Shadow Kissed: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Witch's Rebels Book 1) Page 13
by Sarah Piper
It wasn’t enough.
I wanted—needed—so much more. I grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer, stretching up on my toes to meet him halfway, my body melting against his in a way that left no doubts about my feelings on the matter.
His eyes darkened with desire.
There was nothing sweet and chaste about what came next.
Ronan claimed me with a deep, devastating kiss, the silken heat of his mouth sending waves of pleasure straight to my core. He tasted like coffee and cloves and a warm fire on a crisp, autumn night, and I couldn’t get enough of him, all those pent-up moments and close calls and near misses between us finally crashing together in this intense, perfect explosion.
My lips tingled, and I slid my hands around the back of his neck, teasing and tugging his silky-soft hair. I nipped and sucked at his bottom lip, and a low moan rumbled through his chest, primal and hungry.
It made me instantly, undeniably wet.
I did that. I made that sound come out of him with just a kiss…
Ronan slid a hand inside the back of my shirt, his strong, hot fingers burning a path up my spine. I arched my hips to get closer, desperate for—
The door banged open, followed by a low, throaty laugh that had to belong to the wolf shifter. “Well now. Glad to see my lateness didn’t ruin your day.”
I broke our kiss, my cheeks heating, but Ronan wouldn’t let me go. Not before pinning me with another blazing-hot look, then leaning in to whisper a final promise, breath hot and silky in my ear. “To be continued.”
I was still panting when I finally pulled away from him and turned toward the doorway, smoothing my hair. How had he managed to knot it up so quickly? “Detective Alvarez. Hi. We were just…”
Alvarez held up a hand. “I’m a detective, Miss Desario. Pretty sure I can figure it out.”
“Sorry,” I managed, my lips swollen and hot.
Ronan laughed. “I’m not.”
The detective sighed, making an effort to look annoyed. But just before he turned to shut the door, I caught the lie in his eyes.
Detective Emilio Alvarez wasn’t annoyed at all.
He was turned on.
Twenty-One
Emilio
Gray looked at me like the proverbial kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
Ronan looked at me like he wanted to tear my head off for breaking up their make-out session. It was all I could do not to gloat—I’d been calling this for years. Ronan liked to play dumb when it came to his feelings for Gray, but anyone who knew them could see that particular bit of writing on the wall.
The Precinct Seventeen interrogation room wasn’t the most romantic place in Blackmoon Bay, but I couldn’t blame them for getting cozy. Spend a little time up close and personal with death, and eventually you’ll run hard and fast for the thing that makes you feel the most alive.
“Thanks for coming in,” I said. The scent of their desire hung heavy in the air, making me wish I hadn’t been saddled with the unfortunate combination of wolf senses and the sex life of an eighty-year-old monk.
Ronan folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, making no effort to hide the bulge in his pants.
Jesus, how long had they been at it?
“I’m assuming no one gets called down here for good news.” Ronan said. “What’s going on?”
I tossed my case file on the table and pulled out a chair, gesturing for them to join me. Ronan stayed put, but Gray took the chair across from me, blinking up at me with those huge blue eyes of hers—same trusting, expectant look she’d given me the night she’d finally come back to consciousness in my arms, wrapped up in blankets on Ronan’s couch all those years ago.
She didn’t remember it, though. And until and unless she did, I’d be keeping the warmth of that memory to myself.
“This isn’t easy,” I said, hating that I had to bring her in like this. Thinking about her the other night at the house… It damn near gutted me. She’d been so strong, so brave. But anyone who looked into her eyes for more than half a second could see this was tearing her apart.
“Please,” she said. “Whatever it is… Just tell us.”
Sometimes I really hate this job.
“A witch allegedly went missing last night.” I took a deep breath, blew it out slow. “Delilah Pannette.”
She shot out of her chair. “What? How? What happened?”
“Please sit down, Gray.” It was an effort to keep my voice level, but letting myself get visibly worked up about the case wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Gray.
When she dropped back into her chair, I said, “According to her friends, she left her home at six for a meeting at Norah’s place. Never showed up. No one has seen her since.”
“But I just saw her,” Gray whispered.
“Yes. Witnesses claim the two of you fought yesterday. Can you tell me what that was about?”
“Alvarez, what the hell are you getting at?” Ronan moved to stand behind her, hands clamping protectively over her shoulders.
“This is why you called me in? Norah’s cronies think I killed Delilah?” She studied my face, her own crumpling in confusion. “Do you think I killed her?”
There wasn’t a hell no loud enough to answer that question, but no matter what I personally believed about Ronan’s witch, I still had to do my job by the book.
There was a reason most supernatural crimes investigated by our human counterparts went unsolved, and it wasn’t because the fanged, the furred, and the spelled were better at covering up our tracks. It was because once things reached a certain point on the unexplainable shit scale, humans simply gave up.
So twenty-some years ago, the three supernaturals on the force—the panther shifter chief of police, the fae narcotics officer, and I—had agreed to keep our origins in the closet and team up whenever possible, taking on the supernatural cases before the human cops got involved. Between our arrangement and a decent working relationship with the Fae Council, we were able to handle most supernatural cases without any human involvement at all—something we all strived for.
But witches posed a unique challenge for law enforcement. As humans that could harness and control magic, they had a foot in both worlds, which also meant they had a human paper trail of driver’s licenses, social security numbers, and other records that drew human scrutiny.
If I wanted to keep human involvement to a minimum on these witch killings and have a chance at actually solving the case, I had to tread carefully, following up on every lead, interviewing every witness, and backing up every one of my instincts with cold, hard evidence.
"I think,” I finally said, tapping the table between us, “you're connected to two different crimes with very similar circumstances. I'm not making any assumptions beyond that."
Gray pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and groaned. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“He knows that, Gray.” Ronan glared at me, tightening his grip on her shoulders.
“I do,” I said. “And no one is saying Delilah is dead. She was just reported missing last night. But I still have to cross the Ts and dot the Is.”
Gray nodded, and I softened a bit. Putting her through this was not something I enjoyed. It’s the main reason I’d called Ronan down here, too. They were tight—if anyone could comfort her, it was the demon.
“Can I get you some coffee? Water?” I asked. When she shook her head, I continued. “What were you and Delilah fighting about?"
“Sounds like the witches already told you.”
“I’d like to hear it from you.”
"She was talking shit about me and Sophie. It escalated from there.” She filled me in on the details of their argument. “Norah banned me from the coven. I haven’t talked to any of them since.”
Norah banned her?
My hackles rose at that, but I schooled my features and pressed on. “The other night, you mentioned that Sophie had made plans
to go to Norah’s place. Was she a member of the coven?”
“No. I mean… well… sort of. She'd been spending more time with them recently. She was friends with Haley, I guess.”
“You guess they were friends, or you know?”
“No, they… they were friends. But I don’t know how close.” The tip of her nose reddened as she held back fresh tears, and I kicked myself for not bringing tissues. It was all I could do not to lean forward and wrap her in a hug.
“Sophie and I didn't talk much about the coven,” she continued. “It was kind of a sore point. I didn’t even realize she’d been hanging out over there. I don't think she was a member though. Not officially."
“And you?”
“Not my scene.”
“As far as you know, did any of the coven witches have any problems with Sophie or Delilah? Grudges, arguments, anything like that?”
“Like she said, it wasn’t her scene.” Ronan finally took a seat. “Come on, Alvarez. It’s been two days. You must have a better theory than coven infighting by now.”
He was right—I did.
I hadn’t planned to share the prelims on the labs yet, but Gray was digging in too deep. She’d already questioned the witches on her own, and I’d be a fool to think she wasn’t following up on other leads, putting herself in further danger. I needed her to trust me on this, to back off and let me do the work. And the only way she’d trust me was if I kept her in the loop.
More than that, I wanted to ease her pain. If giving her a few details about the case could help her sleep at night, I was in.
She looked at me now, a spark of hope shining through the sadness in her eyes.
Oh, Gray…
I’d been a cop in this city for decades, and I’d seen a lot of horrific shit. But this was quickly becoming the hardest, most personal, most important case I’d ever worked on, and no matter what the outcome, I sensed that it would bind me to Gray for the rest of our lives.
In some ways, it already had.
And maybe this time she’ll actually remember it…
“What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room.” I flipped open my case file and scanned the report inside. “All three cases are almost identical. No signs of struggle, forced entry, or sexual assault. All three victims were killed at home in their beds. All missing sections of hair approximately two inches in length. And all showing puncture marks and bruising in the crook of both arms typical after blood draws.”
Gray wrinkled her nose. “The killer took blood samples?"
“Seems like it. We also found…” I flipped past the reports to the photos beneath, but seeing those images again made me change my mind. I didn’t need to add to Gray’s nightmares by showing her photos of runes carved into her best friend’s torso. I was already digging through my lore books for a match, and I’d reached out to a demon friend who taught ancient languages at U of Seattle.
I slammed the folder closed, pressing my hand flat against it as if that alone could keep the gruesome truth inside.
“What actually killed my best friend?" Gray’s voice cracked on the last word, but she held her chin high, determined to get answers.
“Officially? Blood poisoning,” I said. “All three cases."
“And unofficially?" Ronan asked. Despite his controlled, pillar-of-strength demeanor, I sensed he was getting antsy—not a good look on the demon.
“All five women were injected with vampire blood,” I said. “I scented it in Sophie’s bedroom, and the tests confirmed it. I’m still working on identifying the particulars, but that seems to be the cause of death.” I looked up at the ceiling, wishing there was an easier way to say this. Wishing I didn’t have to say it at all. “It seems our killer wanted to turn the witches into vampires. None of them survived the change.”
Gray gasped, the sound of it piercing my heart. “But… That makes no sense. Why would a vampire inject blood?”
“I’m trying to work that out.” I rose from the table to pace the small room, diving into the familiar routine of police procedure, the logic and reasoning that so often kept my sensitive heart from imploding. “Scenario A: Our vamp was simply in a hurry. In a successful change, injection would theoretically work faster than ingestion.”
“No way. Doesn’t fit a vamp’s M.O.,” Ronan said.
“Agreed,” I said. Vamps were predators and bloodsuckers. They enjoyed the hunt—or pursuit, in the case of a willing victim—and were rewarded with the sensuous pleasure of the feed. We didn’t have to travel farther than Darius’s club to see that dynamic in action. “Which brings us to scenario B: The killer isn’t a vampire, but for whatever reason wanted to turn witches. Injection would be a good option."
“Assuming he had access to vampire blood,” Gray said. “But then he’d also need to inject the witch blood into the sires, right? To finish the blood swap?”
I nodded.
“If the killer had access to the sires,” she went on, “they wouldn't need to do an injection. No vampire would sit there passively when he could be feeding.”
“The killer could’ve injected the vampires off-site,” Ronan said.
“True,” I said, “but then he’d only have about fifteen minutes to do it before the effects faded. And what vampire would agree to this, anyway?”
“Hostage?” Gray offered. She seemed to be puzzling something out in her head, then said, “Maybe I should talk to Darius.”
“Gray. I need you to let me conduct this investigation on my own terms, my own timeline. I will speak with him when the time is right.”
“But he…” Her eyes widened suddenly, her skin turning ashy. “Hollis and that other vampire… What if they tried to track me to my house? It was my fault Darius booted them. What if they wanted to get back at me and… Oh my God. Sophie—”
“No,” I said firmly. “Time of death for the first two victims rules them out. They were at Black Ruby—your earlier statement corroborates that.”
She nodded, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. Pulling out her phone, she said, “I still think I should talk to Darius. I can ask him to meet me as soon as the sun goes down.”
Ronan and I exchanged a loaded glance. When had she and Darius become cell phone buddies? As far as I knew, the vampire didn’t even know how to use his phone—a source of frustration for the rest of us for years.
“Gray, listen to me,” I said. “This case is getting more complicated by the hour, and solving it is going to take a lot more digging, and a lot more time. I can’t do my job with you conducting your own vigilante investigation in the background.”
“But I can help.”
“I know.” I gave her a small smile. “You’re highly motivated, incredibly smart, and great at thinking on your feet. But you’re not a detective, Gray.”
Gray bristled, her defenses going up, closing her off. “Sophie was my best friend. I knew her better than anyone. I want to help.”
“Help by staying out the way.”
She flinched like I’d wounded her, and I took my seat again and reached for her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I can’t put you and the other witches in this city at risk by drawing too much attention to the supernatural aspects of this case. I have to color in the lines on this one.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry. I can’t cross that line.”
She pulled out of my grasp, shoving her hands in jacket pockets, glaring at me with fire in her eyes. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.” I looked to Ronan, imploring him to step in.
He shook his head, clearly frustrated with me, but I suspected he understood where I was coming from.
After a beat, he blew out a breath. Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, he said, “Alvarez is right, Gray. Your priority right now is keeping yourself safe and out of harms way.”
Gray huffed. “Sounds an awful lot like sitting back and doing nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” I said, and Ronan nodded. �
�Your safety—your getting out of this alive and unscathed—is the absolute most important thing.”
“If you say so, Detective Alvarez.”
“I say so. And since you’re here, I’m going to need one more thing from you.” I took a chance and reached for her hand again, and this time she rewarded me with a genuine smile, the tension slowly leaking from her shoulders. “Call me Emilio.”
Twenty-Two
Gray
Ronan was infuriatingly silent on the walk home.
Me? I was crawling out of my skin, my body pulling me in a dozen different directions. My brain wanted to rehash our conversation with Emilio. My fingers itched to call Darius, to see if he had any insight about the vampire blood.
But the rest of me? The rest of my body belonged to the surly demon walking by my side.
My mouth was stuck on that kiss, replaying the soft feel of his lips, the hot slide of his tongue, the clove-and-coffee taste of him that lingered deliciously, even now.
My skin still burned where he’d touched me, my face and my back and my stomach, every nerve ending longing for the exquisite pleasure of his caress.
And every time my heart beat, I heard the echo of his whispered promise.
To be continued…
To be continued…
To be continued…
“You gonna be okay for a bit here? I have to work a double tonight,” he said suddenly, and I looked up, shocked to find that we were already standing on my front porch. My feet were aching and tired, but I barely remembered the walk home.
“I’m good.” I dug the keys out of my pocket and opened the door, stepping inside. A stack of mail sat untouched on the small table just inside, and I rifled through it, focusing on the junk catalogs and bills rather than those beautiful hazel eyes. It hurt too much to look at them now, reminding me only of the way he’d looked at me at the station. The way he’d kissed me. The whispered promise, yet to be fulfilled. “I have to work tonight, too. I’ll stop by the docks and check in before I pick up the deliveries.”