The Silver Fox Vampire (Motham City Monsters #8)

Chapter 1

“Another human’s gone missing.”

Clare glanced up from her computer to see her colleague Ron dunking a donut into his coffee. “That brings it to five,” he told her, stuffing the now soggy donut into his mouth.

“You’ve got cinnamon all over your chin,” she deadpanned.

Ron swiped at his face with the back of his hand. “Aren’t you intrigued?”

“Let me guess. A human goes to a nightclub in the Purple Lantern District. They’re found the next morning, clothes torn, wandering the streets with a dreamy smile on their face. With no memory of what happened—supposedly.”

“Wrong.” Ron loved it when her reasoning was off target. Which was rare—she was a damn good sleuth. “These humans aren’t turning up again. Poof. They’re gone without a trace.”

“Right-oh.” Clare shrugged and resumed typing.

Minotaur interviewed. Police searched his premises; no pearls were found. Complainant informed. Case closed.

Powering down her computer, she gathered her phone, notebook, and a pen and swept them into her purse.

“Where are you off to?” Ron asked.

“There’s been a fire at Perfect Pooch Grooming.”

“Fur clippings caught alight, did they?”

“Probably an insurance job. Everyone knows Mabel’s going broke.”

“You’d think Tween had enough pooches to keep her in business.”

“You’d think so,” Clare said drily as she strode out of the office, pleased she hadn’t gotten caught on Ron’s hook. And no, she absolutely would not call her contacts to get details about the missing humans.

No way would she.

But when she’d finished investigating the charred remains of the dog grooming parlor, she grabbed her phone and called Saul. The burly orc had been her working partner for two years in Motham PD.

He’d taken over as chief of Motham PD’s investigations after detective chief inspector Oliver Hale resigned.

A frisson of heat ran down Clare’s spine, swirled low in her belly. Why did just thinking that fucking vampire’s name make her react like this?

It had been one night, one crazy night. What was wrong with her?

“Hi, Clare.”

“Hi Saul, how’s things?”

“Busy. You’ve heard about the most recent case?”

“What case?”

Saul’s hearty laugh boomed down the line. “Yeah, right. We’ve just notified the Tween and Twill PDs of the latest disappearance, and you’re calling for a chat. You don’t do chats.”

“I’m learning. Small talk over tea and scones is a necessary part of my job these days.”

“Hmmm, interesting concept, Clare Doyle genteelly sipping tea with Tween residents, little finger crooked.”

She had to smile.

“Actually, I was ringing to see how Harriet and the girls are.” Okay, that was a lie, but she did have fond memories of Saul’s family.

Even if she had forgotten to send cards on his little girls’ birthdays since she left Motham.

“But now you mention it,” Clare stroked a hand over her hair, pushing a strand behind her ear, “Ron said this case is a puzzle.”

“Yeah, very perplexing.”

“In what way?”

“One minute they’re there, then they’re not. No clues. No leads. Nothing.”

“Nighttime, daytime?”

“No set time of day. Sometimes morning, sometimes late at night. The last one had just popped out to grab some lunch. Never came back to work.”

“No identifiers that would link them together?”

“Human. Young. All genders.”

“Pretty much the entire human population of Motham, then,” Clare remarked. A human over the age of thirty was almost unheard of in the city of monsters.

Saul hesitated. “Wanna come back and work on the case?”

“No! No way,” she said quickly—too quickly.

“All those Tween murders keeping you busy, are they?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“At least we see real action in Motham.”

“I like the quieter pace.”

“Who are you kidding?”

Herself. She was kidding herself, wasn’t she? Over and over again.

“I even approached Oliver Hale,” Saul rumbled on. “Asked him to come back and head up the case.”

Clare gagged, nearly swallowed her tongue.

“Ah, great,” she almost squeaked, then lowered her voice to a gruff tone. “Good move.”

“He refused.”

She really wasn’t sure if the sharp twist in her gut was relief or disappointment.

“Like you, he says he’s perfectly happy where he is.”

“Selig’s a great city from what I hear.” Clare tried to sound like she couldn’t give a damn.

“Yeah, but a case like this—you’d think it’d bring Hale back from heaven itself.”

“Vampires are immortal, so heaven isn’t really on the cards, is it?”

“Okay, hell then.”

“Much more apt.” Clare laughed. It sounded hollow as fuck.

“Think about it. We have a vacancy for a senior detective. You’d be a great candidate.” Saul let out a rueful chuckle. “Probably our only candidate.”

Clare chewed on her thumbnail, frowning. “Gotta go, I’ve got another call coming in,” she lied. “Give my love to Harriet and the girls.”

“Will do. Think about it. Okay?”

“Maybe.” Heck, why had she said that? It was a hard no.

As she shoved her phone into her purse, she looked out at the remains of Perfect Pooch, the signage pink and sparkly at one end, charred and blackened at the other, and her shoulders slumped.

This was her life now. Investigating fires at the pooch groomers, along with trumped-up charges against the occasional monster who got a permit to work in Tween and then, through no fault of their own, fell foul of their human employer.

(Usually because they didn’t bow their horns low enough, or accidentally looked the human in the eye.)

She’d done her best to focus on her work here in Tween these past three years. But there was always the pull of her time as a rookie detective with the Motham City PD. Any reminders, and … gods damn it. She missed that job like a drug she hadn’t fully detoxed from.

It’s not just the job you miss.

Muttering a few choice words under her breath, Clare drove back to the station at exactly the speed limit, knowing that her colleagues would love to pick her up for going even one point over.

Everything in Tween was meticulous and ordered; the neat streets with their white picket fences, the roses and gardenias in bloom, the lawns so neatly mowed they looked like green velvet.

The ornamental lake sparkled in the morning sunlight as she circumnavigated Tween Park, heading through the shopping precinct where well-dressed humans strolled in and out of bow-windowed shops or sat drinking tea and eating pastries at smart cafes.

Tween was too pretty for words.

And too damn boring for words.

Her pulse quickened as she remembered the bustle of the Motham police department.

The chaos in reception most nights, the lock-up, where there was always a feral species shouting and berating an officer.

Always something going on that was edgy and interesting, or quirky and offbeat.

And you had to constantly watch your back when you drove into the Wastelands or investigated a gangland fight at the Tip.

And when she got back to the station after an investigation, there would always be Oliver Hale to secretly look forward to, tall and elegantly dressed, conducting a case briefing in that gravelly voice, rich as whiskey.

It was a guilty pleasure, one that she’d let herself indulge in way too often.

On her very first day at work, his dark eyes had held hers in the introductory session for new officers, sparking something in her blood, something she couldn’t explain. She’d felt almost dizzy as his dark gaze had homed in on her and he’d asked her name.

She’d had difficulty finding it. “Clare Doyle, sir.”

“Ah-ha.” He’d stroked the line of his close-cut beard with finger and thumb, watching her intently.

“What brings you to Motham PD, Clare?”

“A desire to help, sir.”

“Or a desire to gloat.”

“Sir?”

Her hackles rose at that, but she bit back any further retort. She’d been hauled over the coals before for talking back to seniors.

“Doyle is a High Tween name, is it not?” he said.

“Tween yes, but not high class.”

“How come?”

“Doyle’s Funeral Directors are considered trade, sir.”

“Trading in the dead. How interesting.” His eyes were dark as ebony, yet with an inner glow to them, almost like burgundy wine.

Clare felt herself falling into them; had to blink to break the sensation.

She’d heard he was a vampire, and sure, his canines were longer than his other perfect white teeth, but they looked human enough.

His short dark beard glinted with silver, accentuating his lean high cheekbones and sensual lips.

He wore a waistcoat embroidered with silver thread under his silver-grey suit.

The band of his watch was silver. A thick silver ring decorated the middle finger of his left hand, engraved with an insignia of some sort.

She’d thought vampires were allergic to silver, and yet—Oliver Hale was all silver.

She wondered how old he was, if he’d been alive during the Great War even. There had been a proliferation of vampires then, before the mass stakings. And after that, those who survived had carried humongous grudges against humans.

Which was probably why he’d singled her out, Clare decided. To humiliate her.

He’d moved on then, to another new staff member, leaving her strangely flustered, her blood pulsing hard through her veins.

From then on, she’d tried to view Oliver Hale as just her boss.

To be indifferent to his charisma. But often she’d feel his dark gaze on her, and her blood would heat.

A syrupy heaviness would descend low in her belly and the pulse in her neck would signal that her body was interested, even if her mind tried desperately not to be.

Surely her body’s betrayal should have spelled danger. Told her that her boss was someone she should keep away from. And yet, like a moth to the flame, she’d let herself be drawn to him.

Until she’d crossed a line that she could not come back from.

Mostly now, she could distract herself from the memories.

Working herself to the point of exhaustion, then going to the gym and running on the treadmill until her legs ached.

Going home to her mom and dad’s in the evening, because she still hadn’t bothered to get her own place. It was as if she was only visiting…

But in her bed at night, that was when her body ached for his touch.

She prided herself on her refusal to give in to the longing. It didn’t matter how intense the dreams were, how hot and frustrated she was, she refused to pleasure herself. That would be tantamount to admitting he’d won. That he’d defeated her.

Instead, she took cold showers and worked on meaningless incident reports and interminable administration and just—didn’t let herself feel.

Until today.

Damn it. And damn Saul for tempting her to go back to Motham.

Oliver won’t be there.

The memories will.

Arriving at the station, she yanked on the brake, then grabbed her bag and jumped out of the car. Writing up the poodle parlor report would take her the best part of the afternoon.

This case would keep her busy, there were a few witnesses to interview, she told herself as she strode inside the building.

She startled as someone stepped out of the shadows and grasped her arm.

Clare swung round to see a woman, older than she remembered her, wan and haggard, her pale blue eyes clouded with worry.

“Hello, Jo,” Clare said, masking her surprise. Jo was her estranged best friend Natalie’s mom, a blast from the past. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we speak?” Jo’s eyes pleaded with her.

“Sure, come into an interview room.” Clare led the way, closed the door and motioned for the older woman to sit. “How’s Natalie?”

Jo sank down at the table and immediately burst into tears.

Alarmed, Clare grabbed a tissue box off the shelf and handed it to the older woman, then sat down opposite her. “What’s happened?”

“Natalie’s gone missing.”

“From where?”

“Motham City.”

Clare’s eyes widened. “Motham?”

It didn’t make sense. Natalie wouldn’t go to Motham City, she’d always been terrified of monsters.

Jo nodded, grabbing a wad of tissues. “Natalie took a job in Motham, as a secretary, for a firm of accountant nagas eight months ago. She was working for snakes, Clare, can you imagine? I tried to stop her, I really did. But…” Jo gulped and swiped at her eyes with the tissue.

“After you went and worked in Motham, all she wanted was to get a job there too.”

“That’s crazy. She was horrified when I went to work for Motham PD.”

“She was envious of you.”

“Envious?” Clare shook her head, frowning. “I think you’ve got that wrong, Jo.”

“She kept saying she wished she had the courage to work in Motham. She became obsessed with the idea, to the point that it worried her dad and me. We got her to see a counsellor at one stage. But we didn’t ever think she’d do it, not for a moment.”

“Are you sure she’s missing? I mean…” Clare grasped at straws. “When did you last hear from her?”

“Yesterday. She went out to buy lunch, I phoned her, and she was cut off mid-conversation.”

“Maybe her phone ran out of charge or…”

“I called and called. Finally I phoned her work, which I never do. They said she hadn’t returned from her lunch break. That’s just not our Natalie. She’s so conscientious.”

Ice travelled down Clare’s spine. Saul said the latest missing human had just gone out to buy lunch. What if… Oh gods. What if it was Natalie?

“You’re the only person I could turn to,” Jo said, her eyes full of tears. “You know Motham, you know how to investigate crimes. Please, Clare, help us find Natalie. She’s all we’ve got.”

Clare gnawed at her lower lip, trying to make sense of it all.

She and Natalie had been close at school, two misfits who’d found each other in a sea of mean girls. They’d stuck together through those miserable years of bullying, been each other’s cheerleaders.

But when Clare took the job in Motham, Natalie had been almost hysterical. She’d told Clare she couldn’t stand by and watch her only friend get mauled by those beasts. Clare tried to explain it wasn’t like that, but Natalie had refused to believe her.

Clare had tried to make contact, repeatedly. But finally, she’d given up.

She’d thought Natalie had ended their friendship out of fear. Or prejudice.

But envy? Natalie was envious of her? Natalie wanted to work in Motham City?

They may not have spoken for a few years, but Clare had really loved Natalie—she was like the sister she’d never had.

It was terrible to think her friend had been too scared to take risks and grasp hold of life with both hands.

And then, when finally she had… she’d disappeared into thin air.

This changed everything. She had to get involved in the case now.

Reaching across the desk, Clare took the distraught woman’s hand in hers. “I’ll do everything I can to find her. That’s a promise.”