Blood Laws

by Lexi C. Foss

  Her heart beat an unhealthy rhythm, loud enough that it drummed in her ears. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? Thank you for not killing me? And why would someone want her dead? What laws was he talking about?

  “You really have no idea what you are, do you?” He continued, the low timbre of his voice underlined in amusement. “Amazing. You were adopted at age seven, yes? Surely you learned something from your birth parents before that point?”

  Her fingers curled around the hem of her blouse. “I learned not to trust the supernatural world.”

  “Yes, I’m guessing the house fire was a cover story. Very nice of the Davenports to take you in, though.” If he was trying to intimidate her with his research skills, it was working. “Does anyone else know what you can do?”

  “It’s not something I go around advertising.”

  “Then you clearly want to live.”

  “Most people do.” She folded her arms, determined not to let her fear take over. If he wanted her dead, she would be. There was no one here to stop him. They were very alone in this room. “Are you going to get to the point of this visit any time soon or do you plan to tell me more things I already know about myself?”

  His smile enhanced his looks from handsome to devastating. The man had dimples. Dangerous men were not allowed to have dimples. “Tell me, darling, would you like to know more about your unique talents?”

  She was shocked by the offer. For almost two decades she longed to know why she was different. Why she could do things others couldn’t. “You can tell me?”

  “I can.” He tilted his head in consideration. “For a price.”

  Seriously? She was so close to the answers she craved for over fifteen years, and he was demanding she pay for them? Asshole.

  Her savings weren’t anything to brag about. She paid minimal rent to Lizzie for the condo they shared and the rest of her internship salary went to school costs. Even with all the scholarships, college was expensive. His suit was probably worth more than a semester of tuition. “You don’t look like someone who needs the money.”

  His chuckle warmed her in a way that was inappropriate for this conversation. “I do love that you have no idea who I am.”

  “You know, a name would help with that.” Otherwise she was going to start calling him demon.

  “No, I find I like the anonymity. Do let me know when you figure it out.”

  “By what, calling you?”

  He grinned. “You could try.”

  She pursed her lips. Fine. Demon it is, then. “Can you tell me who killed Owen and why?”

  “I can tell you all sorts of things.”

  “For a price.” She repeated.

  “Indeed.”

  She considered, brow furrowing. She could command him to give her answers, but that required knowing what to ask. And somehow she doubted he would take kindly to her using persuasion on him. He deserved it for being such an ass about it, but she was curious. What would a gorgeous man like him desire in exchange for information?

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “Money is not the only form of payment, darling.”

  Her cheeks flushed from the insinuation in his gaze as it slowly and thoroughly caressed her. He meant to unnerve her, but all it did was pique her interest. Giving her body to him in payment would be wrong, but it also wouldn’t be a hardship. Hell, I’d probably enjoy it. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Lusting after him was inappropriate given the situation, but her hormones weren’t listening to reason. It’s the accent, she told herself. That strange English-American combination that went straight to her gut, and the way he called her darling.

  “I’ll be in touch when I decide what I desire.” He fondled a strand of her hair dangling near her breast before turning towards the door. “Until then, I strongly suggest you keep that psychic gift of yours under control. You never know who might be watching, darling.”

  He left her standing alone in the classroom, gaping at the door.

  She threw her phone across the room.

  The damn alarm was giving her a headache. It was too early for it to go off. She swore she just fell asleep an hour ago.

  She pulled a pillow over her head. It felt like a truck was parallel parking on her skull. Forward, backwards, crushing every bone. She cursed a blue streak when her alarm continued to sound. It was not helping her feel any better.

  “Stas?” Lizzie knocked on the door. “You all right in there?”

  “Yeah.” Her throat was like sand paper. “I’m fine.”

  “Uh, okay. I’m making coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  She removed the pillow and blinked up at the ceiling. It was Sunday morning. Graduation day. She had to swing by her parents’ hotel to pick them up on her way to campus. Being from Montana, they were not well versed in the subway system. The clock told her she only had sixty minutes to get ready.

  Lifting a hand to her aching skull, she padded into the bathroom. She looked like hell. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, her green eyes were dull and bloodshot, and her skin was taking on a paler tint than was healthy. The nightmares were taking a toll on her. She might need to give in and take some sleeping pills tonight. It was a habit she broke a few years ago after the sleepless nights subsided. Now that her dreams about drowning were back, she might have to take up the habit again.

  Thirty minutes later, she was wearing a dark blue dress and black heels. Her hair was wet against her back, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was coffee. Walking into the kitchen she found Lizzie dressed in a lavender dress and white heels. She handed over her favorite mug. “One teaspoon of brown sugar already added.”

  “I love you.” It was meant for both her best friend and the coffee. She took a fortifying sip and smiled. It was just what she needed.

  Her roommate scanned her with discerning brown eyes and toyed with a strand of her dark red hair. “Still not sleeping well?”

  She sat with Lizzie at the breakfast table. The coffee seemed to be helping her head heal, but not her soul. “Nightmares.” She shivered as last night’s images replayed. Always so dark and suffocating. “I hate them.”

  “Are they about Owen?” She knew a little about her history with sleepless nights because they lived together. There were only so many times a woman could wake up screaming before the other demanded an explanation. But they grew less and less common over time. Now they were back in full force.

  “Yeah.” Each one started with finding Owen’s mutilated corpse and ended with her deep underwater. The child psychologist she was assigned shortly after the death of her biological parents told her the drowning meant she was struggling to survive. No shit.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her hand tightened around her coffee mug. “Me too.”

  “Do you want anything besides coffee? There are some hard boiled eggs in the fridge.” She was more like a mom than a roommate. Sometimes it drove Stas nuts. Today she appreciated it.

  “That sounds great.” She was about to get up, but Lizzie beat her to it.

  “On it. You keep on with the caffeine binge. Can’t have a grumpy Stas today.”

  Couldn’t argue with that logic. She took another sip of the liquid heaven and relaxed. It warmed her insides and rejuvenated her spirit. She could marry coffee. It satisfied her more than a man ever could. Except for maybe a certain blue-eyed man, like the one looking up at her from her roommate’s society magazine. She choked on her last sip as she snatched the paper from the other side of the table.

  The article was about her mystery man. He was dressed in a tuxedo, his expression stoic as he stood beside a gorgeous blonde on the red carpet of some movie premier.

  “Holy shit.”

  Lizzie turned around, noticed the magazine in her hand. “I know right?! I mean, I guess he’s handsome and wealthy, but calling him one of New York’s hottest bachelors is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? Just because his dad, like, created the CRF doesn’t mea
n he’s going to inherit the company. False advertising, if you ask me.” She huffed as she sat down again, her full lips stuck in a pout.

  She gaped at her best friend. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tom.” She gestured at the magazine. “And I can’t believe they used that picture of him.” She shook her head. “That man rocks a suit better than that army garb.”

  She blinked back to the article. Tom Fitzgerald’s wide grin flashed up at her from the opposite page. “Huh.” He and her demon were in the same feature article. She looked at the front. New York’s Ten Hottest Bachelors.

  Issac Wakefield was number two on the list. The thirty-four year old billionaire was the CEO of Wakefield Pharmaceuticals. The article said he inherited the company from his father at the young age of twenty-five. No wonder he was surprised she didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t like she followed the tabloids, but she did read business articles and his company was noted in quite a few of them.

  “This is insane.” Her demon was a billionaire playboy who masqueraded as a murder scene detective. Because that happened in real life.

  “I know!” Lizzie slammed her coffee cup down. “Did you read the part about how he’s ready to settle down?” Her laugh was forced. “Yeah, right. That man is married to his job.”

  Stas focused on the other article so she could see what her best friend was going on about. “It’s not a bad picture.” Tom’s sandy blond hair was wind swept from having just exited a helicopter. He was dressed in his CRF fatigues, likely returning from a mission.

  “They make him sound like a really nice guy, Liz. A hero.” An accurate depiction. He was a member of the CRF Sentinel unit, which was comprised of military men who risked their lives all over the world to pull people from terrifying situations. Most of them were trained Navy SEALs. Tom joined the Special Forces after college and returned last year to work for the company his father founded. The CRF paid better and reported to no government. Both perks of being a privately owned global organization.

  Lizzie’s snort did not match her housewife appearance. “Yeah, a true humanitarian.”

  “He’s not that bad.” She pushed the article back across the table. The picture of Issac was making her pulse race.

  “I know. That’s the problem.” A deep sadness overcame her as she studied Tom’s picture. The girl was head over heels for the man, but he only saw her as a little sister. He was the only man Stas had ever met who was oblivious to her friend’s feminine charms. Lizzie could prance around him in a skimpy swimsuit and he wouldn’t see the supermodel in front of him.

  Lizzie closed the magazine. “Speaking of Tom, he’s coming to dinner tonight.”

  Stas groaned at the mention of the dreaded after graduation dinner. She would rather gouge her eyes out with a spoon than spend an evening with the Watkins family. It was bad enough that she saw them once a month for brunch with the Fitzgeralds; a tradition that started over twenty years ago that she was looped into during her first year at Columbia.

  “Oh no, you’re not backing out of dinner.” Lizzie guessed where her thoughts were headed. “Our parents are going to finally meet. They missed each other at our last graduation, something I know you orchestrated, but they are meeting this time.”

  “To be fair, they were busy giving you this condo.” A multimillion dollar property on the Upper West Side. Somehow they felt giving it to her would make up for all the years they mistreated her growing up. She wondered what gift they had in store for their only child tonight.

  “Yeah, a convenient excuse.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “They’re meeting tonight, Stas. You’re not bailing on me.”

  Stas put her head down on the table. The Watkins thought it would be a brilliant idea to host a celebratory dinner after graduation with her family and the Fitzgeralds. Her parents were even looking forward to it. Owen was supposed to have been her date tonight, help keep her sane. It was going to be the first time he met Lizzie’s family and the Fitzgeralds.

  “This week sucks.” It was immature, but true.

  “Want to order pizza afterwards and binge on chick flicks all night?” It was Lizzie’s favorite food because she wasn’t allowed anywhere near it as a kid.

  “Only if we get one with pineapples and ham.”

  “Sure, one of the pizzas can be Hawaiian. I’ll pick the other two.” Pizza for a week. She could live with that.

  3

  Dinner Crashers

  “How are you doing, sweetheart? I know Owen was supposed to come with us tonight.” Susan Davenport wore her trademark worried mom face. To say Owen’s death shocked her would be an understatement. There were a few times this week she threatened to take Stas back to Montana with them. It was a good thing she didn’t know how brutal her friend’s murder was or that threat would be a reality.

  “I’m okay,” Stas lied. Graduating without Owen by her side this morning was a reality check. He was gone. She knew that, but not seeing him in the graduation line sent an arrow into her heart.

  “It’s okay to mourn, hun,” her father murmured, his hand on her shoulder. “You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I do.” But tears were a temporary solution. What really mattered was figuring out who murdered Owen. She suspected her demon knew, but he hadn’t contacted her since the memorial service. “Can we not talk about it, though? It’s depressing, and the others are going to be here any minute.”

  “Sorry, you know I’m worried.” Her mom wrapped her up in a hug just as the Fitzgeralds entered the restaurant lobby. Stas gave them a wave as they strolled over in their matching suits.

  “That’s your boss?” her mother whispered, her cheeks flushing. The Fitzgerald men had that effect on women.

  “No, he owns the company,” Stas whispered back. “Hey Tom, Dr. Fitzgerald.”

  In lieu of a hello, Tom Fitzgerald roughed up her hair and pulled her into a hug. “Welcome to adulthood, Stas. You’ll wish you stayed in school.”

  She tried to return the gesture, but he was too tall and his blond hair was cropped short. “Damn you, Fitzgerald. I worked really hard to look this good.”

  His warm brown eyes were doubtful. “Lizzie giving you beauty advice again?”

  “Always.” He knew her well. She met him six years ago but rarely saw him during his military days because he was only home once every few months. Now that he was working for his dad, she saw him more.

  Dr. Fitzgerald gave her a hug next. “Congratulations, dear,” he murmured. For a man in his fifties, he was in amazing shape and looked more like Tom’s older brother than his father. They both had the same eyes and hair, but Tom was a little wider in the shoulders. No doubt a result of his day job.

  “Thanks, Dr. Fitzgerald.” She turned to make the introductions to her parents, and they all shook hands.

  “So you’re the one who got our Stas a job at the CRF?” her father asked as Lizzie arrived with her parents.

  “Oh, your daughter did that all on her own.” Dr. Fitzgerald smoothed a hand over his suit jacket. “I just helped open a few doors, is all.” As the CEO and creator of the CRF, she was willing to bet he did a lot more than that, but she accepted the compliment with a smile.

  “The marketing director adores her,” Lizzie’s father put in with a self-satisfied nod towards Dr. Fitzgerald. “Very pleased with the recommendation. George,” he murmured as he stuck out his hand towards Stas’s dad.

  Ignoring the introductions between the Watkins and Davenports, Tom engulfed Lizzie in a hug that was more brotherly than romantic. He was oblivious to how hot she looked in her pink mini dress. Every other man, including the host, had noticed when she walked in. But not Tom.

  Oblivious man, Stas thought with a snort.

  Lizzie squealed and slapped him on the arm. “Stop that.”

  “Oh, yeah, totally smudged the blush or concealer stuff.”

  “Jerk.” She punched him on the bicep, but her smile said she didn’t really mind.

  “Shall we?” Lizzie�
��s dad asked the group after the introductions were done. A host with a smile waited to seat them. This was the Watkins’s favorite restaurant. All the staff knew them by name. A respect earned from years of great tips, no doubt.

  Stas took the seat between her mom and Lizzie with her back to the windows. The Fitzgeralds sat across from her with George Watkins next to Dr. Fitzgerald and her dad next to Tom. Lillian Watkins filled the final chair beside Lizzie.

  “So what’s good here?” Stas’s father prompted, always thinking with his stomach.

  The men started to discuss the menu options with a flourish. Tom suggested the steak while his dad raved about the seafood dishes. Meanwhile, Stas chose a pasta dish big enough to share with Lizzie. It was a game she played to piss off Lillian. The bitch maintained her willowy form by starving herself and expected Lizzie to do the same, and therefore only allowed her daughter to order salads. George wasn’t quite so strict, as was evident by his slight gut and round face.

  Wine and appetizers flowed around the table as the conversation turned to what everyone did for work. Her parents talked about their jobs at the local high school in Havre while the Fitzgeralds and George talked about the CRF. Stas was enjoying Dr. Fitzgerald’s explanation of how the CRF’s humanitarian wing worked when Issac Wakefield walked into the restaurant.

  Her mouth went dry. He was wearing a suit jacket, just like all the other men in the restaurant. It was his signature black color, as were his pants and tie. His dress shirt was a deep maroon that looked sinful against his creamy skin. He looked good, with the exception of the woman on his arm. She was a gorgeous super model type, wearing a red dress with a slit that exposed her entire right leg.

  A shorter man walked in behind him, similarly dressed with a stunning dark haired woman on his arm. The four of them took a table at the opposite side of the room. Issac sat with his back to the windows and faced her. Stas slouched, hoping the Fitzgerald men could act as a wall between them. It didn’t work.

  Her demon raised an eyebrow in greeting before tilting his head towards his blonde date. Her lips were at his ear. Whatever she said seemed to amuse him. The familiar intimacy between them left a sour taste in her mouth. No way was she jealous. She barely knew the man. Besides, that article painted him as a typical young billionaire with a different date every night. His heart was unattainable, if she remembered the words correctly. That’s what made him so desirable. Every socialite in New York was after him.