The Worth Series: Complete Collection

by Lyra Evans

  “Well aside from all the blood, you mean?” Davin asked ludicrously. Rory glared at him. “The victim was torn apart. Deep gashes and bite marks. Not the kind of thing your usual Wizard would do to kill someone. If a Wizard were responsible, it would have been a silver bullet.” He seemed so self-satisfied with this conclusion, he was surprised when Rory’s pointed look did not vanish. Rolling his eyes, Davin said, “We found fur from a white Wolf, too. Pierce is a white Wolf. Everyone knows that. The most famous one, isn’t he? Don’t even think there are other white Wolves in Logan’s Court.”

  Rory blinked. “That’s all?” she asked, clearly unimpressed. “You’re basing your charges on the ridiculous conclusion that there are no other white Wolves in Logan’s Court?”

  Flustered, Davin squared his shoulders and tried to seem large. “Not just that! The Wolves were here too. Border guards and others. They came to investigate with us. Said they smelled Pierce. Said the scene reeked of him. Then they ran off to follow the scent who knows where. You can ask them.”

  “Oh, I will,” she said.

  The scent evidence was troubling, but until they spoke with some Wolves about it, they couldn’t trust to Davin’s word. Beyond the scent evidence, there was little tying Connor to the scene. White fur was certainly not enough to arrest Connor.

  Oliver walked around the room, trying to get a different perspective on the scene. The Virtual Reality projection allowed him only so much freedom; it was limited by Rory’s experiences. If it wasn’t possible for her to see something, Oliver wouldn’t be able to see it. The same went for all the other senses. Oliver kneeled down at the edge of the blood pool, his knees sinking softly into the grass. Something about knowing he was kneeling on hard floor instead of grass made the experience surreal to his mind.

  He breathed in the scene, trying to get access to the magic that lay beneath the physical. He searched for the magical signature left at the scene, beyond the violence and the assault, beyond the blood and decay. He wasn’t sure it would work; Rory was Fae, not Witch. She didn’t have the same kind of access to magical signatures as he did. But faintly, as if in the distance, on the other side of a cavernous space, Oliver began to pull at the edges of the magic left behind.

  “There was one other bit of evidence,” Davin said, offhand. “But I don’t put much stock in that kind of antiquated nonsense. Still, probably seals the Wolf’s fate.”

  Oliver didn’t hear Rory ask for what the evidence was; he didn’t need to. The signature he felt was hunger and a sharpness of fang, the brightness of a summer day and the taste of water after a long run. The slow burn of a deep kiss, the warmth of a bed in the morning, the intake of breath at the pinnacle of a rollercoaster. It was a signature he’d sensed before. One he knew well. Connor’s signature.

  Chapter 9

  It kept playing on a loop in his head, as though he was locked in a nightmare he couldn’t escape. Oli didn’t know where to turn, what to say. He searched again and again, feeling for the signature, sorting through the experiences in new ways, hoping he’d somehow come to a different conclusion. But the signature felt so like Connor’s signature, it was difficult to ignore. He’d never met anyone else with that specific set of magical imprints, with those experiences. And signatures weren’t static, they shifted and changed somewhat over time. In small ways, when important things happened in life. Connor’s signature changed slightly when he met Oliver, when they declared their feelings for one another. Oliver’s did too. It shifted to accommodate the new facet of Oliver’s existence, the way magic is wont to do.

  It would have changed again after the bonding ceremony, his and Connor’s both. They would have become even better matched.

  Swallowing against the sand in his throat, Oliver turned to Connor, his eyes wide and his face a mask of confusion. Oliver was never as good at hiding his emotions around Connor. Not when it mattered. He only knew how to shut people out, not how to shut himself in. Connor’s eyes found Oliver’s, and his expression swirled from stoic determination to something else. A flash of fear, a pinch of heartbreak, and Connor reached out for Oliver.

  In a moment of insane panic, Oliver jerked his hand back, as though Connor had meant to harm him. The anguish on Connor’s face in that moment was enough to break Oliver’s spirit entirely. He stopped himself, shut his eyes, and searched vainly for something to say or do.

  “Oliver,” Connor said quietly, his words cautious like a baby faun. “Oli, I didn’t do this. You said you had faith in me.” A vise in Oliver’s chest tightened, his heart struggling beneath the pressure. He did have faith in Connor. He did. He knew Connor. Didn’t he?

  “It’s your signature,” Oliver said. “How is it your signature?”

  Connor shook his head, shoulders heaving, face twisted in desperate frustration. “I don’t know!” he said, and Oliver saw his lover on the edge, about to step over and give up entirely. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I didn’t—” He stopped himself, forcing calm over his desperation, taking calculated breaths. And when he looked up at Oliver, it was with the resolve of a cracked foundation—damaged beyond repair, but still concrete. “I can’t keep saying it if you won’t believe me.”

  Oliver went to him, took his hand, unable to breathe. He placed Connor’s hand on the obsidian collar wrapped around Oliver’s wrist. They shared a look, and Oliver nodded to him.

  “I do believe you,” he said. His mind raced as the evidence settled into place, facing the reality that there may not be a way out of this, but his heart beat for Connor. He’d forgotten how to love, how to let himself be loved, until he met Connor. Oliver had forgotten what it meant to be part of a family, to be the core of someone and have them be the core of you. The truth of that feeling was unyielding and would not fade beneath the scrutiny of any investigation. Particularly not one run by Davin. “I just wasn’t expecting to face this kind of evidence. But we’ll figure it out.”

  Connor brushed his thumb over Oliver’s cheek, then looked away. Oliver could feel, just through the proximity of Connor’s hand, that Connor’s heart was pounding hard. He could feel the spiralling confusion, despair, anger. Connor shook his head.

  “I’m no good at this kind of war,” Connor sighed. “The kind that gets inside you, into your head and rattles your truths, makes you doubt everything you knew about yourself and the people you love. I don’t understand—my magical signature, my scent—how do you argue against evidence like that?”

  Oliver’s stomach clenched, his heart sinking in the face of it. “It’s not about arguing against the evidence,” Oliver said, wracking his mind. “It’s about putting it in the right context. Understanding how all the pieces fit together. You’ve worked cases with me, Connor; you know things aren’t always what they seem.” And then the sky opened up above him, and the fog in Oli’s mind cleared. “That’s it,” he said, delivering his question to Connor for Rory. When Oliver turned to see her, he found her, chin held high, a look of pointed interrogation on her face.

  “Doesn’t that all seem a bit convenient?” she asked Davin, who did an almost comical double-take.

  “In what way is murder convenient?” he asked. Rory rolled her eyes.

  “Connor Pierce has been working in conjunction with Detective Oliver Worth, has he not?”

  It was Davin’s turn to roll his eyes. “So? Just shows I was right about that cock-sucking manwhore, doesn’t it? Got himself involved with a vicious animal in his mission to fuck every—”

  “And they’ve solved a number of high-profile cases together,” Rory went on, speaking over Davin’s abuse of Oliver. Oliver shrugged it off, though Connor had grown tense again.

  “So?” Davin asked.

  “So, Connor Pierce has quite a bit of experience with police procedure,” Rory went on, slow-walking Davin to the obvious conclusion. But Davin was unusually thick, which meant she would have to spell it all out for him. “He knows what kind of evidence the NCPD would look for, how they collect it, test it, tr
eat it. He knows what conclusion you’d draw if you found that kind of evidence at the scene.” Davin shrugged. “As Connor Pierce is clearly not as much of a garden gnome as you are, he would have taken pains to ensure there was no evidence tying him to the crime. And if Detective Worth were involved, then you can bet that he would have made sure this scene was pristine.” Oliver smirked at Connor. “Which suggests there is entirely too much evidence here.”

  Davin stared blankly for a moment, but once his brain had caught up with Rory’s thought-process, he doubled over in an overdramatic laugh.

  “This isn’t some two-cent mystery novel, lady,” he said. “Criminals are stupid. They do stupid things. And maybe you’ve overestimated Worth’s worth as a police officer. Most of the cases he’s closed were about luck and he barely got out of the last two alive. That doesn’t spell Detective of the Year to me.”

  Rory stared deadpanned at him. “Perhaps that’s because you can’t spell,” she muttered, and Oliver chuckled. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s concede that Connor Pierce is the best suspect. What would be his motive for murdering Logan, Alpha of his entire pack, and Connor’s closest blood relative?”

  Davin waved a hand around, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Motive’s not my job. Maybe Pierce wanted to be Alpha. Or I heard he was going to be bonded to Worth. Maybe Logan wasn’t as gung-ho for inter-species fuck-buddies as Pierce is. Could’ve denied Pierce’s position as Alpha for it. Who knows how the minds of these animals work?”

  Rory’s nostrils flared, and Oliver studied Davin critically.

  He really is a waste of space. Literally, the air he’s taking in is of more value than he is.

  “This guy is the best detective they’ve got after you?” Connor asked, shaking his head at Davin. Oliver snorted.

  “He’s babysitting a static crime scene,” Oliver said. “He wouldn’t even be the best detective available on a deserted island.”

  Connor smirked slightly. “If I was going to take Alpha from Logan,” Connor said, more to Rory than Oliver, “I would have challenged him openly, before the entire pack. There would have been a public battle, fought between the two of us alone, and the victor would take over. If Logan died during the battle, he would have been honoured and buried among our ancestors in the ancient wood. And there would have been a proper ceremony. This,” Connor said, gesturing at the violent mess of the crime scene, “would win me absolutely nothing but hate and anger from the pack. I could never take Alpha this way.”

  Oliver nodded to himself, thinking over all he’d learned about Logan’s Court since meeting Connor. It was true that the Wolves of the Court were unlikely to take kindly to this kind of defeat. Even if Logan had fought his killer on equal footing, the fact that it had taken place at night, in Nimueh’s Court, and Logan was left ravaged in a pool of his own blood meant that it was a dishonourable fight. Why else refuse to mention it? Why all the secrecy?

  Shame flooded Oliver, burning at his cheeks and ears. He should never have doubted Connor, not even for a moment. He knew better. But the question remained, who did kill Logan? The evidence was so clear and complete, pointing directly at Connor, that it was difficult to discern another possible suspect.

  Which was, obviously, the point.

  “And on the subject of Logan’s support of our relationship,” Connor added, glancing at Oliver, “he was very encouraging. We talked at length about it, the good it would do for our Courts, for the relationships between Werewolves and Wizards. He even asked me to tell him all I knew about Witches and Wizards, whether or not they have specific courting rituals or behaviours, what kind of gifts are appropriate, all sorts of things. He was broad-minded and sought peace between the kingdoms. Logan didn’t believe war would serve anyone well.”

  “None of those motives make sense,” Rory told Davin. “No self-respecting Werewolf intent on Alpha would challenge their standing Alpha in such a dishonest, secretive way. A fair fight between Alpha and contestant has to take place publicly.”

  A jingling distracted Davin from his knee-jerk, undoubtedly bigoted reaction. He pulled out his phone and swiped through, a broad smile drawing itself on his features. “Well, little missy, looks like the nail’s in Pierce’s coffin. We’re still waiting on possible DNA results, but the toxicology report came in. It appears it was never meant to be a fair fight,” he said. “There were drugs in his system when he died.”

  Rory’s lips parted slightly, the most surprise she’d ever shown in a professional setting. Oliver turned to Connor. Connor shook his head.

  “Logan didn’t do drugs,” he said. “Someone must have slipped him something to—”

  “Incapacitate him,” Oliver finished. “They needed Logan weak or knocked out to take him down.”

  Connor swallowed, his blue eyes blazing as he gazed at the pool of blood. “Which means he never even had a chance to fight back.” He shook his head again, blond hair falling into his eyes. “And they think I did this?”

  “You think Connor Pierce, rising star of Logan’s Court and CEO of the highly lucrative Pierce Entertainment, would need to drug anyone to kill them?” Rory asked, shrugging her shoulders. “With that and your constant inflammatory language when referencing the Werewolves of Logan’s Court, it seems to me your investigation is suffering from a hateful bias against Werewolves. Any comments on how and why the NCPD is railroading Connor Pierce?”

  Davin sputtered, at once furious and terrified. A case this major would make or break a career, and Davin’s idiocy when talking to the press was shooting him straight for ‘early retirement.’ Or, if Oliver’s wishes came true, a long-term placement in the case-file archives.

  “All your arguments are based on the fallacious idea that Connor Pierce is a real Wolf, worth his stature,” a voice said. Rory turned, Oliver and Connor following suit. The Fae Special Investigator stepped forward. His expression was a broadcast of boredom, but there was a glint in his eyes that seemed familiar to Oliver. Like the way Rory looked when she was about to nail an exclusive. Only sharper than that, more cutthroat. “But you’re ignoring a glaring fact. Pierce ran off when they came for him. He disappeared with his consort the moment his name was thrown out there as a suspect.” The Fae shrugged. “That hardly seems like the behaviour of a true Werewolf worth his howl. A real Werewolf would have stayed and faced down their accusers. It’s a bit suspicious, is all I’m saying.”

  Oliver grimaced at the Fae, rolling his eyes. The magic of the room shuddered and jerked, then the spell went dead and Oliver went momentarily blind. He gasped and turned, blinking in the darkness, searching out the doorway.

  “Connor? Are you okay?” Oli called out. “I don’t know what happened. Connor?”

  But when Oliver made it to the doorway, he saw only an empty room. Connor was gone.

  Chapter 10

  Oliver took to the basement stairs like a squirrel up a tree, flying up to the main floor in a rush of wind. He caught Connor in the entrance, Oli’s collar in his palm. His hand was on the doorknob, but he stopped when he heard Oliver behind him. He didn’t turn back, didn’t look up at all, just stared straight forward through the window in the door, his shoulders squared to his reckless decision.

  “I should leave,” he said. “I should go back and turn myself in. It’s what I should have done from the start. Tell them it was me and you had nothing to do with it. At least that way you’ll be all right.”

  “That Fae was just being an asshole! He doesn’t know anything,” Oliver said. “He’s probably in the NCPD’s pocket or something. And there’s still the DNA evidence coming in. Once that comes back, we’ve a better chance of—”

  “If there’s blood, it’ll be my DNA,” Connor said, and Oliver froze, a sheet of ice settling over him.

  Oliver forced his mouth to move, his mind determinately not going back to the scratches he’d seen on Connor’s body. “Then we’ll put that into context too.”

  Connor shook his head. “That’s why I have to leave. Becaus
e of the ‘we.’ I can’t let you fall with me, Oliver. I can’t let them destroy your life too. Not when I can give them what they want and save you. I have to go.”

  Oliver clenched his jaw, and with a sudden surge of anger, shoved Connor back against the door. The door rattled on its hinges, forcing the protections around the house to their limits. Magic sizzled on the air, Fae and Wizard charms mingling, flaring a scent of burning cocoa and hot sand on the air. But he ignored all that, so furious was he at Connor’s comment.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” he said, words sharp as talons. Connor watched him, motionless. Oliver could taste the anger on his tongue, like acid and burnt garlic and curdled milk. His magic blazed around him in a wave of unrestrained power that interfered with the protections around the house. The sound of the ocean became clearer, but the choppiness of the waves was unnatural, the magic only blocking out every few moments of sound. Oliver didn’t care. “You don’t get to leave me. We didn’t take down a bigoted murderer and a psycho serial killer ex just for you to confess to a murder you didn’t commit. You don’t get to take the easy way out. You’re a Werewolf, an Alpha. You don’t get to run away. You’ll stay and fight with me, fight our way out of this somehow. And if we can’t, then I go down with you. You are mine, Connor Pierce,” Oliver said, fiercer than he’d ever been. “And I am yours.”

  Oliver pulled Connor into a crushing kiss, and after a moment, felt Connor grab him around the middle and kiss back, pouring all his self-destructive feelings into a single embrace. When they released, Oliver found Connor looking breathless and more mussed than he ever had. The sight of a weak-kneed Connor Pierce was enough to send Oliver back to thoughts of their tryst in the bedroom, but another, more pressing matter needed tending to.