Chapter One

Jonathan Harker exited the Detroit airport, reading over crime scene reports in one hand as he held a medium-size battered suitcase with his other. He'd been poring over the files for hours, trying to make sense of everything he was looking at. His arrival would hopefully help bring clarity to it all, but he wasn't sure.

He clutched the handle of his suitcase tighter. He could afford a nicer bag but didn't see the point in bothering. The days of him worrying about what others thought of him and the picture he presented were long gone. Ironic since it had been of great importance to him years ago when he was still human. When he studied and worked hard, hoping to one day make a name for himself as a solicitor.

His mouth pinched into a thin line as resentment filled him. The man he once was had been naïve and simple in comparison to what he'd become. In truth, there was very little of the old Jonathan remaining in him. That was for the best. The world he lived in now didn't have a place for the weak.

Jonathan took note of the temperature. It was certainly less oppressive than the August heat in South Carolina, where he'd just flown in from, yet far warmer than England, where he'd been born and raised. The next thing he noticed was the smell. It was a potpourri of petrol, car exhaust, and the general unpleasantries that came with big cities.

The sickening combination of smells hit him in the face, making the wolf he shared his body with edgy. Not that the wolf hadn't already started off prickly. Flying was one of its least favorite activities.

Several of the people he'd been on the plane with exited the terminal behind him. The older woman he'd flown next to was carrying a large, overfilled suitcase. Jonathan stepped toward her and nodded to her bag. "Can I help?"

Relief showed on her face as she set it on the sidewalk. "Thank you."

He lifted the bag and was surprised she'd been able to lift it at all. It wasn't light. "Wasn't your grandson supposed to be meeting you at baggage claim?"

A smile lit her face, and her hand found his forearm. "You were paying attention. I thought you were simply nodding to placate me the entire plane ride here."

Jonathan chuckled. "I was listening."

She watched him carefully. "Listening but not adding much to the conversation."

He inclined his head. "True."

"I think my grandson forgot about me," she said with a wink.

He chuckled. "I highly doubt that. I enjoyed hearing about your family."

She continued to watch him. "I like talking about them, but I also like hearing about other people's families too."

Jonathan pressed a smile to his face. "I didn't have much to share. Sorry."

"Your family all over in England then?" she questioned.

"Not exactly," he returned. "My, um, cousin is supposed to be picking me up here any minute now."

The man coming for him wasn't a cousin. But he was distantly related to Jonathan. He was also like Jonathan. He was a wolf-shifter.

"I see," she replied, continuing to study him.

She'd done that most of the plane ride. She had wise eyes and had probably seen a thing or two in her life.

"Have a special someone then?" she asked with a slight nudge of her elbow. "A lady friend, perhaps?"

That left Jonathan chuckling. "Afraid not."

"How old are you? Thirty?" she questioned. "I've got a granddaughter who is single and about your age."

Jonathan lifted a hand, stopping her there. "I'm older than thirty."

"Hmm, you have good genes then," she replied.

It had more to do with him being immortal than it did with his family genes.

"Do you have the time?" she asked.

Reaching into the front right pocket of his jeans, Jonathan withdrew his antique gold Patek Phillippe pocket watch. It was on a chain that hooked to his belt loop. The item was something he was never without. His finger skimmed the engravings on the exterior of the case. There was a "J" engraved on the front of the watch along with ornate leafing that, over time, was slightly worn from his touch.

The watch had been gifted to him by his former employer, Peter Hawkins, to honor Jonathan's passing of the solicitor's exam at Lincoln's Inn. Hawkins had been so proud of Jonathan, wanting him to take over his law practice eventually.

Jonathan had idolized his employer, seeing Hawkins in an almost fatherly light. He'd have done anything for the man. Traveling when Peter had fallen ill had seemed like the right thing to do. Jonathan had thought the chance to visit Romania the opportunity of a lifetime. Being entrusted with the task of overseeing the purchase of the Carfax estate in London by the eccentric and wealthy Count Dracula was the big break Jonathan needed to help him eventually become a partner in the Hawkins law firm.

Little did Jonathan know that life as he'd known it was going to come to a fast end. That he'd be plunged into a world of vampires, shifters, witches, and magik. That nothing would ever be the same once the blinders were pulled from his eyes. And that he, himself, would come out the other side of the ordeal as something more than human.

A monster.

Yet, that had been what had happened.

Fighting evil and monsters had never been part of Jonathan's life plan. Hell, he'd not even believed supernaturals were real until he'd ended up one. Before everything in his life changed, he'd been thrilled to be a lawyer. He'd thought he'd become a partner in Hawkins's law firm, meet a lovely young woman, settle down, marry, and have a houseful of children. Then he'd grow old with his wife and die. That had been the plan anyway.

The reality had been quite different.

Fate had a sense of humor.

He'd never married, never had children, and his aging had moved to a snail's pace after he'd found himself sharing his body with a wolf.

His time in the Carpathian Mountains, over a hundred years ago, had altered everything. It had flipped his life plans on their head, forever changing them and him. He wasn't the same man who had ascended the mountainside in a carriage long ago. He'd been doe-eyed and trusting when he'd found himself standing outside of Dracula's castle.

Dracula had been the worst host imaginable. Jonathan hadn't been treated like an honored guest. No. He'd found himself held captive by Dracula with prison guards who had come in the form of scandalously clad temptresses.

Deranged, sex-deprived, bloodthirsty hot chicks might sound appealing to most men, but the reality was quite different. The Weird Sisters, as they were known, had warped senses of right and wrong and only listened to Dracula, and even that was touch and go. As if they weren't bad enough, Dracula's best friend just so happened to be a wolf-shifter who served him, doing his questionable bidding without blinking.

Lucian Lupu managed to make Dracula's ego seem small. If Jonathan had a name that sounded like a cheesy soap star character, like Lucian, he'd have been a bit humbler.

Not Lucian.

Not only was the man's ego enormous, but his cold-hearted nature was also well-known in the supernatural community. Saying Lucian was ruthless was an understatement. He did the things Dracula didn't like dirtying his hands with. He was the man in charge of the wolves who served Dracula.

The Romanian pack of wolf-shifters was massive. One of the largest in the world. And one of the most vicious when provoked. Jonathan didn't know the full story, but he knew Lucian once served another master before Dracula and often wondered where the man's true loyalties lay, especially considering who the other master was—Dracula's maker.

Jonathan had assumed Dracula, Lucian, and the Weird Sisters were the worst of the worst. The evilest beings the supernatural world had to offer.

He'd been very, very wrong.

Shortly after encountering Dracula and being an unwilling houseguest of the vampire, Jonathan had found himself standing face-to-face with Dragos (the vampire who had sired Dracula), the wolves who served him, and the horde of ghouls he'd traveled with.

Jonathan hadn't stood against the master vampire alone. He'd found himself making lifelong friends with men brought together by circumstance. He, Quincey "Quin" Morris, Arthur Holmwood, Dr. John Seward, and Dr. Abraham "Bram" Van Helsing had forged a friendship born out of darkness.

Wilhelmina Murray and Lucy Westenra had been wrapped up in the events of long ago too. Both women had been childhood friends of Jonathan's. He'd cherished each of them, although he'd been closer to Wilhelmina, and often reflected on what he might have been able to do differently back then to keep them both out of it all.

Bram had been the only one of the men who had come into the ordeal with knowledge of the supernatural. He'd been a natural-born hunter of evil, which was why Seward had asked for assistance on the ordeal to start with. The rest of the men had learned as they went.

Ironically, Wilhelmina had known about supernaturals long before Jonathan's vampire troubles had spilled over onto her and Lucy. Her family was curators of supernatural artifacts and information and had been for centuries. Her parents had been killed by supernaturals, but she'd kept that to herself until the truth about vampires and shifters came to light for Jonathan.

When Dragos made himself known, it became clear that Dracula was the lesser of two evils. And that without Dracula's assistance, they wouldn't have stood a chance against Dragos. The mission shifted from killing Dracula to assisting him, the Weird Sisters, and Lucian, along with the other wolves, in standing against Dragos.

When all was said and done, Dragos had been locked away for hopefully good, unable to harm anyone else. Jonathan, Holmwood, Quin, Seward, and Bram had won the battle of containing the monster, but it had cost them their lives.

At least their human ones.

Lucian had tried to save Jonathan's life, biting him in the process and then sharing his blood with him. That act alone hadn't been enough. Dracula had stepped in, taking it upon himself to convert each of them. His goal had been to make them each a vampire to serve him as a way to return the favor of helping him defeat his maker.

Jonathan strongly suspected it had more to do with being an arrogant prick who wanted eternity to rub in their faces how he'd saved them all in the end. And how they all owed him for their very existence, however bleak or challenging those existences might be.

Bram, Seward, and Holmwood had been left as vampires, each with their own unique vampiric powers. Quin was a vampire, for the most part, but slightly different from the others.

Then there was Jonathan.

Lucian's bite and the exchanging of blood with Jonathan had protected Jonathan from becoming a fully-fledged vampire but at a cost. He didn't share his body with a demon, but he did share it with something.

A wolf.

One that had a hunger for blood—much like a vampire would. And one that was forever linked to Dracula's line of vampires—at their beck and call like a trained pet. Just like Lucian, who was technically Jonathan's alpha despite Jonathan being an alpha himself.

Everyone answered to someone.

Jonathan bit back a growl, thinking about how humiliating it had been when he'd realized just how much control the vampire had over him. Had it not been for Bram and the fact that Bram had started off more than human—a slayer—therefore making him nearly as powerful as Dracula, Jonathan would probably still be in Romania, doing Dracula's bidding. He'd still be subjected to Lucian's whims.

Now he was left doing Bram's—not that he minded that much. It beat the alternative. That was how Jonathan had come to find himself in Detroit.

"I'm sorry, dear, but the time," said the older woman next to Jonathan, her hand on his arm.

He blinked, dragging himself from thoughts of the past.

She kept her hand on his arm. "You were lost in thought there for a bit."

He nearly denied as much but found himself nodding. "I was. My apologies."

"Never apologize for thinking, young man," she said. "Only apologize when you don't."

The edges of his lips pulled up. He was hardly young, despite his looks. He was far, far older than her.

She eyed his watch. "Oh my, that's an antique. Old indeed."

Jonathan laughed softly.

So am I, he thought before telling her the time.

Chapter Two

A small red four-door car pulled up to a stop near Jonathan and the woman. A younger man, around the age of twenty, hopped out. "Grandma!"

The older woman smiled. "Looks like he didn't forget me after all."

The young man hurried over to them.

Jonathan held out the woman's suitcase.

The young man took it and tipped forward. The suitcase hit the ground, and the man gasped. "Grandma, what did you pack? Rocks?"

"Never you mind," said the woman as she nodded to the bag and then the car. "Let's get a move on."

The young man lifted the suitcase and went to the trunk of the vehicle. He loaded it in as the old woman glanced at Jonathan.

"Take care while you're here," she said.

His brows met.

She glanced at the night sky. "Something is in the air. Something not quite right. Something that can bring out the beast in all of us."

Her warning hung between them.

Jonathan stiffened. Was she simply superstitious, or did she know about the troubles affecting the Detroit area? For the reason, Jonathan had flown in to start with? "Come again?"

She didn't say anything else before going to the red car. Her grandson opened the door for her, and she got in, never once glancing back at Jonathan.

Unnerved, Jonathan set his suitcase on the sidewalk and took a second to collect his thoughts as he waited for his ride. The woman's warning ate at him. Maybe it was nothing, but his gut said there was more to it than that. Did she know the truth about supernaturals? Most humans didn't, and she hadn't smelled like anything more than human.

Was the stench of the city blocking his ability to pick up the smell of other supernaturals? If so, that could prove to be an issue.

He checked his watch once more, noting his ride was late.

An older white van with a dented front bumper drove by slowly. Jonathan seriously hoped that wasn't his ride from the airport. The driver's gaze slid toward Jonathan, and the moment they locked gazes, Jonathan's wolf reacted, rising quickly as if being challenged.

The man, who had a head of light brown hair that hung just past his ears and an unkempt beard, narrowed his eyes.

A snarl nearly ripped free from Jonathan. The wolf 's response wasn't proportional. The man in the van presented no clear or present danger to the wolf, yet the beast wanted to face off. It wanted to go at the man and sink its teeth into his neck.

Enough, he scolded, fearful the wolf would win out and cause him to shift shapes there for all to see. It had little to no concern about the repercussions of such an act. All it cared about was getting to kill the man who was driving the van.

No more.

The wolf listened, for now.

He tucked his watch back into his pocket and lifted his suitcase. Jonathan held his suitcase handle tighter, stopping just shy of breaking it. His wolf was not a fan of flying and had already been in a sour mood before disembarking from the plane. Finding itself in yet another large city hadn't soothed the beast at all. It loathed concrete, tall buildings, and traffic. It liked nature—which was nowhere in sight.

Tonight was not the night to test the wolf 's patience, as the driver of the van would learn soon enough if he kept trying to maintain continuous eye contact with Jonathan. It was a direct challenge. One the wolf would not permit to go unanswered should it continue.

The van driver wised up and averted his gaze, but not before Jonathan caught movement coming from behind the man. There were others in the van, and for some reason, that set Jonathan's hackles up. Instead of having his wolf take the win and run with it, the wolf pushed at him, seeking permission to attack. When Jonathan refused to give in to its demands, it made new ones—wanting him to strip naked and run as far and as fast as he could from all the cement, tall buildings, and chaos. It wanted him to seek out nature and run free.

He didn't want to be in Detroit, but circumstances left him needing to fly in at the last minute. His job for the last hundred-plus years was helping to run Van Helsing Industries that, at its core, remained the same—an organization dedicated to hunting supernaturals. It spanned the globe, with offices in nearly every major city in the world. Over the centuries, it had seen a number of name changes.

The head of the Detroit branch of Van Helsing Industries, along with his second-in-command, had been killed in action only days prior. They'd been randomly attacked while responding to a distress call. Four other Van Helsing slayers had been critically wounded and were still in the hospital. Their prognosis wasn't great.

The Detroit office was in a state of chaos, their numbers cut, their focus split. The deaths of their comrades were too fresh still even to begin the healing process. Jonathan was no stranger to loss. He'd had a front-row seat to the fight against evil for over a hundred years. He'd lost friends, family, and loved ones to it.

Initial reports pointed to a group of wolf-shifters being responsible for the attack, but something in Jonathan's gut said that wasn't the case. He'd read over all the reports that had come in and had been getting real-time updates along the way. They were missing something, and he had voiced as much.

He knew more than one Van Helsing slayer thought Jonathan was biased. That he didn't want it to be wolf-shifters who had been responsible because he, himself, was one.

If shifters were to blame, Jonathan would be the first person out there bringing them to justice. It didn't matter that he technically wasn't blood kin to the Van Helsings. They were family to him. But he was, for all intents and purposes, an outsider who had been let into their inner circle. And with him came his line of wolf-shifters. Men who were direct descendants of his brothers.

Both of his brothers had contracted yellow fever, and neither had been expected to live. Jonathan had done the unthinkable. What he'd sworn he'd never do. He'd taken it upon himself to decide another's fate. He'd passed his curse on to them to spare their lives, condemning them to the same hell he endured. Digby and Myron had survived yellow fever, which had been his goal, but in the end, his act took their lives all the same. They'd each started families and had sons of their own—born with the curse. But neither brother had lived to see their children grow into men.

The curse had taken its toll on them, leaving them mentally broken—fractured shells of themselves. It started with control issues. With angry outbursts. Paranoid delusions were next, followed quickly by hallucinations. The spiral had continued, dragging them into the dark abyss. There had been nothing Jonathan could do to slow or halt their descent.

He'd been forced to watch as they slipped away. Digby had taken the path of evil, much like the wolf-shifter who was Jonathan's maker. He'd given in to the base desires of the monster within, living only for the next kill and taking the lives of innocents. He'd done the unthinkable and joined a secret society of supernaturals who had a singular mission—to come out of hiding and be at the top of the food chain. The Order of the Dragon didn't value human life or want to keep the truth about supernaturals from humans.

A piece of Jonathan's soul had fractured the day he learned what Digby had done and whom he'd decided to call friends. Jonathan had been the one to have to hunt and kill his brother to protect innocents from his wrath.

Myron, the youngest of the Harker boys, had seen the ordeal unfold, and at the first signs of hallucinations, he'd taken his leave. It had been Jonathan who had found Myron's body and the letter he'd left behind. One that placed blame where it was due—squarely on Jonathan. The letter faulted him for converting them in the first place, especially without having talked to them first and explaining what they would become and what their lives would entail. It blamed him for failing to guide them through the conversion process properly and for condemning them to live their lives as monsters controlled by vampires.

And it was all true.

Jonathan had done all those things and more. And Jonathan and his line, which was different from other wolf-shifters because it had trace elements of vampire blood in it as well, did have to answer to a master vampire.

Had he left them alone and allowed yellow fever to take them, they wouldn't have spent years in agony, living life as something they hated.

Guilt still ate at Jonathan to this very day. He'd tried to right the wrongs of the past. To make amends. He watched over and raised his brothers' sons as if they were his own but never dared to have any children himself or pass the curse to another through his bite or blood.

His nephews had been born with their wolves being part of them. And they'd not shown the same signs of splintering as their fathers. As much as Jonathan had discouraged his nephews from starting families, they'd done it all the same. Thankfully, no other Harkers had suffered the same ill fate as his brothers, but Jonathan knew it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out with them.

Hell, he, himself, had already begun to show cracks in his mental well-being. He hid it all behind a laid-back persona. A false façade. One that left him wearing whatever was hip and trendy at the time without being too much. He often came off as a slacker to some, yet he had a good work ethic. He used humor to keep others from noticing the inner war he was waging with his wolf and his darkness.

Right now, his darkness very much wanted to take a chunk out of the driver of the white van. Jonathan watched the white van drive off. Shortly thereafter, a large dark SUV pulled up to a stop near the edge of the walkway. The passenger-side door opened, and out stepped Dwayne Harker.

Dwayne had only recently joined the Detroit team, and Jonathan wasn't planning to leave him in the area for long. Dwayne and his family weren't even supposed to be in Detroit at all right now. They'd been stationed out of New York City, where Dwayne and his teenage son, Kellan, had been tasked with watching over someone precious to the man in charge of everything to do with Van Helsing Industries.

Abraham "Bram" Van Helsing had not taken the news well when he found out his daughter, Dana, and Kellan had a budding romance. The feelings between Kellan and Dana were intense yet innocent, but that hadn't stopped Bram from overreacting. Bram had reacted the way most fathers would when it came to a boy being around their daughter.

Considering the fact that Bram had been around for over a hundred and fifty years, he should have more than known the way of things between teens. Then again, that was probably what had set him off to start with—knowing precisely what had been running through Kellan's mind.

Bram had yanked Dwayne and his family from New York so fast that everyone had whiplash. Bram had then thrust Dwayne at Jonathan as if it were his fault that teenage hormones existed.

For the foreseeable future, Dwayne's family would be staying far from Bram to keep Kellan off Bram's radar and ensure his safety.

Jonathan had a soft spot for the young shifter. In many ways, the young shifter reminded Jonathan of himself and his brothers. They all had one brown and one green eye and the same brown hair. Complete heterochromia was something of a Harker family trait right up until Jonathan and his brothers. Then it hadn't been seen again in the family until Kellan had been born.

Kellan had Myron's softer nature too. He was a gentle soul who didn't take well to the wolf. Much like Myron. As Kellan's godfather, Jonathan took the boy's safety seriously, and pushing Bram too far wasn't safe. The man could be more than deadly.

Dwayne glanced him over and shook his head. "I'm guessing you flew first class like that."

Jonathan glanced down at himself, wondering what the issue was. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a screen printing of the Beatles on it and a pair of faded jeans with holes in them. Black military boots finished off the look. He had a flannel shirt tied around his waist. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?"

Dwayne snorted. "Nothing. It's basically what my son wears, and he's how much younger than you are?"

Jonathan's clothing choices were somewhat unique, considering his age. He didn't look anything close to his age and long ago gave up on being prim and proper. He wouldn't be caught dead in a double-breasted frock coat or wool of any kind if he could help it. And he no longer owned a morning coat. He didn't miss the fashions that were popular when he was actually a young man. They were stiff, uncomfortable, and restricted motion.

Now he went around doing his best to appear carefree. He was anything but. He lived in a constant state of vigilance, always worried what lived in him would overtake him, causing him to break mentally.

Jonathan walked toward the SUV and handed his bag off to the other man. "Then Kellan has better taste than you."

"That's what I told him," said a man from the driver's seat of the SUV.

Jonathan dipped his head to peek into the open window. When he saw Leonard "Leo" Van Helsing, he inclined his head. "Sorry for your loss."

Leo swallowed hard but nodded. "Thanks, man."

Dwayne put the suitcase in the back of the SUV and came back around, opening the passenger-side door for Jonathan. "Your chariot awaits."

Jonathan took a seat and met Leo's gaze fully. "Know that I'm only here to help. Not to take over. We'll find those responsible for what went down, handle them accordingly, and we'll get you ready to take over operations here."

"Me?" asked Leo, his eyes widening. "No. Not me. Someone else would be better suited for the job. I'm not really management material."

Dwayne climbed into the backseat and shut the door. "Yeah, who is better suited? You've got the most seniority and know this office and area like the back of your hand."

Leo twisted around to face Dwayne. "You knew he was looking at putting me in charge?"

Dwayne shrugged. "Maybe."

"It was his suggestion," stated Jonathan.

"Way to throw me under the bus," said Dwayne.

Leo faced forward, put the SUV into gear, and pulled away from the airport, seeming lost in thought.

Jonathan liked that the man hadn't jumped at the opportunity. That he was clearly taking time to think about it. He'd made the mistake of putting power-hungry men in charge before, and it had ended in disaster. To date, the people who had worked out best as leaders in the organization were the reluctant ones. The people who never saw themselves as leadership material.

"How was the flight?" asked Dwayne.

"My wolf will be happy when I can run," stated Jonathan.

"You're going to find that hard to do in the city," replied Dwayne. "Leo's been taking Kellan and me just outside of the city to a state park. It's not huge, but it works. There is a place about an hour and a half from here that he's been telling us about. It's bigger."