by Black, Tasha
Cressida hummed contentedly, tracing one of his tattoos with a slender finger.
He soaked in the moment as long as he dared, skimming his fingertips lightly across her shoulder blade and listening to her breathing slow until she was practically purring like a kitten.
It was tempting, too tempting, to keep his mouth shut and enjoy their closeness without thinking of what came next. But she deserved more than that, and it would be wrong for him not to let her see it.
“Are you going to run away again?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said with the simple honesty that he loved. “I don’t want to.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?” he asked. There was no reproach in his question, only curiosity.
“Because I’m afraid,” she said.
“Of me?” he asked, incredulous.
“No,” she smiled against his chest. “No, I’m afraid I can’t be what you want. Afraid I can’t be someone’s tame little mate, tending to the kids and cooking or whatever.”
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“I just had this image of you in an apron,” he explained, “with your hair all swept up, getting a roast out of the oven like some 50s housewife on TV.”
“And you think that’s funny?” she asked indignantly.
“Do you actually think that’s what I want from you?” he asked, curling a finger under her chin to encourage her to look at him.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know what anyone wants?” she asked sitting up and looking past him into the trees. “I can’t even figure out what I want.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Let me help you out. I have absolutely no expectations whatsoever about what our life together would be like.”
She turned back to him as if to question his statement.
Whatever she saw in his eyes must have satisfied her. She didn’t speak, only gazed at him curiously.
“The only thing I’m pretty sure about is that you sitting home pretending to be a good little mate is not gonna happen,” he continued with a smile. “Cressida, you’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re sexy as hell. And for someone who seems unsure right now, you have more confidence than anyone I’ve ever met. I have zero doubt that there is something amazing in your future, and whatever it is, you will completely slay it. You are going to be spectacular. I just want to come along for the ride.”
She still didn’t speak, but he could see the smile in her eyes.
And there seemed to be something new between them now, something tenuous but real.
A wolf howled in the distance, breaking the spell.
“So this is your old pack?” she asked, inclining her head in the direction of the howl.
“Yep.”
“Good,” she said with her usual pirate grin. “I need you to make some introductions.”
Chapter 7
Erik headed toward the little downtown of Tarker’s Hollow.
He forced himself to concentrate on the feel of the weathered sandstone beneath his boots and the embrace of the budding branches overhead.
He had just dropped LeeAnn, Bonnie and Jenny at Jenny’s apartment on Yale Avenue. Mary was staying behind at the Harkness place for a sleepover with Hannah.
The three Copper Creek women were concerned about their missing friend Megan, and had every right to be. They’d sat around the small folding table in the apartment’s dining area as he updated them with all he knew. He tried to report back calmly in the face of their tapping fingers and crossed legs, and all those eyes full of worry and hope.
But at the end of the day, all he’d been able to tell them was that the moroi was not in the portal at the bottom of the creek. He wasn’t sure what was down there, but it wasn’t anything that meant them harm.
LeeAnn had sighed in relief. She had almost lost everything to one of the evil monsters back in Copper Creek. Whatever mystery they were dealing with had to be preferable to that.
But Jenny hadn’t been so convinced this was great news, and told him as much.
“You’re updating us by telling us where she isn’t?” Jenny had squawked.
“Jenny,” Bonnie said, laying her hand on the younger woman’s arm.
Thing of it was, Jenny wasn’t wrong. It was rough, not knowing for sure what had happened to the other girl. He was going to have to put someone on the job. But Erik was the best tracker in Tarker’s Hollow and he hadn’t found any clues, in spite of searching the woods and town as thoroughly as he knew how.
“Hi Erik,” a familiar voice called.
He waved to Sadie Epstein-Walker who was strolling past with her little King Charles spaniel, Camilla Parker Bowles, in one arm and a reusable shopping bag full of fresh vegetables in the other.
“Hi Sadie,” Erik replied. “Hi, Camilla.”
Sadie beamed and the dog inclined its head as if it were nodding sagely at him.
“Need a hand?” he offered.
“Oh, we’re fine, Erik,” Sadie assured him. “Thanks for asking.”
Mrs. Hooper turned the corner on her bicycle and rang the bell at him on her way past.
He waved back, wondering if Mrs. Hooper might be persuaded to give up the bike when she turned ninety. He doubted it.
Erik walked on, taking strength from the beauty of the town as he always had - not only from the greetings of friends, but from the very woodwork of the ancient Victorians, the beauty of the small garden in front of the post office, spring flowers overflowing its borders, the warmth of the afternoon sun on his skin.
Summer was near.
His thoughts turned to Ennis.
The man had been all over Tarker’s Hollow during the past few weeks. Ostensibly, he was just checking up on how the merging of the packs was going.
Erik wasn’t worried about the merge. He knew the packs were getting on fine, better than anyone could have imagined. And once the baby came, the union would be cemented for good.
But, of course, there was more to Ennis’s visit than that.
Though he and Ainsley didn’t discuss it, the knowledge that Ennis was really here to choose a replacement for Ophelia Winter hung in the air. It sat at the table between them at every meal, it was a ghost sleeping in their bed.
The Federation needed a new member for the high council. Ennis had said plainly that Tarker’s Hollow was too small to need two full-time alphas. It didn’t take much to make the connection.
Erik looked around his sleepy little town. The man was right.
The village spread out to the north, right up to the train station. The shop fronts were neat and tidy with their colorful signs and barrels of evergreens out front. Across Yale, the college’s new Inn would soon rise in the space that had once been a playing field.
As he got closer to the shops, the foot traffic increased. There were plenty of friends and neighbors as well as the kids that wandered off campus or came in by train from Philadelphia.
The Farmer’s Market was open for the year, so pleasant Saturdays would be bustling like this now through fall. And this week there was a Food Truckathon, too.
He turned the corner and saw the vendors’ tents set up in the municipal parking lot down the block. Kids wandered the streets with ice cream cones and some kind of yarn crafts they must have been making at one of the booths at the market.
Ainsley and Ennis strolled away from one of the food trucks.
Ainsley wore a red sundress that made her look like a pregnant ‘50s movie star. She was carrying a paper tray of food as she and Ennis headed for the little picnic area by the library.
Erik’s heart ached at the slight waddle in Ainsley’s gait.
His stomach rumbled, but he passed up the lines and headed right over to join them in the shade.
“Hello, son,” Ennis cried, raising his glass as if in toast.
“Hey,” Erik said, squinting at the glass to figure out what was in it. “What is that? A parfait?”
“Yes, but it’s
cleverly constructed from pulled pork and mashed potatoes,” Ennis said delightedly. “It looks like an iced cream sundae, no?”
“It really does,” Erik smiled.
“Didn’t you get yourself anything?” Ainsley asked him.
“I’m good,” Erik said.
“No, you’re really not,” she laughed. “Eat this, then you will be.”
She offered up a pierogi on her plastic fork.
He took it. The fresh, potato-and-cheese-stuffed pasta was heavenly.
“Amazing, right?” she asked.
“Almost worth having all these hipsters in my town once a week,” he laughed. He was teasing, of course. Erik loved the Farmer’s Market. Everyone did.
They looked out over the parking lot. It was an amazing mishmash. Suburban families carried diaper bags and held small hands and leashes. College kids with purple hair chatted with Amish farmers, and young people from the city called out their compliments and took selfies with food truck owners, who sold treats from every continent. In Erik’s eyes, it was perfect - their own little melting pot.
He sat on the picnic bench beside Ainsley and took another pierogi when she presented one, telling himself he would stop there, but hoping she didn’t test his resolve by offering another.
“I’ll be making my full report to the council tonight,” Ennis said with satisfaction. “We’ll hear back within a week.”
A week.
Erik’s throat went dry, and he felt Ainsley’s hand grip his thigh under the table in the first open acknowledgement of what they both knew.
Seven days from now, the Federation would give the official word that Tarker’s Hollow wasn’t big enough for the both of them.
Chapter 8
Grace watched Cressida slap three packets of strawberry jelly on a single piece of toast between sips of black coffee, as she talked non-stop about her meeting with Javier.
Grace had always suspected there was something between Cressida and Javier beyond Cress just scratching her seemingly insatiable itch.
It was obvious, even to Grace, that Javier was really into her, and Grace had a habit of being notoriously bad at spotting things like that. She made a mental note to find a subtle way of approaching the topic with Cressida.
“Anyway,” Cressida was saying, “Javier’s got it all arranged. I’m going to meet with the alpha today. We’ll see what he has to say about the portal. Maybe we’ll finally get some answers.”
“That’s great,” Grace said, feeling hopeful.
“Do you want to come with me?” Cressida asked. She looked uncertain.
It was probably a wolf thing. They didn’t tend to like magical people. And Grace always felt out of place in that sort of situation. Wolves relied so much on pack hierarchy, and subtle cues that her human senses were too dull to pick up on.
“I’ll be meeting with Glenn,” Grace said, relieved that she had another plan. “We’re going to go over the evidence one more time.”
“Returning to the scene of the crime, eh?” Cressida asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, just the evidence—oh...” Grace realized what Cress was implying. “No, nothing like that. We’re just friends.”
“Well, don’t put him off too long,” Cressida said with a funny expression. “He might change his mind.”
Grace blinked, trying to figure out how the conversation she’d wanted to have with Cressida had somehow gotten turned around on her.
“Anyway,” Cressida continued, “Javier’s going fishing with Linc. They want to, um, smooth things over.”
Grace couldn’t help noticing the pleased look on Cressida’s face. The little scamp was getting a kick out of both guys chasing her.
“I can’t believe Javier is from Fletcher’s Cove,” Grace said.
“Yeah, he and Linc used to be buds,” Cressida said with her mouth full of toast. “He told me all about how they used to hang out a lot, go scuba diving and stuff, even got tattoos together.”
“Neat,” Grace said.
It was a good thing it was Cressida in this situation, and not Grace. She literally would rather have died than have a boatful of ex-lovers comparing notes.
Of course, there was very little chance of that ever happening. Grace could fit all her romantic involvements in a small life raft. With room to stretch out. But still, she’d rather go down with the ship than be on that particular raft.
Chapter 9
Grace took a deep breath and then hauled another bag out of the dumpster behind the VFW. It smelled like the New York City subway and something greasy dripped ominously from the corner, but she was determined to leave no stone unturned.
“I thought we ruled out poison in the cake because too many people ate it,” Glenn said, eyeing the bag distastefully.
“I thought so too,” Grace explained. “But I’m not so sure anymore.”
She could provide zero follow-up to that statement without talking about wolves having a superhuman healing ability.
So she shut her mouth and opened the bag.
The horrible smell got worse as the contents of the bag were exposed to the air. Grace was glad she had thick gloves on, but she wished she’d thought to bring a mask.
The trash had been here almost a week and it was due to be picked up today. So this was her only chance. No do-overs.
“Why aren’t you sure anymore?” Glenn asked.
“Just a hunch,” she said lightly.
“Well, a good cop always trusts their instincts,” he said, digging into the garbage with her.
“True,” she smiled.
Of course, her instincts were probably a little more enhanced than most. But it didn’t take magic to be a good cop. All the best ones Grace met had their own kind of sixth sense when it came to putting the pieces of a case together. One of her professors had called it a built-in bullshit-detector, designed to go off when something wasn’t right.
And something about the cake was setting off that warning bell in Grace’s head.
After a few minutes of sorting through food, paper towels, wadded up newspaper, and bottles and cans that ought to have been recycled, she straightened up. The bag was clean.
Or rather, it was filthy, but it contained no cake and no clues.
“Wanna try another one?” Glenn asked with a pained expression.
She nodded and pulled another bag out of the pile.
The already horrible odor took on a fishier note as she hauled it to the side of the dumpster. Something beneath it looked like a wreath made of hair.
She leaned down to look and nearly vomited.
It was a cluster of dead rats.
Less than a foot away from their swollen hairy bodies, at the bottom of the dumpster, was a box with the familiar bakery logo.
“Glenn,” she said.
He moved to her side. “Oh, wow,” he said, pointing out a hole chewed into the side of the bakery box. “You were right.”
“Looks that way,” she nodded slowly, looking back and forth between the dead rats and the cake they had gotten into.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” he said. “What about the others who ate the cake?”
“Maybe they didn’t eat enough,” she suggested. “Or the poison was only in one part of the cake. Or maybe they’re not telling the truth.”
“Your friend took a bite,” Glenn remarked. “I saw her. And Lincoln Monroe ate a whole slice.”
Makes sense for Cressida.
But Linc…
The pieces started to come together. She didn’t have the whole puzzle, but she had enough to make a pretty unsettling picture.
Linc wasn’t a wolf.
He had eaten some of the poisoned cake, but when she saw him the morning after, it didn’t look like it had affected him at all.
That wasn’t human.
That wasn’t even wolf. That was…
Moroi.
They had been searching for the thing the whole time, and it was among them. They had been looking at it the
wrong way altogether.
Everything began to make sense.
It had kept an eye on them, blocking Grace’s divination attempts. She was horrified not to have suspected that the moroi was masquerading as Linc Monroe.
And now it was out on the ocean somewhere with Javier. Alone.
And it needed to feed.
Shit.
Grace dropped the bag of garbage and vaulted out of the dumpster, frantic. Her mind went in a hundred directions at once and she had to take a deep breath and close her eyes to focus.
Cressida. Cressida could help her.
“Everything okay?” Glenn asked.
Grace stared at him. She had almost forgotten he was there.
“We have to go right away,” she said. “I think my friend is in danger.”
“We’d better take my car,” Glenn said. To his credit he didn’t hesitate and he didn’t ask questions.
They dashed across the lot and hopped into his shiny Ford Interceptor.
Grace clicked on her seat belt as Glenn accelerated, spraying gravel as they exited the parking lot.
Chapter 10
Cressida stood at the edge of the water, tossing stones into the tide, just like she had with Linc.
It didn’t sit right with her wolf to turn away from whoever might approach, but the wind was at her back, so she trusted her nose to smell them coming. And she couldn’t just stand around staring up at the boardwalk.
It was all fine and well to demand a meeting with an alpha, but when it came right down to it, alphas made lower ranking wolves, like Cressida, nervous.
Ainsley was her friend, of course, but Cressida still had a very healthy dose of respect for her. And she trusted her, which made her submission to the other woman’s will easier.
She remembered the odd feeling of smallness she’d always had near Ainsley’s father, Michael Connor, when he was alpha. Dr. Connor’s presence seemed too bright, too pure, like something she should hide from.
Hell, even Mac had been imposing during his short stint as the interim alpha back in Tarker’s Hollow. She shuddered, thinking about the unfamiliar look in his eye and the way she had instinctively averted her gaze from his in spite of their history.