by Lisa Oliver
Flicking his mind through various conversations he had with his parents, Sy shook his head. “My mother instructed me on how babies were conceived when I was twelve and apparently considered my sex education complete. My father told me that anyone who got near me would never be interested in me as a person and would only be getting closer to me to take advantage of my powers. I remember him telling me sex was a powerful leverage tool and to never let anyone get close to me like that. At the time I didn’t even know what sex was. He never mentioned anyone might want me for any other reason, like mating. I didn’t even know we could have mates.”
“Every person has a mate,” Brock said softly. “How did you feel when you were with the Detective?”
“Like I had the flu, or a fever, or something.” Sy rubbed his chest. It’d ached from the moment Dakar flew out of his sight. “Maybe you should take my temperature. I think I’m sickening with something.”
“You’re not sick. What did you think about the Detective when you were talking to him at dinner?”
Sy handed back his toast plate and reached for his cup again. Leaning back on the pillows he considered his answer carefully. If Brock was asking, the answer must be important. “He’s clever, comes from a big family who seem to care about him. He rings his mother every Sunday.” Sy caught the wistfulness in his tone and quickly reined that in. “He made me laugh and he has a lovely reading voice.”
Nestling further into his pillows, Sy sighed. “I could listen to him for hours,” he said, thinking of the hours Dakar spent reading to him. Dakar didn’t just read directly from the book. He shared stories of his own life and how they related to the shifter tales he was reading. Sy was fascinated at how passionate wolves seemed to be about every part of their life.
“Sir, shifters have rigid rules when it comes to claiming someone,” Brock said slowly. “One of the cardinal rules is that they have to explain the ramifications of what it means to be mated to a shifter, before they mark you in anyway.”
“You mean, that’s why he was telling me those things about not being able to be with anyone else?” Oops. Sy was beginning to think he’d made another mistake.
“Wolves in particular, are very impulsive creatures. One sniff and they are completely smitten with the object of their desire.” Brock’s tone suggested he thought such a lack of control was beneath him. “After a spate of ‘forced’ claimings back when humans became aware of our existence; and I use the term forced lightly because every partner claimed that way was perfectly happy afterwards; the shifter council decreed that from that moment onwards, shifters planning to claim their true mates had to explain what that claiming would mean to the other person, even if that mate was another shifter or paranormal.”
“Like not being able to be intimate with anyone else, and that there’d be no divorce?” Sy was starting to see that scene in the bedroom in a completely different light.
“Exactly. If you hadn’t sent him to his car, he would have also told you that wolf shifters are extremely possessive, tend to growl a lot when other people are around, and they literally can’t live without their claimed mate. Your Detective would die if something happened to you.”
“Would he have to be faithful to me, do you think?” Sy hadn’t realized what Dakar meant because no one had ever wanted him that way before. At least not to his knowledge. He knew people lusted after him sometimes; Brock often told him so, but as Sy never felt anything for the person concerned, he didn’t see that as important. Dakar was big, powerful and strode around like he owned the world. Everyone would be falling at their feet for a chance to be with him and while Sy had never been with another person intimately, before last night, he didn’t like the idea Dakar might share his sexual favors with other people.
“He would want to be faithful and yes, once he bites you, he will never want anyone else.” Brock stood and straightened the wrinkles his butt caused in the covers. “Once claimed, you’ll be his world. He won’t ever hurt you, won’t ever stray, and he will make it his life’s mission to ensure you’re always happy. How many marriages can you think of where partners can say that with any degree of honesty?”
“None.” Sy spent his lifetime knowing his parents couldn’t stand each other. Theirs was an arranged marriage and they’d made each other suffer for it for the hundred years since. The infrequent relatives he’d met over the years were all in the same boat.
“Which is why being claimed by your Detective is so much better than being forced into the marriage your father has planned for you.” Brock patted the bed. “Come on. Get up. Time for your bath. You have three appointments this morning and then we have an appointment at the police station. Your Detective phoned this morning and said he and his partner are visiting Warren’s mother this afternoon. He asked if we could attend.”
“Is that a good idea?” Sy scrambled out of bed. He was still wearing his bunny pajamas and he couldn’t help remembering Dakar’s smile when he saw him wearing them. “You know I’m not good with too many people around. Usually family members visit me if they need something.”
“You are the Necromancer,” Brock said, his firm mask back in place. “It is as much your job to comfort those left behind after a death, as to talk to those who’ve passed.”
“I’m not going to be able to do that with Dakar watching my every move.” Sy’s cock started to unfurl as he headed for the bathroom. Swizzle sticks. I’ve got to contend with that too.
Chapter Nine
Dakar looked at his watch. 11:59. Brock explained Sy had three appointments between ten and twelve. Apparently, not all people were in awe of a Necromancer’s power, especially humans who probably weren’t aware of the different things he could do. The Necromancer was often called upon to contact the dead to find everything from jewelry to missing last wills and testaments. Sy had revealed some of the stranger requests he dealt with during their dinner, like the time someone insisted he bring back an old man from the dead, just so his wife could yell at him for being caught dead with another woman.
Dakar sighed and looked at his watch again. With nothing left to do until Sy arrived, he and Brad spent the morning updating the Captain and were now back in the records room, looking for possible matches for the three unidentified victims. The relevance of the name ‘Peter’ was all they had to go on; searching for any missing child with some element of Peter in their names. There was a depressing number of them and as all the children appeared to have been taken at different ages, they started from the records dating back twenty years ago and worked forward.
It was a long and thankless task; not to mention a dusty one. He and Brad had exhausted their conversation over his unusual date within the first hour and now the two men worked in silence, flicking through and slowly adding to the growing mountain of files sitting in a pile on the floor. By the time one of the young uniforms came to tell them the ‘scary one’ had arrived, Dakar was on the man’s tail before he’d even left the room.
Grumbling behind him, Brad whispered, “aren’t you going to wash up first?” He pointed to Dakar’s dust covered hands; his were just as bad. Shit.
“Oi,” Dakar yelled at the uniform who was in just as much hurry to leave the dark basement. “We’re going to wash up. Make sure the Necromancer and his aide are given refreshments. Put them in our office.”
“Me?” The rookie barely looked twenty, his pale face bright red. “But what if he does some hoodoo or stuff that makes my hair fall out or my balls drop off?”
Dakar quirked an eyebrow. The young officer was a cat shifter who should know better. “Can you think of any reason why our visitors would even bother to do that?” Then his eyebrows came together. “Did you upset our guests?” He let out a small growl.
“No, Alpha, I’m sorry, I mean Detective.” The young man backed up and tilted his neck. “I was just told to come and get you. Don’t make me go near them, please. My grandmother told me they can read your thoughts and then if they don’t like you…they do stuff
to you.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he looked around as if worried he’d be overheard.
Dakar decided his dirty hands would have to stay that way. No wonder poor Sy doesn’t go out much. How does he cope with this shit every time he leaves the house? “Get back to your duties,” he snapped, “and if I catch you spreading stupid rumors like that around the precinct about our respected consultant, I’ll cut your balls off myself. Got it?”
The rookie didn’t even answer; just took off running like the hounds of hell were after him. As he and Brad made their way up to the main office area, he could see things weren’t any better there. Sy and Brock sat stiffly in two chairs by an empty desk and the seven or so other people in the room were all keeping their distance.
“You’d think cops would know better,” Brad grumbled under his breath before smiling widely and striding over to shake hands. “Brock, nice to see you again. Necromancer, thank you for coming.”
Dakar didn’t even bother with niceties. He was pissed. Sy was here to help and they hadn’t been offered a cup of tea. “Sy, sweetheart,” he grinned and hurried to Sy’s side, lifting one of Sy’s hands in his and kissing the palm. “Please excuse the mess I’m in, I couldn’t wait to see you. I’m so looking forward to our date tonight. Do you think Brock would mind if I took you out for a meal?”
His wolfish ears caught the rumble of surprise and muttered comments from the people in the room, but he ignored them. He was too busy being captivated by the blush on Sy’s pale cheeks. It was a stark contrast to his black Necromancer garb. For a moment it looked like Sy would leave him hanging but then his mate straightened his spine and gave a regal nod. “I’d like that. Brock can take the night off for a change.”
Brock made a muffled strangled noise – could have been a protest, or shock; Dakar didn’t have a clue and didn’t care. Offering his arm to his Necromancer, he winked. “Work first, honey, and then I can have you all to myself.”
Oh, the gossip mill around the precinct will be running hot tonight.
/~/~/~/~/
After so many years in his position, Sy was used to the nervous glances, muttered comments (most of them unpleasant) and pure fear that seemed to bloom the moment he walked into a room. Brad’s reaction was a complete surprise, but when Dakar did everything short of claiming him, at his work, in front of his colleagues, an unfamiliar warmth spread through Sy’s body and lingered. Slipping his hand in the crook of Dakar’s elbow, he felt like a king with his consort as they made their way through the busy building.
“We can take the limo, if you like,” he offered as they stood outside. “There’s ample room for all of us and I know Brock won’t mind, will you Brock?”
“Of course not, sir.” Brock opened the back door to the limo, ensuring Sy was comfortable, before sliding into the driver’s seat.
“I could get used to traveling like this,” Brad grinned as he managed to slide onto the wide bench seat across from him with surprising grace. “Oh wow, you have a small refrigerator, a screen and everything back here.”
“Please ignore my partner’s lack of manners,” Dakar’s grin was still firmly in place as he maneuvered himself into the car, sitting so their thighs were rubbing together. “We think he was dropped on his head as a baby.”
“That was you,” Brad laughed as the car started to move. “I’m not ashamed of being raised in a trailer. A lot of the best people were.”
Sy sat silently as the two men bickered and joked with each other. It was clear they were good friends. His body was uncomfortably hot in his leather coat and he wished he’d taken the time to remove it. But then evidence of how affected he was by Dakar’s presence would have been obvious to everyone. As it was, he hoped the smell of leather and some of the pungent herbs he had in his bag would overpower the scent of his arousal. Not that it was likely. Shifters were notorious for having good noses.
The trip wasn’t long enough, at least in Sy’s opinion. While he was uncomfortable around banter, simply because he didn’t know if or how he should join in, he was acutely conscious of the heat rising from Dakar’s body and the strength in the man as the Detective leaned into him; and not just around corners. Sy could almost see their connection and while he knew nothing about being in a relationship, he knew he wanted to explore all he could with the hunky wolf shifter.
But not now, he thought, keeping his mental sigh to himself. He almost laughed as Brock and Dakar jostled for position beside him as he climbed out of the limo. Brock was used to being his only form of protection; if Dakar claimed him then that position would have to be shared.
If? When, Sy decided. He’d do his job, that was something he was well trained for, but later…he wanted to explore more of the physical side of life with his detective.
Chapter Ten
Mrs. Peterson’s red rimmed eyes and sniffs indicated she hadn’t taken the news of her son’s death well. There was a glowering man lurking behind her as she sat trying to control her trembling in a large easy chair. No one introduced the lurking stranger, so Sy concluded he was there for support purposes only. He remembered Dakar told him the mother recently remarried just before Warren was taken.
I wonder what surname Warren’s biological father used? Could it be Warren was only taken because his mother had the misfortune to marry a man with Peter in the surname. Sy clicked his fingers and Brock handed over a pad and pencil. Magic users had trouble using any of the new electronic gadgets available, and while Sy had a secret fascination with them, if he wanted to make notes he could retrieve at a later date, pen and paper worked best.
“Mrs. Peterson,” Dakar’s voice was full of compassion yet tinged with the authority only a shifter could pull off. “I know you’ve been through this a hundred times since your son went missing, but is there anything you can remember now that could be relevant?”
“He was playing in the yard. Someone stole him. It’s what I said back then and it’s what I’m saying now.” Okay, so Mrs. Peterson had teeth. “Maybe if you assholes had paid more attention all those years ago, then I wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation with you now.”
“What was Warren’s biological father’s name?” Sy asked when Dakar went quiet. Probably trying to control his temper if the tic twitching at the side of his jaw was any indication.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Mr. Peterson had a snarl but nothing like the one Dakar used in reply. Mr. Peterson flicked a wary look at the detective but didn’t retract the question. It was at times like this Sy appreciated the power of his position, even among humans.
“Mrs. Peterson,” Sy said, purposefully ignoring the husband. “These detectives are doing their best to show some respect for your recent bereavement. I have no such compunction. I deal with the deceased every day. The bald facts of the matter, madam, is your son was taken because he had recently taken the surname Peterson. Whether his name change was legal or not is irrelevant. That is the name given on the missing person’s report you filed twelve years ago and clearly it was the name he was known as among your associates or people he came into contact with.”
“They fucking put me through hell when young Warren was taken,” Mr. Peterson snapped. “I had nothing to do with it. If all you’re going to do is slander my good name….”
“The Necromancer is right, Mr. Peterson,” Dakar interjected smoothly. Sy wasn’t sure if he was referred to by his title because Dakar wanted to remind the Petersons just how powerful he was, or if he was implying a threat to Warren’s step-father who hadn’t stopped glowering. “Thanks to the Necromancer’s efforts we’ve uncovered facts that indicate a rash of young boys who were taken years ago and are now turning up dead, all have names that include a derivative of Peter.”
“Warren was one of the serial killer’s targets the papers are all talking about?” Mrs. Peterson looked at her husband in horror. “He was taken because I married you?” Her voice rose.
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, Nancy.” If loo
ks could kill, then Sy would be six feet underground. He traced a random symbol with his thumb over the fingers of his left hand and Mr. Peterson’s face went bright red and he swallowed hard.
“What was Warren’s biological father’s surname, if you please?” Dakar’s tone was more insistent this time.
“Jenkins,” Nancy’s glare at her husband was a clear indication their discussion on surnames was far from over. “Mr. Jenkins died just before Warren was born. Lloyd and I met when he was six years old.”
“I looked out for him.” Mr. Peterson looked as though he wanted to say more, but a glance from Sy and he stayed silent.
“This could be really important, Nancy.” Brad leaned forward with the glimmer of a compassionate smile. “Who would have known about Warren changing his surname to Peterson.”
“Well, lots of people I suppose.” Nancy focused on Brad, ignoring her husband completely. “I was happy for Warren to keep his father’s surname. But Lloyd can be quite persuasive.” Her faint smile illuminated features that would be considered pretty if she wasn’t going through such a difficult time. “He felt that as a family we should all have the same surname, especially if Warren was blessed with siblings.”
“Anyone in particular, non-family?” Dakar pressed the issue. “Lawyers, teachers, work colleagues?”
“Making up a list like that would take ages,” Lloyd grumbled. “We had over a hundred people at our wedding, including everyone we worked with and friends of the family.”
Sy could have slapped himself as he realized where Dakar and Brad’s thoughts were going. “Excuse me, Mrs. Peterson. I realize Warren’s room is unlikely to be in the same state as it was when he left….”
“But it is,” Nancy said quickly as her cheeks took on a pink hue. “Lloyd agreed, even if he took fifty years to come home, we wanted Warren to know he’d always have a place with us.”
