Inked

fertile female of his people flooding his senses. “Oh, you are,” he said, already half drunk with it. “You very definitely are. To whom do you belong?” The usual Clan courtesy slipped out before he could stop it.
    “Myself. How about you?”
    Her answer didn’t make sense, but the question did. It was almost the first thing two strange Weres asked each other, because the answer would influence everything that followed: who are you, where do you rank, who are your people?
    Where do you belong?
    “I’m vargulf,” he said shortly. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
    It came out sounding harsh, even to him. He waited for it, the look of disgust, the hastily mumbled excuse, the rapid retreat. And didn’t get it. “Good,” she said, leaned over, cupped the back of his head, and kissed him.
    And she was right, he thought vaguely, his hands on her waist, sliding over silk and skin-tight leather. She was the pushy type, at least until he got on board. Then the practiced tricks gave way to something soft and startled. It went through him in a rush, a tidal wave of emotions carrying him along with it, even as part of him wondered what the hell he thought he was doing.
    “Got someplace to be?” she asked as she broke it off.
    “I’m all yours,” he told her hoarsely, already sliding off the seat.
    The bar dissolved into a dank, smoke-blackened room. I fell back against the wall, eyes stinging hot and watering. I remembered that night, but it was a little different seen through Cyrus’s eyes.
    I’d kept getting saddled by the Corps with any and all cases involving Weres, supposedly because of my “special insight.” But the fact was that Mom rarely spoke about her other life, and she’d been so ill those last years that I’d hated to constantly bother her with my problems. I’d decided I needed an outside source, someone I could pay for insights into the Were world. And as luck would have it, a few days later a patrol logged a report about a brutal beating behind a bar involving an “unaffiliated Were” and members of a local clan. I’d gone to check it out.
    It had been a night of surprises, starting with how I’d reacted. Cyrus was handsome enough to turn heads, but I’d met plenty of attractive men before. And none of them had made my stomach tighten at one glimpse, had need crawling over my skin, had my fingers itching with the urge to stroke. And when we kissed, heat and power, hunger and desire thrust into me in a wave of sensation that had left me reeling. I’d spent the entire evening—at a restaurant, because I didn’t dare take him home—quietly freaking out about my sudden lack of self-control.
    It had also been a surprise to learn that he was vargulf . The report had seemed to suggest it, but most outcast wolves look like the guys I’d met in the drain. They weren’t hard-muscled types with thick dark hair and assessing brown eyes. And although the few I’d come across still smelled like Clan, there had always been a faintly sour undertone to it. Cyrus had smelled good , rich and male and musky-sweet.
    I looked around and wondered what surprise I was supposed to find here.
    I decided to start with the couch, because it was the most disgusting thing in the room and I wanted to get it out of the way. I’d already been over it once and had found nothing under the dust and ash except a few hundred cigarette butts shoved between the seats. The fire had eaten away one side, but given up halfway, probably because of the soggy state of the moldy cushions.
    The remaining fabric was coming apart and a hole gnawed in one end raised the possibility of rats. I pushed my useless flashlight in there and rattled it around. Nothing ran out, so I formed a shield around my hand and poked it through the hole. And immediately felt something weird.
    I pulled out a small velvet pouch that looked pretty new—no mold, no smoke damage, no bite marks—and opened it. Inside were three gold charms, each in the form of a miniscule wolf. All were different, all were beautifully made, and all were powerful. I could feel the hum of their energy even through the shield, a thrumming beat, almost like the pulse of tiny hearts.
    Despite working with Caleb and Jamie for two weeks, I wasn’t an expert on wards. But I knew quality when I saw it. These had to be worth a small fortune, especially now, with prices inflated due to the war. So what the hell were they doing here? And what, if anything, did they have to