by Tina Gower
“They won’t get close. Remember the shades? They tried to get to me and I was able to get away and get to you. I’ve been taking self-defense. You signed me up for it!”
“Self-defense is nothing. These people are highly trained in very dangerous magic. And…” He pushes away from me, but my palm remains on his chest. He stares at it like it’s a lifeline. He places his hand over mine. Deep breath. His eyes close and his grip gets tighter. Tighter.
I tug. “Stop. That hurts.” My brows furrow when I realize even though he readjusts to not pinch my wrists, he’s not going to let go. I frown. “Stop it, Ian. You’ve made your point. They’ll be stronger and I’m just a human.”
“No. That’s not the point.” He holds my arm out, meeting my gaze. “How would you get out of this hold? What technique would you use?”
I lift my chin, wondering why the sudden change of mood. “What if I don’t want out of this situation? Maybe I liked making out with you.”
“Show me how you’d escape.”
“No. Tell me why this went from kissing, which I liked by the way, to a self-defense lesson.”
“Someone wants to kill you. They made that very clear. We have to be ready.”
“No.”
“Hit me.”
“This is the worst foreplay ever.”
I’m rewarded with a slight blush. So I go for that angle. “Becker, wouldn’t you rather go inside and we can do some skin on skin pack stuff? You’ll feel better. It’s been a roller coaster of a day. You need to unwind from that before we get into this. Or any other plans.”
His grip loosens. “Just hit me once. As hard as you can.”
“Becker—”
“Just do it.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Please, just take this seriously.”
“I can’t. It’s fake.”
He grits, forcing out each word through his teeth. “It’s. Not. Fake.”
“It is. You’ll see. Kyle will call with the news any minute.” He tenses at the mention of my ex. It was probably not the best idea to throw that out there with him so keyed up. I sigh, massaging the space between my eyes with the hand he’s not holding hostage. “Look, your risk on a day-to-day basis hovers around fifty to sixty percent. We’re at the same risk level.”
“I could give a fuck about risk level.” He wiggles my wrist. “Some day someone is going to grab you by the wrist and not let go and you can show me what you’ll do if that happens.”
Fine. If he wants this reassurance, I can give it to him. “I’d twist my wrist to the side, putting the assailant’s wrist at an impossible angle. He or she would be forced to break free or break their own wrist.”
“Show me.”
I do the move, but he counters, moving with me and using his own arm strength to keep me from completing the move I’d done hundreds of times in class.
My arm goes limp. “It will work in the real world setting. I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“But you have to. You have to get past that it’s me holding your wrist. You don’t know what kind of magic or manipulation they’ll use.”
Even as he says the words, they don’t hold weight. Something else is bothering him. Something he’s not admitting.
I shake my head, calling him on it. “We should ask Ali. She’ll know what’s possible. Maybe if she explains the visceral magic we can find a way to counter or ward against it.”
“Great. We can do that.” He squeezes my wrist to remind me. “As soon as you show me how you’ll break this hold.”
I don’t do the move. Instead I lean forward. “Tell me what this is really about.”
“It’s about you getting free of someone who won’t let you go.”
“Ian—”
“See. There’s my name.”
“Just tell me—”
“It’s about getting free of me,” he yells so loud the car shakes. “Because the closer we get, the more dangerous I could become to you.” His voice goes quiet. He looks at where we’re connected. “You have to be able to put me down if that happens. Promise me.”
“Hey,” I whisper, some part of me knowing this was coming ever since we left Homicide this afternoon. “Is this about how you acted with Kyle?”
He nods.
“You were concerned for my safety. You’d just gotten the news. We were still coming down from an intense case and jumped right into something worse. We let our pack sessions go too few and far between, but we know a little more about that now. I know a lot more.”
His fingers loosen on my wrist. “I don’t like excuses.”
“Just come inside, so we can fix it.”
He nods, eyeing the house. My wrist falls from his fingers. “Okay. Right.” He runs his palms over his face. “Give me a minute.”
I gather my things. I’d rather he walk in with me, but I also need a minute.
Because I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing. I don’t know if I’m together enough to help myself and be there for Becker too.
This has disaster written all over it, but it’s all I’ve got.
Chapter 5
The house is a simple log cabin style from the outside, but somehow bigger on the inside. There’s no entry, the front door flows directly into the living room area. Wall to wall plain oak floors. Chocolate leather couches. Walls are painted a buttery white. Red lampshades with LED lighting that provide a warm flare. The room has more of a study feel to it with books lined along short shelves around each wall. A built-in fireplace.
The kitchen is twice the size of mine and off to the left. Sectioned off, seemingly in its own room except with two double door cutouts—one from the kitchen and one from the living room—is the dining space.
Ali has the binders of witches all spread out on the large dining table inside. There’s one large ruby-colored wall behind her where I see she’s taken down an angry sunflower print and started tacking up information we’ve gathered so far on the case.
“Sandwiches on the kitchen counter. It’s make your own. Fried Portobello for the wolf, who insisted on vegetarian. What the hells is up with that? I thought he was eating meat again.” She stretches her neck to see behind me. “Where’s the wolf? How can I poke at him if he’s not here to ignore my jests?”
“He put himself in time out.”
She shrugs. “Ah, well, if he ate something he’d feel better.” She says it a little too loud for it to be just for my ears. Becker would have heard her either way. His range is that good.
She points to the opened binder page. “So dirty dangerous witches. I gotta say, I don’t think you need to worry about Becky Williams. She’s worse than you as far as playing by the rules. Total overachiever. Never hung out with her though. I heard Becky isn’t her real name. She just went by it to cover up one that’s really embarrassing. I totally want to know what it is.”
Becker had mentioned something about it in our initial investigation. That he couldn’t find her as easily because of a nickname.
Ali moves past that juicy tidbit as quickly as she mentioned it. “But come on, oracle training and witch school?” She rolls her eyes. “The others it looks like you can easily access, but I might have a lead on this one. Heard she got pulled in a few days ago, voluntarily returned to rehab.” She points to Talia Lee. “A real whack job.”
“Yeah, a long list of blood magic offenses dating way back. She got treatment though. Too bad she’s having trouble, but going back to rehab is a good sign, right?”
Ali shakes her head. “No witch ever comes fully back from that. You know she’s itching to try again. I’ve never ventured into blood sacrifices against the fates myself, it being illegal and all, but the temptation and promise of a powerful magic, even if it is an illusion, does pull at a lot of magic users.”
I hold up the photo of Talia’s last arrest. “Right. We’ll interview her like the rest, but I’ll keep that in mind.” I set the photo down, my gaze wanderi
ng unseeing across the piles of paperwork. If it’s not one of these witches who’s able to pull apart predictions thread by thread then I don’t know where else to look. Considering one of these witches knew me, Wyrd gave them everything they could ever want to get their hands on about me, and I had no clue who any of them were.
Ali tosses a stack of unopened index cards into the center of the paperwork. Her shoulders collapse, adding to the look of defeat on her face. “You should have called me right away, Kate.”
I pull out a chair and set my laptop case down. “I didn’t know if you were at work—”
“I wasn’t. If I was I’d have called in sick or whipped up a vomit cake and given myself symptoms they’d have to excuse me for.”
“Vomit cake?” I cringe.
“Yeah, tastes sweet, but the side effects are self-explanatory.”
“I’m glad you’re on my side.”
“For now.” She perks up, the rare moment of vulnerability gone. She motions for me to follow her. “Quick tour. I have no idea where anything is. Becker got this place from another coworker who’s retired. He and his wife went on an old white dude mid-life-crisis trip across country in a motorhome.” She takes me to a bedroom down the hall. “I put all your stuff in the master suite. The bed’s a little lumpy, but you’re used to sleeping on a purring werewolf.”
“My stuff?” I open a closet to my entire clubbing outfit collection from college. “I can’t wear this. I don’t even know if I fit into it anymore.” I grab the fish-netted sleeve of a low cut shirt. “And this isn’t mine.” I flip through each outfit, the majority of which I don’t recognize.
“Consider this your intervention. I’m sorry, but those suits you were wearing before? Too business and professional. This is your chance to reinvent yourself.”
“Ali!” My voice squeaks. I pull out a one-piece lace teddy with leather and straps. My mouth hangs open.
She grins wide. “That’s for Becker.”
I shove it far into the bottom of the closet. Becker blushes at the mere mention of sex. Just a few seconds ago he turned our make-out session into a self-defense class that he believes I’ll have to one day use against him. I pull a folded blanket off the bed and lay it on top of the garment. Now if he opens the closet he won’t see it.
Ali furrows her brow. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Who did you think he wanted me to use that taser powder on?”
“I was just joking.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh goddess. He wasn’t, was he?” Her gaze wanders in the direction of the parked car out front. “He’s seriously messed in the—”
I shush her. “Later,” I mouth. And hopefully never. But the gut-churning feeling that Becker wasn’t telling me something important had increased.
The door bangs open and Ali lifts her fingers and wiggles them, then claps with glee.
Becker stumbles in the other room and then there’s the sound of a two-hundred-pound werewolf slamming against furniture.
“Fuck!” He growls. “Ali, for fuck sake it’s just me.”
We rush into the living room just before he takes a header into the sharp corner of the doorframe.
Ali places her palms against the wall and whispers a chant.
I grab him from behind. “Whoa, slow down.”
He digs his palms into his eyes. “Gods, it burns like battery acid.”
“Onion,” Ali corrects him.
“A thousand onions.”
She giggles. “Weakling. There’s no more than the power of eight hundred onions in that spell. I wanted a subtle warning, not to blind our potential assailant. I figured you’d want them alive for questioning.”
Becker blinks away tears, his eyes are bloodshot red, and the area around his eyes appears bruised.
I go into the kitchen, wet a towel, and place it over the affected area. “Holy hells, Ali, you nearly blinded him. Why didn’t you leave an opening in the ward?”
I guide my patient over to the couch. He falls into the cushions and they groan in protest.
She glares at Becker. “A. I needed to test it, and B. This asshole insinuated that I can’t protect you.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“Exactly! Which is why I said you insinuated it. Remember this moment, wolf.”
Becker shows her his teeth.
I snap a few times to get both their attention. “You guys, stop. Stop.” They do. I didn’t expect them to comply so quickly. I brush my shirt down. “Okay, great. Listen, we have a lot to do on this case, and not a lot of leads. We can’t degrade into petty fights.”
“Case? You think you’re going to solve this case?” Ali quirks an eyebrow at Becker. “You didn’t tell her.”
He lowers the towel, meeting her scrutiny with a burning hatred. “It’s just a precaution. I have every intention of finding who’s behind the threat. I told you to bring all the files, didn’t I?”
“Oh?” she says, laughing. She marches into the kitchen and opens a cupboard filled with tequila. “Then what’s this for?”
Becker doesn’t answer. He instead turns to me. “It’s not what it looks like.”
I stare open-mouthed at the wall of alcohol. “It looks like you want to spend the next month in complete oblivion.”
“The exit plan is that I drink, pass out in my car, and you would drive us to a new location. You can’t tell me where or they’ll find us.”
There’s a long silence.
“Kate and her brothers are the only family I have left. That burning hole you feel when you think of her gone?” Ali slams a fist into her chest. “I feel it too.” She lets out a huge exasperated sigh. “I’ll leave you guys alone.” She flashes a much more understanding look at Becker than her frustrated one earlier. “You’ll call me when it’s my turn to guard?”
He nods.
She grabs her keys. “The wards will only allow for you, Kate, and Hank Lipski.” She slides a vase of flowers and an envelope off the counter and carries it over to the coffee table in front of us. “Your office mates left this on your doorstep. I didn’t want them to wilt.”
I glance at the envelope that is most likely my paycheck. Being put on suspension after a death notice meant early payday. Just a little reminder that I might not be going back and this sum would defray the cost of funeral arrangements.
Ali goes out the back where I assume she parked her car. I didn’t see it when we pulled up earlier. When I hear her car engine start and the crunch of her tires grinding down the dirt road, I lift my gaze back to Becker.
He flicks a loose string on the knee of his jeans and with tight lips he eyes the tequila cabinet with a certain intensity.
“It’s actually a good plan,” I say, kneeling in front of him.
The words startle him enough to break his brooding. I slide my palm under his jacket and slowly ease it off his shoulders. He lets me. My fingers play with the buttons on his shirt. I wait for his acknowledgment. He lightly touches my hand, replacing my fingers with his, and unbuttons his shirt. I help him slide it down his arms.
It’s this gentle routine that undoes me every time. I shake slightly, unsure of the physical closeness. Does he want me that way? I’d been surprised when he kissed me, but then the serious tone and shift in mood were troublesome. I understand now why he wanted to keep pack business separate from a relationship.
I shrug out of my blazer and hesitate. Skin on skin is by far a better, faster release for his tension. It regulates him in a more efficient way than general closeness and pressure of another body against his. Ideally we combine both. There’s no room for shyness. It’s when things are sexual that Becker has issues.
I stand, turning my back and pull my shirt over my head, leaving on my bra. I figure it’s the same as a bikini top. I leave my pants on because I decide even though it completes the swimsuit denial fantasy, it’s not a smart idea. Facing him, I notice he keeps his gaze discreetly to the side of me, or down in his lap—pack is not supposed to be sexual, but I know we�
��re somehow doing it wrong, because it very much is. Becker has said he doesn’t understand it either.
One knee on the couch, I twist as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me down to him. We sink into the couch together. Him lying back, me tucked into his side. As always the tension leaves us both, melts somewhere into the leather of the couch. Absorbed and banished.
“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he says, but his eyelids blink slowly and droop.
“All right.” Muddy thoughts clog my ability to speak. I open my mouth a dozen times to start a conversation. Something mundane and boring and safe. The weather. Hockey season. Office gossip.
His fingers graze along my spine. “I keep forgetting.”
I angle my head, propping it up on my hands to meet his gaze. He doesn’t continue, so I prompt him. “What?”
“I forget that you’re not a wolf and so your emotions are out there like an open book. Wolves hide them better.”
“I don’t know how to keep it locked up. And look where that’s gotten you.”
“Fair.” He shrugs, his free hand cups my face. “But it’s unnerving to know…” He trails off, as though he’s decided to sensor himself.
I imagine attempting to describe what it’s like to scent and sense those things is like trying to explain the sun to a creature deep underground. I have zero idea what it’s like to be a wolf and he doesn’t know what it’s like to be a human.
He sighs. “I know when you’re terrified.”
My back curves and I shrink a little into myself, pulling my arms in protectively. I’m unable to stop the reaction. A complete acknowledgement of his observation.
He hugs me closer as though on reflex. It works, dulling the sharp edges of my fear.
He lightly brushes a lock of hair from my face. “It’s like a baby crying. The parents rush around trying to make it stop. They’re tight all over and their faces are locked in a kind of fever. They shake from the influx of adrenaline and cortisol. The baby cries harder. The baby always cries harder.”