“Commissioner Grayson will see you now.”
With a pensive nod, Alice entered through the large oak door, pushing against the heavy metal handle. The room beyond was dark, almost pitch black as she stumbled inside.
“Alice,” a deep voice greeted, Dread’s whole body hidden in shadow. “Please, take a seat.” A hand stretched into the sliver of light created by the open door, his fingers, long and pale, were decorated with a diamond and ruby encrusted ring that encircled his middle finger. She closed the door behind her, the room in complete darkness.
Dread’s window, the one that would have just an amazing view of London to the one in reception, was blocked out with a blackout blind, the man preferring to sit in the dark.
Alice stepped forward, feeling for the chair she luckily noticed before she closed the door. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, she just wasn’t happy with it. She didn’t trust the complete absence of sight, especially as the man sitting quietly before her could see perfectly while she couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.
She heard a click, the room illuminated by a chrome lamp that perched on the corner of his oversized wooden desk, clean of everything other than the lamp, a piece of paper and a single gold pen that he had positioned perfectly along the natural grooves of the wood. She tried to hide her jump as his eyes settled on her, ones that were just as dark as the room. Obsidian ovals in a white face, ones so dark you couldn’t tell where the irises started and pupils began.
Well, she thought to herself.
This is disconcerting. She had known him all her life, could read him better than anyone, and he wasn’t happy.
Drum. Drum. Drum.
Dreads fingers tapped against the top of his desk in an annoying sequence.
Drum. Drum. Drum.
Dread Grayson has held his position as Commissioner of the Supernatural Intelligence Bureau since it was first built around three hundred years ago. The man sitting before her, who still drummed his fingers across the wood, was one of the most powerful people in the city, not counting The Council. He just stared at her, his face worryingly composed, the grooves, which he received before the turn, seemed etched from stone, not one facial muscle moving. He continued to stare at her unblinking, his dark hair cut close to the scalp, almost bald. Large bushy eyebrows dominated his otherwise hair-free face, the dark hair highlighting his incredibly pale complexion.
“You cut your hair recently. Looks nice,” Alice nervously commented as she brushed her own blonde strands from her face.
Why am I here?
He finally blinked at her as a vein started to pulse in his forehead.
“What are you wearing?” he asked, voice clipped.
Alice looked down, seemingly confused by his comment.
She bit her lip, heat against her cheeks as she only just noticed what she had thrown on. Her shirt was pure white with two strategically placed avocados on the front. Tucked into her black jeans it looked relatively clean. She was grateful it was one of her politer shirts.
She folded her arms over her chest, trying to hide the design as if nothing was wrong. That gained her a small, familiar smile, just the tip at the corner of his mouth. Dread had always moaned about her choice in clothing, ever since he took over as her legal parental guardian all those years ago. He still moaned regularly, even though she constantly reminded him she was twenty-three.
He thought she was acting up.
She thought the shirts were cool.
The smile vanished, his face immobile once again. His eyes were something he often used to scare people, the creepiness of them enough to force anyone to behave. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.
The door at her back opened, allowed some extra light to creep into the still too dark room. She fought not to turn, Dread holding her gaze until the door shut once again.
“Now Alice, you will remain quiet until asked a direct question. Do you understand?” Dread betrayed no emotion, he had become the Commissioner of the Supernatural Intelligence Bureau, leader of the Paladins. Not her parental figure.
She just nodded back, deciding it was better not to open her mouth at all. She didn’t always have a conscious thought on what came out.
“Okay then, when Mr Wild takes a seat we can start this meeting.” His obsidian eyes broke their connection, allowing her to breathe for a second before Mr Wild sat in the seat beside her.
The man was tall, around six feet with long light brown hair that hid the expression on his face in a straight curtain.
She looked back at Dread in confusion.
Why am I here? she asked silently while his eyes stayed blank. He knew what she had asked, but refused to respond. She huffed to herself as she chanced another glance to her right. Piercing blue eyes met hers for a fleeting second before she forced herself to look away.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She had recognised those eyes, eyes of a shifter, someone that was part man, part animal. One that was pissed.
“Let’s get on with this then,” the man beside her complained, his voice deep but emotionless. Monotone even.
She turned to look at him again as his irises changed, the brightness dimming to a darker blue, ones that showed even less emotion, if that was even possible. It was like staring at a wall.
Alice observed him as he swept his long hair over his shoulder, revealing an unusually narrow nose compared to his broad chin. His facial hair was messy, as if he was used to being clean shaven but hadn’t had the time or just couldn’t be bothered. She continued to stare at him even as he looked at Dread expectantly, ignoring her for the moment. He had been the wolf shifter she had tagged a week ago, the one who had helped wreck the bar and had gotten her banned.
“Let’s begin then, shall we?” Dread tapped once more on the desk. “Agent Alice Skye, do you know why you have been asked to attend this meeting?”
“No,” she murmured, even as she struggled to figure out what was going on.
“Do you remember the gentleman next to you?”
Alice gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Then can you explain to me why you arrested the Alpha of White Dawn?”
“White Dawn?” Alice opened her mouth in a silent gasp.
Oh shit, she cursed herself. White Dawn was the largest wolf pack in London, if not Europe. She had royally fucked up.