Blood Brothers (Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  “Keep them off the floor this time.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. The simple, defiant act put another visually seductive picture into his mind. Before she could see his reaction, he reached into the refrigerator for the beers.

  “Grab the pretzels off the top of the fridge,” she said. “Can’t have beer without pretzels.”

  “A woman after my own heart. The ex thought beer and pretzels too common.”

  Surprise flitted across her features. “I’ll bet she didn’t like baseball either.” She headed for the living room, and he trailed behind her.

  “Do you?”

  “Yep.”

  Harry set the bottles on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch. “I like you better every minute, Delaney Ramsey.”

  She cocked a perfectly arched red eyebrow at him. “Nice to know, Harry. I like you, too.”

  Something hard jabbed his buttock. Rolling onto the opposite hip, he removed the shape shifting book from beneath him. He rotated the cover toward her. “Why’s your daughter interested in this stuff?” When he saw a stiff expression cross her face, his voice trailed off.

  “Lila also has five versions of the Bible, a Book of Mormon, The Sayings of Confucius, and a book on the religion of the ancient Celts. Doesn’t mean she believes in any, or all, of the above. What do you believe in, Harry?”

  “Truth and the Indians.”

  “Pretty elusive things.” She tipped her head to the left, the stiff stare fading into curiosity. “Why are you interested in Lila’s reading habits anyway?”

  “Only trying to get some insight on you.”

  “Well, you won’t find it inquiring about Lila. She’s more like her father. Drawn to excitement and danger.”

  “What you said gives me a lot of info. You’re the strong, steady type who likes things to go along on an even keel. No surprises. Right?”

  She harrumphed. “Sounds like an astrological definition. Libra, I’d guess. You don’t put stock in horoscopes, do you?”

  The question dared him to say yes. “Following the daily horoscopes can be amusing. I do know some people who fit their signs to a tee. Not me, of course.” That was as close as he was going to get to admitting anything about horoscopes, especially if she pooh-poohed them. “The thing I can’t figure is why someone like you-”

  “Like that,” she interjected. “I never agreed to your analysis.”

  “Let me rephrase it more accurately. Why would someone who isn’t drawn to danger and excitement want to become an FBI agent?”

  “Sometimes you don’t choose the job, Harry, the job chooses you.”

  Having always wanted to be a cop, he had no idea what she meant. “Cryptic, Delaney. Care to explain?”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe later?” he asked hopefully.

  “Maybe. When I know you a whole lot better.”

  Her emphasis on whole told him this line of questioning wasn’t going to net him anything else. He moved to put the book on the coffee table, casting about for another less prickly subject and one more conducive to where he really wanted the evening to go. A piece of paper dropped to the floor. He retrieved it, glancing at it. What he saw stopped him mid-action.

  The image of Rhys Temple stared at him from a photograph, cheek-to-cheek with Delaney’s daughter, his arms looped around her in a familiarity suggesting more than friendship. “I didn’t know Rhys and Lila knew each other, at least not this well.” A twinge of anger stabbed him at the thought of Rhys possibly two-timing Alexi. He thrust it aside. He’d known Rhys long enough to give him the benefit of doubt.

  Delaney stopped pouring beer into the glass she held and frowned at him. “They don’t. He’s never met her.”

  “You mean before Alexi’s alleged death?” He’d seen Lila and Rhys together the day they told him Alexi died. Nothing in their relationship suggested what the picture did, although, she had been trying to catch his hand. Harry decided she needed consolation over Alexi’s death, especially when he discovered she was Alexi’s friend.

  “No. I mean, yes,” Delaney stuttered. “Not before then.”

  Why had a simple question flustered her? He passed the photo to her. “Then explain this.” He pointed to the date in the right hand corner of the picture. “This was taken over a month ago.”

  She snatched the photo from him. The blood left her cheeks as she stared at the picture. Gently, she touched Lila’s image. “I can’t explain.”

  He tried to take the picture, but she held it away from him. Closing the book, he placed it on the table. “Guess I’ll ask Rhys when I see him. He’d better have a good explanation, because he was chasing Alexi about then. I’d hate to think he was two-timing her.”

  “Don’t say anything to him yet. Let me ask Lila first.”

  Not confronting Rhys right away went against his basic nature. He preferred to deal with problems head-on, but Delaney’s pleading expression caused him to give in. “Don’t wait too long.”

  Nodding, she handed him his beer. He set it on the table next to the book and leaned into the couch cushions, bringing her with him. She came willingly, but he could tell her mind wasn’t where he wanted to go. Gently he stroked her bare arm, hoping to return her attention to their tête-à-tête. She shuddered then rubbed her arm briskly where he’d touched her. Not a good sign.

  “Delaney,” he whispered.

  “Humm?” she said distantly, continuing to stare at the picture.

  Irritation crept along each vertebrae of his spine. Second fiddle to a piece of Kodak paper. A bad end to what started as a great evening. He trailed his fingertips over her arm and skimmed the side of her breast trying to draw a reaction from her. Nothing.

  Leaning in closer, he whispered in her ear, fighting the temptation to swirl his tongue along the edge. He dropped his voice into the most seductive timbre he could manage. “You’ve got one killer body, Laney.”

  “Uh-uh.”

  Frustrated, he bumped his head against the leather cushions. Was she hearing anything he said? “How about I lay you back, right here, and we have at it?”

  “Huh?”

  He disentangled her from his embrace and rose. “I think it’s time I say goodnight.”

  She stood. “What about your drink?”

  “Another time, Delaney, when I’ve got your attention. I don’t seduce a woman unless she’s one-hundred percent into it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My point exactly. I offered to do you on your couch and you don’t even remember.”

  She blushed to the top of her head and crossed her arms against her pebble-tipped breasts.

  The sight didn’t faze him at all. He had her attention but it was too late tonight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She followed him to the door like a puppy trailing its mama. “Harry,” she said helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  The door closed behind him. He crossed the hall to the elevator and jammed the call button with his fist. This woman was going to make him take a lot of cold showers.

  Heart jumping from her throat to her stomach, Delaney reexamined the photo still clutched in her hand. “Damn you, Rhys. You just cost me, and maybe more than a good night.” What was he doing draped around Lila? How did they know each other?

  Delaney went into the guest bedroom and dug into the zippered pocket of her suitcase where she kept Lila’s last letters to her. The ones precipitating the arguments that broke their relationship.

  With trembling fingers, she held the page. I know you’d like him, Mom, if you’d give him a chance, Lila wrote. He’s a Promised One, a rogue. He’s willing to give it up for me, like you said you’d do if Daddy would have come back to us. He says he never wanted the life he’s
been forced to live. He says it’s not too late to run away somewhere and live a normal life. He wants to be normal, and I want him. I think he’s going to ask me to marry him, and I’m going to say yes.

  They’d fought, long and loud, over the mystery man Lila had written about. She begged Lila to investigate him before their relationship went any further. As a council member, Delaney had a lifetime of experience with rogue shifters who never left once they’d tasted the dark power the ring could give them. But Lila, in the throes of foolish love, felt certain her man was different.

  He was different all right. Rhys had bamboozled and two-timed Lila with Alexi. He’d tricked Harry into thinking he was an upright cop, and Eli thought Rhys, a rogue shifter according to Lila’s letter, was the next True Promised One of their council.

  When Rhys had tried to pull her alter ego, and nearly took her life force and almost bound her allegiance to him, her gut told her something was wrong with Eli’s Promised One. Had Rhys done the same to Lila? His overwhelming charisma could explain her normally reasonable daughter’s irrational fixation on a man she knew to be evil.

  But more importantly, what did Rhys know about her missing daughter? Had Lila changed her mind and he tried to persuade her, accidentally killing her instead? Delaney’s chest tightened as she imagined her daughter lying dead. Or had he changed his mind about being a Promised One and decided life would be easier if Lila wasn’t around to rat on his little double cross plan? Neither scenario brought any comfort.

  Rage stirred in her from a place only a mother could understand. Lila was her life-or had been until he got between them. If he had anything to do with Lila’s disappearance, or if he hurt her, she’d killed the man with her own bare hands.

  But how was she going to find out what happened without letting him know she was on to him? If he was guilty, he would, of course, lie and try his charisma thing to make her forget what she’d found out-if he didn’t suck the life out of her first.

  That trick was going to make taking him down hard. The only person she knew who had the strength to fight a soul-sucking beast such as Rhys was Eli. There was no way, at this point, he’d believe anything bad about his true Promised One. He’d been searching too long.

  She wanted to believe Eli because he had never been wrong. But what if Rhys had tricked Eli as well? They didn’t know if Rhys could control his aura. She stared at the picture again. There was no way to read an aura from a picture. No way to tell if he was mimic shifted. But Lila would have known, would have felt the extra power coming from him. So he had to be in his natural form. Her mother instincts couldn’t accept any other explanation. Lovingly, she traced the outline of her daughter’s face. How was he deceiving them?

  Exactly what did Rhys have in mind? And how was she going to convince Eli, Harry, and Alexi they were putting their trust in the wrong man?

  Delaney rubbed her temples. The stress was giving her a horrendous headache. She tucked the photo into the suitcase pockets along with Lila’s letters. Tomorrow she’d start searching the apartment for more evidence of Rhys’ connection to her daughter. In order to convince Eli, Harry, and Alexi, she’d need plenty of proof.

  Chapter 12

  Falhman opened the door when Roc knocked. “I was told you wanted to see me,” Roc said.

  “Come in.” Falhman swept his arm in toward the foyer of the penthouse suite. “I’ve got a little job I want you to do.”

  Roc wondered if the phrase meant the same thing as when his father said it. Some underhanded shifter crime always followed. Not that he’d ever said it to Roc. Keeping his Promised One’s egos pure for future evil had been uppermost in Dad’s mind.

  Roc swallowed the fear rising in his throat. Falhman was worse than his father. From what he’d seen, the rogue kingpin would be willing to make The Promised One do whatever it took to increase evil’s power.

  “Sure,” he said as casually as he could. “What did you have in mind?”

  Falhman looped his arm around Roc’s neck and pointed into the main room of the penthouse. “See the fellow over there? He’s an unexpected guest who’s really anxious to get out of here.”

  “Unexpected?” Roc noticed Falhman’s beefy guard standing behind the man. “As in kidnapped unexpected?”

  “Kidnapped is such a harsh word, don’t you think?” Falhman said with a crooked smile. “I prefer unwilling guest.”

  “What do you want me to do with this unwilling guest? I hope it’s not shoot him.”

  Falhman laughed and clapped him on the back. “Don’t look so worried, my boy. I’ve got men for dirty work. I need you to persuade him to want to stay. If he should escape, I’d have to kill him. I don’t think his mother would be pleased with you, if you let him die. I’ve got plans for her and need to make sure she stays relatively happy in my service. You do have Promised One persuasive powers, don’t you?”

  Another test. The tension in Roc’s stomach eased. He could ace this one. “I do, but they’re a little different than you might expect. You might want to stand out of earshot and behind me so you don’t succumb.”

  “Give me a signal when you start, and I’ll get out of the way. Come on in. I’ll introduce you.”

  Roc’s boot heels rapped on the tile as they crossed the expansive room toward Falhman’s guest. The sound drew the man’s attention, and he watched their approach with a mixture of disdain and fear. Falhman seemed to glide forward, his shoes making no noise. Wondering how he walked quietly, Roc glanced at Falhman’s feet. The expensive Italian leather shoes he wore didn’t even have a crease in them. Was the man floating across the floor? Roc tried to soften the noise of his own heels, but failed. He needed to learn to walk like Falhman to sneak up on people. Might come in handy.

  “Owen,” Falhman said, “this is Roc Decker. The two of you have a mutual acquaintance.”

  “Who?” Owen and Roc asked at the same time.

  “Silvia Riley. His mother.”

  Roc started at the revelation. “He’s a-”

  “No,” Falhman interjected. “But he does know about us.” He leaned closer to Roc and whispered, “You could score some points with his mother if you’d make him more interested in becoming a shifter.”

  Without confirmation from Sylvia? Wasn’t sure he’d do that. “One thing at a time.”

  “How do you know my mother?” Owen asked.

  “She’s my mentor,” Roc said.

  “Is mentee what she’s calling her lovers these days?”

  “I don’t know about that part, but she is mentoring me on shifter skills.” He paused, uncertain if he should say he was a Promised One. “I’m applying for a council position.”

  “A Promised One,” Owen said with disgust. “An evil Promised One if you’re entangled with my mother.”

  Owen’s tone told him there’d be no introductory pleasantries before this persuasion. The man hated shifters. He nodded to Falhman who stepped behind him. “I can understand how you might feel, Owen,” Roc said in a soft, comforting voice. “But everyone has a side to take and there are always reasons behind the things we do.”

  He dropped the register of his voice a bit lower. “There’s a grain of evil in good, and a grain of good in evil. In the end, it all works out. Good and evil, evil and good,” he said, in a smooth, soothing, singsong voice. “We all have it and it has all of us.”

  He shifted his weight slowly from foot-to-foot, methodically and rhythmically like the pendulum in a grandfather clock.

  Brows drawn together questioningly, Owen’s gaze followed the motion. Still moving back and forth, Roc lightly hummed a single note. Owen’s eyes glazed over ever so slightly. The guard standing behind him took on a dimwitted expression, his mouth dropping open.

  After a couple of seconds Roc spoke. “Owen.”

  Owen dragged his gaze from the s
eesawing body and stared at Roc, who locked his gaze on Owen’s eyes and held them captive. “You seem tired, Owen. Did you have a long trip?”

  “Uh-huh. I haven’t had much sleep the past couple of nights. Overtime at the lab then the trip here.”

  “Close your eyes and take a nap.” He snapped his fingers.

  Owen’s chin dropped onto his chest. The guard slumped against Owen’s back, nearly pushing him to the floor.