Chapter 26

It had been a long time since Will Scarlet had seen the inside of Lunar, and he'd be more than bloody fine if it was even longer. Or never, that would be best. It was a werewolf club in west London, close to the large green parks of Richmond and Wimbledon (always advisable for a clientele that liked to take a four-legged run now and then), furnished with a pretentious lower-case logo (l·u·n ·Ͻ ·r) a lot of blue light and black minimalism, and a gang of cliquey regulars who were, in a word, prats. Will's background was fairly standard for a wolf: growing up on a rough council estate in Derby, troubled home life, issues at school, childhood tragedy, the usual bit. As such, if he'd been sent to, say, a crap bar in Croydon, he would have felt right at home; knock a few heads, quaff a few beers, tell them they were being idiots and to stop the war right bloody now, and break a snooker cue over the head of anyone who disagreed. Problem solved, exactly the way he knew how to do it. Not so with Lunar and its pack, who were engaged in a diligent effort to rebrand werewolves as a cool, stylish counterculture with niche fashion trends, six-figure salaries, and sexy photoshoots. The message was clear: werewolves were not supernatural pariahs who could barely be trusted not to piss on fire hydrants, who had only ended up as such because they weren't beautiful or rich enough to be vampires, but a hip, desirable, and thoroughly gentrified group of Young Urban Professionals with tech jobs and indie-music tastes to rival Brooklyn, San Francisco, or anywhere else. It was a slick marketing campaign. It had plenty of converts. It could not hurt to burnish up their image, or to remind the bloody Teeth that they did not in fact run the world and all their movies were stupid. It was, without a doubt, going to drive Will completely raving mental before the night was out.

"Knew we shouldn't have come here," was the first thing he said, after he and Liam had roared up on his bike, found a place to stash it in the car park, and made their way toward the door. Theoretically, the only criteria for admittance was that you had to be either a wolf or a human known to the pack, but your stereotypical beer-swilling, blue-collar Tail would have tested this policy to its utmost. As well, Will had ended up on the bad side of these prissy, pompous twats once or three times, and knew he was not in for a warm welcome. The only potential bright side was to hope that they would see an actual war as terribly déclassé and contrary to their aims of changing their image as a bunch of knucklehead brawlers, and hence would restrain themselves to writing mean things on Fangd. But they were wolves, with wolves' instincts, and the Lunar crew was still the minority. If the mob got carried away, they might be powerless to stop it.

"So why did we?" Liam asked, reasonably enough, after they had passed inspection, been given wristbands (why the bloody hell did you need wristbands, especially ones that glowed blue in the dark?) and he at least also received particular fish-eye; either he wasn't dressed ironically enough for their tastes, or they recognized a challenger when they saw one. "Don't tell me these are the alphas of the city these days?"

"Unfortunately, they are. They've got money and they've got clout and they've been kicking out anyone who don't follow their bloody reform program. So if we want to talk to the werewolf leadership, we'll find 'em here."

Liam snorted, with a definite kids-these-days disapproving-grandfather sound to it; clearly when he was a boy, there had been standards for these things. Not that Will thought Liam was qualified to be casting aspersions on modern werewolf culture, as a) his experience had been, to say the least, unusual, and b) Will was plenty capable of casting them himself, thanks. He hadn't spotted anyone who might unduly complicate things just yet, but the place was full, and the tenor of the conversations sounded angry. Crowds of wolves were congregated in booths, heads together, and although the DJ was doing his best to spin some beats, nobody was dancing. They weren't here for fun, in other words, and if even the Lunar yuppies were stewing, the atmosphere in those aforesaid crap bars in Croydon must be even more belligerent. And here they were, a misbehaving loner who didn't get along with the bigwigs and who had slept with London's most notorious wolf-killer for half a decade, and the not-entirely-recovered slave of the most dangerous vampire to ever live. Just the thing to make it all better.

Adopting a casual saunter, Will made his way up to the bar as Liam followed him, edging in to order beers for both of them. When these had been provided, and he put a crumpled fiver on the counter, he said, "Oy, mate. Any chance Quinn's here?"

The bartender gave him a funny look, as Quinn Hollingsworth – the London Alpha, president/CEO of the Lunar oligarchy, successful startup entrepreneur, and someone who very definitely did not have a high opinion of Will – was not exactly the kind of person that you thought you could just drop by the club to meet up with. "Not that I've seen. Why?"

"Was hopin' to talk to him about all this." Will jerked a thumb at the conspirators. "Seems there's quite a bit of commotion. We fightin' someone? Apart from Chelsea supporters, that is?"

The bartender's look turned even colder, as the implication of football hooliganry, formerly a favorite wolf pastime, was like trying to sell someone a fancy house and mentioning that it used to be a well-known crack den. "We are not fighting Chelsea supporters, no. If you are, I wouldn't be surprised. You must be Scarlet."

"Er, yeah." Will coughed. "Promise I'm not here to start shit, though. I've heard things, on the streets. Kind of things hintin' there's trouble, and I know stuff about it that's important. You sure Quinn or one of his flunkeys isn't around?"

The other wolf eyed him for a long moment, polishing a glass in a menacing fashion, until he finally said, "Anita's in the back. If you were really so desperate to see someone."

Will winced. Anita Gish, Quinn's Beta and second-in-command of the London pack, was a stunning mid-forties brunette who worked a high-powered finance job on Canary Wharf – futures trading or speculation or something of the sort – and who was hence both a literal Wolf of Wall Street and a woman completely used to being underestimated by arrogant male chauvinists, who she would then dismember and snack on for lunch. (Hopefully that part wasn't literal.) She also, as the emerging theme appeared to be, did not like Will. As far as she was concerned, he should have been booted back to Derby in disgrace long ago, rather than continuing to be London's problem, and it was only his connection with dangerous third parties – vampire third parties – that had prevented this happy development. Even more uncomfortably, she was one of the few wolves who knew directly about Will's relationship with Killian, as that for obvious reasons was not something he went yammering about, and would probably have taken far stronger action against him for it if not for the fact that even now, the London pack walked on eggshells around Killian Jones. There had not been enough of them to formally reestablish until 1965, fifty years after he had gone into seclusion, and while from time to time Will had joined Killian at a vampire establishment, bringing Killian anywhere near pack territory would have been a bloodbath. Wolves were still advised not to live and work in Bloomsbury or Russell Square, just in case. The wounds were deep and old.

"Well," Will hedged, trying to judge what the odds of this going well could possibly be, aside from miniscule. As befit any good stockbroker, Anita had a quick trigger finger and a ruthless nature, and she had not won her position by looking nice on camera or encouraging everyone to buy from organic butchers. "She, um, she seein' anyone just now?"

"I don't imagine there's any conceivable way she wants to see you."

"Prob – probably not, but – "

"Look, you smarmy arse," Liam growled, slamming his beer onto the counter; he had three inches and thirty pounds on the skinny-jeaned, black-rim-spectacled bartender, not to mention the muscles, scars, and general ex-con chic. "We need to talk to this woman. So scurry back there, see if she's available, and if she is, take us. Is that sufficiently clear? Now!"

The bartender opened his mouth, briefly considered refusing, realized this for the very bad idea it was, and vanished posthaste, while Will admired the effect. "Think I can see why you were so good at the Navy. But I have to warn you, she hates me."

"That seems to apply to everyone here. What did you do?"

"Dunno, I'm a wonderful bloke. Although." Will paused. Quieter, he said, "I love your brother."

A shadow crossed Liam's face, and he glanced away, clearly understanding both Killian's dark past with the wolves and that it was because of him, that his grief-maddened, vengeful, turned-vampire little brother had tried to kill as many of them as possible after watching him be mauled to death, unable to do a thing. After a moment he said, "I suppose that's not the worst reason you could have offered. He. . . he stopped before you met, didn't he?"

"Aye," Will said wryly. "Bad a place as I was in when we first crossed paths, even I wouldn't have taken up with someone runnin' out every weekend to do a spot of murder. I was an idiot. I had no clue who he was, that he had such a history. And I'm grateful I didn't. Otherwise I'd never have come to know him."

Liam paused, then nodded, still looking troubled. Fortunately, the bartender returned just then, still looking as if he very much thought this was a horrible idea and would not accept responsibility when it blew up, before beckoning brusquely to them. "Ten minutes. This way."

They followed him down a narrow corridor, illuminated with more blue path lights, to the VIP lounge at the back. It had double glass doors, a key-card lock, and low black couches and brushed-chrome tables, and once the bartender scanned them in, Will saw Anita holding court at the far side, apparently not forewarned of just who she was about to be entertaining. Then she looked up, her golden eyes flashed menacingly, and her nostrils flared. "You?"

"Erm." Will shifted his weight. "Nice evening?"

"Far nicer before you walked in here!" Anita shot to her feet, taking a stalking step toward him, as the bartender was suddenly looking very concerned that he might not still be employed (or in one piece) by the time the night was over. "Are you just asking for – "

At that, Liam cleared his throat. "Excuse us. You'd be Anita?"

The Beta screeched to a halt, whirled to look at him – and then looked again, for quite a bit longer, as Will was left to consider that the legendary effect of the Jones men on the fairer sex (or really, anyone with eyes) was clearly as potent as ever. "I am," she said, in a much more promising tone of voice. "And you are?"

"Captain Liam Jones, ma'am, at your service." He inclined his head, with a glance back at her that made Will think the admiration was definitely mutual. "We were informed we could have ten minutes of your time. I assure you it's important."

"I see," Anita said, though it was unclear whether she saw was that their visit was important, or that Liam was a really good-looking bloke, if a bit scuffed up, with the innate air of an alpha. Possibly both; Quinn, wherever he was, might be getting a bit hot under his polo-shirt collar. "Surely you're not going to tell me, however, that you're here with him?"

"I am." Liam remained courteous, but unyielding. "If you would?"

Anita hesitated, then gestured out her hangers-on; they all made sure to give pointed dirty looks to Will as they exited, as if to assure their mistress that their loyalty need not be in question. It made him a bit sad. He was used to being banished to the outskirts of pack society by now, stubborn enough that he wasn't going to come crawling back, and for the most part he was fine with it. But wolves weren't meant to live alone. He had his relationship with Elsa; she was a lovely, wonderful woman, so much better than he deserved, and someday when all of this was over, he might even get a chance to explain to her the reason for all this insanity that had suddenly descended on them. Yet she was also a human, perfectly well aware of supernaturals by virtue of dating a werewolf, but in no haste to join them herself. She knew about Killian, and the two of them were on cordial terms, though they'd only met a few times; there was no jealousy on either of their parts. But the more Will tried to build meaningful relationships among his own kind, the more he met the unspoken but unmistakable sense that far from whether he accepted a certain trendy lifestyle or Lunar with its lower-case logo, he would never be given anything but the cold shoulder until he not only broke off all ties with Killian, but made it clear how stupid he had been to ever have them in the first place, and abjectly groveled and scraped for forgiveness. And that, simply, he was not going to do. On one level, he didn't blame them. Killian's past was violent, infamous, and bloodstained, and the damage he had done to werewolves in London could never be erased. Of course they were within their rights to shun Will for having anything to do with him, much less sharing bed and blood with him for five years. That still didn't mean Will was about to sacrifice one for the other.

As the three of them sat down, and Will took a strategic position to Liam's right, symbolically establishing himself as the Beta to Liam's Alpha, he wondered what Anita would think if she knew that she was sitting across from Killian Jones' brother. Indeed, the two of them were doing enough borderline-indecent things with their eyes to each other that Will almost felt the urge to make a public-service announcement, so things didn't get really bloody awkward later. Liam was explaining the exigency of the situation, omitting a few delicate parts, and how important it was that they stopped it, that Anita had to make the Tails of London see sense, and (as he had apparently cottoned on that she worked in finance) that a war would be disastrous for the stock market, among other things. She was clearly giving it due diligence – this was a woman who had graduated from LSE with first-class honors, and been profiled by a number of prestigious international business publications who had no idea of her alter ego as co-leader of a werewolf pack. In other words, ferociously smart and a formidable force to be reckoned with. But she also had her hand on Liam's knee under the table, and he was leaning into her with every word he spoke, and the sexual tension was so thick that Will could strike a match and the entire room would explode, and he wasn't sure this was a good idea. Not that Liam shouldn't have a bit of fun, as God knew the poor man deserved it. Just that if Anita found out who he was in the wrong way, and thought they had been setting her up, figured she was a softer touch than Quinn and were trying to manipulate her or worse –

"So," she said at last, having heard the litany. "Let me get this straight. You want me to stop the Tails from fighting to protect themselves now that a pair of very old, and very bad, vampires have somehow returned from the presumable dead? Why would I do that, exactly?"

"Not quite." Liam moved his hand alongside her forearm, their heads tilted nearly close enough to touch. "I want you to stop the Tails from doing anything rash, attacking regular vampires who have no more part in this conflict than we do, and so inciting a full-out war. What you've been told is a combination of misinformation and exaggeration, by the very vampire who has the most to gain from this, and I am sure we don't want to march to her bidding. I realize tempers are running high, but acting on them would be disastrous."

Anita gazed up at him, lips slightly parted, as if to say that she could possibly be induced to take his view of the matter, and a few other things as well. At least their total preoccupation with each other meant that Will hadn't had any insults slung in his direction in the last several minutes, which was nice, but he felt as if he might need to remind Liam that he was there. Then again, he seemed to have the situation under control, so that could be counterproductive. He reached into his pocket for his phone, in case there was an important message he had missed, but nothing. Hopefully everything was all right back at Killian's.

"What's this I've heard about a werewolf being attacked, then?" Anita asked, when Liam appeared to be waiting for her. "Unprovoked? Serious wounds? By a vampire?"

Will coughed. "Actually," he said, "that was me. I was fighting Gold, and it got a bit fiddly. I'm not about to try out for any ninja warrior competitions, but I'm not on my deathbed neither. So you'd definitely not want to start a war on my behalf, eh? That would just be embarrassing."

Anita looked at him coolly. "You are still a wolf," she said. "If you'd start acting like one, there would be a spot for you in the pack, and you'd never have to worry if someone had your back. All you have to do is accept our rules and give up being a loner. They don't historically come to good ends."

"Well, see," Will said. "I have my reasons to live the way I do, just as you do yours. And I've actually got plenty of people I'd trust to have my back."

"Vampires." The Beta's eyes were flat and guarded. "And I'm well aware of which one."

"More than just him. Quite a few of 'em, actually. I want to come back and have friends among the wolves again, more than anything. I miss it like half of me. But if we're going to avoid exactly what bloody Nimue wants us to do, you have to think about listenin' to me, as much as I'd have to think about listenin' to you. I'm not giving up the Teeth I love, just to fit into some stupid side-picking, capture the flag mindset, like we can only ever have one kind of friend or ally and we hate the other side just because. The vampires don't want a fight. Don't make the wolves into the villains just to be contrary."

"The vampires don't want a fight, but it's just coincidence that two of their worst have returned and want to kill the rest of us?" Anita countered. "Don't pretend. If the wolves all died as a result, they wouldn't lift a finger to help us."

"You're wrong," Will said. "The ones I know would fight to the death for you. And I think that would have an effect on the rest of them. People don't want war in the usual course of things, you know. They get made to want it, or they get backed into a corner where it seems like the only option, or somebody charismatic gets up, calls for it, and purposefully makes everyone feel like cowards and traitors if they don't support it. Works every time, and it's bloody depressing to watch. I'm not letting that happen here. Not if I can help it."

Anita opened her mouth, paused, and shut it. Then she said, "Be serious, Will. You're not in the pack because you chose the worst murderer of our kind who has ever lived over the rest of your brothers and sisters. He never had a reason to kill us, he just liked doing it, and if you really expect me to believe that he would ever – "

"He did," Liam said. "A reason. He had it."

Anita looked back at him, clearly not wanting to fire off the same sharp reply that she was comfortable launching at Will, but just as clearly openly disbelieving this. "How would you know that? How could you possibly?"

"Because. . ." Liam evidently weighed up the risks, and then went for it. "Me. I was his reason. Killian Jones is my brother. In 1734, he was turned into a vampire, and myself into a wolf, due to Robert Fitzmalcolm, or as he's better known, Gold. In my case, the transformation happened because my brother was chained up just after his change, told he could stop it if he was strong enough, and then was forced to watch as a pack of wolves, Gold's earliest attempt at brutalizing and controlling our kind for his own purposes, tore me to pieces. When I woke from my own change, he then mesmered and wolfsbaned me and used me as his slave over the next several centuries. I've only recently broken free of him, and only because of vampires – Killian, his sister Regina, one Emma Swan, and most of all, their son, Henry. You can perhaps understand if my view on this, and its complications, matches Will's."

That, to say the least, was not what Anita had expected. She looked at him for a long, confused moment, as if to check that he actually was a wolf and not a very well-disguised vampire actor, took in the scars, the scuff, the damage. "You – " She stopped, and had to start again. "You're Killian Jones's. . . brother?"

"Aye." Liam smiled dryly. "I'm told there's something of a family resemblance."

"I didn't think. . . this is. . ." She was still reeling. "So you just. . . forgave him for it? Do you actually know everything he did? For how long?"

"No," Liam said. "I don't know every single detail. But there is nothing I could learn that would change my mind, make me love him any less than I do, or stop blaming myself for not being strong enough to save him before Gold did that to him. To us. So begrudge him his past, if that's what is of most importance to you. But if you do, be sure to begrudge mine just as much."

"You. . ." Anita shook her head, dazed. "It's not your fault."

"Yes," Liam repeated. "It is. Just as much. With what's happened, with what I've done. If he deserves to pay a price, so do I. And after so long living half a life, I want to become part of a pack just as much as Will does, if not more. But if it involved having to choose between that and losing my brother again, I'm not doing it. It simply isn't even a possibility."

Anita took another moment to chew over that. Then she said, "I suppose it's understandable that you would have a more lenient view of your brother's actions than the rest of us, and believe me, we know who Gold is. But we have something we're trying to do here, Captain Jones. Something which neither you nor he have been part of, and which we're not going to upend at the drop of a hat, so – "

"So don't start a war!" Liam rose to his feet, knocking the table back, as the drinks sloshed. "A war was never the way to solve bloody anything! I've fought in a few, I know. I know as well you're not a fool or someone to do the stupid thing just to spite your enemies. Not the way it works in either of your worlds, human or wolf. Does it?"

Anita considered him, clearly approving of the fact that despite the strong flirtatious tenor of their previous interactions, he had completely abandoned that now and was addressing her bluntly, as someone who was very well aware of the truth and didn't need it sugarcoated or baby-spooned to her. Will wondered how many overconfident top-dog jackass investors had tried to mansplain hybrid mutual funds or the derivatives market to her, thinking she'd zone out and be more impressed with their shiny Bentley and designer suits, and gotten utterly and humiliatingly schooled. If Anita could get over her hatred of Killian, she and Liam might actually be a good match. (That, and assuming they didn't all die in the next forty-eight hours, which was still not the highest of possibilities.) "Well," she said. "I don't want to rush into anything stupid either. But if things don't calm down, we're not going to be caught sitting on our hands."

Liam kept looking at her, but neither of them seemed inclined to progress further, at an impasse after drawing so close, facing each other but not meeting halfway. Then, just as Will was wondering if he could contribute anything useful, he heard the door beep, the glass doors cycled open, and a voice said, "Anita, we need to discuss – who the hell is this?"

Liam and Will glanced up at the same time, and Will felt a frisson of foreboding shock as he recognized it a split second before he saw the face, cast into eerie blue by the mood lighting. Quinn Hollingsworth, Alpha of the London Pack, still in his white shirt and skinny tie and tight-fitting pants, apparently coming straight from work (couldn't delay the launch of his new app even to deal with an incipient supernatural crisis) to get in some quality strategy time with his Beta, and instead finding two strange wolves looking cozy with her instead. Well, one strange (and very dangerous-looking) one, and the other whom he had done everything but pin an actual Scarlet (ha bloody ha) letter to in order to exile him from pack territory. It took him only an instant to process, and then his face went thunderous. "Get them out of here."

"Hey, mate," Will said. "We're as entitled to be here as you are. And trust me, it's – "

"Out!" Quinn clapped his hands, and a pair of large werewolf bouncers in suits and dark glasses materialized as if by magic, striding toward them. "And I don't want to see either of you in Lunar again. I've given you a very long leash, Will, and now – "

"Given me a leash, is it? Because I'm a dog?" Will moved out directly in front of him, hands on his hips. "You're just like me, you know. You're not somehow different or better just because you have a trendy City job and you want to be on the cover of GQ. And no matter how bloody stupid you think I am, if you throw us out – "

"I said, out." Quinn looked at him with slitted golden eyes, a wolfish growl underlying his words, as the bouncers reached them. But even as Will wondered where that snooker cue was when you really needed it (though it might just bounce off their polished bald heads) Liam stepped up, pushed him aside, and faced Quinn himself.

"No," he said simply. "We're not leaving."

Quinn raised a dark eyebrow. "I'm Alpha here. I give the orders."

"Then order your pack off a war that's going to get all of them killed and inflict untold damage on the rest of us. Otherwise, I don't care what you bloody think your brand is, there won't be one. Do you hear me?"

By the look on Quinn's face, it was a long time since anyone, let alone this unwashed interloper, had dared to speak to him in that sort of voice. He shifted his weight, as if preparing to drop into a crouch and test if those fighting words could be backed up, and Will found himself nervously glancing around the room in search of anything particularly breakable. By law, if it did come to an out-and-out challenge, neither he, Anita, nor the bouncers could interfere, or any of the other wolves in the club. It would be seen as insulting that they thought the Alpha needed help, or even look as if they were trying to usurp him themselves. He knew that Liam had not come here tonight intending to fight the Alpha, and doubted he had any interest in taking Quinn's position, but if the obnoxious little bastard wasn't going to listen to reason, there might be no choice.

"Where are you from?" Quinn said instead. "I've never seen or heard of you. Now you're walking in as if you can tell the rest of us what to do, tell me what to do, and that's not how the system works. Sorry." He glanced at his muscle entourage. "Take care of this."

Will tensed, on the verge of changing, though if he went wolf in Lunar's VIP lounge, he would be blackballed across the entire bloody United Kingdom. "Listen, you stupid blighter, you have no idea what you're doing. Stop the war, and you never have to see us again or – "

One of the bouncers pulled back a ham-sized fist, and punched him in the stomach.

Will felt a sensation as if every available atom of air had evacuated his body at very high speed. He was briefly unaware of falling, until he found himself on hands and knees on the floor, gulping uselessly, and heard snarling close at hand. Managing to twist his head around, he saw a massive grey wolf standing over him, ears laid back and teeth bared, old white scars striped through the thick fur of his head and claws the size of small daggers. Will had just enough time to realize that it was Liam, and this was about to get very messy, before Quinn, across the way, realized it as well. He nodded slightly to the muscle, backing them off, then took a running start, leaped, shifted in midair, and came down with jaws wildly gnashing for Liam's brindled throat.

Glasses cascaded off the table and smashed on the floor, spilling exotically colored liqueurs, as the two werewolves crashed into it, entangled, and sprang to their feet, whirling around to face each other like deck guns on a battleship. Will and Anita rolled out of the way, momentarily united by the outbreak of hostilities (bloody hell, this was not going well) and tried to get clear, as property damage was not high on the list of things wolves were worried about when they really threw down. Quinn really must be pissed if he was willing to bust up his precious Lunar, but then, he was rather distracted just now. Liam had just tackled him, sending him skidding, and while Liam was much older, much stronger, and much larger, Quinn had not risen to the head of the London Pack merely by artful scruffy attractiveness and a marketing pitch. He recovered, jumped up, and got his teeth locked around Liam's foreleg, ripping his head back and tearing. A splash of blood hit the polished black floor, and Liam skidded down.

"Christ, just bite him in the arse!" Will shouted, figuring that his rooting interests were probably fairly obvious and that it wasn't going to do any damage to his standing that wasn't already done. For her part, Anita should have been cheering on her Alpha, but she was silent, watching the fight with unblinking intensity; it had to have been a while since one of these took place. The bouncers were scrambling to get anything else out of the way, but their efforts were useless. Liam got Quinn by the scruff and threw him bodily through the glass doors, smashing them with a sound like the entire building was collapsing, and shards scattered like diamonds, droplets of blood like rubies. It was almost morbidly beautiful, if you could ignore the two immortals going life-or-death hammer-and-tongs in the wreckage, as they started to hear shouts from down the hall. Will sprinted after them, just as they somersaulted into the main club and in front of an audience of astonished and horrified werewolves. Quinn was hurt too, but neither of them were close to weakened, and this clearly was going down to the wire.

Some iPhones appeared, doubtless to record "insane alpha fight Lunar Saturday night" footage that would be duly posted on Fangd, but Will saw nervous looks exchanged. The rest of the pack was perceptibly backing away, wanting no part of this, and some of them also had to be wondering what became of them, their lives, if this crazy gatecrashing loner managed to take over as London Alpha. It seemed apparent, at least, that Liam would not be sponsoring any makeover campaigns, and unlike vampires, who could go wherever and do whatever the hell they wanted, wolves didn't leave the pack. Not except for Will, and it hadn't been by his choice, was still a wound and a handicap he felt inherently every day. They couldn't just quit because they didn't like the new management. If Liam won, he got to do with them as he wanted.

Will briefly thought that at least this might stop them from going out to attack any passing vampires, but by no means guaranteed that Nimue hadn't convinced the vampires to attack them, and if the wolves were distracted by the throwdown currently occurring in front of them, they would be in no shape to mount an effective defense. With that in mind, he turned and grimly foraged across the floor toward Anita. "Oy," he panted. "We've got to get them out of the way."

She stared at him, clearly struggling with the fact that he was the one to propose it over the clear need for it to be done, then whirled away, shifted into a lovely silver-furred she-wolf, and began running perimeter duty on the stunned clubbers. Will thought she could use a spot of help, hoped there weren't any rules about assisting a Beta and decided he didn't care, and changed as well. The two of them herded the amateur videographers away – one idiot was using the zoom function on his phone to get the best angle of Liam throwing Quinn through the glass rack, which was what had just happened. Quinn had managed to land a fairly deep blow to Liam's face, though, and blood was running through his fur, crusting one eye almost shut. The exodus was in full force now, wolves stumbling out into the chilly night, some of them forgetting the rules about transformations in public places before a certain hour in their eagerness to get away. They bounded down the street and out of sight, until Will heard someone lay on a car horn and swear loudly, followed by a screech of tires, as what looked like half a London Zoo predator exhibit ran in panic through a major thoroughfare. Oh Christ, if one of them got hit –

Still in wolf form, he galloped down the alley, sprang over rubbish bins in a single bound (Furry Superman, that was him) and landed on the road on the far side. There were wolves on the sidewalks, screeching Londoners climbing fences or poles or trees or whatever else to get away from them, others urgently on the phone to animal control, as a feisty few were taking whacks at them with bags or coats. The wolves themselves, of course, just wanted to get somewhere safe, trying to dodge the gauntlet and not be caught, as Will heard approaching sirens in the distance. Probably the Met with stun guns and K-9 units and possibly a special ops sort or two. He sped up, grabbed the nearest wolf by the scruff, and dragged them off the pavement into the green space of the park beyond, behind a tree. He turned back into a human himself, groaning at the pain; he was really bloody feeling those wounds from Gold. "Change!" he snarled. "NOW!"

The panicked wolf was still struggling, thinking he was being attacked and kidnapped, and Will dodged as scything claws flashed overhead. Realizing that calm and rational discourse would get him nowhere, he shifted again, head-butted the other one hard enough to daze him, and pinned him down until sense trickled back into his disengaged higher-decision-making cranial faculties, and he turned into a human, gasping. "What the – what the hell is going – "

"Sorry, mate." Will, having likewise returned to his handsome self for the second time, gave him a bracing pat on the shoulder. "This just really isn't anyone's night. Stay down and away from the police, and get out of here, all right? Get anyone else still running around like an idiot out of change too. Otherwise – "

The wolf didn't appear to be listening. Instead his eyes were fixed, staring, on something just behind Will's left shoulder, and he turned slowly, too slowly, even though he couldn't have done it any faster. At the thing flashing down from the trees, fangs fully bared and eyes completely coal-black, as it hit the wolf, got him by the throat, and tore. Half a desperate gurgle, a gush of blood, and he hit the ground, staring at Will in mute accusation. Another jerk, and that was it.

Will stared back at the dead wolf in complete, catatonic shock. He was vaguely aware that in the last seconds of his life, the other one must have been convinced that Will had set him up: dragged him off alone, away from the pack, tricked him into turning back into a man, and thus rendered him utterly defenseless for the attack from above. Realized all his worst suspicions about him, a Teeth-lover and traitor to his own kind, who'd happily murder them to stay in the good graces of a monster, must have been justified. Died believing it, and without a single godforsaken reason not to.

Bloody hell. Will went to his knees, almost collapsing, but the vampire was coming around for a second pass, and there was no time for it. He couldn't tell if it was one of Nimue's henchmen, another of her mesmer victims who would be just as horrified when they woke up and realized what they had done, or a member of Arthur's coven. None of the options were good, and he didn't have time to contemplate, barely time to shift into a wolf and just dodge what would likewise have been a fatal grip on his carotid artery. He wanted to kill this bastard, no matter who they were or if they were here willingly or not, and he had never felt like this before. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more blurs of motion, something streaking across the night. There were more of them. An entire ambush, waiting for the wolves.

Will did not think of himself as either a fighter or a killer. It wasn't the way they did things anymore, after all. Even Quinn, arse though he was, had this plan intended to get werewolves with the modern program, with doing something productive with their lives, with taking pride in who they were. But there was something much older and much darker having its way with Will, and he didn't see a way to stop until it was through, and that was when he had the vampire flat and twitching, blood spreading into the grass, and he was staring at Will just as the wolf had, as if all of them were trying to work out how the fuck this had happened and would like to reset the game and go back to the last level. As if this really, really just could not be happening.

He was still sprawled on his side, wondering how long he would see this in his nightmares (that predicated on the absurdly optimistic notion that he'd live long enough to have them) when somebody pulled at him, and he looked up to see Anita, exasperatedly dragging him away like a den mother wrangling a misbehaving pup. He struggled more or less to his feet (wasn't quite sure how many he had, but it still felt like four) and trotted after her, hearing the sirens start to pull up in the street. Police, an ambulance or two, the fire brigade. Well, this was bloody splendid. Where the hell was Liam? Had he and Quinn killed each other, or – or –

Will's brain was whirling like a carnival ride, one he very much would like to get off, but which was unfortunately without its brakes. Anita hauled him behind a wheelie bin and smacked him (he couldn't help but feeling she enjoyed this) until he realized he was a bloke again, and staggered after her in the direction of the trail of chaos leading back toward Lunar. "Wait," he gasped. "There're others back there, vampires – I killed one of 'em but there are more – the pack's goin' to run into the rest of them and – "

"I'm aware of it," Anita snapped. There was blood running down her face as well from several nasty-looking gashes by her hairline, and drying around her mouth. She looked pale and grim and furious. "So much for the vampires not wanting a war!"

Will started to say something, realized he had absolutely nothing to convince her, and concentrated on making it back, briefly wondering if someone had nicked his bike (mistaken priorities, perhaps, but he liked that bike, and it had not been bloody cheap). Lunar itself was the center of the blast zone. The front door hung open, half off its hinges, the neon sign was out, broken glass and bits of metal were scattered everywhere, and there was no apparent sign of sound or movement from within. He advanced gingerly, back and legs ablaze with pain, not sure he could manage another transformation. "Liam? Liam!"

Something shattered inside, followed by a heavy thump. He wasn't keen to walk into the middle of what could be the last, desperate legs of an alpha fight, but he also was not about to look Killian in the eye and tell him he'd done nothing, just because of some old werewolf rule, when his brother was in trouble. He paused a split second longer, then darted into the dark hallway, past the wristband station and over a fallen velvet rope. "Liam!"

There were two shadows ahead, one on its back amongst the debris and the other kneeling over it, heaving for breath, bloody and battered. The former wasn't moving much, and Will hurtled the overturned emcee stand, skidding on the remnants of the bar mirror. "Hey. You. You!"

The victor looked up. His eye was completely swollen shut, his face lacerated with half a dozen new scratches, shirt torn off his shoulder and curls matted to his head with sweat. "Jesus bloody Christ," Liam Jones managed. "I never want to do that again."

There was a feeble stirring movement from beneath them, and Will looked down to see that Quinn, while resembling a rasher of freshly pummeled meat more than either a human or a large carnivorous quadruped, was at least still breathing. He eyed them through a mostly closed, blood-gummed eye with confusion and apprehension, as an alpha defeated in a challenger fight didn't always, or sometimes even usually, survive the experience. There were statutes on the books about it, but prosecutions were very rare, and only pushed for if the challenger or the alpha had been exceptionally violent or cruel. Otherwise, if you fought a clean fight, won, and killed your opponent, nobody was liable to say a word about it.

"Come on," Quinn croaked. "Whatever you're doing, get on with it."

Liam didn't answer, apparently lost in a trance, until Will tugged on his sleeve. "Oy, I know I'm spoilin' whatever moment is supposed to be happening here, but we've got a problem. There are bloody murderous vampires out there, I had to do for one of 'em already, and the pack is panicking and the police are about to start askin' some awkward questions. I can't handle it, I can barely stand up. You need to get out there and deal with it."

The reverie lasted another few seconds, until Liam snapped out of it. He nodded once, turned away, and said, "You see to him, then." With that, he shifted again, loping down the rubble-strewn hallway and out into the night. Sirens were still going like dull klaxons, the building's own alarm system flashing and blinking, until Will got up, limped to the wall, and hit the control panel with his fist until it stopped. Foolproof method.

He stole a look back at Quinn, debated what he was going to do, then heaved himself across to the remains of the bar, dug around until he found a first-aid kit, and returned, kneeling next to the fallen alpha and doing his best to patch up the most important bits. Quinn watched him but didn't say a word, both of them doubtless well aware that this was the last wolf he would ever have imagined trusting with his life, until Will finished, sat back, and said, "Well, you're not going to cark it. But if this still works the way it usually does, you're out of a job."

Quinn eyed him balefully, adjusting the plaster on his broken nose. "Was that your plan all along? Bring some mercenary thug here and depose me?"

"Mate, we came here trying to stop a war. Think Anita was even being smart about it too, unlike you. Then your troll punched me, Liam got mad, and the two of you did the rest. Looks like you've only got yourself to blame, honestly. And don't call him a thug."

Quinn evidently considered that the time to pick a second fight was not when he was barely in one piece from the last one, and shut his mouth sullenly. That so, Will decided that his work here was done, got up with a moan, and left Quinn sitting in the middle of his wrecked club with its stupid name, picking his way down the hall and out into the night. He really wanted to go home, have a hot shower, take a box of painkillers, eat a whole pack of Jaffa Cakes with a nice cuppa, then get into bed and sleep until next year, but he was clearly not about to be so fortunate, and there was work to do.

The first thing he saw was flashing lights. Some London cop in an "Unacceptable Behaviour Team" vest (in case you forgot exactly how British they were) was frowning at Liam and attempting to ask questions, while Anita was organizing the stragglers, making sure nobody was still wolfed-out and therefore would not cause the fine UBT fellow to shit his Metropolitan-issued uniform pants. Will glanced around nervously for more evil vampires, but didn't see any. What was going in other werewolf hangouts across the city? Had Nimue and Arthur sent out their combined squadrons of shit-stirrers to make sure things got hot? It seemed likely, especially if they weren't just going to sit back and hope ordinary people got mad enough to start a war on their own. That, unfortunately, was never the way it worked.

Liam, upon seeing him, concluded his conversation with the UBT man, managed to get him out of there (that must have been a feat, what with the evidence of Unacceptable Behaviour everywhere, but then, he'd probably already given Liam a ticket for £40 and a warning not to do it again, or there would be an ASBO) and jogged over to Will. "Welcome back to the London pack," he said. "I'm sure you'll make the most of it."

"Ah – " Will was about to ask if Liam could do that, then remembered, of course, that he could. It was remarkable that he had managed to make it from Gold's slave to London Alpha within a few weeks, but no more remarkable than the fact that he had gotten himself and Killian out of slavery and into the Royal Navy as commissioned officers the first time around. Will supposed there was something poetic, and more than a little poignant, about Liam finally finding a crew again, becoming a captain, in the same city where it had all been violently taken from the Jones brothers before, so long ago. After being made a wolf in the worst imaginable circumstances, and spending the centuries as a mindless monster, Liam was finally and truly coming into his own, and that, perhaps more than anything else thus far, gave Will hope that they could actually stop Gold and make it out the other side. Maybe. Maybe.

"Quinn's not going to snuff it, unfortunately," Will said instead. "Left him inside. But what about her?" He nodded at Anita. While theoretically, Betas were bound to the pack no matter which Alpha led it, and thus she was supposed to accept her new boss and enforce his orders without question, that was another custom that had encountered increasing pushback. Betas who didn't like a victorious challenger – or had been eyeing the succession for themselves – could and did take them out in the name of protecting the pack, and Anita was, as well established, not someone in the habit of doing something because a man told her to. Feeling chemistry or a spark with Liam, or simply being interested in a few rounds of energetic doggy-style, was not the same as accepting Killian Jones' brother and Gold's former slave as leader of the pack and the culture she and Quinn had been trying to build. It wasn't even any guarantee that she would help them stop the war, especially after the alpha fight had practically half-started it.

Liam hesitated. "I don't know. There's a crisis to manage right now, and both of us agree on the need to do so, so the rest of the politics can come later. But – "

"What?" Will prompted, confused, when Liam abruptly cut himself off and frowned. "But we can what? Liam? Hello?"

"Something's wrong." Liam's head snapped up, eyes dark and worried. "Something's wrong with Killian."

"What? How can you know that?"

"I just can. I need to find him." Liam whirled away. "Where'd you leave the bike?"

"Same place we put it. But – " Will had to run to keep up. "You've still got a mess to clean up here, and – bloody hell, if he's in danger, I care about it as much as you do. Let me go, I'll – "

"It's not quite danger. It's just. . . it's not good." Liam didn't break stride. "Just get the bike. I'll tell Anita that I'll be back shortly. We don't want to waste time."

Will, confused and intimidated, nonetheless obeyed, swinging astride the bike and gunning it to life. The sleek black Ducati Diavel did not come with two seats, but he'd modified it, adding a pillion so Elsa could ride with him, and while he didn't know what exactly Liam said to Anita, the older wolf reappeared a moment later, jumped up behind him, and ordered, "Go!"

Will switched on the headlight and zoomed out, following Liam's terse directions in his ear, apparently to where his bad feeling was the strongest. It didn't look as if they were heading back to Killian's house in Russell Square, as he certainly wouldn't have needed directions to get there, but somewhere else, until he instinctively sensed, in that way all werewolves could, that they were now on vampire territory and not welcome. "Liam, where the blazes are we – "

"Just do it!"

Will shut his mouth hard enough to hear his teeth click, and did as told. They roared around a corner, dodged through slow-moving traffic to the sound of angry honks and a few middle fingers thrust out windows, shot the wrong direction up a one-way street, and zoomed across a sidewalk, arriving in rather spectacular fashion on an extremely luxe residential street in Kensington. At this Will, who had of course spent a while poking around the Old Ones registry on Killian and Emma's instigation, and thus become familiar with a certain vampire potentate, felt something drop horrifyingly into place. "Bloody hell, this is Arthur's!"

They skidded to a halt between a Ferrari and a Lamborghini, jumped off, and pelted up the steps. Liam banged on the door, but when nobody answered, he snarled, took a swipe at it, and bashed it open. Will, recognizing the characteristic desperation of a Jones to get to an endangered loved one no matter the cost, decided not to say a word about how forcing their way into the Potentate's residence could horridly backfire later, and ran after him. The place looked strange, unbalanced, as if some great force had swept through it and scoured it raw, and he had the oddest sensation that a deep bell had just finished ringing, far away, and the echoes were still trembling on the edge of hearing. They pounded through one last door, and into the parlor.

Inside, it did look very much as if a bomb had gone off. A vampire Will didn't recognize, but whom he was quite certain had to be Zelena Mills, lay among the broken furniture, driven through with a stake that gave him the cold wibblies just to look at; there was some bloody nasty stuff in that thing. Henry was holding Arthur prisoner on the couch with a silver letter opener, and a wild-eyed Killian was kneeling on the floor, shaking drops of blood from his wrist into a set of unassuming bronze scales and swearing when nothing happened. At their entrance, he looked up, started badly, then shouted, "What are you doing? Get out of here, it's not safe!"

"What are you doing?" Liam stared at him. "Are those – where's Emma?"

"I don't know!" Killian bit himself deeper, as if more blood might do the trick. "Nimue – she was here, she was going to kill her with my old stake – Zelena threw herself in the way – then Emma did this, there was an almighty explosion, and both of them vanished. And I can't – bloody – follow – her!"

"Christ, love, don't!" Will grabbed Killian's wrist as he appeared set to tear his own hand off, just in case. "We'll think of something, all right? We will. And what do you mean, your old stake?"

Killian looked at him with eyes like two bleak, hollow pits of despair. "The stake I designed to kill Gold, a hundred years ago," he said. "Nimue found it somehow, she was planning to use it on Emma. Zelena intervened. This is my fault, Will. This is all my fault."

"Shh, love, no, no, it's not. Emma did what she had to, and we'll find her. But Zelena, is she – " Will glanced in her direction. "Is she – "

"Emma?" Zelena's voice came faint and painfully, as she struggled to lift her head, but couldn't. "Is Emma all right?"

"I don't know." Killian stared at the wall. "I have no bloody idea what happened to her."

Will glanced at Zelena's prone body, surprised and confused. The last he had been aware, she had been solidly a member of Team Bad, so to hear that she had been wounded, probably mortally, to save Emma's life and stop Nimue was news to him. He knew that Killian had designed the stake to cause maximum pain and a very slow death, so Zelena probably had a while more to suffer until the end, and there was no way he knew of to cure double cedar-and-silver poisoning. Bloody hell. That was a shit way to go, no matter who you were.

"Wait," Henry said. "When I staked you, Killian, under Gold's mesmer. That one was made of cedar too. He said he was the only vampire to survive it, and he had a potion to cure it. He gave half the dose to you, remember? Or rather, had Liam do it. There's still another one somewhere."

Killian stared at him. "What – try to find that medicine? For her?"

"Nobody is more surprised to be suggesting this than me," Henry said. "But she just saved Emma's life and possibly allowed us to stop Nimue, and we can all agree that nobody deserves this. We owe it to ourselves to at least try."

"Just – find Emma." Zelena coughed. "Don't – waste time with me. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell – tell her I love her. Please."

"We're going to save you." Henry looked at Liam. "I didn't give up on you, and Killian and Regina didn't let me die. And since I'm guessing you're the only one of us who's old enough and has enough silver tolerance to get that thing out, can you please do that?"

Liam hesitated, then nodded. He crossed the floor to Zelena, took brisk hold of the stake, and pulled it out of her with a quick, sharp motion, as she gasped and arched her back in agony. "We should destroy this. It's too dangerous to risk it falling into the wrong hands again."

Killian looked up at him, only then noticed the extent of his brother's injuries, and blanched. "Jesus. What happened to you?"

"Small distraction at the werewolf club." Liam carried the stake back and glanced around, as if searching for a nearby incinerator to toss it into. "But we may have extra help, if we play our cards right."

"By that he means," Will said, "that your silly brother more or less accidentally became the Alpha of the London Pack tonight, and the City wolves are supposed to follow him now, though who knows if they will or not. It was eventful."

"He what?" Killian looked even more stunned. Then a smile broke across his dark, shadowed, sorrowful face, as if the sun had finally shone through the clouds after a terrible storm. It made him look very young, almost unmarred by the tragedy and violence of his long life, glowing with pride and love. "Bloody hell, Li, what do you know. I'm almost sorry I missed that."

"Alpha of the London Pack?" It was Arthur who spoke, looking incredulous. "Do you know who I am? I'm the vampire potentate, and if you're bursting into my house like this, I have to consider the Tails very seriously in breach of the Accords of – "

"Shut up," Killian advised him, close to a growl. "You've got no leeway at all to be complaining about breaches of supernatural law, mate. Not once we tell everyone what you've done. Your days in any sort of power are bloody over."

Arthur eyed him evilly, but Henry was still pointing the silver letter opener in his face, and he had to confine further disapproval to a huff. Then Will said, "So. You're the head of a werewolf pack now, Liam, and this all started because Gold sicced a pack on you. If we're going to find out if he's weakened at all, and if we are going to get that stuff for Zelena, it may be time to, you know. Bring things full circle. And we might not want to get rid of that stake just yet."

Killian glanced at him, confused. "You mean Liam should take the pack against him?"

Will shrugged. "Aye," he said. "I do. You have to admit it's poetic justice. And that stake is still the only thing that might be able to kill him, once he's had his powers stripped. I know you want to find Emma, love. I'll do everything I can to help – I'll go back to that bloody cave to get Merlin for you, if I have to. But we have to do this too. You know we do."

Killian was silent for a long moment, staring at the floor. It was clear, even if he had not yet said it, that this plan would involve bringing him face-to-face with the wolves of London, when he was their ancient enemy, the scourge of their ancestors, the darkest and most terrible part of his past. That now his brother was their Alpha, that all had changed, that his mind was clearly utterly fixated on following Emma. But just now, the way was shut. The scales did not work for him, or for anyone who wasn't her. He would not stop until he found something, they all knew that. Yet the possibility was just as strong that they would never see her again. And there was still a chance that war that might break out. That everything else would go down in flames. Dawn, in any sense of the word, seemed very far away.

"Aye," Killian said at last, barely above a whisper. "So we do."