Chapter 1

Ch. 1: Julian

My feet pound the pavement and splash through puddles as I run in hot pursuit. Orange-toned streetlamps flicker and cast ominous shadows on the rain-washed streets, and a full moon peeks through the clouds of an unusually wet September sky.

Ahead, my quarry darts to the left, disappearing down an alleyway between two old brick-faced buildings. I fly around the corner, expecting to be within arm's reach of my target, and draw up short.

The alley stretches long, dark, and deserted before me. A streetlamp flickers and goes out, and I curse the outdated infrastructure of this town; it's great for tourism, but sucks when you're chasing a thief at 2 am.

Chest heaving, I scan the blackness and see a dumpster about halfway down: the only place an average-sized person carrying a backpack might hide.

Cautiously, I approach.

Then it occurs to me: what will I do if the guy I'm chasing is actually behind it?

Maybe I could take him; then again, maybe not.

Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, I will myself Unseen.

Being part Fae has its perks.

Cautiously, I approach the dumpster, my senses sharper than a cat's as I draw near: sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch all expanded well beyond human range. Details stand out like the edges of broken glass, sounds ring like bells in my ears, and scents confront me like the flickering images of an old-school film-strip.

Fortunately, the world is fairly quiet at this time of night, but there's still plenty to hear: the thump of music in a nearby nightclub; water dripping in metal drains; the quiet rumble of midnight traffic; a dog barking in the distance somewhere.

Brought to a halt by the almost painful assault, I squinch my eyes shut and do my best to block out everything beyond the confines of the alleyway.

After a few deep breaths, my focus returns, but so does my doubt.

Four hours into the second night of a long stakeout, Dane and I had caught our guy red-handed. Excited by the chase, we'd taken off in pursuit, but the thief proved fleet of foot. We'd split up—Dane circling to cut him off while I drove him on—and now there was no sign of my more combat-ready partner.

It occurs to me that the thief could be armed: being Fae doesn't make me bulletproof, and the super-healing werewolf trick belongs to Dane. On the other hand, I've been itching for some action, and I'm always telling Dane I can handle myself. Time to prove it.

I take another deep breath, steel myself, creep forward, and leap around the side of the dumpster with a somewhat high-pitched shout, hoping to take the thief by surprise.

There's no one there.

Shit.

With my focus broken, my disguise flickers, and I'm visible once more. Swearing under my breath, I scan the alleyway again, but it's definitely deserted. Long and narrow, its walls are the backs of two old buildings housing a number of small businesses. There are several emergency exits and back doors along its length, but I'd bet my last dollar every one of them is locked.

Still, I'd been on the thief's heels; there's no way he could have reached the other end of the alley that fast.

He's being chased by a werewolf and a Fae, Julian, I remind myself. Why shouldn't he be the Flash?

Swearing again, I sprint for the end of the alley—with all the time I've wasted sneaking up on dumpsters, the thief won't have needed superpower to have gotten away—round the corner, and promptly collide with six-and-half-feet of solid muscle.

"Whoa!" Dane catches my arms to keep me from falling on my ass. "You okay?"

"Yes, fine," I gasp. "Did you see which way he went?"

"No. Didn't you?"

I shake my head. "I lost him."

"How? You were right on his tail."

"I dunno." I catch my breath as the excitement of the chase fades. "What took you so long?"

"I tried to take a shortcut, but ran into a bunch of people coming out of that nightclub on 3rd. Had to walk. Pretty sure someone saw me running and called the cops, anyway. We better call it a night and get out of here."

Unhappily, I scan the darkened streets, but he's right; our quarry got away, and there's no sense hanging around.

"Fuck," I grumble, as we make our way back up the alley, retracing my steps. "We were so close."

He tugs on his ropy hair as he does when agitated, and sighs. "Yeah. Woulda been a nice clean end to the case, as far as we're concerned: thief caught red-handed; no more break-ins. Now we better split before we're the ones who get caught."

"You used to be a cop," I remind him unnecessarily. "I thought they were your friends."

"Not all of 'em, and there were a lot of retirements last year. Half the force probably joined after I left. Even some I'd have called a friend in the past might hassle us now, just for the hell of it. Can't even blame 'em: time was I hated private dicks just as much."

I snort. "I thought you loved all kinds of dicks."

He smacks my ass playfully. "Nope. Only yours."

I roll my eyes, but before I can come up with a good comeback, we reach the end of the alleyway and I pause, distracted once more by its length.

"What is it?" Dane asks, following the direction of my gaze.

"Just thinking this guy must be a real track star."

He shrugs. "You'd be surprised how fast people can run when motivated—especially by a fear of being caught. The predator's instinct is undeniable, but the prey's is ten times as strong."

"Tell me about it," I mumble.

He rubs a hand between my shoulder blades, and I suppress a shiver; I know that fear too well.

A year ago, I'd been forced to serve as 'prey' in a ritual hunt, chased by a deranged Shifter and a bunch of power-hungry Wolves. Dane had saved me in the end, but I hadn't escaped unscathed. I'm over it now—mostly. As my Mate, my brush with death may have affected Dane more. We've had plenty of work since we started 'Hunter & Hart Investigations,' but I know he's turned work down, too. He keeps away from anything violent or dangerous; or rather, he keeps it away from me. I don't mind, to be honest, but it's nice to see some action at last.

We continue on down the otherwise deserted streets to the spot where he'd left his car. The battered old Ford Explorer has just come into view when a patrol car turns at the next intersection and cruises towards us at an ominously slow speed.

Dane swears and pulls out his wallet, ready to show his ID in case whoever's behind the wheel doesn't recognize him.

The car comes to a stop opposite us in the street, the reflections on the black windows obscuring the interior as effectively as a two-way mirror.

The longer nothing happens, the more nervous I get, and I shift a little closer to Dane's side—as if my scrawny ass could shield him from harm. He's an alpha in the world of Wolves and Fae, but we inhabit the human world, too, and it's just as dangerous.

He'd told me his former boss, Chief Coleridge, ran a tight ship with a good crew, but that there were bad apples in every barrel. I knew what he meant and excused the mixed metaphor.

We wait, neither of us daring to move, and then the driver's side window rolls down and a familiar face leers at us.

"Gotcha."

Detective Erikson wears a shit-eating grin, and Dane bristles even as the tension dissipates.

"That isn't remotely funny, Erickson," he says, "and you know it."

"Eh." Erickson shrugs and looks between us. "What the hell you two doing out here, anyway? Not poking your noses where they don't belong, I hope."

I scowl. Erickson is gay, but deeply closeted. He resents the fact Dane's openness hadn't affected his career as much as it might have, and resents him more for leaving that career behind. Meanwhile, he resents me for rejecting his past advances, which were cringe-worthy and persistent. I don't like him very much.

Remembering what Dane had said about people coming out of a nightclub, I slip my arm around his waist and mold myself against him, adopting what I hope is a provocative pose.

"We're just out for some fun," I say, lisping a little as I lean into the stereotype. "What are you doing here, Detective? They got you on the night beat, huh? Who'd you piss off this time?"

As expected, that gets him, and he narrows his eyes at me as his self-satisfied smirk vanishes.

"We're short-staffed," he says, with a pointed look at Dane. "Everyone's been taking extra patrols in this area, with the recent robberies. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

I roll my eyes and trail a hand across Dane's abs for good measure. "I told you: we're not here for work. We're here for pleasure."

"That had better be true," he says. "If I catch you mucking about in official business, I'll find an excuse to cuff you and bring you in myself."

I sneer at him. "You'd like me in cuffs, wouldn't you?"

He sneers in return. "Only in your dreams, Hart."

"Those are nightmares, Erickson."

His face twitches with anger, and for a moment, I worry I've gone too far. Then he reins himself in.

"I'll let you get back to it, then," he says.

"We'll do that," I reply and, as he rolls up his window, I pull Dane down into a kiss.

Erickson chirps his sirens once, probably hoping to scare us, but I flip him off without breaking contact. He drives off a little faster than necessary, and I breathe a sigh of relief against Dane's lips as peace returns to the night-darkened street.

"Erickson's an ass," Dane grumbles, "but you shouldn't provoke him. He could cause trouble for us if he wanted to."

I shrug. "Let him try. You can always turn wolf and scare the shit out of him if you have to."

He grunts and deepens our kiss. Physical contact is important to him, especially after any kind of excitement or emotional distress, and we've had an exciting evening, for sure.

I push him away with a laugh and pry his hands from my waist. "Alright—save some for later, tiger."

"I think you mean Wolf," he says, quirking a brow at me.

"Oh?" I tease, opening the passenger-side door and climbing in. "What big teeth you have."

"All the better to—"

I shut the door on whatever obscene thing he was about to say, rest my head against the back of the seat, and press my fingers to my lips, which still tingle from his kiss.

Before I met Dane, I was just a guy who did psychic readings for a living; a guy with purple eyes, who'd spent his whole life being told he was 'inhumanly beautiful,' sure, but a normal guy, nonetheless. Then I'd learned werewolves are real and fallen in love with one, found out my dad was a Faerie, and had a shape-shifter try to eat my heart. It's been a wild ride ever since, and here I am: mated to an Alpha and using strange magic as I chase thieves through the night.

The driver's side door opens and Dane gets in, groaning as he settles in his seat.

"You okay?" I ask.

The day before, he'd pulled his back moving furniture. I'd found it unfortunately hilarious: the alpha werewolf, laid low by a heavy box. When I'd finished laughing, though, I'd realized it had frightened me, too. Dane seemed indomitable, but he could be injured as easily as anyone; he just healed faster afterward.

"Fine. You?" He looks over at me, his amber eyes turning almost orange as they catch the streetlamp's glare. In his late thirties, with his mass of ropy locs bound up in a knot and his smooth, dark skin agleam with recent exertion, Dane is a picture of masculine beauty and strength. He's not all brawn, either: he's got a good heart and a sharp mind—the ultimate combination—and I'm reminded again how lucky I am as I study him.

"Sorry for losing the mark," I say.

"Don't worry about it. We're not the cops: our job isn't to catch this guy. It's to find out who he is and make him stop, and we may have partly succeeded. If he's a kid doing this for kicks, maybe getting chased will scare him straight."

"Maybe."

"We'll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, let's go home. It's almost three, and if whoever got robbed tonight sticks to the plan, we'll be getting a call before seven. I'd like to get some sleep between now and then."

He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life, and I ponder the case as he navigates the quiet, night-deserted streets.

Over the past few weeks, the stores, shops, cafes, and other small businesses on one particular block had been burglarized. The thief—or thieves—had broken in, rifled around, and stolen small items of no particular value. Despite the aspect of petty crime, the thief was no amateur: he, she, or they had left no trace, triggered no alarms, disabled cameras, and seemed able to walk through locked doors.

The police were baffled, as they say, and given the low stakes and lack of evidence, were at a loss. They took statements and wrote reports, and put extra patrols in the area, but so far, these measures had not deterred the thief.

Desperate to protect their livelihoods, some of the business owners had banded together and hired us to look into it. If we crack it, or at the very least put a stop to the burglaries, it will be great for our fledgling business and our reputation.

So far, we haven't had more luck than the police; tonight's failed chase was the closest we'd come to making a break.

"I hope we get a call," I say. "I'd like the chance to read a fresh scene."

The shop owners had agreed not to call the police until we'd had a chance to investigate first. My ability to 'read' psychic impressions from my environment and Dane's wolf-senses worked best when things remained undisturbed.

"Me, too," Dane says. "Though I guess I won't complain if we don't. Ingrid will be here in two days, and the guest room's still not ready."

Ingrid, Dane's youngest sister, studies music. She'd landed a fall internship with the local symphony orchestra, and needed a place to stay. Our cottage is tiny, but family is everything to Dane, so of course we'd offered her a room: the 'guest room,' which was really our home office, and which accounted for the furniture-moving that threw out Dane's back.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of the cottage itself. Though small, it's ideally situated: all by itself on a sizeable chunk of land owned by the Foley family—a local Shifter clan. The main house, currently occupied by our friends Chloe and Grace, is just out of sight over a line of low hills. I'd lived here alone for some years, finding the solitude and low rent suited me. Then Dane moved in, and it seemed ideal for him, too: lots of room to run as a Wolf. I'd never considered looking for a larger place.

"Come on," he says, leading the way inside. "Shower, then sleep."

I snort as I follow him to the bathroom. "We could fit in one more thing, if we make it quick."

He glances at me over his shoulder as he strips out of his shirt. "Wanna bet?"

"Given you lasted less than two minutes our first time, sure."

"Careful what you ask for, Fae," he grumbles teasingly as he sheds the rest of his clothes.

He steps into the shower, and I follow, standing behind him beneath the hot spray.

"I think that's my line, Wolf," I whisper, and smile to myself as I see a shiver arc across his back.

He turns, eyes lit with amber fire, and I let him see the answering fire in my own.

A good half-hour later, we fall asleep in a satisfied tangle, our breath and heartbeats synchronized.

The buzz of Dane's phone wakes me, and I see we've slept in past eight. Swearing, I grab it off the bedside table and answer it without looking at the caller ID. Dane's number is our 'business line.'

"Hunter & Hart Investigations," I say, doing my best to sound alert and awake.

For a moment, there's silence; then a few whispered words have me very alert and awake, indeed.

"You almost caught me," the caller says. "You would have regretted it if you had."