Chapter 4 Theodore #2
He eyed me suspiciously, taking in my appearance with a slow, assessing gaze. After a moment, he produced a silver lighter and flicked it open.
I leaned in, letting the fire catch. “Thanks,” I said, taking a deep drag.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
“That’s because I’m not, usually,” I replied on an exhalation of smoke. “I’m a police detective looking into a missing persons case. Journalist named Devraj Bassi. He’s a shifter. Ring any bells?”
His expression didn’t change, but I caught the slightest hesitation before he took another drag. “Can’t say it does.”
I pulled out my phone, scrolling to find the photo of Dev with the pair of them.
“Ring any bells now?”
He flinched, his eyes widening before he dropped his cigarette and moved toward the door with purposeful strides.
With a regretful toss of my own cigarette, I stepped into his path. “Look, Brody—” He balked at the use of his name. “I’m trying to be reasonable here. But if you don’t help me, I’ll have to tell Black you were uncooperative.”
The shifter laughed, a harsh bark. “Black? You think that’s supposed to scare me?”
…shit shit shit…Black?…
Sebastián’s reputation did indeed precede him.
“I don’t have any information for you, mate,” Brody insisted, shouldering past me.
But as he moved, something flashed in his mind—an image so vivid it practically projected itself into my consciousness: Dev Bassi in a dimly lit room, his expression grim, jaw clenched tight. The image was sharp, recent, real.
“Liar,” I snapped, the word torn from me before I could stop it.
The wolf’s head whipped around, shock written on his face. Then he bolted.
I cursed and gave chase, my shoes slipping on the polished floor. He was fast, but the narrow hallway limited his movement. I lunged forward, catching the back of his shirt.
Brody spun, snarling, eyes flashing amber. His fist connected with my jaw, sending pain exploding across my face. I staggered but didn’t let go, using his momentum to shove him sideways.
We crashed into the nearest listening booth, tumbling through it onto the floor, the door slamming shut behind us.
The small space amplified our struggle, limbs knocking against walls.
He was stronger—shifter strength giving him an edge—but I was determined, fuelled by the knowledge that he’d seen Dev.
Brody’s elbow caught my ribs, forcing the air from my lungs. I countered by driving my knee up, creating enough space to flip our positions. We rolled, knocking over a small table. I slammed him against the wall, forearm pressed against his throat.
The wolf’s muscles tensed beneath my grip, his skin growing hot. His eyes flickered between human brown and animal amber, pupils elongating unnaturally. A low growl rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my forearm.
…kill him…rip him apart…tear his throat out…
Brody’s thoughts crashed into my mind with savage intensity, making me wince.
The transformation was beginning—skin rippling, muscles straining as bones prepared to crack and reform.
Adrenaline spiked through me. I’d never seen a wolf shift before, and as fascinated as I was by it, pinning a transforming shifter to a wall seemed like a spectacularly poor life choice.
“I wouldn’t shift if I were you,” I said, voice deadly calm despite my racing heart. “Dominic knows I’m here looking for you.” A complete lie, but I delivered it with unwavering confidence.
The mention of Dominic’s name cut through Brody’s rage. His eyes widened, the amber glow receding slightly.
“That’s right.” I pressed my advantage. “Dominic doesn’t take kindly to wolves shifting in his establishment. Lifetime ban, I believe? And I’ve heard he has… creative ways of enforcing his rules.”
His breathing slowed, the immediate threat of transformation subsiding. I could still feel the wolf just beneath his skin, but he was fighting it back now.
I maintained my grip, ignoring the throbbing pain in my jaw. Blood from my split lip trickled down my chin, dripping onto his expensive shirt.
“Tell me what you did to Dev Bassi,” I hissed, tasting copper. “Where is he?”
The wolf’s eyes darted to the door, calculating his chances of escape. I pressed harder against his throat.
…can’t tell…they’ll kill me…
“Who’ll kill you?” I demanded, the words slipping out before I could stop myself. Fuck. I wasn’t usually that sloppy.
Brody’s expression changed instantly, fear giving way to something else—realisation, then cold fury.
“You’re a fucking telepath,” he snarled, disgust dripping from every word.
“You’re right. I am,” I admitted, easing the pressure on his throat slightly but maintaining my grip. “So don’t bother lying to me. Just tell me what I need to know about Dev Bassi, and we can both continue with our evenings.”
His eyes narrowed with revulsion. Most supernaturals viewed telepathy as an invasion, a violation worse than physical assault. I didn’t entirely blame them.
“Not a chance,” he spat. “And don’t you dare read my mind. I mean it.”
This was the part nobody ever understood about telepathy—it wasn’t the convenient superpower they imagined.
It wasn’t like flipping through a filing cabinet.
It was messy, like trying to catch specific words in a hurricane of consciousness.
Detailed information required focus, proximity, and sometimes physical contact.
The pressure behind my temples was already building as I pushed past his surface thoughts, like forcing my way through thick fog.
Each deeper probe sent sharp needles of pain radiating from my skull down my neck.
Even now, with my hands on him, I was only catching fragments. Images of Dev, flashes of fear. The deeper I pressed, the more my vision blurred at the edges, his panicked thoughts mixing with the throbbing in my head until I couldn’t tell where his fear ended and my pain began.
I could push harder, dig deeper, but that came with risks beyond just ethics. My father warned me about going too deep into someone’s mind. You could get lost, drown in their consciousness.
“Listen,” I said, softening my tone. “I don’t want to hurt you. Dev is missing, and someone close to him is worried. I just need to know if he’s alive, where he might be.”
Brody’s thoughts flickered briefly to a warehouse, concrete floors, the smell of antiseptic. The image sliced through me, sharp enough to make me blink hard against the sudden spike of pain.
“I can’t help you,” he said, but his thoughts betrayed him:
…they’ll kill me if I talk…they’ll kill us both…
I stared at Brody, the truth of his fear pummelling into me. He wasn’t just scared—he was terrified.
“I can protect you,” I said, loosening my grip slightly. “Official police protection. You’d be safe.”
He laughed, a hollow sound that held no humour. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Help me understand.” I shuffled back, giving him more space. “Start with Dev. Did you hurt him?”
“No! I swear, we never laid a hand on him. That wasn’t our job.”
“What was your job, then?”
Brody’s thoughts tumbled forward before he could stop them:
Meridian…names…reporting back…
“You work for Meridian?” I asked.
His eyes widened. “Get out of my head!”
“I’m barely in it,” I said. “But you’re practically shouting certain thoughts. Meridian Medical Research Centre—what’s your connection?”
He slumped against the wall, the fight draining from him. “We never met anyone from Meridian directly. Just some guy who used a fake name. Always met us in different locations, never at the actual facility.”
“What did they want from you?”
“Information.” Brody rubbed his face. “Bradley and I, we’re lone wolves. No pack. They wanted us to identify others like us—packless wolves, especially newcomers to London, ones sleeping rough.”
“And do you know what they did with that information?”
I didn’t need telepathy to know the answer to that—it was written, plain as day, on his face.
I schooled the distaste from my face. “So, back to Dev. You gave them his name?”
Confusion crossed his face. “No, that was different. Dev isn’t packless.
They already knew about him. Our job was to pretend to give him information while finding out how much he knew about their operation.
Then we’d report back.” Brody looked away.
“But we’re done with them, now. Promise.
Cut ties last week. After Dev. It got… We didn’t sign up for… ”
“Well, aren’t you just a paragon of moral virtue,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cutting ties after how many wolves disappeared? Your conscience must be so relieved.”
“Look, man—”
“So, what did you tell them? What did Dev know?” Enough to get him disappeared.
Brody’s expression shifted. “Dev was pretty sharp, actually. He knew something was off with us from the beginning. We tried to get him talking about what he knew about Meridian, but he kept things vague. Like he was testing us.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, he’s good. Had this way of making you want to tell him things without giving anything away himself.” Brody’s eyes took on a distant quality. “Charming guy, Dev. Gets you talking before you even realise it’s happening, you know?”
I clenched my jaw, sudden irritation building. Maybe it was the way everyone seemed bewitched by this journalist I’d never met—Rory still hung up on him nine months after their breakup, this other wolf practically starry-eyed despite being paid to spy on him.
“Well, whatever you fed back to Meridian was obviously enough to—”
The door flew open with enough force to slam against the wall. I spun around, instinctively positioning myself between Brody and the newcomer.
The one and only Dominic Thrift—powerful, ancient vampire and owner of Undertone—stood in the doorway. Resplendent in a deep purple velvet jacket, his platinum hair caught the dim light as he looked us over with cold calculation.