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Blood pooling suggested the male had been on his front when he died.

Face down, body fully submerged in the fountain, giving him a floppy quality.

His forehead was peppered with little penny-shaped divots, suggesting he’d had his head forced down or fallen face first with his own body weight behind him.

A drowning, one might guess, were it not for the way his jaws were split wide open in a horrific Chelsea grin.

Blake shivered at the sight of his caved-in teeth splintering through his gums. His fangs were absent amongst the bloody mess of his mouth.

His body was on the cobbles now—pulled from the fountain by another shifter during the early hours of the morning. Thankfully the fountain hadn’t been on, otherwise it’d have made one hell of a mess.

“Poor bugger,” Duncan said, snapping open the briefcase. “Do we know anything about him?”

Blake nodded. “His driving licence says he is Robert Green, thirty-six years old, of 22 St Edmonds Drive, High Enfield. But we’ll need—” He was about to say they’d need dental records to confirm it, but that horse had already bolted.

“Robbery gone wrong?” Duncan continued.

“It’s possible. There’s no cash in his wallet and his phone is missing.”

Blake knew that wasn’t the case. Smashing an alpha’s fangs was… degrading. Calculated. Personal. Even Val, an alpha in her nineties, kept her fangs, despite all her other teeth coming loose. He shuddered at the thought, but quickly trained his face back into neutrality.

“What about his family?” Pember said, appearing at his side. “Did he have a mate, or children?”

Blake nodded. “Family Liaison are with them now.”

Pember’s eyebrows pulled into a mournful arch. “Poor man.”

Duncan shuffled over, patting Pember on the arm. The small touch made Blake’s jaw clench and his wolf snarl.

“Try not to worry. We can’t help him where he’s going. It’s his family that’ve been left behind.”

Pember nodded solemnly. “Who’s the Family Liaison Officer?”

Blake cleared his throat, striding past Duncan to smooth out a wrinkle in the tent and not-so-subtly knocking his hand off Pember’s shoulder. “DS White.”

“Oliver? Oh Jesus…” Duncan replied. “I hope you’ve got damage control lined up.”

Blake huffed, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “He’s fine for jobs like this. He might be abrasive, but he’s mellowed a bit since having the kids.”

Pember chuckled, pressing his lips together. “You sure? He did threaten to run my mum over.”

Blake inclined his head. “Fair point.”

The awkwardness melted away as all three of them discussed the forensic strategy, and Duncan eventually left them to it, opting to make conversation with a pretty little response officer instead. Blake wasn’t complaining.

“When you were a kid,” Pember said, swinging a leg over the lip of the stone fountain, which was easier said than done in thigh-high rubber wellies, “did you just stop and think one day—I know, I’d like to wade knee deep in corpse juice when I get older?”

Blake huffed out a laugh, catching Pember’s arm as he struggled to keep his balance. “No, I can’t say I did.”

Pember bent down and dipped a series of test tubes into the water. “Oh. Surprising. I thought maybe it was your calling or something. Here.” He shook three filled tubes in Blake’s direction.

“We’ll go with ‘or something,’” Blake replied, holding open an evidence bag.

“Because I’ve only been ‘wading knee deep in corpse juice’ for just over a year.

Truth be told, all through school I had my heart set on being in a band.

Didn’t matter what band, just anything that involved world tours and guitars. ”

Pember grinned, rubbing several swabs over the stone swan in the fountain’s centre. “I could see that. Although, you’re lacking in shit tattoos. There’s blood spray here.”

Blake nodded, bagging the swabs. “Unfortunately for me, endocarditis is always a risk. So tattoos are off the table.”

Pember straightened, giving him a quizzical look. “Because of the needles?”

Blake nodded. “Yeah, the risk of infection is too high. Which, for a rebellious little brat like me, felt like torture. There’s more over there.”

Pember cocked a brow, drawing out more swabs. “You were never a rebellious little brat, were you?”

Blake nodded. “I was. There’s a reason my parents only ever had one kid. I think I shattered their illusions of gentle parenting.”

Pember tilted his head, handing him more swabs. “Huh. That explains a lot.”

“Pardon?”

“You. Being an only child. Explains a lot.”

“Enlighten me.”

Pember sucked his lip, the faded bite mark still present on the side of his mouth. Blake inadvertently licked his own lip, his fangs beginning to ache at the memory of the omega’s tongue pressed against his.

It was an odd place for his cock to start showing an interest, but it began stiffening in his trousers all the same.

“You don’t—” Pember began, suddenly looking shy. “No offence, but you don’t seem to play well with others. Plus, you eat slowly. Classic only child behaviour.”

Blake’s mouth twitched, and he watched as Pember squatted in the gore-filled water. He scraped at something on the fountain’s tiled base, nose wrinkling as he withdrew his hand.

“I don’t eat that slowly,” Blake replied, eyeing him up and down.

Pember chuckled, reaching over to a tool case and withdrawing some kind of metal spatula. “You do. It was like torture waiting for you to finish dinner so we could eat the cheesecake last night.”

“It was worth the wait, though. Right?”

Pember shrugged. “A solid six out of ten.”

“Six. Six? ”

Pember laughed, bending down again. “See? Prickly, and can’t take criticism. Classic. Only. Child. Actually, now I’m starting to believe you were a brat.”

Blake shrugged. “You say prickly, I say having a knack for knowing who’s a grade A piss-taker.”

There was a pause, then: “Is that why you joined the police? A talent for sniffing out bullshit?”

Blake snorted. “No. My parents gave me an ultimatum when I was eighteen. Buck up or get out. I can’t tell you how many times they threatened to send me to my grandma’s house. It was only when I joined Child Protection that I started to feel it , I guess.”

Pember cocked a brow. “Feel what?”

“Like I was making a difference.”

Pember let out a soft breath. “Will you go back? To Child Protection?”

“Maybe one day,” he replied, thinking back to the idiotic Live Laugh Love , poster Oliver had put behind his desk one morning following a rather nasty remand case. He grinned, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. “What about you? Will you stay?”

Pember shrugged. “Forensics was never my first choice, but I’m enjoying it. Wallace wants to book me on loads of courses.” His face scrunched as he reached into the fountain with both hands, tugging at something under the water. “There’s something here.”

Blake frowned, leaning forwards.

“Feels like… Ah!”

Pember stumbled back as something dislodged itself. There was a whirring noise, followed by a splutter and a clunk as the fountain’s motors kicked to life.

“Oh shit,” Pember yelped, slipping and sliding as he rushed to get out. Blake yanked his arm, but it was too late, the motors started turning, pulling the water through the pipes and sending up a jet full of crimson water. It sprayed over them, coating them in bloody gore.

“Ew, ew, ew!” Pember screeched as Blake grabbed his arms and hauled him out of the fountain. They retreated into the corner of the tent, almost tripping over the body as they went.

“What the hell—” Blake began, but then he saw it, clutched in Pember’s soaking wet hand. A phone.

They looked at one another, then back at the phone. The screen was cracked, and if the little blinking water symbol was anything to go by, the device was about to go into recovery mode.

“Mark!” Blake bellowed, wiping a hand across the screen. “Mark, get me a fucking preservation bag!”

There was a flurry of movement outside the tent, but all they could look at was the quickly fading screen.

“What’re you going to do?” Pember said, wide-eyed as he handed him the phone.

The device was PIN locked, meaning there really was nothing he could do other than access a few of the phone’s basic functions. Flicking to the camera, he saw that the last photograph taken was just a black screen.

“What about the call log?” Pember said, pressing himself into Blake’s arm. “O-or text messages?”

Blake shook his head. “Not without the PIN. But maybe…” He clicked on the keypad, bringing up the last dialled number.

“999,” Pember said, eyes going wide.

Blake nodded. “He tried to call the police.”