by Gaja J. Kos
He leaned in. “Avoidance isn’t the answer here.”
“Neither is ditching the case.” I shot to my feet, which garnered several raised heads.
I rolled my eyes. You’d think trained agents would know how to be more discreet in their busybody ways. You’d be wrong.
I grabbed Finn by the hand before he could say anything more and dragged him out onto the stairwell where we’d have at least a modicum of privacy. The slightly cooler air pooling on the landing wrapped around my hot skin but hardly did a thing to fan the flames raging inside.
Guiding Finn toward the wall, I waited for the doors to the bullpen to swing shut, then said, “I get why you’re doing this, but I—”
A shuffle of footsteps grazed my ears. I pressed my mouth shut, but the person on the other side of the door passed without trying to eavesdrop. Not that I doubted his stroll to the water cooler had been anything but a scouting mission.
Releasing a breath through my nose, I let go of Finn, who kept looking at me with brows slightly arched. Gods, he was infuriating sometimes. Just because he was right most of the time didn’t mean his radar was infallible.
Too much was at stake with our case—too much at stake if we failed—for him to grill me about the whole Aric situation.
After another moment to subdue the part of me that wanted to snarl in his face for the vibe he was throwing out, I said, “Finn, I have to find that witch. If she’s using the same magic as the one fueling Dominik’s curse, then this isn’t just my chance to keep crap like this from happening to another werewolf. I can help my brother too.”
But where I’d expected to see understanding in my partner’s eyes, there was nothing but that same agent hardness calling me out.
A thread of anger pulled at my gut. “Are you seriously not giving a fuck that this is the first promising lead I’ve had in years?”
“I give a fuck. I give all the fucking fucks about Dominik and stopping this kind of magic from infecting more people.” The weight of his gaze made it impossible to ignore the truth of his words. “But running yourself ragged on the first day won’t solve the case. I know you, Gina. I know what’s at stake for you. For Dominik. And it’s fucking massive. Which is also why it’s that much more imperative that we remain smart. We have to do this right. Bring our A game.”
He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to me. I frowned at the scribbled lines. Hellwig’s and Junker’s addresses. I glanced up at him.
Had all of his earlier questioning been just for show?
From where I was standing, it certainly looked like he’d strode into the bullpen well-prepared and ready to take me down no matter what I may have brought up.
Finn folded the paper and slipped it back into his pocket. “I’ll assemble a team and check these out. Sarah practically begged me to give her something to do when I ran into her downstairs, and I have a feeling Jorn will be no different. That’s three lead agents already, Gina. There’s no reason for you to be there—unless you think we aren’t competent enough to do our job.”
“Low blow, Finn.” I crossed my arms, but when he quirked a strawberry blond eyebrow, I begrudgingly backed off.
“Let us do the preliminary checks.” He rested his palms on my shoulders. “And when we have some information we can actually act on, you can hunt that witch for as long and as hard as you like. Full support.”
A frustrated grunt punched from my lips. Gods, I hated that he was right.
With the way my mind had been buzzing ever since Emilia had uttered that echo of Dominik’s words in that basement, I would have torn through Berlin, dissecting every avenue Emilia’s testimony had opened for us, down to the smallest, seemingly insignificant ones—and, yeah, probably run myself ragged in the process long before I got anywhere near the curse-wielding bitch.
I rubbed my forehead.
There was a reason why agents were supposed to separate themselves from their emotions when working the case.
I just didn’t particularly like the whole clearheaded requirement right now.
“Fine,” I grumbled and let my hand fall by my side. “I’ll head home—”
“—and get your ass dressed. And go to the damn concert.”
“You’re not going to let up, are you?” I asked dryly.
Finally, Finn softened.
He ran his hands down my arms. “Gina, the Whiskey Jet Preachers concerts mean too much to you to not go.”
I barked out a weak, bitter laugh. And that was precisely the root of this entire clusterfuck.
The Whiskey Jet Preachers concerts were so entwined with my life, just imagining a reality without them was painful. To actually know one was taking place in my fucking city and choosing not to be there, not to experience the ever-unique rush…
“Yeah, yeah, they do,” I agreed, though my voice came out more breathless than I would have liked. “But…I haven’t spoken to him at all, Finn.”
When my partner threw his arms around me, I allowed myself to be pulled into his hug and briefly rested my head against his shoulder before drawing away. All right, maybe I hadn’t been completely fair, keeping crap to myself when Finn had never been anything but supportive, but, shit, why was it that sharing all of it out loud hit that much worse?
I was already living the pity-ass party my life had turned into. Speaking about it really shouldn’t have made me any feel crappier than I already felt…
And yet, here we were.
Steeling myself, I said, “I saw him post a pic from Berlin a couple of weeks ago. Finn, Aric came back and didn’t contact me. Chose not to. I don’t know about you, but to me, it looks like he made his stance on everything really fucking clear.”
There was no disguising the bitterness in my tone, and I hated it.
But I hated how fucking hurt I was that much more.
“I won’t be the one trailing behind him like a lovesick puppy. I mean”—I tipped my gaze toward the ceiling—“can you imagine how ridiculous I’d look, standing there in the front row before him like some chick who can’t get a hint?”
Finn snorted. “No less ridiculous than the vampire who admitted he’s in love with you, then hasn’t done shit about it.”
I inclined my head. Couldn’t argue with that.
Not that it changed how I’d feel gazing up at Aric from the front row though.
Finn leaned against the wall and braced one foot against the once-white paint. “Honestly, I think you’re both being immature.”
“Hey—”
“Gina, come on. You’re playing the whole I’m not texting first game. Both of you.” Again, he shot me one of those looks that drove the point home. “You can’t honestly believe waiting for the other person to reach out first even when you’re dying to get in contact isn’t immature.”
“If only it were that simple,” I drawled, getting a distinct “try me” face from Finn.
A face he didn’t drop even as seconds pounded by, nor did he look inclined to let me off the hook anytime soon. I had a feeling he’d be perfectly fine leaning against the wall and staring at me until nightfall if that’s what it took to wrench an answer out of me.
So I relented.
“It’s not that simple, because I’m still a fan, and Aric is…” I scratched my temple with my trimmed nails, barely catching myself before I drew blood, and sighed. “Aric. He’s Aric fucking Sutter.”
Finn shifted legs, hands jammed in his pockets. “The guy who, very recently, had been set up for murder and needed to have you clear his name. What makes you so sure he isn’t staying away because he thinks you don’t want anything to do with the whole hot mess his life turned out to be?”
“That’s insane.” I flung my arms in the air.
“Is it?” Finn pressed. “Is it really? Did you tell him how you felt before he left? Did you let him know you’re in love with him too?”
“I kissed him, for fuck’s sake,” I half yelled before remembering where we were.
> “Yeah, that was before, Gin.” The compassion in Finn’s gaze tugged at all the strings I did not want to have tugged. “And it’s not the same as actually saying the words.”
I sank against the wall beside Finn, sulking my butt off, and Finn let me. He knew he’d won the argument. It didn’t mean I was about to go make a fool out of myself at the concert, but it forced me to admit that, yeah, I was being immature.
There had been nothing stopping me from reaching out to Aric, nothing stopping me from asking how he was doing after the whole ordeal. And what had I done?
Watched his godsdamned social media like a hawk, wondering why he wasn’t the one reaching out to me.
“You’re going to the concert, Gina,” Finn said after gods knew how many minutes passed. “You can’t tell me that you aren’t dying to hear them play? To feel the music pulse through your body?”
Something stirred deep within just at the thought of experiencing another live gig.
I groaned. “This is why I never should have hooked up with him. I hate how complicated it all got.”
“Or”—mischief twinkled in Finn’s eyes—“you need to get off your blues horse and go get that vamp.”
Chuckling, I smacked him in the arm, then peeled off the wall. “All right. I’m taking the ticket. But no promises.”
Finn smirked at me like I’d just voiced the biggest damn lie, but he didn’t call me out on it.
Because we both knew this wasn’t the end.
I set the WJP ticket beside my record player, then poured myself a generous glass of gin and tonic before returning to the armchair by the window to nestle myself in the ever-deepening depression molded specifically after my butt.
All right, and maybe, maybe I put on a WJP record, too, and had Aric’s voice curving seductively within my apartment walls—laying down the perfect soundtrack for all the memories I had of the vamp to replay to. Torture at its finest.
Huffing, I tipped back my glass and dove right in like a top-shelf masochist.
The many shades of Aric’s smiles whisked through my mind. All breathtaking, yet none as impactful and heart-shattering as the ones that broke across his face whenever he spotted me standing in the crowd.
Then came the looks, those heavy-lidded, weighted stares that fell upon me when we mingled on opposite sides at the afterparties. A sinful dance of him knowing that I knew he was watching me, sprinkled with moments of direct contact that could probably ignite the air if they had the means.
The details swept me up in a whirlwind and deposited me into the core of all the occasions Aric and I were alone. When I kept telling myself I was imagining this pull between us. That the simmering attention was nothing but him being kind to a fan.
Then the visit to his studio.
That dark, delectable song he played for a whole audience of one lovestruck werewolf.
The way his lips came down on mine.
I’m pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you.
Yeah, Aric. I was pretty fucking sure I was in love with you too.
And it terrified the fuck out of me.
I tossed back nearly half of my gin, then, glass dangling from my fingers, I strode into the bedroom. I set my drink on the nightstand. My fingers twitched as I stared at the damn drawer for the duration of almost an entire song before I grabbed the handle and pulled out the envelope I’d stashed in there months ago. Out of sight, but always nearby.
Its contents seemed to burn into my skin. Grimacing, I grabbed the glass with my other hand, then moved into the living room and plopped myself into the armchair.
After several long swallows of gin, I pried the clippings from the envelope one after the other and set them on my lap. By now, the words typed on the soft, aged paper were so familiar to me, I didn’t even have to read them. I shuffled the articles until I found the one with the photo—an authentic Rock’n’Roll Aric, standing close to the soon-to-be-dead girls.
“Fuck.” I closed my eyes.
Finn knew a lot, but he hadn’t been operating with the whole picture.
I wasn’t even sure why I hadn’t confided in him about the clippings I’d anonymously received right as Aric left town. Maybe I’d hoped they’d go away somehow. That Aric would write to me once he pulled himself together, and I’d see that there was no way he could be responsible for these deaths because he was a fucking good person.
None of that happened.
And now I was left alone with the weight of these fucking articles, the soul-crushing silence that had dragged on for months, and a ticket to the gig of the band I’d thought I’d enjoy for the rest of my life but couldn’t because I’d fucked everything up.
I reached for my glass and drank its contents down to the last drop, then poured myself more gin. Straight. After the spirit burned down my throat, I shuffled the articles back in their envelope and laid it beside the ticket.
Aric’s voice continued to spill from the record player’s speakers, giving it a vintage-feeling edge I absolutely adored. The perfect meld of guitars, bass, and drums built up, fattening the sound into something that settled itself in my whole body, thrumming and expanding until the music felt like the core of who I was—then exploded in the final chorus that made me tip my head back and curse.
The record spun into the next song, hot chills sweeping down my skin at the rumble of Aric’s guitar.
“Fuck it all to hell,” I snapped and finished the gin in a single breath, then pushed out of the chair with enough force for it to groan as it skidded toward the wall.
I marched into the bedroom and slammed the door shut like it was the only way to escape the music.
Gods, this was stupid.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, then faced my reflection in the mirror, studying the drawn lines of my face.
“What are you going to do, Gin?”
Chapter 5
Never was there a time I wished more desperately to have some sort of cloaking magic at my disposal.
Even in the pooling shadows, tucked way at the back of the club with a whole sea of people separating me from the stage, I felt exposed. A blip of existence sticking out too sorely to go unnoticed even on the weakest radar.
And we all knew Aric’s radar was anything but weak.
I should never have come—
The dim overhead lights went out, and as the crowd inhaled collectively, holding its breath, darkness swept in like an onyx wave of infinite, uncharted potential.
My lungs seemed incapable of doing anything, the air as much of an immovable force as my body, contained within the thrall of this moonless night. Of the anticipation that might as well have been a deity we all prayed to with utmost devotion.
My wolf ears should have picked out the near-thousand heartbeats, and yet the silence commanding the club was absolute. There was no passing of time in this vacuum.
Nothing at all until Aric’s sinful voice coiled through the space.
“You held my heart
In a glass box.”
No one cheered. No one even whistled.
“Telling me I’d always
Be your only song.”
We were all transfixed by the velvet-dark intro of “Running on Fumes.”
“But I saw…
And I felt…”
Music erupted in a bang powerful enough to conceive a new universe. The stage burst to life—an explosion of dazzling spotlights and smooth fucking motion that made the crowd roar—and, as I caught sight of Aric, the air punched out of my lungs.
The chiseled edges of his arresting features that were somehow soft and cutting at the same time were a godsdamned sight of divinity that shook me to my foundations.
His magnetic energy commanded the club, lured me in so fiercely there was no way I could fend off my own desire to sink deeper in the experience of watching him on stage. There was something about him as the dark-colored spotlights with arrows of bright white danced across his body that surpassed the laws of nature.
Some people had that natural oomph that amped up their stage presence, that allure that hypnotized you. But Aric…
Aric obliterated.
I wasn’t sure if I would have been able to hold it together at all if the audience hadn’t swept me into its ever-growing rush. Together, we transformed into a shifting of tectonic plates, surrendered fully to the riff, the beat, the tenebrosity of the tune.
Across the distance, I could see the piercing gleam of Aric’s eyes as he dragged his gaze along the crowd.
“Girl, you promised
To keep me for yourself,
Then kissed and threw me
In your wishing well.”
The lyrics flowed out of me without any conscious input. My body belonged to the music, to the vibrations rolling from the speakers and shaking me up until I transcended into something more.
“But it was dry…”
Aric crooned, his fingers hooked around the mic.
“It was dead…”
Pascal took center stage with a vicious, sharp solo that had us all cheering. It was odd, not being up there by the barrier, not feeling the press of people from behind. But in a way, it took me back to that first time—the night I’d walked into a small club, lured in by the sound of rockabilly and magnetic singing that had changed everything.
If Finn were here, he’d probably say a return to the roots was precisely what I needed. And, maybe—my attention slid from Pascal to Aric, a grin on his face as he watched his bandmate play—Finn was right.
That moment nine years ago had been pivotal. I’d known deep down, even if only on a subconscious level, that I couldn’t carry on with my life as I had up to that point. And now…
My lips quirked up as Aric grinned broader.
I had to ride the change, not fight it, no matter where I’d end up. I just needed to get my traitorous mind that hissed and snarled at the idea of throwing myself into the unknown onboard.
Ewart’s drumming amped up, and Leif slapped away on the bass, the thrumming rhythm mirrored in the bobbing heads and shifting bodies spread out before me. Hands rose in the front rows, supported by more than a few whistles.
