"Close enough."
Cash grabbed my arm, wrenching it from Marcus's manhood. Not the smartest move since I hadn't opened my hand yet. Marcus screamed like a little bitch. I let go of his neck and he slid out of his chair to the floor. Cash shoved me away from the table, his hand firmly clamped on my forearm. After using my body to open the door he loosened his grip. "What the fuck is the matter with you?"
"Me? What's the matter with me?" I shrieked. "That guy calls me a whore, not once, not twice, but like six times. Then proceeds to say I'm screwing a corpse - which is disgusting and I think physically impossible - , a were, and, and a..." I couldn't bring myself to utter the last part. Kellen terrified me. He was gorgeous but a sadist through and through. No way, no way in hell would I get involved sexually with him. I'd be screaming the safe word before he closed the bedroom door.
"As much as I enjoyed watching you hand that guy his ass, and believe me I enjoyed it, it was pretty hot actually--"
"Having a guy's balls in a death grip is hot? I'm worried about you."
"No, you totally in control, kicking ass, all raw power. That is fucking hot." He jerked me against him. He was on fire and I don't think it was just because he was a wolf. His gaze could melt panties. Too close, he was too close. I pushed against his chest, putting space between us. Big mistake. He laid his free hand over mine, pressing it to the hard plane of his chest. His heart pumped a steady rhythm beneath my palm.
I needed to defuse the situation. "So you dragged me out here like my ass was on fire to tell me that?" Okay, mentioning my ass was not the best idea. His lips curled in a devilish half smile and he let go of my hand. I could tell he was fighting the urge to slide his hand around and into the back pocket of my low rise jeans.
Holy hell, I needed space. This was rapidly moving into not just friends category. There was a line and he was about to cross it. Don't let him. Maurin, don't let him cross it! I shouted in my head. Cash was the best friend I had. I couldn't lose that.
The bell on the door to The Daily Grind chimed as Amalie came out with a drink carrier and a white paper bag. "Remade your order. On the house of course." She gave me a knowing look and I hoped the one I returned conveyed my thanks.
Cash stepped back and I grabbed the cardboard tray. Relief surged through me, relief and other emotions I wouldn't acknowledge.
"You showed a room full of others you can jump. We agreed you were not going to do that, remember?" He went from sexing me up to dressing me down. My brain was having a hard time keeping up.
"Oh, yeah." I didn't have a witty comeback. He was right. I let my temper get the best of me. I hadn't registered my new abilities with SPTF or any of the other Norm organizations that oversaw interspecies relations because as far as we knew there wasn't a classification for me.
I'm unique and in this day and age that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Tensions ran high and it wasn't just the murders causing the widening divide between Others and Norms.
Factions of the government wanted stricter regulations, more testing. There was whispering of a campaign to create super soldiers, genetically altering the troops by harvesting specific strands of DNA from Others. The Council did not want me in the hands of the extremists. Neither did I. We needed to stop the killer before this case became one more talking point in the argument for the war mongers.
I gave Amalie a sideways glance and headed back to the station. Masarelli hadn't called but I wasn't hanging around outside the Grind. A couple benches sat up ahead. We could wait there.
"You should find a new place to get coffee." Cash took the tray from me and wiggled his cup free.
"Why? I'm not going to let some asshat run me out."
"If you're not going to work out things with Amalie, you should find somewhere else to get your caffeine fix."
I stopped walking and stared at him. I hadn't expected him to lecture me on mending my friendship but it looked like that was where this conversation was headed.
"You really should give her a chance to tell her side but if you're not ready to listen then give that new place a try. She feels bad enough, you ignoring her makes it worse. That and you can't afford to let every, what did you call him, asshat, piss you off to the point of using your magic or whatever you call it. Not unless you want to be the first of us to end up in a lab." He kept walking and I jogged a couple steps to catch up.
He sat on the bench and took a swig of coffee. "All these years I thought the Council was bullshit. Old creatures clinging to the old ways. What I didn't know, what you don't know, is how necessary we are. Cohabitation is such a fragile thing. All it takes is one charismatic whack job and the next thing you know everyone's drinking the Kool-Aid and we're second class citizens. The thought of... Just do me a favor, don't expose yourself like that again."
"Okay."
Cash’s body jerked forward. I thought he was choking. Or would that be drowning since coffee was a liquid? "Okay? Just like that? You definitely need to find a new place to get coffee because Amalie is obviously putting drugs in yours."
I gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. "We've been friends long enough and you've been on the receiving end of my temper on more than one occasion. It doesn't seem to have the same effect it used to. Maybe it's time for a new approach." I chose to ignore the furrowed brow and downcast eyes over the word friend. "I'll try. It's the best I can do."
He looked like he wanted to say more but I wasn't ready to hear it. I might never be ready to hear it. Avoidance was working for me so far, no sense changing tactics now.
"New topic. Well, not really new. Actually it's kind of related."
"Related how?" He scrambled to catch up.
"The case. I had a bad feeling when I walked in the station earlier, what you just said confirmed it." I could tell his mind was still on the things he hadn't said but my next statement would bring him back to reality. "Salem looks on the brink of martial law."
"Over five dead girls? There's no evidence of foul play." He was back on track. Thankfully.
"Probably seven if Masarelli’s hunch is right. The M.E. hasn't said murder but he hasn't said suicide either. The station was wall to wall with uniforms from every division in the state. They're about to head out on a search for the two missing girls. As soon as they clear out I’m looking at what they've got. We're waiting for Masarelli to call."
"Why are we waiting for him to call? Is that normal? I was under the impression you still had pull as liaison."
"I do, well I did. This case is getting away from him thanks to a leak. A leak I think might be working for the politicians pushing for more testing. So far Masarelli’s rogue theory hasn't gotten out but he's going to lose the case if he doesn't get his house in order. They're running info though the FBI database. And the so called search and rescue looks more like search and destroy with all the different departments involved.
“The only thing keeping it with Masarelli and SPTF is the proximity of the five bodies and the psychics on his payroll. Imagine what they'd be doing if they thought they were looking for an Other.
“Plus, someone doesn't want me working this case either. They're bringing a precog up from Bristol. I mean if there's any chance of them finding the two girls alive they need a precog but Masarelli said they didn't want to bring me in on this. Who's they and why don't they want me involved?"
"Maybe the rogue theory isn't so secret after all and they don't want the Council involved."
Before I had time to chew on that interesting tidbit the Pink Panther theme blared out of my coat pocket.
Cash laughed as I read the text. "All clear. Let's go."
5
Masarelli led us into the interrogation room. I was spending more time in here than when I was on SPTF's payroll. I wasn't sure I would call the items spread over the table evidence. It was more like a few personal effects. No weapons or bloody clothes, just trinkets and a couple pieces of jewelry.
"Is this it?"
"They were found naked in thei
r bathtub. What did you expect?" Masarelli had a point.
I didn't know what I expected but staring at the table I knew I needed more. I wasn't getting more help so I had to do my best with what I had. I picked up a necklace first. It was old. Older than the girl who wore it when she died. A tarnished Gothic cross hung from a simple silver chain. A small diamond chip adorned the center of the cross. I took a deep breath, pulled on the energy that made me a psychometric and got nothing.
What I felt was Masarelli’s eyes boring into my back. I grimaced as wave after wave of anticipation hit me. I closed my hand around the cross, the points digging into my palm, and concentrated on the girl. The precog would know I handled it now but I needed a stronger connection. There was no memory link to the dead. Sometimes the residual imprints were clear and other times, like now, muddled. I blocked out Masarelli’s emotions - and the undercurrent of power from Cash's wolf - and focused like a laser beam on the first memory rippling to the swampy surface of the dead girl's imprint.
The images didn't make sense. The town, the people, everything was different. The roads unpaved, the houses further apart. Women passed in long skirts, their shawls wrapped tightly to keep the offending cold at bay. Men with buttoned down coats followed men dressed for work in the field with a sense of purpose I knew had nothing to do with crops.
Either this girl was obsessed with nineteenth century New England or this memory was old. I was betting the latter. I let the past consume me again and silently caught up to the men through the eyes of the original owner of the necklace.
My hand instinctively covered my mouth to stifle a gasp. Shovels upturned the fresh grave. The farmers piled dirt on both sides as they dug deeper into the earth under the watchful eyes of two other men. Finally a box was lifted from the ground and set at the foot of the grave. At the insistence of the two well dressed men, the farmers pried off the lid.
I almost cried out for them to stop but feared the repercussions of being discovered. What form of wickedness had taken hold of these men that they would defile the resting place of the newly dead? I had known them since I was but a child. I would no more think them capable of this than the pastor. Who were those two devils dressed in their finery, come to lead our townsfolk astray?
Leaves crunched underfoot as someone approached. I stilled my breath and crouched behind the tree, praying whoever it was didn't see me. More devils or misguided neighbors? The sound of my beating heart roared in my ears and I hoped it did not give me away.
I pressed my hands into the cold ground to keep from falling over as I saw who broke through the tree line. The man I had planned to go to for help! Pastor Wilkes shook hands with the well dressed devils before enthusiastically thanking them for coming. A man of God was responsible for bringing this wickedness to our doors? I wanted to scream to the heavens but instead sent a silent plea to God that the innocent be spared and these men find their way back from this devilry onto the path of righteousness.
The horrors continued to unfold as the men pulled hammers and short stakes from a worn leather bag, like one was accustomed to seeing a doctor carry. The farmers stepped away from the casket holding the corpse of young Henry Wilkes, upon seeing the instruments held by the two strangers.
One man held a stake over Henry's chest as the other drove the hammer down. The stake was pulled free, stained with what remained of the heart. The hammer came down again, this time slamming into the ribs, breaking bone. I forced my eyes shut at the sound of a saw working through bone and prayed again for an angel to save us.
"Not an angel, my dear, but I will spare your innocent eyes from witnessing any more of this." The stranger gestured to the grisly scene.
Had I said my prayer aloud? Could this be the deliverance I asked for? I didn't know this man but what choice did I have. I couldn't trust the people I knew and respected. How could I be in any more danger with this gentle stranger than the crazed men of my community.
He held out a hand to me and I let him pull me up. I knew instantly it was a mistake as his cold hand closed around mine. This was not the cold of the oncoming winter that clasped my hand but the eternal cold of death. I gripped the cross around my neck as if somehow it would save me from the monsters that surrounded me.
His eyes were entirely black. Sharp teeth extended from his gums as he smiled. I opened my mouth to unleash the scream building inside. He had me pressed to the tree before I could make a sound. I was stupid to come here. What did I hope to accomplish by following these men? No one would have believed me anyway and now I was going to die.
I could only hope my body wasn't desecrated the way Henry Wilkes’s was. Agonizing pain ripped through me as those terrifying sharp teeth pierced my neck. With his hand pressed against my throat and his crushing weight pinning me to the tree, I felt my life draining as he suckled my neck.
Darkness crept into my vision, my limbs felt heavy and my heart slowed. I knew, despite the fog in my mind, there were only a few seconds left of my life. My heart would stop beating and I would die here in the woods. Perhaps my body would be ravaged by wild animals. It seemed a better alternative than having stakes driven into my corpse. So long as my soul was spared.
Just as the darkness was to completely engulf my vision he withdrew. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as I hung limply in his arms. The monster pulled me from the tree and hurled me through the air. I landed in a tangled heap at the bottom of the grave. The last thing I heard before death finally took me were shouts of vampire from the men I had followed.
I collapsed against the table holding the few items. My hip slammed into the steel chair before my knees made contact with the floor. The cross fell from my hand. I clawed the vinyl until I felt the chain and grabbed hold of it before someone else picked it up. I couldn't shake the feeling there was something else I should have seen. I tried to call up the vision again but all I saw was the blackness of her death. It swamped my mind and weighed on my body. My breathing slowed.
I came to, cradled in Cash's arms on the floor in the interrogation room. Masarelli loomed over us. I knew he was fighting the urge to bark orders and demand answers. Maybe it had something to do with the alpha at my back. He handed Cash one of those paper cones from the cooler filled with ice cold water and waited for me to come all the way around.
Cash passed the cup to me and with slightly shaking hands I took a sip, and then another. Cash brushed the stray hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. I felt weak and cold, like death himself reached through the veil to claim me like the girl in my vision.
I curled into the warmth of Cash's body and tried to ignore the inaudible sigh, the rise and fall of his chest that told me he was aware of the intimacy of the moment. I should protest the small circles he was rubbing on my back or to the soft whispers he didn't think I heard. If I wasn't so tired. So very tired...
The white walls of the interrogation room faded. I was back in the woods, but looking through my own eyes instead of a dead child’s. I watched the men at the grave hammer a stake through the heart of the corpse. My heart pounded in time with each strike. I heard leaves rustling. Someone was behind me.
I moved around the tree, pressing my back against it, arms firmly at my sides, willing myself to disappear. I held my breath, made no sound but he knew I was there. He silently stalked around the tree and was on me before I screamed for help.
I looked into the eyes of my attacker. The longing gaze of a lover, replaced with the cold, hard stare of the predator I should have known he was all along. I wanted to ask him why. Why was he doing this? Wasn't it enough I had given myself to him? Why would he take by force what I would give freely if he had only asked?
My mouth moved, the questions perched on my lips but no sound came. Locked in his terrifying gaze I stayed when I should have run, my feet unresponsive to my silent screams for them to move.
I was a fool to love him. I saw that now and cursed my stupidity. It never made sense that he would fall in love with me
but I was desperate enough to believe the lies. He was the spider and I the fly.
A few sweet words and tender caresses was all it took to ensnare me in his web. How easily I had become the prey. His fangs extended and my traitorous body responded despite knowing he didn't love me. I had secretly wanted this, to be his life blood. To give him the last piece of me, what I had never offered another. Something flickered in his eyes and I knew, even pressed against that tree, that he had no intention of drinking from me. He wanted nothing more than to be free of me. Aidan. His name came out in a rushed whisper as his hand pierced my chest and ripped out my heart. The last thing I saw was him squeezing what blood remained in the chambers into his mouth.
Thick, grey fog rolled around me and I sank into the familiar comfort of the between. I wouldn't be rejected here. Through the veil where realities were created, changed or simply left to unfold, I was rejuvenated. This was my seat of power, this world between worlds. I could stay here and build a new reality or I could focus on someone, something until I transported myself to that reality. I was more than the crumpled mass lying at the feet of my - well he obviously wasn't my anything, not anymore.
The heart ripped from my chest only moments ago beat steadily behind my unbroken sternum. Had my subconscious managed one last hurrah, whisking me away before the last drop of blood left my body? I felt my life slip away when Aidan tore out my heart but here I was - safe and sound in the between.
I focused on my father. I needed to know what the hell was going on. I put all of my energy into picturing him and where he was. I knew I was well and truly fucked when instead of Arawn, dressed in one of those tunics he loves so much, I saw Thomas Kincaide, my adoptive father. And no, he was not painting some whimsical cottage with a water wheel. He was pouring an eighty year old scotch and preparing for one of his famous "Maurin, you need to try harder to be normal" lawyerly speeches.
Blood Bath, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy (The Maurin Kincaide Series Book 4) Page 4