The Worth Series: Complete Collection

by Lyra Evans

  Connor winced slightly as they disentangled themselves, the bruise on his hip having spread outward from their activities. Oliver brushed Connor’s supporting hand aside, slid Connor’s shirt over, and pressed gentle fingertips to the bruise. Connor gritted his teeth and inhaled.

  “First thing’s first, though,” Oliver said, ushering Connor away from the door and toward the kitchen. Connor sat down at the table while Oliver searched through cupboards for something to eat. He settled on sandwiches and pulled some ingredients from the fridge. Setting it all down on the table, Oliver sat opposite Connor. The sleek glass surface reflected them both back at each other. “You are going to tell me why your blood would be on Logan’s body and how you got those injuries.”

  Connor turned his hand over, exposing one of the long scratch marks there. Eyebrows knitting together as though the frustration in him was pulling at all his muscles at once, Connor said, “I fought with Logan.” Oliver forced his heartbeat to normal, keeping his face a mask of calm. Connor leaned back in the chair. “We sparred. He and I train together once a week or so, but lately it’s been much less.” He shot Oliver a pointed look, then continued on. “We had planned another session the day of the Black Moon and our bonding, as a way to reconnect and,” Connor shrugged, “celebrate the event. He knew about my ambitions for Alpha, and he wanted me to be the one to take over for him. So he helped me train.” A heaved sigh, and Connor leaned forward on the table, carding his fingers through his soft hair and fisting it at the back of his skull. “But he had an appointment in Nimueh’s Court, so he invited me along. We sparred outside, in the woods by the border. Not near where he was found, mind.” Oliver ignored the meats and vegetables he’d placed on the table, his empty stomach rumbling violently. He needed to find a way to sort through the information and evidence. “Transformation on the day before the Black Moon is more difficult, more draining. Logan said it was the perfect time to train for those reasons. It was a rough fight. Logan caught me a few times. You saw the wounds. The scratches were mostly claws where I was too slow. The bruise is from him knocking me into a rock.” Connor laughed sadly. “I took more damage than usual—I’m a bit rusty, I guess—but I pinned him in the end. So, yeah, there may be some of my blood under his nails.”

  Oliver considered everything carefully. If Logan washed his hands very carefully, he may have been able to get rid of most of Connor’s DNA, but not all of it. Not unless he washed them vigorously again and again. The spells the forensic techs used were extremely sensitive. But the toxicology report indicated a drug in Logan’s system. If he was high or dosed, how could he have fought Connor?

  “Where did Logan go afterward?” Oliver asked. “What was his meeting?”

  Connor shook his head. “I don’t know. Believe me, I’ve searched my mind, replaying every conversation we had with any relevance to Nimueh’s Court in the last month, but I can’t think of what it might have been. He had no reason to go in there that I can think of. He only crosses the border for officially sanctioned visits, and there haven’t been any on the record for at least a month.”

  Oliver chewed on the inside of his lip, running his fingers through his hair. “When did he leave you? Where did you go afterward?”

  Connor’s expression remained bleak. “We parted ways around six. I crossed back into Logan’s Court and went home to prepare for our ceremony.” With a heavy sigh, he added, “Only Donna can corroborate that part, though.”

  Oliver heaved a sigh too. Donna wasn’t a great alibi for Connor. It was common knowledge she would take a silver bullet for him. Though she was an honest Wolf, and her reputation was clear, the circumstances were too murky, the situation too volatile for them to trust to that. It was easy for any dissenting Wolves to suggest Donna would lie for Connor. And Oliver was sure that if necessary, Donna would lie for Connor. She was doing just that now in the interrogations.

  Oliver glanced at the clock on the wall. They hadn’t heard from Donna yet. He knew she would never break under NCPD interrogations, but the longer it took for them to hear from her, the more anxious Oliver became.

  “Well, is there any way someone could get their hands on your scent?” Oliver asked. “Or your magical signature? Do you know of that happening?”

  Connor shook his head. “Scent isn’t that difficult. Collecting it works much the same way as banishing it, I imagine,” he said. “Or else distilling my pheromones to a liquid could also work. They are the major component of scent. Using that and nothing else is enough to identify someone by their smell.” Connor licked his lips. “Maybe magical signatures are similar.”

  Oliver thought of Rory and her parents banishing sense trails and magical signatures from the area as they escaped into Maeve’s Court. Was the opposite really possible? Could Rory potentially collect Oliver’s magical signature and scent, only to place it elsewhere? Oliver shivered.

  “But that would imply a Fae,” Oliver said. “Could a Fae be responsible?”

  Connor considered. “I haven’t been around any Fae but Rory for around a month. The last Fae I had contact with was S—your ex,” Connor said. They’d agreed never to speak Sky’s name again, to pretend he never existed. But that promise was proving more difficult to keep than Oliver had hoped.

  “That rules that out,” Oliver said. “And a Fae working with a Werewolf to kill Logan seems somewhat unlikely.” He pressed his forehead to his palm and leaned his elbow against the table. “I’d hate to think—” Oliver cut himself off, the thought forming in stark, terrifying clarify. It was, after all, the only possibility that fit so far.

  “What?” Connor asked.

  Oliver hesitated. “Collecting your sense evidence, your magical signature, waiting for this moment in time, when you would have been mated to a Wizard and relations between Nimueh’s Court and Logan’s Court were solidified further,” Oliver said, speaking his thoughts as they arranged themselves in his head. “And then injuries, the white Wolf fur, last-minute meeting in Nimueh’s Court that dragged you over the border too… it’s all so—planned.” Oliver’s eyes met Connor’s, and he saw his own silent shock reflected there. “Whoever killed Logan wanted really badly to make it look like you. And based on the mountain of evidence—they could have been planning this for months.”

  Chapter 11

  They ate and slept in the fitful hours between Rory visiting the crime scene and hearing from anyone else. Or at least, that was the plan. After wolfing down a few sandwiches hastily assembled with what they found in the kitchen, Connor and Oli returned to the guest room to doze a bit, recuperating strength and clarity. The lack of sleep and intense stress of the last twelve hours took a severe toll on the psyche. But as Oli lay in bed, his eyelids falling heavy, slowly, Connor paced around the room.

  Like a wolf prowling for a scent, Connor never stopped moving across the floor of the guestroom. Oliver blinked lazily at him, his mind worn and blunt at the edges. But the thought of someone planning a murder for months and collecting evidence to frame Connor refused to leave his mind. Steely blue eyes darting back, and forth as he paced, Connor seemed to be just as stuck on the idea as Oliver.

  “You need to rest,” Oliver said, pulling down the comforter to reveal his bare chest. Even sex was a better option at the moment. At least it would relieve some of Connor’s tension. But Connor spared a bare glimpse at Oli, never breaking his stride.

  “I can’t sleep,” he said, which was fairly evident. “I can’t think of anyone who hates me enough to spend this much time and effort on a frame job. No one alive, anyway.”

  Oliver pushed himself onto his elbows. The mattress sank slowly beneath his arms. “What does that mean?”

  Connor paused by the wall, leaning against it and sliding down with his back to it to sit on the ground. “I’ve had enemies,” he said. “Wolves who wanted to challenge me, or who thought I was still too young to take over our pack. I’ve had fights. But those fights never ended with an enemy getting up to walk away.”

&nb
sp; Blinking at his lover, Oliver considered the wreckage wrought by losing a loved one. The way the light flickered in the eyes of the next of kin was something Oliver held close in his heart, pinned to the exterior as a reminder of what it felt like to die without dying. He felt that loss before. He’d been the next of kin for those messages, and it never left him. The shock, the punch to the gut, the vise around the throat. It was silence and screaming, denial and horror and hysteria. It never made any sense. And it takes a long time to get it—for your mind and body to catch up with the words, to understand their meaning and their point.

  “Couldn’t one of their next of kin be angry?” Oli asked. It would make sense. Someone who had lost a loved one at Connor’s hands would be the perfect villain for a story like this. The government killing off innocent people was generally how anything got done really.

  But Connor disagreed. “No,” he said simply. Seeing Oliver’s incredulous look, he added, “Werewolves don’t think that way. It isn’t a democracy, really. Being Alpha—it’s a right you earn. You have to work for it, and if you don’t, you die. I took no pleasure in taking the lives of those two people, but it needed to be done. They challenged me, and I had to defend my pack. It’s just the way it is.”

  Oliver pulled a face. “Has it occurred to you that lots of things that Werewolves don’t do have been happening lately?” he asked. “Murder, for one?”

  Connor frowned. “We don’t know who Logan’s killer was yet. It serves no purpose jumping to unfounded conclusions.”

  Oliver pursed his lips. “Fine. What about the serial murders? That was never supposed to happen in Logan’s Court.”

  Connor nodded. “Yes, and we caught the culprit. A Fae with ties to you and Nimueh’s Court. I notice the police are doing nothing in response to that, by the way. Not a word to be said when it’s a Werewolf that dies. Oh no, couldn’t have that. It could disrupt their carefully established culture of lies. Not to mention that culprit was of Maeve’s Court, no Logan’s.”

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he agreed. “But remember, someone planned this all against you and actually killed Logan. Which means they are patient, intelligent, and very dangerous. Who knows what could be coming.”

  Connor stopped pacing and faced Oliver. He studied Oliver’s face a few minutes, his own expression softening significantly.

  “Okay,” he admitted. “So I supposed it’s possible, then, however unlikely, that a Werewolf is behind this.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But again, I don’t think any of the Werewolves of Logan’s Court would do it. I don’t think any of them are that selfish or stupid. It would gain them nothing good. Werewolves take very violently to murder.”

  Oliver sighed and pushed himself out of bed. There was no way he was going to get any sleep now, anyway. He reached over to find the shirt Rory had given him, when a fluttering green bird appeared out of nowhere. It hovered near his ear a moment, then deciding against it, the bird flew over to Connor and began tweeting madly in his ear.

  Resuming his activities, Oliver dressed and sought out more appropriate accessories for himself. Connor, meanwhile, was listening to the Tweeter message. His face settled into a shell of anger and frustration.

  “Fucking hell,” he snapped, breath rough and ragged. Oliver pulled the shirt on and turned his attention to Connor. Standing half-dressed and bone-tired, Oliver was only vaguely aware of where his pants were. Connor’s reaction to the Tweeter meant that pants were the least of his worries. The message had to be from Donna. “They interrogated Donna for hours,” Connor said by way of response. “She said nothing, of course, but by the time they released her the pack had already started tearing itself apart.” The fine hairs at the back of Connor’s neck were raised, whipping his hair up into a forest of tiny spines. Like an animal with its hackles raised, Connor returned to pacing, his corded muscle braced for attack.

  Oliver stood motionless, unable to decide whether soothing words or soothing gestures were the better course of action. “Instability in the wake of an event like this is normal,” Oliver said, reaching for him, hedging his bets on both options. Connor allowed himself to be touched, Oliver’s hand just barely stroking his bicep, but the vibrating emotions beneath the surface of Connor’s smooth skin were palpable to Oliver. “Everyone deals with this kind of violent loss differently. Some people need to blame someone, so they throw out accusations at will, never meaning any of them, never having evidence for anything, but needing to say it because it makes them feel better. Other people start fights, get physical, trying to make some change, to find some order. Still others get quiet and close themselves off. Or else they search out meaning anywhere they can find it.”

  A sharp sound, like a knife against brick, tore from Connor’s throat. “They aren’t just accusing anyone,” he shot, “they’re accusing me. They’re saying—” but he stopped himself so abruptly, it was as though the words were sucked away by a silencing spell. Oliver searched Connor’s eyes, trying to understand.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Oliver said, trying to ground Connor back in their plan. “We’ll figure out what really happened and prove you innocent. Then you can take your rightful place and help re-establish order. Nothing they’re saying now is going to—”

  “They’re saying you’ve tainted me,” Connor finally spat out. Stormy blue eyes met crystallized amber ones, and Oliver actually felt himself stumble back. Connor’s eyebrows knitted together, low over his eyes, and he shook his head. “They’re saying you’ve infected me with your ‘Wizard thinking’ or some such nonsense.” Then, with a monotone kind of sarcasm, he added, “Werewolves don’t murder, you see.”

  Throat tight and suddenly filled with acid, Oliver felt a joyless laugh escape his chest. “Right. But Wizards do,” he said. Oliver sank down on the bed, his eyes on the floor but his gaze wandering much further. Logan’s Court had begun to feel like home, to feel welcoming to him. He began to make friends there, beyond Connor. The Wolves of Connor’s pack had done so much to welcome him in, to show him they viewed him as family, that Oliver had somehow allowed himself to start believing it.

  And then with the mating ceremony…Oliver, against all his instincts, had trusted himself to hope that he really was one of them. That he was accepted among them as kin. How stupid was he? Did he really think he and Connor would mate and live together happily ever after? Like in the storybooks—those tales with young couples in a world without magic, making their love work through the incomprehensible pain of loss, or barrenness, or betrayal. They always managed somehow, even without magic to solve all their problems. Maybe that was the key.

  Maybe in a world with magic, you simply could not have peace. Maybe ‘happily ever after’ was only meant for storybooks.

  “Oliver,” Connor said, wrapping Oli in his long arms. Perhaps seeing how deeply the news wounded Oliver, cutting him down to the core, made Connor return to himself. His anger fizzled, his tension eased, and he pressed his lips to Oliver’s temple with such tenderness Oliver vaguely noted that he’d managed to soothe Connor after all. “They don’t know what they’re saying. Most of the Wolves don’t think that way. Nearly everyone in Logan’s Court believes in equality between the Courts.” He sighed heavily. “But, like in every Court, there are the handful of hatemongers that speak louder than everyone else.” Connor pressed another kiss to Oliver’s face.

  “Nadia.” The name escaped Oliver’s lips unbidden. It hung on the air, the dark ghost between them, until Connor nodded.

  “Nadia,” he agreed. “She and her clique—they’re ambitious and little heard. Most people brush them off, or dismiss them because of their youth. Nadia was raised by Wolves who were raised by Wolves who actually saw the horrors of the War. For a thousand years, our Courts fought a bloody battle, and her family is a prominent military family. They’ve always fought. Until the Treaty, and then they didn’t. But how do you shrug off years of hate?” Connor gathered Oliver closer, and Oliver leaned in, wishing it wasn’t instin
ct for him. He wished he could pull away, like he used to do, because it was safer for him. But Connor was so warm and secure. At least, most of the time. He smelled of soap and cucumber, with a hint of lavender from the sheets.

  “She’s hated me from the moment she saw me,” Oliver said, thinking back to the wake for the first of Sky’s victims. “I’ve been hated for a lot of reasons, but never just for being a Wizard.” Oliver shrugged, his mind wandering back to Davin. “I suppose it’s not that different from Davin hating me for being gay.”

  A strange sound escaped Connor, and he began to shake. Oliver straightened and turned to find Connor laughing. A pointed look received his answer. “Davin doesn’t hate you because you’re gay.” Still laughing, Connor shook his head. “He treats you that way because he’s attracted to you and doesn’t know how to deal with it. And you’re a significantly better Detective than he is, so that just makes it worse.”

  Oliver gaped. “What?”

  Connor licked his lips and pressed a slow kiss to Oliver’s mouth, distracting him momentarily. “He wants you,” Connor said. “As soon as Rory mentioned you at the crime scene, his pheromones went wild. I could smell it on him, the spike in them when he talked about you, the way he’d get more hateful the more it happened.” Connor ran a hand down Oliver’s side. “Good thing he’s such a warthog, or I might never have managed to hook you.”

  Oliver rolled his eyes and shoved at Connor’s chest. “Please,” he said, his mind spinning with the possibility that Davin was attracted to him. “You could hook a dragon, and you know how choosy they are.” Oliver meant it as a joke, but Connor stilled, his expression faltering. “What?” Connor’s eyes followed a tiny green object as it buzzed around their faces and settled by Oliver’s ear.

  The Tweeter activated the moment Oliver acknowledged it, speaking to him in the voice of Captain Marks. “They don’t know where you are,” the message said, “but don’t get comfortable. You’ve been named as a person of interest and possible accomplice in the case. The whole police department is on high alert, interrogating anyone even tangentially related to this. They’ve got a reward out for information, too. Everyone’s running around like spooked unicorns here because Nimueh’s putting unbelievable pressure on us to capture Connor. She even used the phrase ‘dead or alive.’ A case of level five sapphires was delivered to the precinct to equip all officers for the duration of the case. Sapphires. I don’t know what’s going on, but she’s operating as though the Treaty’s a piece of used toilet paper. It’s mental. Stay safe and out of sight. I’ll send more info when I can.”