by Caris Roane
He led her across the foyer and into his study. At first, she thought he meant to take her back to his bedroom, which made no sense since she didn’t feel anything sexual coming from him.
Instead, all she could feel was a strong wave of both anxiety and determination.
He took her back to the worktable and to the wide, antique-looking oak cabinet with several shallow drawers perhaps meant originally for architectural drawings.
He pulled out the second drawer and withdrew a large zippered case the size of an artist’s portfolio. After setting it on the nearby table, he unzipped. But before he opened it, he pressed his hand down on the black leather case and held her gaze. “There are pictures in here I’m not sure you can stomach, but if we’re to move forward at all, I need you to understand the scope of what I do on a nightly basis. This is my job, Charlotte. I hunt for killers, bad ones, the kind who get off on torture and murder.”
Charlotte nodded. “But this is as much about you, as about your cases. Am I right?”
He’d never looked more serious. “Yes it is.”
And she needed him to know that she measured up. “Show me everything. I’ve taken several classes on crime, I’ve visited my share of morgues, and I’ve stared at a lot of carnage. I even researched thoroughly the most recent case you solved. I’m not unversed in your world.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. You mean the one with the beheadings made to look like wraith-pair attacks?”
Again, she inclined her head.
“You looked at those pictures?”
“As many as I could find. I’m not as fragile as I look.”
“I guess you’re not.” For a moment, he searched her gaze then reached up and stroked her cheek with the back of his finger. Because of the temporary bond, she felt how much he wanted her and it spurred her own desire. She felt his compassion and something more, a longing so deep that for a moment she lost all thought.
She knew then that he hadn’t remained single all these years because he loved the bachelor lifestyle but because he didn’t believe he deserved anything else. How ironic, since in her opinion, no one seemed better fit for intimacy than Willem.
He lowered his hand, shifting his gaze back to the table. “If you could stomach the beheadings, you might be okay with this, except this case involves children. Young boys, the oldest barely ten.”
She turned her attention to the portfolio as well. There was no question that children would make it harder, but she was determined to see this through. On some level, she owed Willem that.
He tapped his fingers on the top cover. “I’ve worked this case for decades and still haven’t been able to find the killer. Besides being brutal, he’s clever in a way that hasn’t allowed modern forensics to trace his crimes back to him.”
As he slowly lifted the cover, laying it flat, Charlotte knew this case was deeply personal to Willem, but she wasn’t sure why.
When she saw the first set of pictures, a terrible suspicion entered her head, but she really didn’t want it to be true. She quickly set it aside and focused instead on the case file in front of her.
The child had been savagely beaten and cut, but he’d also been branded and bore several figure-eights in various places on his body.
The Infinity Killer.
She stared blankly for a long time though her fingers crept up to cover her lips, and her throat grew tight. The boy was a troll, the three ridges of his forehead in different shades of purple, which meant some bruises were older than others.
He turned the first page to display a different child, a fae boy this time, the pointed tips of his ears sliced up. Like the first victim, he bore a horrendous number of bruises and cuts, as well as the same brand, repeated at least a dozen times.
He glanced at her, but she didn’t meet his gaze. “You have a choice, Charlotte. At any point, just tell me to stop and I will. I’ll close this up and put it away.”
Part of her wanted to rewind time and never look at anything so vile again as long as she lived. But another part felt compelled to move forward for reasons she didn’t quite understand, reasons that went beyond even her connection to Willem. There was a larger, realm-ish reason why she was here.
She put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I want to see them all.” She knew that if she had any hope of moving forward with Willem, she had to look at this case file, she had to go the distance.
Willem didn’t turn the page right away. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I know, but this is something I feel I must do. Can’t explain it.”
He nodded. He seemed to understand.
The whole world felt shrunk down to this moment, to standing beside Willem and bearing witness to his determination to run a psychopath to ground.
For the next several minutes, he turned the pages, showing her victim after victim. Somewhere in the middle, he began telling her about each of the boys, his family, his name, his species, how and when he’d been abducted, all the details of the file. The dates appalled her because the crimes went back for so many years. Decades.
Minutes grew to an hour, then a second hour.
The tenor changed as well. Charlotte grew oddly comfortable with the terrible material in front of her and began asking questions, which deepened the discussion about the killer, about Willem’s failed efforts to find the bastard.
But she felt something else as well, something Willem held back. When he reached the last page, there was data but no crime scene pictures, just the name of a boy, and a recent school photo.
Then it hit Charlotte. “Oh, dear God, this is your latest case, isn’t it? The killer has struck again, but you haven’t found a body. When did it come in?”
Willem grew very still as he responded, “Yesterday, at full-dark.”
“A missing person’s report?”
He nodded.
Charlotte touched the school photo of an eight-year-old vampire boy. “How do you know the killer has him?”
Willem ground his jaw. “I just know. It’s the only realm gift I have that applies to this case, that I know when the killer is the abductor. My other abilities seem to falter in the face of his crimes. I’ve suspected for a long time that some kind of fae charm has kept me from discovering his identity.”
“So you can pay for that kind of thing? I’d heard it was true but I’ve never known anyone who’s had it done or even wanted to.”
“Absolutely, though I don’t necessarily blame the fae involved. The killer may have requested the spell while stating purposes that the fae would have found acceptable, like extra security because of recent break-ins, that kind of thing.”
A vibration flowed through her, different from her mating frequency. She knew the world of the Nine Realms had a variety of vibrations like the purely sexual ones Willem had shared with her earlier, as well as her mating frequency that had already forged the bond with Willem’s corresponding vibration.
But this felt similar to the fae vibration she’d experienced when she’d first detected Willem’s aura.
“Do you mind if I touch the photo?”
“Sure. Are you feeling that vibration again?”
“Yes, and it’s especially strong right now.”
She felt Willem grow tense, but this time with excitement. “Go for it because I can feel your frequency now. It’s all lit up.”
She placed her hand flat on the boy’s picture and let the fae vibration flow. The blood rose bond she shared with Willem, even though it had moved to an in-between and less complete state, had changed her somehow, strengthening her fae abilities. Knowledge of a specific nature flowed through her mind and she removed her hand as she turned toward Willem slightly. “You have a personal connection to this killer, don’t you?”
She knew that a critical moment in their relationship had just arrived, the real reason he’d brought her into his office to show her this file.
He compressed his lips into a tight, grim line, then drew a
deep breath. “I do.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
“Actually, I’ll show you.” He removed the wide leather bracelet from his left wrist and turned his arm over exposing the brand that she knew had filled him with terrible feelings of unworthiness his entire life.
Charlotte stared down at the burn in the shape of the infinity symbol. The brand represented the source of Willem’s anger and shame, maybe even the reason he was so adamant about not bonding with her. She also knew how difficult this was for him, to show her the horror of his childhood.
And Davido had known how hard this would be for him as well.
She saw it all in a sweep of profound realm understanding, that Willem had been abducted and abused by the same killer he now hunted. Yet he had survived while all these other boys hadn’t.
“You escaped?”
He shook his head, his complexion paling. “He let me go. I’ve come to believe I may have been his first, that he hadn’t finished growing into his crime.”
“He hadn’t yet escalated.”
“That’s the exact word for it.”
She pondered the whole situation. “He must have blindfolded you.”
“Yes.”
“And found some way to disguise his voice.”
“He did.”
She tried to understand, to get as clear a picture as possible. “How and where did he abduct you?”
“From the annual Grochaire Festival. The fireworks had started. I wasn’t even near my parents when it happened. I’d taken off with friends and at the time had become separated from them. I was only ten and wasn’t paying any attention to the crowd, just the lights in the sky. The killer covered my mouth with a rag laced with a chemical similar to your human chloroform. The next thing I knew, I was strapped to a table and in more pain than I’d ever known in my entire life.”
She took his arm in hand, holding his wrist in such a way that she could look at the scar. Here resided everything with Willem, the depth of his pain, the way that his soul had been robbed of innocence, and why he wanted to break the bond with her.
She traced the figure-eight with the tip of her index finger. “This wasn’t your fault.”
He didn’t say anything, but she knew enough to understand his pain and his guilt and how no words could ever heal what had happened.
She also needed him to know that what happened to him didn’t matter to her. If anything, his suffering had made him the diligent agent he was today.
Slowly she leaned down and kissed the scar, letting him feel her level of acceptance for what he’d endured. He couldn’t change what happened to him, he could only move forward and she wanted to be part of that journey.
Willem grew very still so that Charlotte could hardly read his emotions. His voice, however, penetrated her mind softly, Charlotte, no.
Yes, Willem. And she kissed the scar repeatedly then finally rose up and met his gaze. His hazel eyes shone with an expression that looked caught between wonder and horror, as though he didn’t understand how she could even touch him, never mind putting her lips on the symbol for all the ugliness in his life.
She kept hold of his arm. “You’ve never told anyone before, have you, I mean other than Davido?”
He shook his head slowly. “But I needed you to see why this is impossible between us. I’m deeply scarred. I’ll never be truly normal, never be real boyfriend material and definitely not the right man to bond with a blood rose. But I have several friends, good men, who are mastyrs. I could introduce you to them.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity that he would suggest handing her off to one of his friends, but she didn’t say that. She could see he was sincere, but she also knew he was trying to deflect what he felt.
She decided to be as honest with him as he’d been with her. “I don’t want anyone else, Willem. I want you. It’s as simple as that. And over the past several months, since I first became attracted to you, believe me I’ve met several mastyrs but never felt desire for any of them. You’re the one.”
He shrugged his arm out of her hold, his gaze falling to the table. He closed the file and zipped it back up. “Thank you for saying these things. It will always mean a lot to me. But I know myself, Charlotte. I won’t be able to go forward with you. I just wanted you to know why. That’s all.”
Charlotte let her new fae abilities come to the fore and hoped for some kind of wisdom.
But nothing came to her, and she really wasn’t sure if there was wisdom to be had for this kind of situation. Willem had to change how he viewed himself. But she’d lived long enough to know just how hard that was for human or realm-folk alike.
All she could do was be with Willem for the next twenty-four hours and hope that something happened to disrupt his old way of thinking.
Finally, she offered, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a break from all of this. How about we put this case file away and you offer me whatever you can find in your fridge.”
At that he searched her eyes and a half-smile formed on his lips, but she could feel his sadness. He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
***
Chapter Seven
Willem turned toward the cabinet and slid the file back into its drawer. He felt grateful beyond words that Charlotte had let the whole thing go. For a moment, he’d felt sure she’d start arguing with him, trying to get him to see how ridiculous he was for feeling the way he did, that he should just get over what he’d been through so long ago.
But she hadn’t done that. Instead, she asked for a meal and yes, he’d always be grateful.
Closing the drawer, he inclined his head in the direction of the foyer. “Come on then. I’ll see what the housekeeper provided.”
“Did you call ahead or something?”
“No, I have a standing order for the beach house. She would have been here two days ago to restock and to clean up.”
Once in the kitchen, he had her perch on a stool at the island while he heated up some homemade soup, a flavorful barley-beef.
“That smells wonderful. I don’t know if it’s because I fed you so recently, but I’m starved.”
As he stirred the pot on the gas stove, he turned to glance at her over his shoulder. He loved that she spoke so easily about having serviced his blood-needs. She was so very human, yet he could tell she was very comfortable in his world, that she liked being here.
She looked adorable, her elbows planted on the speckled gray granite, her chin in hand, her auburn hair a cloud around her shoulders. He recalled what she’d looked like beneath him, her hair spread out on his pillow. Suddenly, he wanted to see her that way again, the sooner the better.
She rose up, her head tilting. “Do you know that right now, your ocean scent is stronger? Oh.” He watched her creamy complexion pink up.
“Sorry, I was thinking about earlier.” But he couldn’t help but smile, especially when her wisteria reached him. “And now I can tell you’re thinking about the same thing.”
“Willem, do you mind if I speak frankly?”
“Actually, I’d prefer it.”
She slid from her stool and moved close to him. “I loved being in bed with you and I really want to get back there.” She touched his back, rubbing in a gentle circle.
Still stirring, he held her gaze and felt a slight lethargy move through him. “Then we should get back there.”
“We should.” She nodded slowly, her fingers a warm, vibrating touch on his back. Did she know she’d released a vibration, that her touch had a slight fae edge of charm?
He turned his attention back to the soup. “This is ready and there’s some fresh rosemary bread and butter to go with, if you’ll grab them both.” He nodded to the counter nearest her.
She moved in the direction of the loaf and a slab of homemade butter, bringing both to the island. Pouring out two bowls of the soup, he carried them carefully setting them down at each place. “It’s hot.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
She ate slowly, sipping from a soup spoon. “Your realm makes the best soups. It’s one of the things I love about your culture. I swear, if a Tennessee reporter ever asked me what I thought the Nine Realms had to offer the U.S, I’d say, ‘Why their soups, of course.’”
He chuckled and something deep inside started to relax, a knot of tension he’d been holding in his gut for a long time. He really liked this woman and felt a strong pang of regret that he couldn’t keep the bond with her.
Her hand landed on his back again and she rubbed gently as she continued to eat. Once more, a kind of lethargy moved through him and he relaxed a little more, focusing on the taste of the soup and not much else. Definitely, a fae ability.
“When you opened the fridge earlier, I noticed you had some beer.” Even her voice eased him. “How about I fetch a couple?”
He was surprised. “Yes. Thank you.” Without saying anything more, she slipped from her stool and brought two bottles back. He liked that she wasn’t daunted by him, by his rank as a senior RIU agent, by his Guardsman size, that she felt comfortable taking charge a little.
“You aren’t nervous around me, are you?” She handed him both bottles, then sat down on her stool once more. He took each bottle in turn, twisting off the caps.
“Not anymore,” she said, taking a swig. “I was when you first picked me up, of course, but that was more first-date jitters than anything else. I liked you so much. I probably changed my outfit three times.”
He laughed. “I wore slacks wanting to make a good impression, but I’m happier since I changed into my jeans.”
She put her hand on his thigh. “And it’s a great look for you.” Her wisteria scent once more floated all around him.
“I don’t have the gentlest temper.” Now why did he just confess that? What was the point?
But she laughed. “I know that as well. Remember, I did my homework. However it seems, at least according to several sources, that you tend to apologize for your outbursts later and have so much remorse that you’re forgiven. Also, more than one disgruntled recipient of your rants tends to admit you’re usually right. It’s an irritating combination, but I’m okay with it.”