Chapter 4
The heavy oak door, scarred and weathered, looked like something out of a medieval castle. Above, a simple sign. No words, just a rusted iron bar from which hung two chain links, each half of what had once been whole. There were no lanterns, not even a streetlight to illuminate the shadows. The entrance sat near the end of a dead-end alley, innocuous enough that no soul, human or otherwise, would give it a second glance. Unless, of course, one knew what lay inside.
Maddie Kinslow usually preferred to take her time. Her slow and steady approach, sometimes viewed by others as reticence, enabled her to take full notice of her surroundings. When in her human form, her eyes were her primary tool, and when she shape-shifted into her wolf form, her nose took precedence over her other senses.
Tonight, with the moon a perfect sliver in the cloudless sky, she walked a little faster than normal, intent on reaching the dead-end alley that led to Broken Chains, the Galveston bar where only others of similar ilk were welcome. She, along with two of her best friends, had recently formed The Shadow Agency, a private investigative firm catering exclusively to Shape-shifters, Vampires and Merfolk. They’d recently successfully closed their first case and she’d gotten a lead that someone might be in the bar tonight who wanted to set up a meeting about becoming their second client.
Since Maddie lived and breathed her goal of making The Shadow Agency a success, her eagerness to meet with this individual had her practically running.
Until she stumbled over the bloody and beaten man halfway up the alley.
She tripped, caught completely by surprise, screamed once and fell. Right on top of the unfortunate human, who let out a guttural groan.
Naturally, she scrambled up, away from him. “What happened to you?” she asked, not even sure he could answer her. He appeared to have been on the losing side of a run-in with a semi truck. Digging her phone from her pocket, she realized she couldn’t call 911. Not from here, so close to the unmarked door. By spell or by due vigilance, it would never open, not for humans and not without potential death. To be safe and prevent any unnecessary curiosity, she needed to get this poor man out of the alley.
“I was beat up,” he said, his voice clear, despite the fact that his lip had been split. “Two big guys.”
“Were you robbed?”
“No.”
She watched in disbelief as he managed to heave himself off the ground to his feet. With one eye swollen shut, he squinted at her with the other.
“They went in there,” he said, pointing at Broken Chains’ unmarked door.
Heart pounding, she shook her head. “In where? There’s nothing around here but some old abandoned warehouses.”
“Lady, come on.” He swayed slightly as he took a step toward her. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve been watching this place. I’ve seen you here before. What I want to know is what’s going on behind that door? People come and go all night. I don’t know what they do to get inside, but they do. I’ve tried, but no one will let me in.”
He had no idea what kind of danger he’d placed himself in. A human, trying to gain entrance to Broken Chains? Now she understood. A couple of the bouncers must have taken exception to him pestering them. In light of that, he was lucky he’d only been beaten rather than killed.
“You need to go somewhere else.” She didn’t even bother to try to hide the urgency in her voice. “It’s not safe here for you. Go away and forget you ever saw this door.”
Judging from the way he perked up, her heartfelt warning only made him more determined to stay. She eyed him—as far as human males went, he looked tough, with his broad shoulders and muscular build. But even the most fit human had no hope of fighting back against a Shape-shifter or Vamp. Both had power reserves of at least ten times those of any human.
Which explained why this guy’s swollen face made his features unrecognizable.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He crossed his arms, exposing purpling bruises and several small cuts that still oozed blood. In addition to the split lip and black eye, and judging from the multiple bruises and swelling, he’d been pummeled. Again, lucky to be alive, even if he didn’t get that. “My name is Jake Cassel. I’m an investigative reporter.”
“You can barely stand,” she pointed out. “I’d think you’d want to get yourself some medical assistance.”
“Good idea. I’ll dial 911 and when
