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But to deny myself Quinn would be to deny my very nature, and the nature of our relationship. I can no more ignore Quinn than I can stop moving, thinking, or being. She screams through my every thought - my every motivation.
He sits next to me as we analyze data, perusing interviews, documents, security footage, lab samples, and in some cases, even titles and public records. The most noise he has produced since sitting down at the table beside the computer was to cough erratically, dismissing himself to clear his throat.
Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I catch him glancing up from a manila folder to quietly observe me, perhaps passing some obscenely critical judgment. My last interaction with him did not end well, and I informed him that I was going to disregard his advice and pursue Quinn regardless of what he thought.
The clock in the office ticks away the hours.
I type away.
He riffles through papers.
“Wait a second,” he growls at me.
I turn toward him slowly.
“Yes?”
“Go back to that file.”
I reopen the folder with security footage - over thousands of files of thumbnail video files. I relocate to the file as directed, and there, staring back at me with dead eyes, barely in frame, is Alistair Whitewood standing in front of the Middlebury Distribution Center.
“When is this post-dated for?” He asks. “Isn’t that the warehouse that-?”
“Yeah.”
When the Conservation Committee of Middlebury elected that the warehouse would displace too much of the wetlands, and rejected the proposal to construct it, wealthy interests moved quickly to build it without their approval, figuring it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.
But when they tried to hire personnel to fill it, and conduct business from it, they were repeatedly rejected. PEACE officers were sent to disperse all illegal activities, and the massive 720,000 square foot warehouse was left abandoned.
“So he’s swooped in and taken it for himself,” Ren says. “Son of a bitch.”
“Not much that can counter an enraged pack of vampires,” I say.
“Except for maybe another older, more angry vampire, with the element of surprise,” Ren pitches.
Looking at the filename, it seems like this footage was taken mere days ago by a camouflaged PEACE drone circling over the city.
“Guess we’ve finally got another lead,” Ren says. “Hope you weren’t planning on visiting your human friend.”
My head shakes of its own accord, my fists clenching. Because I think of all the humans we’ve seen dismembered and killed, torn apart by the kinds of vampires Ren thinks I am. And having everything finally acknowledged and out in the open, it all registers in my mind.
Ren imagines me capable of the kinds of daily atrocities the Moonlight Sentinels commit. And Quinn, being a human who has constantly entangled with their kind, is in danger as long as they continue to operate.
“Let’s go,” I say, orchestrating the charge toward the warehouse.
I am uncertain whether stealth is even possible, given the number of werewolf shifters in our company, but Ren and I gesture toward the warehouse at night, our unmarked, nondescript cars parked off in the distance.
“We want to avoid setting them off as much as possible,” Ren whispers. “But we’ve all learned how to stifle our scents, so this shouldn’t be-”
Guns fire out over the threshold. Looking toward the massive warehouse, the lights are all on, and we have been identified by four lone gunmen over the threshold.
“I thought you said they weren’t using guns?” Ren prompts me. I shrug.
“Are we all accounted for?” I ask simply.
They clearly didn’t do their research. To fire guns and point them at other shifters, expecting it to do much of anything.
“Oh God.”
