The night air was dry and cool, ruffling my pelt as I bounded through industrial streets, leashed to the shadows that cringed from the sharp scrutiny of street lights. The plaintive whine of engines became my soundtrack as I travelled deeper into the city, leaving the outskirts behind. Cigarette fumes stole into my nostrils, acrid as the smoke my fiery dominance had produced when Father doused it earlier. It flared bright now, revived by the adrenaline that came with the defiance of his orders.

My cover shrivelled as I approached the Central Business District, and I grudgingly accepted that I would have to morph soon. While some people were bound to find the prospect of a horse-sized wolf fantastical, I knew the majority would fear me, and a fraction of that majority would lash out. Fear drove humans to inhumane acts; Midna was right in that respect, at least.

I also understood the necessity of preventing a shadow world war. Humans could be dangerous when they wanted. They'd rendered entire species extinct before, for reasons as trivial as a pretty fur coat; what would they do to my people if they perceived us as a threat? Werewolves were remarkable individuals in small numbers, but humanity was a plague upon the earth. Even the most ferocious of beasts could fall to a hornet's nest.

It was all the more reason to follow through with my plan. Surely London's life will compensate for our loss, I thought, hoping I could coax Father to the same conclusion. We don't need to go to war to avenge Arthur.

Cars came and went more often. I tapped into the transformative energy idling at the core of my being mid-leap. Its heat tore through my body, prompting bones to pop in and out of their sockets. Muscles and ligaments reformed. Fur receded into pale, luminous skin and a mane of black hair. Fangs snapped back into my jaw, reemerging as blunt teeth.

I was thoroughly human when I turned onto Collins street, and I had no issues blending in with the pedestrian traffic. With no idea of what alley I was looking for, I followed the sidewalk and gaped about like a tourist, searching every laneway I came across for clues.

It proved to be a frustrating and fruitless task. The street was too busy, too loud, too... pungent. Ageing trash, unwashed bodies and perfumes competed with the heady aromas of various cuisines. Every second shopfront was a restaurant of some description, and I refused to believe that there was enough business for all of them to thrive.

"What's so great about the city at night?" I muttered, still sour from my spat with Richard.

I was about to shame pedestrians for their excessive use of deodorant when a splash of red across the road caught my eye. One brick building jutted out onto the sidewalk slightly more than its neighbour. It bore an ocean-themed mural painted only from varying shades of blue, save for a smear of red on a mermaid's chin.

Blood.

I crossed the road, finding that the mural marked a hidden laneway. A quick whiff confirmed that the red streak was indeed Richard's blood.

Skin prickling with anticipation, I set forth along the alley, letting it draw me into the heart of the block. At some point, the asphalt gave way to a road of gold-painted bricks. I found myself amused, despite the gravity of the situation. Follow the yellow brick road.

The further I travelled, the weirder and more frequent graffiti became, until I felt utterly estranged from reality. It was like I'd stepped into an alternate dimension of vivid landscapes and mutated creatures. At one point, I saw the sinuous length of a dragon coiled around a fire escape. Its amber eyes, the same colour as mine, seemed to follow me as I turned the corner...

The trail ended in carnage. Corpses littered the metallic bricks, their innards strewn about like party streamers. I sucked in a sharp breath, only to quickly regret it; the cloying stench of rotting meat smothered the air. I felt irrationally tainted by that breath, as if by letting the death-laced air into my lungs I'd welcomed it into my body and brain, through the simple oxygenation of the blood that served both.

It was a pointless revulsion; the memory of this scene would stay with me, regardless. I'd never witnessed death of this magnitude before. There was so much red splashed about, the sour aftertaste of so much adrenaline and fear... so many bodies. And crouched in the middle of it all was the man that I'd been searching for. The instigator of and the answer to all of my problems.

I took advantage of the opportunity to study my enemy. I wanted to know him a little before I killed him; to see him animated in life, so that it would be all the sweeter when I robbed him of it.

It was clear even from this distance that the man — no, the villainous creature — was tall. A shock of thick, dark hair brushed the nape of his neck, and when he crouched to pick up what looked like an organ from the ground, I glimpsed a hint of an angular cheekbone and the outline of a linear nose. His frame was lithe but muscular, and his pale skin seemed to glow ever so faintly, as if he possessed so much power that it was gradually leaking out. London was beautiful in the deadliest sense.

"This is the last one," he muttered, blissfully unaware of his impending doom. "Come on, Ben. Hold out for me just a little longer...."

Confused, I followed the walls of the dead end, keeping to the shadows as I circled him. One step at a time, a bizarre surgery came into view. The recipient of London's efforts was out cold, spread-eagled with the skin of his stomach pulled back. London carefully inserted what I presumed to be a liver into the open wound.

I wished I hadn't taken the time to look. Not because of the surgery — oh, no. I'd received a unique education at the hands of the City Alpha, and I'd killed, gutted and butchered many animals in the short lifetime I'd served on this earth. Humans weren't so different from all that; gore I could stomach.

What I couldn't stomach was the sight of my dead brother, mere feet away from London. Arthur's death was confronting because it was personal. If I'd harboured any hopes of his miraculous survival, they were dashed against the improbable angle of his neck and his glassy, sightless eyes. They used to be like chips of sky in his face, so different from the hideous amber that I shared with our father. Arthur had inherited them from our mother, who'd died a decade prior. I struggled to remember her accurately without looking at him.

Now I would see neither mother nor brother again.

Liquid fury ran through my veins. It cooled and steeled me for what was to come.

London was so absorbed in his task that he didn't process my descending, two-itch talons until they'd already mauled his back. He cried out and whirled around, fangs sliding free from their gums. Furious that something with such a rotten soul could look so pretty, I aimed a handful of claws at the bastard's face, thinking to make it representative of the evil he was evidently capable of.

Exploiting the emotional nature of my attack, London ducked and tackled me to the bricks, so hard that I felt them crunch beneath the density of my bones. I sank my claws into the junction of his neck and shoulder, trying to sever his head from his body. Realising this, London yanked them out with impressive speed and forced my hands above my head, trapping them there.

I bucked and writhed, but it was no use. His hands were like bands of steel, and he'd pinned the rest of my body to the bricks below with the hard planes of his own. I felt my eyes go wide with the realisation that I was trapped, so easily, and so quickly! Surely the fight wasn't already over? Surely I hadn't failed so utterly, when so much relied on my success?

"It's almost like you mutts want to jeopardise the interspecies treaty," London huffed.

Oh, that was rich. He acted as if we were the ones who'd initiated this senseless massacre! I didn't rise to his bait, though, knowing that I would need to keep my cool if I was going to turn the battle in my favour. Nothing is over, I thought with fervour. And it won't be until one of us is dead.

We shared a moment of tense silence and flesh on flesh. London stared down at me. I stared up at him. His thick-lashed eyes were deep green and clear, like a shady forest glade. It was a peaceful colour, completely at odds with the way his lips pulled back from his teeth, nose wrinkling in a snarl. I found myself captivated by the elegant curve of his fangs. Alabaster and semi-translucent, they tapered from a thick base into wickedly sharp points, long enough to form depressions in his bottom lip. They were like delicate instruments of surgery, designed to puncture arteries quickly and cleanly.

So why hadn't they punctured mine? Confused, I sought London's eyes once more, hoping to discern why he hadn't tried to kill me yet. They were wide with recognition.

Suddenly it clicked. "We look alike, don't we? My brother and I."

He opened his mouth and shut it again, at a loss for words. I noticed the barest reduction of pressure in his grip on my wrists. It was a small opportunity, but I seized it, slamming a knee up into his groin.

London yelped and recoiled, as all males do when tested in such a way. Quick as a striking snake, I threw him underneath me and pinned down his chest with my knees, throwing wild punches at his face. I didn't stop until his eyes lost focus.

Having successfully beaten him into a daze, I felt safe in trading my brash offensive technique for something a little more intimate. Fastening my hands around his throat, I tightened the circle of my fingers, until I felt something vital resisting further pressure. London went very, very still.

"I think a neck for a neck is fair, don't you?"

"Look," London rasped. "I'm sorry about what happened to your brother —"

I squeezed harder. "Shut up."

"— but I had no choice," he choked out.

With a smile as false and bright as tinsel, I waited for the black to seize me. But my gift assured his honesty, filling my chest with a soft, buzzing gold. The smile slipped from my face.

"I don't understand," I whispered.

"We didn't start this," London explained, as best he could whilst being choked. "I acted... in self-defence. Killed only to survive."

That reminded me of another who'd been hellbent on survival. "Richard," I muttered. Somehow, unwittingly, he'd found a way to lie to me about being ambushed. "He should have died here."

"The one who ran?" London asked. I nodded. "Agreed."

We had something in common. I shook my head, scarcely able to believe it. "You should die here too," I said matter-of-factly, thumbs digging into his windpipe. "Lest there be a war."

London's patient stirred beside us, letting out a pitiful groan. Suddenly reminded of the plight of his comrade, the Irephang boy renewed his struggles. I held on grimly, thankful that he couldn't get a grip on my wrists. They were gloved in his blood, too slippery to catch hold of. He realised this quickly and gave up on trying to pry my hands away, switching tactics.

"Please," he begged, eyes snapping up to my face. "If he doesn't drink human blood soon, he won't heal. He won't make it."

"So?"

London made a noise of frustration. "Enough have died tonight!"

I looked over at my brother's corpse. "You catalysed a war when you killed my brother," I whispered, not entirely sure why I felt the need to justify my decision to end his life. "Enough have died, which is why I must kill you now, so that I can end this war before it truly begins."

Eager to be done with the task, I stopped toying with him and cut off his air altogether. London's rebuttals became the noises of a dying animal. His struggles brought him into closer contact with my claws, and his lifeblood welled between my fingers, warm and sticky, humming with energy like the surface of a lightbulb.

"Please," he gasped, in a last ditch effort to find purchase on his slippery descent into the void. "Don't you... want to know... what happened?"

"Of course," I said, rolling my eyes. I couldn't trust Richard's account of the event; his opinions, or perhaps a technicality of speech, had interfered with the operation of my magic. The only way to learn what happened in this alley, to gain closure on the circumstances of Arthur's death, was by asking London. "But that is not my priority."

"Let me help my friend," he begged. "I'll tell you everything. You can kill me..." I tightened my fingers, realising that I'd relaxed them without thinking to hear what he had to say, but he still managed to finish. "... after."

I could crush buffalo bones into dust, but it seemed I was incapable of crushing this vampire's spirit. But I can crush the rest of him... It was amazing how incredibly mortal he seemed. As one of the lamia, the living vampires, London needed oxygen just as much as any werewolf, witch or human. I watched the light go out of his beautiful eyes, shade by shade.

And then his lips, cracked and bleeding, formed a name. "Chance?"

He knew my name. London wasn't addressing me as an enemy, or a thing. He was addressing me as a person.

Something in me relented. It felt like the foundations of my being were groaning, cracking beneath the weight of the decision I had to make. That London hadn't lied to me once throughout our encounter seemed terribly significant.

I removed my hands from his throat, but held two claws over his eye sockets in warning. "How did you know I would listen?" I asked, voice cracking on the last word.

I was failing my people by negotiating with him, but I needed to know why Arthur had died so violently and abruptly. I needed to make at least some sense of the senselessness of it all.

"Eyes like that..." London trailed off, his hand coming up to touch my cheek. "Eyes like yours seek the truth in this world."

Gold. Somehow, he'd seen the truth of me. And that truth was hard to process, because it went against everything I expected from his kind. This is a cruel magic, I thought bitterly, chewing on the inside of my cheek. This gift that denies me denial.

"Do you swear to return within twenty-four hours, upon your body guard's life?" I asked finally. "Do you promise to return and forfeit yours, in any way of my choosing, if I let you go now?"

Our gazes locked, emerald to amber, and the world held its breath.

"I swear it," London said.

"Very well," I said, pulling away from him.

London wasted no time with words. In a flash he was off his back and on his feet, hauling the wounded vampire over his shoulder. I watched the two of them leave, unsure of what to do next. Had I made the correct decision? Even with magic as my compass, could I trust in his promise to return?

London was about to turn the corner when the wind shifted. Seven familiar scents hit me in a rush. Dread sloshed down my spine.

The City Pack approached.