Rising Sun (The Red Trilogy Book 1)

by Lyla Oweds

  But he had denied it then. So why would he tell his grandson any differently?

  Our gazes locked, and my breath caught. The tortured look returned, and my stomach twisted.

  Jordan frowned. “Yes.” He let out a low breath, the tenseness of his shoulders softening. “Grandfather knew your victim, dammit.”

  Gregory sat up a bit straighter. Although he’d suspected, he hadn’t expected an admission. “Why didn’t he tell anyone in his initial interviews?” he asked. “Why did he lie?”

  “It wasn’t technically a lie,” Jordan replied, frowning at the tabletop. “He said he wasn’t close to Stacy. It’s not his fault people assumed. Besides, what would it help? Everyone thought he did it anyway. That would only make it worse.”

  “So he didn’t do it?” Michael spoke up.

  “No,” Jordan snapped back, glaring at the onmyoji. “Our tribe is small and was then as well. He wasn’t only the chief, but also the only medicine man we’d had. He was sworn to respect all living things.”

  “Even people he didn’t get along with?” Gregory leaned forward. “They say he and Oscar DuClaw hated each other. They even fought publicly.”

  Jordan scoffed. “So what? Grandfather was human. Sometimes people get pissed off and lose their temper. But no, not even on his deathbed did he ever had anything negative to say about Oscar DuClaw. Only regrets.”

  “Regrets about what?” This time it was me who interrupted the silence.

  His jaw set stubbornly, and I didn’t expect him to answer at first. But then he surprised me.

  “I’m not sure.” He frowned. Then he leaned forward, pulling out a pencil and snatching at one of the newspapers scattered over the table. Locating an empty margin, he drew a circle then with a few short strokes, cut the shape into three pie-sized pieces. Two large ones, and one that barely took up a sliver of the space.

  He pointed to that. “The lands are divided up into three parts. This area is what is left of my people’s lands. Although, once, all these lands belonged to us.” His finger brushed over the two larger quadrants. “These are the pack lands. One has been claimed by the Silver Moon pack, and the other the Dark Creek pack. Here.” He traced a line between the two packs, which ran directly down the middle of the reservation. “This is the river. If you’re wondering, Stacy’s body was discovered here,” he finished, pointing at the spot where all three lands touched.

  Gregory and I were frowning down at the paper, but he continued. “That’s not my point. Grandfather wasn’t only friends with Oscar DuClaw. He was also close to Christian MacClure.”

  My breath hitched. “My previous Alpha?”

  “That’s right.” Jordan pulled his hand back, crossing his arms on the table. “He wouldn’t talk about it much, but the three of them knew each other. They were friends.”

  “That’s impossible…” Our packs were rivals, and they’d always been.

  “Who told you that?” Jordan mused. “Your Alpha?”

  A bristling broke out over my skin, a lifetime of instinct and loyalty hard to ignore. “He never said it directly…”

  Of course not. I never spoke to my old Alpha, or his successor.

  But it was understood throughout the whole pack. Avoid the Silver Moon pack. They weren’t to be trusted. Deceiving, lying, backstabbers.

  And never ever help them.

  It was already taking everything in me to fight my instincts in order to help Mr. DuClaw. And now, my initial worries were turning into reality.

  If Timothy Bigelow hadn’t murdered Stacy DuClaw, then who did? And why hadn’t any connection between our packs been called out before?

  Why, in all the interviews, had we never been suspected?

  I wasn’t an idiot, if there was a connection between Alpha DuClaw and Alpha MacClure, it added a complexity to this case that wasn’t there before. Because, looking realistically, Alpha MacClure would have far more reason to harm the mate of a rival pack’s Alpha than Timothy Bigelow, whose connection was shaky at best. Especially if they went from good terms to bad.

  “Do you even know why they hated each other?” Jordan’s voice echoed in my thoughts. “How it all started?”

  “No, I don’t.” My ears rang. “It’s just… expected.”

  “The rivalry between your packs is not natural,” Jordan said, his voice smoothly even. “Pack members will follow the will of their Alphas, and your feud began over a woman.”

  It had been a week since our interview with Jordan, and not much else had come to light.

  I was still processing his words, struggling to make sense of it all.

  It took a day or so for the denial to wash away. Ingrained loyalty was a strong emotion, but my desire to uncover the truth began to wear past my defenses.

  Why had there been no mention of a friendship between our packs? And the bigger question, why were we never even suspected in this case?

  Looking at it logically, this made no sense.

  The office was quiet as I poured over paperwork, trying to see if anyone had brought the potential up even once. It felt like I was betraying my home, my family. But in the end, all that mattered was the truth.

  After all, Mr. Kohler had already said that Alpha MacClure probably couldn’t hold my work against me. Perhaps there was a greater plan here.

  I wanted to ask him, but Mr. Kohler’s wife had suffered complications during delivery, so he hadn’t returned to the office. And without him, our research lacked any further direction. Especially since we still hadn’t been able to locate Victoria Estrada.

  Oscar DuClaw, on the other hand, had planned on taking us to the location where his wife had been found but was suddenly hit with a bought of ailing health.

  If Michael hadn’t already forewarned me about Mr. DuClaw’s declining health, I’d been left wondering if he’d given up on his wife’s case after all. However, his actions made sense—when an Alpha prepared for his last days, they retreated into isolation. It was a ritual to preserve the little strength that they have left, and to settle their affairs.

  Plus it’d been raining, so he probably wasn’t keen on trotting about through the woods in such weather. Old wolves were so prickly about getting wet.

  In addition to the silence surrounding our work, Caleb Weaver had been nowhere to be found. For someone who’d been so loud-mouthed about taking his responsibilities seriously, I wasn’t sure what he might be up to. Especially since he’d been watching me quite eerily during our interview with Jordan.

  Normally, I wouldn’t care—but things were growing boring. It almost made me feel bad about coming into the office. Since I didn’t get paid, however, the guilt wasn’t too terrible.

  But, really, we were doing nothing.

  The flowers that I’d strong-armed Michael and Gregory into purchasing began to wither. The brightly colored flower pot in the middle of Mr. Kohler’s desk was harder to ignore with every passing day.

  We should probably have thrown the plants out, but I felt guilty. Mr. Kohler could return at any time, and we’d have nothing.

  I’d been trying to keep the plants alive, but I hadn’t been having much luck. It was unfair that the responsibility fell to me. Gregory was fae, wasn’t floral… stuff supposed to be a part of his nature? However, all week he’d hardly spared the rather pathetic sight more than a cursory glance. And no one other than me tried talking to or watering those poor things.

  I remained at Michael’s desk day after day, and he sat next to me. His larger frame a warm—almost improper—presence at my side. And, occasionally, his hand would rest on my knee as I poured through files.

  It wasn’t as though I could bring along my own files, not with Michael reading over my shoulder. He would ask why I was looking into Judge Cole. It’d been difficult enough to visit the archives and pull up what I had.

  Not that it helped much. To my eternal frustration, my sister’s husband’s records remained clean.

  So, instead, I could do nothing but return to Stacy DuC
law’s case. After all, that was what we were here for.

  But then there were also the times when he was gone. Being pulled into other teams, doing whatever willy-nilly they were up to. And Gregory wasn’t in the office either.

  Their absence made it slightly easier to begin my own research—on a completely different topic than Stacy DuClaw’s murder.

  I’d been secretive, and successfully so. Neither suspected a thing.

  So it wasn’t the fear of discovery that caused my heart to race every time Michael leaned in close to me. Nor was it the knowledge that I was misusing my resource as a somewhat-employee of the precinct in order to gain access to information that I really should not know.

  No, the reason my anxiety spiked even though my skin grew warm, and the reason why my gaze darted to the dark-haired man across the room any time Michael’s touch brushed against my leg, had little to do with that sort of guilt.

  Instead, it had everything to do with the fact that Michael and I had never cleared the air between us. Not once, since I’d actually accepted his offer to be his girlfriend and the short moments after when Gregory had walked in on us making out, had we discussed what the future entailed.

  I wasn’t even sure I could make an announcement about this. We were coworkers. It was improper—though there were no rules against interpersonal dating. And yes, I’d checked.

  I just didn’t want to witness Gregory’s face when he realized.

  After all, his words that weekend continued to ring through my head. For some insane reason, he thought we were going to get married. And I hated the idea of hurting him.

  He’d also been drunk. So there was that. However, I couldn’t deny I was attracted to him both physically and intellectually. But now that I was ‘dating’ Michael, where did that leave the fae?

  And Caleb. Usually, men who were weaker than me were not my type, but something in his angelic expression spurred a protective instinct in me that I couldn’t ignore. If I wasn’t careful, I could easily lose myself in feelings of wanting to take care of him.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I barely noticed until the door creaked open and Mr. Kohler strode into the room.

  “Good morning.” His voice lazily rang through the air as he shrugged off his jacket. “I’m glad to see that you lot are still hard at work,” he muttered, stalking to his seat. He looked toward me, and his mouth thinned. “Mr. Abernathy, why do you have your feet up on that desk?”

  Michael, who was in fact sitting back in his chair with his feet on the table beside me, jerked upright without hesitation. “Good to see that you’re back, Joe.”

  Mr. Kohler nodded, then his attention drifted to his own desk, and the tightness of his jaw melted into something resembling confusion. “What’s this?” he asked, gesturing at the dying floral arrangement.

  “It was Miss Gloria’s idea,” Gregory tattled, shrugging. Unlike Michael and me, who had grown more alert with Mr. Kohler’s presence, Gregory didn’t seem to care about the other man’s arrival at all. “She said we had to give you a gift.”

  Mr. Kohler turned to me, his eyes curious. “Why?”

  “Because it’s necessary,” I stammered, now regretting my attempts to educate these men on proper interpersonal behavior. “It’s what co-workers do. How is your wife…” My thoughts trailed off, because no one had even reported any information on the sort of child he’d had this time. “And your son?” I ventured, remembering that he’d wanted one.

  Mr. Kohler’s mouth lifted slightly, and I felt validated for having guessed right. But then his next words chased away my victory. “Daughter.” And even though it wasn’t a son, his proud grin gave no indication that he was disappointed. “We named her Trinity.”

  “You named your third child Trinity?” Gregory’s attention turned from his papers. “What in the world would possess you to do that?”

  I couldn’t hold back the chastising tone of my voice. “Gregory, that’s a terribly rude thing to say.” I glanced at Mr. Kohler apologetically. “Trinity is a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Kohler responded, moving behind his desk. “And thank you for the flowers. Lord knows that—left to their own devices—these two lugs aren’t capable of a kind gesture.” He frowned as he poked at the wilting lily. “But why are they dying?”

  “I tried to keep them alive.” I jumped to my feet, embarrassment flooding through me. “But I’m awful at growing things. I kill everything I touch.”

  Add that to my list of faults. Understanding children, having a green thumb, being nurturing in general. Everything about me just failed at being a woman.

  “No matter,” Mr. Kohler said lazily, waving his hand over the plant. “It seems as though you’ve over watered it. Gregory should have warned you.”

  So he did know what to do! I narrowed my eyes at the lazy fae. He didn’t even look guilty.

  “But it’s not hopeless yet,” Mr. Kohler said, his tone pensive. “Just remove the excess, and we’ll move it to the light. It’ll work out then.”

  His hand was still over the plant, and a disconcerting feeling moved through the air.

  It was slight—so slight that without my enhanced vision I would have missed it. But there was a ripple under his hand—in the space between the sad-looking petals and his palm. A coldness moved from him, seeming to touch the space around us.

  And it wasn’t only me who noticed.

  Michael jumped up beside me, interest in his expression. And even Gregory paused in his actions as his gaze remained fixated on the serious man.

  So it definitely wasn’t my imagination.

  The heavy, wet feeling grew stronger—only for a second—and then Mr. Kohler exhaled, opening his eyes as he pulled his hand back. “That’s better.”

  “That’s better?” I blinked at him, unsure. “What did you do?”

  Mr. Kohler tilted his head, shooting me a perplexed look. “I’ve removed the excess water, of course. I told you that it had too much.”

  “You can do that?” This was news to me.

  While our abilities were certainly inherited from the original energies of the five elements, I had no idea that elemental manipulation even existed.

  “Certain people can.” Mr. Kohler shrugged. “And it’s a slight thing only. Something like this is simple. I might be a necromancer, and water flows through my very being, however, it’s not like I can breathe underwater. That’s just inhuman.”

  “Certain people?” My brows furrowed; I hadn’t known that this was common. “Like who?”

  “High ranking officials—those closest in strength to the Xing,” Mr. Kohler said, shrugging. Then he paused, contemplation overcoming his expression as he rested his chin over his folded hands. “I’m surprised you don’t know this, considering your ranking. I mean, to be in the same quintet as Caleb Weaver, it means that you’re Tongjun proxy—the current representative until the actual Tongjun earn their roles.”

  My gaze shifted toward Michael, but he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, his focus was entirely on the other man. And my face grew warm, because somehow, I felt as though I should have known this. I had been born and raised in this world…

  But my family wasn’t anyone of strength or note. And I’d done my best to stay out of the spotlight since my early childhood. Besides that, “Who cares if we’re Tongjun level? Proxies don’t do anything. Officers are powerless without the Xing; their roles only exist during the years where the cycle is active. Only the council is important. And I thought basically anyone can, so long as they were in a quintet.”

  “Only the strongest can join,” Gregory interjected. “You need to pass a mental and physical assessment and have the backing of your quintet.”

  “Obviously.” I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  Mr. Kohler hummed, tilting his head to the side as he studied me. “There’s another reason why certain Elementals can actually manipulate elements. Do you know what it is?”

  I pouted, gl
aring daggers at my desk. “What?”

  “Individuals who are descendants of the Xing can manipulate the elements,” he replied smoothly. “The reason why no shifter can do it is because Jin—your Xing—never reproduced.”

  My heart was beating wildly, and my gaze rose to meet his. “What do you mean?”

  I’d heard the stories, of course. Because while the Xing were the archetypes of our people, they were also human. Before they were forced into isolation, forbidden by law to mingle, they were allowed to live just like anyone else.

  In the early days, they were revered, almost worshiped. They were always born together, in the same culture, at the same point in history. They blessed those chosen from those civilizations—normal people whose personalities and natural talents leaned in their direction—with the knowledge and skills to use abilities.

  As the Xing mingled, they also married. Along with that, came reproduction.

  A Xing’s offspring were both powerful and deadly. Their strength far outranked anyone else’s, sans their fathers. And, as far as I understood from the history lessons in my youth, were supposed to have been purged from the Earth.

  “How can you be a descendant of Shui?” My voice was tight. The feeling we were discussing blasphemy filled my senses. “If their children were killed? That’s the reason why they’re not allowed to have serious relationships, get married, or reproduce.”

  “Only the first and second generations of their bloodlines were killed off.” Mr. Kohler frowned at me. “They Xing did the deed themselves; they took responsibility for their corruption. Anyone further removed in the family tree was deemed to be less of a threat. Of course, seeing as though they haven’t reproduced in many, many generations, the bond between us only grows weaker.”

  I rubbed my temples. “All right.” It was a little thing; they weren’t even directly related. But it felt as though a royal was present. I wasn’t certain how to deal with this. We had no such individuals among shifters.