by Lyla Oweds
My heart raced, and my insides shook with both nervousness and excitement. Even so, my hands were surprisingly steady when I gripped Michael’s elbows.
I floated on air—and the only thing tethering me back to Earth was the feel of his body on mine.
He moved his mouth moved from mine and grazed his teeth lightly over my bottom lip. Biting me once before he sucked lightly on the spot. I was light-headed by the time he pulled back, only inches, and whispered against my mouth, “I love you.”
My breath caught, the moment paused—lasting for a lifetime. Before, slowly, a warm feeling began to well up inside from my stomach to the very tips of my fingers.
Even though I’d tried to ignore my feelings for years, I couldn’t deny my attraction.
But love? I’d only gotten used to the idea of not pushing him away. “I—”
“I’ve got it!” Gregory’s voice preceded him by only a second. The office door was flung open as he stepped into the room.
My blood turned cold.
But Gregory didn’t even glance up at his arrival. He was reading from a small piece of parchment instead. “I made it to the front desk, and it seems as though Caleb had left me a message. He—” His gaze flickered up and his mouth dipped as his expression fell. “What’s this? Did something happen?”
In the instant of Gregory’s arrival, Michael had jumped back from me. But still, it was too close. I’d smoothed my skirts back down, and my pulse raced. This was nerve-wracking. And my hands twisted in my unbound hair as the fae glanced over me.
There was a knowing glint to his eyes; my heart was thundering in my ears.
In my moment with Michael, I’d forgotten about Gregory. The realization caused guilt to eat me. We’d made no promises to each other, but for some reason, I didn’t want him to know.
Michael seemed to stand even taller than before, almost the same height as his best friend. “Something did happen. Gloria—”
“I’m ill.” My voice let out in a rush. “I was having some difficulties breathing. Michael was helping me.”
“Well.” Gregory frowned, concern now glinting in his gaze. “Are you all right now? I thought shifters didn’t get sick. What would cause you to have breathing problems?”
“We can become ill on occasion,” I muttered in response, my face heating even further. “But I’m quite all right.”
Michael was frowning now, watching me, and I shook my head.
Please, not now.
I hadn’t thought this situation through. Not at all. I didn’t regret saying yes to Michael, but now that it had happened, there was another problem. My heart twisted at the thought of forever closing that option with Gregory. After all, he’d even taken me to meet his family. That had to be significant.
But what was a girl supposed to do in a situation like this?
Michael’s mouth dipped slightly, but he didn’t press the issue—for once. Instead, he turned toward Gregory, wrapping his arm over the other man’s shoulders. “She’ll be fine. Now what were you saying about Caleb?”
Jordan Bigelow was a man of average appearance. But what he lacked in imposition, he made up for with the largeness of his presence. His heavy presence caused the reverent glances of his men to drift to him even when he wasn’t speaking.
He sat at the top of concrete stairs, whispering words even I could not make out to the woman beside him. As he spoke, his hands remained busy, weaving string into something small and circular.
Jordan had high cheekbones and a sharp nose, and his expression was carefully blank. He looked powerful, but an air of serenity seemed to surround him. Not something I’d have expected to see on the leader of a gang of biker boys. And unlike the others, Jordan’s straight black hair remained unmarred by product. Instead, it fell in a silken sheet over his shoulder, reaching almost to his waist.
The atmosphere was tense, our presence unwelcome. As we neared, his jaw clenched tighter. It seemed as though he didn’t expect David and Caleb to bring visitors today.
But they had—Caleb’s message had requested that we meet him at the diner. Once there, he and David consented—for reasons unknown to me—to take us to see Jordan.
And there we were.
It wasn’t until we were almost to him before his deep brown eyes moved from his companion, turning toward us.
“What’s wrong?” His gaze met mine briefly before returning to Caleb. “We have rules about bringing outsiders here. You better have a good reason.”
“This is Gloria,” David replied without preamble. “She’s a shifter.”
One of Jordan’s dark eyebrows rose, his gaze on me, even as he continued with his project. “Who cares?” he asked. “So is Ted, but you don’t see him bragging about it.”
David stepped aside, throwing me farther into Jordan’s line of sight. “Don’t you feel it?”
Jordan frowned, and his hands paused in their activity. His eyes, which had been intense before, fully drew me under his scrutiny. The look there was deep, soothing, and my breath caught at the strange sensation rising in my chest.
It wasn’t an attraction—what existed in this gaze was nothing romantic at all. But rather, something strange and instinctual. The feeling caused my stomach to clench painfully.
We’d taken on this case to help Oscar DuClaw. And Mr. DuClaw still believed that Timothy Bigelow had killed his wife. We were here to ask Jordan, his grandson and only remaining family member, about this very thing. We might have to incriminate his relative.
And that’s what made my sick feeling so much worse. Because the desire to help Jordan, a man I’d never even met, almost threatened to override my common sense.
I hated fate.
Stupid Caleb. Stupid David. That’s why they had wanted me to come here. I’d already told them no, but they were trying to tempt me with this feeling.
Jordan Bigelow was a necromancer, and was another of their quintet. As quintet members, they shared complementary strengths and covered each other’s weaknesses. They existed in a world of balance.
I couldn’t join that world. Not even if I, supposedly, was on their level. Was one of them. They would have to find someone else.
Even so, it was difficult to consider harming him in any way. Even if it was only his reputation.
Gregory jumped, and suddenly, Jordan was in front of me. His project set aside and his eyes alight with curiosity. “Interesting.” He raised his hand and brushed it over my shoulder. The touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to send a shiver down my spine. “So we’ve finally found our shifter.”
“I’m not your shifter.” His words continued to ring through me, almost like an accusation. But I did my best to let it wash over me.
It was the echo of the expectation I couldn’t fulfill.
“I’m no one’s shifter.” I stepped back, not even needing to brush away his hand—it dropped harmlessly at my retreat. “I’m not accepting this.”
Jordan frowned, and the gaze he leveled on me was an unsettling mix of curiosity and apathy. I didn’t even know this man, but it felt like I’d disappointed him in some way—which was ridiculous. Most quintet members could essentially be replaced. Surely there was someone out there similar to me.
I wasn’t hurting anyone by my refusal. Not at all.
Jordan seemed on the verge of saying something profound when Caleb moved at my other side. “Gloria came here with me,” he explained. “She wanted to talk to you. Something about a case she’s working on with these two.”
I wondered what he was thinking, considering his refusal to accept me at all before. But since I’d arrived, he’d avoided my gaze.
What had happened?
Jordan’s demeanor grew icier. “What do you want?”
“Mr. DuClaw has requested that we reopen his wife’s case,” Gregory replied, pulling the attention of the room off of me. “We’ve been sent to interview you about—”
“Not interested.” Jordan’s expression closed at Gr
egory’s words, and he stepped back, crossing his arms. He was shorter than Gregory, although most people were. And he was not nearly as imposing. However, with those words came an unapproachable aura of threatening intent.
But Gregory wasn’t deterred by Jordan’s sullen moodiness. “Gloria says she’ll consider joining your quintet if you speak to us about this case.”
I tore my gaze from Jordan and narrowed my focus on Gregory instead. “Pardon me?”
“She will?” Jordan’s impassive expression faded, and he stepped closer. Interest, which had been absent from his scent before, now heavily laced the air between us. “That would help. We do need a shifter. After all, they won’t allow anyone who isn’t in a complete quintet to apply.”
“They?” I frowned at Jordan, mentally filing away the need to yell at Gregory later. “Who are they?”
“That’s why you’re in a gang?” Gregory asked at the same moment, looking at Caleb. “I never knew you had any interest in applying.”
But instead of responding, Caleb kicked at the dirt around his feet angrily.
Now my curiosity was further piqued. “Apply where?”
Jordan crossed his arms, and his heavy gaze turned to me. “The council.”
My breath caught as surprise flickered through my awareness.
The council? They wanted to apply to be on the council? For what purpose?
Even the mention of the shrouded elite caused goose bumps to rise over my skin. I’d never seen them, but every person in our world knew of the highest power.
The identities of the active members had always been a mystery. They met in secret and were protected by robes and magic to keep their secrecy outside of their circle. But only this was known: not every member was particularly powerful. Nor were they all of high birth or education.
No one even knew exactly how a councilmember was chosen. But many applied. And once someone had established a position there, they remained for life.
It was a life of secrecy and seclusion. But along with it, power.
For the council decided our laws. And it fell on the council to enforce them. They were only rivaled by their creators, the Xing. The Xing were powerful men and the first of our kind. Reincarnated every other generation, to oversee our evolution and to maintain balance.
They existed outside of everything, even the council. Though, by the laws that they’d helped create, they had traded away their sovereignty for a chance to live a normal life. But that was neither here nor there, the Xing weren’t to be reborn for another generation. So, at the moment, they weren’t the concern.
But the council. I didn’t understand. To separate yourself from the world, to subject yourself to that…
Even with the promise of power, why in the world would anyone want to join?
A flash of understanding crossed Jordan’s expression—he could read my thoughts on my face. But the dip of his mouth indicated that he had no intention of sharing his reasons with me.
At least not yet.
Though, now I wanted to know. I couldn’t deny this sudden pull or ignore the earnest desire deep within his expression.
I wanted to help him achieve whatever goals he might have. But even if I accepted this role, it was impossible. I couldn’t get his hopes up. “I—”
“I’ll talk,” he interrupted, his gaze steady on mine. “But only you three—and those in my quintet. Everyone else can clear out.”
Someone made a sound of protest in the background. It was followed by a voice—a brave soul daring to defy their leader to bring light to the room’s concern. “You can’t talk to the police. You can’t trust anyone from that world.”
“I don’t trust the police,” Jordan responded, his lips thin. “But I do trust her,” he added, never once moving his attention from me.
Something odd passed through me—discomfort and… guilt? I wasn’t certain. The combination unlike anything I’d experienced before.
Why did he have to phrase it like that? He didn’t even know me.
I was a fraud.
“Sit.” Jordan’s command cut into my thoughts. He pointed to one of the now-empty tables adorning his clubhouse. During my ruminations, the rest of the room had cleared out. All that was left was Gregory and Michael at my side, and David and Caleb behind me.
When we’d arrived, Michael had adopted a ridiculous persona. It was mostly likely his interpretation of ‘the muscle.’ And it was odd: a cross between the silent bodyguard, and a brooding Heathcliff.
But he wasn’t being obnoxious at the moment and that was the important thing.
Then, as I watched, he broke his role for only a moment, and I realized I’d been staring. He touched my lower back, subtly guiding me after Jordan.
My mouth went dry. This was not how I expected this meeting to go. And I pressed my skirts around me as I sat. I stared at the table while I fought to control my racing heart and warming cheeks. Gregory slid into the bench to my left and Caleb on my right. Meanwhile, Michael continued to stand behind us.
David, on the other hand, chose to sit next to Jordan.
What now? Who was supposed to lead this interview? I wasn’t certain. I always assumed it was Gregory, as per previous conversations. Something to do with him analyzing reactions.
But from the deep frown on his face and his tense jaw, it didn’t seem like he was going to speak any time soon. His eyes met mine, and to my horror, he inclined his head.
I wasn’t certain where to begin. But Jordan wanted to speak to me. Should I take charge?
Bracing myself and forcing my breathing to steady, I looked at the necromancer. “Mr. Bigelow, what—”
“Not yet. First, look at me.” Jordan reached across the table, grasping my chin before I had time to react. Gregory startled beside me, but Caleb shushed him.
But even that was a vague thing, because a second later the world faded. My vision tunneled, and Jordan remained at the center of my sight.
“What do you see?” His voice echoed through me, causing my insides to quake. Gregory and Caleb disappeared, and a warm hand grasped my own—David. Somehow, I knew that without even looking.
Magic tingled my skin where the blond witch touched my hand, and I’d never felt the desire to shift as much as now.
Sweat beaded along my brow. I was being torn in two, and nausea twisted at the base of my throat. All the while, Jordan held my face in his grip, and his eyes seemed to break through my defenses.
He’d asked me a question, but I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t breathe. His power pulled at my own, and I knew he wanted something from me.
But it was something I couldn’t give.
A choking sensation started at the base of my throat. Sickness swam at me. The dots that swam in my vision clouded everything, including his mesmerizing eyes. The sensation lasted a second longer before the connection snapped in the wind.
Within a blink, the clubhouse came back into focus.
Jordan had pulled back from me, pressing back into his seat as he studied me with a raised brow. Curious, and a bit knowing. He might not have figured it out, but he did suspect something. My heart was racing under that look.
“What?” My voice shook despite myself.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Jordan replied instead. “Although your body did it for me.”
Goose bumps broke out over my arms, and I fought back a shiver. What was his ability? Some necromancers could read memories. Could he? That would open up a can of worms I didn’t have time to sort through. “What do you—”
“You’re definitely one of us,” he continued, glancing toward David. There was a dark look in Jordan’s expression. “You’ll have your work cut out for you,” he told him.
David remained next to me but no longer touched my arm. He blinked once before frowning. “What are you talking about?”
My heart thundered in my ears. “Hold on a minute. What do you mean by that?”
“When you decide to join our quintet, we can discus
s it,” Jordan said. “But for now, I’ll help you. What did you want to know?”
Chapter Thirteen
Michael had moved closer to me. Meanwhile, Gregory rested, unconcerned, in his seat. Throughout Jordan’s little staring contest, Gregory remained stoic. His forearm was braced on the table in front of him and his wary gaze fixed on Jordan.
However, at Jordan’s sudden compliance, the fae’s posture slackened slightly.
But it was for only an instant, and he caught himself, professionalism bleeding into his demeanor.
“We just want to interview you,” he repeated. “We want to discuss your grandfather’s situation with Mr. DuClaw.”
Jordan narrowed his eyes at him, frowning. “What about it? Are you sure the information I give you will be worth the cost?”
Michael moved behind me, a slight shift in response to the uncomfortable current in the air. I stiffened, my senses on full alert.
I hadn’t noticed anything threatening. So what had caused Michael to suddenly react? He’d been impossibly silent before this, especially for him. For once, he was trying to radiate power, which was far more frightening than his passive impositions.
Right now, he truly did live up to a sort of bodyguard, intimidating type figure. It was no longer pretend.
But whatever it was that had disturbed him, it had passed. And Michael returned to a quiet, still presence in the background.
However, even as I missed it, something did happen. Gregory’s frown had deepened in disapproval, and Jordan sighed heavily. “Don’t freak. I was just joking.”
What was he even joking about? I felt my expression contort in confusion, but there was no time to ponder the strange exchange anymore.
Jordan had already moved on.
“There isn’t much to tell.” He crossed his arms, glancing away. “Grandfather didn’t hurt anyone. It went against his beliefs; he wouldn’t even eat goddamned meat.”
“Did he know Stacy DuClaw?” Gregory asked.
Jordan glanced toward us, a flicker of barely restrained rebellion in his dark eyes. So was the interview that had thrown the boys off a slip of the tongue or not? Had Timothy Bigelow admitted to knowing the victim?
