The nightclub didn't have a name, but everyone knew about it and called it The Hole. Its entrance wasn't particularly secret or difficult to find—a rusted door in a back alley that opened to a rough stone tunnel. No bouncer, no lights... no sign that anything waited beyond.

The descent was long enough and dark enough to sting the most audacious spirit, yet just as animal instinct threatened to overwhelm curiosity, neon stripes appeared, shifting from blue to pink as they scaled massive walls. Their harsh glow revealed the broken columns and stone arches of Roman ruins.

Music next. Modern, throbbing, and electric, its presence reassuring visitors that this experience would be the same as every other club. By the time the dance floor appeared, the soundstage glittering among the ancient remains like a neon crystal, even the gimmick of being far underground vanished against the crush of bodies. Fear lost to excitement, and most danced and drank and fucked without discovering what hid further beyond.

The coven had funded The Hole from its beginning, but the hag mother never enjoyed visiting it. The convenience of endless tourists that could be taken without a trace didn't outweigh the irritation of deafening music and bewildering lighting. She also hated the owner. Yet on this day, she needed to see him, and moved through the crowd with grim resolve.

She was recognized by the bartender as soon as she stepped up to his counter. "Where is he?"

The man was hardly more than a silhouette against the sullen, purple glow of the shelves behind him. The bottles of liquor glimmered like jewels. "In the back. He doesn't want to be disturbed."

Despite the warning, no one tried to stop her from entering the hallway of private rooms that could be rented out to the right people for the right reasons. The music faded to muffled beats, and then nothing at all. The walls changed into carved stone. Tallow candles replaced the neon, the one hint to humans who had wandered too far that this area wasn't for them. Their acrid smoke left the air hot and greasy.

Then the doors appeared, neat rows of red on either side. Muffled chanting could be heard in one of the rooms she passed. In another, scratching and snuffling. The hag mother smiled, already feeling back in her element.

Each door looked identical and could be locked from the inside, but she knew which one to go to and had the key for it. As she stepped inside, chains rattled. A muffled moan was answered by a growl.

Candles flickered in their stands, illuminating a massive bed and the two figures on it—a woman on her back, naked except for a blindfold and the cuffs restraining her hands and keeping her legs apart, and a man hunched over her like a beast, his tongue lapping at the sweat on her breasts as she panted.

"Not now," he said, without so much as a glance over.

The hag mother found the light switch and flicked it on. "Let's not play coy. I'm more important than any whore you found for the night."

At the sound of her voice, the woman gasped against her gag, limbs jerking against the chains in an attempt to cover herself. The man only thrust harder, his teeth now on her neck.

Then the hag mother spoke in a German dialect that had died out three centuries before. "It's about the wolf you recommended to one of our witches. He failed and now she's dead."

At that, he paused and looked up. In the modern lighting, his features were clear. Sharp and dangerous and all the more handsome for it, like a knife blade honed to perfection. When the hag mother noticed the bright yellow of his eyes, she kept her expression cold, well aware she faced a wolf on the edge of bloodlust.

The girl beneath him whimpered, cheeks flushing as if embarrassed there was another person in the room. A small noise, yet it drained all threat from the vargr. He shook his head while stroking the girl's hair. "You're such a pain in the ass. Wait in the other room."

Then he bit the girl's throat and finished as she shrieked.

The hag mother lingered long enough to watch him release her from the bindings with surprising gentleness, and to catch her smile when he murmured to her. Satisfied that he truly was done, the witch walked into the small lounge off to the side and made herself a gin and tonic at the bar.

Some part of her felt tempted to slip back in and kill the girl just to gauge his reaction. From her brief experiences with him and the other vargr he'd suggested, she sensed a strange allure between the black wolves and human girls. The focus of a predator finding its ideal prey, or something more? Even as she mused over the answer, he appeared, cleaned up and fully dressed.

His navy suit stood out against the warm lighting and cream furniture, but like any vargr, he moved with a hunter's natural silence. His eyes had softened into a human blue and now held a mocking glint as he sat beside her. "All right. What do you want to bitch about?"

"Always so crude, Adair," murmured the witch, and finished her gin. "And disappointing. Despite your many reassurances, Giove botched everything he was asked to do."

Adair laughed. "I thought he could handle it. It's not my fault he grew careless enough to get fucked up by a brat like Shane."

"It wasn't Shane."

"Had to be. He's the only one in California."

The witch reached out and straightened his tie. "You were wrong. When I found Giove, he told me next to nothing before disappearing again, yet it was still enough. This strange wolf understood Giove's native speech and replied back in it. It's a dialect that's been dead in Italy for over 300 years. You said Shane isn't even 150."

"He isn't." The derision left Adair's voice. "What did the mystery man say?"

"Nothing helpful. From what I understand, Giove swore at him and said he couldn't be killed. The other vargr said he'd soon wish he could be." The witch paused. "You've gone very pale. Do you know who it is?"

"Did he say anything else?"

"No. Apparently, he's quite the silent type."

Adair shoved himself up from the chair. "Shit. It sounds like... but that doesn't make any sense."

"In what way? You're being very unclear," said the hag mother, watching him pace the length of the room. He looked openly agitated.

"If it's who I'm thinking of, then you should already be dead. He doesn't fuck around. He never fucks around. How did you cross paths with him? Why is he killing members of your coven?"

She stirred the ice in her glass while debating how much to tell him. "One of our rituals angered a witch who would have lost family to it. She's young, raised by humans, and charmingly determined to hunt us down. He's helping her. I believe they're lovers."

"Fuck. Fuck." Adair now rubbed at his face with both hands. "It's him. He must be holding back on the slaughter for her. Going at a teaching pace. I can't believe that asshole actually found someone who could stand him."

The hag mother smiled slightly, enjoying his panic. "My turn to ask questions. Who is he?"

"He's been called different things over the years, but no one knows his real name. He's old, the oldest wolf known."

"What do you call him?"

Adair straightened up again, his expression bleak. "A killer."

"So dramatic!"

He stared at the witch. "If you weren't so young, you wouldn't have that smug fucking grin on your face right now. You've never lived through what he does. He doesn't go after humans like you or me. We're his prey, and he was a terror until he grew sick of it all. He disappeared 500 years ago, just long enough for you fucking baby witches to build kingdoms and believe they could last."

"This is all fascinating, but what, exactly, is your point?"

"That your delusions of grandeur are about to be torn apart."

"We've faced persistent enemies before," said the hag mother, voice bland. Then she rose from her chair to fully face him. "But I do believe we'll need your help. And this time, I won't accept a substitute in your place."

He laughed, but it was a brief, disbelieving sound. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm talking to a dead woman."

"Adair, I have no patience for negotiations. Not tonight."

When she left the room, he followed after her, his words sliding into a growl. "Give the girl what she wants and hope you're not included. If you survive, call it a life lesson and move on. That's your best chance out of this. And whatever you do, don't hurt or kill her. Don't even threaten it."

By now they were out in the hallway, the hag mother's heels striking sharply against the stone floor. "I don't think you quite understand the situation. We don't want to harm the girl at all. Quite the opposite."

"What?"

"Our king has seen her and made his wishes clear. She's to become part of the coven."

"You can't be serious."

"I never question his will. Now, come see me tomorrow night so we can finalize your part in the plans and what you'll want in return." After she checked her watch, she added, "No more arguing. I have a few things scheduled tonight that I really can't miss."

Then she was gone, disappearing as silently as a candle's flame, leaving Adair to snarl to himself.

Hours later, he found her enraptured in a ballet performance of Romeo and Juliet.

"This is a private box," she murmured, as he sat beside her.

He lit a cigarette despite the no-smoking policy, glancing over their surroundings with obvious disinterest. "Our conversation wasn't over."

To any outsider, they looked like a glamorous couple, he in his stark tuxedo and she in a glittering ombre gown. If the shadows appeared a bit darker around them, well, it was easily dismissed as a trick of the eyes.

The witch in particular seemed much changed. Her reserved manner had thawed into something softer, and her smile seemed of actual delight as she watched the performance. After a brief silence, words slipped out of her as if by their own will. "This was the first place he took me to after I became his. This opera house, in this very box. I'd never seen such luxury before. Such beauty. I couldn't believe the dancers were mere humans, and that I could experience such joy watching them. They were performing for him. For me. It was then I realized just how many doors he could open. How the smallest taste of his power was more precious than anything else I could hope to know."

She looked at Adair with shining eyes.

He sighed. "You're all so fucked in the head."

Her gaze dimmed again. Then her smile faded into its usual hardness. "You're wrong once more, Adair. I looked into this mysterious wolf after our earlier conversation. He's been glimpsed here and there for the last century, always shunning contact as soon as it's made. A quiet hermit in the forest hardly sounds like your vicious killer."

"It's him. He went into isolation to waste away and forget everything. It's the closest we can get to killing ourselves."

"He missed quite a lot. The world isn't the same as it was back then."

Despite her dismissive words, Adair didn't snap. Instead, he slumped back in his seat, his gaze growing distant. "2,000 years ago, I was just like you—convinced I could take what I wanted without anyone stopping me. Then I crossed paths with him. He killed me. When I came back into myself, he killed me again. And again. And again. Every time I woke up, he was there, waiting for me to see him and realize it wasn't over. He didn't stop until I forgot how to scream."

The hag mother raised an eyebrow. "You nearly made me feel pity. I'm telling you, it will be different this time. Our coven survived centuries of witch hunts. If entire populations of humans can't destroy us—"

"Who told you that whopper of a lie? Your king?" A certain malicious amusement slid into his next words. "Humans burned each other in ignorance, or greed, or fear. If they caught a real witch, it was a matter of chance. Want to know who really killed the major covens in Europe? He did. Your precious Edric was too insignificant to be noticed at the time. Maybe he's got a gold crown now, but it's taken from the remains left by the real killer."

"Enough," hissed the hag mother, the first cracks showing in her composure.

"If you don't face the truth now, it'll bite you in the ass later. The Cathars' Crusade, the witches of Athens, Theodosius' final years... do you think any genuine witches who died in those events did so at the hands of blind, stupid humans? It was his favorite trick to slip in wherever they butchered each other and find the nasty things like us that were feeding on the chaos."

"I suppose he killed all the Druids as well?"

Adair's voice grew hot. "No, you sarcastic cunt. That was a different vargr, one who went nuts after his lover was taken from him. Seeing a pattern yet?"

The hag mother drew in a deep breath. "You're severely underestimating my king."

"No. Just your state of denial. It's fucking baffling. How many from your coven are dead from believing they could use this girl?" When her mouth only tightened in reply, he added, "And yet here we are. What makes you think a plan that failed for others will succeed for you?"

"You never criticized our plans when it meant financing your club. If it wasn't for our money, our influence, and our power, you wouldn't be where you are today."

Adair shrugged. "I'm lazy and a coward. It was easier to work with you than build up something on my own."

For several heartbeats, silence fell between them. Tension sharpened the air into something jagged. Finally, the witch said, "And will you now work against us?"

"Fuck no. I'm not interfering with his hunt. The only reason I'm doing this is because I hoped to somehow convince you to drop your stupid plan and save us all from a goddamn extinction event. The only reason we're flourishing in the shadows of the humans is because he left. Don't bring him back. Your fucking scavenger king isn't worth—"

The hag mother stabbed him, her eyes bright and furious. For a moment, he only stared as the pristine white of his tuxedo shirt bloomed red.

"You went too far," she murmured, gripping the knife's handle so hard her knuckles turned white. "He is worth anything."

Then Adair laughed. His teeth flashed.

The witch's expression changed as his hand wrenched hers—not away, but closer, pushing the blade in to the hilt. It left their faces inches apart. His eyes glinted gold. "Your only hope is that he's forgotten more than he remembers from centuries of wasting away. Otherwise, you're completely fucked."

In one quick movement, he shoved her away again and then pulled the knife out. He didn't seem affected at all, even when fresh blood ran down his chest. In the silence that followed, he took a long drag from his cigarette and sighed. "The only thing I'm not sure of is the girl herself. Why kill a thousand witches and then shack up with one?"

The hag mother returned her attention to the dancers below, her face smoothing out as she sank into the performance once more. "I'll be sure to ask him that."

"Ask? No one asks him anything."