“Stubborn-ass woman,” he muttered.
The detective’s dark eyes glittered, and he lowered his voice. “I’ve seen you pull some lookers, but man, this one is smokin’ hot, you lucky bastard.”
“Are you two done shooting the shit?” Roberts asked.
Ramirez smirked. “Almost.” He turned back to Bastian. “Watch your ass, Hale. Someone has it out for you.”
“Get the fuck out of here, Ramirez,” Roberts ordered. “Hale, you stay here until your whereabouts can be verified.”
Jeffries shuffled out of the room, followed by Ramirez, who tossed him a candy bar, and then finally Roberts after he gathered the crime-scene photos. The door closed, locking Bastian inside. His chest tightened. At least he wasn’t cuffed anymore. While he waited, he paced the small room and planned. Ronan had to be stopped. An hour passed. Then another. His coffee was long gone, and in its place was a fierce urge to piss. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that the only thing he’d eaten in almost four days was a fucking candy bar.
“All right, Hale,” Captain Roberts boomed as he opened the door. “You’re free to go.”
Bastian stilled midpace. He looked over the balding, overweight man and wondered whom he’d bribed to get his position. Bastian would have to get Nolan to check into his financials. “What, no apology on behalf of the Dentry Police Department?”
His captain didn’t even blink. “A misunderstanding. I’m sure you understand.”
“No.” He seethed. “I don’t understand. How is having me dragged from my apartment barefoot and in cuffs a misunderstanding?”
“The video was strong enough evidence for the judge to issue a warrant. For the safety of my officers and the public, I felt it best to restrain you. We went by the book on this one. Internal Affairs will want to sit down with you. Standard procedure. Until then you are on paid leave.”
Standard, his ass. Bastian stalked from the room without a word. Oh, he had plenty he wanted to say, but if he wished to keep his job, it was best he kept silent. He hooked a left down the dingy corridor to his office. The uniformed officers he passed through the cluttered bullpen either cast their gazes down to Bastian’s bare fucking toes or gave him a lift of their chins. Respect he’d earned, not bought his way into.
He walked into his tiny private office, something only one other detective had earned. The three extra people inhabiting the small room cranked up the heat and made it feel like a miniscule sauna in there. Or, maybe the heater was broken again.
“It’s about fucking time,” Nolan said and pushed from where he sat behind Bastian’s cluttered desk.
Morgan turned at his approach and unfolded herself from the chair she’d been in with her head on Rory’s shoulder. Bastian’s stomach tightened at the sight of her, at the feel of her magic leeching into the room. The fluorescent light above her head bathed her cheeks, neck, and bared shoulders. In sharp contrast with her pale skin, the bloodred tank top she wore matched the streaks in her hair. She’d pushed her bangs off to the side with a silver skull-and-crossbones barrette, courtesy of Rory, he was sure. Her black, skintight jeans tucked into boots that ended just below her knees and made her legs look about ten times longer.
Fuck. She was smokin’ hot.
“I brought you a change of clothes and some shoes.” She bent to pick up his items from the chair beside her, and his cock twitched.
Struck silent, Bastian followed the indent of her spine to the curve of her ass on full display in her jeans. His mouth went dry. Was she even wearing underwear? Morgan turned, held out his clothes, and his gaze fell to the little nubs of her nipples exposed through the thin shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
He didn’t take what she offered.
“I thought I told you to stay at the apartment.” His glare shifted to Rory, who now stood beside her. “And I thought I told you to get her some clothes. Don’t you have a jacket or some shit?”
Rory smiled. “Not my fault it’s crazy hot in here, Bro.”
Careful not to touch any part of Morgan, Bastian snatched the shoes and clothes from her hands. Using his bare foot, he shoved the office door shut. He stripped without hesitation and pretended not to notice the way Morgan’s eyes widened. Or the way she swallowed. As he dressed, his gaze found Nolan. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”
His brother pulled out a folded sheet of yellowing paper from his back pocket. “Found this under your windshield wiper.”
Bastian shoved his feet into his boots and zipped his jeans. Ronan’s scent filled his nostrils. He unfolded the parchment and felt both Nolan and Rory lean over his shoulder to read along with him. In his father’s elegant, rolling script, the letter read:
The body count starts now. Give your brothers my regards. R. PS. Touch Ms. Cross and I will make you watch. You always did like to watch, didn’t you?
“Sick fuck,” Rory hissed.
“What’s it say?” Morgan asked. Arms crossed, she furiously rubbed the goose bumps from her skin.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Bastian said. “Let’s go. We got shit to do.”
Nolan grabbed his jacket from the corner of the desk. “It’s three thirty in the morning.”
“Good, no one will spot us going into the cemetery.”
Both Rory and Morgan, who were putting on their coats, stilled.
“Cemetery?” Morgan croaked.
“Your training starts now.” He moved into her personal space. “I’m not going to sit in that room or in this office and look at pictures of your mutilated body with my name carved into your stomach. More people are going to die, and it isn’t going to be you. You will learn to defend yourself, and then you’ll help us bring Ronan down.”
“Bastian.” Nolan crossed his arms over his chest. “Can we talk a second?” He glanced at Morgan. “In private.”
“No.”
“He killed my mother,” Morgan blurted.
Nolan shook his head in what looked like annoyed exasperation. “What are you talking about, woman?”
She lifted her chin and turned her entire body to address Nolan. “Ronan. He killed my mother. I don’t remember much, just bits and pieces. My mom put me in a Dumpster to protect me. Through a crack in the metal.” She swallowed. “I watched Ronan kill her. The entire time, he laughed. He fucking laughed the same way he did when he strung me up in his goddamned circle of pain. So if I can help stop him, I want in. Nolan, I know you aren’t crazy about me and that’s okay, but I promise you won’t have to babysit me. And when this is over, I’ll go my own way.”
At her words, something deep in Bastian’s chest tightened. Fuck if he knew what the sensation was.
Nolan stared at Morgan for a long time before he turned to Bastian. “For the record, I still think you’re a fucking dumbass.” Then he stalked from the office.
THE ALLEY REEKED of what should have been soothing scents. Sandalwood, cedar, the sweet bite of cloves. Disgusting. Ronan stood and pressed his back against cool stone. He waited. The rear door to Haven opened, and he wrapped the shadows around him, melting into the darkness. A blonde stepped out and wiped first her nose, then the moisture glistening on her cheeks. She’d been crying.
She exhaled and leaned back against the wall much as he had. From her back pocket, she removed a pack of cigarettes. The woman stuck the white stick between her lips and cupped her hands around a lighter.
The acrid scent of tobacco filled the air as gray curling smoke rose. The woman shivered, pulled her puffy black coat tighter around her, and took a deep inhale. She held the smoke inside, closed her eyes, and blew out as if she could expel her grief as well. Ronan smiled.
He stepped from the shadows, the echo of his boots a deliberate noise in the quiet. He called his magic into his palm, threaded a hand through his hair and willed the strands a dark chestnut brown. A simple, useful spell. One he’d used when he’d dropped Bastian’s present off at the police station. By the time he got close enough for the woman to see, his eyes we
re also brown.
She looked up, startled for only a moment. Her eyes hardened. A backbone. He liked that in a woman. So much the sweeter when he broke them over his knee.
“A nasty habit, there. Those things will kill you.”
At the word kill she dissolved into tears. Perfect. He used a tender hand to stroke a line down her shoulder, and put on his best sympathy face. “I’m sorry; did I say something wrong?”
“The bar is closed.” She sucked back some snot and cleaned her face before taking an unsteady drag off her cig.
“I was walking by. You looked upset. A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t cry.”
As he’d hoped, she looked at him. She ran her gaze over him, and he waited with a charming, patient smile on his face. He could look quite harmless when it suited. Mortals were pathetic creatures too easily influenced by trivial things, shiny objects, and pretty faces. Then there were the ignorant, the crusaders whose hatred blinded them to the truth. Six hundred years he’d lived, and while things had changed thanks to technology and innovation, human greed remained. His Auri had suffered from such greed.
As he’d hoped, she softened a bit. “It’s been a rough night. Two of my waitresses were murdered.” Her head tilted up, and the tight grip she held around her coat slowly loosened. The jacket fell open, and his gaze dipped to the tag pinned over the ample breasts almost spilling free from her white sweater.
Jodi. Just the woman he was looking for.
He plucked the cigarette from her hand and stared into her green eyes. Daring her to challenge him, he brought the stick to his lips and inhaled. The smoke drifted out of his mouth, a cool stream he inhaled through his nose.
Her eyes narrowed, but she made no move to stop him. “You look sorta familiar. Do I know you?”
Ronan threw the cigarette to the ground and pressed closer. Magic came without a thought. He’d have to be careful not to use too much. Nolan was a bloodhound, a useful trait when it had been at his disposal. Now it just annoyed him.
Jodi blinked, eyes unfocused and dazed. This pitiable creature before him didn’t stand a chance. He could only enthrall the living for a moment, but a few seconds was all he needed. He pulled a blade from his pocket and pressed his thumb to the tip. The sharp sting was a sweet pain. A single ruby drop rolled down his finger. He traced her lower lip, painting it crimson.
“Lick,” he whispered.
Her tongue traced the path his thumb had taken, and his cock grew hard. Maybe he’d have more than one use for this cunt. Leaning close, Ronan pressed his lips to hers and sucked in the breath she released in a slow sigh.
Through his kiss, he called forth a tarnished piece of her soul. She tasted of betrayal, obsession, greed, and grief. Interesting. He pulled back. A bluish-black haze drifted from between her parted lips and into his mouth. Jodi’s eyelashes fluttered. When she focused on him, a soft, intimate smile curled her lips.
“That’s a good lass.” He hooked an arm around her shoulder, drew her into his side, and began walking. Moving out of the alley and onto the nearly abandoned street, he said to her, “Now why don’t you tell me your troubles, and I’ll tell you mine. I think we can help each other.”
Nodding, she proceeded to tell him exactly what he wanted to know about Bastian, Nolan, Rory, and finally Morgan.
Chapter Eleven
Under the slanting sheets of rain, the snow surrounding the narrow two-lane road disappeared. The echoing din drowned out the sound of Morgan’s racing heartbeat. Maybe she was still shell-shocked from the barrage of reporters who’d met them on the steps of the police station. Even now her eyes hurt from the nonstop flash and pop of the cameras.
“Detective Hale, is it true you slept with the victims?”
“Do we have a serial killer on our hands?”
“Is this mad man targeting your lovers?”
Bastian’s “no comment” had the vultures shifting their attention to her. When a reporter asked her how she felt about possibly being the next victim, Bastian lost it. After punching the poor guy in the face, he tucked her into his arm and all but shoved her face into his chest while dragging her to the car.
Now twenty minutes later, Bastian drove his silver sports car through the storm as if sixty-mile-an-hour winds weren’t pushing the car from one side of the road to the other. To say he was still pissed was an understatement. His anger rolled off him and filled the car with an electricity that kept even Rory silent.
She tightened her hand around the oh-shit handle and hung on for dear life. Sweat gathered in her palm and forced her to keep readjusting her hold on the plastic handle. Between the front bucket seats, Bastian gripped the gearshift and downshifted.
This was it—she was going to die.
Taking the corner hard, the vehicle fishtailed on wet pavement. For a few terrifying moments, she closed her eyes and held her breath. When the car didn’t roll, didn’t explode in a gasoline firebomb, she cracked one eye open to peer out the window. Reflected in the rain-streaked glass, her ghost-white face stared back. Doubly exposed through her reflection, the washed-out road sped by at an alarming rate.
Bastian jerked the wheel. The car lost traction and veered toward a cluster of trees. Instead of a head-on collision, the vehicle straightened and the terrain whizzed by. Her hand slipped off the handle one finger at a time. She gritted her teeth and held on to the safety restraint cutting between her breasts.
Despite her bone-dry throat, she managed to whisper, “Does he always drive like this?”
Rory shrugged from where he lounged casually beside her. “Only when he’s pissed.”
Bastian’s bright eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “I’m barely pushing sixty.” He shifted into a higher gear.
With her free hand, she gripped Rory’s thigh and struggled to keep the sudden influx of magic to herself. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “It. Is. Raining,” she said between clenched teeth.
She glanced at Nolan sitting in the passenger seat with his hands folded behind his head. He was just as relaxed as Rory. Were they all crazy?
“Chill, woman,” Rory said. “This is barely a sprinkle, and I don’t know why you’re so scared. We’re immortal. Even if Bastian did crash, which he won’t, no one is going to die.”
As if to prove Rory’s point, Bastian slammed on the gas. The quick acceleration pinned her back to the seat. Wheels hugged the slippery bend and squealed. Her stomach plummeted. “When you fly through the windshield and your head is ripped off, I don’t see you walking away from that.”
Rory looked her over, his green eyes glittering. “You’re kind of morbid.” He paused to let a slow grin lift the side of his mouth. “It kind of turns me on.”
She caught the glare Bastian threw over his shoulder. “Hands off.”
Rory settled back into his seat and shrugged. “She’ll come over to the dark side eventually, and when she does, I’ll be waiting.”
“The dark side?” Bastian snorted, and she felt some of his anger dissipate. “Okay, Goth Boy, why don’t you tell Morgan how terrified of birds you are?”
“Birds?” She chuckled.
Rory pointed at Bastian. “They’re fucking creepy, and you know it.”
Nolan burst out laughing. It was the first time she’d seen him lose his scowl. Slowly the atmosphere of the vehicle shifted. The shadow of Ronan, never quite gone, faded into the background. “I’d almost forgotten about that. One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen was you hightailing it out of that French debutante’s house, pants around your ankles, dick slapping your thighs, and a dozen peacocks chasing after you. The look on your face was priceless.”
“Go ahead, laugh. It wasn’t your dick the birds would have bitten off if you’d tripped,” Rory grumbled.
Bastian shook his head, and she caught his half smile, the way his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “If it were me, I would have been more concerned with the buckshot in your ass when the girl’s father shot you.”
“Ne
ver even felt it.”
Rory slid the hair off her nape, and Morgan jumped. His icy finger traced the raven on the back of her neck. She tried not to fidget. She’d gotten the tattoo the day after being released from the institution.
“Ravens are the worst,” he said as he and Bastian locked gazes in the mirror. “Those fingerlike wings ready and waiting to wrap feathers around your neck. And the eyes, beady and black, follow your every move.” He shuddered and dropped his hand. “Have you ever seen a raven in person?”
Only in her nightmares. “No, but they’re big, aren’t they?”
“Huge. And, they watch you,” Rory said. “Patient fuckers. They cock their heads this way and that, studying and plotting your death. Did Bastian tell you the blood of the raven created the first necromancer? One bird, an entire race of immortal beings. I’m telling you, creepy.”
Had she known all her life, on some subconscious level, what she truly was?
“That’s bullshit,” Bastian said as he navigated through a series of hairpin turns Morgan pretended weren’t there. “That raven crap is nothing but Irish folklore. Necromancy has been around since the dawn of time.”
Rory countered, “Necromancy, the art of manipulating the dead, sure, but not a true necromancer.”
Bastian tightened his grip on the steering wheel with one hand, ran the other through his hair. “Semantics, Brother.”
Her mother’s streaked hair filled her memory. She’d been a necromancer and had died because of it. “I want to hear the legend,” she said.
It was Nolan who spoke up. “There was a man named Áed Findliath. Áed the Fair Warrior. He was High King of Ireland in the ninth century.”
Rory huffed. “Like she cares about that. You and Bastian don’t know how to tell a story.”
“This should be good.” Nolan motioned for Rory to take over.
Waving his hand in the air as if he were painting a picture, Rory dropped his voice to stage-whisper. “It was a dark and stormy night. The Irish Sea churned. Lightning streaked across the blackened sky. Covered in the blood of his enemies, the High King of Ireland walked out onto his terrace overlooking the sea. The knife clutched in his queen’s hand gleamed. Áed froze, watched his wife stab his mistress, his one true love. Thud.” Rory clutched his chest, made a gurgling sound in the back of his throat.
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