Storm moon rising, p.19
Storm Moon Rising, page 19
Maverick continued, his voice smooth but hard. “So, why was he meeting you? Why was he a go-between?”
“He knew Warner from years back. They were mates, of a sort. Warner heard about a crown. Became obsessed with it. Said it was the key to true power. And then…well, he found out something else.” Jake’s eyes clouded with worry. “I didn’t like it. I thought he was mad, actually.”
“Go on,” Maverick prompted him after he fell silent.
“He found out that a group of wolf-shifters had once guarded this crown, so he decided to find them. But then it all got really messy. He ran into some Pûcas looking for the same thing. Shit. That got ugly, until they struck a deal.”
“Warner made a deal with Pûcas? That sounds absurd. From what I’ve heard, they are fey creatures, and don’t play well with others. And neither does Warner, by the sound of it.”
Jake shrugged. “I know, but they did. Desperate times. High stakes.”
Grey exchanged a worried glance with Arlo. It sounded like the crown was more important than the box. Morgana was standing back now, in the shadows, listening and watching. He wondered what she would make of all this.
“And Brody?” Maverick asked.
“He was promised a cut of whatever the spoils would be. All he had to do was tell Warner what Kane was up to. He found out he was meeting his brother.”
“His brother?” Maverick’s voice rose with shock. “Riggs?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He just told me the place.” Jake could barely look at Maverick now, or at any of them. “That was ’ere. I just took that message back to Warner, and left it at that.”
“That message, you little shit, got Kane killed.”
“I was just the messenger! I don’t know details. Warner doesn’t trust me that much.”
Grey’s head was reeling. Nothing made sense…except that Warner didn’t trust Jake. That made perfect sense.
Maverick abruptly stood, and backed away. Arlo, Grey, and Morgana joined him, with Grey still watching their captive’s every move.
Maverick’s tone was icy. “Does this mean that Warner has Riggs, as well as Domino? Was Riggs a bargaining tool for Kane? Or is he dead, too?”
Arlo shrugged, face creased with worry. “Hard to say. Why didn’t Kane ask for help?”
“Maybe,” Morgana suggested, “he didn’t know how bad the situation was. Or didn’t want to involve you. I obviously have no idea what you’re all involved in, but it sounds dangerous.”
“I have more questions now than before,” Maverick complained bitterly.
Grey’s worry was a big knot in his stomach. “I’ll call Vlad, warn him they might find Riggs, too.” And then another horrible thought struck him. “And Pûcas. They might find Pûcas…”
Twenty-Three
After Harlan was left alone in the bar, going mad with curiosity as to what was happening downstairs and wishing he could watch, he decided to catch up on a few tasks.
He phoned Maggie to update her on his theory, and predictably she had scoffed loudly. She also informed him that she had found nothing of use in Brody’s flat, and that so far, Irving had found nothing significant about Ivan’s collection. It was frustrating, but hardly surprising. Feeling guilty, Harlan had evaded some of Maggie’s more pointed questions. Maverick would not like his current exploits shared, and he was not about to be a snitch.
Harlan wished he had his colleague, Olivia, nearby to run his theory past, but she was out of London on other business. He knew what she would say, though. Follow your gut. He sipped a beer, already deciding to get a taxi home, and hoping Grey would return soon with an update. However, with every passing minute, he realised that was getting more unlikely.
And then a young, petite woman with dark, almost black hair, tattoos, and smoky eye makeup slid into the booth opposite him. She placed a glass of bourbon in front of him with a smile.
“Hi, I’m Jet. I met you last year, if you remember? I noticed you were almost out, and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I remember you. The helpful spy.” He nodded to the drink. “Thank you, and I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied. You’re here just to keep an eye on me, right?” He laughed and tapped his head. “Maybe glean my secrets.”
Jet laughed. “Spy is a little strong. My job is just to help things run smoothly.”
“Sure it is,” he replied, his voice laced with scepticism as he pointed at her Coke. “But you’re not drinking. That alone says volumes.”
“I’m at work. I may work in a bar, but it doesn’t mean I can drink every night. My liver and my skin would hate me. So would the boss.” She nodded at the book. “I’m here more to help you explore your thoughts on that story.”
“Ah. A little helper.”
“Not so much little, thank you.”
“Fair enough, that did sound patronising. Sorry.” Jet seemed nice enough, and if she was a spy, she’d be a useful ally. She also seemed very clued in on current events. “Have you heard what’s happening downstairs?”
“Jake is being helpful, according to Arlo. A team has headed out to rescue Domino.” She frowned. “I hope they find her. Domino is amazing. The boys wouldn’t thank me for saying so, but she is a huge motivator around here. Everyone looks up to her.”
“She seems strong, though.” Harlan considered her self-confidence and lithe physique. “Able to look after herself.”
“And then some.”
“But Maverick is the alpha. His attitude must carry a lot of weight, too.” Harlan was very curious about Maverick. He didn’t know any shifters, but had assumed they’d be burly and overbearing. While Maverick walked around with a huge amount of self-assurance, he wasn’t an insufferable prick.
Jet leaned back, hand resting on her glass. “Ah, Maverick. He’s not your average alpha. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he swaggers with the best of them, but he’s also a modernist, which means he rubs other alphas up the wrong way.”
“How so?”
Jet’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “He’s not a sexist wanker, or I guarantee I wouldn’t be here. A few of the older, more traditional alphas resent his modern ways.”
“But you’re also not downstairs, helping with Jake.”
“It’s not safe. Look at me.” She extended her hands down her small frame. “I’m not a fighter. I’m a party girl, and waitress. I have no urge to brawl. Although, of course, if they needed my help downstairs, I would be down there in a shot. You, however…” her eyes raked over Harlan. “You are not what I expect a collector to look like. I thought you’d be dressed in tweed and wear a monocle.” She grinned. “You even work out.”
“Ha-ha! I’m American. I don’t wear tweed! Being fit is a prerequisite in my job, and to be honest, I enjoy the physical side of it.” He rolled his eyes. “Most of the time, when not being terrified I might die…”
“So, you don’t always just read through books and negotiate sales?”
“Hell no. I get dirty searching through tombs, dusty libraries, old houses—and let’s face it, the paranormal world can be murky… Wherever the job takes me.”
“And this job,” Jet nodded at the book, “is taking you in a weird direction.”
“Very.” Harlan’s eyes fell on the beautifully illustrated book again, still open on the table. And then his focus sharpened on the page. “Holy crap. There’s a crown in this image.” He leaned in, taking in the details of the many tined, antlered crown. “It’s uncannily like the crown that was stolen.”
“You’re kidding!” Jet twisted the book so she could see it better, and then stared at him. “That has to be a coincidence, right?”
“Yes? No? It’s a very unusual crown.” Harlan gave a nervous laugh and scrutinised the image more closely, certainty settling in his stomach like a stone. The illustration seemed to tell a story that wasn’t in the text. After the king was killed, his crown was placed on an elaborate throne as a kind of memorial, and an unusual box was placed with it. A very familiar box… He looked up, finding Jet’s lively gaze still on him. “It’s too much of a coincidence. It has to be the crown, and there’s a small box next to it, too.”
“The box of relics?”
“Maybe.” Harlan couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before, but he’d been caught up in comparing the story, not the illustrations. “But whoever stole the objects didn’t put any value on this book.” He checked the front of the book, looking for the illustrator’s name. And then he noticed something he really should have caught before. “There’s no publisher listed, no illustrator, nothing. Like it’s a one-off, or a small print run. Or maybe a sample…”
Jet looked puzzled. “But wouldn’t that make it more valuable, not less?”
Harlan shook his head, puzzled. “I’m missing something. Something important…”
Vlad had forgotten how much he loved Brixton. It was a vibrant, multicultural place, with market stands, vintage stalls, pubs, restaurants, and music venues. He was in the passenger seat of Cecile’s van, with Mads, Jax, and Monroe in the back, having decided one vehicle in this crowded area of London would make life easier.
“Indian bloody restaurant!” Vlad complained. “There are loads around here. I suggest you drop us off, Cecile, and circle around, while we explore on foot.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” She glanced in the rear-view mirror. “There’s a car up my arse, and parking is shit around here.”
“It’s not shit. It’s bloody impossible.”
The main roads didn’t allow for parking, but there were a few public carparks close by.
Vlad craned to look over the seat into the back of the van. “I think we should get out, guys, and let Cecile cruise around. She can be our getaway driver. What do you think?”
“Good idea,” Monroe grunted. “But I need to put the damn gun under my jacket. Getting arrested is not in my plans.”
“Where are we?” Mads asked, unable to see the street since the rear had no windows.
“Just turned onto the road. Jake said not far from the market, so it must be one of these restaurants.” They had just passed Brixton Market, and the area, despite the late hour, was still reasonably busy. “I’m sure we’ll scent something.”
Mads’s eyes glinted in the low light. “Great. I’m ready.”
Cecile gave a dissatisfied grunt. “Fine. I’ll keep driving, but let me know when you’ve found it, and I’ll try to park close by.” She pulled to the side, double-parking, and in seconds they had piled out onto the street, and Cecile drove off.
“Let’s split up,” Vlad suggested. “Me and Mads will go this way.” He pointed away from the market. “You two head back that way. If you pick up the scent, call and wait.” He said it specifically to Jax, who had the glint of bloodlust in his eye.
“Of course,” Monroe said. “Let’s get this done.”
The scents and noise of Coldharbour Lane were overwhelming. Not only could Vlad smell curry, but other food scents—Thai, Chinese, and classic fish and chips. In addition, there was the smell of rubbish, perfume, sweat—the ever-present flavour of life. The scent of petrol and diesel didn’t help the search, either.
Mads looked none the worse for his earlier injuries, and he paced alongside Vlad. They looked alike, but Mads wasn’t as blond as he was, and he was a fraction shorter. They had both left Denmark looking to break away from their old pack connections, and a father who was rigidly sticking to old-fashioned pack values. They had started a new life in London several years earlier, and the city, and the Storm Moon Pack, was now home.
“You know,” Vlad said thoughtfully as he peered down a narrow side-passage, “there’ll be an alley of some sort running behind these places, or small yards. Somewhere for the rubbish and deliveries. That would be a good way to enter it.”
“Let’s find the place first.” Mads’s eyes were hard as he said, “I’ll cross over, check the other side.”
They progressed slowly for a few minutes, threading through pedestrians, with heads lifted and eyes narrowed as they searched. But then Vlad scented the odd smell they had found with Kane’s body. Pûcas.
He froze, trying to narrow down the direction, and noted his brother doing the same across the street. Mads pointed. Only a few doors down was a busy Indian restaurant, and beyond that a large hardware shop, closed for the night. But it looked to have a narrow alley next to it, wide enough for a vehicle. That would make it easy to unload a hostage.
Vlad pulled his phone out, gesturing for Mads to wait, and he quickly texted Monroe, Cecile, and Jax before crossing the road to join his brother. They waited silently, aware their own shifter scent and voices could give them away, too. Within minutes, Jax and Monroe had joined them, and Cecile passed them in the van, a nod of acknowledgement as she slowed and continued around again. It was too risky for her to pull into the side alley, but hopefully she would find somewhere close by.
They didn’t need to discuss their strategy. It was a simple one. Break in, effect a rescue, and get out. In the alley, there were no vehicles in sight, but there was a side entrance, and another alley at the far end that seemed to run parallel to the road.
They progressed quickly and silently. Monroe, Mads, and Jax waited by the battered side door covered in peeling paint. Vlad continued down the alley to check out the rear. He paused, dismayed. It wasn’t what he expected. There was a warren of back alleys here, leading off a large square concrete area that multiple buildings backed onto. Alleys that no doubt led to the surrounding main roads. Unfortunately, light spilled from various open doorways—the entrances to the restaurants’ kitchens, including the neighbouring Indian one. Bollocks.
He returned to the others, speaking in a whisper. “There’s a fair amount of activity around the back, but if anything goes badly, that should help cover our escape. Ready?” They nodded, remaining silent, and he tried the door. As expected, it was locked, but now that they were up close, the scent of therians, Pûcas, and Domino was strong. As was the scent of blood.
A quick inspection showed that all windows were locked tight, so while Monroe prepared to break the door down, Vlad and Mads quickly stripped and changed into their wolf. Once through, they had to act quickly. Vlad’s senses expanded as soon as he was a wolf. The sharp scent of blood and fear overwhelmed the other scents, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t Domino’s blood he could smell.
Monroe settled his shoulder to the door, and smashed it hard. It cracked but didn’t yield; the second hit smashed the door back, splintering the frame. Monroe raised his tranquiliser gun and raced inside, the rest of the group right behind him.
To their left was the shop, and Jax peeled away to inspect its dark interior, while the others raced to the right, down a short corridor. A quick sweep showed that the small kitchen and toilet at the back was empty, but a door led to a set of stairs leading up to the first floor, and down to a basement. The scent led downward, and this time Vlad and Mads took the lead.
Their immediate surroundings were ominously quiet, but the corridor stretched ahead, far longer than Vlad expected. It obviously extended behind the main shop to the courtyard beyond. With every step, Domino’s scent grew stronger. Vlad and Mads progressed on silent paws, hackles raised. But up ahead, noise filtered to them—raised voices and shouts. Wary of attack but worried for Domino’s safety, they quickened their pace.
And then a yell echoed from ahead, followed by pounding feet. Someone had heard them arrive.
Twenty-Four
Hunter paced the hotel room, checking the time again.
“They’re late.”
“Chill out,” Ollie instructed, sitting on the end of Hunter’s bed. “They might be waiting for the guard to change, or something else. We have no idea.”
Tommy was at the window, lifting the curtain to look out on the carpark at the rear of the building. “I don’t like it. Feels like a setup to me.”
“Well, we haven’t got any other options,” Hunter pointed out, annoyed. “Unless you have a grand plan!”
Tommy snorted with derision. “I don’t do plans. I act.”
“I know, you idiot hothead.”
Ollie snapped. “Shut up. This isn’t helping.”
They were in the twin room that Hunter was sharing with Tommy, a few hours after having eaten dinner that was as good as the rich aromas suggested it would be. Although, it was an uncomfortable experience. Hector had left a contingent of shifters to watch them, and while to any casual passer-by nothing untoward was happening, it was all too obvious to Hunter and his companions. They were watched with a bristling intensity that Hunter refused to let interrupt his enjoyment of the food.
Besides, Ollie was an alpha, and that meant he carried more power. Their guards shuffled, uncomfortable with every long stare Ollie gave them, and although they refused to back off, Hunter imagined it would take all of their energy to stay put. Good.
Tommy finally dropped the curtain and turned to face them. “I told you we should have brought more wolves.”
“Shut up,” Ollie said brusquely, and then he cocked an ear and stood up. “Someone is coming.”
Two people approached the door, and Hunter recognised the scent of the one who had been in the reception area, before a soft tap announced their arrival.
At a nod from Ollie, Hunter opened the door, and the two men slipped inside. The first was the shaven-headed, hard-eyed shifter from the lobby, the other was lean, dark-haired, and bearded with high, sharp cheekbones.
“Sorry we’re late,” the first man said, eyeing them warily. “It was hard to get upstairs unseen. A couple of the pack provided a slight distraction for us. Nothing untoward.” He grinned. “An argument about a woman.”
Ollie wasn’t amused, and he stepped toward them. “What’s going on? Notes passed in a key card? Is this an uprising?”
“Nothing so exciting,” the bearded man said. “Just a disagreement as to how to deal with Emyr.” He held his hand out. “I’m Regan, and this here is Alastair.”
