Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

Shea knew what she was doing. His possessive instincts were too strong for him to ignore. He admitted that himself.

This was like Maddox and Evangeline all over again, when Colton’s brother was torn between going after the threat to his mate or staying with her to ensure her safety. Luckily, he had Colton to watch her while he ran after the Nightwalker threat.

Who did she have? A phantom who was nearly faded? Or Hudson, who got them in another mess?

Colton would never trust Hudson. And the possessive nature that was a huge part of who—and what—her shifter was might’ve been traveling down the bond to Shea because there was absolutely no way she was going to stay behind while he walked into danger.

He was her mate, too.

And if the corporal was in over his head… well, a healer might come in handy.

* * *

Adam pulled his leather jacket closed, ducking his head against the winter wind.

Weather was holding out. Thank heavens for small favors. With more snow in the forecast, and the quiet of the holidays, Grayson was like a ghost town—only without the blasted phantoms lurking all over the place.

Not that this part of town was ever really busy. It was tucked near the bottom, on the border of Springfield. The industrial part, just past the abandoned railroad station. Empty tracks snaked through the area, rusted trains and graffiti-covered cars parked in an eerie graveyard for the former railway line.

Buildings with broken windows and faded signs stood beyond the tracks. Without Hudson Moonshadow’s tip, he never would’ve looked twice at it. As it was, he only knew this area of Grayson from when he was a beat cop, patrolling the dark side of Grayson in his cruiser almost a decade ago.

It was sad and sorry then. The years, if possible, hadn’t been any kinder.

Except for one building. A little squatter than its brethren, from across the tracks, it was easy to mistake the tinted windows for empty frames; the glass appeared missing until he got closer and he recognized them for the matte black windows that had been at Bloodlust.

Bingo.

A Nightwalker nest. Hopefully, the right Nightwalker nest.

He always wondered why Wolfe was so adamant about walking in through the front door of the Nightwalker club. Wolfe mentioned once that it was a shifter thing; as an alpha wolf, unless the hunt called for stealth, he would always attack a threat head-on. Plus, he added, not only did sneaking in through the back paint him as a coward to his vampire enemies, but it also was pointless. A vamp’s nose might not be as particular as a shifter’s. It still had no trouble picking up on a scent trail—especially when it could easily scent fresh meat.

Like a human.

Adam was banking on it. In case this new nest had as many of his kind inside as Bloodlust did, he didn’t want to involve the more vulnerable patrons.

This was between him and Julian Koenig.

An alley cut between the building he was aiming for and one that hadn’t had a soul inside of it since the last century. Interesting, then, that the street out front had cars parked along the row. And when he reached the back?

Countless more.

Not as many as had been at Bloodlust, but still more than belonged here. Adam walked with a little more purpose. He headed straight for the back entrance with the blacked-out windows high above it.

And when he was caught within seconds and dragged into a room with a throne and a dais and a trio of Nightwalkers who looked at him like he was lunch, he wanted to shout Gotcha.

The male on the throne stood up after the guard who “caught” Adam shoved him to the floor. Adam refused to make it seem like he was genuflecting to the so-called king and he hurriedly got to his feet.

“Julian Koenig?” he asked, making sure he had the right vamp.

The P.I.D. photo showed a figure with dark hair and fledgling fangs, but he could’ve dyed it. It would probably help if he made a positive ID for his perp before he started doling out some justice.

The blonde Nightwalker smiled, his soft grey eyes almost mocking as he looked down on Adam. Even though Adam was standing now, the dais lent Julian an additional six inches, easy.

“Corporal,” he said, his voice cold yet cultured. “How nice to see you.”

So Julian knew who he was.

That was fine by him.