The Twiceborn Queen (The Proving Book 2)

by Finlayson, Marina

  In a second we were roaring down the street. The smokers had found their wits and hurried inside. Hopefully no one had held it together well enough to note the licence plate of our car.

  I glanced down the alley as we passed, but there was no sign of our mysterious benefactor. She was a damn good shot, whoever she was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Who the hell was that?” Garth eyed me in the rear-vision mirror.

  “I wish I knew. I can number my supporters on two hands—hell, most of them are in this car—and I have no idea why anyone else would be running around taking out my enemies.”

  “It looked like Luce.” Eric’s voice held a cautious hope. He cradled Jerry against his shoulder, heedless of the blood smeared across his jacket and the white shirt beneath. He didn’t look so debonair any more.

  It had looked like Luce in the brief glimpse I’d caught—small, dark-haired, Asian appearance. But she’d had a Japanese look to her, and Luce was Chinese. Besides which …

  “We’re lucky it wasn’t. Luce would have been taking shots at us, not our enemies. She’s Alicia’s now, body and soul.”

  And therefore bound to do whatever she could to further Alicia’s cause. Defending my people didn’t come under that heading at all.

  Eric shrugged. “I was just hoping she’d found some way around the binding.”

  “There is no way.” Though if anyone could find it, it would be Luce. The word “determined” could have been invented for her. “Luce won’t be free till Alicia dies.”

  “Let’s hurry up and kill the bitch, then,” said Garth, ever the pragmatist.

  Amen to that, brother. It would certainly help to have Luce back in our camp. Alicia’s death couldn’t come soon enough for me. The problem would be staying alive long enough to bring it about, with the bounty hunters out in full force.

  “Who were those guys?” Eric asked. “And who killed Davison?”

  I looked down at Jerry’s still face. At least they’d paid for her death, but who’d sent them? It could have been any one of dozens of players. Not Carl Davison, apparently. Was he just collateral damage, or was there more to it?

  I sighed. “They could have been bounty hunters. Or maybe someone got wind that Carl was talking to me and decided to shut him up.”

  Eric raised one eyebrow. The effect was quite saturnine, with his dark hair and beard. “Makes you wonder what he was going to tell you.”

  “Sure does. And why they didn’t want me to know.”

  I guess it was even possible that Davison’s death and the attack on us were unrelated. It would be a huge coincidence, but stranger things had happened. Hell, stranger things seemed to be happening to me on a daily bloody basis. The fact was, I had too damn many enemies. No matter how fast I ran, one of these days someone would catch me. Somehow I had to take control. Act instead of react.

  “We’ve got to do something,” I said. “We can’t go on like this.”

  Everyone fell silent. The mood in the car was dark. How could it not be, with Jerry’s body cooling on our laps? I hadn’t even gotten to know her, and now she was dead, just for trying to help me. I couldn’t bear to look at her swollen, distorted features; I stared out the window instead. City streets slid by, a whole world of people living normal lives, going to work, coming home. Lucky bastards.

  The sooner the bloodbath of the proving was decided, the sooner life could go back to normal for all of us.

  “Anyone know where Jerry’s family lives?” I asked. “Mac?”

  Her poor parents would be devastated. No one knew better than me what losing a child felt like.

  Mac sniffed. When she spoke her voice was still choked with tears. “I don’t think she has any. She came up from Melbourne last year. I never heard her talk about anyone back home.”

  “We’d better take her to Trevor, then. He’ll know.”

  “After we get you home,” Garth said. “Every minute you spend outside you’re a target.”

  Besides, Garth wouldn’t be welcome at Trevor’s house. In the end we agreed that Garth, Alex and I would return to The Rocks, then Eric and Mac would continue on to Trevor’s with Jerry’s body.

  “Mac, you don’t have to come back with Eric. I’d understand if you wanted to go back to the pack after what’s happened.”

  “There’s nothing for me there,” she said. “I’ll stay with you.”

  Trevor had said there were different kinds of danger when we first discussed Mac and Jerry joining me. What was so bad at the pack house that she preferred risking her life with me?

  Garth double-parked outside the house; as usual, the street was parked out. The three of us slid out and Eric quickly took the driver’s seat and pulled away. Garth took me by the arm and hustled me toward the house, as if I were an old lady needing his help to stand up. Damn werewolves got so protective sometimes, they were worse than wyverns.

  A car door slammed down the street, and a woman I recognised got out. Damn. How did Detective Hartley get a parking spot practically on my doorstep? And what the hell was she doing here, obviously waiting for me to arrive?

  “Garth.” I nodded toward the oncoming policewoman.

  “Inside,” he said to Alex. “Get those guns out of sight. Warn Ben.”

  Then he moved to shield me from the street with his body while Alex disappeared into the house, his long legs taking the steps two at a time.

  “Hello, Detective.” I offered the policewoman a polite smile as she joined us. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a few more questions for you,” she began, then her eyes took in my torn shirt with its suspicious rust-coloured stain. Her tone sharpened. “Is that blood?”

  “Tomato sauce,” I said, keeping that bland smile plastered on my face. “I’m a very messy eater sometimes.”

  “Really.” I could tell she didn’t believe me. Her keen eyes lingered on the hole in the middle of the stain, where the bullet had entered. I still had the damn thing in my back pocket. Lucky she couldn’t see that. “Do you mind if I come inside?”

  “Not at all. Please—” I gestured for her to precede us up the stairs, where Garth leaned past her and opened the door.

  As we came into the hall Ben appeared from the lounge room, a worried look on his face. Alex had disappeared.

  “Hi, honey!” My face was starting to ache from my forced smile. “Would you mind entertaining Detective Hartley for a moment while I duck upstairs and change my shirt? Won’t be long!”

  I could see he was busting to give me the third degree, and would much rather have followed me up the stairs than deal with a suspicious policewoman, but he smiled and invited her into the lounge. As I took the stairs two at a time I heard him offering her coffee or tea.

  Something stronger would have suited me. In the safety of my own room I sank down on the bed. Now the crisis was over my hands started to tremble, and I dragged in deep breaths as if I’d just run a marathon. Jerry was dead. So were Carl Davison and half a dozen others. Two of them I’d killed myself.

  I stared at my shaking hands. Long, elegant fingers, smooth palms. Fingernails kept short and practical. No sign now of those deadly claws. It seemed impossible that these hands had just killed two people.

  Even harder to believe that I felt no regret. More than anything else, that told me how much I’d changed from the old Kate. She could never have killed anyone.

  Of course, she would be dead by now if Leandra hadn’t taken over. So would Lachie. I ripped off my stained shirt and threw it into the corner. I had no time for regret. Regret got people killed. Staying alive, keeping Lachie and Ben and everyone I cared about alive, was a task that required total focus. Regret was a luxury for people whose every waking moment wasn’t taken up with the struggle for survival.

  Quickly I dragged on a clean shirt. A shower would have been nice, but Detective Hartley was waiting. I ran a damp flannel over my arms and hands instead to remove any traces of blood. Best not to upset the nice detective.
/>
  Garth waited outside my bedroom, lounging against the wall with his muscled arms folded. He straightened when I appeared.

  “Let me look at that bullet wound.”

  “It’s fine.” I pulled the neck of my shirt down to show the shiny new pink skin on my shoulder. “Stop fretting.”

  “I’m not fretting. It was bloody silver.” He held me still while he inspected the newly formed scar. His big hands were warm and surprisingly gentle on my skin.

  “Truly, Garth, I’m fine.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Me either. Guess I’m full of surprises these days.”

  “I hate surprises.”

  “Where’s Lachie?” I had a detective to see to.

  “Don’t know. Do you want me to find him?”

  “Just make sure he stays out of sight while Detective Hartley’s here.”

  The last thing I needed was trying to explain away my supposedly dead son to the police. If the cloud of suspicion hanging over my head got any bigger there’d be one hell of a storm breaking soon.

  Ben and Detective Hartley both looked up as I entered the lounge, Ben with relief, she with that sharp look I was coming to dread, the one that took in everything and noted it down to be used against me later. Her eyes ran over the clean shirt, my messy hair, my hands, before coming to rest again on my face. I had to fight the urge to check myself again for blood stains. She, of course, was perfectly groomed, with a crease ironed into her trousers so sharp you could have cut yourself on it, and her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” I sat next to Ben on the lounge and laid a reassuring hand on his knee. See? I’m fine. His hand covered mine briefly and gave it a squeeze. Thank God. “Now, how can I help you? You said you had some more questions?”

  “Yes.”

  She considered me for a long moment, head tipped to one side like a bird of prey. She perched right on the edge of her seat, as if holding herself in readiness to leap up and arrest someone. The light from the window behind her cast her face into shadow. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d positioned herself that way on purpose, the better to observe us while obscuring her own features.

  “Have you found out why that nurse attacked Ben?”

  “Actually, my questions relate to a different woman.”

  “Oh?” I offered her a look of polite confusion while my mind spun. What now? Surely not …

  “Do you know a woman named Valeria Grey?”

  Oh shit. Now the dragons were coming home to roost. “No. Should I?”

  “She is—or rather, was—a wealthy property developer. Lived in a mansion in Mosman. Also owned a penthouse apartment at the Toaster and several other luxury properties. You sure you don’t know her?”

  “Positive. Why?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of the body that was pulled out of the Harbour on New Year’s Eve, not long after the supposed dragon battle?” She put a definite emphasis on supposed. Detective Hartley was obviously not a believer. I nodded. “That was her.”

  “That’s unfortunate. But what does it have to do with me?”

  “Crime Stoppers has had a lot of calls about it. Your name was mentioned. More than once. So I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Great. Probably half the shifter community of Sydney had been wearing out their redial buttons, trying to curry favour with Elizabeth by dropping me in the shit.

  “I’m a suspect? You think I killed her?” I injected as much disbelief as possible into my voice.

  “Not at all. But there could be a connection with Nurse Johnson’s motive for attacking you and Mr Stevens. We have to explore every possible angle.” She was nowhere near as good a liar as I was. “These questions are just routine. We have to tick all the boxes.”

  Ben shifted uneasily. He could probably tell she was lying too. “Maybe we should have a lawyer present.”

  I shot him a warning look. “Don’t be silly. If Detective Hartley says it’s routine I’m happy to help.”

  “Thank you. You don’t have to say anything unless you wish to, but anything you do say may be used in evidence.” She pulled out a notebook and pen. Then she passed me a photo. “Do you recognise this woman?”

  Valeria, with her golden hair piled up in that braided coronet style that had always annoyed me, as if she were claiming the crown before she’d earned it. Subtlety was never her strong point. Looking at her smug face again made me want to punch something.

  I handed the photo back. “Never seen her before. That’s her? The woman from the harbour?”

  “Yes. Could you tell me what you were doing on New Year’s Eve, Ms O’Connor?”

  What I was doing on New Year’s Eve—that was a tale and a half. The telling of it would blow a rational policewoman’s mind. Dragons and leshies and gory slaughter, oh my. From her previous tone she seemed to fall firmly in the it’s all a hoax camp. I had no desire to change her opinion.

  “I was home, watching the fireworks. We have a pretty good view of the harbour from the upstairs rooms.”

  “You didn’t leave home at all?”

  “Not until after midnight.”

  “Did you go to Ms Grey’s house at Mosman?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “We decided to go for a walk and enjoy the party atmosphere down at the Quay.”

  “You and Mr Stevens?”

  “And Garth, our friend.”

  I wished I could say I’d been home all night, but it would be easy enough for her to discover, if she didn’t already know, that Ben had been admitted to hospital in the early hours of New Year’s Day, so there was no point pretending we’d gone to bed like an old married couple and slept the sleep of the just.

  “I see. And what time was that?”

  “I’m not sure.” I looked at Ben and he shrugged. “Maybe around one o’clock?”

  “And is that when you were hurt, Mr Stevens?” Her pen skated across the notebook’s page, taking everything down.

  “I don’t know what time it was,” Ben said. “The details are a bit hazy.”

  “Do you remember how you were injured?”

  “Some drunk attacked me with a broken bottle.”

  That was the story we’d given at the hospital. It seemed plausible, considering the amount of alcohol consumed that night and the number of drunks still staggering around the streets till sunrise.

  “And did you go with him to the hospital, Ms O’Connor?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’d split up. I was watching a street performer and the guys went to find a drink. The first I knew of the attack was when Garth found me and told me Ben had been rushed to hospital.”

  “So what did you do then?”

  “We followed him to the hospital, but it took a long time with all the traffic and the road closures. Really, Detective, I can’t see how any of this is relevant to the murder of some poor woman in Mosman. You did say she’d been killed in Mosman, right?”

  “We’re still waiting on the coroner’s report as to that.” She wasn’t giving anything away. “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.”

  She rose, and we stood up too. “Well, you know where to find us if you need us.”

  As soon as the front door closed behind her Ben whirled and grabbed me. “My God, what happened? Jerry’s dead? Are you hurt? What the hell was all that blood on your shirt?”

  Garth and Steve appeared, as if magically summoned by the sound of the front door closing, wearing identical worried frowns.

  “Yes, Jerry’s dead. Silver poisoning. We were ambushed.”

  “So it was a set-up? Davison wasn’t there?”

  “Oh, he was there all right.” Quickly I ran through the details. Steve nodded along to the tale; Garth must have filled him in while we talked with the detective.

  When I told him how I’d been hit Ben insisted on seeing where the bullet had entere
d. He was as bad as Garth. No more now than a small, slightly puckered circle of shiny pink skin on my shoulder, in a couple of days it would look like an old scar, faded to white. My shoulder ached, but as if I’d been punched, not shot.

  His fingers brushed my skin, tracing the small round mark. When I caught his gaze his eyes were troubled.

  “I’ll never get used to this.”

  “This what?” Being shot at? Being a constant target? I’d be happy not to get used to that myself.

  “You.” He gestured impatiently at my shoulder. “Your new … powers, or whatever you want to call them.”

  I clenched my teeth on a hasty retort. That look in his eyes hurt. I wasn’t some kind of monster.

  “That’s just me. Some things have changed, sure”—ooh, understatement of the year, Kate—“but I’m still me.”

  “Are you? You seem pretty calm for someone who just killed two people.”

  “Would you rather I’d let them kill me?”

  “No, of course not! I’m just saying …”

  “Saying what?” Please don’t look at me like that. We can make this work.

  He turned away, his face bleak. “That’s a dragon attitude. That nobody else’s life matters. I just thought you’d be more shaken up about it.”

  “I didn’t choose this!” I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. “Of course I’d prefer to be human, but I didn’t get a choice.” Just think, I could still be happily oblivious of the shifter world and all its dangers. We could be a regular little suburban family, just the three of us, and our biggest worry would be how to make the monthly mortgage repayments. But I couldn’t change what had happened. And I’d kill anyone who threatened me and mine without shedding a tear. If that made me inhuman, then so be it.

  “I’m sorry.” He moved closer, and dropped an apologetic kiss on my hair. “I’m just afraid of losing you. The real you.”

  “Don’t be. I’m right here.”

  He needed time, that was all.

  I turned to Garth. “Is Eric back yet?”

  He shook his head. I guess we hadn’t been with Detective Hartley that long. But I wouldn’t be happy until he made it back safely—and Mac too, if she came. She’d said she would, but the fellowship of the pack might be tempting now she’d lost her friend. I’d seen a new side of her in the fighting, but choosing a group of strangers and certain danger over the security of the pack was a lot to ask of a young woman on her own. Today had made it clearer than ever how at risk we were outside these walls.