by Clara Cody
She let go, her hand falling to the hem of her jacket, tugging on the ends. “I’m fine,” she said through a clenched jaw.
“No, you’re not. You need to cool down. I know you want to get on this case as soon as possible, but walking into a victim’s house, guns blazing isn’t exactly a good idea. And I think you know that.”
Her eyes dropped to the ground. Okay, so maybe he isn’t totally wrong. “Fine.”
They walked into the small, low-ceilinged office and up to the desk. The man behind the counter, balding with thick plastic glasses, handed them two sets of room keys. “Second floor. Ice’s over there if you want it.” He pointed to an old, wheezing machine in the corner.
Dane helped Sarah pull her luggage from the back of the rental car. “Jesus,” he groaned. “This is heavy even for me. How many shoes and tight-fitting skirts do you need?”
She raised her eyebrow and looked down at herself. “You think my skirts are tight-fitting?”
“Lady, I’ve seen naughty nurse costumes that are roomier.”
She rolled her eyes, but he caught a smile on her lips just before she turned her head. Damn, she did wear those things well, though. He watched her legs as they walked up the stairs to the second floor. The high heels, the black seam running up the back of her stocking, the skirt, the auburn hair pulled into a bun. She was the sexy librarian from every man’s fantasy.
She wasn’t exactly his usual type. He usually dated women with big, over-processed hair, and questionable morals. Sarah couldn’t be more different with her tight bun and strict work ethic. She was the antithesis of his type. But there was something about her. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was drawn to her.
“This is me,” she said, arriving at the top of the steps. Number 24. “That means you’re there.” She pointed to the room on the left, 25. She opened the door, and he followed her in, heaving her luggage on to the squeaky bed.
“It’s not too bad,” he said, looking about the room. The Agency was so cheap, he’d been expecting a no-tell motel. Everything in the room from the bedspread to the TV was outdated by at least fifteen years, but it seemed clean. A door stood on the wall that their two rooms shared. “And look, we’re connected.”
“It’ll do.” She went to her luggage and unzipped it. She pulled out a bundle of what looked like dried leaves and lit it on fire before blowing it out again. Smoke drifted from the charred leaves, whirling in the air.
The smell reached his nose. “What the hell is that?”
“Sage,” she answered, simply as though that were all the answer she needed. She started at the corner by the door, waving the bundle in the air.
“And what are you doing?”
“Smudging. It cleanses the room in case there are any spirits or bad vibes.”
“Smudging,” he muttered to himself. “So all the spirits and bad juju will just flee into my room instead.”
“I can do it to your room next if you want.”
“Ha, right.” He hooked his thumb underneath the strap of his bag on his shoulder and started towards the door. “I’d rather sleep with the spirits than that smell.”
“Suit yourself.”
He left her to her sooting or smutting, or whatever it was called, and went to check out his own room and get settled. The room was the same, and settling in was significantly easier for him since he’d only packed a handful of items. Clothes and basic toiletries. She’d been right about the condoms, though. He smiled. He didn’t go anywhere without them. As a shifter, STD’s were a non-issue, but the last thing he needed was a mini-Dane. He couldn’t even be trusted to look after a cactus, let alone another human.
He looked at the door joining their two rooms and felt a stirring in his lower gut. He was antsy. He could feel his wolf pacing within, scratching, yearning to get out. Dane didn’t know if it was the long flight and being cooped up in an airplane, then car, or if it had something to do with being around Sarah, but his blood was up. Way up.
He tore a condom off and put it in his wallet. Just in case. He stuffed the rest back in the bag and tossed it on the floor. With nothing else to do and no more settling in required, he returned to Sarah’s room. He knocked and entered, finding her halfway around the room, her arm still in the air, waving that shit around. The whole room was cloudy and smelled strongly of sage.
“Almost done.”
“Uh huh.” He opened the window. She’d taken off her crisp white blouse, which was now spread out on the bed, looking like some invisible person was waiting to materialize from within it. She wore her tight black skirt and a white, lacy undershirt with thin straps. The kind that just snap right off. He bit his lip, watching her. Fuck, she was sexy as hell and didn’t even know it. Like the way she’d asked if he thought her skirt was tight. That feeling stirred again, but lower now, in his groin.
“Hand me that dish,” she said, pointing to the wooden bowl on the nightstand. He picked it up, feeling how light-weight it was. The center of the bowl was black and charred.
Dane handed the dish over before flopping down on the bed next to her open suitcase. It was packed full of neatly organized books, small vials and other assorted witchcrafty things. He’d assumed that she’d packed like other women. Clothes, three different hair-styling appliances, make-up. But her three-ton bag was full of books and work. “You can’t possibly need all this stuff on this case,” he said, doubtfully.
“I don’t know what I’m going to need. I’d rather pay for an extra bag on a flight than be unprepared.”
He pulled out a small, red leather book. “Love potions?” He chuckled. “If you want to get in my pants, all you have to do is ask, Sweetheart.”
She scoffed, snatching the book from his hands. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He fought back a grin. He liked the little glimmer in her eye she got when annoyed. He took out a vial. “Bergamot? Like tea?”
“Yes, Dane. I have a vial of bergamot tea in my bag. You know, for later if I feel thirsty.” She snuffed out the bundle of sage just as he went for another bottle that looked interesting. She tossed the sage back into the bag, slapping his hand away. The touch, though neither gentle nor painful, sent a wave of electricity up his skin. He stopped, catching her eye, and he knew she felt it too.
“Just…stop touching my things.” Her voice was weak, her eyes looking anywhere else but at him.
Now it was more than just a simple stirring. His blood boiled, his wolf was snapping, biting. He turned his body to face hers, resisting the overwhelming urge to throw her down on the bed. “So, I can’t touch this?” he said, slipping a finger underneath the thin strap of her shirt. Her breath hitched. Her skin was so soft underneath his finger. So warm and pale. Without waiting for a reply or permission, he slipped the strap off her shoulder. He noticed her breath quicken as he placed his hand on her bare neck. “Shouldn’t touch here, either?” His hand moved to cup the side of her face.
“Umm…” she muttered, helplessly. “No.” She leaned into him, her body defying what her lips spoke.
He pulled her in, pressing his body against hers as he touched her lips with his. Her mouth opened under his, just slightly. He took it, kissing her harder, forcing her lips apart.
His cock grew thick and hard, pushing against his jeans. Oh, god, he thought, imagining how amazing it would feel to bury his member between her legs.
He felt her body sink into his, and a gentle moan escaped her lips.
The small sound was, apparently, enough to pull her out of the stupor she was in. “Stop,” she said, pulling away.
No, his wolf begged. More! Every fiber of his being ached with the need to touch her. He practically shook. “What?”
She turned, replacing the strap of her shirt on her shoulder. “That’s not—” She took a breath, smoothing out her already perfect hair. “We’re here on a mission. We can’t get distracted by…” He noticed her eyes trailing down his body and stopping at the massive bulge between his legs. �
�Things.”
“And what if those things are exactly what we need?”
“Maybe you do, I’m just fine,” she said, turning away, her cheeks red.
He exhaled, sharply, feeling more than a little disappointed.
She, on the other hand, took a deep breath and slipped her blouse over her shoulders. “We should get going,” she said, turning her back to him as she buttoned up her shirt. “We really should talk to the families as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, that isn’t going to be possible,” he answered, walking towards the door.
“What? Why not?”
“Because now I’m the one that needs to cool down.”
Dane sat across from Sarah in the diner booth trying not to look at her. His cock still throbbed and every inch of her face was a painful reminder that he was not buried inside her.
“Here you are,” chirped the waitress, laying a plate of food in front of him. A thick, juicy hamburger, a pile of fries, and a side of jalepeño poppers. She grinned down at him. “Anything else, sugar?”
“No. Thanks, Candice.”
She giggled for no apparent reason. “No problem.” She slid Sarah’s salad towards her. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Oh, we will,” Sarah answered, sarcastically. “Thank you so much.” When the waitress was gone, she dribbled a bit of dressing over the salad.
Dane would never understand why someone would choose to willingly eat like a rabbit but to each their own. He lifted his hamburger, using two hands and bit into it. His eyes rolled back. There was nothing better than a mouthful of rare beef. Well, there was sex. That was better, but Sarah had shot that down, so a burger would have to do.
“You’re going to die young eating like that.” She glared at his plate of food as she stabbed angrily at her lettuce.
“And you’re going to die bored eating like that.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Maybe that’s why you’re so tightly wound. You might feel better if you had the occasional pizza or piece of cake.”
“I’m not tightly wound! My winding is perfectly fine, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, obviously. That’s why you almost torpedoed the cop shop back there.”
“What was I supposed to do? Bat my eyes and flirt the problem away?”
Dane shrugged, plucking a few fries off his plate. “Don’t let them get to you.” He stuffed the fries in his mouth, noticing Sarah’s envious look.
She shook her head, returning to her salad. “Easy for you to say.”
“You think people don’t crack jokes about shifters? Doesn’t mean I fly off the handle and verbally bitch slap everyone that crosses me.”
“No, I suppose that would require more than a fourth-grade level vocabulary.”
He scoffed. “Just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need help from you, okay? I’m doing just fine on my own, so don’t worry about me.”
“Oh yeah, you’re doing great. You and your salad, and your tight as hell bun. Seriously, how do you not have a splitting headache? And don’t forget your suitcases full of shit you probably never use. No, you’re right, you’re not tightly wound at all.”
“I came prepared. What did you bring?” The last part was more challenge than a question.
He thought of his half empty closet in his hotel room. No, there wasn’t much there. “You know what I need.” He held his hands up. She shrugged. “That’s it. I just need me.” He leaned towards her, over his plate of food. “I don’t need a dozen different books to tell me what to do. I have instinct for that. I don’t need potions and spells to protect me because I protect me. I’m a shifter. Our power doesn’t come from incantations or the air or whatever. It’s in us. I didn’t get through the academy and eight years on this job with my nose in a book. I did it with my fists in the air.”
“Ugh, you shifters are all so egotistical. You’re just like those assholes at the station. You think you’re better than everyone just because you can shift. Well, sorry to break it to you, but there’s more to this job than just brute strength. You have to work, too. You need a brain.”
“Not all of us needed to keep our noses to the grindstone just to get ahead.”
“Yeah, I guess that explains why you’ve gone so far, First-level Special Agent Landon.”
“Ouch, kitty’s got a set of claws.”
She shoved her plate away. “Fuck this. I’d rather wait in the car than sit here with you.”
“Good. Maybe I can actually be allowed to enjoy something for five minutes.” She stormed off, leaving him at the table by himself. It’s not this food that’s going to kill me, it’s her!
Chapter 5
Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it! Sarah tried her damnedest not to even look in Dane’s direction on the way over to the first victim’s house. It was more difficult than she wanted to admit to herself. It was just a kiss! she cursed herself for the millionth time. It wasn’t like she’d never been kissed before. Just never…like that. It was so rough, so raw and unbridled.
She squeezed her knees together, biting her lip. As infuriating as he was, she had to admit he was insanely sexy. God, and he was right next to her, his forearm flexed as his fingers gripped the wheel. Part of her wondered what it would be like to tell him to pull over and jump him. She just needed to get it out of her system. Maybe if she was anyone else, she could. But not Sarah Hazelwood. She forced those thoughts away as they pulled into a short driveway in front of a one story ranch house. A cold shower would do the trick, she promised herself.
Dane got out without a word. She sighed following after him. Okay, so maybe she’d been a bit harsh in the restaurant. She wasn’t normally such a bitch, he just seemed to bring something out in her. Or maybe it was this whole damned town.
“Look,” he said, raising his fist to rap on the door. “I know you like to be in charge, but just let me take the lead in there.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Just…trust me.”
“Yeah, about as far as I can throw you.” She sniffed, thinking of the way his mouth had pressed into hers, forcing her lips apart. She wasn’t going to lie back and let him take over her investigation just because he was a good kisser. Okay, maybe an amazing kisser. Her knees were still knocking together. That didn’t change anything, though. She still had a job to do.
Footsteps approached and the door swung open before he could get a response out. A man answered. He was older, about forty with light brown hair, streaks of gray at the sides. “Yeah?” he said, wiping his hands on a grease-stained cloth. He looked like a man that was accustomed to being in control. Blue-collar but disciplined. A man that, despite his age probably exercised regularly and led a clean life.
“We’re from the Arcane Affairs Agency,” Dane said, flipping his badge at the man. “I’m Agent Landon, this is Agent Hazelwood. Are you Andrew Turner?”
“That’s me. Come on in.” He stepped aside, letting them through. He led them into the living room, where they took seats on either end of the couch. Andrew sat in a stuffed reclining chair closer to Dane.
Great, she thought, now he would naturally take the lead.
“I’m not really sure what more I can tell you guys that I haven’t already told Lance.”
“That’s okay,” Sarah said. “We just want to hear it from you instead of from a report. Makes our job easier.”
Dane gave her a look she wasn’t sure how to interpret. She sent him a glare back, just in case. If he thought that letting him take the lead meant that she’d be his secretary, he had another thing coming.
“I appreciate that,” Andrew said, rubbing his hands together. “Well, as you probably already heard, I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t seem to shift anymore. It’s just gone.” He snapped. “Like that.”
“When did you first notice it?” Dane asked.
“Umm, last week. Monday morning. I usually go out for a run in the wood
s outside Hill Haven. It’s a designated reserve, so we shifters can use it without worrying about being spotted by the humans in town. For now, at least.”
For now? “Can you elaborate—”
Dane cut her off. “Do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against you?”
Sarah huffed at being interrupted.
“Not that I can think of. I don’t know, I mean, I’m not like an important, powerful guy or anything. I don’t go around making enemies of people. I’m just a normal man.”
“Do you have any idea who might have done something? Or what it could be?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of some explanation.” He chuckled. “Hell, I even made a list of everything I’d eaten the day before, just in case. How stupid is that? Like bad fish could do something like this.”
“It’s not stupid,” Sarah said. “Actually a lot of things could be put into your food. Potions, powders, poisons. You never know.”
“A potion? What kind of potion?”
Dane cleared his throat. “Agent Hazelwood—” He turned towards her, giving her a shut-up look.
The hell I will! She ignored him turning to Andrew. “There’s no potion that I can think of that might do this, but don’t worry, sir. I’m on it.”
He sat back. “You know a lot about potions, do you?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Turner.”
“Agent Hazelwood,” Dane urged through gritted teeth.
Again, she ignored him. “I’m the expert on spells in my department. I can assure you, you’re in good hands.”
Andrew Turner’s eyes narrowed. “So, you’re a witch, then?”
She blinked. “Well, yes. But I’m first and foremost an Arcane Affairs agent.”
He looked away, shaking his head. “Well, I can’t say that I like it, but I guess it makes sense. After all, a rat will sniff out another rat before a tiger.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” she said, feeling less sorry for him by the second.
Dane sighed, returning to his line of questioning. “Have you noticed any new people around town? Anything strange going on?”