Chapter 4
Hayden
It hit me as soon as I walked through the door.
An urge. A need. An overwhelming desire to let the beast inside me free. Something I haven’t felt in decades. Not since we buried the last she-wolf, and with her, any chance of being able to mate.
The woman sitting at the counter was no she-wolf.
I don’t know what she is. Her scent is faint, but it’s there.
I might not have noticed if the bar hadn’t already been thick with it when I walked in.
Once I caught her scent, every instinct in my body screamed to drag her outside, slam her against the wall, and take what I craved.
But that’s dangerous. She may not be a she-wolf, but she’s still a Scion, just like I am, and there are people who hunt our kind. Those of us—shifters, witches, fae—who have survived this long do so by hiding what we are. We blend in with humans and live amongst them.
I didn’t blend in at the bar. Not like I normally do. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I could barely maintain my Third Form. It usually doesn’t take much concentration to keep the shroud up, but it was hard to concentrate on anything but her.
I snapped out of my trance when she went to the bathroom. That allowed me to pull away, distance myself from her. I was still catching my breath on the roof of the bar when she walked outside and sent me into chaos again.
I shouldn’t have followed her home. Running the rooftops in my Natural Form.
Four paws, wind in my fur, a growl lingering in my throat that was desperate to escape as a howl.
Hopefully, nobody spotted me. The last thing my Pack needs is for the Crimson Templars to find out that there is a wolf shifter to hunt in Chicago.
We wouldn’t survive another encounter with those wretched bastards.
I’m not sure why I followed her. It felt as instinctual as embracing my Natural Form so I could keep up with her Uber.
I watched until she was safe inside her apartment.
Lingered long enough to see which lights came on and watch her through the window for a while.
But now that she’s turned out the lights, I need to go home.
My paws pound on the rooftops, leaps taking me from one to the next until I’m back on top of Fletcher’s Bar. I land with a heavy thud and approach the clothes I discarded when I shifted.
I step into the shadows beside the rooftop access door, where no one below can see me. Once I’m sure it’s safe, I close my eyes, concentrate, and shift.
In my Natural Form, I’m a wolf. Eight hundred pounds of raw power and unstoppable fury.
My coat is a dense charcoal gray that fades from black along my spine to a light gray belly, thick enough to shrug off rain and winter cold alike.
It doesn’t take any concentration to maintain this form.
It’s as natural as breathing. Everything feels right, from my broad, heavy jaw with teeth that could crush bone to the enormous paws that strike the ground with a quiet, predatory weight.
I absorb all of that as bones crack and muscles twist. The man that emerges is what I look like in my true Human Form.
I tower over most men, standing well over seven feet tall, with shoulders broad enough to make doorframes an obstacle.
Every inch of my body is built with the same dense power as the wolf.
Thick muscles layered over a heavy frame that looks more suited for tearing down walls than walking the streets of Chicago unnoticed.
Dark hair falls in rough waves to the middle of my back as I shift, and the beard along my jaw is a shade darker, framing features that are sharp, predatory, and wolf-like, even in this form.
It’s my eyes that give it away most of all.
They have an amber glow, just like they do when I’m running on four paws.
I know they catch the city lights like a pair of burning embers shining through the darkness.
I look human, except I’m larger than most of their kind. Too broad. Too tall. Too dangerous to pass unnoticed for long. That’s why the Third Form exists. Without it, every room I walk into turns silent. People stare. Blending in is impossible.
“Home,” I growl under my breath. I don’t know what she is, but if it’s this hard to maintain my Third Form when I’m close to her, I need to stay as far away as possible.
I close my eyes and concentrate harder. I focus on human weaknesses, summoning them to the surface.
My strength bleeds out of my frame first, the towering height compressing as bones shorten and settle into a more believable shape.
Muscle pulls tighter against my frame instead of bulging with the brutal density of my true Human Form.
The hair that falls halfway down my back shortens, dark waves pulling in until it barely grazes my collar. My beard trims itself down to rough stubble along my jaw. The glow in my eyes dulls, the burning amber fading into a muted black that only hints at the fire beneath it.
When I open my eyes again, the beast is gone. I pick up my clothes, put them on, and walk over to the fire escape. Even in this weaker form, I’m stronger and faster than most humans. I’m on the ground in a matter of seconds, and I vanish into the night before anyone even notices me.
My home, if you can call it that, is a penthouse apartment that overlooks Chicago’s north side.
I never feel comfortable here. My body craves the wind that blows through the forest, the scent of fresh rain, and the feeling of dirt beneath my paws instead of asphalt.
Despite that, I walk through the doors of my building like any other human eager to get home.
I get on the elevator, swipe my card, and wait for it to take me to the top floor.
As soon as I step off the elevator, I realize I won’t get the peace I need. I’m not alone.
“Remy,” I growl, seeing my brother sitting in the dark, sipping whiskey. “What are you doing here?”
Remy’s in his Third Form, just like I am. I was our parents’ firstborn pup. Remy arrived a few years later, while I was still young enough to enjoy playing in the snow and chasing leaves in the wind. Before I realized just how cruel the world is to our kind.
“I was going to finish my whiskey and leave, since I assumed you weren’t coming home alone,” Remy says. “You rarely do when you’re out this late.”
“Still doesn’t answer my question,” I say, pouring some whiskey into a glass and sitting down across from my brother.
“Pack business,” Remy says.
My grip tightens around the glass. For a moment my wolf stirs again, restless beneath my skin after tasting freedom. “There is no pack business. Not anymore.”
“Tonight, there is,” Remy grumbles, an edge in his voice. “There’s a Scion in Chicago.”
My grip gets even tighter. If I wasn’t in my Third Form, I’d shatter the glass.
Does he know about her, too? Did he sense her, just like I did?
It shouldn’t be possible unless he was as close as I was, and I would have been able to sense his presence if he was anywhere nearby.
I take a drink of my whiskey to stall for a second.
“A Scion?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual. “Most of them stay away from Chicago. That’s why we hide here. Do we know what kind of Scion it is?”
“Vampire. Not very old, but he’s turning people and building a brood. We know what happens when that goes unchecked,” Remy growls, downing more whiskey. “It’s only a matter of time before the Crimson Templars show up.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, but I feel compelled to share my experience, too. If there’s multiple Scions in Chicago, I need to make my brother aware, even if I don’t know what she is. “I ran into a Scion tonight, too. That’s why I came home alone.”
“A vampire?” Remy questions.
“No, not a vampire. I don’t know what she is, but she… she caused a reaction. It was hard for me to maintain my Third Form around her,” I admit, shaking my head.
“That could be more dangerous than a vampire,” Remy growls. “But that means… only a she-wolf can cause that kind of reaction in our kind. Are you sure that’s not what she is? We’d be able to tell, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes,” I reply. “I remember what it was like when we were around she-wolves. This wasn’t the same. It was… more enthralling. Like being trapped in a fog and she was the only light I could find.”
“I’ve never heard of a Scion like that. Or a reaction like that,” Remy says.
“Me either,” I admit. “I would have gone straight to the elders, if they were still around.”
“You’re the elder now, Hayden,” Remy sighs. “And you’re still our Alpha, even if the pack is in disarray. That means you’ve got to decide what we do about the vampires. And what we do about this other mysterious Scion.”
“The vampire we have to deal with immediately, especially if he’s turning instead of just feeding.
It has to be young vampire, otherwise he wouldn’t be foolish enough to build a brood in Chicago,” I say, downing more whiskey.
“The girl, I’m going to keep an eye on. I’m not sure she’s a threat.
She easily passes as a human. She may not even know that she has Scion blood. ”
“Eliminating her would be easier, especially if you struggled to maintain your Third Form around her,” Remy growls.
“You didn’t feel what I felt,” I mutter. “Dormant instincts rose to the surface. It wasn’t like when we seek out humans for companionship. It was similar to what our father used to describe. The feeling he got when he realized our mother was his mate.”
“That’s not possible,” Remy says. “Wolves can’t mate with other Scions. Besides, all you’ve heard are old stories. None of us have ever felt the pull of a true mate, and we all felt something die inside us the night the last she-wolf was killed.”
“I know it’s impossible, brother,” I growl. “That doesn’t change what I felt.”
“Then take her to your bed,” Remy suggests, shrugging a shoulder. “Find out what she is. Either way, I’m sure it’ll be better than fucking a human. We have to hold back with them too much to truly enjoy it.”
“After what I felt, I think it’s best if I stay away from her for now,” I respond, even though that’s the last thing on my mind. “I need to find out more about her. Maybe if I look into her family, I’ll get some answers. But the vampire brood is priority.”
“I’ll get in touch with Storm and Wyatt,” Remy says, draining his glass before putting it down. “It’ll be nice to see everyone again. It’s been too long.”
“Agreed. I just wish it was a reunion under different circumstances,” I grumble. “I fucking hate vampires. If one of them bites me, I’m going to rip their damn fangs out of their mouth before I tear their heart out of their chest.”
“The fledglings will be dead before they even think about biting us. Their maker… depends on how old he is. How many he’s turned,” Remy says.
“I don’t think an older vampire would be foolish enough to build a brood in Chicago unless he’s desperate.
My guess is he’s a vampire from a larger brood who recently got the power to become a maker and set off on his own.
Clearly, his maker didn’t prepare him for the responsibility. ”
“No surprise. Vampires don’t have the same kindred sense we do.” Remy stands up and straightens his jacket. “Probably because they don’t breed or have offspring, except for the fledgling slaves they create.
“I’m sure that’s part of it,” I agree.
I don’t walk Remy out. He can come and go as he pleases.
My door is always open to my brothers, even if we barely qualify as a pack.
I may be the Alpha, but I’m hardly a leader.
I make tough decisions because I know my brothers won’t.
It’s not that they’re incapable, it’s just instinct.
The Alpha leads. The pack follows. That’s how it’s always been for our kind.
Our pack is one of the last remnants of a different time. A time when shifters owned the wild and lived in harmony with nature instead of being trapped in a concrete prison. All of my brothers would have found mates. They would have left our pack to form their own and became Alphas like I am.
Instead, they’re stunted. I became the Alpha when our father died, but without mates, my brothers will never reach their full potential. We’re a dying breed. The Crimson Templars hunted us to extinction. We’re just waiting for time to finish the job.
But as long as we draw breath, our survival instincts won’t allow us to give up, won’t allow us to go down without a fight.
I’ve lost too many brothers and sisters to the Crimson Templars.
We’ve avoided them for a long time by keeping a low profile and hiding behind our Third Form.
If wiping out a vampire brood keeps the Crimson Templars away from Chicago, then it has to be done. Protecting the pack takes priority.
Normally, the promise of a fight would have my wolf pacing beneath my skin, waiting for the moment I have an excuse to embrace my Natural Form and lick fresh viscera from my fangs.
Instead, I’m thinking about her. The mysterious Scion.
Her scent still lingers in my nose, strangely decadent.
The chaos she caused inside me is still unsettled.
My instincts are frayed, seeking something I know is impossible.
Whatever she is, she’s dangerous, and I should stay far away until I know more about her.
But I already know I won’t.
Some instincts are too difficult to control.