by Keri Arthur
“That’s because the cat is an irritable asshole.”
“Maybe he’s simply echoing his master’s mood.”
“No, he’s naturally an asshole. But even if he was echoing his witch’s mood, neither of them have to take their grumpiness out on me.”
“True.” He paused. “Was it your psychic senses that led you to the first set of bones?”
“No, it was Eamon. I was at Monty’s feeding him when he caught the scent of whoever did this. Unfortunately, he lost the trail in the clearing where we found the first set of bones.” I shrugged. “I tried to do a reading on the watch we found there, but the man had been dead too long to sense anything.”
“And he’s in a similar state as the second victim?”
“I only saw his arm, but yes, I think so.”
Aiden grunted. “Hopefully, Ciara will be able to ID them both through dental records.”
If the monster behind this wasn’t collecting the teeth as some sort of macabre souvenir… The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
“You cold?” Aiden said instantly.
I smiled. “In this heat? Hardly. It was just another of those vague prophetic warnings that may or may not mean anything.”
“Those warnings tend to have more truth behind them than not.” His warm tones held a grim edge. “I take it you think there won’t be any teeth?”
I glanced up at him. “Considering you’re not telepathic, it’s rather scary just how well you can read me at times.”
“I’m a ranger and a werewolf. We notice the little things.” His smile flashed, bright in the darkness. “Besides, we have been going out for a few months now. It’s not like we don’t know each other’s odd ways and intimate secrets.”
“You may know mine,” I replied mildly. “But you can hardly say I know all yours. You’ve been remarkably recalcitrant to talk about the wolf who broke your heart, for instance.”
“And now is neither the time nor the—”
“That answer is getting monotonous.”
He grimaced. “I know, but I really can’t see why—”
“Aiden, remember that whole spiel you gave me about secrets and not wanting to go into another relationship where honesty wasn’t a priority? Well, ditto.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out softly. Reluctantly. “Fair enough. But not now.”
“Agreed.” If only because I’d probably need a gallon or two of whiskey to cope. Hearing about the wolf who’d broken his heart would be difficult in the extreme, if only because that woman had won what I so desperately wanted and had yet to find: a man who totally and utterly loved her, even after she’d long left his life.
That it was this man’s heart made it even harder, simply because no matter how much I might wish otherwise, no matter how good we were together, we were also witch and werewolf. And in this world, it really was a case of ‘never the twain shall meet’—at least not on a permanent basis.
I pushed away the heartache that rose whenever such a thought intruded and continued on in silence. Eamon found the clearing easily enough, and Aiden squatted beside the hole I’d dug into the soil. “There’s no scent of decay, which suggests this death is more than a few weeks old.”
“Unless, of course, the demon behind this picked the entire body clean this time, head included.”
He glanced up at me. “Why would it do that here and not with the other victim?”
“Maybe, as Monty suggested, it sensed our presence and left the head as some sort of macabre message.” Although, if that was the case, it was one I didn’t yet understand.
“How many demons bother to strip their victims of all clothing and then remove them from the scene of their crime afterward, though?”
“Probably not that many, but maybe we’re dealing with a demon with a weird fetish.”
A smile tugged his lips. “And how likely is that?”
“Knowing as little as I do about demons, I couldn’t honestly say. But fetishes exist in our world, so I can’t see why they wouldn’t in the supernatural one.”
“I’m thinking it’s more likely they’ve been removed simply to ensure no clues were left behind.”
“That is the sensible possibility.” And yet this reservation didn’t often do sensible—at least when it came to bad guys.
He rose. “How likely is it that the demon will come back?”
“Not very.” I glanced at my watch. “But Ashworth should be up top by now. Monty called him before he called you.”
“Ah, good.” He paused. “Are you going to hang around, or do you want a lift back home?”
“There’s no real point in me hanging around—Ashworth can answer any questions you might have.” And deal with any magical problems a whole lot more easily than me. “I’ll walk back home—it’s a nice night and it’s not that far.”
“Fine.” He stepped around the disturbed patch of soil, then snaked an arm around my waist and pressed my body against the power of his. It felt nice. More than nice. “I know you said the immediate danger is over, but given you tend to be a trouble magnet, please be careful. I have plans in place for tomorrow night.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, a smile teasing my lips. “Not another dance lesson, I hope? Because I don’t think your poor feet will cope.”
“No, although dancing of the more intimate variety might be on the menu later in the evening, if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Always,” I murmured, then claimed his lips with mine.
For several minutes, there was nothing more than the passion that rose with the kiss—one that was so raw, so powerful, and so very erotic that it rocked my very soul.
“And this,” he murmured eventually, his breath little more than warm sharp pants against my kiss-swollen lips, “is why I avoid getting too close to you when I’m on duty.”
I chuckled and pulled away. “Then perhaps I’d better go back to your place so I can be on hand to cure your… not so little… problem whenever you finish duty tonight.”
“That only makes me ache harder.” He brushed the damp hair from my eyes. “Do you remember the alarm’s key code?”
I nodded. He’d added the alarm after a number of houses in the Argyle area had been broken into, and so far I’d set the damn thing off three times. “If I’m asleep, feel free to wake me.”
“If it’s not too late, I will.” He kissed me again, but as it threatened to turn into more, he pulled back and, with a soft curse, turned and walked away.
I grinned and watched until he’d disappeared. The cat had already gone back to the second murder scene—Monty had obviously gotten sick of waiting.
It didn’t take me long to arrive back at Monty’s. Instead of jumping over the fence, I simply followed it along to the end house in the row and then cut across the small park to the road. Nothing moved except the shadows playing across the footpath between each light pole, with little to be heard beyond the distant song of cicadas and the occasional growl of a car driving past on nearby Johnson Street. My psychic senses were mute, and yet… the odd feeling of being watched stirred. I casually glanced around, taking in the nearby houses. Nothing. Nor was there any sense of movement within the tree-lined verge that separated this street from Johnson.
Nevertheless, there was something in those shadows.
I had no immediate sense of evil and no idea if it was the demon or not. But whatever it was, it was old. Very old.
I shivered, but fought the desire to wrap a repelling spell around my fingers. Whatever—whoever—watched from those shadows presented no immediate threat, but that might well change if I did anything to spook it.
I flexed my fingers, but it did little to ease my growing tension. Why were my psychic senses all but mute when it came to whatever watched from those shadows? Was it simply a matter of them becoming so attuned to evil they’d lost the ability to sense beings who dwelled on the edges of that spectrum? Or was something else happening? Was it possible my watcher shielded its pr
esence from me? Although, if it did, why was I getting any sense of it at all?
Did it, perhaps, simply wish me to know it was there and nothing else?
That certainly seemed to be the case.
I resisted the urge to increase my pace and kept my eyes on the lights ahead, even though every other sense was attuned to the shadows and whatever hid within them.
The distant thump of bass-heavy music soon replaced the cicadas, and it was accompanied by the happy rise and fall of conversation—all of it coming from the pub one street over. It was tempting to head over there, if for no other reason than to lose my unseen follower, but that might well end badly. Even if I had no immediate sense of threat, I also had no idea what it wanted. Until I did, I simply couldn’t risk leading it to a heavily populated venue.
I continued on. My tail kept pace and, despite the well-lit street and fewer shadows, remained out of sight. There had to be some sort of magic involved, even if I wasn’t sensing it.
I swung onto Mostyn Street and strode toward our café. I used the shop windows to study the street behind me, but there was no telltale shimmer to suggest magic was being employed, no acidic, demonic scent riding the drifting breeze, and no sound of footsteps even though I had a bad feeling my watcher was closer now than when I’d first sensed him or her. If not for the inner certainty that appeared to be emanating from the prophetic part of me, I might have thought it was nothing more than nerves.
Once at our café, I dug my keys out of my purse and casually looked around. Just for an instant, the air between two parked cars a few shops down shimmered, briefly forming a humanoid shape that jagged across the road and then retreated.
It wasn’t nerves or imagination. Something had been following me.
I opened the door and stepped inside the café. After locking up again, I ran toward the rear, weaving my way through the multitude of bright tables and mismatched chairs until I reached the stairs that led up to our living quarters. Once there, I threw my purse toward my bed as I passed the doorway then ran through the kitchenette and into a living area that had little room for anything more than a TV, a sofa, and a coffee table. I threw open the glass sliding door at the end of the room and strode out onto the balcony.
The breeze stirred around me, bringing with it the distant sounds of music and laughter. This part of town might be all but dead at night, but there was plenty of life on the outskirts of this retail area.
I leaned against the railing and studied the street below. It wasn’t empty—cars went past intermittently, and there were a number of people strolling toward nearby Hargraves Street. But once again, I wasn’t picking up much in the way of the supernatural or magic; either the shimmer had disappeared or the person responsible was standing far enough away that even the prophetic part of me couldn’t pick it up. Though why that part of my gifts had sensed it over my other abilities was puzzling—did it perhaps mean that whatever I was sensing wasn’t actually here? That it was a threat yet to come?
Was Monty right? Was my growing connection with the wild magic also altering my psychic gifts?
I wished I’d delved more deeply into the history of psi abilities when I’d been younger, but it wasn’t something my parents had ever encouraged; psychics were considered little more than charlatans by most bluebloods, and my parents certainly hadn’t wanted everyone reminded they’d produced such a child. It was bad enough that I was on the weak end of the scale when it came to magic.
I flexed my fingers against the growing frustration of not knowing enough—either about my abilities or what was happening to me. Maybe it would have been better to stay with Aiden; at least then I wouldn’t be worrying about an unseen follower who may or may not intend future harm.
As I pushed away from the railing, a number of glowing, silvery threads drifting on the breeze caught my attention. Wild magic, here in the middle of town, the one place where it really shouldn’t have been—if, that was, you believed everything ever written about it. I was beginning to think that we definitely shouldn’t—at least when it came to the magic in this reservation.
I raised a hand, and the threads curled around my fingers, as fragile as moonbeams and yet pulsing with power. Within that power was a sense of acknowledgment. Of kinship.
It no longer frightened me, although I daresay it should have, given what had happened to my mother. While my use of it had so far caused very little in the way of bad side effects, I couldn’t help but think that might yet happen. All power had its drawbacks, and I’d be foolish to believe there wouldn’t be some sort of fallout from this union. It had already changed my eyes from green to silver, although that only meant I now looked like the blueblood witch I’d been born rather than a mixed breed.
The threads continued to twine around my fingertips, and their force hummed through my body. The air became brighter, the night sharper, the light of the moon more intense.
Even as unease stirred, I glanced down at the street. There, at the far end of Mostyn, near the corner of Hargraves, was a pale, almost insubstantial woman. She was slender and small in stature, and her pale hair was long, flowing behind her like a veil. Her full-length dress was white, and she walked with a grace that was somehow regal. Threads of magic spun around her, their color a strange mix of grays and silver. It was a concealment spell but not one I’d ever come across.
As she reached the corner, the shimmering threads died, and the woman’s body dissolved.
Meaning what I’d seen was either a ghost or a specter; the two were not the same, despite the fact many believed them to be. Ghosts could be souls trapped in this world because of an untimely death, an unwillingness to move on, or even the desire to complete unfinished business. Specters, on the other hand, were nearly always out for vengeance of one kind or another.
What category this one fell into, and why it had been following me, I had no idea. The wild magic might have strengthened my senses enough to see the entity, but to have any hope of understanding what she’d wanted or why she’d followed me, I had to uncover who she’d been in life. And to even begin that process, I first had to see what she actually looked like. While it was possible for Belle to summon a ghost or specter on description alone, to truly ensure success it’d be better if we had some form of identification.
Of course, she may have simply been curious. Not all ghosts were bound to the area in which they’d been killed. Some were free to roam, although most of these did so out of confusion or because they were still seeking something.
Either way, it was something Belle could tackle if or when the entity made another appearance.
The threads of wild magic unwound themselves from my fingers and drifted away again. It left me feeling oddly alone.
I moved back inside and, after locking the sliding door, grabbed an overnight bag and shoved in everything I’d need for tomorrow. While a lot of my toiletry stuff had migrated over to Aiden’s, I’d yet to move any of my clothes or shoes, even though he’d suggested it a number of times and had even cleared out space in his wardrobe. My reluctance was due to nothing more than fear—a deep belief that the minute I took that step, the minute I committed to sharing his home on a semi-permanent basis, fate would present him with the wolf he was destined to be with.
Of course, it was ridiculous to think that not moving in would, in any way, stop that from happening, but I just couldn’t take the risk. I needed to keep some distance between us, even if that distance was in reality more illusion than fact.
With my packing done, I made myself a coffee, then called a cab and headed outside to wait. It took just over thirty minutes to get to Argyle from Castle Rock, and I managed to get in without setting off the alarm—something the neighbors were no doubt thankful for. His home was situated at the far end of a six-unit complex that had been built close to the sandy shoreline of the vast Argyle Lake. It was a two-story, cedar-clad building, with the lower floor being one long room divided by a wooden staircase. In the front section of the room, there wa
s an open fireplace, a huge TV, and a C-shaped leather sofa. On the other side of the staircase there was a modern kitchen diner, complete with a bench long enough for six people to sit around. The open stairs led up to two bedrooms, each with their own en suite. Aiden’s was the front one, which had a balcony and lovely long view of the lake.
I helped myself to some leftover lasagna, poured a glass of whiskey, and then plopped down on the sofa to watch TV. He still wasn’t home by the time I headed up to bed at ten-thirty.
Sleep came relatively quickly, but it was haunted by visions of a lady in white whose form gradually morphed into that of a blood-soaked hag holding a small but broken body close to her chest as she wailed in utter grief. I stirred restlessly, my heart rate climbing, but I couldn’t escape the visions or even wake up. It was only when an arm snaked around my waist and warm lips brushed my bare shoulder that I was finally released.
I stirred and pressed my butt back against him, needing the contact to erase the unsettling remnants of the visions.
“What time is it?” I murmured.
“Just past midnight.” His hand slipped upward, and his clever fingers began teasing my nipples. “It took longer than we expected to exhume the first body.”
The last thing I wanted to think about—let alone talk about—was bones. I shifted to face him and gently ran my fingers from his chest to his washboard abs. “At least you finally did get here.”
He stopped me just as my touch went past his belly button. “Going any further could be dangerous.”
I raised an eyebrow, amusement twitching my lips. “Maybe I like to live a little dangerously.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that at all.” His eyes were bright in the darkness, gleaming with amusement and desire. “But in this particular case, I’d rather ensure both parties are primed and ready.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“I’m a werewolf. We can smell these things.” His hand slipped down my stomach and then cupped me. “Shall we get down to the business at hand?”
