When the Moon Shifts

Chapter 1: Ivie

Heavy bass blared from the speakers along the walls, pounding into Ivie from every direction. She lifted her drink, swirled amber liquid over melting ice, and took a long sip. The whiskey burned its way down to her stomach, amplifying the disappointment lingering around her.

"This is a bust," she muttered into her glass, voice barely audible over the pulsing music, "and you can tell this place is run by vampires. Just listen to the music."

The receiver in her ear crackled and a male voice sounded unamused. "You're not here for the music, Sinclair. Focus."

Her lips twitched with amusement. "You're a buzzkill, you know that?"

She spun around on her barstool and surveyed the overcrowded club one more time. It was full of younger vampires—the ones who would actually enjoy the 80s music blasting nonstop—and the humans who flocked to them like cattle. Occasionally, she would get a glimpse of golden eyes glowing in the neon lights. That would be the Shifters. But none of them were Mateo Perez.

"Can I get you anything else?" The bartender asked behind her.

"Whiskey, on the rocks," she pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of her clutch and slid it over to him. "Keep the change."

She had no intention of drinking the whiskey. Tonight, of all nights, her mind needed to be sharp. It was her last chance to save the girls before they're moved. But appearances needed to be kept, and it was would soon become obvious to anyone watching her that she'd only been nursing her last glass of whiskey.

Where is the bastard?

Across from her, tucked up against the furthest wall in the room, was a staircase. The sight of it made her blood boil. She knew what was up there, could feel the ghostly fingers of fear crawl against her skin. Tonight was her last chance to save the girls before they were moved to a new location. It had taken her months to find this place, nestled in its perfect hiding below the flashier, more renowned clubs of New York City.

"Where is he?" she whispered, clenching her fists against the slick fabric of her dress. It was nearing 3 A.M, and there was still no sign of Mateo.

"I think it's time to call it a night," Anderson said, his voice taking on a gentler note. "We can come back..."

Ivie picked up her drink and downed the last of the contents. She took one glance at the stairs and possibilities swam before her eyes. She'd pretend to be drunk and stumble up the stairs—that's if she even made it to the stairs—and...no, it was stupid. She couldn't risk blowing her cover and months' worth of work for only a chance at catching the bastard.

Standing, she pulled some cash out of her purse and was about to make her way through the crowd when a whoosh stirred the air, and she felt a presence behind her.

"Leaving so soon, Special Agent Sinclair?"

Shit.

Ivie's heart pounded a hard beat in her chest, and she spun slowly on her heels, careful to keep her face blank. "You must have me confused—"

"Hush now," the vampire cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Do you really think the boss wouldn't know if P.I.D was sniffing around one of his clubs? Surely you don't think so little of us."

"What's going on?" Anderson barked through her earpiece.

The vampire cocked his head to the side. "Your partner I presume. I must give the Bureau credit; I barely heard his voice."