I’d been lucky that he’d had some knowledge of the matter. He knew enough to teach me some basic meditation techniques, help me work on control, and teach me who I needed to avoid. Specifically, other psykers.
When I hit eighteen, my abilities grew stronger. Mike had later speculated that it had something to do with maturing and getting older. Regardless, I had a slip in control and burnt down my first apartment building. By accident, of course.
I’d been stressed out, overworked, and barely getting by. My fuse was short back then, and I had one hell of a nosey neighbor that knew just how to get under my skin.
But that slip-up had left me exposed.
Less than two hours later, a man had arrived at my burnt doorstep as I dug through the rubble of my meager belongings—trying to salvage what I could—with an offer he thought I couldn’t refuse.
I’d asked for a day to consider it, knowing there was no way in hell I’d accept. He’d promised to come back in the morning. As soon as he’d left, I’d packed what hadn’t been ruined in the fire and hit the road.
He tried tracking me. It took three weeks to lose him and a year to stop looking over my shoulder. No one searches for someone they have no connections to that hard with good intentions.
To stay hidden, I kept to the streets. Being homeless had surprising perks. I had knowledge and contacts that otherwise I’d never have, and I developed reliable instincts and better fighting skills from having to defend myself on a regular basis.
See, the glass was always half full.
“So when does my partner arrive?” I rifled through my desk in search of my notebook. It wasn’t much to look at. Just a worn leather cover with several hundred pages of what I deemed to be important information. One such piece of information was a growing list of Pack members and their roles. The shifters were a secretive bunch. I knew who some Pack Alphas and Betas were, but not all of them.
It was highly probable they’d send me one of the Clan Betas. Someone with enough authority to make decisions for the Pack and take out any potential threats. If that were the case, I would need to make sure I didn’t expose myself. Easier said than done, but I didn’t want to find myself on the Pacific Northwest Pack’s most wanted list.
“No idea. But, Ari, I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. You wanted the kid to get justice, and he’ll get it. You know how shifters are. They won’t stop until they find the culprit. Why don’t you just stay out of it and let them handle this their way?”
No way I would stand on the sidelines while the Pack took over. Not happening. This was my case. I’d already poured blood and sweat into it.
I allowed my displeasure to wash over my face.
“Ari, don’t give me that look. You know I’m only looking out for you. What would happen if the Pack found out you were a pyrokinetic?”
We’d had this conversation before. I didn’t need to worry about that because it wouldn’t happen.
If the Pack or Coven, or hell, even the witches discovered what I was, one of three things would happen. They’d either kill me because I was too big of a threat to leave living or they’d somehow find a way to control me and make me their little fire slave. If I had a heads-up early enough, I’d go for option three and run. Again.
I didn’t want to leave. I’d put down roots here. But I’d die before I ever let someone else control me.
“Mike, you and I both know that won’t happen. I’ll be careful like I always am. Why don’t you just tell me what fur ball they’re going to saddle me with?” I smiled when I found my notebook in my desk’s bottom drawer. “Finally.” I pulled the notebook out and leaned over it as I scanned the coffee stained pages within for likely candidates. It was doubtful the Pack would send a Clan Alpha. They were too important to spare for sleuthing.
Packs were made up of Clans, smaller groups of shifters with their own Alphas and Betas who reported to the Pack leadership. There were six Clans within the Pacific Northwest Pack I knew of. Each was led by a single—or joint if mated—Clan Alpha, and all served under Declan Valkenaar, the Pack Alpha.
The Pacific Northwest Pack encompassed Clans Wolf, Cat, Feloidea, Muridea, Canidae, and Big, which encompassed, well, anything really big. Bears, a handful of water buffalos, and if memory served, a rhinoceros shifter or two.
Mike noisily cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, Ari…”
“God, I hope whoever they send isn’t a complete moron. If I’m going to be stuck with a Pack partner, the least they can do is give me someone competent.”
Mike noisily cleared his throat again.
“What?” I looked up from my desk and scowled at the tall man standing just inside the office, casually leaning against the doorframe. He had tousled brown hair and steely grey eyes. High cheekbones and a strong jaw formed his face and a hint of stubble dusted his jawline. It was not enough to appear unkempt, but just enough to give a roguish impression. Dressed in black jeans, a black tee, and a black leather jacket, he oozed tall, dark, and handsome with deadly intent.
I shoved my notebook into the top drawer of my desk. Shit.
“That would be this furball right here,” James said, an arrogant grin lifting the corner of his mouth.
I let my head fall to the surface of my desk, then for good measure, I none too gently knocked my forehead on its smooth surface, one, two, three times. Dammit, I couldn’t believe I’d just called him a freaking furball!
My cheeks warmed, and heat crept up my neck.
On the upside, at least my partner was someone I actually knew and trusted to watch my back.
“You all done with the show?” he asked.
I lifted my head and glared at him, then dropped my head to the desktop once more before sitting up and rubbing the sting away. “Yeah, I’m done.” This wasn’t going to be as bad as I’d expected. James Shields was a wolf and having him as my partner was going to make this gig a lot more tolerable than I’d expected. “So you’re my partner?”
James nodded. “Yeah, I’m your partner.” He sauntered into the room, his eyes scanning the articles pinned to the exposed brick walls. “Think you can play nice for once?”
“Hey!” I admonished. “I’m always nice to you.”
He snorted and wandered farther into the room, moving with a confident and carefree grace, his gaze now locked on mine.
If he weren’t the closest thing I had to a best friend, I’d be drooling like the rest of society when he walked into a room.
“Sure, you are. You ready to get reckless?” His lips curved to one side, and his eyes pulled me out of my seat.
I smiled. He knew me all too well. “Absolutely.”
I grabbed my messenger bag and followed James out of the office, aware of Mike’s disapproving gaze following my every step.
Cursed by Fire - Two
James led the way to the attached basement parking garage, and my mouth watered at the sight of his 1970 Boss 302 Mustang.
Damn. That car was every man’s wet dream. Mine too, if I were being honest. The Mustang sported a custom black on black paint job with black rims, blacked-out taillights, and black leather interior.
It had badass written all over it.
“So when are you going to let me take her for a spin?” I asked, feigning indifference. I really wanted to drive it, but James was such a control freak when it came to his pride and joy.
James laughed, his smooth timbre echoing through the vacant lot. He shook his head, his tousled, dark brown hair almost hiding the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Never, Ari. Never.”
He opened the driver side door and leaned his elbow against the roof with a wicked grin on his face as he looked me over with a wry grin.
I pushed out my bottom lip and gave him the closest thing to a doe-eyed expression I could conjure up.
“We’ve been on gigs before where I saved your life. You’d think that’d earn me at least a lap around the block.” I folded my arms across my chest and arched a brow.
“I’ve
saved your ass as many times as you’ve saved mine. We’re even.” James slid into the car in one fluid motion, not bothering to hear my response.
I rolled my eyes—I’d get my hands on his keys eventually—and opened the passenger side door, climbing in beside him.
“I’m a perfectly safe driver.” My Honda Civic was still in one piece.
James put the Mustang into drive and navigated his way out of the garage. “Not happening.” With his eyes on the road, I took in his strong jaw and sharp, angular nose. Heavy brows rested over grey eyes that evolved into liquid mercury when his wolf rose to the surface.
I pursed my lips together. “This isn’t over,” I warned.
“It never is,” he said with a wolfish grin that had me instinctively smiling back.
I caught myself and schooled my expression, but he’d already seen it.
James winked, and I fiddled with the knobs on the stereo in an attempt to hide the blush rising to my cheeks. He did that sometimes. Flirted. Why, I wasn’t sure.
James was a friend. My best friend. I didn’t see him as anything more, and I was almost certain he didn’t see me as anything more either. But sometimes he’d give me a look. You know, the kind filled with all sorts of innuendo, and I’d get all flustered for no reason. Because obviously, I had to be imagining it. Right? Only sometimes, I wasn’t entirely certain.
If you saw him, you’d have the same problem. The man oozed sex appeal.
Don’t go there, I chided myself and sighed. Now really wasn’t the time to contemplate the intricacies of male and female platonic relationships.
Setting those thoughts aside, I turned my mind back to the task at hand.
We were on our way to see Daniel Blackmore’s biological father. James and I had never partnered up on anything involving the Pack, so Pack secrets weren’t something we’d ever had to navigate. And with shapeshifters, everything was a secret.
They were one of the most private factions. Not that I could blame them. Humans feared shapeshifters, and humans tended to treat what they feared with thinly veiled hatred. Most saw them as animals on the verge of losing their marbles any moment.
I couldn’t blame the shifters for their secrets. But, I sure as hell could try and pry as many of them as possible out of James.
I didn’t know how forthcoming he would be. Partners or not, James would only share so much, and I had a feeling that it would be limited to only what he considered relevant to the case, so I’d start there.
“Who’s the father?” Merc 101, it was always best to start with the obvious.
“Eric Delaney. He’s a wolf. Lives on the South Hill.”
Hmmm… Must be doing all right for himself since the divorce. The South Hill lay on the nicer side of Spokane, Washington. Houses were nestled close, but the views of the city were stunning. The cramped houses were a fair tradeoff for a lower crime rate and cleaner neighborhoods.
If I could afford a house on that side of town, I’d live there too.
“So, I take it the kid took his mom’s last name? They don’t match. And, not that I’m complaining, but why did Delaney ask for help? Why isn’t he moving on like Jessica and her husband seem to be?”
James’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I think the last name was agreed upon during the divorce.” His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, but his eyes stayed firmly in front of him. “Eric called our Alpha yesterday morning. I didn’t hear the conversation, but no shapeshifter would let their child’s murderer go unpunished. He may have been off the grid for the last few years, but Daniel was still his son. He was still Pack. Even if none of us knew it.”
Whoa. That had to sting. “You didn’t know Daniel was being raised in the human world?”
He shook his head. “We didn’t even know it was possible for a non-shifter to bear a shapeshifter child. I don’t think Eric did either. Probably why he let Jessica take the kid in the first place. He must have figured Daniel was strictly human and better off in the human world. The rest of us did. Most shifter children experience their first…” He trailed off. Damn.
“Experience their first what?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful grin. “It’s not important to the case.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Who’s his Alpha?”
I didn’t know who Clan Wolf’s Alpha was, or where their Clan house was located. But I knew Declan Valkenaar lived here in Spokane, WA, in the heart of the Pack lands. The rest of the Clan Alphas would live within the surrounding territories and most of their identities were kept private.
It was safer that way. No targets for the humans intent on destabilizing the shapeshifters.
James smiled again and trained his eyes in my direction. “Nice try.”
I pouted. “Alpha names aren’t secret. All of Washington knows it’s Declan at the helm of the Pacific Northwest Pack.”
James snorted. “True enough, but that doesn’t mean we shout it from the rooftops, either. We like our privacy.”
I rolled my eyes and moved on to my next question. I knew a losing battle when I saw one.
“Is it possible that Eric could be involved in his son’s murder?” I didn’t like the idea that a parent could harm their own child, but it had to be asked. If Delaney had been away from his son all these years, it made me wonder just how much his son meant to him.
James gave me a sideways look, his piercing gaze asking me if I was stupid.
“What?” I worried my lower lip. It was a legitimate question.
“No shifter would harm a child. Let alone one of their own flesh and blood.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “You just said he’d been off the grid. He all but abandoned his son which I’m pretty sure is something no shifter would do either. Can we really afford to make any assumptions here?”
A snarl worked its way up James's throat. “You ask an awful lot of questions.”
“That is part of the job.” I drummed my fingers along the window’s edge. “Why is the Pack helping him? Eric Delaney left, and as far as either of us are aware, his shifter son had been living in the human world separate from the Pack.”
I got the same sideways look.
Fine, yeah whatever, stupid question. “Do you know the situation between Eric Delaney and Jessica Blackmore?” When Daniel had first gone missing, Jessica and her husband had assumed he’d been taken for ransom. They were well off and lived in a safe neighborhood with little paranormal activity. If there was bad blood between Jessica and Eric, it was possible it had started out as a simple abduction. Maybe he wanted to use Daniel as leverage against his ex-wife and something went wrong?
“Not much. Only that they separated three years ago, and that during the divorce he asked for leave. The Pack didn’t get involved since no one had expected the relationship to last in the first place.”
“Why wouldn’t you expect it last?”
Relationships between shifters and non-shifters are rare. Those of us around when Eric courted Jessica saw it going downhill fast.”
I mulled that over in my mind as we made our way up Freya Street. “How does that work exactly? I assumed shifters weren’t allowed to marry non-shifters?”
James gave me a curious glance, probably reading more into my question than I’d intended. “Any Pack member can marry outside the Pack. It’s not frowned upon per se. But non-shifters are prohibited from living inside the Compound. We don’t trust outsiders. It can make a relationship… difficult.”
“Hey!” I smacked his arm. “I can be trusted.”
“You’re an exception,” he said.
Liar. I bit my tongue and waited for him to continue.
“It would be difficult to maintain a relationship when the core of who we are lives within the Pack. Not impossible,” he added. “Just… difficult.”
We pulled up to a single-story home. James killed the engine, and we both stepped out of the car. The house matched the modern style of the neighborhood, but where the oth
er homes on the block were pristine with manicured lawns, Eric Delaney’s house was a wreck—peeling paint, overgrown shrubbery, debris piled on the side of the house.
Making sure my blades were visible within my leather jacket, I left my bag behind and made my way up the short pathway leading from the street to the front door. James stalked behind me. He gave the impression he was the muscle in this situation, which he was.
James didn’t need the money a gig provided. He owned Hills Fitness, and between that and his work with the Pack, he was doing just fine. But he never passed on a case involving vamps. In fact, he usually went out of his way to insert himself into them now that I thought about it.
Things were hostile between the Pack and the Coven so I’m sure the information he gleamed was useful. I didn’t mind. I owed no loyalties beyond those to my clients. Though I’m sure if the Coven knew about it, they certainly would mind. But hey, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
We had a routine already, and he hung back and let me do the talking. Most people were intimidated enough by his presence. He didn’t have to work all that hard at it.
Climbing the few steps to the door, I rapped three times and waited for a response.
No one answered.
I knocked three more times and again waited, doing my best not to fidget. Patience was not a virtue of mine.
After several long moments, there was the distinct sound of a lock retracting and the door opened just a crack.
“What do you want?” the man behind the door asked in a gruff voice.
I could make out his olive skin tone and fall of chestnut hair, just like Daniel’s. “Eric Delaney?” I asked.
“Yeah.” The word was slurred.
“I’m Aria Naveed. I’d like to speak with you about your son’s death.”
“You mean my son’s murder,” he growled. His eyes took on an eerie shifter glow, and I had to fight my instincts to take a step back.
“Yes, his murder,” I said, in what I hoped was a calm and soothing voice. Judging by the metallic sheen to his eyes, his wolf was riding close to the surface. “I’d like a few moments of your time to interview you and see if you might be able to present any leads. I’m trying to bring down your son’s killer, and I need your help to do that.”
Trouble with Wolves: An urban fantasy romance novel (Magic and Bone Book 1) Page 14
