Rising Sun (The Red Trilogy Book 1)

by Lyla Oweds

  Annoyance flared through me. I’d heard enough of that from Michael.

  “Don’t be audacious.” I narrowed my gaze at him. Previously, I’d assumed that his statement was part of his drunken ramblings. But now it seemed I misunderstood an important concept of fairy culture. “Just because I went to your house and met your family doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you. If you start on this route, you’re no better than Michael used to be.”

  “That was different.” Gregory cocked his head, reaching for my hand. I allowed him to hold it, and his thumb moved over my knuckles. “Michael was trying to get your attention. He thought it was funny to tease you. But we’ve always known you’d marry me.”

  He said this with such assurance and calm it was obvious to how he’d come to such a conclusion.

  “Because Michael read it in the cards?” I clarified.

  Gregory nodded, and I pulled my hand away.

  My heart was beating furiously, and I fought to keep my body temperature under control. “I’d appreciate it if you lot kept me in the discussion when you make these plans.”

  His brow rose and concern laced his scent. “But it’s not really a plan. It’s—”

  “Regardless, don’t assume anything about what will happen between the two of us, or the four of us, without talking to me first.” My voice was calmer than the chaos that rang inside my thoughts.

  “But you believe in fortunetelling,” Gregory pointed out. “You wouldn’t be so scared if you didn’t.”

  “I do…” I hated to admit it, considering the reading I longed to reject. However, I couldn’t deny that fortunetelling, and the concept of fate, were subjects that equally fascinated and terrified me.

  Yet, even with fate urging us toward each other, this was going to be difficult.

  “I am attracted to you,” I admitted, biting my lip and touching my fingers together. “But this is difficult. Michael is easier to relate to.”

  “Because you’ve known him longer?” Gregory asked, jealousy leaking back into his voice.

  “That’s one reason.” I glanced at him, noting the slightly crushed expression on his face. “But there’s another too.”

  He inclined his head in response, waiting for me to continue.

  I sighed. “You, and Caleb. You’re old school. You were both raised in very traditional homes. Yet, you’re easily accepting this unconventional relationship—”

  “Polyamory is not uncommon in the courts,” Gregory quickly interjected.

  “And you both make a lot of assumptions.” I put my hand in my hair. “Including the fact that it’s all right to interrupt me when I’m speaking. Or talk around me as though I’m not in the room.”

  “We’re not the only ones who do it,” Gregory pointed out.

  “You’re right.” I nodded. “But you and Caleb are the worst.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, and his expression filled with regret. “I’m sorry…” And he sounded genuinely lost. “I know you have different expectations than women I’ve known in the past. But I’m out of my element on how to proceed.”

  “How about treating me the same as you would a man?” If the conversation wasn’t so serious, his horrified expression and slacked jaw would have been hilarious. I rolled my eyes. “Never mind. Just treat me with respect. And instead of making assumptions, talk to me first.”

  His lips pursed, the expectation of a question poised on his lips, but he made no other move to speak.

  I internally groaned—now he was afraid to say anything. “What?”

  “I’ll try. But what if I mess up?” The confidence had faded completely from his voice, and he watched me warily.

  “You will mess up. And maybe I’ll hit you again,” I offered, my heart fluttering at the quirk of his lips. “Afterward, we’ll talk. You’ll apologize. And the lesson will be learned.”

  His grin grew, and his gaze shone with unspoken admiration. “I can do that.”

  “But before we’re officially a couple, you need to take me on a date first,” I said.

  “I can do that, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mr. Kohler was waiting in the office with Michael when we returned. A few words were exchanged, the photo handed over, and the two of them left again.

  Once again, Gregory and I were stuck in an office with nothing to do. If he were any less proper, and myself a bit bolder, I’d probably make out with him to escape the boredom, especially considering our previous conversation and our semi-official dating status.

  But it was obvious that Gregory was far more traditional than I. Knowing him, he wanted to wait until marriage before we had our first kiss.

  I wonder if he knew how far Michael and I had gone already? How would he feel?

  The thought of having that conversation with the three of them caused my palms to sweat. It was definitely something that needed to be addressed, but should probably wait until the four of us were alone and things settled down.

  That was probably the best plan I’d had in ages.

  The rest of the day passed slowly, and just before I was about to ask Gregory if we should clock out early, Michael returned. He strode through the doorway without a word, and the scent of male satisfaction was heavy in the air.

  “What did you do?” I asked, noting the extra spring in his step as he crossed the room, ruffled Gregory’s hair, and stalked toward me. “This is the same look you wore when you orchestrated Thomas’ suspension.”

  His steps faltered and grin slipped. “Gloria!” He placed his hand against his heart. “Why would you think—”

  “Spare me your dramatics.” I rolled my eyes. “Only the most susceptible would believe that moron could win anything betting on college sports. He barely knows how to play baseball.”

  “It worked though,” Michael replied, closing the distance between us. “But who cares about Thomas. I’m more interested in the fact that you were paying attention to me at all.”

  “Oh shut up.” I pressed my hands to my burning cheeks. “This is not the time.”

  He grinned, a lopsided picture that caused my pulse to race. “Normally, I’d disagree with you, but you’re right. We’ve got a job to do.”

  Gregory, who’d been re-organizing the papers I’d destroyed earlier, glanced up. “Pardon?”

  “Victoria Estrada has been brought in for another interview.” Michael grinned. “And mark my words, this is where it all ends.”

  Gregory and Michael asked me to stay away during this interview, hidden behind the one-way mirror that allowed me to observe, but not interact.

  It was just as well. She might not be able to see me, but just witnessing the silent fury of an old woman was enough to make me fear for my life. Mr. Kohler was already in the room, seated across the table from Mrs. Estrada. And Michael, with a quick word with Gregory, retreated, returning to my side.

  “No distractions,” he said in response to my unspoken question. Then, reaching for my hand, he pulled me to his side. “It’s more likely she’ll lose her temper without me there. You shifters are a prickly lot.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was Michael’s lack of presence, or if she was really angry, but I didn’t envy Gregory and Mr. Kohler’s places in the room.

  Her gaze was a burning flame, a living thing that followed Gregory’s movements as he took his seat. Her lips were pursed, as if she were barely holding back the barrage of words she wished to say.

  However, once Gregory folded his hands on the table in front of him, her patience visibly snapped.

  “Why am I here? Haven’t you harassed me enough?” She rounded on Mr. Kohler. “You said you’d start when he arrived, so start.”

  Mr. Kohler didn’t say a word, he only lay the photograph on the table between them.

  “Tell us about this.”

  It took a moment for her attention to turn from glaring holes into Mr. Kohler’s skull, but when she finally glanced at the photo, she paled. “Where did you get this?”

&n
bsp; “It doesn’t matter where,” Mr. Kohler replied, nudging the picture closer to her. In response, she pulled her hands off the table, leaning back. “The problem is that you lied. That’s you in the photo, isn’t it?”

  Her attention turned toward the one-way mirror. “That’s me.”

  “And this is Stacy DuClaw,” Mr. Kohler prodded, pointing to the older girl. “Before she was married. And from my understanding, these two boys are Christian and Darren MacClure.”

  “That’s correct.” Her voice was curt.

  “But you told my people your packs were rivals. You said there was no friendship between you.”

  “I didn’t lie.” Mrs. Estrada sounded offended, an almost imperceptible growl in her voice. “The packs are rivals, but that doesn’t mean everyone within them are.”

  Mr. Kohler cocked his head to the side. “So you were friends with Christian and Darren MacClure?”

  “Darren was my friend,” Mrs. Estrada replied. “Stacy was friends with Christian.”

  Mr. Kohler frowned. “What about Oscar DuClaw? How does he come into this?”

  “He wasn’t—”

  Mr. Kohler put his hand in the air, cutting off Mrs. Estrada’s response. “Before you answer, you do realize I’m a necromancer. My powers are quite limited in practical application, and not theatrical. But, I have a rare talent among my class. I can read impressions and memories from objects of strong sentimental value.”

  Her spine straightened, and he continued. “Your Alpha has a connection to this photo. And so does Timothy Bigelow. I want to know how.”

  “Impressive,” Mrs. Estrada deadpanned. “They were both in my sister’s circle. And it was with Oscar’s arrangement that this photo was taken. Darren and I just happened to be nearby, so they invited us to join. But Timothy and Oscar were unable to attend that day. They fought with Christian a lot, and that was one such occasion.”

  “How close were you to the MacClure brothers?” Gregory asked.

  Her attention turned toward him. “Close enough. It was a forbidden friendship. Our families and our packs had no idea. It ended though, after Stacy became Oscar’s mate.”

  “Why?”

  Gregory’s question hung in the air, and a long moment passed in silence. Just when I didn’t think she’d answer, she slammed her hand on the table. “Because it’s not natural. She had no business messing with fate.” Her voice came out in a hiss. “She should have shut up and done what was expected of her.”

  A horrible realization washed over me, the thought preposterous. But still, needing to be voiced. “Did she have something to do with her sister’s murder?”

  Michael’s hand squeezed over mine, and I glanced at him. “Joe needed something physical to be sure,” he explained. “His abilities won’t work without an emotional connection tied to the item. She was one of our original suspects. She’d put off participation in this investigation since the beginning. But there was no way to put the pieces together.”

  I didn’t understand. I’d gone through hell for my sister. I’d do anything to make sure she was safe.

  “Just wait for it,” Michael muttered, his breath fanning across my face. “We can’t do anything without a confession. Joe might be able to glimpse the truth, but the crime scene had been tainted with odd magic. There’s no way to prove anything.”

  “It was an accident, and I’m sorry about it. But, really, she brought it upon herself. If she’d fulfilled her responsibilities, none of this would have happened.” Her hand curled into a fist. “For a year, she moped about. Whining. She didn’t care what might happen to the family.”

  “What was she moping about?” Gregory asked, playing stupid.

  “Christian MacClure,” her voice chipped. “They were close, too close. And when she became Oscar’s mate, she fought it. For him.”

  Gregory opened his mouth, prepared to speak, but she interrupted him. “Oscar had no idea that Stacy pined over Christian. Oscar and Christian had stopped speaking to each other months before Stacy turned sixteen, and Christian was always a stupid sort.”

  “Why did they stop talking to each other?”

  “Because they knew where their responsibilities lay,” Mrs. Estrada replied. “When it became time for them to train to be Alpha themselves, they ended their friendship. While they got along, their fathers did not, and it was too soon to talk about peace between the two. It had always been their plan to wait until they took charge. They wanted to make everything better. But until then, they had to stop seeing each other.”

  The thundering of my heart was so loud it almost masked the sound of her voice. I caught her words, but barely. Michael’s arm tightened around my shoulders.

  “Stacy knew what it would do to their relationship if she rejected Oscar in order to stay with Christian. It would be war. So she married her mate, as she was supposed to. But still, she wouldn’t forget about Christian. She wouldn’t stop seeing him. Even Timothy knew, and tried to intervene. But she ignored everyone. She claimed their friendship was all innocence. But then, I found out otherwise.”

  Mrs. Estrada’s gaze lifted from her clenched fist, the expression on her face a mixture of heartbreak and guilt. “Oscar would have been heartbroken.”

  “What are you saying?” Mr. Kohler crossed his arms. “They had sex?”

  “She wasn’t even married two weeks!” Mrs. Estrada snapped. “She came home one night, smelling of him. I wasn’t more than eleven, but I knew what it meant. And I knew what would happen if the news of her infidelity spread. I couldn’t allow a war to break out, so I told her to leave. To save everyone, she had to disappear.”

  “She didn’t want to leave?” Gregory asked.

  “No.” Mrs. Estrada frowned. “She said she was tired of hiding. She claimed she was married. Oscar had no idea that his own marriage had been annulled, because at that point, he still hadn’t even taken her to bed. She’d been avoiding him.”

  “They were married?”

  “Timothy Bigelow led them in a ceremony. In the end, even he didn’t care about a war breaking out around him. He had no right to interfere and had promised to stay out of it. But in the end, it was his approval that allowed this to happen.”

  “So you killed your sister to prevent a war?” Mr. Kohler tapped his finger, bringing Mrs. Estrada’s attention back to him.

  “No, I didn’t kill her.” Mrs. Estrada’s gaze softened slightly, the hard edge of her voice turned dull. “She didn’t want to leave, and I tried to force the issue.” Her eyes focused on a point past Mr. Kohler. “She was bigger and stronger than I was, and we’d never fought before. I grabbed her arm to drag her to the door. She pulled away. It was an accident?”

  “What happened?”

  “We were in the kitchen at the time, and she fell backward,” Mrs. Estrada continued, the far away expression holding. “The back of her head crashed into a corner of the counter. And when she fell to the ground, she didn’t move again.”

  Her words echoed in my ears. It was still horrifying, and the fact that it wasn’t deliberate didn’t dampen that.

  In fact, it almost seemed to make it worse. Trying to imagine myself in her position, seeing your sister die, was something almost too relatable.

  Her face was an emotionless mask, but she couldn’t hide the scent of despair that managed to reach even here. It was so overpowering, it felt as though she was next to me.

  She cared about her sister. I’d been right all along.

  But I seemed to be the only one who believed her.

  “You were eleven.” Gregory laced his fingers under his chin, his voice compassionate as I’d ever heard it. “That must have been difficult. You must have been distraught.”

  “It was…” she began, grief lacing her tone. “I didn’t know what to do—”

  “So, naturally, you went and told your parents right away,” Gregory interrupted. “They were a part of this. They helped to move her body?”

  Her statement faded, and unless you wer
e looking for it, it would have been easy to miss the slight tightening of her features. “Of course.” Her lips pursed. “I’d just witnessed my sister die in front of me. But they didn’t want to put me through an investigation. It was their idea to set up a crime scene.”

  Gregory’s attention had shifted toward the papers in front of him, and he took a moment to flip through a few of the pages. The tension in the room grew, and Michael’s palm grew sweaty against my own. There was something that Gregory knew, which I didn’t. Something that made him radiate confidence rather than curiosity.

  He’d already figured everything out.

  “That’s strange,” Gregory said finally, glancing up. “There’s a note here. It states that your parents were away at the time of your sister’s death. They hadn’t returned until after her body was found.”

  Her mouth twitched as she watched him with wide-eyes, but Gregory pressed on. “Are you saying you knew how to contact them within a moment’s notice? Telephones weren’t commonplace in those days. How did they know to return home? Could they feel your distress? Do shifters families share emotional bonds? Miss Gloria has never said…”

  “I knew how to contact them. They returned home, and then left.” Mrs. Estrada’s story was unraveling around her, and from her tight expression, she knew it.

  “She was only missing two days before her husband found her.” Gregory released the papers and they fell back into a neat stack in front of him. “Your parents were at least a day’s journey away. Their signatures were in the convention logbooks, dated the day before your sister’s body was found. There’s no way they came home, helped you, and returned within that time frame.”

  Mrs. Estrada had paled further, glancing away as Gregory spoke. “How do you—”

  “That bit of information wasn’t in the original casework,” Mr. Kohler interjected. “But you see, we’ve brought in some outside investigators of our own. Timothy Bigelow knew where your parents went, because your sister mentioned it to him. It was why she’d chosen that weekend to act.”

  “You’re lying to us.” Gregory nodded at her. “Your body language gives you away. You’ve barely moved since we’ve started discussing this. And you’ve been looking to the left before responding.”