Chapter 6

Victor

The hotel's security office reeked of old coffee and lycan sweat, but it had what I needed—access to every camera in the building, and a door I could lock.

I'd sent my team ahead with the suspect—Lorelei, her name is Lorelei—with explicit instructions that no one was to begin questioning until I arrived. I needed time to figure out what the fuck was happening before I had to face her again in an official capacity.

Because the evidence was impossible. Completely, utterly impossible.

Chromatic siren heart-scale. Authentic. Recently shed—within the last 12 hours. Pheromone analysis indicates bonding with an Alpha lycan.

A siren heart-scale. In the possession of what appeared to be a human woman. Which meant either she'd been in contact with a siren—a capital offense that would get her executed—or something far worse.

I'd been hunting sirens for fifteen years. Had seen what they could do, how they could twist a lycan's mind with their songs, their pheromones, their psychic abilities. Had watched good soldiers turn traitor under siren influence, had put down more than one compromised Alpha who'd been seduced by those monsters.

The war between our kinds wasn't some distant historical conflict. It was ongoing, brutal, and absolutely necessary. Sirens were predators, pure and simple. They fed on us—literally and figuratively. Their blood could cure our rage sickness, their scales had pharmaceutical applications, their songs could reduce the strongest Alpha to a mindless thrall.

Which was exactly why the Bureau existed. To protect lycan society from siren infiltration. To hunt down and eliminate any siren that dared to come on land. To study them, yes, but primarily to ensure they could never threaten us again.

And now I was holding evidence that suggested a siren had been close enough to a human woman to give her a heart-scale. The most intimate gift a siren could offer, reserved only for mates.

Unless the woman isn't human at all.

The thought made my stomach turn. But it would explain so much. The anonymous tip that had led us to that hotel room. The way she'd reacted to my presence. The arousal I'd smelled on her when I'd searched her.

Sirens went into heat. It was one of their most dangerous traits, because a siren in heat could produce pheromones strong enough to drive even disciplined Alphas into rut. If she was a siren, if she'd been in heat when I'd encountered her last night—

No. The scanners would have picked it up. The genetic testing will show—

"Pull up last night's footage," I ordered the security officer, a nervous Beta who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Penthouse level, starting at 2100 hours."

The screens flickered to life. I watched the timestamp tick by, watched nothing of consequence happen for nearly an hour.

And then, at 22:47, I watched myself step into frame.

My stomach dropped.

It was me. Unmistakably, undeniably me, though I'd never seen myself move like that—jerky, uncoordinated, like a puppet with half its strings cut. I was supporting someone, a small figure wrapped in what looked like a torn jacket, silver-white hair spilling over my arm as I half-carried, half-dragged them toward the suite.

No. This can't be—

"Zoom in," I said, my voice hoarse. "On my face."

The image expanded. My eyes were wrong—pupils blown so wide the gold was almost invisible, expression slack and absent in a way that made my skin crawl. I'd seen that look before, on lycans who'd been hit with siren song, with psychic manipulation that turned even the strongest Alpha into a mindless thrall.

Fuck.

I'd been compromised. Somehow, some way, a siren had gotten to me. Had controlled me, used me, made me bring her to safety while I was under her influence.

And if that was true, if I'd been that thoroughly compromised, then everything I'd done in the past twelve hours was suspect. Every decision, every order, every thought could have been planted by siren manipulation.

I watched myself fumble with the keycard—three tries before I got the door open—and then disappear inside. The timestamp continued to tick. 22:48. 22:49. Nothing happened. No one came or went.

"Fast forward to 0400."

The footage blurred, hours passing in seconds, until—

There. 04:17, just like I remembered. I watched myself emerge alone, clothes disheveled, shirt unbuttoned, moving with the careful precision of someone trying very hard to appear sober. Watched myself pause at the door, forehead pressed against it for a long moment, before finally walking away.

"Go back. To when I entered. Slow motion. I need to see who I was carrying."

My past self struggled with the keycard again. The figure in my arms shifted, and for just a moment, the security light caught her face.

Silver-white hair. Delicate features. Eyes closed, head lolling against my shoulder.

Enthralled. She had me completely enthralled.

"Enhance that frame. Maximum resolution."

The image sharpened, and I felt the bottom drop out of my world.

It was her. Lorelei Caspian, the woman currently sitting in my interrogation room. The woman who was somehow connected to a siren heart-scale.

The woman I'd apparently brought to a hotel and spent six hours with while under siren influence.

"Pull the parking garage footage. I need to see where I picked her up."

More screens flickered to life. I watched myself pull up in the underground garage at 22:34. Watched myself sit in the driver's seat for several minutes, completely motionless, before finally getting out.

And there—in the passenger seat, barely visible through the tinted windows—a flash of silver-white hair.

I pulled out my personal comm unit, accessing the vehicle's GPS history with fingers that wanted to shake.

21:47: Left Bureau headquarters.

21:58: Stopped at the corner of Seventh and Industrial—the edge of the safety zone, where the city gave way to the wasteland beyond.

22:11: Resumed driving.

22:34: Arrived at hotel parking garage.

Seventeen minutes. I'd stopped in the industrial district for seventeen minutes, right where sirens were known to hide when they came on land, and when I'd started driving again, I'd had a passenger.

She was waiting for me. She knew my route, knew when I'd be passing through. She targeted me specifically.

The implications were staggering. If a siren had managed to identify and compromise the Supreme Commander of the Lycan Defense Bureau, if she'd gotten close enough to use her abilities on me—

The heart-scale. She gave me her heart-scale.

The thought hit me like a physical blow. Sirens only produced heart-scales after mating, after forming a bond with someone. Which meant that in those six missing hours, I hadn't just been compromised.

I'd fucked her. Had bonded with her. Had done the one thing that was absolutely, categorically forbidden for any lycan, let alone someone in my position.

I'd mated with a siren.