by Tina Gower
And the scent wrapped around his olfactory nerve and squeezed the shit out of his heart. Rosemary soaked in almond oil. He’d been close and personal with this scent. He’d arrested her. Liza Hamilton. The witch, or wannabe witch as it turned out, who’d tried to kill Jack Roberts and a whole lot of other oracles just a few days ago.
She’d also tried to kill Kate.
He coughed. “Where did you get it?”
“Lifted it off a robbery.”
“I want names. Did you catch them?”
“No.” Wu straightened, leaning closer. “Do you recognize it?”
Ian tossed the bag out of the way and went back to the other. The shirt. Maybe he'd missed something before.
Wu’s eyes went wide. “No. It’s not…What the hells, Ian. Don’t take it from the bag—”
He dug the shirt out, not really giving a fuck about procedure. Wu had told Ian to toss it. Because he didn’t think it was evidence? Because he got it in some illegal way? Did he think Ian cared? He covered his face in the fabric and sniffed deep long breaths. If Wu expected Ian to leave it alone after he smelled a threat to his pack, then he’d been mistaken.
But the scent confused him. He got a wisp of gardenia and rose water. Also mustard oil, ginger paste, and those little seaweed crisps Wu’s wife would offer him at their house. The precinct had a cupboard of them still, nobody touched the stuff but Ian. Wu’s wife worked at this Korean grocery and would get them at a discount, he assumed she’d send them in Wu’s lunch and Wu’d turn around and put them in the break room.
Wu's wife. With a glance at Wu, he knew.
You were gone a long time,” his friend explained. His expression went hard, and he closed off his emotions. “You know we were having problems before.”
Ian pulled the shirt away from his face and crammed it into the plastic sack. It popped out again like the pieces of a snake surprise gag. The annoying ones that make your heart hop past your rib cage when they explode. Police officers held horrible hours, and had unhealthy habits. Sometimes wives got bored, or tired, or sick. Sometimes husbands got neglectful, or sour, or resentful.
“It was me.” Wu’s eyes stayed on the shirt. “I won’t give details, because I don’t want you to think less of me. The divorce was final a few months ago. He’s her first boyfriend since… I was hoping he’d be a sleaze and I could bust him and she’d be grateful and then we’d get to talking and yeah.” Wu’s gaze meets Ian’s. “Just get rid of it, okay? It’s not related to the coin.”
“Gods, Wu, I’m sorry.” He clutched the sack in his lap. What the hells was he going to do with it? It was like asking a friend, not even a very close one, to bury a body for you. “But you know you got to leave her alone, right?”
Wu nodded.
The eggs sat in Ian’s stomach like a brick with too much mortar slathered on. Hells, like he was one to dole out advice on refraining from stalking women. Which of the two of them was the werewolf less than a block from the woman he was obsessing over? That would be him. Ian Becker. And with the reminder he fixed his gaze on the coin.
“You’ll give me an update on this case?” Ian asked as he scooted from the booth. “It might be related to something I’m working on.”
“Yeah. Sure thing.”
Ian tossed a couple of bills on the table. It was probably twice what he owed, and it would give the waitress the wrong idea, but since he hadn’t eaten the bacon, he would have to deal with his other craving.
Chapter 2
Ian threw Wu’s moment of weakness into the restaurant dumpster as he jogged across the street. He would have to follow Wu around for a while to make sure he didn't do anything terrible to his wife. Ian would die if he did, and it was something he could have prevented. Not that he expected Wu to do something so out of character, but people were unpredictable when they thought they were losing something they believed they needed to survive.
And Wu claimed to have shifter blood deep in his ancestry. Not werewolf, not anything as violent as that, but kumiho—nine-tailed female foxes that had longed to be human and shifted to mate with human males, and then tried to eat their livers. The descendants of kumiho were the children of those encounters, but they were even-tempered, if a bit mischievous and clever. They weren't typically aggressive or perceived as violent like werewolves.
As soon as Ian entered Kate’s apartment complex, his mind went blank. White. Silent. That should have set off an alarm, but instinct had taken over. It overrode his uncertainty about knocking on a woman’s door at five am, unexpected and uninvited.
She’d made the offer to use her body as pack not really knowing what it involved. As soon as they'd done it, he'd had one of those glaring realizations—the kind where he hadn't known what he’d been missing until he had it back. Becker had two choices at this point: continue using her, or find a new pack pronto.
A frantic clawing at his gut reminding him that he still needed more. One pack session (technically two) had lasted him four and a half days, and he knew from experience that the more he settled into a new pack, and the more familiar that pack became, the longer he could go between sessions.
The first time with Kate had been more of a comforting after a bad case. They'd both thought Jack had died in that car accident, and Ian had no willpower. Totally drained. Not enough energy to get to Lipski yet, but he knew it would be imminent. Before Kate made her offer, he’d typed out his report, eye twitching, body sweating and shaking. It helped to have something else to focus on—a report.
There was an oracle still in his house. Some finance guy. The older man’s voice was barely a buzz in his ear, “you okay, Officer Becker? You want me to call someone? Hey, careful with that cup. Here, let me. That’s right, nice and slow. One step at a time.” Gods, he’d been a mess.
Then Kate. Then she held him tight until all his symptoms melted away. Then peace.
After they found out Jack had survived, Kate invited him to dinner at her place. They watched some movie on the couch and fell asleep. That counted as a second pack session. He should have warned her. She shouldn’t have invited him, that’s how he knew her address now. He would never have crossed the line and looked her up in the system. He would have respected her space.
“You can come back tomorrow if you need—” she had offered.
He shifted. “I don’t know. It’s hard to gauge…” He’d shrugged, unable to finish the sentence. He’d meant that he didn’t know how much time he’d need. He didn’t want to take advantage of her.
Kate bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not polite to point out, but you looked really bad. Faded skin and eyes, shaking, sweating. You look a lot better now. You’re thinking more clearly?”
He’d nodded, unable to speak. It was hard hearing her describe how bad he had looked.
“Good. And we won’t tell your work. We won’t tell mine. They don’t have to know.” Her fingers worried the edges of her t-shirt she’d changed into for bed. “What time do you have to be to your shift?”
“Midnight.”
She glanced at the clock. “Three more hours.” Her gaze wandered to her room. The door was slightly open and he could see the tight corners of her well-made bed. Of course her bed would be made. Neat freak fit her personality. But not the kind who was overly compulsive. It was more charming than anything. And her organizational skills had come in handy for Jack’s case. She’d tightened his report to the point his superiors would wonder if he hired an English professor to type it for him.
He sat up from the counter where he’d been leaning. “I should let you get to sleep. I didn’t realize it was late.”
“Wait.” Her hand flew to his elbow, brushing against him as he walked to the door. His gaze focused on the place where she’d touched him. He blinked. She pulled away just as quickly, tucking her hand into the crook of her opposite arm. Guard up. “That’s not why I asked. I was thinking you don’t have to drive all the way to your house and then all the way to work. You’re alrea
dy here.” She inched into her room, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m okay with it, if more time would help… Is it like filling an empty fuel tank or something? More… you know… means you’ll be that much better. Can you go longer if you…?”
“Pack time, you mean,” he corrected her word choice, answering her question. Skirting around the issue would make it more awkward. And she made pack sound oddly taboo, even if comparing his physiological needs as a werewolf to a car was a little unnerving. To be fair, it would probably be hard for things to get any weirder for her. “More pack time regulates my limbic system—that’s the basic idea.” This was probably the best time to tell her he’d been adopted and didn’t know much about wolves. “You know, I honestly don’t know the limits or how it works all that well—”
“But you need more. I mean, I don’t know how you started out, but—” She’d eyed him up and down, making him squirm. “I’m going to stop there before I put my foot in my mouth. I just mean it doesn’t put me out if you were to ask. If we do it now, then I can get some sleep and you can get more time. And I’ll be more comfortable in my bed. I’m not inviting you to…”
It’s not sexual. That’s what he’d promised her. “Right.” He couldn’t stop swallowing, his tongue swelling too large in his mouth. He cleared his throat.
She’d somehow taken enough steps backward and arrived in her room, pulling the sheets back on her bed. He stood at her bedroom door.
She shifted and slid her legs under the comforter. “We don’t have to make this a big deal, then. I’ll get under the covers and you can lay on top of the sheets.”
Skin on skin would be better, but he couldn’t go for that. He didn’t trust himself on that level. She didn’t feel comfortable with him—that was clear. And this was already above and beyond what one friend would do for another. And they’d known each other for all of, he checked his watch, ninety-six hours. Was that right? But they’d spent every one of those ninety-six hours at each other’s hip in a high intensity situation, so while most people spread their getting to know someone over the course of minutes and hours here or there over several months, they’d done it all in one high-adrenaline shot.
He sat on the edge of her bed. “When I woke up before, I had my arm around you.” He kept his hand sandwiched between his knees.
“Is that normal?”
“Yeah. But I could try to not do it. Wolves pile on each other, but we don’t have to. I don’t think.” He cleared his throat again.
“Did you do it with your pack?”
He nodded.
“And it’s just what normal packs do. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“No.” He shook his head, realizing she wouldn’t know which question he was answering. “It doesn’t mean anything.” It wasn’t supposed to, at least.
“I was okay with it.” She stared, as if she was waiting for more.
“I might do it again. In my sleep. And you can wake me up or push me away. If you’re uncomfortable at any point—”
“I’ll let you know if you’re crossing a line. But somehow I doubt it.”
The heat rose up his neck again. Damn it. He hated social anxiety.
“I come from a family of huggers. They have no concept of personal space at all,” she explained.
“This is a little different.”
She let out a choked laugh. “It doesn’t feel different.”
Great, so he was like a brother. He didn’t know why that idea annoyed him. It shouldn't have. It should have made things easier. He lay back on the bed.
She flopped onto her side, a smile threatening at the corners of her lips. “What if I accidently touch you? In the night.” Her hand hovered a hair above his chest. “Like this?”
“I’d be fine with it.”
Her hand fell, landing in the center of his rib cage.
He tried not to laugh. “That wasn’t an accident though.”
“Oops.”
Now he did laugh. “It doesn’t make it an accident because you said oops.”
She smiled, not holding it back this time. “I’m just trying to make this easier. It’s better to be touching, right? If it’s not okay, I’ll stop. I don’t want to do anything wrong.”
“Werewolves don’t see touch as forbidden as long as both people seem open to it.”
“Werewolves. But what about you? Are you okay with it? If touch you. Not accidentally. I mean, just to get in a comfortable position and all.”
“It’s fine.” He wiggled to get a little closer, thankful for the point she was making. “It’s probably safe to say I’m going to be okay with it. I’ll let you know if I'm not, all right?”
“All right.” She set her head on his shoulder. “Then do me a favor and let me do the same. If I’m not okay with something, I’ll tell you.”
“Okay.” He nodded, eyes on the ceiling. His breath coming a little easier, more relaxed, but his heart pounding harder.
Technically it was pack session three, but he counted it as an extension of two. He didn’t know why. Maybe he should have asked Kate. She was better at math.
Ian shook. Where was he? Ten minutes ago he’d been eating eggs at Speedy’s diner, but he’d floated back to a few days ago, when he and Kate had decided on the parameters of their agreement. Now he was standing outside Kate’s apartment, staring at her door like he could burn a hole through it and walk right in. Fuck.
The coin. Liza may have been in custody, but someone had been committing robberies and had left behind that coin. Not a recognizable one. Maybe some call sign. Maybe a message to someone. Either way, Kate would want to know about it. That was why he was here. Yeah. That was why he needed to get to her.
He was the police liaison for Accidental Death Predictions. Kate relied on him to keep her informed on investigations, on any new developments. They’d worked this case together. Predictions and Police together to prevent a crime. The coin was a new development related to the Jack Roberts case. It wasn't some pack thing. Not some craving. It was what any decent partner or coworker would do.
Maybe.
Let’s ignore the obvious—that it was currently five A.M. and Ian was fairly sure she wouldn’t be awake. Also, that he didn’t have a firm, unquestionable invitation to show up at her apartment outside of work. Let’s ignore that.
Kate had offered Ian more pack time, but she probably didn’t mean all hours of the night. She probably didn’t have a cop’s schedule in mind when she offered.
He’d knock. That was civil, right? Knocking? He ran his damp palms down the front of his wrinkled shirt. Patted his hair to tame the wild locks. He’d just cut it, so at least he wasn’t totally unkempt.
He brought his fist up to the door and paused about an inch from the metal. It was hot. Burning his knuckles. This late in the fall, metal should be cold. And her door didn’t face the sun anyway. Ian leaned in, flattening his palms against the door and shoving his nostrils against the wood trim along the outside. Grapeseed oil and…
He sneezed.
Magic.
His eyes watered. Magic was like an allergy to werewolves. Like a pollen in his system. He sneezed a few more times, and a familiar congestion filled his sinuses. Probably a ward, but he couldn’t be sure.
He made a face, scrunching up his nose to get the scent of magic out. Kate didn’t practice magic. She was human. Only human. Even though she was a mix of Filipina, Shawnee, and Celtic—a profile which wouldn’t have dismissed the possibility—she didn't have a sliver of supernatural blood. None, which was sort of rare. Even if according to her it wasn't that rare.
Which meant the ward could have been placed there by a witch with ill intent. Liza had worked with witches and seers. She'd tried to practice magic herself, albeit clumsily. Liza could have placed the ward on Kate’s door for some nefarious reason. He had to get to Kate to warn her.
He jogged down the steps, circling her apartment. She had the end apartment, so there were windows on every side except one. Her living ro
om windows looked out on the parking lot and the street beyond, but around the back there was a trellis, a dumpster, and a tree that gave her bedroom some shade. More importantly, it blocked the view of the apartments across from her so no one could see into her bedroom.
Ian checked the trunk of the tree. It hadn’t been that long since he climbed one. Sort of a sport where he grew up. Some people played soccer, some raced each other up trees. Kate even had a nice, solid branch right across her window. He braced himself, hooking his boot into the first knot, then gripping the bark and hefting himself up. Again. Then again.
He hugged the first low branch and swung his legs up, pulling the rest of his body too.
“Hey there, Romeo,” a flat, humorless voice cut through his progress.
He nearly lost his grip.
“Mind telling me what’s wrong with the door, or—you know—waiting until a reasonable hour to call on my cousin?”
Now upside-down, Ian sighed. Let out a long breath. Kate’s cousin was standing at the foot of the tree. Kate's cousin, whose name he could never get right, and who was her next-door neighbor and a witch. Some kind of Japanese witch. Half-druid, too. A powerful one-two combo. Funny how he’d forgotten that little detail when he’d been freaking over the ward.
And not hearing her approach? Not checking to see if he was being watched? It was just another sign of how far gone he was. But he couldn’t afford to be sloppy. Not with Kate.
He scrambled up onto the branch and hooked an arm around the trunk to keep his balance. “Someone warded the door.”
Kate’s cousin rolled her eyes as if that was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. Her straight black hair was pulled into a high bun and covered in a net. She was not much above five feet, and didn’t have much fat or muscle, but her personality took up most of the space around her. She wore a clean apron, but Ian could smell the dust flour all around her.
