by Laura Hall
Awesome.
His chest trembled under my ear. It took me a few seconds to realize he was laughing. Lifting my head, I saw him grinning down at me. My favorite expression. Crystalline, peridot eyes crinkled at the edges. Visible dimple in his left cheek.
I wanted to melt, but instead snapped, “It’s not funny!”
He gave in to laughter even as he shifted subtly, bringing our bodies together. “If you think I regret that night, you’re out of your mind.”
The words and the hard plane of his body ignited vivid, X-rated memories. Heat funneled down to my toes. Connor’s smile vanished and his eyes flashed black. Without seeing them, I knew his fangs had lengthened.
I blinked and he was gone again, standing at the farthest edge of the tiny beach. Swallowing a potent urge to follow, I hugged my arms to my chest. I didn’t blame him; I wanted away from me too. My fingers, vibrating with surging electricity, curled into my biceps.
“Fiona,” he said sharply. I stiffened—it was his Prime voice. “You went into the Sidhe, didn’t you?”
Confused, I looked down. Ah. My hands were lost in blue-white light, a far cry from the erratic sparks of the past.
“Don’t bother lying,” he said, interrupting my churning thoughts.
Sideways with disgruntlement and unfulfilled desire, I growled, “Why bother asking? Just read my mind.”
His eyes, still black, lifted from my hands. “I can’t. There’s something blocking me.”
He sounded uncertain, surprised. Then his frown transformed into a scowl. Uh-oh. His aura flared into visibility, pulsing thicker, darker around his shoulders, and snaking upward into the familiar suggestion of wings. The sky overhead darkened as well, responding to his emotions. To my right, the ocean churned, and lightning flashed on the horizon.
Knowing it was pointless, I nevertheless obeyed a purely biological urge to take a few steps back. The vibration of my charge deepened, humming through my bones. Even though my hands didn’t grow brighter, I knew my firepower had just increased.
When he spoke, it was in his most chilling tone, “Tell me what she did. Did she touch you?”
My anxiety dropped a few notches. “She?” I echoed, then understood. “The White Queen?” He nodded, and I swallowed tightly. “I don’t know. I can’t remember a damn thing. She took my memories.”
He blurred and was gone. My breath caught on a helpless shriek as his fingers curled around my shoulders, his grip just shy of painful. I stared helplessly at him, searching his face for the man I knew. But here was the apex predator, the Ancient. Too savage, too beautiful to know.
“Connor?” I whimpered.
Green shivered through the starry black eyes. “Do you trust me, mo spréach?”
Mo spréach. My spark.
Hearing it sealed a wound in my heart and leveled my fear. “Yes,” I said.
Whatever he’d been doing to mute the compagno bond disappeared. His emotions roared through me, stealing my breath. Want. Worry. Fierce protectiveness. Possession.
You are dragon’s treasure and I am a dragon. We do not let our treasure go.
He’d warned me, but I hadn’t listened.
Right now I didn’t care.
Guided by his need and the deep bond between us, I let my head fall back. One arm dropped around my waist, hauling me up and close, while his other hand cradled the back of my neck. He made a sound—something between a sigh and a groan—and lowered his lips to my throat, dragging them from my collarbone to my jaw and back.
I went boneless, stupid with submission and arousal. With the last of my wits, I threw his earlier words back at him, “You can’t help but provoke me, can you?”
His lips curved against my skin. “God, I’ve missed the smell of you,” he murmured. “But not as much as your taste.”
His fangs struck, quick and sure. The immediate orgasm took me by surprise, a flash of feeling bright as lightning. Plasma, the purest form of my power, erupted from my skin. Light blinded me. Thunder rocked the beach. For a brief moment, I feared for Connor’s safety.
You can’t hurt me, he whispered in my mind.
As Connor drank, searching my mind for who-knew-what, my body kept reacting to his bite. Again, and again, sensation built and overflowed. I could barely form a coherent thought. What felt like a year passed before I managed to think at him, Can you reverse what the queen did?
After another eternity, his tongue trailed along the faint burn of puncture marks. “No,” he said softly.
I lifted my heavy head, somewhat mollified by the dazed expression on his face. “Did you find anything at all?” I asked, disappointment growing as the truth sank in.
If Connor Thorne, king of the mind-fuck, couldn’t pick the lock the Fae Queen had set on my memories, there was little hope of reclaiming them otherwise.
His thumbs brushed lightly across my cheekbones. With his gaze fixed on my mouth, he said, “I’ll think of something.”
Thought fled. I leaned into his touch, replete but still needing. Wanting him. Always him. Only him.
Kiss me.
Instead, he let me go and stepped out of reach. It was such a familiar end to our interactions that I laughed, short and brittle. Then I gulped cool air, waiting for dizziness to pass, for the bond to loosen its hold.
I needn’t have worried. Connor did the trick again, and the forced intimacy of the compagno bond vanished. I immediately missed it—and was relieved it was gone. A short, sad sigh left him. Guilt speared me, but I bit back another unwanted apology.
Whitewater surged as the waves gained force. Closing my eyes, I relished the feel of salty mist on my face. “This dance between us has to end sometime, right?”
“When you’re ready for it to end, it will.”
When I turned around, he was gone.
Ten
“Let me guess,” Katrina said as I opened my eyes. “Connor Thorne.”
I grimaced, rolling my eyes toward the door. Groggily, I asked, “Was Mal in the room?”
“No, thank God. Talk about awkward.” She plopped onto the bed next to me. “It was awkward enough for me. I almost left twenty times.”
I was too hungover from the migraine to be embarrassed. It also wasn't the first time Katrina had witnessed the outward effects of a dream with Connor’s bite involved.
“Why didn’t you leave?” I asked, scooting up to sit against the headboard. “I thought you were going to the Medical Examiner’s with Charlie.”
A fleeting expression of annoyance crossed her face. “Got a text from Adam. He politely suggested I stay with you instead.”
“What? Why?”
Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. She stared at the display for a moment, then answered, “Inspector Accosi. Yes. Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll tell her. Thank you.” Katrina ended the call and gave me a flat look. “Prime Thorne says you’re pulled from the case. That it’s too dangerous.”
Goose bumps lifted the hair on my arms. As with every time Connor went caveman on me, I felt the walls closing in. My breath hitching, I snapped, “Hell no.”
She grinned. “Gotcha.”
I belted her with a pillow. “Gah!”
Unapologetic, she said, “You’re such an easy mark, I couldn’t help myself. That was Detective Ramirez. He’s going to email me the summary from the Medical Examiner. The COD wasn’t drowning.”
My spine stiffened. “What was it?”
“Exsanguination.”
“Bite marks?” I asked, trying not to sound as hopeful as I felt.
“No, but there were bruises from a tourniquet, needle punctures, and countless lacerations.”
Memory supplied me with a vision of the vampire Gabriella, Connor’s batshit crazy ex-mate. She’d been a prisoner of the Liberati for eight years; in that time, her blood had been repeatedly drained via small cuts all over her body.
My lungs squeezed with dread. “Fuck.”
Katrina nodded grimly. “Pretty much sums it up. Gretchen’s primary t
ox screen came back clean except for a trace of an unknown.”
I frowned. “An unknown what?”
“The ME didn’t know. Doesn’t match any drugs, recreational or otherwise. He’s running more tests.” She paused. “The Liberati are now officially suspects, which means the FBI isn’t going to be held back much longer.”
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, only wobbling a little. “I say we hand the case to them.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
I headed for the closet. With my headache gone—I had a suspicion Connor had something to do with that—a kernel of conviction was taking root, growing with every step. The edges of the puzzle were still hazy, but some of the corner pieces were clear: the excessive spellwork at the Banks’ home, Daphne’s magical ability and strange attitude. Another piece, I knew, was something I’d seen in Tiffany’s apartment . . . It floated just outside my reach. A ticket stub? A flyer?
My determined mien had Katrina asking intently, “What are you thinking?”
I crouched before a cardboard box of clothes and began digging. “Since when do the Liberati leave bodies where the police can find them? Let the FBI investigate all they want. It doesn’t mean we have to stop, right? And we have something they don’t.”
After a small silence, she said, “You.”
I grinned at her over my shoulder. “Always knew you were more than a pretty face.”
She smirked. “What are you suggesting?”
I finally found what I was looking for, a remnant from several years ago. I had no idea why I’d kept it. Wishful thinking, probably. I held up the black strapless dress. “Remember this?”
She squinted. “Is that from when Mal made the bartenders dress up for Halloween?” I nodded and she snorted. “He almost shit when he saw you in that. What were you, again?”
“A slutty vampire.”
Katrina’s grin slowly faded. “Spell it out for me.”
My memory cleared, presenting me with a clear view of the top of Tiffany’s dresser. Specifically, the piece of paper beside the photograph. “I saw a club flyer at Tiffany’s apartment,” I said, standing to toss the dress on the bed. “The hotel where Gretchen was found. It was the Black Diamond, wasn’t it?” She nodded slowly. “Well, the flyer was for the hotel’s nightclub, Clover. I remember because I thought it was weird—the club’s name above a diamond.”
Katrina’s brows lifted. “Conflicting symbology bothers you, huh?”
“Totally.”
She laughed, but sobered quickly. “You think there’s a connection?”
“Not sure. But it’s a lead, right? I need to grab the photo of the women from my car, but I wouldn't be surprised if they’re standing in the lobby of the Black Diamond.”
Katrina nodded thoughtfully. “It’s worth looking into. I’m assuming we’re not updating your detective friend?”
“I was thinking not. Do you have to tell Adam?”
She grimaced. “I need this job, Fiona.”
“Of course, sorry,” I said quickly.
A small part of me wished I’d kept my mouth shut and followed the trail alone. But I couldn’t knock Daphne for her immaturity without also looking at my own.
Ascension had devastated my life. In the span of twenty-four hours, I’d gone from shopping for wedding dresses to spending six years virtually alone in a basement. Fourteen years without touching anyone for fear of killing them. Fourteen years without being touched.
I’d had no choice but to find a deep root of perseverance, of personal will. And though I was on the other side of those dark years, the effects were lasting. One of them was becoming painfully obvious: I wasn’t much of a team player.
Looking up from my dismal shoe collection, I asked Katrina, “Want to go shopping?”
“Fiona Sullivan, I thought you’d never ask.”
Eleven
After confirming that the photograph of the women had indeed been taken in the lobby of the Black Diamond, we set our sights on the nightclub, Clover. The line outside was fifty people deep, but when I veered toward the back, Katrina laughed and guided me to the front, explaining in a low voice why the queue was mostly men. She walked directly to the bouncer at the club’s doors, hips swinging provocatively in her tiny silver dress. He took one look at her and unclipped a velvet rope.
“Well, that was easy,” I said, following the blond werelion into the club.
She tossed a grin over her shoulder and left me, weaving through the thick crowd toward the bar. I marveled at her at ease in the chaotic environment, then remembered she’d spent seven years in the FBI, mostly undercover, because she was a natural chameleon. I had no such experience, and the blaring electronic music, din of voices, and flashing strobes immediately triggered the beginnings of another headache. The visual and sensory punches of a hundred tightly packed auras weren't helping, either.
Gritting my teeth against a wave of dizziness, I followed our previously agreed upon plan and scanned the club for higher ground. I finally spotted a staircase to the left of the bar, leading to a long balcony. The space was packed, men and women standing shoulder to shoulder for the privilege of watching the antics on the dance floor below.
I took a deep breath, then wished I hadn’t. Despite ceiling vents pumping cool air into the club, there was no escaping the thick mess of colognes, perfumes, and less fortunate odors. My fight or flight response kicked into high gear. Warmth poured unbidden down my arms. I dug my nails into my palms, holding back my power by the skin of my teeth.
This had been a terrible idea.
When a masculine hand descended onto my bare shoulder, I almost threw a bolt of lightning. An instant later my anxiety melted away, the world came back into focus, and I took a full, unrestricted breath.
An unfamiliar voice, deep and lilting said, “Better?”
I turned, dislodging his touch, and looked up at the stranger smiling down at me. Long, dark hair with a slight wave fell over his shoulders. Crisp white button-down, dark slacks. Somehow, he pulled off the piratical-businessman look. Maybe because he resembled a character on the cover of a romance novel. Straight, dark brows over sleepy eyes, aquiline nose, and a strong jaw.
“What did you just do?” I asked suspiciously.
He shrugged. “I know a panic attack when I see one.”
He wasn’t a vampire or shifter. I stared hard at him, waiting for the color of his aura to present itself. It didn’t. Instead, the longer I stared the more attractive he became, until I felt myself take a small step toward him.
Then I knew.
Fae.
I recoiled, jostling several people behind me who were thankfully too drunk to care. “Who are you?” I demanded loudly.
His smile softened, lingering in a familiar way that made my eyes narrow. “A bastard, just like you. My Fae father is an Empath. Black Court.” He extended an elegant, pale hand. “Marcus Wilder, at your service.” I hesitated and his smile kindled brighter. “Your mother is a longtime friend of mine.”
My resistance buckled, replaced by twinned emotions of annoyance and relief. “And what does Delilah want from me now?” I asked, ignoring his hand until he lowered it. If anything, my rudeness made his smile grow.
“Nothing that I know of,” he said blithely. “I haven’t spoken with her in a few months, though she mentioned you might be stopping by. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t supposed to introduce myself, but you looked entirely too overwhelmed. I decided Delilah’s suggestion wasn’t as important as protecting my club from an electrical storm.”
It was then I noticed the two bouncers, both werewolves, stationed behind him, as well as the generous area of unoccupied space around us. Glancing over my shoulder, I spied two more werewolves several feet behind me, holding back the surging crowd.
I searched the bar area for Katrina but didn’t see her. Turning back to Marcus, I asked, “Your club, huh?”
He nodded smoothly. “Would you like a p
rivate tour?”
Coming from a different man, the question might have pissed me off. But there was subtext to the words that made me pause. Or it could have been the directness of his gaze. Either way, I suspected he was well aware his charm wouldn't work on me. Which meant he wanted privacy for another reason.
Whatever he wanted to tell me, I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to question him about Daphne and her friends.
“I’m here with someone,” I said.
“Yes, I know. Inspector Accosi has already been escorted to my office.”
My brows rose. “Is that so?”
Marcus’ smile took on a sharp edge. “I make it my business to know what goes on in this town. It was only a matter of time before someone realized the missing women frequented my club.” He paused. “I would have preferred you make an appointment during the day.”
So much for undercover recognizance.
I studied his features, but he had a better poker face than I did. “Well then, let’s get this show on the road.”
He laughed, a rich sound that made me want to laugh with him. “I can see why our Prime enjoys your company, Ms. Sullivan.”
Thankfully, he turned before he saw my flinch.
The bouncers led the way to a door set in a nearby wall, then escorted us up a flight of stairs and down a short hallway. Soundproofed walls dampened the incessant thumping, giving my head some much needed relief.
“What’s your official registration title?” I asked the man beside me.
“Emerald Mage.”
“But the tests are thorough. How did you pass?”
He opened another door and gestured me inside. “With help,” he said with a smile.
We entered a large office with a full wall of one-way glass looking down onto the club. The space was severely modern, the other walls stark white, the furniture gray and chrome. To my left, a huge, abstract painting in a fiery palette took up the space behind a sleek desk.
The bodyguards stayed in the hallway. The leader of the pack, an alpha by his pulse, gave me the universal Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll hurt you look before closing the door.