The Grant Wolves, The Complete Series

By Lori Drake

Some battles can't be won with fangs and claws alone.

6 books of shifters and sorcery. 1,900+ pages of nonstop paranormal suspense.

It all started with a shocking murder in a dark alley, a beloved pack member's life cut tragically short. Suddenly surrounded by supernatural threats, Joey and Chris face ruthless witches, fierce rivals, vicious hunters, and much, much more.

But the greatest challenge of all? Holding their pack together when fate seems determined to rip it apart.

The Grant Wolves box set contains all six books in Lori Drake's riveting urban fantasy werewolf series. If you like feisty heroines, fur-raising suspense, and edge-of-your-seat twists and turns, you'll love this spellbinding series.

Buy The Grant Wolves box set to shift into a gripping urban fantasy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clockwork Cactus Press
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955545143

Book preview

The Grant Wolves

THE GRANT WOLVES

THE COMPLETE SERIES

LORI DRAKE

Published by Clockwork Cactus Press

PO Box 1874

Leander, TX 78646 USA

THE GRANT WOLVES (THE COMPLETE SERIES)

Copyright © 2021 by Lori Drake

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

Early Grave

Shallow Grave

Grave Threat

Grave Legacy

Grave Origins

Grave Rites

Author’s Note

Ghost Magnet - Free Preview

Books by Lori Drake

About the Author

EARLY GRAVE

GRANT WOLVES BOOK 1

Published by Clockwork Cactus Press

PO Box 1874

Leander, TX 78646 USA

EARLY GRAVE (GRANT WOLVES BOOK 1)

Previously published as A TURN FOR THE WORSE.

Copyright © 2018 Lori Drake

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please refer all pertinent questions to the publisher.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

1

Heart racing, Joey spilled out into the alley behind the dance club. The heavy metal door clanged shut behind her, muting the loud music, but the thump of the bass still beat at her back like a steady, percussive pulse. The alley was dimly lit, and stank of urine and refuse.

She filled her lungs with the night air, stench and all, and looked up at the moon. It wasn’t full anymore, but it was still damn close. Her body tingled as she positioned herself beside the door, counting the seconds until it opened again.

Tonight was supposed to be about letting go, dancing out her grief in a bacchanalian frenzy of movement. Instead she was pressed against a graffitied wall in a filthy alley, getting god knows what on her favorite shoes, waiting for her freshly acquired stalker to follow her out the back door.

If the creep thought she’d be easy pickings, he had another think coming.

The door opened. The man in the leather jacket stepped out into the alley and looked around, but didn’t see her already behind him. Using that to her advantage, she grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. He cried out in surprise as she pivoted gracefully, swinging him around and shoving him against the building, face first.

Who are you? she growled.

Dean! he said, not even requiring her to twist his arm further. My name’s Dean.

Why are you following me? What the fuck do you want?

To help! Christ, lady!

Help? With what? How? she asked, her skepticism plain.

There’s a spirit attached to you!

Joey blinked slowly. She hadn’t thought any excuse he offered would surprise her. She was wrong.

Three days earlier…

Joey gazed into Chris's eyes, mere inches from her own, breathing heavily in the stillness of the quiet room. Her heart thumped in her ears, pulse racing from their exertions. But it wasn’t his baby blues that held her attention as they lingered in the routine’s dramatic final pose. In truth, she barely saw him as she went over the choreography in her head, comparing it to their performance.

Good, but not good enough.

Again, she said, prompting him to set her back on her feet. She was halfway back to the small X of masking tape on the studio floor when her keen ears detected a marked absence of footsteps shadowing her own. Her dark eyes met his lighter ones in the mirrored wall, questioning.

It was fine. It was great, Chris said. Winded from their most recent run-through of the routine, he lingered where they’d ended, hands on his hips.

His reassuring tone failed to soothe her. I fucked up in the middle. One more time won’t kill you. C’mere. Her long auburn ponytail swayed as she motioned him over with her head.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled as he turned away instead, moving toward where their bags and water bottles were stashed.

I didn’t notice anything, he said, a hint of weariness creeping into his voice. Even if you did, one more run-through today isn’t going to make it perfect. Our six hours are almost up and there are still three weeks before the competition. Let’s just tackle it in the morning when we’re fresh.

Joey narrowed her eyes, but glanced at the wall clock. Sure enough, it was nearly 4 p.m.

We still have four minutes, she protested, but Chris didn’t even turn around. Vexed, she wiped sweat from her brow and sighed. Fine, she huffed, giving in and walking over to join him. It didn’t help that she could literally hear the clock ticking, seconds sliding irrevocably into the past. You know I hate losing time. Every⁠—

Minute counts, Chris finished, flashing her a knowing smile. I remember. The words had been drilled into them by their childhood dance instructor, alongside a rigorous practice schedule that they’d maintained into adulthood. In the world of professional ballroom dance, raw talent would only get you so far.

He tossed her water bottle to her with a gentle underhand motion when she was within range. She caught it, still frowning at him, but took a quick sip nonetheless.

Chris squirted a bit of water on his head before drinking. His dark hair was already damp with sweat, so a little more hardly made a difference. He scrubbed his fingers through his short hair, then shook his head, sending droplets flying.

Joey was preoccupied, still running through the choreography in her head. She blinked when droplets of water spattered her face.

Hey! she exclaimed, giving him the eye as he tossed a towel at her next. What’s the big rush? Got a hot date? she asked, arching a pale brow while she mopped her lightly freckled face and neck with the towel.

As a matter of fact, I do. Chris flashed her one of his trademark boyish grins and wiped his own towel across his face before giving it a twist and draping it around his neck. With Claire. Or was it Claudia?

She didn’t need to see his grin to know he was joking about not remembering the name of his date. So hard to tell them apart, eh? she fired back, but didn’t pry. Chris was her adopted brother and best friend since childhood. They were only a few months apart in age. There was a time when they told each other absolutely everything. But at a certain point you stopped telling your best guy friend absolutely everything and you stopped trying to get him to tell you absolutely everything.

It’s a curse, he replied, with lingering joviality, and stooped to gather the rest of his things. I’m gonna hit the showers and get changed.

Nodding, Joey tossed her towel over one shoulder and faced the mirror, hands moving absently as she marked some of the steps with quick feet. She still had two and a half minutes before their reserved studio time was up.

You should take a break. Get something to eat, Chris added as he strode toward the exit.

Yes, Mom. See you at home, she said.

He glanced over his shoulder with a grin and pushed open the door. Don’t wait up.

By the time Chris hit the club, the evening was in full swing. His feet had caught the rhythm of the music on the sidewalk outside, steps unconsciously shifting to fall on the pulsing latin beats as he approached the front door.

Inside, the smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies in close proximity washed over him. It wasn’t a great time to have a super-sensitive nose, but after twenty-six years he was pretty good at ignoring what he didn’t want to smell.

How’s it going, Chris? A muscular bouncer in a tight black shirt greeted him just inside the door.

Chris smiled, bumping fists. Alright, Tony. You?

Can’t complain, the bouncer replied, looking away briefly to give a pair of new arrivals a cursory inspection. Where’s Jojo?

Chris shrugged, slowing down on the way past but not really stopping to chat. Not my night to keep track of her. He grinned and gave the man a friendly two-fingered salute in passing.

The music called to him. Even after a lengthy rehearsal, he still had some energy left to burn. The shower had helped, as did a bite to eat and the ride over to the club with the sun roof open and the evening breeze in his quickly-drying hair. He’d felt a mild pang of guilt over lying to Joey about his date. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last; his dating life was far less active than she realized, but the last thing he needed was her trying to fix him up. For one thing, there were bound to be compatibility tests, charts, and spreadsheets involved.

The moon was up, and nearly full. Every wolf handled the phases differently, could feel it as the moon waxed and waned. For him, it was energizing. For Joey, it was why she was being particularly detail-oriented. In two night’s time, the whole pack would gather for their traditional moonlight run. For now, all he could do was look forward to it, riding that cresting wave of energy until it peaked.

He stopped on the edge of the dance floor to survey the offerings, watching men and women move with varying degrees of skill to the rhythmic latin beats. None of the women had Joey’s grace or charisma, but there were a few more confident than others. He spied one in particular that seemed a bit more skilled than her partner. The poor fellow was sweating profusely and clearly struggling to keep up, but he had a glint of determination in his eyes.

Chris stepped out onto the dance floor. The music was in his blood, singing almost as much as the moon had on the way over. He snagged the hand of a wallflower lingering near the edge of the floor. She barely had time to set her drink on a nearby table before he had her in his arms. He flashed her a charming smile, white teeth bright in the strobing black light as he led her through a few basic steps. He loved Salsa. Such heat, such passion. She seemed to love it too, smiling up at him and managing to keep up with only the occasional stumble. Another time, he might have enjoyed lingering to show her a few things, but he had an ulterior motive in sweeping her onto the dance floor tonight.

Across the floor they went, taking an indirect path toward the dancing siren. A suave turn and tap saw him trading his less experienced partner for the siren, leaving hers with someone a little more his speed in the process. It was a risk, but the fellow didn’t make any serious objections. Not a boyfriend, then. He did catch a disappointed look from the wallflower, and offered her a wink before turning his attention to the woman now in his arms.

What’s your name? he asked, as they moved to the music, letting their bodies get acquainted.

Selene, she said, with a smile. Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that bobbed and swung with her movements. Occasionally a head roll caused it to whip about.

Beautiful, he replied.

She laughed. Glad you like it.

Hmm? he feigned ignorance for a moment, then grinned. Oh, the name is nice too. I’m Chris.

It was the last thing he said for the space of several songs, during which he led her through turn after turn, even a few basic lifts common in these sorts of hole-in-the-wall dance clubs. Yet all good things must end, so he made the best of it and parted ways with her even though he could see she would have liked to continue. Always leave them wanting more, right? He walked away with her number in his phone and bellied up to the bar for a drink.

"Hola Rico, cerveza por favor," he said to the familiar tattooed man behind the bar. It wasn’t quite the full extent of his Spanish fluency, but it was close. You didn’t live this close to the border without picking up at least a few things. San Diego had a rather large hispanic population, but Rico wasn’t Mexican. He was Cuban, like the owner and most of the staff at Santiago’s.

Rico flashed him a smile. Hey man, he said, lifting a hand to bump fists over the bar before fetching Chris a pale Mexican beer from the cooler. His expert hands uncapped the bottle on the edge of the bar, then stuffed a cut lime down the neck and set the bottle down in front of Chris.

Saw you dancing with Selene, Rico went on to say, as he swiped Chris's card at the terminal.

Did you? Chris replied, suddenly cautious. Maybe there was a jealous boyfriend in the vicinity after all?

But Rico just smiled as he passed the card back, flashing him a wink. She’s a firecracker. Fair warning.

Noted, thanks. Chris lifted his beer in salute before taking a swig.

You flying solo tonight?

So far, Chris said, with a shrug. But the night is young, right?

Rico laughed. That it is, my friend. That it is. Let me know when you’re ready for another.

As Rico moved off to see to other patrons, Chris turned his back to the bar, leaned against it, and sipped his cold beer. He let his eyes roam the club. It was a small affair, sandwiched between two more respectable storefronts, and a bit cramped with so many bodies packed inside. Hopefully the fire marshal didn’t show up for an inspection. It wouldn’t have been the first time the place was shut down early for being over capacity.

The vast majority of the club’s patrons were dancing. Sure, it attracted its share of gawkers but this wasn’t really the sort of place you came just to have a few beers or engage in some barroom banter. It was a place you came when the rhythm in your soul couldn’t be contained a moment more. When you had to move or explode in a paroxysm of unfulfilled longing for that movement. He was already on the lookout for his next partner when a feminine voice caught his attention.

Excuse me, she said. He looked down. A short, auburn-haired woman in a tight black dress smiled up at him. He turned aside smoothly, giving her a spot at the bar to ease into. She didn’t move. Instead, she twisted a lock of her long wavy hair around a finger and bit her lip. I saw you dancing. You’re Christopher Martin, aren’t you?

Chris's brows inched upward. It’s not like he was a household name, by any stretch. He smiled uncertainly, but not without charm. I’m afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Miss…

Tasha, she said, filling that expectant lull. She practically vibrated with excitement once her suspicion was confirmed. Sorry, I don’t mean to come off like a stalker. I saw you dance last year in the U.S. Grand Championship Final. You were amazing.

Thanks. But really, it’s kind of a team sport. He lifted his beer in salute and looked her over, as inconspicuously as possible. She was small and curvy, with intense hazel eyes and an infectious smile. Easy on the eyes, for sure. She didn’t have the look of a dancer about her, but appearances could be deceiving. Wanna dance?

Tasha’s eyes widened. She darted a glance toward the dance floor and pressed a hand to her chest. Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.

Are you sure? I could show you a few steps.

Her eyes met his, red lips twitching in a smile. How about buying me a drink instead?

Chris returned the smile and dipped his head. Her sudden boldness piqued his interest, so he bought her that drink and when she later suggested a change of venue he agreed without hesitation. As long as there was a bar and a dance floor, he wasn’t choosey.

Do you want to meet there or…? Chris said, once they’d stepped out of the noisy club.

Let’s take my car. She slipped her arm through his and started down the sidewalk.

He went with her, a lifetime of keeping pace with another diminutive woman shortening his stride automatically. Where’d you park?

Not far. You can’t be out of breath already. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she glanced his way, a mischievous smile curving her lips.

Chris laughed, then made a show of huffing and puffing. What can I say? I’m just not used to this sort of vigorous exercise.

Her laughter joined his. Don’t worry, I know a shortcut.

Oh?

Mmmhmm.

They walked a couple of blocks before she turned down an alley that ran between two storefronts, bringing him along by the arm. He looked around curiously. Tucked between two large brick buildings, the alley was narrow, poorly lit and littered with refuse. The scent of trash and urine was overwhelming to his sensitive wolf nose; he blocked it out as best he could but his nostrils tingled.

Wow, he said, fighting off a sneeze. A shortcut down a dark alley. I’m starting to think you want to take advantage of me.

Would you mind if I did? She squeezed his arm and shifted closer, practically snuggling against his side.

Here? He chuckled. I— The reply died on his lips as pain lanced his abdomen. Gasping, he looked down and found a knife’s hilt protruding from his stomach. Tasha’s pale fingers, smeared with crimson, were curled around the grip. His eyes darted to her in confusion, but the agony stole his breath and when the burning started he didn’t even have any left to scream.

2

Joey woke to the grating screech of her alarm and fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, nearly upsetting the glass of water sitting next to it in the process. Her heart was pounding; the sudden noise had jolted her from a rather pleasant dream about running along the beach, feeling the sand beneath her paws and the wind in her fur… the transition from wolf to human was always a little jarring, even when it was only a dream.

By the time she managed to get the alarm turned off, there was no hope of a few more minutes of sleep. She tossed the phone down on the bed and rolled onto her back with a groan, rubbing her eyes and blinking blearily up at the ceiling. It was a ridiculous dream. She never ran on the beach, not as a wolf. It was too exposed, too odd for a large red wolf to be there. It didn’t mean she didn’t want to do it, though. Just once. She could still smell the ocean, taste the spray of the surf.

It took her a bit more effort to shake off the dream and haul herself out of bed. After a side trip to the bathroom, she wandered out in search of coffee. She was mildly surprised to see Chris's bedroom door open on her way past. All-nighters weren’t usually his thing, but they did happen now and then.

The aroma of brewing coffee soon filled the air, and she went about her morning routine: Coffee, email, coffee, breakfast, coffee, shower, coffee. Somewhere along the way, she had an extra cup since she had the unexpected luxury of having the whole pot to herself.

The morning passed uneventfully, and around nine o’clock she stepped out of the apartment to head to the studio. She hoisted her gym bag on one shoulder and was halfway down the steps outside when she remembered that Chris had taken the car. Annoyance flared briefly and her steps slowed, but it was a sunny day and the studio wasn’t far.

She set off with a spring in her step, auburn ponytail swaying and earbuds in. Spanish guitar flowed into her ears, putting her in the right head space for her upcoming rehearsal. The sun was warm on her skin, the cerulean sky only broken up here and there by a few fluffy white clouds—fairly typical weather for October in southern California.

Even though it had dipped below the horizon hours ago, she could still feel the pull of the moon. Its influence was undeniable throughout the day, but it was strongest at night. The waxing moon always brought a certain clarity with it. She always felt sharper in this phase. Focused. On top of her game. She couldn’t wait to get back in the studio, back to work.

Maybe I can talk Chris into an evening session tonight… no, wait, dinner with Cheryl and Em. After?

Within thirty minutes, Joey arrived at Shay’s Dance Studio, so proclaimed in glittering gold paint on the front windows. It was practically a second home, and she felt a sort of peace wash over her as she stepped inside the building. The hallmark scents of a busy dance studio enveloped her, and it didn’t take a wolf’s nose to pick up those traces of sweat and spandex, canvas and leather, rosin and wood.

Good morning, Ms. Grant. The receptionist always greeted her cheerily each morning. Seriously, she couldn’t remember the woman ever taking a day off.

Pushing her sunglasses up to rest atop her head, Joey managed a smile for the overly-sunny woman as she edged past the front desk. Good morning, Sally. Seen my partner in crime yet this morning?

Not yet, but I’ll be sure to send him up as soon as I do, Sally replied, as chipper as ever; Joey hastened for the stairs in case it was contagious.

By the time she got through her warm-up and stretches, Chris was over twenty minutes late. Annoyed, she grabbed her phone and fired off a quick text.

hey asshole, where r u?

A few minutes passed, and no response. Annoyed, she reached for her phone again.

must have been quite the piece of tail

After a thoughtful pause, she added one last message. Antagonizing him wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

let me know when ur on the way.

She tried to make productive use of the time while she waited, but it wasn’t an easy thing to rehearse a tango without a partner. The more time passed, the angrier she got. When her phone rang an hour and a half later, she all but pounced on it only to be disappointed—and a little annoyed—that it wasn’t Chris at all. She answered it anyway, jabbing the touch screen with her thumb.

What? she growled into the phone.

Uh, is this a bad time? It was Cheryl, Joey’s other best friend. Cheryl and Chris pretended to jockey for first place; Cheryl was even known to refer to Chris as Joey’s second-best friend, but it was all in good fun.

Kind of, Joey admitted. What’s up? She paced over to the window, looking down on the street while she listened.

Nothing, just checking to see if we’re still on for dinner tonight. I have no idea what Em’s making. She’s banished me from the kitchen. Cheryl’s voice was warm with amusement, no hint of annoyance present.

Because you keep sticking your fingers in things! Emma called in the background, presumably from the kitchen.

"When are you going to learn to wait until after she’s done to start licking spoons? Joey said, chuckling. But yeah, I’ll be there… She paused, frowning as her eyes scanned the street below. Might be down my plus one, Chris is AWOL this morning."

Oh?

Yeah, he had some hot date last night and didn’t come home. We were supposed to start rehearsal almost two hours ago.

Really? The word radiated concern. That doesn’t sound like Chris. You haven’t heard from him at all?

Cheryl’s tone gave Joey pause. She’d been so caught up in being annoyed with Chris that it hadn’t occurred to her to be worried that something might have happened to him.

She’s right. This really isn’t like him. Am I the worst sister ever?

Hello? Cheryl’s voice interrupted her reverie. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been thinking it over. Too long, apparently.

Yeah. I mean, no. I haven’t heard from him at all. But I’m sure it’s fine. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Cheryl or herself more. But he was a big boy, and he could take care of himself. Right?

Well, let me know when you hear from him, okay? And if there’s any Chris left when you’re finished tearing him a new one, bring it to dinner.

Joey emitted a short, strained laugh. Will do.

She stood there holding her phone for a long moment after hanging up, staring at the black screen. Worry bubbled beneath the surface, but she wasn’t sure it was warranted. Shaking it off at least temporarily, she went back to rehearsing, but after another less than productive hour passed she gave up and sent Chris one more text before leaving the studio.

heading home. r u ok?

Chris never answered Joey’s texts. His social media accounts remained silent. He didn’t call, and he didn’t come home. The television only distracted her for so long. By dinnertime, Joey had scrubbed the kitchen sink until it gleamed and picked up, put away, wiped down, and polished everything she could lay hands on. She was beyond worried; she was riding a wave of anxiety that threatened to crash against the breakers and pull her under at any moment.

Even though she needed to get her ass in gear if she was going to make it to dinner on time, she started making phone calls instead. Her thumb skipped around her contact list, hitting the most likely suspects first.

Every call went roughly the same.

Have you heard from Chris today? What about last night? Okay, thanks. Hey, if you do would you tell him to call me?

As the pool of possibilities steadily emptied, her heart sank. No one had seen him. No one had heard from him. It wasn’t possible for someone to fall off the face of the earth, was it?

Her thumb hovered over a particular name again. She’d passed over it several times, knowing he’d be at work already. His boss was pretty strict about phone use behind the bar, but she was running out of non-parental options—and that was a level of DEFCON she wasn’t ready to invoke.

He picked up on the second ring. Latin music played noisily in the background, spilling out the speaker of the phone loudly enough that Joey shifted the phone away from her sensitive ear.

Bitch, I told you not to call me at work. The harsh words were blunted by a jovial tone.

Joey snorted a chuckle in spite of herself. Hi Rico.

"What’s up chica?"

Have you heard from Chris today?

Chris? No…

What about last night?

Yeah. I mean, he was here last night.

Joey blinked and sat up straighter on the couch. Last night? He was at Santiago’s last night?

"Yeah, is something—mierda, gotta go. I’ll call you later."

The line went silent, but Joey held the phone up until the beep of the call actually ending reminded her to lower it. Her mind raced. Chris had been at Santiago’s. She contemplated the phone in her hand, but there was no way she could wait for Rico to call her back. It could be hours until he got a break.

She launched herself off the couch and headed for the door, dialing Cheryl along the way. While the phone rang, she shoved her feet into untied sneakers and grabbed her purse. She was already out the front door by the time Cheryl answered.

Hey girl, are you on your way? Did you hear from Chris?

No and no, unfortunately. But I did get a lead on where he was last night. I’m headed—shit, I don’t have the car.

I’ll be right over.

It was around six o’clock when Joey and Cheryl walked into Santiago’s. The music, which Joey’s wolf ears had first picked up a block away, washed over her. The dance floor beckoned, but she had more pressing matters at hand.

The bouncer detached himself from the wall, and his stern face broke into a broad smile. Hey Jojo! And…?

Joey let Cheryl answer for herself while she scanned the club. It was irrational to hope that Chris might be there, but she looked anyway.

Cheryl. Nice to see you again, Tony.

Right, right! Sorry. You ladies don’t look like you came to dance. Their street clothes were decidedly ill-suited to a night on the town.

No, Joey said and shook her head. I Just came to talk to Rico. And you, actually. Was Chris here last night?

Tony tilted his head, expression taking a thoughtful turn. Yeah, why?

He didn’t come home last night. Or today. I haven’t heard from him at all.

Ahh. I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just spending time with his lady friend.

Joey’s human ears would have perked up if they could. Lady friend? Anyone you know?

Nah, I’ve seen her around a bit in the last week or two but never caught her name. Kinda short, red hair, easy on the eyes. She was really into him.

Joey frowned thoughtfully, but nodded. Okay, well if you see him tonight—or her, for that matter—would you give me a call?

Sure. He passed her his phone and she added her phone number, then handed it back.

Thanks. She squeezed his arm and slipped away as his eyes shifted toward a noisy group of new arrivals.

With Cheryl in tow, she headed for the bar. It was early enough that there wasn’t much of a crowd to speak of. Rico was behind the bar as expected, a clipboard in one hand. He glanced up as they approached and his brows shot up.

Joey? Hey…

Joey flashed him a weak smile. Couldn’t wait. Can we talk?

He gave her a considering look before nodding. Sure, gimme a minute. While he reached for the walkie talkie under the bar, Joey turned her attention to Cheryl.

I know I said it in the car but… thanks again.

Cheryl smiled, looped an arm around her and squeezed. Don’t mention it. Em’s keeping dinner warm, so whenever we’re done we can go have dinner.

Joey nodded and squeezed Cheryl back, grateful for her willingness to help, but that was Cheryl in a nutshell. They’d known each other since high school, had been there for each other through good times and bad. Standing by the bar, she leaned against her friend and hoped that one day they’d be able to look back on this and laugh.

A couple minutes later, someone came to relieve Rico so he could take a break. Joey left Cheryl at the bar and followed Rico through the door marked Employees Only. As it swung closed behind them, the music from the front became muted enough that they could converse normally. Part store room and part break area, the back room featured shelves full of boxes of alcohol and other bar supplies as well as a ratty old couch. Just seeing it sparked a memory of another night, the last time she’d been back there. She pushed it aside, unwilling to give in to the distraction.

Okay, he said, turning to her. What’s wrong?

Joey winced. Is it that obvious?

I’m a bartender. He spread his hands. Reading people is what I do.

Chris didn’t come home last night. I haven’t heard from him at all today. He missed rehearsal, he’s not answering his phone and I’m just… worried.

Rico’s brows drew together. Did you call the cops?

No, not yet. You have to wait twenty-four hours before you can report someone missing. Anyway, you said he was here last night. Was he with someone? He had a date.

Didn’t mention a date to me, but he danced with Selene a bit.

Selene? Is she a redhead?

No, she’s the owner’s niece, visiting from Havana. But now that you mention it, he did buy a drink for a redhead. Gimlet.

Joey chuckled. Leave it to a bartender to remember what someone was drinking.

I don’t get a lot of requests for gimlets. It was memorable. He shrugged.

I take it the redhead wasn’t a regular?

Not really. I’ve seen her a few times, but not more than that.

If you see her or Chris tonight would you give me a call?

Sure.

He caught her arm and drew her in for a hug. She went willingly, leaning against him and taking comfort in the warmth of his embrace. As she inhaled his familiar scent, his spicy cologne tickled her nostrils and that memory rose to the surface again—stronger, this time.

I haven’t been back here since… you know.

He chuckled, his chest rumbling under her ear. I’m off at midnight if you want to drop by later.

Joey laughed and pulled away. Maybe another time. She’d never had more than a couple of one night stands, but Rico had been fun. No strings, no drama, just a good time between two healthy adults on the world’s least comfortable sofa.

"Everything’s gonna be okay bonita. You know that, right? He’ll turn up." He tucked her hair behind one ear, then draped an arm around her shoulders and started for the door.

Yeah, I’m counting down the minutes until I get to kick his ass.

That’s the spirit. He reached over her shoulder to push the door open.

She ducked out into the club proper, but halted suddenly and turned back to him. Selene.

Yeah? What about her?

Is she here now?

Rico glanced around, then shook his head. Nope.

If she turns up⁠—

I’ll let you know. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then stepped back behind the bar.

Joey caught up with Cheryl again and together they headed for the exit.

How did it go? Cheryl asked once they were outside and away from the din of the music once more.

The redhead likes gimlets, and she wasn’t a regular. Or, if she was, she was a recent enough one that he didn’t know her name yet. Joey ran her fingers through her hair and gave it an aggravated tug. Where the fuck is he, Cher?

Let’s go have dinner. It’ll take your mind off things for a bit. Besides, you’re probably out of things at home to clean.

Joey snorted softly, but shook her head. I appreciate it, really, but I want to go home. I want to be there when he gets home.

But—

Please, Cher. Just take me home.

It was about seven-thirty when Cheryl pulled her car into the parking lot outside Joey’s apartment. It was fully dark by then, but the street and building lights provided plenty of visibility and Joey lived in a decent part of town. She never worried about coming or going after dark.

Thanks for the lift, Joey said, leaning down to look in through the passenger’s side door. Give the wifey my regrets, okay? You know I love her cooking.

Anytime, babe. Hang in there, okay? He’s bound to turn up soon, Cheryl replied. Hopefully with flowers. And chocolate.

Joey let out an anxious chuckle. Flowers wouldn’t hurt. I’ll call you when I hear something. She closed the car door, then stepped away from the car and watched her friend pull away before turning to head up the stairs.

She saw them the moment she stepped onto the third floor landing: two men, standing on one of her neighbors’ doorsteps. It was a little late for Jehovah’s Witnesses, but they didn’t look the part anyway. Only one was fresh-faced, for starters. The other was older, his lined face a topographical map of aging peaks and valleys. They glanced over at her as she drew closer, but their attention didn’t linger.

It wasn’t until she continued past that she heard a woman’s voice beyond them announce, That’s her!

Joey paused, pivoting to cast a wary glance in the direction of the strangers.

The older man turned toward her, looking her over more closely now. He wore a cheap suit, tie askew, and held a brown fedora in one hand. A badge hung on a stainless steel beaded chain around his neck.

Excuse me, ma’am, he said, politely. Are you the resident of unit number 1310?

Joey hesitated a moment before answering. Yes.

The older cop leaned in and said something quietly to the younger one before stepping away, leaving him there to finish up talking with the neighbor while he moved toward Joey.

I’m Detective Harding with the San Diego P.D. May I have a moment of your time?

Oh god, is it Chris? she blurted, too anxious to play it cool. Did something happen?

There were no answers on the older cop’s face. His expression was unreadable, but somber. May I ask your name, Miss?

Joey—Josephine Grant.

Detective Harding nodded slightly. May I ask your relation to Mr. Martin?

Joey’s hands started shaking. She bit her lip. I’m his sister. Please, what’s going on? Her voice grew tight with emotion as she spoke, the fine hairs on her arms standing up as her skin prickled with goosebumps.

The detective studied her for a long, weighty pause before something subtly shifted in his expression.

Miss Grant, I’m afraid I have some bad news.

3

It had to be a mistake. Chris couldn’t be dead.

I understand this comes as a great shock⁠—

No, you don’t understand. It can’t be him. It wasn’t the first stage of grief that fueled Joey’s fervent denial. Her mind’s eye conjured an image of Chris: young, vibrant, full of life. A young wolf in his prime. Right before the full moon. It would have taken a small army to take him down.

Or an army of one, armed with silver.

The thought sent a chill down her spine, but she couldn’t voice it and she had no other evidence for her argument.

Detective Harding studied her for a long moment, turning his hat over and over in his hands. Ma’am, we’ve got a positive fingerprint and photo ID match. I assure you, we’re not wrong.

Her eyes narrowed, flicking between the two detectives. The younger one frowned openly. This probably wasn’t going at all like it had in training.

Take me to him, she told them. You need someone to identify him officially, right? Next of kin? That’s me.

Well, not in this case, no… Harding replied.

I don’t care. Take me to him.

Miss Grant, that’s really not how this works.

Her restraint cracked. A low growl escaped her throat. She clenched her fists at her sides. Both men took an involuntary step backward.

Take. Me. To. Him.

For whatever reason, they complied.

An hour later, Joey walked down an impossibly long hallway toward a frosted glass door with AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY stenciled on it in black lettering. Impatient, she fought the urge to push aside her escorts and rush ahead.

At the end of the hall, the two detectives escorted her through the door and into a side room with a large window along one wall. On the other side of the window was a larger room with a single defining feature: a stainless steel table. A body-shaped outline beneath a pristine white sheet lay upon the table.

Joey folded her arms and waited. An attendant in gray scrubs walked into view and approached the table. Without pause, he turned down the sheet so the body was exposed from the shoulders up, then walked away again without so much as a glance toward the window.

Her breath caught in her throat. She knew that face as well as her own—better, even. Countless hours up close and personal in the studio had seen to that. She knew that nose, that mouth, the tiny mole under his left ear. His skin was pale, lips tinged a faint blue, but it was still him.

This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t…

Her mouth felt dry and her stomach churned as she stood there, staring at the unfathomable sight before her. One of the detectives cleared his throat softly.

Miss Grant? It was Detective Harding, his tone gentle. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder; she shrugged it off.

Even facing the truth, she didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be him. Everyone has a doppelgänger, right? Pain chased confusion, chasing disbelief in an endless loop.

It’s him, she said, eventually. Her voice was calm, despite the tumultuous emotions simmering beneath the surface. But sheer willpower and good breeding would only get her so far. Can I have a moment alone please?

She could almost feel the pair of detectives exchanging glances again. They did that a lot. But a few seconds later their footsteps retreated. The door opened and closed quietly.

It wasn’t until she was alone that the dam finally burst. It started with a low keening and ended in a torrent of tears. When she couldn’t stand the sight before her any more, she turned away and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Curling her arms around her legs, she rocked back and forth, crippled by an overwhelming sense of loss.

Time passed. Someone came for her, managed to get her settled in a room with a grief counselor, a stale cup of coffee, and a telephone.

She knew that she should have called her parents, but instead she called a cab.

Everyone should have a friend that will take it in stride when you show up at their door at midnight, without warning. Within minutes of Joey’s arrival, Cheryl had her wrapped in a blanket on the sofa. Joey’s shaking hands curled around a mug of fragrant hazelnut coffee, but it held no interest. She worried if she tried to sip it she might throw up.

Can I get you anything else, sweetie? Cheryl asked, perched on the edge of the sofa beside Joey at an angle, their knees touching.

Joey wished her friend would put her arms around her again, hug her as tightly as she had when she’d shown up with her terrible news. Wolves comfort one another with touch, but Cheryl was human. Humans comfort with blankets, food, comforting pats, and the occasional hug.

No, thanks. She had managed to calm down a bit before leaving the medical examiner’s office, but as soon as she’d seen Cheryl the floodgates had opened again and that empty space inside her had filled back up with choking emotion.

Do you want to talk about it? Cheryl’s dark eyes were warm with sympathy and wet with shared grief—Chris had been her friend too.

Not yet. You should get some sleep, Joey replied, glancing over her shoulder toward the stairs. Light slanted out of the partially open door at the top. No doubt Emma was awake, waiting for Cheryl to come back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you.

Cheryl shook her head, breathing a sigh so faint that Joey might not have caught it if her hearing weren’t a little more keen than most. Don’t be silly. You lost your best friend tonight.

Don’t you mean my second-best friend? Joey said, sniffling.

Something like that, Cheryl said, as she plucked the untouched coffee from her friend’s trembling hands. Did you call your parents yet? She set the mug on the coffee table.

Tomorrow, Joey said. I can’t face them, not yet. We were supposed to look out for each other— She choked on a sob.

Joey thought Cheryl would press the issue, but she didn’t. Instead, surprising her even more, Cheryl drew her down to lie with her on the couch. Joey hugged her back tightly, feeling her friend’s arms wrapped snugly around her and listening to the steady beat of Cheryl’s heart beneath her ear. It would be a long time before she would feel even remotely okay again, but somehow… it helped. Maybe humans knew a thing or two about comforting after all.

At first, he knew nothing but the burning. The pain seemed to come from everywhere at once, scorching every nerve ending, searing his very soul. There was no source, nothing to pull away from, nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. He couldn’t escape it, only endure it. He lost all sense of time, of purpose, of self. It was a torment without beginning or end, simply a state of being that left no space for anything else.

Gradually, that terrible pain began to subside and he slowly became aware of other things. Colors at first, but muted. Blurry, like smears of watery paint across an empty canvas, forming indistinct shapes that he couldn’t fully focus on. Sounds came next, distant and muffled as if hearing them with ears stuffed full of cotton.

It was disorienting as hell, this washed-out smear of color without form, sound without clarity, and on the edge of it still that sensation of being dipped in fiery acid. Wet and cold but burning, eating away at the frayed edges of his existence.

When he was finally able to make sense of his surroundings, he found himself alone on a darkened corner of an empty street. The world was shrouded in misty fog; he couldn’t see farther than a few feet in front of him. The pain was a dull but constant presence in the back of his mind. He’d become a bit numb to it by now. As that thick skin formed, the colors around him coalesced into shapes but remained washed out. There was too much gray, not enough red or yellow, like the contrast on the world had been turned down. He looked around him, but all he saw was mist and sidewalk. The occasional street lamp glowed dimly in the fog, not quite able to illuminate much more than a tight halo around itself.

Where am I? What time is it?

He patted his pockets but his phone was gone. His wallet, too. He walked down the sidewalk, hoping to come across an intersection with a sign that would tell him where he was. His footsteps were exceptionally loud on the concrete. It took him a moment to realize why. It was, quite literally, the only sound he could hear. Living in a city, there was always a constant hum of white noise, especially to his extra-keen perception. Most people went about their lives, never giving much thought to the hum of electricity or passing traffic. Some might stop to enjoy bird song, or a street musician. But he heard none of these things, just an eerie quiet blanketing the world as heavily as the thick fog.

Once or twice, he glimpsed movement in the gray but dismissed it as a trick of the mind. It must have been really late for the streets to be so empty. Yet, there weren’t even any cars parked along the curb. That was a rare thing, even downtown at night, and he wasn’t sure he was downtown anyway. He wasn’t sure where he was at all, until a familiar building emerged from the fog ahead. Every window was dark, but he didn’t need the neon sign to recognize Santiago’s.

Something tickled at the back of his mind. Something about the dance club. Something important. He couldn’t quite place it, so he kept walking. Now he knew where he was, so he’d be able to find his way back to his car and head home—if he could manage to drive in this pea soup, anyway. He might have to spend the night in the car. That’d be a first.

Suddenly, he heard a second set of footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and for a moment he thought he could make out another shape in the fog. When he stopped, the other footsteps stopped too. The gray fog hung heavily, without shape or form. He resumed walking. The footsteps behind him resumed too. Uneasy, he hastened his steps. The footsteps behind him grew fainter and vanished, filling him with relief.

It was short-lived relief, however, because he soon realized that he’d passed the garage where he’d parked his car and had to backtrack. This time his progress was slower. Wariness filled him as he peered into the fog, but no shapes came out of it. All was quiet. When he reached the parking garage, it was as empty as the streets. His car was gone.

Christopher…

He whirled at the sound of his name, spoken from somewhere off to his right. The voice was female and familiar yet… not. It scratched at the edges of his memory, tiny claws pulling and tearing.

Where have you gone, Christopher? There was mockery in her tone. His stomach twisted in response.

Who’s there? he called, standing his ground. He was many things but not, by his estimation, a coward.

Rich, feminine laughter seemed to come from everywhere around him, all at once.

What do you want? he demanded, turning in a circle, trying to look everywhere at once. He felt cornered, even though he was standing out in the open. It made him uneasy; he wasn’t used to feeling like prey.

Answers, she said.

No sooner had the word been given voice, the blinding pain ramped up again. His hands formed fists, every fibre of his being tensing against the onslaught of agony. It was no use. He screamed, and for a brief instant he remembered everything. The girl, the club, the alley, the knife… but then the world went away again and there was nothing once more.

Nothing, but the burning.

4

Joey woke to hushed voices and the smell of frying bacon the next morning. It wasn’t the first time she’d surfed Cheryl and Emma’s couch, but waking up there was still disorienting. The events of the previous night came rushing back once enough synapses were firing. Less fresh, but still raw.

Sitting up, she extracted herself from the tangled blanket and rubbed her face.

Good morning, Emma offered, from behind the couch.

Joey jumped, startled. She’d assumed Emma and Cheryl were off in the kitchen, what with the sounds and smells of breakfast and the hushed voices coming from that direction. After a moment, she realized that the hushed voices were actually coming from the radio in the kitchen, turned down low. Emma was an NPR junkie. It probably wasn’t supposed to be audible to Joey in the living room—they didn’t know about her wolf ears.

Yeah, Joey said, startled and trying not to growl. It wasn’t polite, especially when one was a guest in someone’s home. What time is it?

Emma drifted into peripheral view, approaching as cautiously as one might a wild animal. She had experience dealing with Joey before her first cup of coffee.

About nine-thirty, Emma answered in her usual soft-spoken manner, holding out a steaming mug of java. Cheryl had to step out. She had a morning appointment.

Thanks, Joey murmured, accepting the cup automatically. Once it was in her hand she just stared into its milky brown depths. The smell of hazelnuts, sugar and cream tickled her nostrils, but failed to entice her to drink.

Want some eggs? Bacon? Emma lingered near the end of the sofa and brushed her chin-length brown hair back from her face, hovering like a mother hen.

I’m not really hungry, Joey said, glancing over at her.

Emma frowned, twisting her wedding band on her finger absently. It was a recently acquired habit—she and Cheryl had been married barely a month. You need to eat, Joey. Please, just a little. Emma was always trying to feed her, convinced she was too skinny and didn’t eat properly when out of her sight… and that was in the best of times.

Joey dithered, screwing her face up in a grimace. The thought of food just didn’t sound appealing, even though she’d barely eaten the night before.

It’ll go to waste, Emma wheedled. She did have a point. Emma was a strict vegan; the fact that there were eggs and bacon at all meant that she’d bought it and cooked it just for Joey.

Okay, Joey said, but without enthusiasm.

Emma smiled, revealing twin dimples in her plump cheeks. I’ll make you a plate.

While she moved off, Joey lingered on the sofa, looking down at the coffee in her hands.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

The thought surfaced unbidden, and with it a wave of sorrow that set her hands to shaking. She set the mug on the coffee table and stood, tucking her hands under her arms in an unconscious effort to still them.

Wandering over to the living room window, she looked out. It was another sunny California day, like countless others before. On the street below, cars passed, ferrying their human cargo while pedestrians walked or jogged along the sidewalk, all going about their usual daily routines. She envied those people.

We’d be in the studio by now, hard at work. He’d probably want to tweak the choreography again. We’d argue, because I’d rather focus on perfecting what we already have…

Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized that there wouldn’t be any more rehearsals with Chris. If she’d known their last session had really been their last, what would she have done differently? Stress less, enjoy dancing with him more? Encourage him to stand up his date and watch B-grade horror movies with her all night instead? Would it have made a difference, or was he destined to meet his end?

Sighing, she leaned her forehead against the glass. It was cool against her skin, and made it easier to hold back the tears. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d never dance again, but she’d be a fool if she thought it would ever be the same.

Come and get it! Emma called from the kitchen, pulling Joey back from her melancholy thoughts.

Turning from the window, Joey walked over to the breakfast bar and climbed up on a stool with the solemnity of an inmate facing her last meal. The plate Emma slid in front of her was piled high with eggs, bacon and hash browns with a side of sliced tomato and avocado.

Joey stared at the plate, then looked up at Emma. This is ‘a little’?

Emma shrugged, setting a glass of orange juice on the bar as well. You don’t have to eat it all. She paused, brow furrowing. Where’s your coffee?

Joey glanced over her shoulder. Oh, I must have left it on the coffee table, she said and started to slide down off the stool.

Emma frowned, but interjected quickly, I’ll get it, go ahead and get started.

Joey teetered on the edge of the stool for a few seconds before pulling herself back to the center.

Thanks, she said and shifted her focus back to the plate of food while her friend moved off. Picking up her fork, she poked at the food, speared a small piece of egg and put it in her mouth. It was warm and soft, perfectly seasoned, but it failed to satisfy. Joey chewed and swallowed it anyway, mechanically.

Your phone rang earlier, Emma said, as she walked back into the kitchen with Joey’s coffee in one hand and her phone in its life-proof case in the other. It didn’t seem to bother you, but I turned the ringer off anyway. Figured you needed the sleep and whoever it was could wait until you were ambulatory.

Grimacing, Joey mumbled a thank you and set her fork aside, reaching for the phone. A quick scan of her missed calls showed her that she’d missed multiple calls from her parents and brothers, suggesting that they’d heard the news. She wasn’t quite ready to deal with the family yet, but she did turn the ringer back on before setting the phone aside.

While Emma busied herself with cleaning up the kitchen, Joey went back to poking at her food. She ate a bite here and there, but spent more time pushing it around on the plate and watching Emma bustle around the kitchen than actually eating. Emma’s fastidious kitchen cleanup was a welcome distraction, and something about the smell of the soap and the sound of running water soothed Joey.

Silence settled between them, stretching longer than Joey would’ve liked. Her grieving mind began filling in the gaps with thoughts and memories she didn’t want to linger on. After a few minutes, she scrambled for something—anything—to talk about.

What’s Cheryl shooting today? A wedding? Bar mitzvah?

Christening, Emma said. She winced and flicked an apologetic glance at Joey, then went on. A couple whose wedding she shot last year.

Swallowing a fresh wave of emotion, Joey abandoned efforts to make small talk. She ate a little more, but ended up pushing the plate away a few minutes later with a lot left on it.

Done? Emma said, glancing over. Joey nodded and Emma moved over to reclaim the plate. I’ll make you a doggie bag, in case you get hungry later.

Another time, that might have made Joey laugh for reasons she couldn’t adequately explain. This time, she just nodded and took a sip of coffee, watching Emma move around the kitchen some more.

The subject of Chris hung in the air between them, something they were both reluctant to bring up.

Joey broke first. I assume Cheryl told you about… what happened.

Emma paused in the act of scraping leftovers into a plastic container. Yeah, she said. It was quite a shock. The fork resumed its scraping along the plate while silence settled between them again, seeming louder somehow for the sudden chasm it filled.

Joey fidgeted with her coffee cup, eventually saying, Thanks for breakfast, Em. I’ll get out of your hair soon. I’m sure you have work—or something—to do today. Emma was basically a shut-in, rarely venturing out of her home. She was a writer by trade, so she had that luxury.

It’s no trouble, really. I wish I could do more. Do you want a shower? I’m sure I can find you a change of clothes that won’t fit too badly. Emma moved back over to the bar, reaching for the used silverware.

Joey reached out and caught her friend’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Their eyes met, and Joey finally noticed that Emma’s eyes were bloodshot behind the lenses of her chunky, black plastic frames. She’d been crying, and recently.

Oh, honey… Joey said,