by Lyla Oweds
By scent, I could tell this was Alyssa’s mother—Marianne. There was a maternal bond between the two that couldn’t be denied. And the change in front of me was fascinating to watch. Within seconds, the infant had curled into her mother’s chest and returned to sleep.
A third presence registered as my panic receded. There was a little boy standing in the green-tinted glass doorway. He was peeking into the room, watching his mother.
“Why’s she crying,” he asked, not paying any attention to me.
Marianne rocked her daughter for a moment longer before setting her back down. She didn’t respond as she placed the embroidered blanket back over her.
“Mommy?” He was at her feet now, tugging at the bottom of her soft-pink dress. “Why’d she cry?”
“Babies cry for a lot of reasons, Arthur. When they’re hungry, cold, or wet.” Marianne straightened, patting her son’s head. “And sometimes it’s because they need a little love.”
She hadn’t given me more than a passing glance, and with every second, I was feeling more and more out of place.
“I’m sorry…” Again, curse Gregory for putting me into this position. “She started crying, and I wasn’t sure what—”
“My name is Marianne Stephens,” she said, extending her hand toward me. “Thank you for watching her. Oliver and Gregory met up with me inside. I was on my way out here to keep you company when I heard her crying.”
“Oh.” The sudden introduction threw off my stammered apologies. “Um… Gloria Protean.” I shook her hand, unsure of how to proceed.
But she took control of the situation. Releasing my hand, she gestured at the chair I’d abandoned. “Take a seat. I’ve already requested that a better spread be brought out. But I’d love to know your story, they don’t let us out often. And I can already tell we’re going to be good friends.”
Chapter Eleven
“Good morning, Miss Gloria.” Gregory stepped into the small room that doubled as our office space. As he closed the door, he looked at Michael, who’d been lounging against his desk. I was seated in Michael’s spot, because if I was going to kick anyone out of their space, it’d be him.
And, of course, because Mr. Kohler had told me we were supposed to share a working space.
“Hello, Michael,” Gregory greeted, his tone less emotionless than usual.
“Michael?” Michael raised his eyebrow, our gazes meeting briefly. Then he twisted away from me to look at his friend. “Aren’t you chipper today? What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I just had a good weekend,” Gregory replied, taking off his jacket and hanging it up on the stand.
“How so? Did some pretty girl find you on a bender and nurse you back to health?” Michael asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve never seen you this happy on a Monday morning.”
I’d started holding my breath at the beginning of Michael’s questions. By the end, my skin was inflamed.
I hadn’t planned on spending my Sunday with him. Even so, the two of us had ended up with Oliver and Marianne for most of the day.
Marianne had been correct in her assumption that we’d be friends. By mid-afternoon, it felt as though we’d known each other for years. We’d spoken for a half-hour about my work and school. Topics that seemed to fascinate the female fae. Then she, in turn, told me about her life.
Although our worlds were different, it was impossible to deny our camaraderie.
At some point during our discussion, Gregory and Oliver had joined us.
However, I never did figure out what item Gregory had needed from his brother. Even after we left his brother’s home, Gregory had only driven me back to town—his demeanor unreadable. Afterward, I went home. I redirected my mother’s questions with a lie about being pulled into a work-related manner. Then I slept away the rest of the evening in lazy bliss.
It had been a very odd day.
But now my heart raced at Michael’s question. The remnants of my strange but pleasant weekend washing away with each breath.
We hadn’t prepared for this. Gregory and I had not discussed what we would do now, or how this might have changed things between us. I was no fool; it was improper for me to hang out with Gregory outside of work. In a perfect world, Michael would never know we’d seen each other at all.
But now it was too late for us to come to an accord.
I covered my face with my hand, staring hard at Gregory through the gaps in my fingers. And I prayed that, somehow, the power of my gaze would make him understand.
Surprisingly, it seemed to work. His questioning, bright eyes held mine for only a second before he shrugged.
“Something like that,” Gregory said as he slid into his seat and pulled a folder from the pile in front of him. “What did you do this weekend, Mr. Michael?”
“Oh, we’re back to that then, are we?” Michael turned back to me, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe him?”
My attention moved back to my notepad and pen. When Gregory had arrived, Michael had been about to recap our case. Before this, I’d only been tagging along while we waited to speak to Jordan Bigelow. But I hadn’t had all the details.
“The nerve of him,” I muttered under my breath. This subject needed to be changed before Gregory ran his mouth anyway. “What were you saying? Before…”
“Ah, yes.” Michael straightened, cracking his neck. “As I was explaining to you, I met with Joe over the weekend. He’s frustrated because we’re at Jordan’s mercy right now, so he personally met Oscar DuClaw on Saturday. He was hoping to make progress by coming at the case from another angle, but we didn’t get very far. I tagged along to the interview. He was going to be here to go over this this morning. But now he won’t be in today. He’s dealing with some family obligations. However, he’s entrusted me with bringing you two up to speed.”
“What family obligations?” Gregory asked, glancing up from the paper he’d been studying.
“His wife is in labor.” Michael waved his hand in the air. “But as it’s their third, he says the hullabaloo isn’t quite the same. He actually planned on being here, but she threatened to murder him.”
“Ah, it’s that time again.” Gregory nodded. “I hope he finally gets the son he wanted.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Michael said. “In the meantime—”
“Wait a second.” I put my hand in the air, staring at the two idiots before they could delve back into work. “Mr. Kohler’s wife is having a baby? This is a huge event. Did you even give them a present? Why did no one tell me his wife was pregnant?”
Michael and Gregory glanced at each other, faces cautious, before Michael said, “It’s not important. People have children every day. What in the world would we get him?”
They were so clueless.
“You’re coworkers. As such, you have a social obligation to give Mr. Kohler and his wife a gift!” I resisted the urge to smack myself. Children might not have been my forte, but every birth was a cause for celebration. “That is the decent thing to do.”
“But… why?” Gregory asked, cocking his head. He seemed genuinely confused.
“The three of us are pooling our funds and purchasing a gift,” I growled under my breath. Perhaps this was why these misfits had been shuffled into the basement to work. They lacked proper office etiquette. “You’re going to be pleasant about it. And when we give it to him, you’ll both be smiling and radiating good cheer.”
Michael’s hands were in the air, his face the picture of surrender. Meanwhile, Gregory was not so easily persuaded. Instead, he watched me with trepidation.
“Do we have to?” the fae asked.
I didn’t respond, only narrowed my gaze at him further.
He frowned and glanced away first.
“Now that our orders have been established”—he cleared his throat, a flush moving over his neck—“shall we discuss your weekend?” he asked Michael.
“Right.” Michael nodded, seemingly pleased to change the subject. “First, l
et’s review what we already know.”
Gregory glanced down at his notes again, before speaking. “Stacy DuClaw was seventeen when she was murdered. She and Oscar had only been married two weeks.”
“Let’s focus on that for a moment,” Michael interjected, raising a finger. “Somehow, I have a feeling it’s relevant. In fact, I suspect the core of this case has to do with mate bonds. Oscar mentioned that he and his wife knew each other their whole lives. But she was sixteen when he was twenty, and that’s when it was decided they’d be married.”
“That’s not unusual.” I pushed my pen across the desk with the tip of my finger. “Mate bonds will only manifest after both parties reach sixteen.”
“But he’s said she didn’t want to marry him at first. Oscar claims she was shy, despite knowing him.” Michael glanced at me. “That’s why they didn’t complete their bond until she was seventeen.”
“Now that is unusual,” I supplied, pausing in my movements.
“I have a suspicion, but why do you think this?” Michael asked.
“Because mate bonds are sacred.” I continued my previous actions, not looking at the two of them. “It’s highly likely that she’d been raised to look forward to the day her mate was revealed. It’s a momentous occasion. And she knew him, they grew up together. So she knew he was also the future Alpha. Any normal female wolf would be ecstatic. Her entire future was set. So why would she want to wait?”
“And even outside of lupine society, her resistance was still odd. Remember, this was a half-century ago,” Gregory added. “The culture of the time would have pressured her to accept her place as a married woman, even more so than today. There was something else holding her back.”
“Maybe she only wanted to be older before tying the knot? Is it complicated?” Michael said. “People are more mature at seventeen.”
“There’s not much difference between sixteen and seventeen,” Gregory said. “She didn’t want to be with him.”
Gregory’s serious eyes captured me.
Despite acting pompous most of the time, he was really quite astute.
But what threw me off at the moment was the question in his expression. He wanted to ask me something. However, I wasn’t certain what.
So instead, I ignored my twisting gut and smirked. “You’re already analyzing everyone?”
“I’m starting to get a feel for her,” he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in response.
“I’m playing devil’s advocate here, so bear with me. But why are there any other reasons? Couldn’t she just have been nervous?” Michael’s voice sliced through the space, pulling my attention away from Gregory. “I don’t want to have us go down this hole until we’re certain.”
For an instant, guilt and panic shot through me. Because how could I completely ignore Michael when he was sitting only feet away from me? Especially to make eyes at his best friend.
What was wrong with me?
I tried to remind myself that Michael was nothing to me, only an annoyance.
After all, I’d rejected him so there was no reason to feel bad. I’d already rejected him seven hundred fourteen times.
Besides, Gregory was strange.
But ignoring him wasn’t working, and my stomach was still a mess. I couldn’t imagine why.
Perhaps it was better to focus on answering Michael’s question.
I glanced back at my paper, picking up the pen and drawing a circle in the corner. “She wouldn’t be. The mate bond is of biological origin. You’re matched to someone who, theoretically, is exactly your equal in every way. It also takes into consideration physical compatibility. The only way she’d be nervous was if she was fighting it. She didn’t want to marry Mr. DuClaw. He has to know that.”
Even William hadn’t fought the bond entirely, he’d only wanted to add another person to his relationship. To share. But he still wanted Stephanie, that was never in question.
What would cause someone to want to reject the mate bond? Your destined one was supposed to be your other half, literally.
For example, any mate of mine would obviously be one hundred percent in support of my quirks and lifestyle. Otherwise, it would never work.
I didn’t understand.
“Do you think she might have been in love with someone else?” Gregory asked. “Would that have caused her to want to reject Mr. DuClaw?”
I sighed, pinching my nose. Why was he asking me? I didn’t have the answers. “I don’t know. It’s not often when a mate rejects their other half, so I can’t tell you much about it. But surely someone wouldn’t fall in love with a person not destined for them. That would be irresponsible.”
Not impossible though. My stomach twisted as I considered my brother’s own story. But the likelihood of Stacy’s situation being even remotely similar was astronomical.
I glanced toward Michael, who seemed to be studying me curiously. “Has he given you any new information about her death? Something that’s not in the files? She drowned, right?” I asked, clarifying. There were mountains of paperwork related to this case, and I hadn’t had time to go over everything yet.
Michael braced his hands on the table beside him. “She might have been found near the river, where the currents ran strongest. But she did not drown.”
“She didn’t?” I glanced at him, frowning. “But before, you said—”
“She’d been struck on the head.” Gregory flipped through the papers in front of him. “It was a lethal wound. Her body was dumped into the river after she was dead.”
“It was Oscar who found his wife,” Michael added. “But she’d been missing for three days before her body was discovered. Timothy Bigelow was their first suspect. He didn’t have much of a defense either, considering.”
I glanced between the two of them. It seemed as though I was missing something. “Why?”
“Necromancers and shifters usually coexist moderately well,” Gregory said. “Most groups do—except for the necromancers and onmyoji.”
“Usually,” I agreed, wondering what this had to do with anything. “What’s your point?”
“Timothy Bigelow was a childhood friend of Oscar DuClaw,” Gregory said, glancing from his notes again. “But things got political. Mr. Bigelow was a chieftain of rehomed Susquehannock natives. He was also an activist. Mr. Bigelow felt that Mr. DuClaw wasn’t using his influence strongly enough to help speak for his people. They had a falling out shortly before the future Mrs. DuClaw turned sixteen. Mr. Bigelow threatened to destroy Mr. DuClaw’s chances of happiness. The entire event was quite public.”
“That’s quite a leap to make.” I pursed my lips—people got into fights all the time. “Because Mr. Bigelow expressed his frustration publicly, he was suspected of murder? It was over a year later.”
“There were other pieces of evidence that drew suspicion,” Gregory continued. “Such as the location where Mrs. DuClaw’s body was discovered. The river bordered the reservations the Susquehannock peoples inhabited.”
“So, I’m assuming they questioned him about this.” I tapped my pen. “And he was let go. Clearly there wasn’t enough evidence.”
“It was circumstantial.” Michael leaned back, crossing his arms. “But there was something else too. Though nothing could tie him to Stacy’s murder, he lied during his interrogation.”
“He lied? About what?” I asked.
“His location during the duration of Stacy’s disappearance had been accounted for. And there was no other evidence that they even knew each other,” Michael said. “That was backed up by statements in his own interview. He claimed he hadn’t seen the victim in years, and that they were never close. In the transcripts, he referred to Stacy as ‘Mrs. DuClaw’ in every instance that he spoke of her. Further backing up the claim that she was a stranger.”
I still wasn’t seeing the lie. “So?”
“He was interviewed over a period of six months.” Gregory frowned down at the papers. “And the transcripts are consistent wit
h the chain of events. He did not know her, he was out at a conference, and was only arrested on the way home. But, in one of the last interviews before the case was eventually abandoned, he slips up.”
“Slips up?” I raised my eyebrow in question.
“He calls her Stacy,” Michael added with a wave. “Only once in months of questioning.”
“So?” I shrugged. “Who cares? He was probably getting frustrated.”
“It’s important,” Gregory interrupted. “When someone’s established patterns deviate, it shows their true, innermost thoughts. He knew Stacy DuClaw—enough to be on a first-name basis with her.”
“But it was never followed up on,” Michael added. “No one considered the slip to be significant.”
“So why do you?” I understood what they were saying. But certainly it would have been investigated if this were of importance. “Are you thinking that if he knew her, he might have more of a motive? You said there is no evidence to support the theory.”
“Just a hunch.” Michael shrugged. “That’s one reason why we need to speak to Jordan Bigelow. I feel like he knows about this case and might be more willing to help us than his grandfather had been.”
“Even if he does, which doesn’t sound likely, what is Oscar DuClaw hoping to accomplish?” I frowned at the top of my desk. “Timothy Bigelow is dead. What happens if we clear his name? Oscar DuClaw will either be regretful over blaming someone who was once his friend, or he’ll be furious.”
Michael rubbed his neck, sighing. “I don’t think it’ll be either. When I met with him over the weekend, he seemed resigned. I think, at this point, he just wants the truth. I don’t think he’ll be alive for much longer.”
My eyes flickered toward him, surprise lancing through me. The Alpha of a large pack passing away was a huge deal. I hadn’t heard that the Silver Moon pack might be facing that transformation in their pack any time soon. “What makes you think that?”
“His eyes,” Michael replied with a frown. “They have that look about them.”
What look was that? I glanced at him curiously, but Michael didn’t elaborate. Instead, he cracked his neck and moved on. “In any case, this is the only lead we have at the moment.”
