gin in the trash, the faint mineral of last week’s rain. But it was the undercurrent of blood and terror, the trace of magic in the brick, that set my nerves to vibrating. Wolves were supposed to be predators. Tonight, we were prey, waiting for a gap in the trap.
Big Papa kept one hand inside his jacket, the other on a pocket rosary. He said he didn’t need it, but he worked the beads when he was thinking. I saw his lips move every so often. Praying, or cussing out his dead enemies, maybe both. I’d known him ten years; he was the only guy who made me feel short.
Wrecker never stopped moving, even when he was still. One knee bounced, fingers drummed, shoulders flexed every time the wind shifted. His face was stone, but his eyes never stopped working. He kept glancing at the exit route, to the left, then right, then up the fire escape, then down to the van. We all knew the plan, but we rehearsed it in our bodies, over and over. That’s how you made it home.
Two weeks of planning, one week of dry runs, three sleepless nights waiting for the right window. Eyrie’s shifts ran late—girls got off at two, cleaning crew at three, but the guards worked in pairs and cycled out every ninety. The only thing we had on them was the element of surprise, and the fact that the best shifter-ops team in the state had my back. And, well, Aspen’s cloaking. That was the real ace; if we could get to Harper and hit her with the smoke, the club’s cameras would see her vanish into thin air.
I unsnapped the safety on my SIG, felt the weight settle into my palm. I always carried with a round chambered, but I stillchecked, every time. Ritual, not paranoia. Wrecker favored a trench knife, brass-knuckled and bladed; he spun it in his palm, back and forth, never drawing attention. Big Papa didn’t carry at all, but if you ever saw him fight, you’d know he didn’t need to.
At 11:38, a van pulled up. The back door rattled open, and a bouncer stepped out, hauling a girl by her upper arm. She was slight, maybe one-twenty, with long black hair. She had on a pair of cut-off jeans and a tank top. I saw the cut on her lip. The bouncer was ex-military; you could see it in the way he moved, knees soft, scanning every window. He shoved the girl against the wall and waited.
A second later, a witch in a pencil skirt and heels stepped out, clipboard in hand then nodded to the door. The girl tried to resist, but the bouncer hauled her inside.
“Dammit,” Wrecker whispered. “She’s not a wolf. Likely someone they grabbed or took in exchange for a debt.”
I nodded. “Fuckers.”
Papa grunted, “That shit’s coming to an end as soon as possible.”
Midnight. What the fuck? A limo rolled up. Black-on-black, windows smoked, tires shining wet even though it hadn’t rained in a week. The engine didn’t idle; it just cut to silence. I felt the air pressure change, like the world sucked in its breath.
The door opened, and Maltraz stepped out. He didn’t bother with his human skin. He must be going straight to a room out of sight. You couldn’t miss this fucker. Almost seven feet tall, with skin the color of molten iron, eyes black as gun oil except for the red glow. He wore a suit that cost more than my first car, and his hair was braided back in a way that made you think of snakes. He walked slow, unhurried, and the bouncer at the door snapped to attention, then bowed.
My wolf surged, primal and ugly. Every muscle in my body tensed. I had to lock my knees to keep from lunging. Wrecker’shand shot out, clamped on my wrist. It didn’t hurt, but it was enough.
Big Papa leaned in, voice almost inaudible. “Hold, brother. Not yet.”
Maltraz took his time up the steps, pausing at the door. He turned, looked straight into the alley. I knew he couldn’t see us, not in the darkness and distance, but for a split second, I swore he was looking at me. He smiled, a slow, cruel thing, then went inside.
I let out a breath I’d been holding. Wrecker did the same. For a minute, nobody spoke. We just listened to the city, and our own heartbeats.
“Parker, sitrep,” I whispered into the comm.
Her voice came back, low but clear: “Van holding steady. Oscar’s on the roof. Cloak is at ninety-eight percent. Aspen’s prepping the charm.”
