by Dana Archer
And Rick would be punished too, even if he didn’t lay a finger on Bryon. Rick was here and didn’t stop me.
I jerk Bryon to his feet, then lean close as if I’m giving him a hug. With my mouth at his ear, I share the warning I promised to deliver. “I don’t know how much reaches the homeless of our community, but there’s been an increase of crime against males in your ranking. Leaders are disappearing, and the sources of their strength are being ripped from them and given to those who have no right to hold them. And you’re an easy target. There’s no one to fight for you.”
“Lyla would.”
Another surge of baseless fury threatens to send me spiraling out of control. I breathe through the anger. Lyla is nothing to me beyond a coworker, and even if she was more, there’s no place in my life for a woman. “Lyla can’t win against this threat.”
“Then you better make sure she doesn’t allow her goodness to kill her. Because it will. Her empathy, her quest for justice, her commitment to protect… Those things will end her life sooner rather than later, especially if she continues to chase this particular killer.” Bryon snags the comforter, along with the strap of a backpack that must’ve been resting against his stomach while he lay on the ground, and walks away.
Once he makes it to the end of the alley, Rick steps in front of me. “Lyla’s more than a woman who triggered you, isn’t she?”
No good answer comes to me, not while my felines are demanding one thing but my responsibilities require another. “Yeah, she’s the one who can end my career. You reminded me of that last night.”
“Agents aren’t forbidden from getting involved with each other.”
No. There’s nothing stopping agents from becoming lovers. I read through my contract last night looking—hoping—for a clause preventing such a relationship. “But they are forbidden from harassing one another.”
“Yesterday…I was messing with you.” Rick gets into my personal space and lowers his voice. “Lyla didn’t look as if she disliked having your mouth on her. She didn’t smell like it bothered her either. She didn’t—”
“She didn’t ask for it either.” I turn my back on Rick and head back to our car. There’s no use debating her motive or mine. My future is set.
I’m my blind twin’s eyes, from now until the world ends.
Five
Lyla
Spending my morning fist-deep in blood and guts is not how I envisioned my career. I was supposed to go about my days curing illness and disease. I wanted to make a difference. Maybe even change the future of a young woman or man, inspiring them to rise above a life of poverty and despair, just as the Shifter Affairs agent who arrested my mom turned my life around.
Instead, I’m surrounded by death.
I scan the basement office I’ve claimed in the Shifter Affairs building. Everything I could possibly need to effectively conduct autopsies is within my grasp, including access to a network of seasoned Shifter Affairs coroners who’ve seen more horrors that I can possibly imagine. Yet I’ve never felt more frustrated.
No matter what information I uncover, I can’t end the cycle of death and drugs. Stopping this latest killer ultimately won’t help. Another will take his place. There’s a lot of money to be had in dealing drugs, and if someone manages to tap into the hallucinogenic properties that have made Elixir so popular in the streets without the damaging effects it has on the users’ organs, they’d be rich. That kind of lure isn’t one I can counter.
At least not on my own.
With quick, practiced motions, I hurry through the protocol I’ve established, returning the latest victim’s body to the cooler, decontaminating the tools I’ve used, and finally degowning. The moment the restrictive protective equipment is off, I power on my computer and send my query for detailed information on Elixir out to the network of Shifter Affairs coroners. Someone will respond before the day is over. Of that I have no doubt, even if it’s merely a note wishing me luck with my first official case.
While I’m awaiting a response, however, I have other resources to explore.
Leaving my basement office and lab behind, I take the elevator to the first floor, where the cubicle I’ve been assigned sits in the very back corner of the maze of other identical partition-divided work areas. The low murmur of voices and the few splashes of light from computer screens and desk lamps in the otherwise dim room reflects what I’ve come to expect over the short time I’ve worked here. Shifters rarely use their assigned spaces. I’m not sure where they write their reports, but the only other people I’ve seen occupying this floor are other humans like me who’ve been groomed to work alongside shifters.
I pick out the voices, assigning each a face. Their stories flash across my mind—rape survivors, kidnap victims, witnesses to things they shouldn’t have seen. We’re a bunch of troubled humans who’ve all experienced different tragedies, but we all share a common goal—we want to save somebody from experiencing what we did. Knowing the extent of the evaluation and psychological reinforcement protocols I’m routinely put through, I don’t doubt the commitment of every other human in this building, especially knowing death awaits us—and our loved ones—if we disclose the secrets of the shifter world.
In any other job, such a brutal practice would be deemed immoral and illegal, but the world my mother’s addiction landed me in isn’t a pretty place. It’s a primitive one of blood, death, and, oddly enough, honor.
And predators don’t take well to betrayal.
A chill runs down my spine. I rub at the tiny hairs standing on end on my arms. There’ll be no easing the iciness in my blood, at least not until I can replace the thoughts of death and deceit teasing my mind. No chance of that happening anytime soon. I’m a part of this world and everything that goes along with it from now until my death.
Dropping my arms, I hurry to my cubicle. Once I grab my jacket and purse, I’m out of here. Bryon isn’t the only homeless shifter I can talk to. He’s just the only one strong enough to speak the truth. Even predators feel fear. As much as I wish it weren’t true, they have a reason to be afraid. They’re the ones being targeted. It’s up to me to convince them to share what they know anyway.
My fingers skim over the padded wall panels of my cube, the one I’ve earned after so many years of hard, soul-draining work in an effort to prove my commitment to the shifter world, then I step into the opening of my personal space.
A gasp escapes me at the sight of the man sitting at my darkened desk. The black beanie on his head and wavy brown hair sticking out from the edges clue me in to who’s claimed my chair. “Uri. What are you doing here?”
Uri spins the desk chair to me. “Waiting to talk to you. I told you I’d be in touch.”
He had. My smile cracks my dry lips, a consequence of spending so much time outside in the freezing cold yesterday. I lick them, tasting the copper-flavored blood, but my happiness doesn’t dim. Uri kept his promise to me. “You should’ve come downstairs. I discovered something interesting with this latest victim’s body. I could’ve showed you.”
Uri’s attention drifts from my lips to my chest. “Rick wasn’t able to stay, so I couldn’t.”
The silky shell top meant to be worn with the fitted suit jacket is cut low, almost too low to be appropriate for work. With Uri’s appreciative gaze on me, I don’t care that the jacket meant to pair with my outfit is probably a wrinkled mess from Uri sitting on it. Heck, I might not bother ever wearing another suit jacket. I have plenty of tops like this one, in a rainbow of colors.
Clearing my throat, I focus on this conversation, not what I’m going to wear tomorrow to work. “Don’t you have access to the lower levels?” As far as I know, all agents do. They just can’t walk into my lab while I’m working unless I buzz them in.
“It wouldn’t have been appropriate.” Uri drags his appreciative stare from my legs upward. “So I waited here.”
Studying Uri doesn’t magically ease my confusion over his odd statement. I step into the sm
all cubicle, my leg brushing his knee. He pushes the chair until the back hits the L-shaped part of the desk and leaves roughly a foot between us. I look from the jeans-covered leg I grazed to his face. Still no explanation for his behavior shows in his expression, but if I had to label what I see displayed there, I’d call it lust. It makes his effort to keep space between us blatantly odd.
I let my perusal skim over his features, searching for answers. “Why wouldn’t it have been appropriate?”
“You’re female.”
The word drops with a vehemence that doesn’t match the appreciation in his stare. In any other situation and with any other man, I’d be ignoring his tone and taking Uri up on the promise of passion hovering between us. The unspoken pull is stronger than it was yesterday after he kissed me. I feel it in my bones, an ache for something I can’t really explain. I only know Uri can deliver it.
I run my fingers through my hair, lifting the layered mass. Mouth open slightly, Uri follows my motions with a heated scrutiny before meeting my eyes. Hunger. That is what I’m seeing. There’s no mistaking that look. Uri wants me sexually. I’ve been with enough men to pick up on the signals. Yet he’s keeping space between our bodies—a respectable space—instead of pulling me onto his lap and taking what he needs and what I want.
Because he fears I’ll report him for harassment.
A sense of power sparks within me. I take a single step closer. “And you’re a man. What’s your point?”
“An unmated male who works with you. It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”
“But why?” He has to say it. I want no misunderstandings between us. He can report me too.
Uri’s features tighten. He holds my gaze for a long moment, then mutters a low, barely audible curse. “Because we had no witnesses to ensure I treated you with respect and no video to prove I did.”
“I’m not going to report you for sexual harassment.” I give him the truth he obviously needs to hear, then take another small step so inches separate my legs from Uri’s knees. “And I could’ve used your guidance. You are my mentor.”
“Guidance with what?”
The concern in his voice moments after the passionate anger intrigues me. Uri’s multifaceted. Okay, he’s complicated, the kind of man a smart girl avoids. And I am smart. I have enough letters attached to my name to prove it.
I take another step closer anyway, my dress slacks brushing against Uri’s jeans. I’m playing with fire, or at least a harassment suit of my own. I recognize my behavior as not quite work appropriate. I can’t seem to conjure the energy to stop this. Uri’s unspoken promise is one I crave. “I wanted to know if the organ damage I was seeing was indicative of long-term Elixir use or something else.”
“Ambrosia is the drug used by the shamans who became the first shifters. It does not cause organ damage. It doesn’t matter how much is consumed.”
“But Elixir isn’t ambrosia. It’s a concoction of ambrosia and human street drugs. I don’t know if Elixir’s effect has ever been studied on shifters. I was hoping you could answer that.” I bite the corner of my lower lip. “And the other spin on it is that I know our first victim died of a variation of Elixir. So is what I saw due to Elixir or this new variation? I just don’t know enough to make an informed decision.”
Uri exhales. His perusal maps a path down my body, leaving fire in its wake. His look and my reaction to him aren’t appropriate for this conversation. In fact, they’re wrong. We’re talking about work and death, not whispering naughty fantasies. Darn if I can stop this. It goes beyond appropriateness, touching on primeval cravings that demand satisfaction.
He swallows hard. “And the second victim? Did he have this new variation in his system too?”
“I don’t know yet.” I scoot between the chair Uri’s sitting in and the desk, then power on my computer. “The test is still running, but it might be far enough along to get an idea. I’ll know once I open the program monitoring the analysis.”
“Then it doesn’t matter if I came down or not. My guidance wouldn’t have helped. I know little about Elixir.”
The slurred edge to Uri’s words sends another shiver down my spine. This time, energy settles low instead of chilling my body. I glance over my shoulder, and the position I put myself in—my ass in Uri’s face—makes me smile.
I press my lips together in an effort to dim my amusement, but testing Uri’s restraint is proving more enjoyable than I should admit, even in my own mind. “I would’ve appreciated having you there to bounce my thoughts off of at the very least. I find it’s more conducive to uncovering answers when I speak with another person rather than just myself. I always agree with me.”
“Not alone. It wouldn’t have been appropriate.” Uri repeats his earlier argument as if he needs to convince himself.
“Because you want me.”
Uri grabs the armrests hard enough to make the wooden chair creak. He eases his grip, then studies me. “I want many things I can’t have.”
“So you do want me?”
“This is not an appropriate conversation.”
“Then report me. I won’t deny asking you these questions. They’re important.”
“They are not.” Uri bites out the words. “This conversation is inappropriate between coworkers, especially for those in a mentor/mentee relationship.”
He’s right. So very right. I need these answers, though. It’s taking every ounce of restraint I have to resist sitting on Uri’s lap and indulging in what I need. “What if we didn’t work together? Would it be appropriate then?”
The tip of Uri’s tongue traces the inside of his bottom lip and gives me a tempting peek of his fangs poking beyond the line of his straight white teeth. “That question is ridiculous. I’m your mentor. You’re my mentee. There’s no changing things now.”
“That’s not true.” My voice takes on a husky edge. “I can replace you at any time.”
“No. You can’t.” Uri partially spins the chair, almost at the perfect angle for me to sit on his lap. “I promised Ella I’d mentor you, making sure you’re as prepared as possible for anything you might encounter.”
I lock my muscles instead of taking the invitation I doubt Uri meant to offer. “And Ella told me I could replace you.”
“She wouldn’t have said that.”
“She did.” I nod. “After you failed to show for our first training session.”
“I showed.” Uri’s fingertips drag up a small section of my pants leg before he eases his hand away. “Then left. You were with Colin. I didn’t think you needed two agents to work out with you, but after today’s little incident in the gym, maybe I was wrong.”
The low blow is completely warranted. Failing to inspect the treadmill I used this morning was foolish. It’s also a mistake most people would make. Who actually goes around inspecting gym equipment? Other than Uri, obviously.
I focus on the computer and click on the ongoing analysis while the memory of the night Uri stood me up plays through my head. I overlay a known makeup with the current run, but not enough time has passed to give me the answers I seek. I close the screen and hang my head. “Colin was in the same room, yes. He didn’t help me, though. He spent all night spotting Sam while she lifted. I walked on the treadmill and listened to music. That’s it.”
“He was standing next to you when I saw the two of you. With his arm around you.”
“Yeah, helping me pick an easy program.” I laugh and look over my shoulder. “Did that make you jealous? Is that the real reason you left?”
“No.” The harshly spoken word drops between us and doesn’t match the possessiveness stamped on Uri’s face.
“What if I want you jealous?” I turn my upper body, bracing myself with a hand splayed on the desk. “What if I want you to take me? No asking permission. No consideration to what’s appropriate. Just sex for pleasure—my pleasure. What would you say then?”
“Do not play games with me. I am not a human who gets turned on by t
easing.” Uri’s hoarse, gravelly voice lures me closer.
I rest my palm on his chest, using him to support me instead of my desk. “Not even a little bit?”
“No.” Uri settles a hand on my hip, but he doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t pull me closer either. It’s an attempt to keep me at a respectable distance. I don’t need Uri to tell me that again. He’s already clearly stated his stance, at least verbally.
I glance from where his long fingers span my hip to the tempting bulge in his pants. My chest rises and falls with the lust growing within me. “Then what does teasing do to shifters?”
Uri curls his fingers, bunching my dress slacks and stretching the material over my ass. “It compels me to take you up on your challenge.”
“But what if—”
“No ifs, Lyla.” Uri releases the crumpled handful of my pants but doesn’t drop his hand. He slides it higher, pushing my shirt up until cool air touches the slice of exposed skin above my waistband. “Ifs have no place between us. My position with Shifter Affairs is on the line, and I won’t lose it because of some game you’ve decided to play.”
“No game.” I hold Uri’s gaze. “No harassment charges either. I want to explore this thing between us, as far or as little as it goes.”
“There is no thing between us.” Uri places his hands on the desk’s edge on either side of me and leans closer. His voice lowers. “Unless you’re referring to our working relationship. You’re my mentee. I’m your mentor. That’s the only thing that matters between us. Anything else needs to stop right here and now.”
Taking the biggest risk of my career, I sit on Uri’s lap, my back to his chest. He immediately moves his hands to my waist to lift me, but I hook my feet behind his calves and grip the armrests. “I feel your desire. Can almost taste it on my tongue. Don’t pretend like this isn’t exactly where you want me to be.”
Uri nudges my hair away from my neck with his chin and brushes his open mouth over the pounding vein in my throat. “This is my fault. I’ll ask Ella to reassign you to another mentor, then I’ll make sure our paths don’t cross again.”