Primal Burdens: (The Uruwashi Series #5)

by Christina Moore

  “And last night was…” He sighed heavily. He hadn’t taken the time to really think about what he was going to say and now on the spot, he was just too tired to think.

  “Hey, babe, who was at the do—” Eric stopped and blinked at Tristan. His face was flushed and his hair was damp. He was in an old tee-shirt, one Tristan recognized from their time rooming in college and his pants were plaid jammies. “Hey man, what’re you doing up so early? Wow, nice shiner. G get at you?”

  Gillian gave Eric a little shove, laughing.

  Tristan smiled, lowering his head to rub his neck tiredly. He really was exhausted. “It’s nothing. I’m actually staying at the house until my new place gets through final permit.”

  “You’re having a house built?”

  “Uh yeah. Ash and I are… Well, actually, I guess I wasn’t honest with you last night about her. She’s um…” Damn, he couldn’t actually say the words aloud. Maybe because it didn’t feel real. And just how would his old friends feel hearing that he’d run off and got married and never bothered to tell them? Even if that marriage was just a front?

  “Nothing. Look, I haven’t been to bed yet, I’m trying to finish this project I’m working on first. I noticed you had some plants I need in the back yard, but,” He grinned at the couple. “You two were having a little bit of early morning colitis in the hammock so I figured I’d check back when you were done.”

  Gillian flushed and made a noise, burying her face into her hands. “I told you.”

  Eric, grinning like a fool, came up to stand at her side. “We were celebrating.”

  Tristan’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open as he noticed the big shiny rock on her finger. “You…”

  Gillian peaked through her fingers, grinning like a fool.

  “Congrats, you guys!” Tristan took them into a big hug, feeling himself choke up. He really did miss his friends, even if there were still things they had to work through.

  “Thanks,” Gillian said sounding a little teary. “Now, I hate to break up the reunion, but I really do have to go. My assistant can only handle the morning rush for so long alone.”

  “Yep,” Eric said, laying a soft smack on her backside before kissing her cheek. “Go save Megan.”

  “Love you,” she whispered before kissing him fully on the lips, lingering a little longer than she might otherwise in front of an audience, but this was only Tristan. Face flushed, she turned and gave Tristan another hug. “I’ll talk to you later, right?”

  He tried not to frown. She was afraid he would just up and disappear again. Rightly so. “Absolutely.”

  “’K,” she said innocently and kissed his cheek. “I’m really happy you came back.” With a final pat on his arm and a smile directed at Eric, she left the house.

  The two men stood in silence for a moment, both unsure exactly what to say.

  “So um,” Eric said first, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “You said you needed some plant?”

  “Oh, right. Yeah. There’s some rosemary back there, I just need a few clippings.”

  “Rosemary? Eric asked as he nodded for him to follow. “Cooking something up?”

  “Yeah.”

  The other man laughed. “Since when do you cook? I mean, I remember the ramen you made all too well, but it wasn’t exactly a culinary marvel. Man, what was that you used to put in it? Egg and soy sauce?”

  “And beer.” Tristan chuckled. “God, I’d forgotten about that crap.”

  Eric was silent for a moment, stopping at the back slider. He turned and gaze turned away, he said, “I’m just glad you didn’t forget us, man.”

  The guilt was worse than he thought it’d be when he finally returned. And he hadn’t really started lying to them yet about who he was now. How did he maintain his honesty and still protect his friends from his life?

  “I was being childish. It wasn’t you Eric, or Gillian, or anyone but me. I swear, I’ve no hard feelings towards either of you.”

  The other man didn’t look so sure.

  “I did,” Tristan admitted, feeling ashamed. “But no more. I’ve guess you can say… well, that I’ve gotten help.”

  Eric looked up and suddenly smiled. “That pretty lady with you last night?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, smiling. “Ash really helped me when I needed it most. She saved my life.” Now that was the truth.

  Eric nodded, looking like he completely understood. “It’s good to have someone who can look our darkness right in the face and not balk. Take it on and mold it into something brighter.”

  Tristan’s mouth was hanging open. “Just when did you become a poet?” He laughed a little.

  Eric shrugged, turning to open the back sliding door. “You learn a lot from women when you stop to listen.”

  Tristan snorted at the obvious jest and equal honesty in his words. The pair went out and down the deck steps, coming to a halt when they saw the narrow ass in the air crouched in front of one of the flower beds.

  “Excuse me?” Eric demanded, sounding angry. “Just who do you—”

  “No, no, it’s cool.” Tristan touched his friend’s arm, drawing his attention. “He’s with me. Lance?”

  The fae turned, his face the perfect façade of embarrassment. “Sorry. Just trying to save time.”

  Tristan sighed, shaking his head, but he was smiling a little. “Sorry about that, Eric.”

  “Uh, yeah, no, it’s no problem.” He took a step towards the fae and put out his hand. If he thought the short, petite man with crayon colored red hair looked off to him, he didn’t let on. At least his pointy ears where covered. “Eric Freeman, nice to meet you.”

  Lance stumbled to his feet, swiping his free hand across his jeans, grinning big to show nice white teeth. “Lance.”

  Eric glanced at the dirt covered hand extended towards him. He quirked a brow and did a little shrug that only Tristan noticed before taking the dirty hand to shake.

  “I’m uh, well.” Lance glanced at Tristan. “Tristan’s friend.”

  Eric looked skeptical and Tristan grunted a laugh. “Yep. Go’n Lance, get what you need already. The Thompsons won’t mind.”

  Feeling Tristan looking at him, Eric stuttered, “U-uh, yeah. Take whatever you want. What exactly are you making?”

  Lance glanced back and at the look Tristan gave him, quickly went back to gathering plants. He looked so cheery and happy as he went about his work, humming softly and making little noises of pleasure as he noticed new plants to pick from.

  “Uh, it’s a long story—listen, can we get together soon, just the four of us? I’d like to talk, a real talk. I’d really like us to be friends again.”

  “You never stopped being my friend.”

  Tristan smiled as if Eric was being silly. “Friends with shit between us. I just want the air to be clear, about everything.” Yeah. He was going to tell them the truth—the whole truth as he knew it. Maybe it would be enough to convince them they had to stay away from Tristan. That no matter their love for one another, it was safer to avoid him. It’s not what he wanted, but it was the right thing to do.

  Eric took in a deep breath and let it out, glowering at the fae a little when he leapt over a row of bushes, trying to catch a butterfly. “I understand.”

  Nodding, Tristan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. The others stood and watched as the fae, obviously having forgotten about them and the rest of the world, was distracted by the pond.

  “All right, all right, let’s leave the frogs alone if you’re done.”

  “Yeah,” Lance said, panting and smiling like a happy dog as he rushed over to join the others. “I’m good. We’re good.”

  Tristan turned and put his hand out to Eric. “Thanks again.”

  Eric seemed to hesitate as if he wanted to say something but smiled and shook his hand. “Anytime. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  Eric took the group through the house to the foyer and stopped, asking Tristan to wait a minute. Lance fidgeted,
but looked like he just won the lottery as he clutched his plant clippings to him. Tristan rolled his eyes, but was smiling.

  When Eric came back he was holding a package wrapped in dark blue paper and a tired smile. “This, well, it was your birthday present from last year…”

  Tristan felt his chest tighten. He left just before his birthday without saying a thing.

  “Eric.”

  “No, I know. We’ll talk. Just know, right now, we’re not mad. We’re just happy to see you and hope that we’ll talk… when you’re ready.”

  Tristan nodded and gave his friend a hug. “Thank you.”

  “Here, my card too. It has my new cell on it. Call me, okay? We’ll have that dinner soon.”

  “Absolutely,” Tristan said smiling, all the while wondering if he could talk them into drinks sans food. Ash didn’t like the smell of food like most vampires. It wasn’t torture, but no less unpleasant. “Er, hey,” he said as his eyes fell on the newspaper on the porch. “Can I borrow that?”

  Eric bent for it and said, “All yours” as he tossed it at him. “Gillian’s parents are out of town looking at schools with Jeremy for a few days.”

  Tristan nodded. Explained why he and Gillian were doing the dirty in the back yard in the middle of the morning, especially since her mother didn’t work anymore.

  “It was really nice meeting you,” Lance said suddenly. “Thanks again for the plants, they’re really great!”

  Tristan snickered. He knew the Thompson’s backyard was like a candy store to the fae. “Yeah, thanks and I’ll let you know how this little project goes.”

  The other man laughed. “Good, because I’m super curious…” His voice trailed off and Tristan stopped mid-way down the driveway and turned to look at his friend. Eric was standing at the end of the porch looking across towards Tristan’s place.

  “Dammit,” Tristan muttered when he saw the couple standing at the front door or his parent’s house, now turned to look at him. One of them pointed and his body ran with goosebumps. It wasn’t that he recognized the people, because he didn’t, but their car and their demeanor were all too familiar. He exchanged a worried look with Lance and cut across the lawn towards the house.

  “Police?” Lance whispered with his head tilted towards Tristan.

  “Probably detectives.” Tristan glanced back to make sure Eric didn’t follow them. “I guess I should have asked you before now what happened after we left downtown last night.”

  “Uh,” Lance stopped and Tristan stopped with him, watching the Detectives watch him. “Nothing really. There was a lot of forensic stuff, door to door questions, but I didn’t hear anything about any suspects being named. I swear.”

  “All right.” Tristan heaved a sigh. “Well, let’s go find out what they want. You keep your mouth shut, okay? Better yet, just go inside.”

  “Understood.”

  “Here goes nothing,” Tristan muttered to himself as he went to face the heat.

  6: Just Can’t Win

  HE WAS older with grey temples, deep wrinkles etched into a constant scowl and a belly perfect for perching a cup of coffee on. She was tall, slender and runway gorgeous with her creamy mocha complexion and golden afro ringlets, dressed more for sexy office worker than cop with an almost too-short skirt and too-tall heels.

  The man scrutinized Lance as the fae tried to quickly and quietly slip away and then grunted a bit in surprise when the front door clicked shut in his face. He turned to face Tristan, doing a double take on his partner in the process. “Riggs,” he grumbled in a deep voice that had a slight drawl. “You’re catching flies.”

  The woman, Riggs, met Tristan’s gaze with a startled glance and snapped her mouth shut. Her dusky complexion flushed and she looked away, lips pursed together.

  “Tristan Bluhm?” the man with the gut asked.

  “Blum.” It sounded sharp and snotty, even to Tristan and he cringed.

  “Excuse me, son?”

  “It’s Blum, like a flower bloom, not Bluhm, there’s no H.” People always mispronounced his name. He got used to it, but being snippy with the cops had less to do with his name and more to do with his recent past in their care. All his fault, mind you, but still not okay.

  The man nodded slowly, eyeing Tristan through narrowed slits. “Right. Detective Sergeant Pritchard. This is Corporal Riggs.” He flashed a badge while Riggs fumbled for hers. Tristan barely glanced at them. Real or not, his goal was the same: get rid of the strangers amicably.

  “What is it I can do for you, detectives?”

  Pritchard’s teeth ground a little. “Just a few questions for you. Mind if we talk inside?” The man’s accent was peppered with southern. Not Deep South, but South County. A local. There are some words that were spoken around those parts that the rest of the world just didn’t use. Sure they were everyday words you could find in any dictionary but not the way they came out of their mouths. It was amazing, Tristan could say “water” and “wash” right ninety-five percent of the time, but the other five percent? Well, let’s just say there were vowels in there that just didn’t exist.

  “I do, actually. I’ve got a sick loved one in there trying to sleep.”

  Jesus, did he really just lie that quickly and easily?

  “That other fellow?”

  Tristan furrowed his brow at him and shifted his weight on his feet. “No. He’s a homeopathic doctor.”

  Pritchard lifted a grey eyebrow as he dug around in an inside pocket on his jacket. “That what they call pot dealers these days?” He pulled out his notebook, a tattered thing held together by a binder clip, and tapped his pen on the cover.

  Now Tristan was getting pissed. And maybe defensive or his usual jackass self wasn’t the way to go, but he couldn’t help it sometimes—especially if this guy was going to poke. “If you’ve got a legitimate reason to accuse me of something here, then do it. No bullshit. Otherwise, we’re done—I’ve got my wife to watch after.”

  “All right,” the gruff man grumbled in his rough voice. “No bullshit. You, Tristan Blum were seen fleeing the scene of a crime last night.”

  It took everything in him not to tense up at the accusation. Cops had an eye for that sort of tell, seeking fact from fiction. Well, it was true. He had fled the scene of a crime. He just couldn’t think of who would know him well enough to call him by name on sight.

  “Look, I just returned from overseas yesterday. The only place I’ve been besides here was Annapolis. I met some friends downtown, we talked and then I left. I don’t know anything about a crime. I certainly didn’t see or hear anything between the airport to downtown and then home.”

  The look on the middle-aged cop’s face said he had some doubts about Tristan’s truth even if it was as close to it as Tristan could get. He flipped his notepad open to find the page he was looking for. “Eyewitness at a dock bar downtown puts you near the scene around the time of a murder.”

  Anxiety tightened her fingers around his throat, threatening to squeeze the life from him. “Jesus, someone was killed at the docks? That’s such a public area.” Did that sound real to Pritchard? It sounded like bullshit to Tristan anyway.

  “That’s right. In fact, the doorman at Armadillos says he saw you carrying a woman away from the direction of the street where the murder took place, Mr. Blum. Care to explain?”

  Tristan silently cursed. Buddy. He was the long-time doorman there. Tristan was a regular after the accident. It didn’t take long for him to alienate himself from the staff, earning the title of troublemaker. And it was usually Buddy who sent Tristan away. Only, being drunk and belligerent in his despondence got him thrown into the drunk tank more than once. He even landed a punch or two on Buddy one time. So, yeah, the man didn’t like Tristan and knew his face all too well. But, the man hadn’t lied to the cops because he was angry with Tristan for being a dick. He just told the truth.

  Tristan was silent too long. He could see the doubt on Pritchard’s face and Tristan fought to keep his c
omposure. He wasn’t prepared for this sort of thing at all. If he had Ash with him, she could just pull one of her Jedi mind tricks on pair and sent them on their merry.

  “My wife,” he said, tasting the foreignness of the word. “She had an allergic reaction and I was rushing her to the car for her Epi Pen. She’s fine, by the way.” Seriously, where was he coming up with these lies from? And so easily. He didn’t like he had that sort of deception in him. It’s not how he was raised. It’s not how his head worked.

  Pritchard was eyeing him and he felt it keenly. “You’re supposed to go to the hospital after you use those. Am I going to find records for a Mrs. Blum on record when I call?”

  “Asta Blum,” he said, hoping it was a good enough offering on his part to expel suspicion. “And no. You won’t. She never lets me take her. But she’s fine. Sleeping it off now.”

  The Detective’s eyes shifted to the house. Tristan looked up and flinched when he saw Lance in the front window watching. The fae panicked and ran off when he saw the others looking and Tristan had to hold back a sigh.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll wake her so we can have a chat with her.”

  “I won’t.”

  Pritchard closed his notebook and next to him, having been still as a statue, Riggs shifted uneasily, looking ready to leave. “You didn’t see anything then, last night. Is that what your story is?”

  “When I left downtown, it was quiet. The rain had just started and Asta was not feeling good, so we left.” It felt so weird calling her Asta, even if it was really her name. He’d grown on “Ash”.

  The Detective grunted, scrubbing at his beard so that everyone could hear his stubble. It seemed to bother Riggs and she moved away from him, ever so slightly, nose wrinkled.

  “Then you didn’t see anything suspicious then?”

  Tristan sighed, dropping his shoulders. Under his arms he was wet from stress sweating, but more than that he was just overly tired mentally. “I promise you, I didn’t. If there’s something that comes to mind though, I’ll be sure you’re the first to know. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got stuff to do.”