Electric Moon

by Stacey Brutger

  Griffin thought himself safe here, but if it came down to choice, she would do whatever necessary to protect her people.

  Chapter Three

  AFTERNOON

  “The conclave is a collection of five council members. Currently one magic user, a feline shifter, one vampire and two wolves hold court.”

  “One who just happens to be your father.” Raven struggled to breathe in the confined space of the car, fighting off the claustrophobia pressing on her chest, much like being held underwater. She rolled down the window, trying not to be too obvious. The awful stench of exhaust had never smelled sweeter as she drove through traffic.

  Griffin grunted but otherwise ignored her clumsy probe for more information. “One from each race. They pride themselves on being purebreds. These men and women are not elected officials, they must earn their spots. A seat opens if someone steps down or dies.”

  The way he phrased the last part let her know which one happened more often. She took the corner on a busy street, two blocks away from the police station. “What else?”

  “They hold court every month.”

  “Always during the full moon?”

  Griffin’s smile was more wolf-like than friendly. “Always. It forces packs to come together when the mating heat is high and pack is at their most vulnerable. The first two days are used for listening to petitions or offer challenges that can’t be settled amongst themselves.

  “The third day the council members are secluded to assess and change the laws. It’s also a day of celebration. The day when new shifters crest. The full moon helps the transition and reveals the strongest of the budding pack. The last two days are used to answer petitions and claims.”

  “If this is about shifters, why have magic users and vampires on the council?”

  Griffin gave her an assessing look, calculating if truth or lies would work best. “To keep the peace. Shifters have been at war with both. Witches had at one time ensnared shifters with their spells and used them as familiars. Our animals can withstand the abuse if too much magic is cast and the spell slingers can’t control the backlash.

  “Let’s not forget the vampires. They claimed they created shifters as their daytime protection. Shifters swear they were enslaved. Vampires maintain a presence to show they are keeping with their part of the pact. The conclave is also the only place where all paranormals meet in peace. It’s where they can keep abreast of issues with their fellow predators. A few shifters even hire themselves out to each group as mercenaries.”

  “Why are you being so helpful?” She studied his dark head, a devilish smile tipped his lips. She’d amused him.

  “Payment for protecting us.”

  He lied.

  After he’d made himself at home in her house, she’d swear that he had no intention of helping her, so why the spill of information? She’d love to be able to read him with her gift, but with his wolf so closely connected, she had no doubt he’d know what she was doing.

  As the silence stretched, his smile faded. “You going in front of the council will be like blood spilled in a shark tank. You say what’s on your mind. You have secrets in your eyes. What will they get by helping you?” He peered out the window, stricken, almost haunted as if he knew from experience what her fate would be. “You’ll do anything to keep your pack. They’ll use that against you.”

  His brutal honesty stung. She’d had no problems hiding herself until her friends had decided to make their stay in her life permanent. In the past, she only had to keep her distance from others to keep them safe. To become alpha and preserve the lifestyle of her people, she didn’t have the same recourse.

  She just needed to make the consequences of those who thought to take advantage of her known, so others wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  “So it’s majority votes? I just have to sway three of the five to my cause?” Too bad it sounded a lot simpler than it was.

  “Don’t mistake them for puppets.” Griffin sounded grim. “They twist the laws to suit themselves, changing things, tweaking petitions to maneuver people around like soldiers in war. They each have their own agendas. They work against each other to further themselves.”

  “But it can be done.” She didn’t ask the question. She’d find a way.

  She parked the car, doing her best not to fidget under Griffin’s steady stare. Then he gave a tiny nod. “Maybe for you.”

  A knock on her window startled her. She yipped and whirled. “Damn it, Scotts.” She rolled down the window for the big black man standing on the sidewalk. “Don’t do that.”

  He stooped and scrutinized the car, scanning the interior. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of it, his actions done more out of habit. There was nothing to find, the car was new. Her last one had been totaled in an attempt to kill her and almost succeeding.

  “You’re late.”

  Without a word, she handed over the folder. Her fingers tightened on the envelope before she let go. “Here.”

  Scotts grunted, curled it up and shoved it in his pocket. “Let’s go before they clean up the scene.”

  He walked away without giving her a chance to say anything.

  “Friendly guy.” Griffin cracked a small smile as they watched Scotts head toward his unmarked cruiser. Even his stride was no nonsense.

  “A regular barrel of laughs.” The tense set of Scotts’ shoulders revealed his combative attitude, but Raven was sure she hadn’t done anything to set him off this time. Pulling out in traffic, she followed the cruiser, stopping at the edge of town at a remote diner.

  “Stay here.” Raven got out, the hot air instantly mugging her. Only to find Griffin mimicking her. She eyed the branded rogue who stood so calmly before her, a wolf kicked out of his pack, all but dead except for the deed. “You being out in the open is not a wise move.”

  In response or defiance, Griffin put his hands in his jacket pocket to hide the symbol of his rogue status, which explained why he grabbed it in the first place given the warm weather.

  He was the only branded rogue she’d ever seen, probably for the fact it was a death sentence that gave anyone permission to kill him on site without those pesky things called consequences. Though she might detest the rule, she had bigger battles to face in the next week.

  “You being in danger is even less.” Those eerie eyes of his didn’t give anything away, but she doubted her safety motivated him in the least. Stubble already darkened his jaw. The leather jacket, the thick black hair and broad shoulders said more outlaw than lawman.

  She opened her mouth to protest when Scotts yelled. “Over here.”

  She clamped her jaw shut, and narrowed her eyes on Griffin. The slight smile he flashed poked at her danger radar. “Cause trouble and I’ll kick your ass.”

  He sent her a ‘who me?’ look that she didn’t buy for a second. With more than a bit of trepidation, Raven followed Griffin back, behind the diner.

  The old building was run down, the red and white motif a throwback from the past. Noise whizzed by from the passing traffic. Burnt coffee and hot grease clogged the air. The clean windows were sandblasted by age and debris from the highway, but you could still see the cracked vinyl seats and tarnished metal napkin dispensers through them, completing the picture of a fifties roadside diner.

  Then the smell hit her.

  Raw flesh.

  As she rounded the corner to the back of the building, she saw the body...or what was left of it, anyway. Every surface in a ten-foot radius was plastered with remains. A particularly juicy section dripped down the wall to land in a splotch near one of the technicians. The splatters on his clothes said it wasn’t the first time that’d happened. He grimaced and scraped it into a tub at his elbow. His muttered curse carried on the breeze along with a whiff of decay as decomposition encroached.

  Her feet scuffled along loose gravel of the broken concrete as she adroitly avoided the rotten food overflowing from the dumpster. Wooden crates rested against the wall, offering them a tiny bi
t of privacy. The back door had three heavy metal locks. No one would enter or exit in a hurry.

  “You called me for a bombing?”

  Scotts didn’t answer directly. “Tell me what you see.”

  Raven stepped closer to the scene, ignoring Griffin and Scotts when they stopped behind her. No large pieces of the victim remained, not even the skull.

  The body had been pulverized.

  The jeans and boots had contained some of the explosion, but the trajectory was off. The impact blew outwards, the detonation coming from inside the body.

  Sliver of bones pierced the cowboy boots, the holes weeping blood. Inside, a pool of liquid swirled with bits of gore, the mixture already thickening as the blood clotted.

  The concoction smelled darker, harsher than normal. Definitely a shifter, maybe a rogue, but there was something wrong with the blood.

  As she drew closer, she saw bone shrapnel pepper the ground, the blast so powerful pieces had even pierced the cinder blocks of the building. The force needed to take apart a body that way had to be enormous. She continued to search, but she couldn’t locate anything but body parts and clothing. She glanced at Scotts to find him staring at her.

  “You see it, too.”

  Raven nodded. “No detonator or trigger. Do we know what did this?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, obviously not for the first time today. “Witnesses said he came out here by himself.” He pointed toward the mangled camera dangling in the corner above the back door. “The footage only shows him. No one approached. He appeared to have a seizure of some sort immediately prior. There wasn’t just an explosion. The impact site was him. The footage stopped after that.”

  Hoping she was wrong, Raven turned to Griffin. “What do you smell?”

  He glanced at the mess and shrugged. “Meat.”

  Raven crouched, absently waving away the comment. “Right. That’s it. No ignition chemicals.” Recognition set in. Pictures similar to this scene were documented in most medical journals. Though it happened infrequently, she was surprised no one else had made the connection.

  She’d seen the aftermath of a similar murder years ago in the labs until they deemed the weapon too unstable.

  She rose and strode toward the men. She’d seen enough. The pattern of blood and gore would forever be etched on her mind.

  “You know what happened.” It wasn’t a question. Resignation lined Scotts’ face at her words.

  “How did I know you were going to say that?” He turned away and she followed his tobacco smell, Griffin at her back within eavesdropping distance.

  What confused her was Scotts acted like Griffin didn’t exist, especially since he put up such a fuss the last time when Taggert and Jackson had accompanied her.

  Her hands curled into fists at the thought of Jackson, and her inability to demand his return.

  Stupid politics.

  She blew out a breath and focused on what she could change now. “Formaldehyde.”

  Griffin sputtered a laugh, but turned it into a cough when they both glared at him. A smirk danced about his lips, but he kept his head lowered, gazing at his feet. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Both stared at him blankly.

  “The smell. Formaldehyde has a very distinct smell. We would be able to scent it.”

  “But a small dose—”

  Raven shook her head at Scotts comment. “The quantity needed for this extent of damage would be noticeable. He would have to be nearly submerged.”

  “But you’re not changing your mind.” Scotts slanted her a glance. There was no doubt in him that her conclusion was correct. “How was this done?”

  Despite the difficulties between them on their last case, he believed her. “Formaldehyde creates a physical reaction when it comes into contact with shifters, a bomb, though usually not this extreme. The chemicals react long before they can infiltrate their whole system. It’s one reason why shifters pick up their dead for burial or cremation.”

  Something that she said caught his attention. “One of them?”

  Raven turned queasy at the other reason. “Some packs stick to the old customs and eat their dead, believing the strength of the deceased will be absorbed back into the pack. They consider it a great insult to the family if everyone doesn’t...partake.”

  Even Scotts turned a pasty gray at the comment. She couldn’t blame him.

  “Plausible. Except for one small fact you forgot to mention.” Griffin didn’t look smug anymore.

  Scotts glanced between the two of them when no one spoke. “What?”

  Griffin finally looked away from her. “That the process is instantaneous.”

  Her mind spun with the ingenious and frightening possibilities. “I don’t know how it happened, I just recognize the results. Suppressed poison. Darts. A skin bandage, maybe. Someone found a way to delay the response. Though formaldehyde is a gas, it can be turned into a liquid with a solvent. There can be any number of ways to create a weapon comprising it.”

  Griffin didn’t appear convinced. “But there are much easier ways to kill. Why go through the trouble?”

  “You think there will be more?” Scotts appeared resigned to possibly finding similar crime scenes.

  “Don’t you?” She gave both men a level stare. “It’s the perfect weapon against shifters. We’re lucky formaldehyde breaks down and bonds to the flesh, otherwise, every shifter in range would be infected.”

  “Were you able to identify him?” Raven tried to ignore the decomp as the pervasive smell invaded her hair and pores.

  Scotts nodded to a man holding a bag of parts. “Everything on his person was destroyed.”

  “And no one in the diner recognized him?”

  “The waitress said he was a shifter, but not a regular. He appeared to be waiting for someone, received a call then rushed out back.” Scotts flipped open his notebook as if he searched harder, the pages would provide more information.

  “I want to see the tapes. There are no void spots on the wall or ground, so no one was in close proximity. That doesn’t mean he was alone.” She normally would be invited to the morgue for review, but with the medical examiner officially missing, all requests for viewings were on hold. And although she technically didn’t know where the body was buried, she had helped in his demise when she caught him experimenting and selling shifters for a twisted hunt. She thought it best to keep her distance.

  Scotts reviewed his scribbles. “This was the extent of surveillance. I’ll get you a copy, but the camera inside broke a few years back. They fixed it enough to have the red light flash, but nothing recorded.”

  “Great.” Raven wandered to where the jeans lay, mostly in one piece if you could ignore the way the material was riddled with holes. She crouched without touching anything, noting a familiar rectangular bulge in his pocket. “You said he received a call. Think you might be able to retrieve anything from his phone? If the SIM card is still intact, we might be in luck.”

  Scotts gloved up and carefully pulled out the phone then held up the mangled black case. Bones shards pierced the hard plastic, almost making the phone appear like it was bleeding.

  The efficiency of the explosion chilled her.

  “I’ll take it back to the labs, but don’t expect much.” Scotts sounded disillusioned as he waved over a technician and dropped the phone in the bag provided.

  “You assume your theory is a forgone conclusion.” Griffin lifted his face to the breeze, but his attention was fixated squarely on her. “How?”

  “I’ve seen it before.” She could’ve bitten her tongue, already regretting have spoken when both men stared at her.

  “Where?”

  “When?”

  The men spoke in unison then shared a look that shot her senses into overdrive. “You two know each other.” The men started like children caught being naughty. They avoided looking at each other. “How?”

  For some reason, she felt betrayed by Griffin. He insisted he neede
d to come along to protect her, but what reason could Griffin have that he’d want access to her crime scene? She’d be suspicious he’d had a part in the crime except Scotts didn’t appear disturbed by his presence. Her wolf gave a huff in disgust, and she agreed completely. “Don’t make me ask again.”

  “Griffin and I have met.” Scotts shrugged, but didn’t say anything more.

  Her skin prickled at the not quite lie. “You’ve more than met.” She hesitated, but neither man gave an inch. Then she noticed their body language. “You’ve worked together.” The revelation knocked her for a loop.

  “She’s good.” Griffin spoke to Scotts while staring at her.

  “The best.” Scotts didn’t even crack a smile. “I’ll have a copy of the video and witness statements made available to you. Let me know what you find.” He walked to the crime scene without confirming or denying her accusation, effectively ending the conversation.

  And left her alone with Griffin. “You didn’t think you were the only consultant, did you?”

  Actually, she had.

  Without another word, Raven spun on her heel and marched back to the car. Too bad getting rid of Griffin would be as hard as removing the stench from the crime scene. That smell permeated every inch of her and usually lingered hours after.

  Griffin’s solid presence suffocated the car, making concentration harder. “Tell me how to contact your father.”

  Griffin’s expression didn’t change, but the tension in the car ratcheted up to an inferno. “That would be a mistake.”

  “I need to know if they are involved, and if not, they need to be made aware of the threat. Someone may be trying to stop the conclave.”

  “They have their own checks and balances. Don’t get involved.”

  “You mean Randolph?” Her body chilled at the mention of his name. He was like her, only his power had twisted and turned sinister. Her gut still carried scars when she deflected his attempt to kill her by absorbing the energy he wielded like a weapon.