Fang Deep in the Blues: ICRA Files: Berlin, #0.5

By Gaja J. Kos

Ever had a fucked up wolf prowling beneath your skin?

I don't know what peace is anymore. The quiet that comes after a brutal, bloody fight, though…

I'll take that.

The pain helps drown out the loss, even if it doesn't last long enough.

Or gives me what I need most.

When a Leshy ambushes me one night with an offer to come work for the Interspecies Crimes and Relations Agency, I want to laugh in his face. What good could a packless, beaten-down werewolf be?

I'm good in a ring with next to zero rules, but, fuck, I'm not agent material. I'm not even functional.

Just my godsdamned luck that it looks like I'm about to be out of options.

With his magic infestation acting up, tapping into Agency's resources might be the only way to save my brother.

And I want to. More than fucking anything.

I'm just not sure if I can save myself.

Fans of kickass heroines, good old rockabilly and blues, and thrilling supernatural suspense will love exploring Berlin's shadow side in FANG DEEP IN THE BLUES, the prequel to the exciting, complete series by USA Today bestselling author Gaja J. Kos where urban fantasy meets rockstar romance!

Get your copy today to start reading!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boris Kos
• Release date: Feb 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201685690

Book preview

Chapter One

Despite the layered wards surrounding the decrepit building looming up ahead like a relic of the War no one here wanted a fucking reminder of, my wolf senses had zero difficulties picking up the familiar trace of blood and sweat staining the cool air.

Fridays always were prime fight nights in Idis, but the sheer potency of the scents the wind thrust in my face as I approached the club suggested this one might be the highlight of the month.

A grim smile tugged on my lips. Precisely what I needed.

I walked up to the lone figure standing by the unmarked industrial door, the meaty slap of fists against flesh pulsing out from behind him. However, there was no chance the werewolf hadn’t seen or scented me before since his sculpted face broke into a warm smile when our gazes met, genuine satisfaction wafting off him in waves.

Gina… Carsten’s throaty yet smooth voice wrapped around me. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up again.

I let out an annoyed half-snort, but even as every atom of my being urged me to get my ass in there ASAP and bask in the oblivion of physical pain that dulled the godsdamned void ripping me apart from within, I found myself leaning against the scarred wall on the opposite side of the door instead.

Couldn’t get away from my aunts’ until now. I kicked away a pebble and glanced over my shoulder, gently tipping my head toward the door. Looks like I picked the right night for a trip to Berlin, though.

Amusement twinkled in Carsten’s monolid eyes, augmented thanks to the perfectly applied liner that matched his dark, glam look. Alan will have a field trip.

I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped me at the thought of the club’s manager.

The warlock basically breathed money, and the bets tended to go wild when good opponents were thrown in the ring.

I eased against the wall some more, cherishing the kernel of lightness that spread through me. Something I hadn’t felt for two weeks now, ever since my last visit to Idis.

Too. Fucking. Long.

Janina’s here, too, Carsten added.

Big night indeed. If the owner bothered to show her face, then the fights had to be more than good. I pushed off the wall. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.

A wicked-sharp smile sliced across Carsten’s face. Make them bleed.

As he opened the door for me, the tang of blood and sweat that had been seducing my senses evolved into the godsdamned sweetest onslaught. I breathed in deeply as I made my way through the packed club.

The crowd shouted and cheered, then roared as a particularly vicious crack blasted through the space. A broken spine if I were to venture a guess.

I flicked my gaze toward the mezzanine where Janina held her court.

With her red-carpet-worthy appearance, the Fire Fae was surrounded by her usual inner circle of incubi and succubi, along with a few of her kind who preferred this realm over Faerie.

Noticing me—as she did everything—Janina inclined her head, then guided her gaze back to the fighting pit that remained obstructed from my sight due to the crowd. Prime fighting night of the month indeed.

Keeping close to the walls where there was at least enough space to move, I wove around until I reached Alan’s station blocking off the fighters’ area.

Gina, my babe. The warlock threw back his drink and dragged his ledger closer, a pen already in his hands. Tell me that you’re in it for the long haul.

After the two weeks of misery I’d suffered through, I wasn’t going to satisfy myself with just a fight or three.

I flashed my teeth in an unpleasant smile. Give me your worst.

Excellent!

Alan perused his ledger, undoubtedly shifting around his previous matches to squeeze me in so I’d end up facing the club’s deadliest fighters. Knowing it would take a while for him to figure everything out, I pulled a soft hairband from my pocket, snapped it around my wrist, then started braiding my twists into a secure style that wouldn’t provide my opponents with an easy way to get the upper hand.

Gina? someone called from the side.

I half-spun, then let my twists slip from my fingers when my gaze locked on the middle-aged werewolf pushing his way toward me.

Frowning, I cast a quick look at Alan, who was still very much occupied with setting up my matches, and met the werewolf halfway.

Marvin? I asked cautiously, warning alarms going off in my head. What are you doing here?

But Marvin only stared at me with those familiar, too-kind-for-his-own-good eyes, as if I were the last person he’d expected to see in this dive.

The feeling was mutual.

I thought you moved to Rheinsberg, he said at long last.

Those alarm bells turned deafening.

Marvin…

Gods, Gina. He reached for me before I could react, his arms coming around me in an embrace that burned my skin like acid. I’m so sorry about your p—

I shoved him back. Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.

Gina—

No. A growl trickled into my voice. Fuck, just no.

I spun on my heel, all but running toward Alan’s station. He whipped his head up, then stood when he realized something was off.

That werewolf over there—I flung an arm in Marvin’s direction—"in the striped tee, with sandy blond hair—he broke the rule. The rule."

Faster than I thought his money-loving ass could move, Alan skirted around his station and headed straight for Marvin. The sight should have satisfied me, but all I wanted to do was get the fuck out.

As I pushed through the crowd, Alan called after me, but the club’s walls felt like a godsdamned prison, not the safe environment they were supposed to represent.

Marvin had broken that bubble. Broken the single rule we all followed.

Don’t talk about the darkness and losses driving us.

I rammed my hand against the door, barreling out into the night. Faintly, I registered Carsten asking me something, but, this time, not even the werewolf’s chill energy could keep me grounded. Not when that void gaping within me opened its maw wider, eating away at the flimsy pieces holding me together.

My skin burned, stretched too tight to encompass the storm that ravaged the edges of my nerves. At the same time, that damned black hole in my very center sucked in more and more of the werewolf I’d once been—the werewolf I’d so painstakingly stapled back together, not even knowing why I was even still holding on.

Because that’s what they would have wanted, some distant voice in me supplied.

Yeah, but what about what I wanted?

The too-familiar mental path dragged me down its serpentines. I ground my teeth and kept walking, ignoring the onslaught of all the shit Marvin fucking Glaser just had to unleash. Fuck.

It wasn’t until the all-but-demolished district no one had bothered to begin renovating blended into civilization, and the scent of humans and supes enjoying a night out filled my lungs. A car whisked by, bass thumping through its open window, almost as loud as the laughter bubbling from the people inside.

I carried on down the street without any real destination as long as my path kept me in the vicinity of Berlin’s pulse, but not directly in touch with the pedestrians strolling about on the sidewalks.

As I turned another corner, aiming for the empty street, a faraway marriage of drums, electric guitar, and what I was fairly sure was an upright bass, shifted my course.

Vocals joined the rockabilly tune—too muddled to make out the words, but the voice…it drew me in, silencing that rolling thunder.

Maybe if I’d