“Sexual assault?”
“No.”
“Torture?”
I sniffed again. “They were in pain during their final moments, and scared shitless, but the pain isn’t excessive, not what you’d expect for torture with this many victims. My guess is no. Their deaths weren’t swift, but they weren’t tortured.”
Stan nodded. “The coroner will confirm, but those results will take a while. They’re all norms?”
Stan’s disappointed voice had me turning toward him. “Yes, all norms. Were you hoping they’d all be supes so it wouldn’t be such a waste? Or so you could hand it off to the SRD and go home?”
Stan shook his head, unruffled. “I’m no supe hater. I hoped we’d found the Supe Slayer location. The maps led us here.”
Frowning, I looked around the room again. “Maybe it is.”
Stan’s brow furrowed.
“The Supe Slayer uses humans for his attacks,” I explained. “These could be the norms he controlled. At least now we know what he does with them after they’re no longer useful.”
The smell of acrid, burnt cinnamon and sickly sweet fear clogged my nose. I choked on the thickness of it. Anger and fear. Stan’s genuine emotions instantly raised my respect for him. He hadn’t hardened into an unfeeling stone.
“How do you know that?” Stan demanded.
I turned to face him full on. “Did you honestly think someone could go around attacking supes and our community wouldn’t take an interest in it? Let’s just say someone looked into it.”
Putting the pieces together, Stan scoffed at me. “The SRD assigned you to find the Supe Slayer?” He looked more confused than affronted. “Agent Tucker informed us he was running point.”
The agent’s name provoked a growl. Stan took a half step back.
“Don’t expect a lot from him,” I said.
“Don’t worry. On principle, I expect nothing from the SRD. No offense.”
I waved his comment off. As an assassin, I’d had little contact or involvement with headquarters. Everything had come through my handler. The SRD had a reputation of swift justice, namely taking out supes-gone-bad, but things had changed. The more I learned about the SRD, the more I realized something was off.
An SRD agent should’ve been at this scene, but I’d seen none. Where were they?
“No offense taken,” I said to Stan. “But to be clear, I wasn’t referring to the SRD when I said someone else had taken an interest. Other powerful groups want to find the culprit.”
Stan thought on it for a moment. He opened his mouth and started to form the word “who,” but when I shook my head, indicating I would say no more on the matter, he shut his mouth, nodded and turned back to the murder scene in the room. “What do old ladies have to do with this?”
I blinked. Oh! He meant my search request. “That’s another case.”
“Will you share your Supe Slayer information with me?” He didn’t look over. Instead, he asked with his gaze forward and alert. He probably didn’t want to give away how much he cared about my answer, or how much he wanted me to say yes, but his set jaw and steely iron scent gave him away.
“I’ll share, if you do. My…employer…wants this person caught.” What should I call Lucien? Definitely not using “Master.” That rubbed the wrong way. I hesitated before adding, “I can’t promise you’ll get to take the person or persons down though.”
Stan nodded. “Just keep me in the loop. I don’t care who you’re working for.”
“Deal.”
We examined the pile of humans. The crime scene investigators finished with their pictures and measurements, and started pulling the bodies down. They took one after another from the pile, snapped more pictures and let the medical examiner view each one before packaging them up for removal. Stan was right. This process took time and it would be days, if not weeks before the lab results came back.
“Pick up anything else?”
“The smell of death is too strong for me to detect any trace or subtle scents. I might sneak back after the bodies are removed to see if it’s better then. And yes, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll give you a ride back to the station.”
“Perfect.”
Climbing back into the car, Stan faced me before turning the key. “You came to see me about something before I dragged you here. What was it?”
I rolled the window down, intent on getting some clean air to clear my nasal passages. A slow smile spread across my face. “I need to dig into my boss’s personal life.”
****
Stan’s information proved extremely helpful. Agent Booth’s mother lived in town. At the ripe age of eighty, she fit my profile perfectly. If she ever decided to answer her phone, I planned to meet her. Maybe she would have the answers I needed. Maybe she’d be another dead end.
A light breeze moved through the cherry trees, bringing soft floral scents to me as I walked up the stairs to my building. Then a familiar scent stopped me in my tracks. Spinning around, I gawked as Tristan sauntered up the steps behind me. Fitted jeans and a sports jacket accentuated his athletic build. His sapphire eyes, mesmerizing, locked me in place. This must be how a cobra feels when a mongoose runs around it.
“Andy,” Tristan purred. His hand slipped around my neck, and he pulled me slightly forward for a kiss. His lips soft and gentle on my own, stirred my body into wanting things from him, things that weren’t exactly soft or gentle. His purr deepened, vibrating against my chest, making my nipples hard.
“Tristan,” I breathed. Gently pushing him back with shaking hands, I smiled. “You always overwhelm me.”
His bright even teeth flashed at me. “I’m all about reciprocation.”
Desire sprung up instantaneously, sending shivers of anticipation across my skin. Tristan’s nose flared and his smile grew.
“Damn,” I breathed. “You’re good.”
“Can I come in?”
“Can you behave?”
His dimples answered for him, but I pulled the door open and waved him inside. “Well, come in anyway.”
Tristan laughed and reached above me to hold the door. “Ladies first.”
Ducking under his arm, I walked into the building. Tristan followed. When I glanced over my shoulder, I found his gaze glued to my ass.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, unlocking the door to my apartment.
“I figured I’d impose myself on you. If I called first, I have a feeling you’d try to avoid me.”
“Why would I do that?” I shucked my shoes off and motioned Tristan to come in by waving my arm through the air in a giant half circle. Smooth.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped into my apartment and took a deep breath. The small smile and closed eyes told me he liked the smell of my place. Pulling off his shoes, he walked around and observed every object, piece of furniture, and wall hanging as if he was in a museum. “Not many personal items,” he noted. “None, in fact.”
“Professional habit.” Not trying to throw it in his face this time, it was the truth. I only had one personal item in my place. A colour copy of a photo with my parents sat on my bedside table. The original sat in a box along with a handful of other keepsakes. The storage facility was in a remote location, and I made a point to never visit.
“Nothing at all?” It surprised him.
“A picture of my parents.”
He spun around, interest flashing in his expression. “Where?”
“Bedroom.” I nodded at the door off the living room.
Tristan tsked me. “Trying to get me in there already? Without offering me coffee first?”
“I’ll make us some now.” Rummaging around in the kitchen, I set up the coffeemaker and pressed the start button. Aware Tristan took a seat on the sofa in the living room, I called out to him. “So why did you think I would avoid you?”
“You had a date with Wick, and you’re probably confused.”
“How’d you know?” I asked as I walked out of the kitc
hen and into a wall of emotion. Cat urine and burnt sugar, jealousy and longing, conflicted with Tristan’s clinical tone.
I sat down beside him without breaking stride or staggering. I deserved an Emmy Award for that.
“About the date or your mental state?” Tristan asked.
“Both. Neither. I don’t know. Explain.”
Tristan took a deep breath and exhaled. “Angie felt the need to inform me. I think she followed you.”
“She’s not my type.”
Tristan laughed and shook his head. He reached over and wound a strand of my hair around his finger. “She thinks you’re not my type either.”
I snatched my hair away. “And what do you think?”
“I think you’re exactly my type.”
“Smooth.”
Tristan shuffled closer on my couch.
“But seriously. Your type is tall, ethnically ambiguous women with prickly personalities?”
He laughed, again. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “Before you, I’m ashamed to say I went for petite women with big curves…”
“Big boobs, you mean,” I interrupted. My girls weren’t small, but they’d never be described as “big.”
Tristan dipped his head to acknowledge my point. “And not particularly intelligent. I didn’t believe I deserved better. Still don’t.”
At least he was being honest, but still, his “type” bothered me. My shoulders bunched up. “In other words Angie?”
Tristan hesitated before nodding. “She’s actually very bright. But regardless, I never slept with her.”
It’s not that I didn’t believe him. He spoke the truth, his statement came out blunt and to the point, no skirting, no hedging or avoidance, no oily scent of a lie. I still didn’t like it. Tristan might not be interested in Angie, but could Angie say the same? Doubtful.
“Now, I’m of the mind that not too big and not too small, is just right.” His gaze drifted down my body.
My heartbeat fluttered and the heat pooled between my legs. I switched topics. “Are you angry?”
“About what?” he asked, leaning in to nuzzle my neck and inhale my scent.
“About my date with Wick.”
Tristan withdrew, his expression serious. “No. Not angry. Jealous. I want to clamp my teeth around his face and rip it off. But I understand. You need to choose one of us, and that can’t be easy.”
“No. It’s not.”
Tristan’s angelic face held nothing but sin. “Give me a couple of hours to do whatever I want, and I’ll help you decide.”
I pushed his face away. A couple of hours? Geez. How could comments and innuendos like these make my heart race and my body heat up when Tristan made them, yet when Clint threw almost identical lines at me, I turned to ice and wanted to bash his head into a wall?
Good mate, my cat purred.
Yes, yes, I know, I told her. Settle down. I guess it didn’t matter what Tristan said to me, a cheesy pickup line or absolute smut, it just mattered that it was him saying it. The presence of a potential mate bond held its own pull and allure.
The little devil on my shoulder piped up. What will it be like when you’re bonded?
A wave of heat crashed through my body, and my fingers ached with need to reach out and grab Tristan, to rip off his clothes and pull him to me. I jumped off the couch and glanced around the room. “Coffee should be ready now. It stopped gurgling.”
Ignoring the twitch of Tristan’s lips, I dashed to the kitchen.
Tristan cleared his voice. “So what have you been up to?”
As I made coffee for the two of us, I updated Tristan on my two tasks and where I was currently in the investigations, which didn’t take long. Biting back the bitter taste of discouragement, I handed a cup to him. He’d asked for half cream, half coffee.
“Thank you.” He took a sip and purred. The sound warmed my body. I’d never get tired of it. My cat clawed at my brain.
Good mate, she whined.
I shushed her and asked Tristan to repeat what he’d said, completely missing it while I settled my raging lust-bunny hormones.
As if he knew the internal struggle I went through, Tristan smiled. “If all your leads have dried up, why not request the assistance of a Demon?”
If ice could flow through my veins, it would be warmer than the rest of my body. The idea of summoning a Demon froze every vein in my body. Dylan had liked summoning Demons. One in particular, Bola. I still had nightmares about him. The smell of sickly sweet sweat rolled off my skin.
Tristan’s nose wrinkled, and his eyes narrowed. “I take it you’re against the idea.”
The statement, although perceptive, surprised me. I expected him to demand the story, the history behind my reaction. His leopard, if it was anything like my mountain lion, would be clawing the inside of his head. While his face showed no strain from any internal struggle, his scent gave him away. Anger, heaps of it.
“Only a little.” I lied.
Tristan watched me closely. “They’re not all bad.”
“Have you met a good one?”
His lips quirked, and I suddenly wanted to crush my mouth against them. A totally ridiculous reaction after experiencing the debilitating fear of my Demon flashback. What was wrong with me?
“No,” Tristan said. “But Ethan used to pay Witches to summon them. The key is the agreement. Worded right, both parties walk away satisfied.”
I grunted. “Satisfying the Demon is what concerns me.”
“Will you tell me what happened?” He ran a finger down my cheek.
I wrung my hands together and looked down at them. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask right away.”
“I wanted to.”
My head tilted as I considered his open expression. “Why wait?”
“I learned long ago that a woman’s will is like a strong tree. Bending with the wind, but breaking under force.” He ran his fingers down the length of my hair surrounding my face. “You are too precious to me to batter answers out of. I doubt I’d be successful anyway.” Cupping my face, he kissed me, the pressure on my lips brief, but lingering. “Will you tell me about it? If not now, maybe someday in the future, when you’re ready?”
“It was a long time ago. Not worth mentioning,” I mumbled into his lips. Leaning forward, I tried to get him to kiss me again.
He pulled back farther, so his lips still brushed mine as he spoke. “Anything that elicits such a response from you, inspires that magnitude of fear, is worth knowing about.”
He ran his hands down my back and gripped my hips. I wanted him to pull me against his rock hard body and grind against me. I certainly didn’t want to talk about Demons anymore, but his comment niggled something in my brain—the still functioning part. “And why’s that?” I nipped at his bottom lip. Would he use the information against me?
“So I can ensure you never feel that emotion again. Not with me. And because I want to know everything about you. The good and the bad.”
I pulled away and grabbed my coffee mug. The good and the bad. Tristan mirrored my actions in slow motion as he studied me. I inhaled the rich smell of my drink and tried to find the calm I normally found in the action. Intently, his gaze sought mine over the rim of the mug as his brows furrowed. He might be thirsty, but I drank to put a physical object between us—as if the coffee alone could hold off Tristan’s powers of seduction. I gave the coffee bean a lot of credit, but I think I overestimated it in this case.
Clearing my throat, and my head, I decided to give Tristan a glimpse of my past. “My last pack’s Alpha liked to summon a Demon when his equally sadistic Witch friends came over to play.”
“Dylan,” Tristan hissed. He gripped his coffee mug so hard I worried he’d shatter it.
My heart beat faster at Dylan’s name spoken out loud. I hadn’t told Tristan much about Dylan, but he’d filled in the blanks, the silence of things better left unsaid.
He’s dead. I reminded myself. I tore his throat out forty-ei
ght years ago. He’s dead. He couldn’t hurt me anymore. Dead.
Tristan stiffened. The smell of fear rushed off my body in waves. Suddenly, he plucked my mug from my hands and set it on the coffee table before wrapping his strong arms around me. Resting his head in the crook of my neck, he drew in my scent and whispered to me, “He’s gone, Andy. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Smoothing my hair, he talked softly into my ear, his lips brushing the soft tissue. “I’ll never let you hurt again.”
Chapter Twenty
“You can get much farther with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone.”
~Al Capone
Tristan lied. Not intentionally. But when he gently excused himself after ensuring I wouldn’t try to stab myself with a fork, his absence cut deeply. How could I become attached to him so quickly?
Good mate, my cat purred.
Honestly, I’m getting sick of you, I told her. I get it. Find something new and more helpful to say.
The mountain lion huffed and receded to the back of my mind, while my wolf grunted and my falcon cackled.
That goes for you, too, I said to the wolf. She pawed at my brain, but then went quiet, leaving me to return my thoughts to Tristan.
The last thing I wanted to do today was knock on my neighbours’ door all hot and bothered after Tristan’s visit. It would send the wrong message. But I had to get this over with before I lost my courage, and as the Wereleopard moved farther and farther from the building, my body cooled and my brain started reeling from all the things I had to do.
Not many sounds or scents drifted from the other side of the door. It must’ve been well lined with rubber by a contractor who took pride in his or her work. I tapped on the door, and braced myself for Witch mayhem. What was the worst they could throw at me without notice? The intel from the other side came through garbled. A fierce bouquet of lemon and pepper first squeaked through the cracks and tickled my nose, then smoke in foggy weather. Ahhh… Surprise and confusion.
The door swung open, revealing Guard One and Two from the SRD front desk. Two other men stood behind them, peering over their shoulders. One, short with typical Irish looks, and the other, tall with messy brown hair and a sour expression. The sight of four male Witches sent my prepared speech and introduction tumbling out of my head.
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