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“Who said I did?” Wright asked, a defensive note in his rough voice as he took another turn. This one led them off the main road and onto a side street that, even with his enhanced vision, Colt could barely make out. “You hear things in the Cage.”
“I thought you finished your time.”
“The less you know about me, the better, Wolfe.”
That tone. That Alpha damn tone.
Wright might’ve called him by name, but Colt only heard Pretty boy.
It didn’t help that that he was all dressed up, either. The sneer in his “partner”’s voice had Colt growling from the back of his throat, his fingertips tapping angrily against the silky fabric of his tailored pants. Thank Alpha his claws were staying sheathed. Last thing he needed was for Wright to take it as a threat and decide to pull the plug on the night’s adventure.
This was the closest they’d come so far to a credible lead on what kind of twisted vamps were openly defying the Claws Clause and draining their victims. Even from before the paranormals were forced to come out in the open, the vampires—both Nightwalkers and Dayborns—were careful not to leave dead donors behind in case it caught the humans’ attention—or, worse, a slayer.
Slayers were the bogeymen of the Para world. All races had their stories, usually told to scare pups and fledgling vamps into behaving. Slayers—humans who hunted paranormals—were considered a myth by most Paras nowadays but… well, you never know, right?
Even his father hesitated when it came to the subject. When Colt called in after Diaz offered him the gig, he’d jokingly wondered why it was the pack’s problem at all. Shouldn’t the Ants call in a slayer?
Terrence’s reaction had Colt revisiting all the tall tales his parents told him when he was a pup. And, instead of mentioning it to Wright, he decided to keep quiet about the possibility of a secret sect of human slayers out there.
He could deal with the cops. They at least had some rules they had to follow.
Slayers?
Not quite.
So, instead of coming up with a retort, Colt let Wright’s bad attitude slide. If it meant they got one step closer to taking down the killer vamps infiltrating the area, it would be worth it.
It seemed as if the cop was on the same page as he was. As the car fell quiet again, Wright cleared his throat.
“Hey. Look… I’m sorry about that. This has got me on the edge, but you asked me an honest question about the case and I should’ve answered. Anyway, it was a vamp in holding who gave me the intel on this place. I… might’ve pushed him a little for his info. If it doesn’t pan out, I’m shit out of luck. I shouldn’t have snapped, though.”
Colt was so surprised by Wright’s earnest apology that he just nodded. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
The amazing part was that he actually meant it, too.
The side street gave way to gravel, then dirt. Wright kept pushing his car forward. Colt was beginning to think he should ask the cop if he was sure he knew where he was going when, out of nowhere, a flicker of light appeared in the distance.
They kept driving.
The light was a warning to visitors that, as they eased forward into the darkness, there was a makeshift parking lot in front of a nameless, signless building. The facade was empty, except for a solitary lantern posted over a nondescript entrance.
It was black. The whole damn thing. Black siding, tinted windows, and a black door?
??complete with a black knob. If it weren’t for the countless bodies and thousands of scents hitting him from just out of reach—not to mention the many, many cars out front—he would’ve thought the place was empty.
The soundproofing had to be excellent. He could sense the clubbers, could even tell that there were quite a few Ants inside the Para club, but even as he tilted his head, cocking an ear, Colt couldn’t hear a damn thing.
Wright parked near the back. Smart move, in case they had to make a quick exit.
“What does your nose tell you?” he asked as he climbed out of his side of the car.
Colt stretched his legs, unfolding his body as he eased out of the coupe. He lifted his nose into the brisk air. The wind was up which meant that he had to focus a little harder than he normally would.
“I’ve got to sift through the scents,” he told Wright. “Right now, it just smells like a Nightwalker nest.”
“What’s that smell like?”
“With this many Nightwalkers in one place, you get the rusty tang of blood. But, well, they’re corpses, right? You ever see a dead body? Think decomp, plus a little eau de spoiled meat for good measure. Multiply it by ten. That’s what it smells like to me and my wolf.”
