by Dana Archer
At least he showed up.
On the drive back to my car last night, he told me he’d meet me here. Considering he ditched me for our first training session, I half expected him not to come this morning either. He didn’t seem too happy about being my mentor. That makes two of us, though. I don’t need to see him sweaty and shirtless on a regular basis. Too bad for me. Spending time with Uri is a condition of my employment, and I want this job.
With a hard shove, I push the door to the gym open.
“Is your sister okay?” Uri doesn’t look at me or slow his strides. His breathing isn’t even strained. Only the glistening sheen on his skin hints at his physical exertion.
I take a water bottle from the mini fridge and drop it in the holder of the treadmill next to Uri. “Yes. She’ll be fine. Just some personal stuff she needs to work through.”
“That has to do with her involvement with Colin Lynch?”
“They’re not involved.” The treadmill turns on the moment I step onto it, and I flinch, caught off guard by the sound and lit display. I glance at Uri and smile. Hopefully, he won’t judge me too severely for my little surprised recoil. “Except for being Shifter Affairs partners, of course.”
“That was a very”—Uri looks over his shoulder at the empty hallway visible through the windows—“passionate response to whatever you were talking about.”
“Colin is her work husband. They have a weird relationship and people assume things. Those assumptions anger my sister. That’s all.” The explanation Sam’s given me several times fits this conversation. No need to voice my concerns. In the end, they don’t matter. My sister will do what she wants. She always has, including sacrificing herself as she sees fit. Her emotional needs wouldn’t be any different.
“Work husband?” Uri’s strides slow, compelling me to look at him. “What exactly is a work husband?”
Uri’s confusion adds a touch of adorableness to his already drool-worthy features. Ugh, the man can mess with my libido without trying. I scroll through the available programs on the treadmill, looking for the beginner-level ones in an effort to get my lust under control. “A deep friendship between male and female coworkers who spend a lot of time together. They bicker and laugh and cry together just as married couples do.”
“With or without the sex?”
Uri’s voice takes on a low, husky tone that skips tingles down my spine. I tap the program displayed, uncaring of the level, and run. I’d enter a marathon to keep my thoughts from drifting to things I have no business considering, especially if Uri is already afraid I’m going to report him for harassment.
“Without,” I finally answer.
“Then who is Colin sleeping with?”
“No idea. He hasn’t brought anyone home to our house.”
“Our house?”
The hint of accusation in Uri’s words yanks my attention to him, but he’s not looking at me. His focus is locked on the display of his treadmill. “Yes, we’re renting a house together. It’s cheaper.”
Uri turns his head and stares at me, his gaze boring into my soul and quickening my pulse. “How many bedrooms?”
“Two.” The answer is out of my mouth before I can tell him it’s none of his business.
“And where does Colin sleep?”
Tearing my fixation from Uri, I run, pushing my body harder until I’m not sure if my heart is pounding from being out of shape or from resisting the compulsion to answer Uri.
“Where does Colin sleep?”
Harsh, demanding, Uri’s tone tightens my shoulders. I hit the up arrow, increasing the resistance, and focus on the burn in my thighs instead of the need to give Uri the truth: the couch. “It’s none of your business.”
Uri’s arm around my waist is my only warning. He plucks me, midstride, from the moving treadmill. My sneaker connects with his thigh before I can stop my momentum, but he doesn’t flinch. He sets me next to his treadmill and settles his hands on my waist. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
The intensity surrounding him leaves my mouth dry. It’s not lust in his expression. It’s not appreciation either. I can’t put a name to it, but I lean closer, drawn to him, and settle my hands on his pecs. He’s sweaty, hot, and…
“Are you going to fall over, or can I release you?”
Blinking wide eyes at him, I drop my hands. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” Uri lets go and hunkers down next to the treadmill I used. He tugs at a flap of the ripped belt edge and shakes his head. “It’s best to inspect the equipment you’re planning to use before you do so. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt on this.”
“It looked fine when I got on.”
“The tear was likely underneath where you couldn’t see it.” Uri grabs a red tag from a holder on the wall and attaches it to the treadmill, then glances at me. “I’ll make sure to inspect your equipment for you next time.”
“I’m perfectly capable of inspecting my own equipment.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back. I sound whiny and foolish.
Uri grasps a towel from the hook on the wall, scrubs it over his chest where my palms had rested, then faces me. “How about we end this session early. You have a corpse waiting for you, and I have a few leads to follow up on.”
“Um…okay.” I pluck my water bottle from the holder. “Should we meet tomorrow, same time?”
“Not sure. I’ll be in touch.” Uri turns his back on me without bothering to stop his treadmill and walks out the door.
I turn off his treadmill, then stare at the hallway visible through the glass wall for a long moment, waiting for the need to follow him to fade. It doesn’t. I want to go after Uri and… I’m not sure what. I simply want him under my hands again.
Must be his feline shifter pheromones or something. That’s the only explanation. Once I’m around Uri more, I’ll get used to it. Hopefully.
Four
Uri
The passage of time erased Lyla’s scent from this seedy alley, but not my memory of last night. I won’t soon forget the look of fear on Lyla’s face or the way she bolted toward the main road, her shoulders hunched and her gaze darting behind her. Prey animals run that way, as if they’re fleeing for their lives.
“Coming here is a mistake.” Rick steps in front of me, blocking my access to the alley but not touching me. “We should let a regular agent do this.”
Ella Montgomery, the human leading our Shifter Affairs unit, told me the same thing. The moment any of the homeless shifters living in this section of the city smell a Royal, they’re going to run or hide. For the most part, she’s right. Our animals understand even predators can become prey to those more powerful.
“The man I’m here to see won’t run from me.” Whether the bear Royal I scented on Lyla will talk to me is another story. The male accused of murdering his entire clan, women and children included, along with his alpha, is rumored to be unstable.
If he’s the male who left that ugly bruise on Lyla’s neck, I’ll be finding out just how much stronger insanity can make a person. From what I remember of Bryon, he would likely match me in a fight, not beat me.
“You know him?”
Rick got the same abbreviated and censored explanation I gave Ella about why this trip had to happen this morning before we moved on to our list of interviewees concerning the murder last night. Nothing I alluded to in that explanation indicated my familiarity with Bryon or his alleged crimes. Without living witnesses, rumors hold little weight.
In the end, Bryon claimed the spirit of his clan, making him alpha. The events leading up to that change in leadership are in the past and can’t be changed. I understand how actions have consequences better than anyone. All we can do is accept the past and move on. Bryon, however, has chosen to hide, ignoring the fate he brought upon himself.
“Royals, especially ones who rank as high as this man, do not fit the typical profile of a homeless person. I want to know why he’s here.” At a little after eig
ht in the morning with humans walking by us, censoring my words is essential.
“And to warn him about the potential danger he’s in.” Rick gives me a pointed look, reminding me of the other reason I gave Ella. As a Royal alpha, Bryon’s life and the spirit of his forefathers are at risk. Alphas have been disappearing at an alarming rate. Those who want to steal a Royal’s immortality have discovered ways to circumvent and manipulate a Royal’s tie to the heavens, and they need a Royal alpha’s death to make that happen.
“Of course.” No matter what people think of Bryon or how he became alpha, he’s still an alpha with all the power and privileges that come with the role. Losing those to the enemy isn’t acceptable.
“Stay here and let me approach him, then. Once I’m sure he won’t run, you can join us.”
Jaw clenched to resist voicing my gut reaction to Rick’s words, I hold my partner’s gaze. Silence is best in this moment. While I respect Rick, my primal side can’t be denied, and that part of me will not allow a male of lesser physical strength to protect me, even if the only threat I face is disappointment over losing out on the chance to interview Bryon.
My instincts are ridiculous. I know this. Still, I can’t stop this primitive reaction.
As a Royal, I’m inherently stronger than any single shifter. It’s not a slight against Rick. It’s the truth. It’s also not one I can allow to influence me in this situation. Rick is my partner, my equal at Shifter Affairs. I will treat him as such, but fighting my primal side that wants to protect the male my felines have accepted as an honorary brother is hard.
Rick grunts. “You’re being stubborn, Uri. I understand where you’re coming from, but sometimes we need to swallow our pride.”
“I know this.” And I did successfully ignore my instincts when Rick was fighting to free his mate. That was his battle to win. This is mine. Somebody left that bruise on my mentee’s neck, and somebody threatened her, forcing her to run for her life. Those somebodies will pay for those things.
Actions have consequences.
Muttering a curse, Rick shakes his head and steps to the side. “If he runs, I’m coming back alone.”
Rick will too. I don’t doubt it. “He won’t run.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I saved his life once.” And destroyed my twin’s future in the process.
A question shows in Rick’s eyes. I head into the alley instead of answering. That particular good deed haunts me. Or maybe it’s the regret over wishing I’d let those villagers hang the teenage boy accused of witchcraft instead of trying to be a hero.
Bryon’s scent drifts to me over the stench of rotting garbage, piss, and unwashed flesh. The latter smells are indicative of a city, but the lingering hint of the forest is not. Any shifter walking through this part of town would recognize this area as being frequented by another shifter. I can almost taste Bryon’s power on my tongue. Anyone looking to exploit his strength would as well.
My felines alert me to the massive Royal shifter stretched out on the ground with newspapers spread under him and a stained light blue comforter over his body. Bryon doesn’t stir with our approach. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he slept. With his back facing us and the blanket pulled over his head, he certainly gives the illusion of sleep. The prickling of power along my skin speaks of Bryon’s alertness, though. He senses me and is subtly warning me away, much as a cat will puff its tail if it feels threatened.
Bryon’s posturing is a game I have no desire to play.
With a swift whack, I kick the blanket-covered Royal’s back. “Time to wake up. You’re blocking the sidewalk.”
“Kick me again, and I’ll file a complaint against you for police brutality.”
The brisk morning air fills my lungs. Each rough breath cools my temper. I focus on the chill spreading through my chest instead of the fury Bryon’s threat stirs within me. He’s right, just as Rick was right last night. I’m in the wrong. Again.
I tower over Bryon, one booted foot on either side of his chest. “The woman you spoke to last night is ready to file a report for assault too. Unlike you, she’s got the bruise on her neck as evidence of the abuse. You’ve got nothing.”
“Except for an eyewitness account of your actions.”
“Agent Lyall didn’t see anything.” Not necessarily a lie. I don’t know for certain whether Rick saw me kick Bryon or not.
Bryon rolls onto his back. His gaze meets mine, and the memory of looking into those eyes after pulling the cloth sack off his head hits me, throwing me back to a time when I felt like a hero, for a few minutes, anyway. His deep laugh wipes the memory away. “Maybe we should ask him.”
“Or you can tell me how the woman you spoke with last night ended up with marks on her throat.” I speak before Rick has to choose between siding with my version of the truth or Bryon’s.
“A bruise is better than becoming the property of the deranged. Wouldn’t you agree, Agent Alexander?”
Word must travel fast among the homeless shifters living in this city. My affiliation with Shifter Affairs is relatively new. “How do you figure? A bruise is—”
“As good as a claiming of property in these parts, especially with my scent clinging to Lyla. I nicked her ear.”
I drop to a crouch and yank Bryon up by a fistful of his shirt. With our noses inches apart, I let out a low, trickling snarl. “A worthy male would never leave a mark on a female.”
“A worthy male would give a female what she needs, including evidence of his possession when needed.”
My lion pushes against my psyche with its demand for blood. The overpowering drive to eliminate my opposition for Lyla isn’t one I want to ignore. My human side, the part of me that has vowed to uphold the contract I signed with Shifter Affairs, understands Bryon’s words don’t give me the right to end his life, however.
“So you admit to assaulting Lyla.”
“I didn’t assault Lyla.” Bryon turns his head to look at Rick as he gives his answer. “If anything, I saved her life.”
“No.” I tug on Bryon’s shirt, lifting his upper body off the ground and forcing him to focus on me. “I did.”
“By kissing her?” Bryon grins. “It’s cute you believe that, but it’s not true.”
Yet Bryon didn’t stop me from stealing Lyla’s passion. He also didn’t scare off the man chasing her. I would’ve noticed a fight close by. “Then what is the truth?”
“I’m not a man others should mess with. Last night, I reminded someone of that. Drew a line in the sand, so to speak. Lyla is off-limits.”
Lyla had mentioned new shifters in town. Eddie had hypothesized they were merely doing business here. Either way, both viewed them as a threat. I uncurl my fingers, allowing Bryon to drop back to the ground. “Who was chasing Lyla?”
“Are you charging me with anything today, Agents? Because I freely admit to being the one who marked Lyla and claimed her as my property.”
“No.” Rick answers before I can say the opposite. “We’re here for information and to give you a warning.”
“What warning is that?” And if the crinkling of skin around Bryon’s eyes is any indication, he’s not too concerned about anything we might have to say.
“Information first, Bryon.” I drop his name, reminding him of our familiarity and his obligation to me. He wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t saved his life
“And what information do you seek, Uriel? If you’re wondering how Lyla is in bed—”
My hand is around Bryon’s neck before I can stop myself. Had he been human, Bryon would’ve been gasping for air and fighting me. As an immortal who obviously doesn’t fear me, Bryon simply holds my gaze. His calmness cuts through my rage as easily as his mocking laugh drew me from the past minutes ago.
If Lyla and this male are involved, it’s not my place to interfere. At least not until I get the full story from Lyla. Exhaling, I ease my tight grip, allowing the anger to fade, but I don’t release him. Lyla is not
the only reason for this visit.
I bend close, nose to nose, and give Bryon a chance to strike at me. I can’t see his hands. If Bryon wanted, he could bury his fist in my chest and rip my heart out faster than Rick would be able to save my life. All three of us know this. “There’s a killer walking the streets of this town, Bryon. Tell me what you know about him.”
“There are many killers walking these streets. I’m one. You’re one. So’s your partner.” Bryon’s softly spoken words come across as a whispered secret. “Which killer are you referring to?”
“The one leaving dead homeless men like yourself in the streets for city residents to find.”
“And in the river.” Bryon snickers. “Lyla told me about that one. He deserved to die. I told Lyla the same thing.”
“You knew him?” My growled words betray my tight grip on my primal side. I’d much rather beat the truth out of Bryon. Too bad I can’t. That would definitely be considered police brutality. Bryon strikes a nerve with me, however. At the moment, I’m not sure if it’s because of our past or his involvement with the woman I have no right to feel possessive over.
“Yes, unfortunately, I did know him. His name was Thomas Michael, and he was a serial rapist. Lyla said he swallowed a bullet.” Bryon laughs, the sound tearing a growl from me. “Hey…maybe he finally felt guilty about the endless women he assaulted over the years. Or maybe not. Maybe he crossed the wrong man. You never know. Hell, maybe the goddesses finally intervened and—”
“The killer.” Rick speaks, drowning out my growl and stopping Bryon’s rambling. “Tell us about the killer. Not your theories. You know who did it. Tell us.”
“Sorry, but I don’t share information with Specialized Affairs agents. I told Lyla the same thing.” Bryon shoves against my shoulder. “Now get off me and get out of here or else I will be filing a claim against both of you for your rough treatment of me today. We’ve got plenty of witnesses to make my claim stick.”