A grunt sounded in response, followed by a hitch in his attack, but the asshole recovered before I got the chance to bolt through the archway. I backpedaled and hit the wall with a crack. My fire hissed as the sinister energy closed in on me from the left.
Shit, this was useless. I knew what the demon was doing, and in two more moves, the bastard would have me cornered.
Regardless of how scared I was of my other options, if I let him do that, I’d be one dead wolf.
So when his next attack came, I didn’t dive right, but leaped forward, blind as I was. My foot connected with something hard, and I followed up the attack with a quick combination of punches.
Faintly, the fucker’s features materialized as blue flames licked at his torso, his neck, his face, and while it all happened too fast for me to memorize the details, I was certain he wasn’t someone I’d ever seen before. What the fuck had Melina gotten messed up with?
Pushing away the thought, I risked a roundhouse kick while the asshole was recovering. The gratifying pop of his jaw rewarded my effort, but when I moved in for the killing blow, flames blazing, the demon was gone.
“Fuck,” I hissed, staring at the now-empty spot. Only the shattered knickknacks and a crushed candle indicated where he’d stood moments ago.
My nostrils flared as I sucked in a lungful. The scents weaving through the air confirmed what I already suspected. Particle form.
Briefly, I considered tracking him since a whisper of the demon’s essence remained, but I had a suspicion that the instant I was out on the street, the imprints of the world would cover up the damn smell. I flexed my fingers and released a breath.
I had other matters to deal with that would offer far better results than an attempt at something the majority of supes deemed impossible. Even if the predator within snarled at the thought of letting the demon go.
I glanced at the flames forming a tight circle around me.
Yeah, the inner predator could shut up. I definitely needed to put my focus elsewhere since I couldn’t exactly collect Melina’s things and walk around Munich like some blue lighthouse on steroids.
Unsure how to tackle the issue, I sat cross-legged on a moderately clear patch of floor and breathed deeply. The power was rooted somewhere inside, that much I could sense without even exerting myself.
What I didn’t know, however, was how to command it, how to bend it to my wishes.
I yanked a poking bit of a ceramic coaster from beneath my butt then plucked out the numerous little shards embedded in my skin so I could heal properly while I figured out what to do. Afanasiy was still tied up in the Shadow World, but even if he would respond to my call, my gut was telling me this was something I should master on my own.
Stubborn, maybe. But that particular Freundenberger trait helped more often than hurt. I repositioned myself into a more comfortable position and replayed the fight in my head.
The process of wielding demon fire had come naturally to me, but while I had been more a being of instinct than anything else. Could it be that my damn brain was getting in the way?
I exhaled slowly, thoughts rolling and crashing—and confirming my theory beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Fine. If my rational side refused to shut up, then I might as well use it—and think past the flames.
This was just like a werewolf’s shift. Power was power, regardless of its manifestation. If I managed to master my shifts as a cub, well… I was adamant to get the better of this blue pyro display, too.
As long as I kept breathing, kept calm, the connection should reveal itself.
Naturally, finding peace would be a lot easier if the very blood in my veins wasn’t still rushing from the fight, the excess energy seeking an output.
I stilled.
That was it.
Gaze focused on the flames, I watched as they flickered wildly whenever I allowed that inherent impulse to hunt rise to the surface. It was a werewolf’s basic instinct, much like the need to fight or flee in the face of danger, and it seemed my fire-starting abilities traveled down the same tracks.
More than that—the hunter and the flames weren’t merely fueled by the same source. They were tied.
I focused on my were nature before the implications of that fried my mind and leashed the hunter as I had countless times before.
The flames died down.
Then disappeared.
“Well, fuck me.”
For long seconds, I sat there, looking at the ground where the embers had been mere moments before only to find it untouched. No scorch marks. No ashes. Either the magic was sentient and knew not to burn down the damn house with me in it, or I had commanded it on some subconscious level, tapped into its potential to cause damage only on my intended target—something Afanasiy had once explained.
A part of me couldn’t help but be amazed. The rest just kept shaking.
Needing to keep myself occupied, I rose from the floor and fished my phone from my backpack. I called Isa’s number automatically, forgetting that she was investigating a lead. Just as I wanted to disconnect the call and try Elena, the familiar cool voice caressed my ears.
“Lotte.”
“Hello, Isa.” I toed a ripped cushion. “I’ve just been attacked at Melina’s place.”
The silence that stretched between us was heavy and sharp at the same time. I could almost imagine that perfect stillness that took over dear Senior Agent Vogt whenever something unpleasant had the audacity to surprise the Ice Queen of Fang.
A small hiss preceded her words. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not hurt.” The rest remained to be seen, though she didn’t have to know that. “Someone jumped me the moment I entered the house. A demon. When I put up a fight, the fucker ran off.”
The distinct clicking of a keyboard broke up the quiet.
“I’m sending a team out to search the scene as we speak. Stay there until they arrive, then come to my office and I’ll debrief you properly.”
I bit back the impulse to say “Yes, ma’am.”
Mainly because there was no yes about her sentence. Not all of it, at least.
“Actually,” I started, my voice instinctively turning cautious, “I still have a lead to run down. Could we postpone? I might bring back some good news.”
I expected her to snap at me, tell me to do as she’d asked. What I really hadn’t counted on was to hear her laugh. If I weren’t as startled, I would have probably appreciated the richness of the sound.
The rarity of it, too.
“Isa?”
She sucked in an audible breath, stemming the laughter. “I knew you were the right werewolf for the job.”
I winced. Not because of the compliment, but because I wasn’t entirely sure I was just a werewolf any longer. That, however, was a subject for another time.
Even if Isa would undoubtedly bite my head off for keeping news of this scale from her.
I set my backpack on the battered, ripped couch. “I’ll hang around until the team gets here, then report to you once I’m done with my lead.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
The image of a predator, cool and calculating, standing perfectly still in the shadows as it waited for its prey flashed across my mind. I clamped down on the slightly manic laugh wanting to burst from my lips, but even if I’d failed, Isa had already disconnected the call.
Small mercies and all that.
Stuffing the phone in my backpack, I tackled the ungrateful task of searching Melina’s belongings. I wanted to be done with this by the time ICRA arrived. While they might not raise an eyebrow at me taking away evidence that had already been documented and processed, the risk just wasn’t worth it. Liva was going out on a limb to help me with this case. I didn’t want to tip anyone off that I had a direct link to a material empath.
I pulled three plastic bags from the inner pocket of my coat, one for each of the items I had in mind. Better safe than sorry.
The first I found with relative ease. Although the entire
apartment had been overthrown, her bedroom at least kept most of its contents, if strewn about. The gold necklace dangled on an open drawer of her vintage dresser, the gemstone encrusted widespread tree catching the afternoon light streaming through the window. I bagged it, placed it in the small, secure partition within my backpack, then moved back downstairs.
ICRA suspected the initial attack had taken place in the living room, which was why I wanted to nab something from there in case the object recorded what went down right from the very start. Closing my eyes, I focused on the scents. The small rag doll Melina had brought from her trip to Provence wasn’t something she had on her person, but it was special to her. The trinket belonged to the time when her Vila nature had surfaced and she struggled to accept the fact that she would never be able to coach the way she wanted to. Her retreat in France ended up with her giving some kids that were staying in the same apartment complex as her a few tennis lessons for free, and the doll had been their thank you gift.
A gift that always reminded her she had a purpose in life.
I remembered asking her about it the first time I caught its calming lavender smell, and even now, I could sense it, lingering beneath the layers of hate and destruction.
But so was something else.
Frowning, I whirled on my heels and tracked the impostor scent across the room. During the times I’d been here, I’d never picked up on the presence. Then again, the usual hint of vanilla, now dispersed, just might have covered the thread up. Though it made me wonder just how the damn thing had gotten here.
Whatever it was, it smelled of captivity and righteousness, of two warring, very potent, powers. Not something that could be described through words, but something that…resonated.
I padded over to the long line of bookcases—or, rather, what was left of them—and rummaged through the scattered books. Occasionally, I removed a shelf or two, some tumbling down of their own accord and sending the disturbing scent swirling through the air. I cleared the space, my senses screaming that this was the right place, only there was absolutely nothing here.
“Where the fuck are you?” I muttered and sniffed furiously.
My nose guided me down, so I followed, mindful to keep my motions to a minimum. The last thing I needed was to scatter the scent.
The floorboards creaked lightly beneath my feet, the low rumble of a car—ICRA standard issue, I suspected—growing louder in the distance. I knelt on one knee, then inhaled deeply.
Satisfaction surged alongside the scent, and with a smile on my face, I rammed my fist straight into two of the floorboards.
My second trip to Faery mercifully didn’t leave me falling all over the place, though I was grateful for Cian’s supportive hand on my elbow and Liva’s glass of ginger ale all the same. Not to mention the venue.
The clear air infusing my lungs and the touch of late afternoon sunlight streaming onto the patio certainly improved matters. While I doubted I would ever get used to evanescing, especially between realms since the kickback was that much stronger, the High Lord and Lady were right. It did get better.
“Ready to learn who the killer is?” Liva smiled at me.
I gulped down the drink, then passed the empty glass back to her. “Fuck yes. And if it proves to be the same asshole that jumped me earlier, consider me the happiest werewolf alive.”
“You were attacked?” Cian scanned me over while Liva’s power flowed across my skin at the same time.
My lips quirked up, and I swallowed a chuckle. A Fae and a Nightwraith fussing over me was definitely a first—and reminded me more than a little of my own protective streak.
“What happened?” Liva asked as she reeled in the ethereal strands.
“I went to Melina’s place to pick up the personal items.” I eased myself into the nearest chair. “The demon was already there.”
Cian took the opposite seat and pulled Liva down with him. “He knew you were coming?”
“No. At least the evidence doesn’t point that way.”
The almost electric charge in the air dropped.
“It seems that whatever he was looking for the first time around was still there.” I shrugged. “Unfortunately, the bastard broke himself into particles and ran off before I could finish him.”
The crease between Cian’s brows spoke volumes. And echoed my own unanswered questions.
Sure I was a werewolf, a hunter by nature and, recently, trained by ICRA. But Melina wasn’t someone you could consider weak by any standard. In all fairness, the demon should have beaten me into a pulp, not flee after a few hits. Fire or not.
Liva, however, picked up on something else entirely.
“Was still there?” Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “You found it, didn’t you? Whatever he wanted?”
I flashed her a sly grin. “Found it, bagged it, brought it.”
“Then let’s not waste any more time.” She jumped off Cian’s lap, snatched my hand, and pulled me up as if I weighed nothing.
Cian’s mouth twitched when I glanced at him over one shoulder, probably looking as shocked as I felt. But the Fae didn’t comment, simply gazed after his perky mate with blunt adoration, then trailed behind us into the manor.
We traveled down several corridors that were probably an interior decorator’s wet dream come true, the air around us shimmering with a peculiar mix of Fae, Nightwraith, and werewolf excitement. Cian’s was slightly more subdued, but Liva’s matched mine perfectly.
During one of our hour-long chats while I was locked up at ICRA, Lena had told me her sister used to run an antique shop before she became High Lady. I couldn’t help but wonder if her services had extended beyond repairing old beauties. In a way, what I felt pulsing from her now reminded me of…well, me. That sense of doing what was right, doing something that fulfilled you despite its cost.
My thoughts drifted away as we entered a spacious sitting room, the arched windows dominating the eastern wall open to let in the fragrant Faery air. My boots echoed across the hardwood floor, contested only by the click of Liva’s heels. Cian didn’t make a sound. I glanced behind me just to make sure he was even still in the room.
Damn, the Fae really did take stealth to a whole other level.
After Liva settled herself on a dusty pink loveseat that complemented her suntanned complexion and blonde hair, Cian and I claimed the two light blue armchairs just across the white wrought-iron-and-glass table.
A sliver of trepidation rushed through me as Liva tossed her locks over her shoulders and gestured to the clear surface of the table.
“All right, let’s see who the fucker is.”
Her bright tone coaxed a chuckle from me, but my palms were sweaty when I undid the buckle on my backpack and pulled out the three bags. The necklace. The doll.
And the heavy, ornate stone pendant I’d found hidden beneath the floorboards.
Liva’s gaze automatically slid to it, one of her eyebrows raised in question.
“I think this is what the demon wanted,” I said softly, unable to shake the feeling there was something off about the pendant. Something that did not fit in with the image of Melina I knew.
“Where do you want me to start?” Liva asked.
“The doll.”
It was foolish, but the doll felt safer. If seeing someone get beaten within an inch of their life could be deemed safe.
Without wasting a second, Liva pulled the doll from the bag. A hint of power wove through the air. Her eyes snapped shut.
For a moment, nothing happened. I glanced at Cian, but his attention was on his mate.
I followed his example.
Another second went by. Two.
Then Liva’s eyebrows knitted together. Her lips stretched into a thin, tense line that indicated all too clearly the nature of the scene unfolding before her.
My heart hammered when she let out a gasping breath.
“Oh, fuck,” she hissed, stepping out of the memory.
Tears lingered in the corners of he
r eyes, but she restrained them, then placed the doll back on the table. Without a word, she reached for the bottle of ginger ale conveniently set up on the low stand beside the loveseat and drank it down to the last drop.
“I knew it would be bad, but…” She shuddered, seeming to close off the images threatening to resurface. She tossed the bottle aside. “Your friend’s attacker was demonic, all right. But not a full demon.”
Which explained the difference I’d picked up on when we fought.
“I think…” Her gaze dropped to the pendant.
“Liva?” There was no mistaking the warning in Cian’s tone.
“I think that one has the answers.”
She snatched the pendant and carefully unwrapped it from the plastic, not making contact yet. Her fingers flexed, and I didn’t think I as much as breathed as Liva initiated the connection.
She cradled the peculiar stone in her hand—
Then screamed.
Twenty-Three
“STAY AWAY!”
Cian and I had jumped from our seats, but Liva’s scream—no, her command—froze us in place. Dread pooled at the base of my spine. I was powerless to do anything but watch sweat break out on her forehead. Watch the color drain from her face.
Cian’s already tense presence escalated into a caged storm, the air around him churning with power as he struggled to uphold his mate’s order.
We both did.
Another scream ripped itself free from Liva’s throat, but she clutched the pendant tighter, caught in some battle I couldn’t see, but could taste its acid whiplash on my tongue. I bunched my fingers into fists. Nails dug into my palms, tearing skin. Fuck, I felt useless. And guilty.
So damn guilty.
There was nothing to stop the thought that if it weren’t for me, Liva would never have had to go through this. Was I any better than Isa, really, using people as a means to reach my goal?
I could hardly console myself that Liva’s participation had been voluntary.
Not when the agony written on her face clawed at my insides.
Liva’s body jerked, muscles convulsing.
A roll of power pulsed through the room. Then another. She was panting through gritted teeth, her fingers tightening around the pendant until I smelled the distinct coppery signature of blood.
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