Broken Pieces

by Deja Black

  Kaden’s expensive microbrew, Remi’s hard lemonade, and some chips would be their contribution to game night with the other guys from the department.

  It was a rough transition when he arrived here more than five years ago. The department was a close-knit group. Most of the guys and a few women grew up together, and no one wanted to partner up with the outsider from Louisiana. And, it hadn’t helped that the lieutenant knew Remi’s family, either. Mistrust and rumors of favoritism for the new guy—not a welcome combination.

  Then, Kaden came back from vacation, and instead of being an asshole as some of the guys were, he bonded instantly with Remi. He’d invited Remi over for dinner and gave him a complete tour of Louisville—from the South End of Louisville all the way to Butchertown.

  Remi would still be mired in the morass that was the city if not for the guy standing next to him with questions, his hazel eyes clouded with confusion.

  “Why?” Kaden asked as they walked back to Remi’s truck.

  Throwing the bags in the back, Remi replied, “Well, I’m not done yet. He’s going to hate that even more.” He laughed as Kaden shook his head. “Did you get it?”

  “Yeah, hang on a minute while I forward the pic.”

  Remi climbed in. He waited until Kaden buckled up. He heard his phone ding with the incoming message. Removing it from his pocket, Remi swiftly brought up the photo displaying Caleb’s license plate. It would make it much easier to find that ride of his.

  “Thanks, man.” Smiling, he swiped the phone and put it away again.

  “Of course, Remi. What would you do without me?” Kaden relaxed into the passenger seat.

  “Would never even consider it, Cher. Amis pour la vie.” Remi smiled. Yes, they’d be friends for life, and probably longer than that. He cranked up the truck and pulled slowly out of the parking lot and into traffic.

  “I still don’t speak French, okay?”

  “Keep telling you to learn, ti gason... little boy.” Smiling, he eased his shades over his eyes and headed toward home.

  Chapter Two

  “So, what did you find out,” Kaden asked after Lyndon and Marshall left.

  Remi found out how much the men could eat. The detectives nearly devoured everything in his house. Kaden picked up a bottle someone let roll underneath one of Remi’s teak wood end tables. Remi would just be grateful the bottle and its potentially hazardous contents hadn’t dropped onto his table instead. His mom had both pieces custom made for him, more than happy to help her only son decorate his new home.

  The room itself was done in rich hues of burgundy and brown. The couch was plush and roomy, a wine-colored sectional with an accompanying canary yellow chaise. There were a couple of generous, comfortable chairs, more than enough space to seat guests.

  The paintings he’d picked up, here and there, weren’t ones Audrey Devereaux kept on her checklist of dos and don’ts for the perfect space, but he liked them. Jimi Hendrix abstracts, a few Miles Davis pictures with his trumpet, photos of his sister, Deborah, and her kiddos along with her husband, Cas. There were even some blown-up images of his home in Louisiana along with pictures he’d taken himself of the Mississippi Delta.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remi, I saw when you disappeared out back. Come on man. Out with it.” After halftime, when it was a given Duke would be win again this year, Remi went outside in the chilled night air to place a few calls.

  “Not much to learn,” he informed Kaden, thoughtfully, as his partner tied off the trash bag and tossed it beside the back door. He’d made a call to Vanessa, a friend who didn’t mind digging for him. He and Kaden counted on her often when working a case. “The plates belonged to Caleb Waneek with a connection to a Jeremiah Tolliver which drew a blank. From what Vanessa learned there is very little if anything at all, property or otherwise, with the name Peter Romanoff attached to it.”

  “Jeremiah Tolliver? Are you sure that’s what Vanessa said?” Kaden questioned. That look in his eyes was familiar, rust-colored brows creased while he thought. “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “No, after that she asked me if I was doing anything this weekend. Told her I was busy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.” Kaden laughed. “Look, let me make a call or two. I may have something for you.” Kaden picked up his own phone and dialed away.

  “Mike. Look, I’ve got a question.” As Kaden strode off, Remi walked to the back of his home into the kitchen. Pressing a button, he slid the wooden panel aside to reveal the dishwasher. After he tossed a few items in, he poured in some dish detergent and started the machine.

  What he wanted to do was stand next to Kaden and listen to anything Mike gave him that would get him a step closer to Peter.

  Kaden’s footfalls reached him before his triumphant smile did.

  “Okay, Caleb’s definitely tied in with Jeremiah Tolliver.” Didn’t mean much to Remi, but it apparently meant something to Kaden whose face was bright and eager, his cheeks flush. “Caleb Waneek is a part of the Tolliver Clan.”

  Kaden moved to lean with his back against the counter. “Big family, huge property. They’ve lived in Louisville for centuries, some type of tie with the Iroquois Native American tribe way back. The name Waneek is Native American.”

  Kaden was a history buff so anything along the lines of an ancient past would get him going. The best thing to do while he traced the origin of the Waneek name and the tribe was to wait. Remi tuned back in when Peter’s name came up. “So, anyway, Peter is related to Jeremiah Tolliver’s right-hand, Kristoff Dumanovsky.”

  “Right hand? Like the mafia?” Remi asked. He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out another hard lemonade.

  “While they may not be the mafia, they are well connected. They have investments throughout the city, the world. And, Kristoff? Dangerous. From what Mike told me, he’s well known in Russia, here in the US, and most of the globe. Military ties. Black Ops stuff.”

  “Where do they live?

  “Huge compound by invitation only, self-sufficient, and highly secured.” Well, that was something, too. Wouldn’t be easy to get that invite.

  “Has to be a way,” Remi wondered out loud.

  “Look, I don’t know why this guy has you spinning in circles like this. Sure, he’s hot.” At Remi’s raised brow, Kaden proclaimed, “What? I can admit that. I’m not blind, but it seems to me if you want to get to Peter, we’ll need to track his man Caleb. We have his car which led to a few other vehicles along with a bike and a boat. Find Caleb, find Peter.”

  Remi nodded. It made sense.

  After Kaden left, Remi enjoyed the moment of quiet, some time to be alone with his thoughts which centered on the mysterious Peter Romanoff.

  Too hard to sleep—literally—Remi went to his computer to do some research. It was funny. He found a few pictures of Jeremiah Tolliver and Kristoff Dumanovsky. The guy was intimidating for sure, and that was just a picture. As for Jeremiah Tolliver, where Kristoff Dumanovsky was ice, Jeremiah was fire.

  Even from the image, Remi felt a sort of energy there, otherworldliness, and he came from a long line of otherworldly. His mémère was queen mother for years before she died. His grandmother had been the leader of a faith that was shunned by those who considered themselves beyond the folk practices of West Africa.

  But, as a boy, Remi witnessed her performing actions that couldn’t be explained. They’d known creatures, other beings who simply were.

  And right now, what he saw in these photos bore checking out.

  There was more to life than what appeared on the surface, an awareness that crawled along his flesh. It hovered there earlier when Peter focused on him, a feeling that flowed over his soul like the gentle rush of ocean waves. And, it was there right now as he looked at the photo of Jeremiah Tolliver and back to the profile of Kristoff Dumanovsky.

  As for Caleb, there were more than enough pictures of him. He was apparently very popular with t
he ladies. In each photo taken, he was always with some model-worthy beauty, but somehow, never with Peter. There was nothing, not one image of Peter Romanoff anywhere. What man these days didn’t own a Facebook page, a Twitter, something?

  “Who are you, Peter Romanoff,” he whispered to a glowing screen.

  * * * *

  Days later, Peter watched the blue light slither along his arm, flutter around his wrists, and whisper away. It wasn’t the first time it happened, but it was the first time he’d shown someone else. He held both hands up for Caleb’s inspection.

  “What is it,” his Second questioned as he reached out to take Peter’s hands turning them this way and that, examining his skin. “Does it hurt? How does it feel when it happens?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called you,” Peter sighed. “And, to answer your question, it doesn’t hurt. It’s been happening on and off since a few days ago.”

  “When you met the human,” Caleb said, confirming what Peter himself suspected. Somehow an innocent meeting with a stranger resulted in Peter’s unexplained changes.

  And, that wasn’t all of it. Peter awoke Sunday after he’d met Remi unsettled, his body stretching and flexing, his skin itchy, a bothersome nuisance that made him ache with the need to get rid of the sensation, but there was no relief.

  He was never quite alone in his head, the voices within whispering their needs, shadows in his psyche for as long as he had known himself. Now, they were becoming even more restless, more agitated.

  Now, it was Wednesday night, and he stood outside in the forests of the Tolliver compound, his arms outspread as light traversed his body, skating up and down his torso, spiraling around his thighs, and rushing into the earth beneath him.

  There was a chill in the air, but that was all. The trees were still and the area they were in, absent of sound.

  He and Caleb stood close, his Second’s arms wrapped around him from behind when Peter heard Caleb gasp. Looking down, Peter saw the earth rising up, dirt and plants falling away as it pushed against Caleb’s feet.

  Suddenly there was a greater shift, and Caleb was lifted up and thrown off balance.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Peter worried when the itch transitioned into tiny veins of light dancing along his nerve endings, he’d sent a text to Caleb. His Second suggested the forest, and they’d both come out to the open meadow surrounded by trees. There was enough space for privacy, and they would need it to explore what was happening to Peter.

  “It’s growing. The first night all I felt was an itch.” They watched the grass wave back and forth, the light surging once again. Then, it was gone. “Then the light and the restless sensations that accompanied it increased.”

  “Growing?” Caleb looked around for traces of the illumination. “There’s nothing there now.”

  “No, but it will be back.” They stood there.

  Once more—then a few more times—it happened. The light would travel along his skin, sink into the earth, and the ground would bend and twist accepting it.

  Peter was beginning to suspect the light was searching for something. “I wanted to see what would happen if you were here.”

  “Using me as a lightning rod, Peter? We don’t even know what this is.” Caleb gestured to Peter then to the ground, shaken as the ground rippled next to his feet once more.

  “No, but we have to find out.” Peter gasped as his skin shifted painfully, stretching then snapping back like a rubber band, the creatures beneath pressing against him, the fire along his skeletal frame blazing over him.

  It was like his body was a prison trying to keep something in. He’d contained them for so long that their utterances became nothing to him. Gifted at compartmentalizing, he’d shoved them into a box and slammed it shut.

  Well, now the fucking box was opening.

  This time when the light made its circuit, he stretched out his hands using his mind to gather the tiny wisps within his fingers.

  “Touch me, Caleb,” he commanded.

  Caleb looked at Peter and then the light, his face all but glowing in the illumination. But, he reached out.

  The sound was incredible, a sonic boom that exploded the moment their hands made contact. Caleb’s eyes widened, the blue completely filling them as his body was thrown back, his back hitting the ground with enough force to kill an average person—but fortunately not a wolf.

  There was an eerie quiet, then Peter heard words resonating in his head, again and again, the sounds pulsing with the rhythm of a drum that beat louder and louder.

  Find. Our. Mate.

  Chapter Three

  Remi was dreaming, and he didn’t want to wake up. Dying like this was the way to go. The wetness of his imaginary Peter’s mouth as he drew Remi’s swollen dick in, his lips soft and deliciously wet was creating the most awesome suction he ever experienced. It all felt so real, and the pleasure was killing him.

  When he did step back into reality, he knew he would be covered in cum. But, right now, his dream Peter wrapped his lips around him, pumped his dick like his life depended on it. His hair fell over Remi’s body teasing his skin as he moved up and down his hand massaging the flesh, stroking Remi’s dick. Remi roared out loud, his climax overriding his system, leaving him trembling, his toes curled and his hands clutching the sheets.

  Remi tried to stay asleep, to reach out and press a finger to those wet lips, but he couldn’t hold on.

  “Fuck. Just fuck,” Remi grumbled when his eyes opened to the light streaming into his bedroom. His breath was ragged, harsh like he’d just completed a marathon.

  Pings of energy shot along his nerve endings, his dick twitching as it sputtered out the last remnants of seed. Rubbing his eyes, he moaned as his pushed his legs over the side, his feet flat on the floor.

  “Coffee.”

  The streets were crowded since Mother Nature decided today would be a magnificent day to dump a foot of snow on the ground. In two days, it would be in the 60s, but today? Today it was in the lower 20s, and drivers were slipping and sliding across the roadways, daring others to take it slow and careful. The snows were heavy this winter, and it seemed like the icy bitch was not going to let go without a fight.

  “What did you think I was going to do when you told me where they were?” Remi asked Kaden as he pulled into a narrow space in the Highlands outside of a locally owned camera shop. It was so simple, he wished he’d thought of it himself. Red light cameras, and here they were.

  Kaden sighed. “I don’t know, Remi. I didn’t think we were going to come here and deliver some drink for him.” He slunk down lower in the seat of Remi’s truck, his legs stretched out before him. The leather bomber jacket he wore paired nicely with the white sweater underneath like some ace flyer from the past.

  “It’s not just a drink. It’s a creamy milk, rich espresso, and dense foam, mingled with vanilla,” Remi rattled off as he exited the vehicle. “Let’s not forget the delicate dusting of cinnamon over that foam.”

  Holding the coffee carefully, he strode purposefully toward the store’s entrance.

  “And what are you going to say to him? Hey, I’m here to bring you a coffee, and oh, by the way, I’m in law enforcement and used my authority to hunt you down?” Kaden shouted this from the car turning a few heads.

  “No, gonna’ say good morning, amour.” Remi laughed as he moved to open the door.

  “French. You think that will get him, huh?”

  “No, that will just whet the appetite. I’m the main course.”

  “Yeah? Well, hurry up. We have work to do.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who got me the info.” A couple of kids walked by holding skateboards unfazed by the two men yelling back and forth. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck.”

  * * * *

  Peter sorted the images into folders one at a time. He’d scanned most of Mr. Mar
tino’s photos. Now, he just needed to add them to the folders they’d agreed on, so they were backed up.

  Mr. Martino was a family friend, and for years Peter had tried to ease him into the 21st century.

  Peter was painstakingly building Mr. Martino’s library so others would know him as the artist he was and remember his work—including Mr. Martino. Sadly, the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s were already working on deteriorating his mind.

  With his library saved, Mr. Martino would be able to become reacquainted with himself and his work, be able to see his art, and even watch himself as he developed his pieces. They’d made those plans when he was first diagnosed. As the illness was becoming even more noticeable, Peter wanted a significant number of photos stored safely.

  “Humans and their needs to collect things,” Caleb rumbled while peering over Peter’s shoulder.

  A hum rose in Peter’s brain just before nearly invisible arcs of light twisted in the air above him. They’d learned something from their experimentation the other day. Distance.

  Caleb could stand near him, could even lean close. But, a single touch would set off a chain reaction that would leave him gasping for breath.

  And, the entire time Caleb shook and trembled, something within Peter watched and waited, snarling a warning that Peter alone heard.

  Peter sighed as the hum increased. They were feeling this out on their own with no one to ask, no one who could tell them the best way to handle this. The different species of supernatural beings rarely crossed the divides that separated them for eons, and Peter’s hybrid existence of both wolf and nelapsi was rare.

  Peter and Caleb agreed that, at best, keeping a distance between them was necessary.

  “Humans are not alone in their need to hold onto traditions and archaic beliefs, Caleb,” Peter admonished as he opened a rather thick file labeled, Scary Babies. Mr. Martino had a twisted sense of humor.

  He looked down to see a single light threading through his fingers when Caleb’s breath neared his ear. “Step back.”