Poppy narrowed her eyes. “You gave him the map to the mushroom greenhouse, yes?”
Caro better not have flaked out on her. Bad enough that Zelly had had to leave them, but if Caro fucked this up, there’d be one more body left behind in this godforsaken town. Poppy hated all the bodies that were piling up around her; it was so messy. All this for her grand plan to restructure the pack and the female place in it.
“Y-y-yes.”
Poppy accepted that answer and gave Caroline’s shoulder a squeeze. “No worries; I’ll handle it all. And neither of us will be implicated. Torger and his buffoon of a brother won’t be able to rule it murder. Now let’s start mixing the batter for the cakes.”
Hours later, exhausted and coated in sweat, they were done with the first batch of cakes and pies. Their bake stand would be open in time and they already had customers waiting for their goods, including some feline-shifters who’d asked for special cakes, pies, and cookies. Caroline left for the hotel for their planned spa days. Now was as good a time as any to see Stan. He’d told everyone that he would be staying home to make his infamous cream of mushroom soup with local herbs and that Caro would be doing some spa stuff with the girls. The other alphas had told him he was lucky because at least his wife was leaving him alone. Yes, lucky, Poppy thought as she knocked on the door.
Stan answered the door and grinned, his smile so wide it looked fake. Poppy almost felt bad. Almost. He continued to beam at her. “Hey, Poppy! Good to see ya. Caro isn’t here at the moment.”
Poppy pouted. “Drat it. Caro left this at my cabin.” She held up Caroline’s purse. “I’ll leave it here.” Poppy darted around Stan before he could stop her or question why she didn’t bring it to the hotel. She spotted the kitchen. “Mmm, something smells divine! Are you making that yummy cream of mushroom soup? I’m starving; all this work on our bake sale, you know. Mind if I have a bowl? A small one, please; I’m watching my waist.” She rubbed her tummy. Not that she was overweight. Because of Michael’s attention to appearance, she couldn’t gain a single pound; lose it, yes, but gain, no. But she wouldn’t be eating that calorie-laden soup.
Stan gave her a winning smile. “Of course. And you look fine, but don’t let Michael hear me say that.” With an awkward chuckle, he turned and strode into the kitchen. As he went through the cabinets pulling out bowls and spoons and other utensils, she moved to the stove, where she stood over the pot. Poppy fidgeted with the large cocktail ring on her forefinger, then she went to the table. Her phone buzzed, and she checked the caller ID.
“Drat it; I’m so sorry, I have to get back to my cabin. Michael is waiting.” She kissed him on the cheek before she rushed out of the cabin; things would right themselves. With a little help from her, of course. In a few hours, the problem of Stan would be solved. Now if only subtracting Michael from the equation were so easy. She left the camp grounds to go meet with her lion-shifter.
* * * *
Seven o’clock was too damn early to meet anyone for anything, even breakfast. Especially when Nadia had spent a sleepless night tossing and turning before finding the Sandman at around two thirty. Her dreams had been plagued with Urban and her father. One minute she’d be safe, and the next she’d find herself running and hiding. She woke up with soaked sheets and her heart trying to thud its way out of her chest. Now she was tired and grumpy. Nadia was in no mood to put up with bullshit, but she was sure a little coffee would keep her awake. Her plan was to talk to Isy’s contact and then go canvass the feline-shifter families who’d been affected by the introduction of Katnip. She’d heard of one family whose son had fallen into a coma after one hit. She wanted to talk to the victim’s mother. The woman had told the police that her son had spoken to a woman, and she’d given him a brownie. How could a brownie have done something like this to him? Nadia had her suspicions, but she wanted to talk to the woman first.
Nadia didn’t leave immediately for her meeting, instead doing some research about the area she was about to go into. La Lune Bakery/Cafe was on the border of feline and werewolf territory. It allowed the two species to mix in a peaceful environment. Nadia settled on her bed with her laptop, wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and socks. She sat against a pile of pillows and clicked through several websites. The sites showed how the feline-shifter community was oriented in Draven’s Crossing. The feline-shifters were third in the most prosperous paranormal bracket, werewolves came in second, and the first were vampires. She read the reports and news stories on the Katnip “epidemic,” as one reporter called it. In the previous year, the number of cases of Katnip overdoses had grown from less than one percent up to fifteen percent. Recently, twenty-five percent of the feline population had had to deal with either losing a loved one to the drug or having to deal with someone they loved being in a coma. The DCPD had no clue where the drug was coming from and no leads on who exactly was selling or supplying the victims. Nadia didn’t have much faith that they were working hard on the case.
After a bit more research she found that with the increase in cases, more Katnip “rehab” facilities had opened up all over Europe and the US. How they made money, she had no clue. Most users died after one hit, no matter how small or large it was, or they fell into a coma. With a sigh, she slammed shut the lid of her laptop and placed it on the nightstand. She was missing something big. The rehab centers couldn’t possibly make money, and yet they were. From what she’d read, parents were enrolling their children and susceptible family members into programs with the purpose of preventing them from falling prey to the drug. How could you prevent something when you didn’t know where the drug was coming from?
Thoughts bounced around her mind with all sorts of conjecture and theories on why someone would come in and sell Katnip in Draven’s Crossing, especially with the Council visiting and the Summit going on. The police were worn thin and being pulled in all sorts of directions. They couldn’t get a handle on all the issues that would pop up. It was a blessing for her; she could move around without Torger breathing down her neck. But what about Urban?
Why she’d never done a background check on him was beyond her. She didn’t want to know anything about him, wanted to treat him like a fuck-and-run and get no attachments. But now that she had some ties to him, she didn’t know what to do about it. With a groan, her mind produced images of Urban sometimes dressed, sometimes beautifully nude. Heat flooded her belly and slipped down to fill her pussy. Her breasts grew heavy as she allowed her mind to play over the memories. Urban always looked tanned, even in the dead of winter. Scars webbed his back and crossed his chest, stomach, and arms, thin white stripes that could have come from either animal scratches or human nails. He had bullet wounds in both his shoulders, his chest, and in his right thigh. Instead of detracting from his beauty, it increased it. This was a man who’d faced death and danger and lived.
His face was a study of angles. His lips wouldn’t be considered sensual or lush by any standards, but they were still kissable. He had golden brown stubble and jade-green eyes that would darken to gold when he was on the verge of the shift. He always smelled like a forest laced with moonlight and spice and wolf musk under the soap he used and the lightly spiced cologne he’d slap on after a night of being up without sleep. But even with all those scents there was always a hint of sex, something that told her he was ready for her every time, all the time. His blond hair was cut short, almost military-like, but the top was longer than the sides. She would always muss his hair, allowing the softness to tickle her palms.
He was a work of art, muscular, always fit. Just her type. If only she could resist him. She had a craving to be near him. Hearing that sexy, rough voice in her ear made her vaginal muscles quiver and her nipples tighten to hardened peaks. And now he was in town, so near, so close. Everything in her wanted to pick up that phone and call him, get him to come over, but the other part of her didn’t want him to know where she lived. Urban was a human lie detector; explaining why she had a place in Draven’s Crossing would use
up what little brain cells were active around him. There was also the small tingle of fear that opening this part of herself would increase their connection. Could she handle more strings? What would happen if and when he found out about her family life? No one would want to be related to the kind of instability Ephram brought into their lives, not to her.
With a sigh, she sent up a prayer to Artemis that they not cross paths. Urban would distract her and set her on edge, plus he had enough to deal with as the replacement alpha for Torger. She’d do this quickly, get the name and info for Zerik, and get out of Dodge. At least that’s what she told herself. Nadia turned to her right, grabbed her phone, and turned it on. Her phone background was a picture of a waterfall. After entering her password, she brought up her pictures section and scrolled through the various photos she’d taken of Urban. He had no clue how many she’d taken. Every time they were around each other she would take a shot to document any changes in him. She preferred, as pervy as it was, to take pictures of him nude and asleep. He’d never know it; at least she hoped that was the case. When they were separated, she’d have something visual to use when the urge for sex overwhelmed her. A sense of guilt tugged at her gut as she remembered when she’d last spoken to Urban and had to put him off.
She’d been in bed trying to get off with a vibrator and her fingers. She’d lied and told him that she was on a job and couldn’t see him. Running away, as usual. Nadia had pretended to be waking up, when in reality she’d been awake for hours trying to ease the longing for Urban with any means necessary, even porn. None of it compared to her love, and nothing and no one ever would. Talking to him only made things worse. Nadia doubted she could run away from him for long, especially not now.
She had to meet Isy’s DCPD Drug Unit contact in a short time. Nadia didn’t question why Draven’s Crossing needed a drug unit, what they did, or why he’d agreed to meet her. What she needed to do was get in and out of town quickly. Lacking sleep or being jetlagged wouldn’t help her do the job for Zerik. The minutes ticked by on slow hands. She felt sleep tug at her and allowed herself to doze and wake in fits and starts. When her alarm went off again, she let out a pained scream. She reached over, picked up the clock, and lifted it up, ready to throw it across the room. Nadia wanted to destroy that little beeping machine, smash it, punch it, and most of all, make that damn alarm stop. Rather than give in to her inner violent instincts, she placed the clock back on the nightstand and pushed the button.
The world became blissfully silent, but now that she was awake again, she couldn’t get back to sleep. Besides, there was no way she could go to sleep. She had no time, and she couldn’t be late. With a grumble, she got up and stomped over to the bathroom, where she turned the shower to cold, hoping it would wake up her sleeping brain cells and make her more alert. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the stall. The ice water hit her, and she sucked in a breath. She forced herself to stand under the downpour, grabbed the soap, and lathered up. Once she’d gotten used to the cold, she turned off the downpour and dried off.
It didn’t help. After drying off, she decided to go straight to the coffee. Nadia poured herself a cup of scalding hot liquid and swore when she took a sip, which burned her tongue and throat. With tears in her eyes and anger stirring in her gut, she downed the rest of the hot brew and got ready to go. She tucked her house key into a boot, hid her ID in her bra, and slipped her mobile into her jacket pocket. After she had worked with a pickpocket for a year, she’d stopped using a purse and had begun carrying only the minimum amount. She never used a credit card, debit or otherwise, unless it was an emergency; keys were stored in her shoes or in a place that could be secured to her body.
Any money she needed was tucked away in an inner pocket or in her bra, but never in a pants pocket. She put a few random denomination bills into her secret jacket pocket, set the alarm, and left. The door would auto-lock behind her. Her nerves were raw, but she was nonetheless aware of all the people out and about so early in the morning. She kept watch for anyone who shouldn’t be there. Her neighborhood wasn’t exactly well-to-do, but it wasn’t known for crime or break-ins. There was a good mix of shifters in this piece of Draven’s Crossing, mostly felines. So far, she didn’t feel as if she were being watched or followed. She decided walking would help her wake up; driving a car would be irresponsible in her state, and the café wasn’t too far away. As she walked, her mind became less muddled, and her throat and tongue didn’t feel too hot but roughened and achy. Hopefully, I’ll be able to eat something. Her last meal had been well over eight hours ago. She was thankful she hadn’t drunk anything when she’d met Isy at Mab’s. If she had, she’d be feeling crappier than usual.
Her stomach grumbled as the scent of freshly baked scones, pancakes, and buns wafted through the air. She picked up the pace, only to start running to the door. She had to wait as a little old lady beat her to it, slowly opened it, and shuffled inside. Nadia tried not to growl. Get a move on, Granny! Instead, she stared through the window at the glass cases being filled and the darting of waiters and waitresses pouring cups of coffee and delivering ice-cold glasses of milk. When the old woman was through the entryway she turned and gave Nadia her sweetest smile before saying, “Next time, you should get up earlier.”
Nadia stared after her, trying to fight down a surge of anger. “Well, fuck you very much too,” she grumbled and ducked into the restaurant. She marched over to an empty table and slumped into a chair. A check of her watch told her she was early, thankfully, and another grumble of her tummy told her it was time to eat—but what? She picked up a menu and looked over the food items: vanilla-bean scones, chocolate-chip muffins, oatmeal with various fruit toppings, and various pancakes with syrups and fillings. The menu declared that everything was made on-site and organic. At that moment everything could’ve been made with spam, so long as she got fed. She flagged down a waiter and ordered some milk chocolate-chip pancakes with macadamia nuts covered in a dark chocolate syrup and some milk. For now she would avoid coffee unless she needed it, even if that mocha topped with whipped cream being delivered to the table next to her looked too good to be true. She slouched further into her seat and stared out the window, praying that Isy’s contact who refused to give her a name would arrive.
Nadia didn’t mind that anonymity; he’d told her she’d recognize him by the mirrored sunglasses. It was a normal accessory rather than a corsage or some sort of crazy scarf or tie. When her food arrived, she dived into it like she hadn’t eaten in days. Zerik made sure she’d gotten something to eat, but it was barely nutritious enough to keep up her energy. They’d given her gruel and water, no protein. Her inner snow leopard had hated it, but at least they were getting fed. The buttery sweetness with the crunch of the macadamia nuts was bliss on her tongue. The dark chocolate was bitter enough to wake up her senses. Her tongue and throat didn’t mind that she was eating. The more food she consumed, the faster her healing powers worked to soothe away the aches and roughness.
An odd musk drifted around her. She scented him before he spoke. Her skin tingled with awareness that someone was standing next to her.
“Am I interrupting?”
At the gruff voice, she looked up, mouth full of pancakes with a fork on its way up to her lips and her free hand cupping the milk. Shit, she berated herself silently as she took in her reflection in the mirrored sunglasses. She looked like crap: bags under her eyes, skin looking less than fresh, and frown lines around her eyes that refused to smooth out.
He took off his shades, and she found green eyes gazing down at her. His angular features were more pronounced now that his glasses were off. He had shaggy blond hair that brushed his shoulders. His clothes were rumpled as if he’d slept in them, but it looked good on him, suited his image. He held out a hand. “Rex Lathem, nice to meet you.”
Rex took the seat across from her. He waved the waitress down and placed an order. “Would you like more pancakes? Maybe some coffee?” A knowing smirk flitted
across his mouth but never reached his eyes.
She frowned. His scent drifted toward her, sunshine and sweet grass with an edge of lemongrass, but there was something mudding the natural scent. Without a thought, senses on high alert, she shoved the chair back, got up, walked around the table, and inhaled.
“Whoa, we just met, come on.” Rex held up his hands, but that didn’t deter Nadia from taking another deep sniff. He didn’t try to push her away; he sat still and allowed her to investigate him. No one commented or called out at her behavior. Not that she cared. Nadia didn’t like being made a fool.
She let out a warning growl and went back to her seat. “If you’re going to pretend to be a feline, the least you could do is cover up your wolf musk with something a bit, shall we say, stronger. I know a guy. I can give you his number, tell him Claudia sent you, and he’ll give you a huge discount.”
It was Rex’s turn to frown. “Damn it, I thought I was doing a good job covering it up.” A little Southern accent slipped in. His body relaxed into an artful gratefulness that made her envious. There was no way she could do that without looking like she was about to slide off the seat.
“This explains why you’re in the DCPD, a mostly werewolf outfit. So why does DC need a drug unit? The issues of crime and drugs are low, with the exception of the Katnip issue. So what’s going on here?” She dug back into her food.
“Well….” Rex relaxed into his seat. “It may have a low crime and drug rate, but it still needs a drug unit, plus we’re supposed to stem the tide before it starts up. I’m sure Isy’s told you about the issues we have with the Council?”
Nadia agreed. “Okay, I get that; you stop it before it becomes a huge issue. So what does this have to do with Katnip?” She wondered if maybe the Council was perpetrating the Katnip issue. Nadia had to call Zerik on that issue.
Rex’s food arrived, and he began to cut into his stack of Southern Comfort Special. “Normally this would’ve been nipped in the bud. There are very few people who could sell any drugs in the first place. But this Katnip thing….” He shook his head. “It started a few weeks ago, a few deaths to start with, but when the Werewolf Summit started up, things got worse. I’ve had to toss people in jail or hide them in the DC Rehab Center to get some counseling. Once I shut down one dealer, two more pop up. I have a lead, but it’s tentative and sticky.”
Poisonous Desires Page 5