I clenched my jaw tight.
“Kittycat suits you. Sharp claws, watchful eyes, volatile when cornered.” He flicked my braid over my shoulder. I batted his hand away. His grin made me want to scream. “See what I mean?”
Heat crawled up my cheeks. I was so pissed, but if I said a word, I’d only prove him right. I spun and marched to the salon door, shrugging off the sensation of seven feet of annoyance at my back, which was quite difficult.
Crooning alternative music beat a slow rhythm through the salon of sleek metallic chairs and glass-top surfaces. The waiting area sported smooth black sofas and a mirror on every wall. I felt like I’d just walked inside a crystal ball. A pretty blonde stood behind the clear glass counter wearing a skin-tight pink mini-dress and a syrupy-sweet smile.
“Good morning. How may I help you?” Even her voice dripped like honey.
She addressed me, but her come-hither stare remained on Kol behind me. Seriously? How could she possibly be flirting with him.
“I have an appointment with the manager, Ms. Carella.”
“And you are?”
“Marina Creed, senior editor of The Herald.”
“Of course. If you’ll just be seated.”
She waved to the empty waiting area and swept from behind the desk, making a dramatic display of smoothing her dress against her thighs. Please. Still, I glanced at Kol to see if he was aware of his new fan. He stood in his typical militant stance, his expression revealing nothing.
“Marina Creed?” he rumbled in a low whisper.
I cleared my throat. “My pseudonym. For the paper.”
“Why do you need one?”
“Because I—” I blew out a frustrated breath, unwilling to confess my family drama to him. “Because I just want to use one. That’s all.”
“Mmm. Nice reason. Logical.”
I cut a look at him, but he missed my death stare, facing the petite brunette with a blunt short cut in a black pant-suit who strode toward us.
“Ms. Creed?”
“Yes. Thank you for meeting with me,” I said, shaking her hand.
Her gaze found my large shadow. “And this is?”
He stepped forward. “Ms. Carella, my name is Kol Moonring. I am leading the murder investigation for the Morgon Guard.” His voice was much softer than usual as he offered his hand in the most polite manner I’d seen him adopt so far.
I stared at him, wondering where the Iceman had gone. Did I dare admit there were more layers to this man than the one he let me see? His hard glance dared me to say a word.
“Nice to meet you both. Please. We can sit in here.” She waved to the waiting area. “We have a few minutes before my next client shows up.”
I situated myself on a sofa next to Ms. Carella. Kol sat forward on a chair opposite us, opening his wings slightly so they wouldn’t catch on the chair back.
“We won’t be long.” I pulled out my notebook from my bag and flipped to a clean page. “Can you tell us first whether Maxine had any Morgon clients.”
The brunette shook her head. “No. We’re a human-only boutique. No offense, Mr. Moonring.”
“None taken.”
Not surprising. This was obviously a high-end salon, catering to a wealthy clientele. Unfortunately, there were still many, especially among the aristocracy, who still preferred to live apart from the Morgons. Ms. Carella showed no signs of being a racist outright, but she was apparently aware her clients wouldn’t take kindly to Morgons frequenting the place and might decide to patronize other salons. Business was business.
“Do you know if Maxine had any Morgon friends?” I continued.
“None at all. As a matter of fact, I was shocked when I heard she disappeared from the Vaenger Games. I’m not sure if she’d ever even gone to one before. But—” She stopped abruptly and stared at her clasped hands in her lap.
“But what, Ms. Carella?”
“Well, Maxine was sort of a wild one, you know? The fearless type. Always looking for the next adventure. One of the girls”—she waved toward the salon—“said Maxine had started talking about wanting to date a Morgon. To see what kind of adventure that would be.”
Ms. Carella glanced at Kol, giving an apologetic smile, as if it might offend him to hear a woman speak of his race like a sporting event. I jotted the notes, shifting uncomfortably.
“I see. And had she gone through with this adventure of hers? Did she date a Morgon?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Ms. Carella, your husband is on comm line two,” came the saccharine voice from the receptionist area. “Do you want me to take a message?”
“Oh, um, pardon me, but this is important. Would you like to wait a few minutes?”
I said, “Yes” at the exact moment Kol said, “No.”
I glanced at him, but he offered his hand and lifted Ms. Carella from her seat and swept a small bow over her hand. “We’ll be in touch, Ms. Carella, if need be. In the meantime, please don’t hesitate to call us if you think of anything you might feel is important.” He slid a business card into her hand and gestured for me to go. “Come, Ms. Creed.”
Flustered, but not wanting to start a scene, I stalked out the door in front of him, ignoring the blonde ogling him as we passed. As soon as we were out the door and out of eyesight, I spun around. “What the hell was that? This was my interview, and I wasn’t finished.”
“She gave us as much as we needed. There’s nothing more she could tell us.” He walked past me. He’d apparently gleaned something that I hadn’t picked up on.
“What did you discover? All she said was that Maxine wanted to date a Morgon. That’s nothing special.”
We were at my car. He stopped and turned so abruptly, I bounced off his chest and fell back against the passenger door. Ignoring and not apologizing for the bungle, he braced one arm on the roof right beside me, his forearm and bicep flexing.
“What else did she say?”
I reran the conversation in my head, scrutinizing every word. “Nothing. She was the adventurous type. I don’t get how that helps.”
“What else?” He waited, patient and still, fixed and focused, while my frustration mounted exponentially.
“That she was wild. So what?”
He remained silent as if pondering whether to continue toying with me or to let me in on his secret. I held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to me.
“Fearless, Ms. Cade,” he finally replied, his voice low and deep. “Maxine was fearless.”
My throat felt thick all of a sudden. “What does that have to do with anything?”
His mouth tilted into a devilish half-smile. Immediately, my heartbeat picked up pace, knowing I was in the presence of a dangerous individual, even with all my bravado of not being intimidated.
“Dominant Morgon men.” He dropped his voice deeper, causing a rare fluttering in my belly. “We like a challenge.”
“Are you telling me there’s another kind of Morgon man?”
A grin cracked the hardness of his expression. “Some Morgons are more docile, preferring to keep their beast at bay. Others aren’t.” He inched closer. “We like our women spirited. Aggressive.”
I swallowed hard. “So?”
His gaze swept over my face and neck, resting on my lips a split second before meeting mine. “So, Maxine was a challenge. This tells me that our Butchers weren’t simply looking for a limp body, pardon the phrase. They wanted someone who might be a mate, someone who would fight back.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kol’s grin widened, showing teeth and everything. His facial scar drew tight, distracting me. Why was my heart palpitating so fast? I had to gain control and calm down before he sensed my heart racing and got the wrong impression.
“Maybe they’re not looking for victims. Maxine lasted longer before they killed her. Perhaps they’re looking for a particular kind of human woman. Perhaps the desire
d end result isn’t murder and mutilation after all.”
“Then what is?”
“I don’t know.” His hand came up, wrapped my braid, which had fallen over one shoulder, and slid his hand down the length. I shifted back, flipping it out of reach. He chuckled, a deep throaty sound. He was teasing me. Again. Trying to make me nervous. Aggravating the hell out of me. “But you’re exactly the type to lure them in. Maybe you are the perfect Morgon bait.”
I had no smart comebacks, reeling from the energy required to stay on top of my game in his presence.
He shoved off the car and out of my personal space, smiling at his own private joke. He walked away a few steps before lifting off into the air with intense speed, a wake of air brushing against me along with the woods-in-winter scent I now associated with him. I sucked in a deep breath, finally able to do so unencumbered.
Because I knew I was the perfect temptation for the Devlin Butchers, and even more because of the predatory spark in Kol’s eyes, I was walking a course out of my control. One that would bring me to certain victory or to ultimate destruction. But as always, I was never afraid to take the unknown path. And certainly not if a righteous cause steered me forward. I’d do whatever I could to prevent one more horrific murder of innocent life. Even if that meant risking my own.
Now, regarding Kol, I was playing with fire. And I knew it. He wasn’t one of those docile Morgons he mentioned to me. He was the raw, in-your-face, take-what-you-want, dominant Morgon man. That alone should make me run for the hills, because something in his eyes warned me he intended to be more than my partner in investigating this crime. And at this point, I had no idea how I’d respond to that.
Chapter 7
Paramour was a posh dance club in the human-only district. Mikal wasn’t a bigot, but his father was. His only stipulation for investment in his son’s business venture was that the club cater to the human population.
There were no laws preventing a human or Morgon from entering any store, club, or business they wanted. But just because it was legal, didn’t mean you were welcome.
These were my thoughts as I strolled toward Paramour’s entrance, glancing around for my Morgon partner. He materialized out of the shadows as I passed an alley. I started. “Don’t do that,” I hissed.
“Jumpy, Kittycat?”
Damn, the man had moves. No one his size should be able to come and go in such quiet stealth, then appear suddenly with his power-snapping aura. He was like a cool breeze one second and a lightning storm the next.
“Stop calling me that.”
Covered in black from head to foot, he looked like night itself. His eyes shimmered a silver flame in the dark, a sign of his dragon lurking.
I cleared my throat. “I didn’t tell the club owner, Mikal, that we were coming. But we’re old friends, so I know he won’t mind, but…”
He shifted forward out of the shadows.
I glanced at his vast wings. Even folded against his back, they made quite an impression. “Well, you may not receive a warm welcome in this place. Are you sure you don’t want to wait here for me?”
His mouth twitched on one side. “Are you concerned about my feelings?” Though his features remained cold and passive, he was definitely laughing at me. “Touching, but no need. I’m a big boy.”
A seriously big boy. The very reason I wanted him to stay outside. Gladium was accustomed to the Morgons who closed business deals and merged contracts by daylight behind corporate desks. But this was not that kind of Morgon. Kol was the reason some humans still veered to the other side of the street, the reason some double-checked their alarms at night, the reason some would never accept the desegregation laws put in place. An air of another world hovered around Kol, a mystique of aggression, strength, and an ancient beast lingering in his blood.
Realizing there was nothing I could do to camouflage or soften any of this, nor could I dissuade him from coming in with me, I shrugged. “Let’s go then.”
I walked across the street to the double-doored entrance. I wasn’t so concerned about his feelings as I was my own. Humans could be cruel. I feared some ignorant ass would make me ashamed of my own race, as had happened numerous times before.
“Hey, Moira. Long time, no see.” The burly bouncer grinned. His face fell as soon as he saw Kol behind me.
“Hi, Mitchell. Mikal’s in tonight, right?”
He nodded, staring, but didn’t say another word as we brushed past him.
At nine o’clock, it was already a crush. Lights and music pumped a hard beat. Bodies pressed in toward back-lit bars, others grinding on the dance floor. Fast techno-music vibrated through my chest, people speaking with their bodies more than their mouths. In one corner, a couple made out, while the crowd milled around them. No surprise. This was a pick-up and take-home place, not a quiet pub for bonding with friends.
Funny that the club didn’t seem to fit Mikal. Right after we broke up, he opened Paramour with all of its glittering lights and fast, hard music, attracting fast, hard clientele. There was a need on this end of town, so his gamble paid off, and apparently, was still paying off. All the same, it still didn’t match Mikal’s personality. I knew he longed for something quieter, but then again, maybe he needed the distraction of loud music and bright lights. Did he take the glitzy-club route as some sort of rebellion because I’d broken up with him? He knew I wasn’t a fan of this sort of place. Not my thing.
I hadn’t been here since the opening premiere but knew where Mikal would be. Peering up to the second floor, I glimpsed Mikal in his VIP section. I tapped Kol’s arm and gestured toward the second floor. He nodded. Kol’s chest brushed my shoulders as we funneled through the crowd to the stairwell. His hand was at my lower back, guiding me forward. In a Morgon club, he could fly straight up to the next floor. But not here. Though dark, we still attracted a few stares. One girl yipped and spilled her drink down her low-cut dress.
On the second floor, I bee-lined for the white sofa that extended in a perfect square near the balcony. Mikal leaned toward a pretty brunette in a red dress, his sandy-blond hair falling forward, his warm smile charming the girl into a trance-like stupor. As if he sensed me, he glanced up, the easy smile slipping. I caught the twinge of pain in his eyes before he masked it. He stood to greet us and wrapped me in an embrace, brushing a light kiss on my cheek. “This is a surprise.”
I smiled as best I could. “How are you?”
“Good.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “You?”
“Good.” I nodded.
And so here we were again, stuck in nondescript, awkward dialogue. I’d tried to engage him a few times when he was out somewhere with my brother. It was always the same—polite isolation from anything real or important. I hated that we couldn’t get past our past.
His gaze flicked over my shoulder.
“Mikal, this is Kol Moonring.”
Mikal offered his hand to shake in a civil gesture, but I caught the strain on his face. Kol’s broad, long-fingered hand, with scars along the knuckles, engulfed Mikal’s well-manicured one. Mikal was clear summer and warm sunshine whereas Kol was stormy winter and biting wind.
“We’re actually here on business. Kol and I are investigating the murder of Maxine Mendale.”
Mikal’s face tightened. “Why would you possibly be investigating that? For that damn paper, I imagine,” he muttered the last few words. “You should leave it alone.”
His tone of censure and disapproval instantly made my blood rise. “Kol. Would you excuse us for a second?”
He dipped his chin, his stony expression never changing. I walked to the corner, knowing Mikal would follow, taking deep breaths before I lost my temper. “I understand that you’re concerned for me, but there’s really no need.”
“You always said that.” Mikal took hold of my forearm. “You don’t know what’s happening to these girls, what happened to Maxine.”
The deep concern in his eyes softened
my anger. “I know everything that’s happened. Kol is leading the investigation for the Morgon Guard.”
He crossed his arms. “So I see you’re well-protected.”
“I know you don’t understand my need to write for that ‘damn paper,’ as you call it, but you shouldn’t concern yourself for me. Actually, you have no right to.”
I regretted the last part as soon as it spilled out of my mouth, but I couldn’t help it. Mikal was still clinging to the idea that we might one day mend our relationship and find our happily-ever-after. It would never happen. He would find some lucky girl to be the fortunate Mrs. Mikal Lennox, but it wouldn’t be me. I cared about him. I even thought I’d loved him once, but when his thoughts had veered toward marriage and making me a happy little housewife, I knew we were never meant to be. The fact that he called my career choice a “fun hobby” on our first date should’ve given me ample warning that we were doomed from the start, but sometimes, I was a slow learner.
His jaw slackened, his mouth fell ajar for a heartbeat before he moved into my personal space, whispering close. “How can you say that? After everything between us.” He tucked a stray hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering.
I inched back, hating the sickening knot in my stomach.
He pulled his hand away. “Still no chance, Moira? You won’t change your mind?”
No question as to what he referred. I shook my head.
The stoic Morgon in military stance a few yards away waited with unexpected patience as he drew more and more attention. A nasty crew from my early bar-hopping days gestured toward Kol. They were pompous, self-absorbed rich boys who still found it funny to trip people and laugh at lonely, awkward girls. And I didn’t like the way they were motioning toward Kol. Not that I feared for him. I feared Kol might kill one by accident, like flicking a fly too hard.
“This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Mikal. I didn’t mean to hurt you by coming here. I just thought you’d help.”
He caught my wrist as I turned away. “Wait.” He released me. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll always help you if I can.”
Waking the Dragon Page 8
