“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, when they were completely alone.
Keeli wanted to kick him in the balls. Instead, she said, “Fine. And you? How’s your breath?”
Michael blinked. Keeli took some satisfaction in taking him off guard.
“Your … I … thought it would be best if the other werewolves didn’t smell you on me. I didn’t want to cause you trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble,” Keeli said, slightly mollified. “Jas scented you on me. We had words.”
Michael tensed. “He called you a whore.”
“Yeah,” she said, suddenly unable to look at him. She heard anger in his voice and it made her uncomfortable. She did not want him to be angry. Not for her.
“Keeli.” His fingers grazed her arm and she suppressed a shiver. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Keeli walked faster, trying to create some distance. Michael caught up with her.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she snapped, whirling on him. But Michael raised his hand, slow, and Keeli could not bring herself to move when he touched her cheek. His fingertips were cool.
“Words can be pain,” he said gently. “Words can be worse.”
His voice cut. Keeli struggled to control her face, but it was difficult. She was not a girl who discussed her feelings—who even thought about feelings. But here, now, with Michael—
“We should get out of the hall,” she whispered.
His breath caught, hand falling away from her cheek. They started walking again. They did not touch, but touch was unnecessary. Keeli could have felt Michael beside her with eyes shut, nose, and ears plugged tight.
“Here’s your sunscreen.” She gave him the bag and dug his change from her pocket. She also gave him her copy of Howl and tapped the first page.
“Trouble,” she said. “For me, anyway.”
She heard voices echo off the corridor walls, and steeled herself. When they passed the werewolves, the men and women fell silent, giving Keeli—and especially Michael—confused looks that were also uneasy. Keeli greeted them, and Michael tore his gaze away from the paper long enough to do the same. Everyone was polite, distant, and then the moment passed and Keeli and Michael were alone again.
Michael touched Keeli’s shoulder. “You can breathe now.”
“Was I that obvious?”
He shrugged. “No one likes to fight.”
“Strange. Lately, that seems to be all I’m doing.”
Michael tapped the newspaper. “What does this mean to your grandmother?”
“Nothing, I hope. But the clans are equally divided on whether we should be negotiating with the vampires. Some of the lesser Alphas have even suggested that we approach the rogue element in the government to combine forces.”
“I can’t imagine humans agreeing to that. And even if they did, after the vampires are gone or are under control, werewolves will be the next logical target.”
“Unfortunately, not everyone thinks that’ll happen. Can you believe, there’re some who are saying that by attacking the vampires first, humans have declared that werewolves are … how do I say this … more ‘human’ than the fangs.”
Michael sighed. “Vampires were attacked first because they’re more powerful than werewolves, politically and economically. We’re also more popular with young people.”
“Old people, too, I bet. You guys may not be completely immortal, but when you can count on your youth lasting almost a millennia, who’s going to care?”
Michael did not smile. “They have no idea what that means, what the price is for youth.”
“There’s a price for everything. For my grandmother, I think the price of these negotiations may be her leadership over the clans.”
“That would be … shortsighted.”
“The clans would call it survival. You probably already figured this out, but physical strength isn’t the only thing that matters in choosing an Alpha. If a werewolf contests leadership and the majority don’t believe he or she would make a better Alpha than the current one, there will be no fight. There just won’t. The challenger would never be allowed to lift a hand. But if the challenger is considered a good choice for leadership, then it does come down to a fight. Winner takes all. In this case, Maddox would get a new Alpha—and Maddox, by being the strongest clan in the city, would continue its leadership over the rest.”
“And if the other Alphas don’t like it?”
“They don’t have a choice. Not unless they want to risk a civil war. There’s precedent for that, but not in a long time.”
Michael held up the paper. “So the goings-on in Maddox are especially interesting for everyone.”
“Unfortunately.”
Michael looked displeased. “I’m going to talk to Jenkins about leaks in his department.”
“Don’t bother. The guy who wrote that article didn’t need to talk to anyone to piss all over my grandmother’s reputation.”
“And yours,” Michael said.
Keeli laughed. “My reputation is already shot to hell.”
It was the wrong thing to say; she felt him tense, coil into something hard and still. Keeli did not know why Michael seemed to care about her reputation—why he seemed to care at all what happened to her—but it was clear that he did, that he felt responsible. Bizarre.
But she kind of liked it.
“Why did you start questioning wolves on your own?” she asked, changing the subject. “That was dangerous, Michael. You should have waited for me.”
“I thought it would be better if you weren’t there for the questioning. I don’t want your clan to start thinking of you as an outsider or enemy. I don’t want them to mistrust you, simply because of your association with me.”
“I promised you I would help, Michael. We’re partners in this.”
“And when the partnership is over?” He took a deep breath. “I’m already an outcast amongst my people. I don’t want that for you.”
A sharp bark of laughter escaped Keeli’s throat. “You let me worry about that.”
“I forgot,” he said quietly. “You never run.”
“Never. Not even when I want to.”
Silence, and then: “I have something to tell you.”
Keeli listened to the evidence about the mixed DNA, and by the time they reached her room, she was ready to run, and run far. Life was getting way too confusing.
“Could this be a double-team?” Keeli asked, closing her door. She skirted her books and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was the only place to sit in her room. Keeli had never been one for company. If she wanted to hang out with friends, she went elsewhere. Her room was kept safe for dreams and words.
Michael remained standing. He looked uncomfortable. “I thought of that, but it’s difficult to imagine a vampire and werewolf together conspiring to kill another vampire.”
“What would be the motive?” Keeli wondered out loud. “I mean, we know why you and I are working together, but what else could drive our kind to cooperate?”
“Perhaps a vampire committed the murder, and the werewolf came after and fed on the body.”
Keeli shuddered. “Werewolves don’t eat the dead, not even when the wolf is in complete control. Wolves in the wild may go for carrion, but not us. Not ever.”
“Then that means a werewolf did murder Crestin. And that he had an unfriendly encounter with a vampire sometime before—”
“Or during—”
“—his death.”
Keeli leaned back on her elbows. “So what do we do? Collect DNA samples from all the wolves and match them up to what Jenkins has? That’s going to be impossible, Michael.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I hate to say it, but I think we’re going to need more help. Can Jenkins supply extra men?”
Michael turned away from her; he looked like he was reading the spines of her books, but Keeli knew better. There was too much tension in his shoulders, the hard line of his jaw.
�
��Michael,” she warned. He glanced at her from over his shoulder. His eyes were dark.
“This investigation was never supposed to happen, Keeli. We’re it.”
“God. We’re screwed.”
Michael briefly closed his eyes. “Your confidence in this matter is astounding.”
“You bet it’s astounding. It’s so astounding I’m about ready to beat your head in. What do you mean, we’re all there is? What the hell is going on here, Michael?”
“Politics,” he said, finally turning to face her. “There are people who no longer have a vested interest in seeing crimes against either of our kinds solved. I’m sure you can understand why.”
“Shit. Michael, what if we’re going about this the wrong way? What if humans murdered Crestin, and all the other vampires? What if the DNA Jenkins found was placed there deliberately?”
“It crossed my mind.” He looked tired, almost haggard. “But that means they’re trying to frame werewolves. I don’t know why they would do that. Not unless they’re trying to hide their own tracks from the media or lower police echelon.”
“Or if they’re trying to set up a war between vampires and werewolves. A distraction. A fight from two sides, while they move in to pick off your people.”
“I wish you hadn’t said that,” Michael told her. He sat down beside her on the bed. “I also thought of that, but hearing it out loud …”
“It makes sense.”
“Yes.” He rubbed his face; Keeli saw his fingers linger over the gold tattoo. “All right, then. We treat it as a possibility, but not the first possibility. Let’s absolve your people first, and then we go after evidence of human involvement. If I could present something to Jenkins …”
“You’ll ruin his life if you do that.”
His mouth tightened. “The walls are closing in, Keeli. I am accustomed to taking care of only myself, but in this situation, when so many are in danger …”
“We take care of each other,” she said softly. And then, because she felt awkward, added, “All of us, vampires and werewolves. This alliance is important, Michael. We’ve got to make sure our sides come together, no matter what. We’ve got to find a way of protecting ourselves that doesn’t lower us to the level of those human bastards.”
“That may not be possible, Keeli.” He touched her wrists, still bandaged from the silver burns. “Terrible things happen in war. And these humans who want us dead … they are not fighting for fun. They fight because they believe it is a matter of survival. Us against them.” He paused, still touching her. “Them against us. So what will you do? What will you do to survive?”
“Fight to win,” she said, feeling sick. “No matter what.”
Michael nodded. For a long minute they sat in silence, until: “Your grandmother said there are very few wolves in your clan with the strength and motivation to kill a vampire. She gave me their names. There were only three.”
“Estella,” Keeli said, relieved he was changing the subject. “I bet Jas is on that list, too.”
“And a Jonathon Dewey.”
“Ah. It all makes sense now.” Keeli shook her head. “I forgot about him. His mother was murdered by vampires. She was human. Wrong place, wrong time. Emily was there, too. She survived, but just barely. She’s … never been quite the same.”
“Emily?”
“Jas’s human wife. Estella’s best friend. And Estella, Jas, and Jonathon all know how to hold a grudge. Of course, with what happened, I can’t blame them.”
Shadows moved within Michael’s eyes. He said, “Do they know who the responsible vampires are?”
“Never found out. It was late and everyone was walking home from dinner. Jas was running behind because he forgot to leave a tip. He heard the screams. Managed to save Emily, but got that scar on his face in the fight. The vampire had a silver knife, shaped like a crucifix. He tried to gouge out Jas’s eye, but missed.”
Michael looked angry. “Did they report this attack to the Primary Assembly?”
“My grandmother went in person. She was turned away. Was told that the matter would be handled.”
Something very cold and cruel filled Michael’s face—a mask, or perhaps the real heart of him, filling out his skin. Keeli wanted to slide away, or hide her eyes. Instead, she forced herself to watch the transformation, the brittle edge of Michael’s spirit sharpening itself on fury.
“I should have been told about this, and the fact that I was not, that they kept it quiet …” He shook his head. “I should expect this. It should not surprise me. I do my job; I kill the vampires they want killed. I do the dirty work no one else will touch, and still … still …”
“You hate it,” she interrupted, unable to bear the anger and frustration in his voice. “You hate what you do.”
“The justice of it is all that matters to me,” he replied, but as Keeli waited, silent, she sensed him curl up on himself, retreat, and she tried to reconcile what little she knew—roses and scars and kisses, sweet—
“Is this the reason you’re an outcast?”
“One reason,” he said. His voice chilled her, made her want to ask what the other reasons were. She kept her mouth shut. She did not truly want to know. Not now. She had her own secrets.
But she could not think of anything else to say, so she simply looked at him—at his face, his throat, running her gaze over his shoulders, the lean breadth of his chest. Michael looked good in blue. Very good.
Her breath caught. “You’re wearing my father’s shirt.”
Michael rose quickly from the bed. “I’m sorry. I meant to change before you returned. I did not know it was important to you until your grandmother told me.”
“It’s not important,” she said faintly. “I’m glad it’s getting some use.” Seeing the shirt outside her closet, on another man, made Keeli feel strange. Numb. She looked away.
“Keeli,” Michael said, but she scooted off the bed and moved away from him.
“You said you need to get some things from your home. Or was that trip to the drugstore just a way of getting rid of me?”
“No,” he said, quiet. She could not read his expression. “I need to eat. I also need weapons.”
“The wolves have you running scared?” Her voice sounded rough, hard.
“Not the wolves.” A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “Vampires. Jenkins said Walter Crestin liked to spend time at The Bloody Pulp. I need to go there tonight and ask some questions. Explore why there were traces of another vampire on this murder victim.”
“Don’t go there without me.”
“No.” Michael moved close. Keeli struggled not to touch him. “The last time I was there it was to enforce the law. I barely made it out alive. They’re not going to be happy seeing me again.”
“All the more reason to have someone watch your back.”
Michael shook his head. “So stubborn.”
“Yes,” Keeli said. “And I keep my promises.”
“Not this time.” Michael took out his bottle of sunscreen and began applying generous amounts to his face, throat, and hands.
“Just try and stop me,” she said, and then frowned as he capped the bottle. “What about the rest of you? That shirt isn’t made to protect a vampire from UV.”
“I’ll make do.”
Keeli hesitated. “Take off the shirt.”
“That seems to be your favorite thing to say. Are you looking for excuses to see me naked?”
“In your dreams. Now do it.”
“Fine,” he muttered, unbuttoning the shirt. “You do realize that no one else treats me like this.”
“Must be your charming personality.” Her mouth snapped shut when she saw Michael’s injury. The bite glared red and ugly.
“You’re not healed,” she said, noting how the scratches on his face had all but disappeared.
“Werewolf bites heal slow. I need blood.” Michael attempted to fold the shirt. Keeli snatched it from him and dropped it on the bed.
“You take it straight from humans?” She squeezed sunscreen on her palm.
Michael touched her chin. Her gaze flew up to meet his dark eyes.
No,” he said. “Not for a long time.”
She had not realized how important it was for him to say that until she heard the words. Relief filled her. She pulled away from his touch, but a moment later pressed her wet palms to his chest. Michael went very still.
Keeli cleared her throat. “This won’t take long.”
She tried her best to smooth on the sunscreen in a detached, clinical, manner. She tried her best to ignore Michael’s long lean lines of muscle, the cool pale strength of his arms hanging loose at his sides. She tried her best to ignore his heartbeat, strong and solid beneath her sliding hands—tried also not to look into his dark eyes, dangerous with intent. She tried her best to ignore everything about Michael and found she could not.
Her hands slipped lower. Michael touched her wrists.
“Keeli.” He sounded hoarse.
“I know,” she whispered. “Turn around.”
Michael turned. Keeli slathered on the rest of the sunscreen. It was easier when she knew he could not watch her. She did not have to hide her face. She did not have to hide what she was feeling.
Her fingers slid up his spine, flaring out to trace the sharp bones of his shoulders, dipping under his wings. He had a beautiful back, perfect in form, masculine in ways she had never seen. No gym for this man. The only thing that had sculpted his body was life.
Keeli listened to his breathing change, a perfect partner to her own as she stepped close, spreading sunscreen up his sides, rubbing the edge of his ribs with her fingertips.
“This can’t go on,” Michael murmured.
“I know,” Keeli breathed. The sunscreen had long been absorbed into her skin and his. She had no excuse to touch him, but could not stop. Brazen, crazy, stupid.
But it was not lust. Lust was there, but stronger still was some unfathomable attraction that felt like the inevitable descent of a stone falling to earth or the tug of the tides to the moon. Keeli was not strong enough to fight the pull. In the beginning—last night, their first meeting—she could have pulled away. She could have walked from Michael without a backward glance then—though wondering, always remembering their strange encounter. The longer she spent in his company, though, the closer she felt. Bound, gently. Inexplicably.
A Taste of Crimson Page 14
