The night air was dry and cool, ruffling my pelt as I bounded through industrial streets, leashed to the shadows that cringed from the sharp scrutiny of streetlights. The plaintive whine of engines became my soundtrack as I travelled deeper into the city, leaving the outskirts behind. Cigarette fumes stole into my nostrils, a haunting reminder of my fiery dominance guttering beneath the City Alpha's smothering will. 

It flared bright now, though, revived by the adrenaline that came with the defiance of his orders. I'd always taken pleasure in finding little ways to thwart him, but this betrayal transcended those childish rebellions. For once I wasn't trying to elicit a reaction from the stoic man; I was doing this purely because I thought it was the best recourse for everyone.

My cover shrivelled as I approached the Central Business District, and I grudgingly accepted that I would have to morph soon. While some people were bound to find the prospect of a horse-sized wolf intriguing, the majority would fear me, and a fraction of that majority would lash out. Fear drove humans to inhumane acts; Midna was right in that respect, at least.

I also understood the necessity of preventing a shadow war. Humans could be dangerous when they wanted. They'd rendered entire species extinct before, simply for pretty fur coats; what would they do to my people if they perceived us as a threat? Werewolves were remarkable individuals in small numbers, but humanity was a plague upon the earth. Even the most ferocious beasts could fall to a hornet's nest.

It was all the more reason to follow through with my plan. Surely London's life will compensate for our loss, I thought, determined to coax Father to the same conclusion. We don't need to go to war to avenge Arthur.

Cars came and went more often. I tapped into the transformative energy idling at the core of my being and heat tore through my body, prompting bones to pop in and out of their sockets. Muscles and ligaments reformed. Fur receded into pale, luminous skin and a tangled mane of black hair. Fangs snapped back into my jaw and emerged as blunt teeth.

I was thoroughly human when I turned onto Collins street, blending seamlessly with the pedestrian traffic. With no idea of what alley I was looking for, I followed the sidewalk searched for clues, playing the part of the gawking tourist.

It proved to be a frustrating and fruitless task. The street was too busy, too loud, too... pungent. Ageing trash, unwashed bodies and chemical perfumes competed with the heady aromas of various cuisines. Every second shopfront was a restaurant of some description, and I refused to believe that there was enough business for all of them to thrive.

"What's so great about the city at night?" I muttered, curling my lip at an overflowing trash can. My anger only peaked when I saw the number of hollow-eyed homeless huddling in doorways and under awnings. Instead of extending help, a word of kindness or a meal, the humans simply ignored them, automatically skirting those in need like they were a routine obstacle.

I felt a pair of eyes on the back of my neck and turned. An old woman, huddled in rags, tapped a crooked finger on one of the lopsided drawings fanned out before her.

Portraits. The right half of every sketch was impeccably detailed, but the left was a jumble of lines skirting a glaring void. I picked up the page she pushed toward me, my breath solidifying in my chest.

"Where did you see this man?" I asked, swallowing past the lump in my throat. She'd captured Arthur mid-sentence, the approachable tilt of his head, the automatic welcome in his right eye... and then the vision devolved into scribbles.

"He paid handsomely for a portrait," she said, but it didn't make sense; Arthur hadn't taken the picture with him. "And so did this one, shortly after."

The old woman tapped on another picture and my nails bit into my palm. Low, swooping lashes guarded the sultry stare of a dreamer. I hated the stamp of nobility in his regal cheekbones; the alluring contrast of his ghost-white skin and squid-ink hair, almost liquid in the way it flowed around his face.

The face of a killer.

"Where did they go?" I asked, my voice sounding strangely hoarse.

The woman pointed a shaking finger at my chest. Stepping aside, I turned around and saw an ocean-themed mural across the road, painted in varying shades of blue, black, and white. 

The smear of red on the mermaid's chin was out of place.

"Thank you," I said, pulling my wallet from the hidden pocket in my corset. Shifting leather, just like everything else; my insides rearranged themselves to accommodate the contents, so I only kept a card and a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Generous," she croaked. "Just like your brother." 

I shuddered as I crossed the road, knowing I was anything but. When I touched the mermaid's chin, my fingers came away wet. A quick whiff confirmed that it was indeed Richard's blood.

Skin prickling with anticipation, I set forth along the alley, letting it draw me into the heart of the block. The asphalt gave way to a road of gold-painted bricks, and I found myself eerily amused as it unfurled, following a strange pattern of left and right turns. Follow the yellow-brick road.

The further I travelled, the weirder and more frequent graffiti became, until I felt utterly estranged from reality. It was like I'd stepped into an alternate dimension of vivid landscapes and mutated creatures. My footsteps faltered as I came upon a sinuous dragon, coiled around the base of a fire-escape. Its amber eyes, the same colour as mine, seemed to follow me as I turned the corner...

The trail ended in carnage. Corpses littered the metallic bricks, their innards strewn about like party streamers. I sucked in a sharp breath, only to quickly regret it; the cloying stench of rotting meat smothered the air. I felt irrationally tainted by that breath, as if by letting the death-laced air into my lungs I'd welcomed it into my body and brain, through the simple oxygenation of the blood that served both.

It was a pointless revulsion; the memory of this scene would stay with me, regardless. I'd never witnessed death of this magnitude before. There was so much red splashed about, the sour aftertaste of so much adrenaline and fear... so many bodies. And crouched in the middle of it all was the man that I'd been searching for. The instigator of and the answer to all of my problems.

I took advantage of the opportunity to study my enemy. I wanted to know him a little before I killed him; to see him animated in life, so that it would be all the sweeter when I robbed him of it.

It was clear even from this distance that the man — no, the villainous creature — was tall. A shock of thick, dark hair brushed the nape of his neck, and when he crouched to pick up what looked like offal from the ground, I glimpsed a hint of an angular cheekbone and a linear nose. His frame was lithe but muscular, and his pale skin seemed to glow ever so faintly, as if he possessed so much power that it was gradually leaking out. London was beautiful in the deadliest sense.

"This is the last one," he muttered, blissfully unaware of his impending doom. "Come on, Ben. Hold out for me just a little longer...."

Confused, I followed the walls of the dead end, keeping to the shadows as I circled him. One step at a time, a bizarre surgery came into view. The recipient of London's efforts was out cold, spread-eagled with the skin of his stomach pulled back. London carefully inserted what I presumed to be a liver into the open wound.

I wished I hadn't taken the time to look. Not because of the surgery — oh, no. I'd received a unique education at the hands of the City Alpha, and I'd killed, gutted, and butchered many animals in the short lifetime I'd served on this earth. Humans weren't so different from all that; gore I could stomach.

What I couldn't stomach was the sight of my dead brother, mere feet away from London. Arthur's death was confronting because it was personal. If I'd harboured any hopes of his miraculous survival, they were dashed against the improbable angle of his neck and those glassy, sightless eyes. They used to be like chips of sky in his face, so different from the hideous amber I shared with our father. Arthur inherited them from our mother. I struggled to picture her without looking at him.

Now I would see neither mother nor brother again.

Liquid fury ran through my veins. It cooled and steeled me for what was to come.

London was so absorbed in his task that he didn't process my two-itch talons until they raked down his back, shredding through his leather jacket like a hot knife through butter. He whirled around, green eyes glowing as his fangs slid free of his gums.

Furious that something with such a rotten soul could look so pretty, I swung a handful of claws at the bastard's face, thinking to make it representative of the evil he was evidently capable of.

London ducked and tackled me to the bricks. They crunched beneath the density of my bones, giving way to the superior force, but pain still shuddered through my joints. I snarled and kicked free of his grasp, slashing for his neck, but time seemed to slow, as if weighed down by a prophecy. A son for a son, I thought, but would his people feel the same way?

London grabbed my wrists with startling speed, forcing them above my head. My knuckles collided with the brick and sent up a cloud of dust that clung to the sweat beading on his neck. He pinned my thighs with his knees, the bone digging in painfully hard.

I bucked and writhed, but it was no use. His fingers were bands of steel, his body harder than the brick below. I felt my eyes go wide with the realisation that I was trapped, so easily, and so quickly! Surely the fight wasn't over already; surely I hadn't failed so utterly, when so much relied on my success?

"It's almost like you mutts want to jeopardise the interspecies treaty," London huffed.

Oh, that was rich. He acted as if we were the ones who'd initiated this senseless massacre! I didn't rise to his bait, though, knowing that I would need to keep my cool if I was going to turn the battle in my favour. Nothing is over, I thought with fervour, until one of us is dead.

We shared a moment of tense silence and flesh on flesh. London stared down at me. I stared up at him. His thick-lashed eyes were a clean, deep green, like a shady forest glade. It was a peaceful colour, completely at odds with the way his lips pulled back from his teeth, nose wrinkling in a snarl. I found myself captivated by the elegant curve of his fangs. Alabaster and semi-translucent, they tapered from a thick base into wickedly sharp points, long enough to form depressions in his bottom lip. They were like delicate instruments of surgery, designed to puncture arteries quickly and cleanly.

So why hadn't they punctured mine? Confused, I sought London's eyes once more, hoping to discern why he hadn't tried to kill me yet. They were wide with recognition.

Suddenly it clicked. "We look alike, don't we? My brother and I."

He opened his mouth and shut it again, at a loss for words. I noticed the barest reduction of pressure in his grip on my wrists. It was a small opportunity, but I seized it, slamming a knee up into his groin.

London recoiled with a strangled gasp. Quick as a striking snake, I threw him underneath me and pinned down his chest with my knees, throwing wild punches at his face. It felt like my knuckles were connecting with solid stone, sending fissures of hurt up my arms, but I kept going until his eyes lost focus and then fastened my hands around his throat. I was surprised by the intimacy of the moment as I tightened my fingers, pressing until I felt something vital give way. London went very, very still.

"I think a neck for a neck is fair, don't you?"

"Look," London rasped. "I'm sorry about what happened to your brother —"

I squeezed harder. "Shut up."

"— but I had no choice," he choked out.

With a smile as false and bright as tinsel, I waited for darkness to seize me. Instead my gift verified his honesty, filling my chest with a soft, buzzing gold. The smile slipped from my face.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

"We didn't start this," London explained, as best he could whilst being choked. "I acted in self-defence."

That reminded me of another who'd been hellbent on survival. "Richard," I muttered. His story had been vague, allowing us to assume it was an ambush. "He should have died here."

"The one who ran?" London asked. I nodded. "Agreed."

We had something in common. I shook my head, scarcely able to believe it. "You should die here too," I said matter-of-factly, thumbs digging into his windpipe. "Lest there be a war."

London's bodyguard stirred beside us. Suddenly reminded of the plight of his comrade, the Irephang boy renewed his struggles. I held on grimly, thankful that he couldn't get a grip on my wrists. They were gloved in his blood, too slippery to catch hold of. He realised this quickly and gave up on trying to pry my hands away, switching tactics.

"Please," he begged, eyes snapping up to my face. "If he doesn't drink human blood soon, he won't heal. He won't make it."

"So?"

London made a noise of frustration. "Enough have died tonight!"

I looked over at my brother's corpse. "You catalysed a war when you killed my brother," I whispered, not entirely sure why I felt the need to justify my decision to end his life. "Enough have died, which is why I must kill you now, so that I can end this war before it truly begins."

Eager to be done with the task, I stopped toying with him and cut off his air altogether. London's rebuttals became the noises of a dying animal. His struggles brought him into closer contact with my claws, and his lifeblood welled between my fingers, warm and sticky, humming with energy like the surface of a lightbulb.

"Please," he gasped, in a last ditch effort to find purchase on his slippery descent into the void. "Don't you... want to know... what happened?"

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes. I couldn't trust Richard's account of the event; his opinions, or perhaps a technicality of speech, had interfered with the operation of my magic. The only way to learn what happened in this alley, to gain closure on the circumstances of Arthur's death, was by asking London. "But that is not my priority."

"Let me help my friend," he begged. "And I'll tell you everything. You can kill me..." I tightened my fingers, realising that I'd relaxed them without thinking, but he still managed to finish. "... after."

I could crush buffalo bones into dust, but it seemed I was incapable of crushing this leech's spirit. But I can crush the rest of him... The blend of mortality and immortality in this boy was baffling. As a lamia, a rare form of living vampire, London needed oxygen just as much as any werewolf, witch or human to survive. I watched the light go out of his eyes, shade by beautiful shade.

And then his lips, cracked and bleeding, formed a name. "Chance?"

He knew my name. London wasn't addressing me as an enemy, or an animal or a thing. He was addressing me as a person.

Something in me relented. It felt like the foundations of my being were groaning, cracking beneath the weight of the decision I had to make. That London hadn't lied to me once throughout our encounter seemed terribly significant.

I removed my hands from his throat, holding two claws over his eye sockets in warning. "How did you know I would listen?"

I was failing my people by negotiating with him, but I needed to know why Arthur had died so violently and abruptly. I needed to make at least some sense of the senselessness of it all.

"Eyes like that..." London trailed off, his hand coming up to touch my cheek. "Eyes like yours seek the truth in this world."

Gold. Somehow, he'd seen the truth of me. And that truth was hard to process because it went against everything I expected from his kind. This is a cruel magic, I thought bitterly, chewing on the inside of my cheek. This gift that denies me denial.

"Do you swear to return within twenty-four hours?" I asked, scarcely believing the words coming out of my mouth. "Do you promise to return and forfeit yours, in any way of my choosing, if I let you go now?"

Our gazes locked, emerald to amber, and all the world held its breath.

"I swear it," London said.

"Very well." I retracted my claws and pulled away, feeling as if I'd aged fifty years as I climbed upright.

London wasted no time with words. In a flash he was off his back and on his feet, hauling the wounded bodyguard over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

I watched the two of them leave, unsure of what to do next. Had I made the correct decision? Even with magic as my compass, could I trust in his promise to return?

London was about to turn the corner when the wind shifted. Seven familiar scents hit me in a rush. Dread sloshed down my spine.

The City Pack approached.