Moon, Blood, and Forbidden Love

Maya's POV

A sharp pain lanced through my skull.

I was three blocks from my apartment when it hit. Had to grab a lamppost to keep from face-planting onto the sidewalk. My vision whited out for half a second. Tasted copper on my tongue.

The mental link snapped open without warning.

Every wolf in Red Wood's network had this connection. A psychic thread that bound the pack together across distance. Most of the time it was just background noise. The constant hum of other hearts beating in rhythm with your own.

But when a communication wolf forced a direct link, it felt like someone had shoved a hot needle straight through your brain.

White Wolf. The voice wasn't a voice. It was pure thought. Pure urgency. UU designation. West 57th Street and 11th Avenue. Abandoned pier warehouse. Victor Krauss confirmed on site. Multiple warriors engaged. Heavy casualties. Immediate support required.

The link severed as abruptly as it had opened.

I stayed bent over that lamppost for three seconds. Let the pain fade to a dull throb. Let the implications sink in.

Victor Krauss. Finally.

Then I smiled.

A woman walking past with shopping bags saw my face and crossed to the other side of the street. Smart woman.

I ran.

Didn't bother going back for my bike. The warehouse was close enough. I cut through alleys and vaulted chain-link fences. My body shifting into combat mode with every stride. Heart rate dropping. Vision sharpening. The wolf under my skin stretching and getting ready.

Wolves and vampires had been mortal enemies since the beginning. As one of Red Wood's top warriors, hunting bloodsuckers was just another day at the office. But Victor was different.

Twenty-six kills in six months that we knew about. Probably twice that many we didn't. His wanted poster had been circulated to every pack in the network. The strongest vampire in the region. Maybe the strongest I'd ever get a chance to face.

And I'd never even seen him. Not once. Not directly.

Three years of hunting his kills. Three years of arriving at crime scenes after he'd already left. Three years of studying his patterns and his methods and the way he turned human beings into abstract art.

Three years of waiting.

What a fucking waste of my skill set.

The warehouse loomed ahead. A skeletal structure of rusted metal and broken windows jutting into the night sky. No movement in the upper floors. No sounds of combat.

Just silence.

The bad kind.

I approached from the side. Staying low. Drew both Glocks as I moved. Silver bullets already chambered. The liquid silver cores in my combat knives warming against my ribs.

The side door hung half off its hinges. I slipped through into darkness.

It took my eyes three seconds to adjust.

When they did, I wished they hadn't.

The warehouse floor looked like someone had tried to recreate a Renaissance painting of hell using only blood and bodies. The overhead lights—the ones that still worked—cast everything in sickly yellow that made the red look almost black in places.

There were pieces everywhere.

Not bodies. Pieces.

I counted four wolves. Or what was left of them. Hard to tell when they'd been torn apart with enough force to scatter limbs across fifty feet of concrete. The walls were painted in arterial spray patterns. Claw marks gouged through steel support beams like someone had dragged knives through wet clay.

One of them was pinned to a support column twenty feet up. Impaled through the chest with a piece of rebar that had been torn from the floor. His head hung at an angle that meant his neck was broken. His eyes were still open.

Fuck.

The smell hit me in waves. Blood and bowels and something burnt that might have been UV grenade residue.

And under all of it, that other scent.

Vampire.

But not just any vampire. This was different. Sharper. Something dark and cold with an edge like good whiskey. It crawled up my spine and made something in my chest twist sideways.

My wolf Raven stirred for the first time in days. A restless shift under my skin that felt like waking up after a long sleep. She pushed at the edges of my control.

Not trying to shift. Just... interested.

Which was weird. Raven hated vampires. We all did. It was hardwired into us at a genetic level. Being near a bloodsucker should make her want to rip and tear, not—

A sound from above.

I spun. Both Glocks up. Fingers on triggers.

The rafters were a maze of shadows and steel beams thirty feet overhead. I scanned them methodically. Left to right. Looking for movement.

Nothing.

But that scent was stronger now. Close enough that I could taste it on my tongue. Wrong. It should smell wrong. Should make me want to vomit.

It didn't.

Raven pushed harder. A low rumble started in my chest that I had to physically swallow to keep quiet.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

"You know," a voice said from directly behind me, "you have excellent instincts."

I spun. Squeezed both triggers.

The guns went off with a sound like the world cracking in half.

The bullets hit empty air. He wasn't there anymore.

He was on the catwalk fifteen feet to my left. Leaning against the railing like he had all the time in the world. The muzzle flash had lit him up for half a second.

Dark hair. Red eyes. A face that belonged on a magazine cover, not on something that killed for fun. Blood spattered across an expensive-looking white shirt. And that smile. That fucking smile that made my trigger finger itch and my wolf whine at the same time.

"But your execution needs work," Victor Krauss said.

Raven went absolutely insane.

Not the killing rage I'd expected. Not the primal fury that should come from facing your species' ancient enemy.

No.

She threw herself against the inside of my skull like she was trying to claw her way out. Whining. Keening. A sound I'd never heard her make before. My vision started to blur. My bones ached with the pressure of a shift I wasn't trying to trigger.

And then, clear as a bell, one word that made my blood run cold:

MATE.

I stared at the vampire on the catwalk. At Victor Krauss. At the thing that had just torn four of my packmates into abstract art.

At my wolf's idea of a fucking fated mate.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, fuck no."

Victor's smile widened.

"Hello to you too, little wolf."