Caw.
I jerked upright, and the pillow dropped onto my lap. Across the room, a large black bird hovered outside the glass. Its eyes were ruby red and sharp as the talons clenching the narrow windowsill. Its massive wings flapped as it struggled to perch. When it settled, it tapped the glass with its thick, weathered beak until I slid out of bed and eased toward the window. With glass between us, I could act brave even though my fingers shook when I tested the sturdy lock.
Reassured, I crossed my arms. “Who are you?”
The bird tilted its head to and fro, examining me. Its bloodstained gaze flickered to the latch.
“That’s not going to happen, bird boy.”
Some things, bad things, required an invitation to enter your home. Grant permission once and they never had to ask again. Rescinding the offer was difficult and, in some instances, impossible.
I tapped the glass in front of his face. “What do you want?”
His squawk made my ears ring as he hopped from the ledge and glided out of sight, taking any chance of me sleeping along with him.
Chapter 8
A text from Shaw woke me five minutes before my alarm buzzed.
Yes, we do.
Three words. That was it.
Unimpressed with how the night was starting, I took a scalding shower and dressed for work. After three powdered donuts, I stopped growling. Of course, that might have had something to do with the five cups of coffee I washed them down with before texting him back with a mood appropriate emoji and thumbing through the FTAs Mable had assigned me.
After an hour passed without a response from him, I turned off my cell, grabbed my keys and messenger bag, and headed out the door. I might as well earn some easy money while I waited.
A quick drive across town brought me to one of those Happy Planet Recycling Centers popping up all over southeast Texas. The owner, Mathew Davis, was my fugitive for the day. Davis was a registered hobgoblin, a trickster fae, who got his kicks slathering on glamour and fooling humans into thinking he was one of them. Usually hobs were harmless pranksters, more of an annoyance than a real threat. But Davis had a mean streak. According to his file, he preferred shenanigans his victims didn’t survive to laugh off.
Oh joy.
With a recycling empire at stake, Mable was betting he would come peacefully.
Hey, a girl could dream.
I stepped inside Davis’s flagship building and into some kind of freakish after-hours’ party.
A portly nude hob zoomed past me riding a scooter. I wrinkled my nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Watch out, toots.” He shook his gnarly fist at me. “You’re standing in the middle of the track.”
Glancing down, I spotted the dotted and dashed chalk lines of a racetrack under my foot.
A second hob shot past wearing goggles, followed by a third and fourth wearing nothing at all.
I found somewhere less nauseating to look and called out, “Mathew Davis?”
One of a dozen hobgoblins—sans glamour—skidded to a halt with the plastic bottle he had been using as a bat raised over his head. Each of his ears was larger than my whole hand. His eyes were a dazzling shade of blue, his skin a grayish warty hide with thick purple hairs sprouting down his arms. His head reached my waist. His stomach was round and taut, his arms spindly and his knees knobby.
“Mathew Davis.” He leapt from his scooter and danced a little jig. “At your service.”
“Hi, Mr. Davis.” I avoided eyeing his free swinging bits. “I’m Thierry Thackeray, the marshal assigned by the conclave to work your case.”
The other hobs sucked in a collective gasp and scurried like roaches into the darkened corners of the massive warehouse. Their chattering made it difficult to hear what Davis said next, but whatever it was sent waves of hysterical laughter crashing through the room as the other hobs bum-rushed me.
Before I could react, they knocked my knees from under me and hefted me up on their bony shoulders. The nearest male whacked my forehead with an empty two-liter bottle similar to Davis’s.
Davis executed a perfect back handspring, landing on a fellow hob’s shoulders and cinching his sinewy thighs around the poor guy’s head. Fisting the red tufts of hair curling out of his friend’s ears, Davis guided his mount—who neighed at me—toward a newly chalk-lined section of concrete floor.
“Come back later, lassie.” Davis smacked his mount’s ass with his bottle. “I’m busy just now.”
The sea of hobs washed me past Davis and right out the rear bay door. They tossed me from the dock, where trucks dropped off containers, into a metal box stuffed full of cans waiting to be crushed. The impact knocked the breath out of me.
Metal groaned and casters squealed. I tilted my head back as they slammed the rolling bay door shut behind me.
“I could make them pay for that.”
The simple offer hung suspended on a rich breath of wood smoke.
I bolted upright as cold sweat drenched my shirt. “Who’s there?”
No one answered.
I shoved to my knees inside the shifting container. “I said—who’s out there?”
“Didn’t you get my text?” a graveled voice called.
The tension pinching my chest eased enough I could breathe again. “Shaw, texting someone Yes, we do is not the same as Meet you soon or See you at seven.”
His hands appeared on the lip of the container. One harsh grunt later, his upper body popped into view. His forearms rippled with muscle when he locked his elbows, suspending himself across from me. He stared down as I knelt on the crinkly aluminum carpet. “What are you doing in there?”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. “How did you know where to find me?”
He found his footing on the side of the container and shifted closer. “I asked you first.”
“Congratulations.” I tossed a few can tabs like confetti into the air. “Your prize is…answering my question.”
“My phone was off when you sent the picture.” His lips twitched. “I texted you earlier, but all I got in response was a smiley face flicking me off with one hand while drinking coffee from a mug in the other.”
Eyes wide, I tried for innocence. “My thumb must have slipped.”
“I figured.”
“You should have texted me back.”
“And risk your thumb slipping again?”
I lifted my chin like the thought never would have crossed my mind.
“I had to check in at the office and got slapped with some paperwork while I was there. By the time I called, your phone was punting me straight to voicemail so I got Mable to tell me which cases she pulled for you.” His gaze touched on the container. “You weren’t at the quarry looking for Burke, so I drove out here.”
“I turned off my phone.” Fae hearing being what it was, I preferred scouting situations without the risk of a poorly timed ring or buzz. It was a habit I had picked up from him, actually.
“No one else has gotten a house call from this guy. Whoever we’re after knows you’re a death-touched fae now.” He hesitated. “He’s probably following you around hoping you’ll drop someone else.”
I grimaced. Great. My own personal scavenger.
“Until we draw a bead on this guy, I don’t want you following up on any leads without backup, okay?”
“Sure.” As long as he kept off Mom’s lawn. “No problem.”
“Grab my hand.” He stuck out his arm. “I’ll pull you out.”
“I don’t need your help.” I kept wading toward the closest edge. “It’s not that deep.”
“Suit yourself.” He released his grip. A second later his soles smacked the ground.
With no one to watch me humiliate myself, I belly-flopped onto the sticky cans to give my body as much surface as possible, then wriggled my way forward until my fingertips brushed warm metal. I pulled myself up the side of the container and swung one leg over its lip and then the other.
When I let go and fell
, instead of hitting pavement, I hit a very warm body.
“Watch that last step.” Shaw pressed me against his chest. “It’s a doozy.”
I squirmed, which got me exactly nowhere. “Put me down.”
“All you had to do was ask.” He set me on my feet, his hand sliding through my hair. “Hold still and let me...” He flashed a metal tab with a few black strands dangling from it. “There we go.” He glanced around the vacant parking lot. “So, you’re here for Mathew Davis.”
I didn’t like the glint in his eye when I nodded a confirmation.
“A case brought me out two years ago.” He shook his head. “A hob died here.”
Nothing for it, I had to ask. “How?”
“Davis’s version of the story was the guy fell into the compacter. The hob’s wife saw it happen, and she’s the one who called the conclave. She said Davis pushed the guy. They’d been playing that weird-ass form of hobgoblin polo, and Davis’s mount—her husband—stumbled over a mallet handle and they face planted. Davis lost the match and, according to her, took the loss out on her husband.”
I frowned. “That wasn’t in his file.”
“Davis was cleared of all charges.” Shaw seemed unsurprised. “According to his file, he has no priors. But two guys I worked with at the time had each been out here for minor disturbances.”
That meant I could kiss my easy money goodbye. “I appreciate the heads-up.”
The straightforward approach had ended with me tossed out on my ass in front of Shaw, who had taught me better, which made the incident ten times more humiliating. Time to reevaluate.
The edge of his lips curved in anticipation of a smile. “I can help, if you want.”
“That’s all right.” I dusted myself off. “I can take it from here.”
I took it all right. Three more times I entered the building and three more times the hobs booted me out the door. By the time I stomped across the parking lot to where Shaw sat in the bright cab of his mammoth truck, the fingers on my left hand were itching. When I reached him, he silenced his radio.
He scanned me head to toe. “You’re hurt.”
I touched my busted top lip, wincing like an idiot. Of course it hurt. Davis had headbutted me, and the wound was taking its sweet time mending. Must be some kind of allergic reaction to hobgoblin.
“It will heal.” The scrapes and bruises were already mending. “That is one mean little bastard.”
Shaw propped his elbow in his open window and set his chin on his palm. “My offer still stands.”
“Good.” My shoulders slumped, knowing I wouldn’t have to ask outright. “I appreciate it.”
“I’ll help. I’ll even let you keep the bounty…” he opened his door and joined me on the asphalt, “…if you agree to have dinner with me.”
“No dice.” I backed away slowly. “We just agreed—”
“It’s not like that.” He held up his hands, palms out. “Nothing romantic. Just business.”
“Oh.” I squared my shoulders. “In that case, sure, I can do dinner.”
He strolled past me, hands in his pockets, grin on his face as he headed for the recycling center.
Shaw called over his shoulder, “Do you remember the first thing I told you about incubi?”
I didn’t have to think about it. “They’ll say anything to get in my pants.”
The scent of patchouli drifted in his wake. “Exactly.”
Chapter 9
Whistles and catcalls blasted us as Shaw and I entered the recycling center. I cocked an eyebrow at him, but Shaw had gone bye-bye. Tendrils of mist clouded his pupils until his eyes were white voids. His complexion paled. Veins in his face and neck grew more pronounced, pulsing bright blue beneath his skin. The hand nearest me quivered while bone-white claws sprouted from the tips of his fingers.
A shiver of anticipation tingled through my limbs. Somehow it was a comfort seeing handsome Shaw appearing every bit as monstrous as I sometimes felt on the inside. He looked too normal, too perfect, and I was relieved to be reminded he wasn’t. Not at all. He was pure fae, pure trouble…pure temptation.
The first time I saw him like this, bare and real, I asked him out afterward.
Of course, I had been thirteen at the time. He let me down easy by promising we would revisit the topic once I was legal. He had been trying to make me feel better by proving I wasn’t alone in my otherness. Compared to his chilling transformation, the runes gradually creeping up my arm were only a minor tell that I wasn’t one hundred percent human, no matter how much I once wished I was.
Davis kept his back turned until he made his goal then faced us with his makeshift bat raised.
“This is the last time, girlie.” He paused while his gaze swept over Shaw. “You look familiar.”
A low rumble of sound from Shaw filled the sudden quiet. “You made her bleed.”
I’m not sure which of us was more stunned—Davis or me. I’m betting me. I bled all the time. It was an occupational hazard.
“I asked her nicely to come back later.” Davis’s throat flexed. “You ought to teach her—”
“If you finish with my place,” I snarled, “I’m going to peel your hide like a moldy banana.”
Shaw’s lips curved in my direction. It wasn’t a pretty smile. It was tinged with hunger and made me desperate to cross my legs or invest in a full-body chastity belt. A chastity suit? Was that a thing?
His attention riveted on Davis. “Apologize.”
Davis folded his twiggy arms across his barrel chest. “I won’t.”
A gentle breeze teased flyaway hairs into my eyes. The earthy scent it carried made water pool in my mouth. When the lure hooked the other hobs, cheers for Shaw grew deafening. Davis swiped his mouth with the back of his arm. His chest pumped harder, his nostrils flaring as he inflated his lungs.
“Shaw.” I reached for him. “It’s not a big deal. Let’s slap a restraining Word on him and go.”
Forget handcuffs. Not only were some fae allergic to metals other than iron, they were a pain to keep on hand. It was smarter to use one of the conclave-sanctioned binding Words to subdue unruly suspects than risk lawsuits later. Fae may not be human, but they sure loved the mortal court system.
Where I touched Shaw’s arm, those fingertips sizzled. I jerked back and flung my hand until the skin regenerated. This was not good. This was an incubus in meltdown. Grinding my teeth, I grabbed him.
“Can I talk to you outside?” The smell of burning flesh turned my stomach.
Shaw glanced down where we touched, and the fire in his flesh extinguished. “I— Sure.”
I looped my arm through his, half dragging him from the building. Partway to the nearest exit, I shot a warning glare at Davis. “You’ve got five minutes. Say your goodbyes and make your arrangements.”
“Five minutes.” He bobbed his head while keeping an eye on Shaw. “That’ll do.”
Damn skippy it would.
Once outside, I ushered Shaw toward his truck and backed him against the rear fender.
“What the hell was that?” I pinned his shoulder. “I’ll tell you what it wasn’t—helpful.”
“Sorry.” His eyes were clearing. “I wasn’t myself back there.”
“Is something…?” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it, if I had the right to ask. “Are you okay?”
His hand reached up to cover mine. “I’m hungry, that’s all.”
“You’re hungry?” He used to last days between feedings. “You just fed.”
His color returned as his jaw took on a stubborn set.
I exhaled through my teeth. Not my problem. His diet was his issue.
“Go eat.” I stepped back. “I’ll wrap up here.” I remembered his offer to let me keep the full bounty. “I’ll keep your name off the paperwork.”
“I appreciate it.” He ducked his head. “About dinner…?”
“Sure.” If I gave Davis much longer, he might catch a second wind. “Why not?”
; Behind me I heard Shaw climb into his truck and slam the door. The engine turned over, and he sat there idling. I didn’t look back, didn’t check and didn’t ask why he hadn’t peeled out of the parking lot.
While Davis was feeling compliant, I went inside and read him his rights, which he recited along with me. Why, no. That never gets old. I bound him from inflicting harm or escaping then I shoved him into my car.
Not for the first time, I wished the conclave would assign us take-home cars so my personal vehicle wasn’t subjected to bare butt cheeks. I used to tuck blankets over the rear bench seat, but all that accomplished was letting suspects know how gross I found the prospect of their various body parts contacting the fabric. Once they realized that, they made a point of rubbing themselves all over the seat. Now I just let it go. Dripping blood, weeping pus or otherwise leaking bodily fluids? Great. Hop on in and sit on down.
Amazing how little they cared about wrecking my property if I gave the impression I didn’t care either. Shutting the door behind Davis, I blocked out all thoughts except those of the bonus I was about to receive. There would be too few zeroes to compensate for this, but I needed the cash.
Lately, even after taking so many crap cases, I always owed more than I made.
I mean, I could tell Mom the truth. That when I hit eighteen and accepted conclave employment, the support payments to her for raising a magically gifted minor had stopped. But she had a newly minted bank note for her car, and she loved it. Losing that income meant she lost the mini Cooper.
I could last a while longer, a few more payments at least.
Mom lost everything when the conclave swooped in and cleaned up my mess. Her home, her career, her friends—her whole life—gone. Her part-time gig at the local animal shelter wouldn’t come close to paying her rent or her loan. Since I got her into this mess, the least I could do was keep those support payments going to her, even if they were deducted from my paycheck.
With Mai as a roomie and Mable willing to assign me high-risk cases, I made ends meet for us both. It might not always be enough, but it worked for now. I would worry about later when it got here.
Dog Eat Dog World: Limited Edition Bundle (Black Dog) Page 18