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The closer I got to that alley, the colder I became. It wasn't the night, nor was it the fact that I was soaked. This particular coldness came from deep inside, from the place where the very essence of my wolf soul rested, and it flooded outward, making my steps more and more reluctant.
Whatever hid in the darkness, the wolf feared it. And if that instinctive part of me did, then I certainly should.
As I neared the alley's entrance, mist began to gather in the darkness, stretching ethereal fingers in my direction. Without thought, I stepped back. Quickly, and in fear - though of what, I have no idea.
The mist hesitated, then began to recoil.
I drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. This was no way to get answers. I had to meet the mist, had to go on.
Had to.
I licked my lips, wondering why the hell I was so afraid of something as harmless as mist, and stepped forward. Again the ethereal fingers formed and reached for me. This time, I ignored them and kept on moving. Their touch was almost exploratory and yet, at the same time, pressing, as if they intended to halt me gently. I'd expected the mist to be cold and clammy and, in some ways, it was. And yet it burned against my skin, like the sting of lemon juice against a cut. And the farther I tried to go into the alley, the fiercer that sting got.
It was that, more than fear, that stopped me.
And still my senses could feel nothing, see nothing. There was just that itch, telling me it was there, that it was watching.
"What are you?"
My voice came out croaky, and the mist in front of me stirred gently.
No answer came from the darkness of the alleyway beyond the mist. I tried again. "I know you're there. I can feel your presence."
The little wolf has courage.
The voice was male, and came from everywhere and yet nowhere. It hung on the misty air and yet reverberated through my mind. Was gentle, and yet, at the same time, harsh.
Weird, to say the least.
"The little wolf is scared shitless, but she also wants answers." I could see no harm in admitting the truth in this instance. Besides, something told me anything else could be dangerous.
Amusement rolled across the night, in much the same manner as the words had.
I can see why he likes you.
"Quinn? Oh yeah, he just loves ordering me around, and trying to make me do things I don't want to do."
We were protectors born, little wolf, and that instinct is hard to shake.
I raised an eyebrow. "Meaning Quinn is somehow connected to you? In more than an employer-employee mode, that is?"
That is a question I am not free to answer.
"Why not?"
Because you do not ask the right person.
"Well, it's next to useless to ask Quinn. He never tells me anything."
Vampires live a long time, and there is fun to be had in taking time to unravel the mystery.
"Sorry, but patience has never been a virtue of mine."
Again the amusement swam around me, but this time it was accompanied by an odd sense of approval. Why was anyone's guess.
"Okay, so if my first question was the wrong one, will you then tell me who you are?" What, who, where - the basic questions of interrogation, as defined by the Directorate. Of course, they rarely asked so politely.
The presence seemed to consider my question for an extremely long time. Or maybe wariness and fear just made it seem that way.
