“Someone does something they’ve always thought about doing and suddenly all this superstitious mumbo jumbo doesn’t seem quite so funny,” Zeth mused, only half aware he was voicing his thoughts.
“Exactly,” Raegan agreed, her shoulders dropping. “So are you going to help me, or what?”
“Help you?”
She gave him one of those looks that managed to make him feel three inches tall and hard as a fucking rock at the same time. “I. Want. To. Stop. O’Brien. Have you been tuning me out this whole time?”
“Well, I tried, but some things did get through.”
“I hate you.”
“To be fair, I know that.” Zeth sighed. “So what do you want me to do? I’m your Deep Throat. You’ve only ever come to me for a good story.”
“Well, shit, Zeth, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“I forgive you.”
Raegan’s eyes blazed dangerously, but she ignored the remark. “Yeah, you’re my Deep Throat. You just so happen to also be the only person I know who might be able to stop the crazy man from making everyone go coo coo for Cocoa Puffs. Silly me for thinking you might actually wanna do something nice for someone.”
A half a dozen retorts sat waiting on his tongue—little things he could say that would get her to the point where she’d just as soon leap across the desk and strangle him as accept any help he offered. And as much fun as Zeth had in stoking the fire, he found himself now feeling the beast called guilt raising its unwanted head.
As much fun as it would be seeing all of Highfield doing the walk of shame, Zeth was a sucker for a damsel in distress. And Raegan was definitely distressed.
Furthermore, Zeth wasn’t such an asshole not to understand why. If Jezebel was summoned, if Jezebel did ride into town on the clouds of chaos, it put everyone at risk. Sure, a person might rob a liquor store. A person also might finally do in his boss. And Raegan had witnessed enough death. She’d seen her fill the night her friend was ripped to shreds.
For the first time, Raegan Pritchett wasn’t here as a reporter. Whether she admitted it or not, she was here as a friend.
And she was asking him for help.
And only a true son of a bitch could look into her pretty brown eyes and say no. Try as he might, Zeth wasn’t a true son of a bitch.
“All right,” Zeth said softly.
She stared at him. It clearly wasn’t the answer she expected. “All right? All right, what?”
“All right, I’m in.” He smiled, biting back a smirk when her face fell, her defense mechanisms and ire melting in favor of genuine astonishment.
Though that she was surprised at all to discover he wasn’t the aforementioned son of a bitch smarted more than it should.
Raegan’s gaze dropped to the space between them. “Oh. I mean, good. That’s good.”
“Yeah. So we off to church, then? That the plan?”
No response at first. Instead, her astonishment lingered, faded, then disappeared altogether. Perhaps she hadn’t had a plan beyond coming here and pestering him. His cooperation had seemingly thrown her for a loop. “Yeah,” Raegan said, sounding every bit the part of someone forming a plan as she spoke. “The church. Harriet said that’s where I’d find what I was looking for. There’s a room there, or something. On the second floor. We go there, we stop him, game over.”
“Game over.” Zeth bounced to his feet. “You lead the way.”
“I do?”
“Might be dangerous, oh captain my captain. And you’re the boss.”
“You’re the werewolf!”
“That’s species-ism. Not a good color on you.”
“Bite me.”
Zeth grinned. “Don’t tempt me. And I might be the wolf, cutie-pie, but like I said, you’re the boss. This is your rodeo. Far as I’m concerned, I’m just the Deep Throat.”
Ah, the fire returned at that. As though right then she remembered exactly who she was, who she was with, and the nature of their working relationship. “I’ll deep-throat you,” she muttered, then squeaked, her cheeks turning red. “I mean, um, asshole.”
Zeth chuckled as he made his way around the desk, doing his best to bat away the array of pornographic images immediately flooded his over-sexed mind. Hell, his cock was already hard just in talking with her. Whenever she slipped up, whenever she made the smallest remark bordering near a double entendre, his overtly male brain couldn’t help concocting a delicious fantasy involving her naked on a bed somewhere, her legs parted and her mouth open.
And since nature had given him a heightened sense of smell, he knew when she got excited around him, and it was more often than she’d like to let on.
“Just name the place,” he replied at last. “I’ll be there, pants down.”
“I hate you,” Raegan said again, blushing furiously and not looking at him.
“You’re welcome. Let’s go find your priest.”
Chapter Two
“Turn here.”
Raegan gritted her teeth and flexed her fingers around the steering wheel. Every time Zeth hitched a ride with her to follow up a lead—which wasn’t often, but more so than she liked—he became the personified cliché of a backseat driver. And each time afterward, she’d make an empty promise to herself never to allow his furry presence into her Kia again. Why she had no resolve when it came to following through was anyone’s guess, though she was content to blame it on his ability to twist her heart with his puppy eyes.
“Trinity Church is on Main,” she replied, speeding by the indicated street and shooting the bothersome werewolf an annoyed glance. “Turning onto Pike will add ten minutes.”
“Not if you drive it right,” Zeth countered.
“I drive it with both hands on the wheel and the foot on the gas. What more do you want from me?”
“Is this a trick question?”
She clicked her tongue. “Asshole.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark. I’m a loveable asshole. And you should make a left at the light.”
“Have you ever driven anywhere in your life?”
Zeth chuckled, and Raegan did her best to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine. “I’m good at driving you crazy,” he said.
“There we agree.”
“Good. So you concede I’m right. Now turn up here.”
“Zeth, I’m telling you, it’s almost five and driving through the business district right now would be downright dumb.”
“If you want to go through life being completely wrong, that’s your prerogative.”
She snorted. “This coming from the man who believes the prequel movies outshine the original.”
“That’s not what I’ve said. I said that time will be the ultimate test.”
“And I say you’re full of it.”
Zeth shrugged and leaned back. “When you’re this smart and good looking, you can afford to be full of it.”
“Oh please.”
“Truth hurts, don’t it?”
“If you don’t stop yammering, something else will hurt here in a second.”
He chuckled again, though she didn’t shiver this time. This time, she fought the urge to hit the gas for the next few blocks, then brake and see if he went headfirst out the windshield. Honestly, Raegan didn’t know why she bothered.
Oh, sure, she knew what she’d tell herself. Zeth was the only reliable contact she had. Zeth hadn’t laughed her out of his office. Zeth sometimes proved himself useful, though she was almost certain those instances were by accident.
Zeth was an enormous pain in the ass. But he was also the only person strong enough to take on a Hell Demon, and the only other person Raegan could go to with this sort of problem. It wasn’t as though anyone took the tabloid nonsense seriously…or at least, the sort of people she’d willingly be alone with for any length of time. And while it had admittedly taken quite a few pep talks before she strode into his office, Raegan could confess when it was time to put aside personal grudges.
Though latel
y, it had become more and more difficult to blame Zeth and his entire race for Natalie’s death. After all, Zeth had been in Raegan’s life for at least a year now, and not once had she seen him all furry—well, except that one night, but even then he’d hightailed it before she got a good glance. And aside from his annoying habit of undressing her with his eyes, he hadn’t done anything to warrant a silver bullet.
And the whole “undressing her with his eyes” thing wasn’t as irritating as it had once been. She really didn’t want to examine the reasons why.
Raegan sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Things had been so much easier in the beginning of their relationship. Back when she thought he was human.
The first time she’d met him, it had been on her boss, Higgins’, dime. He wanted a consultant on a series of cattle deaths some of the town crazies claimed were a part of some satanic ritual. Zeth McDowell, Private Investigator, knew his way around Highfield, knew its people, knew how to talk himself into someone’s home without it occurring to anyone to ask for credentials. Raegan hadn’t believed it until she saw him in action. The farmers whose cows and goats had been slaughtered didn’t want to speak to anyone from the media, but for Zeth, they threw their doors open and talked themselves blue in the face.
After cracking the case—which didn’t have to do with ritual sacrifice at all, rather a stupid prank committed by exceptionally bored high schoolers—Raegan had invited Zeth over to her place for pizza and beer. Her way of saying thanks. And she had to admit it—in the time before she discovered what he was, she wouldn’t have turned down an invitation to check out his mattress springs for durability. Or hers, for that matter. Zeth was what Natalie would have called sex on a fucking stick. He was all shoulders and chest, not so much to be mistaken for one of those guys dedicated to the weights at the gym, but enough to know he did his pushups every morning. His thick brown hair hung loosely around his ears, just long enough to curl around one’s fingers. He had a strong jaw, warm eyes, and a smile a woman could get lost inside. He was funny, charismatic, and he had the ability to make a girl feel as if she were the only person in the world he cared to be with.
Why Zeth had consented to come over was beyond her. Perhaps it had been his way of wanting her to know what he was, or perhaps he was a giant moron. Or perhaps he’d thought since it had been several days out from the full moon, and not the day itself, he’d be able to control himself. All Raegan knew was she’d gone to get a bottle of wine, then screamed and hid in the closet as all too familiar screams, cracks and howls erupted from the living room.
Raegan didn’t know how long she remain huddled behind her collection of winter coats before Higgins dropped by to make sure she was all right. Seemed Zeth had made himself scarce after his transition, but had known from her reaction that she’d been touched by his kind before. It took all the strength she could muster to walk into his office again. To listen to his quick explanation and apologies for not being more on top of his ability. To do anything to keep from putting the silver bullets she’d purchased after Natalie’s murder to good use.
“Rae?”
She looked at him briefly, shaking herself out of memories she’d rather not carry with her tonight. “What?”
“You gonna turn, or what?”
A smartass retort sat waiting on her tongue until she realized Holy Trinity had sneaked up on her during her reverie. She blushed and flicked on her turn signal. “Yes,” she said, veering an incredibly intense right into the parking lot. “I was just making sure you were paying attention.”
“Of course you were.”
“Shut up.”
“Whatever the lady says.” Zeth flashed her a grin, lurching slightly as she put the car in park. “So we’re here. What’s the plan?”
“The plan is we stop O’Brien.”
He huffed and looked at her skeptically. “This is what I like about you. Detailed, to the point, no stone left unturned.”
“I’m just playing it by ear. Harriet said the key was inside.”
“Mhmm.” Zeth didn’t sound convinced. “Did my lovely ex tell you where to look inside?”
Raegan unbuckled her seatbelt, trying to shove off the butterflies dancing in her stomach. “She said Father O’Brien keeps a room on the second floor. I’m guessing the reverse incantation or whatever will be in there.”
“Reverse incantation?”
She tried and failed not to wiggle under his scrutiny. “Well isn’t that how these demon summonings work? Incantation, circle of salt, bargain of some sort?”
Zeth just looked at her a long moment. “Where the hell did you get this stuff? The Idiot’s Guide For Satanic Rites?”
“No!” Raegan hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. It wasn’t as though she was an expert in these things. Sure, she did her homework for the occasional conspiracy piece, but for the most part, that was all fluff. Stuff Higgins made up and had her turn into something marketable to the gullible masses. Her sources typically consisted of “that drunk guy at the bar”. And whatever services or insights Zeth could provide, though more often than not, she sensed he just yanked her chain. Researching demons and the means by which to contact them, let alone which books and methods were penned by hacks or the real deal, wasn’t something she did too much in her free time.
Though from the look on Zeth’s face, it might be beneficial to reevaluate her research techniques.
At last, he turned away, a rich laugh riding off his lips. “All right, then,” he said. “Inside we go.”
A quick search of the main chapel yielded no results, and O’Brien’s office similarly produce nothing useful, aside from Zeth’s revelation the man himself had left a few hours earlier.
Raegan wasn’t surprised or dismayed. She just wanted to ensure she left nothing unchecked. After all, Harriet had told her where to look. In the small room upstairs, where O’Brien kept his belongings.
Only Harriet hadn’t told her the room itself was the proverbial haystack, no needles in sight.
Raegan made a face, kicking over a mound of dirty laundry. “God, this place is filthy.”
Filthy didn’t really begin to describe the priest’s tiny living space. Not an inch of floor was visible, covered with an assortment of what seemed to be mostly discarded books and clothing. A smattering of crumbs from unidentifiable food sources were gathered in the cracks and corners. A few pieces of fallen or broken furniture rose like statues from mountains of ripped fabric.
Honestly, Raegan was surprised it didn’t smell worse than it did.
Zeth shot her a sideways glance. “Nothing says a priest can’t be a slob.”
It was a reasonable observation, but it didn’t make whatever felt off seem any more right. Raegan shivered, then bucked up and picked a pile to start leafing through. If any of what Harriet had told her held any water, they didn’t have much time.
Strange how once upon a time she would have laughed this stuff off. How the prospect of approaching a werewolf she barely liked to thumb through a priest’s dirty laundry and stop a crazed demon lady from sending her small hometown into a cesspool of debauchery became old hat.
Though true, it wasn’t as if Raegan had ever done this before. Broken into a church to rifle through the priest’s belongings. But the fact it barely blipped on her what the fuck radar should have been more alarming than it was.
Then again, nothing in her life had been normal since Natalie died.
Correction—since the night Natalie’s throat was torn out, her chest sliced open, and her face Picasso’d such that her parents had to use dental records to identify her body. All at the hands—claws—of a wolf called Razor.
Razor.
Raegan steeled herself, licking her lips and forcing her spiking nerves to calm. Her mind had wandered into dangerous territory a time too many already. The past couldn’t help her right now. Thinking of Natalie, Razor, and that night—the night where everything went to shit in what had since become a very familiar way—would do her
no good. Tonight wasn’t about Natalie. Tonight was about O’Brien, Jezebel, and stopping whatever was about to happen before more people’s lives were ruined by things they didn’t want to know existed, never mind understand.
Her gaze landed on the mattress shoved against the far wall. It looked pristine in an otherwise filthy living space. Clean and unlived in, as though O’Brien hadn’t yet taken it out for a spin. In contrast to the mess at her feet, the mattress stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.
“Zeth?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a mattress over there.”
Zeth pulled away from whatever he’d been doing and peered in the indicated direction. “And?”
“And look at it.”
“What? Is it gonna do a trick?”
Raegan rolled her eyes. “Stop being an asshole for five seconds. Doesn’t it seem strange to you?”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine any man needing a corner to catch some shut eye.”
“For fuck’s sake, Zeth, you’re the PI.” Raegan muttered a slew of swear words and stalked over to the mattress in question. “Look at this place, and then look at this. Dirty, clean, dirty, clean. Anything catching on in that thick skull of yours?”
At last, it looked as though the lights were on in Zeth’s head. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem as impressed. “So what?”
“He doesn’t sleep here.”
“Golly, Sherlock, another case solved.” Zeth snickered and tapped the side of his nose. “Coulda told you that when we first walked in. Place doesn’t smell lived in. Figure this is just where he keeps his…stuff.”
Raegan frowned and looked back to the mattress. “That doesn’t match what Harriet said.”
“Harriet doesn’t have all the answers. She sees things and interprets them. That doesn’t mean she’s always right.” Zeth shrugged. “I’d think the same thing if seeing this place was all I had to go on. But the smell doesn’t lie. He doesn’t sleep here.”
“So O’Brien doesn’t have a house and the only place remotely habitable, he uses like a junk drawer. But why make the mattress all clean-like if he’s going to be a slob everywhere else? It doesn’t make sense.”
InsatiableNeed Page 2
