Page 30 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

“Tactically unsound, isn’t it?” Kit called across the basement. “Tell Seb that, would ya?”

Down more stairs, the tunnel stretched ahead, illuminated by strips of LED lights that cast everything in a clinical blue glow. Our footsteps echoed off the damp walls as we wound through what felt like half of London’s underground. We finally emerged into a small private car park tucked between two buildings.

Rory beeped his keys at an ancient Ford Cortina that looked like it had been salvaged from a scrapyard. The thing was more rust than car, its once white paint now a patchy mess of orange and brown.

“Your chariot awaits.” He yanked open the passenger door with a horrific screechof metal.

I slid in, trying not to think about the stains on the seats.

Rory might have noticed something on my face, because he said, “I’ve been telling Seb I need a company vehicle for ages, but he’s refusing to buy me a nice car until I go a whole month without a speeding ticket.” Rory shot me a scowl. “He’s rich as fuck, so he’s just doing this to be spiteful.”

“He’s rich?” I asked. I’m not sure why I was surprised, with all his fancy clothes. Maybe it was the whole “squatting in an abandoned hotel” thing.

“Filthy,” Rory replied. “I’d have him for my sugar daddy in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t cope with the brooding, you know? Can you pass me my water? It’s in the back.”

I twisted to find Rory’s back seat buried under clothes—jeans, T-shirts, and jackets strewn in chaotic piles. I located the bottle, my heart thumping a bit harder as I turned back around, very aware I was alone in a car with someone who could apparently sprout claws and rip me to shreds.

“Nice wardrobe back there.” My voice came out high--pitched.

He shrugged. “Well, never know when I might need spare clothes.”

“Because…” I swallowed, lowering my voice. “Because of the whole wolf thing?”

“No, for my five times a day outfit changes.” Rory rolled his eyes. “Yes, because of the wolf thing.”

“So youcanchange into a wolf?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. It wasn’t every day you got the opportunity to grill a supernatural entity on their existence. “Does it hurt? Do you do it all the time? Oh, and what about the whole full moon thing? And the silver bullets? Oh, god, am I being offensive?”

Rory burst out laughing as he pulled out into traffic. “Mate, you need to chill! Right, so yeah, it hurts like a bitch. Can’t do it as much as I want because London’s literally the worst for finding space. Full moons are proper mental. And yeah, silver’s not the vibe. But listen.” He shot me a sideways glance. “If you’re asking whether we look anything like thosejanky CGI wolves from Twilight, I’m gonna have to throw you out of this car.”

My cheeks burned. I’d definitely watched those films more times than I cared to admit, though I’d been more interested in the dudes without shirts on than the wolves they turned into.

I sank back into the worn leather seat, my mind whirling. Werewolves—or whatever they called themselves—were real. Actually real. And I was sitting next to one in a rusty Ford Cortina, driving through London like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Actually, we’re heading to see a whole pack right now. Lucky you!”

“We are?!”

“Yeah, Dale and Mags—they’re from this pack we’re tight with—keep dragging us into their territory drama. Hope you’ve got snacks cos it’s gonna be properly boring.”

Rory’s phone, attached to the dashboard, burst into life, its screen lighting up with “Detective Dickface.” Rory’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he glared at the device like it had personally offended him.

The phone kept ringing.

And ringing.

My fingers twitched. The tension rolling off Rory in waves made the car feel smaller by the second. Just as I couldn’t take it anymore, Rory hit the button.

“What?” he barked into the speaker. “Why are you calling me?”

“There’s been a development,” a male voice replied. “I know that Killigrew Street likes to know these things as soon as possible.”

Rory’s jaw clenched. “Why are you callingme?”

“Noctule isn’t picking up his phone.”

I tilted my head at Rory.

“Seb’s code name,” he muttered to me before speaking back into the phone. “He’s probably still on his weekly call.”

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