Moonlight Confidential (VelvetWhispers & Dr Bellwright)

[VelvetWhispers]

Morwenna crouched beside the crumpled body of Erika Mondschein, her black heels sinking into the sticky asphalt. The alley reeked of blood and failure—two things she had a special distaste for, though she had to admit they usually made for an interesting evening. Erika's lifeless form was sprawled like some tragic art piece, pale and beautiful, except for the fact that her head was no longer attached to her body. Lovely touch.

"Well, this is a disaster," she muttered, flicking her fingers toward the scene. "And not the fun kind."

The young werewolf assistant—what was their name again?—stood a few feet away, looking like a nervous intern at their first day on the job. Dressed in a crisp suit that was too tight around their bulging biceps, they stared at the body like they might pass out any second. Muscular and professional, sure, but a little shy, bless them.

"Relax," Morwenna said with a smirk, "this is just a vampire. It's not like she's going to... oh wait." She snapped her fingers. "Never mind."

The werewolf blinked, clearly unsure how to respond, but Morwenna waved them off. The kid was probably still processing the fact that they were standing next to a beheaded vampire, two days after an entire task force had been wiped out in an explosion. And to make matters worse, Ivor, the Icelandic vampire she'd heard whispers about, was late. Typical.

She straightened up, brushing the non-existent dust from her sleek, tailored jacket. Two centuries of existence, and here she was, babysitting corpses while waiting for some vampire with delusions of grandeur to show up and play detective.

"Where is he?" she asked, more to herself than anyone. "I swear, if he's on 'vampire time,' I'm going to scream."

The werewolf cleared their throat, nervously glancing between Morwenna and the corpse. "Um, Morwenna? Should we... call someone? The Elders or—"

"Oh, please. The Elders?" She laughed, rolling her eyes. "What are they going to do, send a strongly worded letter? No, dear, this is our mess to clean up. And besides, I'm sure Ivor will grace us with his presence soon enough."

Leaning against the brick wall, Morwenna stared down at Erika's body. Erika had been one of the old ones, a vampire with power and connections, and now she was nothing more than a glorified puddle. Whoever did this wanted to make a point, and the point was sharp.

Still, something didn't sit right. Erika Mondschein had always been careful, always one step ahead. For her to end up like this... someone had been watching.

Morwenna twirled a strand of hair around her finger, considering the implications. "You know," she mused, "I bet Erika had enemies in every direction. Probably should have been more choosy with her friends. Now, let's hope her Sire is more cooperative when we visit. Because if he's anything like his spawn, this is going to be one long, unpleasant evening."

The werewolf looked like they were about to ask something, but Morwenna held up a hand. "No more questions until Ivor gets here. I'm not repeating myself. Besides," she smirked, eyes glinting mischievously, "I'd hate for him to miss the grand opening act."

They waited in silence, with Morwenna half-wondering if she should cast a summoning spell to drag Ivor to the crime scene. But no, that would be rude. Instead, she sighed and leaned back against the wall, eyes lazily scanning the dark sky.

"Take your time, Ivor. It's not like we have a killer to catch or anything," she muttered. "Honestly, can't find good help these days."

 

[Dr Bellwright]

Nothing beats New York City in the fall, Ivar thought as he rode the cab to Hell's Kitchen. Or at least he tried to think about it while his mind was invaded by paranoia, which was expected given the fact that he and that Morwenna woman had dodged the bullet. Or missed the bomb, to be precise. He had pulled some strings to make sure that he was flown private, and this was his third cab. Frankly speaking, Ivar had no idea if any of that helped, he was "benched" for the past 35 years and away from active service to the clan, and he had to admit that his operation security skills were a little bit rusty. From 1989 he was placed to manage the clan's assets until his services were required again.

With that in mind, he had no plans to hurry. His four dead "colleagues" arrived early, organised meetings, started an investigation early, and look what happened to them. They were blown up, their juicy bits sprayed all over the fucking place. Ivar wanted to go and look at what was left of the so-called "safe house," but fought the urge. That place must have been under devilish surveillance. In fact, he suspected that every shady clan, organisation, and coven had their people, totems, or high-tech gizmos watch it.

It was 0:13 when Ivar exited the cab, picked up his suitcase from the trunk, and casually rolled with it towards the crime scene.

"Morwenna, I presume." The arrival of Ivar was announced well before he uttered any words. The wheels of his suitcase echoed from the brick walls that hugged the alley where the murder happened. He glanced at their assistant. The young werewolf. Quite yummy, in fact. He nodded at them and then rolled their suitcase towards them.

The werewolf was about to introduce himself, but Ivar lifted his arm. "Don't love. Introduce yourself next week, otherwise, there is no need to get attached to each other" Ivar said. "Just make sure that my luggage is in my room this morning." Ivar turned his attention back to Morwenna and walked towards her. He wore a tailored black suit with a bright red oxford shirt under it, with the first three buttons undone revealing a glimpse of his toned chest. He loved to brag. He smiled at her and extended his hand. "Ivar Valhallsdottir. Your only surviving partner," Ivor introduced himself. And shook her hand if she extended hers.

Without further small talk or pleasantries, his eyes dropped on Erika Mondschein's mangled and beheaded body, and he slowly inhaled, shook his head, as if he disapproved of something, and licked his lips, and then he looked back at Morwenna. "She had a lot of enemies," Ivar made a few steps to look at the corpse from another angle. "Also had a lot of lovers," he said, lifting his eyes back at Morwenna. His look was inquisitive; his lips looked like they were about to smile. "Did you two ever?" Ivar made a gesture with his palms, one thrusting another three times. "Did anything interesting together?" The vampire asked, and then he switched his attention to their now blushing, yummy assistant. "If you blush that hard, I might start suspecting you. Alright, tell me your name."

"Miles." The werewolf said, then quickly followed up. "Sir, Sirs, Madame. Well, I was told that my name for the mission would be Miles, and that's how I sho…"

"Don't sweat it." Ivar interrupted the assistant. "Miles it is." Ivar switched his attention back at Morwenna. "Her sire, he hates me. I guess it would be natural if I'm a bad cop when we interrogate him." He said, and looked at Erica's body again, his brows furrowed. "Though I doubt it's him, he had no motive to kill the rest of the victims."

 

[VelvetWhispers]

Morwenna didn't bother turning when she heard the echo of suitcase wheels clattering through the alley. The noise was loud, obnoxious, and utterly fitting for a vampire's grand entrance. Of course, he had luggage. Of course, he was taking his sweet time like this was some leisurely vacation in the city instead of a crime scene with a corpse cooling on the ground.

She sighed, casting a sidelong glance at Erika's mangled body. "Better late than never, I suppose," she muttered under her breath.

The wheels finally stopped, and she heard him speak. "Morwenna, I presume."

Ivar Valhallsdottir. The walking cliché in a tailored suit. She barely needed to look at him to know what to expect—tall, brooding, with an air of self-importance so thick you could choke on it. He was dressed like he was about to attend a vampire prom, complete with the red shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off that precious chest of his. Subtle, as always.

She didn't extend her hand when he offered his. Instead, she crossed her arms, arching an unimpressed brow. "The one and only," she replied, dry as dust. "And yes, I'm aware you're my 'only surviving partner.' I'm just lucky like that."

Vampires. Gods, how she loathed them. Ivar was the exact type—arrogant, self-satisfied, and always acting like the world revolved around them. Sure, they were useful in a pinch, but the constant need to be reminded of their own superiority was exhausting. And the way he casually dismissed the werewolf? Typical.

When he asked if she and Erika had ever "done anything interesting together," complete with a vulgar little gesture, Morwenna didn't flinch. She stared at him, stone-faced, and let the silence drag for a moment, savoring the discomfort.

"Ah, yes," she said at last, voice flat. "Nothing says 'interesting' like decapitation. You've really captured the essence of our deep, meaningful relationship."

She didn't miss the way poor Miles blushed, and for a brief second, she felt sorry for the kid. But only briefly. She had her limits.

"Don't worry, Miles," she said, throwing him a quick glance. "He likes to make people uncomfortable. It's how vampires bond with others. The more awkward you feel, the more successful they think they are."

Ivar's suggestion that he play the bad cop with Erika's sire earned him a snort. "Bad cop? Please. You vampires are all bad cops by default. I doubt you even have to try."

She tilted her head, studying Erika's body. "But you're right about one thing—he didn't have the motive to kill her, or anyone else, for that matter. I'd bet my soul he's too wrapped up in whatever gothic melodrama he's staging on Long Island to bother with all this."

Morwenna glanced back at Ivar, her lips curling into a thin, sarcastic smile. "But by all means, I'm sure your natural charm and diplomacy will work wonders when we visit him. Try not to spook him too much, though—I'd hate to have to clean up after another one of your messes."

 

[Dr Bellwright]

Ivar would not admit it to himself, not at this very moment at least. But he enjoyed looking at Morwenna's reaction to his impromptu attempt to throw her off with a comment about Erica and a picturesque gesture. He hid the smile of appreciation for her stoic display behind his usual smirk, tilting one corner of the lip higher, to flash half of his fang. She was alright, he thought. If only he had not been rewarded for being an inconsiderable and often cruel arsehole for the last six hundred years, he could have tried to say something nice.

"Oh my, I should buy those gold star stickers. Somebody did their homework. Do you have a book club where you study my kind in detail, or did you just dive into my dossier?" Ivar said, flashing her another smile, this time smug. All six of them had received dossiers; that was part of the deal. Ivar assumed it was to make sure that if there was any bad blood, they could discover it ahead of time. This meant that maybe apart from the investigation he and Morwenna were conducting, someone might have been thinking that he, Morwenna, or both of them had killed the other four. The thought occurred to him, that wiped the smile off his face. He was not sure if he should share said thought though. Not yet. She did seem to have it in for his kind. Instead, he lowered on the squat in front of Erica's separated neck and dipped a tip of his finger into her blood, and smelled it.

"Well, nothing strange, that is a pity." He looked at Miles, "I presume the bloodwork and other secretions will be ready tomorrow morning?" He asked and waited for the nod. "Yes, sir."

"Well, let's go see my old and vague acquaintance Gustav." He pointed at Erica with an open arm. "Her sire." He added, and just stood there for a very long moment, and then shrugged, a little bit uncomfortably, having to admit that, "I don't have a car. It arrives tomorrow. Who's driving?"

---

A little less than an hour later, the trio was standing in front of a truly humongous manor house. Built from stone, it was adorned with gothic statues of angels succumbing to their vices. There was an angel sniffing coke. There was an angel kneeling before a demon with an open mouth. Ivar never liked Gustav, but he had to admit, this was interesting. "I'm a bad cop?" Ivar confirmed, looking at Morwenna, and with a nod they walked up the stairs towards the large wooden door. It remained closed when they arrived. Ivar had expected somebody to open it; their approach was visible, somebody had opened the gates, and they had heard their car. Ivar gave it another second before he used the large brass knocker to rap on the door.

Which opened immediately, as if the butler was just waiting for him to touch the door. "Oh, detectives." The older gentleman in a black suit said. "I'm Francisco, my master is awaiting you." He simply said and stepped back to lead the trio. "We are not detectives. We are special task force. Never mind actually." Ivar said when he realised that he did not care what the butler or Gustav himself thought. They were led through exquisite rooms and towards the large marble stairs to the basement. The basement is where the trio, including Ivar, was truly shocked.

Gustav had brought sand, tonnes of sand to build an artificial beach. He had led lighting all over the place, to mimic the red light of the sunset. Enough for an illusion, but not enough to burn him or any other vampire. And on his beach, he installed Saint Andrew's crosses and bondage horses. Currently, two of them were occupied by women in bikinis. Two more women were flogging them, while Gustav von Schmackhaftzahn was standing there with a clipboard.

"Master Schmackhaftzahn, the detectives from the special task force have arrived." Francisco announced, and Ivar simply looked at Morwenna, as if trying to communicate to her, that even he did not expect to see that.

 

[VelvetWhispers]

Morwenna had spent the entire drive silently seething, and not just because of Ivar's incessant smugness. Vampires. Always with the theatrics. From the blood-sniffing to the lazy, aristocratic drawl when they spoke about the "lower creatures." And Gustav von Schmackhaftzahn, with his ridiculous name, was just the cherry on top. She'd met a few like him before—obsessed with wealth, power, and displaying their eccentricities like some demented peacock.

As they approached the manor, she took in the statues. Angels sniffing coke? A demon-angel scene that looked straight out of someone's very regrettable fan fiction? Lovely. Classy. Morwenna felt the urge to roll her eyes so hard they'd disappear into the back of her skull. But no. She had to keep it together. She wasn't about to let these bloodsuckers see how much they grated on her.

Ivar's "bad cop" comment as they walked up the steps nearly earned him a retort, but she held her tongue. There'd be time for snark later. For now, they had work to do. She made a mental note to grab the wheel on the next drive, though. The kid, Miles, had nearly gotten them killed twice on the way over. But maybe that was just werewolf nerves.

As they entered the house, Morwenna glanced down at her own attire: a sleek black blouse with delicate lace at the cuffs, tucked into tailored trousers. Her long, inky-black hair was braided back tightly, the strands catching the low, artificial lighting in the manor as they walked. The pointed heels she wore clicked sharply against the floor, each step precise, controlled. It wasn't for the vampires' benefit—oh no. She dressed for her own power, her own confidence. But damn if she didn't look good doing it.

They were led down to the basement, and when the sight of Gustav's "beach" came into view, Morwenna had to fight the urge to laugh aloud. Bondage? Flogging? A beach with red-tinted lighting? For a vampire over several centuries old, this was downright pathetic. The women in bikinis strapped to Saint Andrew's crosses were clearly part of whatever "scene" Gustav was trying to create, but it was so far from intimidating that she could hardly take it seriously.

"Of course," she muttered under her breath, voice dripping with sarcasm, "because what says 'I'm a powerful, centuries-old vampire' more than a basement beach party with leather and chains?"

When Gustav turned to face them, clipboard in hand like he was conducting some perverse art project, Morwenna's lips curled into a smile—thin and as sharp as the heels she wore. She wasted no time, stepping past Ivar with a confidence that suggested she'd done this a thousand times before. Because she had.

"Mr. von Schmackhaftzahn," she said, her tone light but with an edge, "I'm sure you're busy with... all of this." She gestured vaguely at the bizarre scene unfolding around them. "But we need to talk about Erika Mondschein."

She didn't wait for an invitation to continue. Gustav wasn't going to drag this out with pleasantries, not on her watch.

"She's dead, as you may already know. Decapitated, in fact. Rather brutal, even for your kind's standards." Her eyes flicked to the clipboard, then back to Gustav, her voice now hardening with professional detachment. "We're looking for her enemies, her recent movements, any dealings she had that might've gotten her into this... mess. Start talking."

Morwenna leaned in slightly, her gaze never leaving his. "Was she involved in anything you didn't approve of? Any… rebellious streaks we should know about? Or perhaps she had a lover you weren't fond of? This is the part where you stop pretending you don't care about your 'offspring' and give us something useful, Gustav."

Her voice took on a drier, more sarcastic tone, one eyebrow lifting as she scanned the room. "I'm assuming she wasn't part of your... charming little basement retreats? Unless you consider that a bonding experience."

Morwenna knew she was poking the bear, but she didn't care. Gustav had always been a pompous, self-important parasite. And if Erika's death had anything to do with him, she'd tear down every ridiculous pretence he had, piece by piece, until they got the truth.

"You understand," she added coolly, "that if we leave here without answers, the next visit might not be so... cordial." Her smile was cold, knowing that while she wasn't the vampire in the room, she was damn well capable of playing hardball when necessary.

Now, she just had to wait for him to slip.

 

[Dr Bellwright]

Ivar looked at Miles for a second as he listened to Morwenna. As if the vampire wanted to confirm something. I thought we'd agreed on who's a good cop and who's a bad cop. Ivar thought, and then he realised that he never got the confirmation from the witch, from the fucking witch that she would be the good cop. I swear. Fucking children. He felt his cold blood start to warm in a flash of frustration with a pinch of anger. And then he heard Gustav.

"Of course, I heard of my wife's tragic passing," Gustav said, his voice almost shaken. Even Ivar questioned if this was an act or real. Gustav meanwhile made a sweeping gesture. "This place is going to be dedicated to my dear, sweet, lovely, gentle, and yet firm Erica." He pointed at the bikini babes, who paused for a moment but then resumed their rhythmic flogging, which added certain squishy soundtracks to the entire interrogation. "She never liked the fact that all the dungeons. Sex dungeons," Gustav made sure that everyone understood what he was talking about. "Look the same. She loved to add some colour, something that other people never had."

Ivar inhaled, this whole time he was trying to figure out how to be a good cop, and yet nothing came to mind. Instead, he stepped forward to level with Morwenna and stifled a smile. "Gustav. Do you know anything? We want to find her killers. And you are not helping." He placed a hand on Morwenna's shoulder to both indicate to Gustav that he and the witch were a team. But also to annoy Morwenna. He counted till three in his head and removed his hand, being quite sure that she would have found a way to shake him off if he overstayed the welcome.

"Ivar," Gustav said slowly, He followed the motion of his hand and looked at the vampire. "Are you sure your loyalty lies in the right place?" The vampire lord asked.

"Please don't question my loyalty, Gustav," Ivar answered. The threat was hidden under the request. Don't question, please, or I will have to seek satisfaction from you. What this request really meant.

"Oh. More threats." Gustav threw his arms up and gestured at one of the women, who dropped her paddle and quickly ran to Gustav to get the clipboard off his hand. "Yes yes. I know. You trained a lot of cutthroats, Ivar, so you will come here with your vampire delta force, or whatever they are called." Gustav answered and turned back to Morwenna.

"I don't know who killed her, little witch. But I don't want you to find them first. I want to find them, I want to torture them for a month or maybe two, or maybe a quarter. And then, I want to share my findings with you. When I am done. Happy?"

"Not really," Ivar responded.

"Well. I learnt of her demise, but two hours ago," Gustav's voice was now flat, emotionless. "My list of suspects is the same. All her lovers, all the wives and husbands of her lovers, and a few dozen people who hated her." He shrugged and looked back at Morwenna. "What do you care?"

 

[VelvetWhispers]

Morwenna could feel Ivar's hand on her shoulder before it even landed. The icy touch of his fingers immediately set her nerves on edge, like the scrape of nails on a chalkboard. But she didn't flinch. Not outwardly. Vampires loved that little game—prodding at your patience, seeing how far they could go before you snapped. Not tonight, she thought. Not with this one.

When he removed his hand, she breathed a slow, silent exhale. At least he had the decency to back off quickly. For now.

Gustav's theatrics, on the other hand, were just pathetic. Morwenna's eyes flicked over to the bikini-clad women still engaged in their rhythmic flogging. She couldn't believe this was happening—here, of all places. It was like walking into a grotesque fever dream masquerading as an art installation. Gustav had to be the most cliché vampire she'd ever met, which, given her line of work, was saying a lot.

Still, his comment about wanting to torture Erica's killers himself? That piqued her interest. It wasn't that she disapproved of revenge—hell, half the time she supported it—but there was a cold, possessive tone in his voice that made her skin crawl. He didn't care about justice. He cared about ownership.

She crossed her arms, letting the pause in the conversation linger just long enough to get under his skin. Finally, she spoke, her voice cool and measured, laced with sarcasm.

"What do I care?" She echoed, raising a brow. "Well, let's see... aside from the fact that I'm stuck in this freak show of a 'beach' dungeon—complete with flogging angels, by the way, very original—I care because I don't trust you, Gustav. Not one bit. And that makes me wonder what you're hiding."

She took a step closer, heels clicking sharply against the cold stone floor. Her eyes locked onto his, unblinking. "You say you heard of her death two hours ago. Convenient. But you and I both know you had ears everywhere. So let's cut the crap. Why do you really want to handle this yourself? Is it guilt? Something to do with your... what was it? Dear, sweet, firm Erica?"

Internally, she was waging her own little battle. She hated working with vampires, especially ones like Ivar and Gustav, but she needed this mission. The council had called her in—not out of respect, but because they had leverage on her, and she had leverage on them. There was something she needed from them. Something that kept her tethered to these power games, despite her disdain for the creatures she now had to play nice with. Not that she ever played too nice.

"Now," she continued, her voice turning icier, "I don't care about your little revenge fantasies. I care about getting answers before someone else gets torn apart. So why don't you tell us something useful for once? Maybe start with a name. Or are you too busy setting up your next little exhibit?"

She let the words hang in the air like a challenge, eyes narrowing just slightly. She didn't trust this vampire. She didn't trust any of them. But there were bigger things at play than her hatred, and for now, that meant keeping Gustav on the hook just long enough to get what she needed.

Her fingers tightened briefly around the hem of her sleeve. She didn't have time for their games. Not anymore.

 

[Dr Bellwright]

Gustav smiled. Ivar did not like it; he tried to catch what Francisco was doing with his peripheral vision and vampiric sense of smell. The valet was most likely also a bodyguard in some capacity. Meanwhile, Ivar tried to signal to Miles that they should be ready. The beach babes were a bit too far for him to sniff out who was just a model and who was a vampire, most likely sired by Gustav and loyal to him. At least one of them must have been. Either way, they were outnumbered. He possessed the devil's mark, but using it would be a drastic measure. He'd be ousted as one with a contract if he used it.

Gustav, meanwhile, continued to talk. "Dear Morwenna, you are a scarce breed," the vampire said as he approached her. "You and Ivar, that is. Four of you are already dead, and yet to spray threats like you have real power behind you." Gustav smiled, baring his fangs. He was just three steps away and continued his approach.

Ivar stood in place, trying to look as casual as one could in given circumstances. At this very moment, he was not sure who he hated more, Gustav or Morwenna. A thought that they could just kill each other did occur to him, and it was not an unpleasant one. However, he'd hate to be the last man standing. People who had no one to cover their backs died rather horribly. Also, while he was not ready to admit it, he did start to admire the fearlessness of this particular witch.

"Tell me what happened with those who killed your colleagues. Do you even know if anyone started the investigation? Any investigation?" Gustav smiled and made one more step.

Why did she have to break the line? We were standing in one line, like a team. Ivar found himself thinking; he felt Miles shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"This is close enough." Ivar said he was a little surprised at the steel in his own voice and levelled with Morwenna once again, and then took a step further, pressing his shoulder against Gustav's shoulder.

"Gustav. Just tell us the name of the last person you know Erica met. And then charge your man Francisco with sending us her contacts. And we will be out of your hair faster than we've arrived." Ivar said, trying to stay as calm as possible.

"Stanley Stone, he is a trader and a werewolf. Erica spent a lot of time with him, whether it was personal, business, or both, I'm not aware." Gustav spoke. His eyes were trained at Morwenna, and his lips were contorted in a permanent smirk. "Francisco, you heard the man. Send the detectives all you have on Erica." Gustav said, looked at Ivar one more time, and stepped back and walked back to the "beach," simply waving his hand.

---

The task force of three walked back to the car in silence, only when Francisco closed the door behind them did Ivar exhale somewhat louder, and then when they approached the car, when Morwenna tried to open her door, he slammed it back shut.

"You were out of line." He told her. "He is an immortal bored pervert, the more you agitate him, the more he is excited. He does not care if he is a suspect or if he will have to spend a few years under investigation, this is probably exciting for him. Also, what the fuck happened with me being the bad cop?!" Ivar's nostrils flared, and he stepped towards Morwenna, nothing like Gustav before. He was visibly angry, though he did tease her with his fangs at least. "He is right, we are a dying breed, and you decide to go off script," He had an urge to point at her with his finger. To dig his finger into her, but this was not 1780s any longer, so instead he punctuated every few words with his finger tapping into the hood of the car behind Morwenna.

 

[VelvetWhispers]

Morwenna's eyes narrowed as Ivar slammed the door shut, the sudden rush of air from the motion tossing her dark hair slightly around her shoulders. She didn't flinch, though; instead, she smiled—a slow, sarcastic smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Out of line?" she echoed, her voice dripping with amusement, though her eyes sparkled with something far more dangerous. She took a step closer to him, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. "You mean I wasn't following your script? Forgive me for not being a good little sidekick." Her tone was mocking, barely concealing her disdain.

She took another step, her shoulder brushing against his, just as he had done with Gustav earlier, her hand coming to rest on the car's hood where his finger had been tapping. Her body language was relaxed, almost casual, but there was a current of power running through her, simmering just beneath the surface. If she wanted, she could summon fire in the palm of her hand or freeze the blood in his veins—just a flick of her wrist.

But she didn't. Not yet.

"Let me make something clear," she said, her voice low and silky, though her eyes never left his, gleaming with a cold intensity. "I don't take orders from vampires. Least of all ones who think waving their fangs around is some kind of intimidation tactic." She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a smirk. "As for Gustav… did you honestly think he'd respond to your brooding, bad-cop routine? Please. The man gets off on playing with people's patience, and you were giving him exactly what he wanted."

She pushed off the car, standing up straight now, her hands sliding into the pockets of her fitted, dark coat. "You're angry because I didn't let him play his little game. I don't care if he's excited. I care about results. And while you were busy trying to look scary, I was getting answers. So, you're welcome."

Her eyes flicked to his fangs, barely contained behind his lip, then back to his eyes, a glint of mischief there now. "And if you want to keep your finger intact, I'd suggest you stop pointing it in my direction. I bite back."

She took a deliberate step back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned to open the car door again, not waiting for his response. She could feel his anger pulsing behind her, but she wasn't fazed. If he wanted a fight, she was more than prepared to give him one. But she had a feeling he wouldn't push it—not yet. He might have been old and powerful, but Morwenna wasn't easily intimidated. She thrived on the edge, and Ivar was just another challenge in her path.

 

[Dr Bellwright]

Ivar could not exactly ignore the fact that the woman smelt fantastic. Her blood. He rubbed the tongue against the top of his mouth as if he could already taste her blood. He pushed the thoughts away. He was not some young fledgling, he was in control, and this fucking witch was stubborn as fuck. Was it that hard to apologise and to agree to follow the script?! He did not voice any of the thoughts that popped into his mind, driven by frustration.

He felt her shoulder brush against his own. Was she trying to provoke him? He let her speak and smiled as she exposed her neck a little when she tilted her head. A little too obvious? He heard a thought pop in his brain. If he were a wiser man, Ivar would have realised that part of his frustration and anger was because Morwenna took his role. It was he who was supposed to be difficult, it was he who was supposed to be standing there all nonchalant, listening to other people complain about his methods.

Instead, he was standing there, sizzling with anger at some upstart witch, while trying not to look at her neck. "I did not give any orders." He instead said. "I told you," He inhaled, "I suggested that I'd be a bad cop, and you did not object." He felt like turning his head to Miles and then immediately disliked the idea of seeking outside help to prove his point. "And then without any signal, you went against the plan, that you had no objects prior." Ivar said. He did not heed her advice, his finger was slowly denting their service car. He inhaled again. "Do you ever get tired of spewing your fucking empty threats?" Ivar asked and immediately loathed the fact that he was agreeing with bloody Gustav. He opened his mouth and started a sentence. "Just because you are some bigoted witch with vampire problems does..." and then he just threw his hands up. "Ah, fuck it." He said at about the same time when the witch took her step back and got back into the car and looked at Miles.

The young werewolf was typing something into their phone, a little too aggressively. Ivar smiled, figuring he was trying to look busy and disappear while the adults argued. Adults. Ivar scoffed and walked around the car to take his place, next to Morwenna.

"So," Miles said, when he took the wheel, "I believe I found a safe house for you." The werewolf said, and Ivar lifted two fingers in the air and slowly tilted them from side to side. "No. No. No. The previous one already exploded. I know place off the grid." Ivar said, and then he glanced at his witch companion, expecting her to say something he quickly added. "I'm alright to stay there alone. And meet with you two in the evening. But first we need to stock up on some weapons." He added and pulled a business card from his tailored suite and passed it to Miles.

"A pawn shop, sir?" Miles asked.

"Good enough front. Cash business." Ivar added.