Naturally, the first thing I did was swear.

Of course they're here, I berated myself. They had to collect the bodies, after all, and Father had probably come to the same conclusion I had: tonight was our best chance to catch London while his guard was down (literally).

The vampire in question spun around to face me, looking acutely panicked. "What do I do?"

It didn't take long to realise I had to help him escape. Asking the City Pack to spare London and his guard would not only be a pointless endeavour, but a dangerous one. My negotiations with the vampire prince would undoubtedly be seen as treason.

Heart pounding in my throat, I scoured the dead end for an alternate exit. It was a bottleneck of cement and stone, oddly reminiscent of a set piece, with surprisingly few windows or doors. 

"There," London said, brushing against my shoulder. I hadn't noticed him draw close. "That door. Help me kick it in."

The door was so lathered in paint it blended in with the walls like a chameleon. I delivered a solid kick to the rotting wood and the lock gave way.

The hallway beyond was dark, reeking of mildew and dust. I pushed London over the threshold.

"Keep going," I said, lowering my voice so the approaching City Pack wouldn't hear us. "Try and stick to busy, crowded places; the sensory overload will frustrate our trackers and make it difficult to find you."

London nodded his understanding, green eyes unusually bright in contrast with the surrounding shadows. "Thank you," he whispered.

And then he vanished.

I yanked the door shut behind him and raced back to Arthur's side, kneeling in a sticky pool of someone else's blood. London could run from my people, but I couldn't. Father was too familiar with my scent; leaving would only raise more questions. The best thing I could do was stay and slather myself in the scent of the dead. If I was convincing enough, they might attribute my defiance to an emotional impulse, an act of grief. 

I didn't really need to act. The emotions I needed to portray were already brimming beneath my anger, easier to access now that I'd taken some of it out on the lamia. I reached out with trembling fingers and pushed the hair back from Arthur's face, heart crumpling when my hand wasn't knocked aside. When I cupped his cheek, his skin felt all wrong, clammy and cold.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I wish I'd been here to help you."

It wasn't until I felt a hand on my shoulder that I realised the pack had arrived. Startled, I climbed to my feet and turned around, shooting a quick glance at the werewolves behind my father. They were all dressed in black shifting gear, the special leather cut from the hides of our dead that allowed us to morph with our clothes intact. It looked terrifyingly uniform on them, and served as yet another reminder that I didn't belong in their ranks; my leathers were brown and worn from years of sparring with Arthur.

Only two of the City Pack members deigned to meet my eyes. Richard's father, Erland Olsen, glared outright. It took all of my willpower not to curl my lip as I sought out Charles's lined face instead, wondering if the Beta would be willing to intervene, like he did whenever the cooks caught Arthur and I pinching pastries from the cooling racks. If anything, the old man's face had hardened; he almost looked angry at me for putting myself in harm's way.

Knowing that I couldn't avoid it any longer, I let my eyes slide to the man at the head of the pack. Not for the first time, I was caught off guard by how large he was. There was nearly seven feet of him, and every one of them was packed with tough, bulging muscle, fighting flesh in its prime. Once, I'd seen him punch into the chest of an overly spirited horse, ripping out its heart with the ease of a child reaching into a bowl for candy. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I became too spirited for his liking.

I smelled fear — mine. Father's face was like that of a hawk. His most prominent features were sweeping brows — perfectly suited to frowning — and the tawny eyes beneath them, full of calculated violence. Looking into them, facing his disappointment head-on, I remembered it was in his very nature to hunt and hurt things.

It was Ford Nightshade, the reigning Alpha of the Melbourne City Pack, who backhanded me for my insolence. Pain flared at the points beneath his knuckles and I rocked back on my heels as my head snapped to the side. I heard the click of my teeth meeting through my tongue, followed by a bloom of fire in my mouth. Blood burned in the back of my throat and I held it behind my lips, resisting the urge to spit it out. I'd only cop another slap if Ford misinterpreted the gesture.

"Never disobey me again."

The threat in those clipped words was clear, even if my vision no longer was. My face throbbed and my left eye already felt swollen. Sensing that he was waiting for an answer, I nodded meekly, trying to look submissive as possible without dropping to my knees. Even now, physically and mentally beaten, I clung to dignity.

Accepting my surrender, the City Alpha shouldered past me in favour of his dead son. Trying not to give the onlookers the satisfaction of a grimace, I swallowed the blood in my mouth and stared pointedly at the wall, unable to watch my father grieve, unable to watch him close those blue eyes forever. I was not weak... but I also wasn't strong enough. Not tonight.

Not for this.

It wasn't until I heard an angry shout and showering concrete that I realised how selfish I'd been in my grief. Save Charles and Erland, every member of the City Pack had lost a son to this senseless slaughter.

London's life would come nowhere near enough to sate their need for revenge.

"Your lordship, there is vampire blood here that is fresher than the rest," Charles said, carrying the investigation while the others came to terms with their loss. "The Irephang must be close by."

Father straightened from his crouch. "Then we hunt tonight. But before we do, Chance — you arrived at the scene early. What did you see?"

"Nothing, other than what you see now," I reported, nodding at the carnage all around. Black stirred within me, protesting at the lie, but I ignored it. "I turned over several corpses to identify them," I lied, hoping that would explain the vampire blood on my hands, "but there was no sign of the Irephang brat."

No-one questioned my version of events. I supposed Father was used to believing me, thanks to the verifying role my magic played in his political proceedings, but I was a little surprised by how easy it was.

Father was quick to bark out orders. Two men peeled off from the rest of the group to escort me home, and then straight to my room where I would stay indefinitely. No escaping this time, I thought bitterly, though I was careful to hide my displeasure. There would be plenty of time to vent about being locked in my room later... when I was locked in my room. This was not the place or time.

As we left the crime scene, one command caught my attention in particular. "The Irephang is to be killed on sight. No excuses, no exceptions."

I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping that London had masked his trail in the slums of the city. I hoped he was fast enough to evade the hunters that were about to come snapping at his heels, because if they caught him, they would cut him down. And then all of my work, all of my bargaining, all of my mercy would have been for nothing. I couldn't have him dying on me, not now. Not by their hands.

For tonight, he had to live.