Teeth and Steel

I dropped the spent paddles and grabbed the heavy stainless-steel trauma shears from my belt, shifting into a low defensive crouch. My heart raced, but my hands remained rock steady.

Pavol let out an ear-splitting howl and leaped.

He was in the air, his yellowed fangs inches from my throat, when the world exploded.

A massive shadow detached itself from the top of the adjacent tanker car.

It moved like a streak of gray lightning, hitting Pavol mid-air with the force of a speeding locomotive. The sheer impact generated a sickening crunch of breaking ribs that echoed off the rusted steel walls.

Both creatures crashed into the mud, rolling in a tangle of snapping jaws and thrashing claws.

I scrambled back against the wheel of the boxcar, clutching my shears.

The new arrival was enormous—easily half again the size of Pavol, with a coat of dense, slate-gray fur tipped with silver along the shoulders. Its build was lean, muscular, and lethal, moving with a cold, terrifying economy of motion. It did not roar or thrash wildly like Pavol. It fought like an apex predator executing a routine chore.

Pavol tried to bite the gray beast's throat, but the gray wolf ducked the snap, clamped its massive jaws onto Pavol's left shoulder, and slammed him violently into the gravel.

Pavol shrieked in agony. The gray wolf pressed a heavy, clawed forepaw against Pavol's windpipe, pinning him flat.

The fight was over in less than four seconds.

Pavol lay shivering in the mud, whimpering as the gray wolf loomed over him. The wolf did not kill him. It merely leaned down, baring fangs as long as my fingers, and let out a single, bone-shivering growl that vibrated straight through my boots.

Pavol's eyes went wide with pure, unadulterated terror. He ceased all resistance, baring his throat in total submission.

The gray wolf gave a dismissive snort, stepped off Pavol's chest, and turned its massive head toward me.

My breath caught in my throat.

The air in the narrow alley between the train cars suddenly turned stiflingly thick. An intense, electric heat prickled across my skin, starting at the nape of my neck and rushing down my spine like a live wire. The ambient noise of the rain and the distant traffic faded into a muffled hum.

The world narrowed to the creature standing ten feet away from me.

His scent hit my senses with overwhelming clarity—not foul like the tracker in my apartment, but rich and intoxicating: dark roasted malt, cold rain on river iron, crushed pine needles, and the sharp, clean bite of winter juniper.

My mouth flooded with a strange, sweet ache.

Deep behind my ribs, in that newly opened chamber of my soul, something primitive and feral stirred, stretching its claws.

Mate.

The word echoed inside my skull, sharp and absolute.

I gripped the cold steel of my shears tighter, trying to drown out the voice. No. Absolutely not. You are a twenty-four-year-old state paramedic suffering from severe shock and sleep deprivation.

The gray wolf held my gaze with eyes the color of dark amber and molten copper. There was no mindless savagery in that stare. There was only razor-sharp intelligence and a quiet, brooding curiosity.

He took a slow step toward the shadow between the two freight cars.

As he entered the deeper darkness beneath the tanker overhang, his massive silhouette blurred. Bones snapped, shifted, and condensed with the sound of cracking timber. The thick fur receded into pale skin and dark fabric.

A man stepped out of the shadow into the drizzle.

He was tall—at least six-foot-three—with broad, powerful shoulders and a lean, corded build that moved with dangerous grace. He wore a dark, heavy wool duster over a charcoal henley and battered combat boots. He had cropped steel-gray hair, a square jaw framed by a short, dark beard, and a pale, jagged scar that ran from his left temple down into his jawline.

He was the man from Pier Nine. The one who had watched me from the rain while his guards took the bleeding victim away.

"You're sloppy with your perimeter, Lenka," he said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that sent another shudder of heat through my collarbones. "If you're going to use an automated external defibrillator as an offensive weapon, you need to verify the second target before you discharge the capacitor."

I didn't lower the shears. "Who the hell are you? And how do you know my name?"

The man walked slowly toward me, stepping casually over the twitching form of Otakar without looking down. He stopped five paces away, his hands resting easily in the pockets of his duster.

"My name is Radek Krizsek," he said calmly.

The name dropped like an anvil between us.

Even an ignorant human working the river beat knew that name. Radek Krizsek was the shadow behind Tibor Zemanek. The enforcer who cleared the riverfront of rival syndicates. The executioner who never left a scene uncleaned.

"The Zemanek Second," I said, my voice hardening into ice. "So you sent these two dogs to trash my apartment and drag me to your boss?"

Radek's gaze flicked to the unconscious men on the ground, then back to my face. A faint, humorless smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"If I wanted you dragged to Tibor, Lenka, you wouldn't have made it down your fire escape," he said. "Those two idiots belong to Tibor's personal security detail. They picked up the scent of the blood you spilled at Pier Nine."

"I didn't spill anything," I snapped. "I did my job. I saved a drowning man."

"You did more than save him," Radek said, taking a half-step closer. His amber eyes fixed on mine with terrifying intensity. "You touched him. And in doing so, you woke up."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to back down. "I don't know what kind of sick freak show you people are running in this city, but I want no part of it. Tell your boss to leave me alone, or the next time someone comes through my door, I won't use the defibrillator on low power."

Radek let out a short, dry breath that was almost a laugh. "There is no low power on 360 joules, sweetheart. You nearly cooked his sinus node."

"He was trespassing."

"He was hunting," Radek corrected, his voice dropping into a deadly, somber register. "And you don't have the luxury of opting out. The man you pulled from the Ostrov wasn't just a river rat. He was a courier carrying the last surviving register of the Blazsek family."

My hand twitched in my pocket, where the heavy brass brewery token rested against my thigh.

"I don't know any Blazseks," I said evenly.

"You don't know them because Tibor slaughtered them twenty years ago on the Old Iron Bridge," Radek said, his gaze drilling straight through my defenses. "He killed the alpha. He killed the pack. He took the river, the breweries, and the city council. And for two decades, he believed the bloodline was extinct."

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he took in the golden flecks in my irises and the unnatural steadiness of my stance.

"Until tonight," Radek continued softly. "When a paramedic in the Old District healed a fatal claw wound with a single drop of her own blood."

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my chin high. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Tibor has put a kill order on every hospital, precinct, and ambulance bay in the city," Radek said. "He knows the Blazsek heir is alive. And by sunrise, every wolf in this valley will be hunting you."

He extended a scarred, gloved hand toward me.

"You have two choices, Lenka. You can stay in this rail yard and let Tibor's hounds tear you apart. Or you can come with me."

I looked at his outstretched hand, then into his dark, unreadable eyes. The scent of roasted malt and winter rain filled the air, pulling at something deep and violent inside my chest.

He was the enemy's right hand. The most lethal killer in the river city.

And right now, he was the only thing standing between me and a shallow grave in the mud.

I didn't take his hand. Instead, I shouldered my jump bag, gripped my trauma shears tight, and stepped past him toward the safety of the dark.

"Lead the way, Krizsek," I said. "And if you try anything, you'll find out what I can do with a surgical scalpel."