Chapter 4.

Scar Icegard.

Brooklyn. Friday, 22nd January.

Two days later…

Night.

Club Crimson screams tonight. Bass pounds through the floor, through the walls, through bone and through blood.

Red lights in the club pulse like an open artery. The air is thick with sweat, sex, and iron. Fresh blood drifting through the elite club like incense.

I step inside and inhale slowly.

Blood. It slides into me like quiet ambrosia. Smooth and addictive. The kind of scent that curls straight into my skull and lights every nerve in me on fire.

My fangs ache behind my gums, my vision sharpening as the craving hits hard and fast. I don’t slow down the feeling. I let it burn through me.

“You okay, Scar?”

Cross’s voice interrupts now, grounding and irritating all at once.

I turn my head slightly, eyes already bloodshot from the scent overload. His reaction is instant, he startles, shoulders tensing.

I smirk.

Without breaking stride, I reach into my leather jacket and pull out a slim metal tube. My gaze never leaves him as I press it to the right side of my neck. The needle snaps out, sharp and precise, injecting chilled blood tubules straight into my vein.

Relief hits me instantly.

The feral edge from earlier, instantly quiets. The hunger eases into something manageable. Something controlled.

I slide the tube back into my jacket and flash Cross a dark grin.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I say coolly. “Thursdays here, vampire night. Always gets to me.”

He doesn’t smile. They never do. Humans wear fear like a second skin around us. Always have. Always will. It used to amuse me, watching their hearts race, their thoughts spiral. These days, it just, exists.

Years ago, the governments in the world forced integration. Three worlds stitched together by law: vampires, werewolves, humans. Humans at the bottom, terrified we’d drain them dry the first chance we got. They were promised safety. They were promised reassurance.

As long as they didn’t mind being prey if they volunteered.

Cross nods once and faces forward again. All around us, bodies grind together. Vampires feed discreetly or not so discreetly. Couples disappear into dark corners. Music drowns out morality.

We move deeper, down the hall. Down a flight of stairs.That’s when I see her. Tall. Curved in all the right places. Black hair cascading down her back. Hips swaying in a tight two piece outfit that clings perfectly.

My steps slow without permission. My pulse spikes. I inhale sharply, searching, the scent. Blood. Vampire.

Not her. Not the scent that has haunted me for two years. The one I’ve searched for in crowds, in cities, in memories.

A Werewolf's scent.

The memory slams into me now hot and violent.

Two years ago at the station. I’d been heading out with Cross for a stakeout. Hostage situation at a nursing home. My steps were brisk and focused.

Then I smelled her. A werewolf.

My instinctive loathing flared, automatically. But my gaze lingered anyway on her. Which had never happened before with a werewolf.

She stood at the front desk, a human girl beside her, crying.

I slowed and listened.

My ultra hearing picked up everything. Their words, heartbeats and thoughts.

“Sasha,” the werewolf said softly and steady despite the tension. “Let me handle it.”

Her thoughts slipped through my defenses before I could block them.

'I don’t like you crying.

You’re always there for me. Especially after Arthur hurt me.'

Arthur.

The name hit harder than it should have. The thought of someone, this Arthur hurting her, angered me. Her pain was raw and untreated. It reached inside me and twisted something deep, something I didn’t know I still had. My heart.

Her name followed the spiralling thoughts that gushed through her.

Emerald Ford.

“Officer.” The human girl sobbed, “My car was stolen. Please...my parents bought it for me.”

Emerald straightened fiercely. “If you don’t help us,” she said calmly and dangerously, “I’ll record this entire interaction on my phone and make sure the internet eats this precinct alive.”

I had stopped completely then. Looked at her. Not for her beauty. Not for her species. For her spine. For the contradiction that she was; soft heart, steel voice.

Then the armory door had beeped open.

“Officer Icegard, reporting for stakeout.”

I lost the frequency of her thoughts there and then. When I came back out from fetching my ammunition, she was gone.

The iron door creaks now, dragging me back to the present. I shove the memory down and step into the corridor. Rusted pipes, damp stone walls, darkness. They all great us. Cross follows close, tense.

Guards stop us at a steel door.

“We’re here to see Valentino,” I say flatly. “He sent for us.”

They flash us a look. A pause follows. Then the door opens. Heat hits first. Then sound. Then scent of sex, blood and power.

Valentino Adelma lounges on a leather couch, a naked human girl limp beside him. Blood dripping down her neck. His mouth is stained red. Fangs gleam.

“Officer Scar Icegard.” He drawls. “And Officer Cross Athen. Welcome.”

He waves.

The girl is dragged away.

Cross leans in, whispering, “How can you work with men like these?”

I shoot him a warning look. He shuts up fast.

His heart is racing. His thoughts scream.

'Please don’t let me die.'

'They just drank her.'

'How the fuck does Scar know these people?'

He begged me for years to trust him. To let him in my world of the underground.

I warned him. Friends betray. Family betrays.

But a year ago, I let him cross that line. I allowed him to become my friend and brother.

Valentino leans forward now, silver necklace glinting, blocking my ability to read him. He pulls a gun from his blood stained white blazer and slides it across the table.

“I want you to shoot Officer Athen,” he says casually. “Then we can do business.”

Cold floods my veins.

Cross gasps behind me.

I pick up the gun, weighing it. “You’re testing me,” I say.

“I’m ensuring loyalty,” Valentino says, coldly.

I turn slowly.

Cross’ face drains of color.

“Scar.” He whispers. “I’m your brother.”

I remember the coffee, earlier tonight.

"You’re not just my partner. You’re my brother," I said after he arrived with my favorite coffee mix.

I raise the gun.

“You’re right,” I say calmly. “You are.” Hope flares in his eyes.

“But some needs.” I continue, voice flat and detached, “Are bigger than friendship.”

Instantly understanding hits him like a truck.

I don’t miss. I never do.

BANG!