Both my hands were in his hair. Where was my knife?
My fingers fisted, pulling his mouth down harder. He tilted his head, changing the angle of our kiss, his tongue stroking aggressively across mine. He was devouring me, and air rushed through my nose in short pants.
This wasn’t kissing. It was too primal, too rough, too violent.
And every moment his mouth was on mine felt like being shocked awake after years in a coma.
The harder he pushed me into the wall, the harder I pulled his hair. The more forcefully he kissed me, the more sharply I bit his lower lip. He yanked my ponytail. I raked the back of his neck with my fingernails.
And the fire inside me burned hotter.
My arms coiled around his neck, and I rocked my hips, rubbing against his erection through the rough fabric of his jeans. A growl rasped his throat as he thrust against me, flattening me against the wall.
“Fuck,” I gasped, tearing my lips from his. “I’m gonna stab you in the goddamn jugular.”
He laughed huskily as his mouth latched onto the side of my throat, his teeth stinging across the fragile skin over my pulse. My hands spasmed in his hair.
“I’m not joking, you bastard,” I panted.
He raised his head, his eyes meeting mine. “I know.”
My pounding heart lurched, and suddenly there was no strength in my legs. Those eyes. Ravenous, relentless, on the edge of violence.
His mouth brushed over mine, almost gentle—then he caught my lower lip between his teeth and bit down. Pain stung me, and I sank my fingernails into his scalp in retaliation. His tongue pushed back into my mouth, and a faint moan escaped me as my head fell back, my legs going limp. He pressed me into the wall, hips grinding against mine.
Oh hell. I could feel him, hard and ready, and I burned for him. My hands dragged down the back of his neck, then grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, ready to tear it off him and—
“Saber?”
Breaking apart, we both spun.
Dominique stood on the path that led to the stable’s rear door, a covered casserole dish in her hands and her eyes wide behind her glasses. Those goggling eyes ran over me as though assessing my condition, then snapped to Zak and scanned him from head to boots.
“Everything okay, Saber?” she asked.
Did she think he’d been assaulting me? Considering how rough we’d been, I could see why she’d make that mistake, but I’d hurt him more than he’d hurt me.
“Fine,” I replied shortly. My shirt was hanging off one shoulder again, and I debated straightening it.
“You didn’t come in for your dinner,” she added, hoisting the casserole dish higher as though I might not have noticed it, “so I brought it out for you. It, ah, should be enough for two?”
She snuck another glance at Zak, then hastened forward and pushed the dish into my hands. Giving me an exaggerated wink that he couldn’t see, she flashed a grin, then spun around and practically ran back to the yard.
I gazed down at the white dish, catching my breath. My extremities tingled. My core burned. Beside me, Zak was breathing deep. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his neck from a nick just under his jaw, courtesy of my knife.
Said knife lay on the ground, blade retracted. Balancing the casserole dish on one hand, I scooped up my weapon, then turned toward the door where my keys still hung.
I needed to move, to put distance between me and the man behind me, to focus on something else, anything else—before the voice in the back of my head demanding that we resume where we’d left off won out over my better judgment.
Chapter Nineteen
The moment I was inside my suite, I escaped into the bathroom, locked the door, and started up the shower. Tearing off my clothes, I stepped under the stream without waiting for it to warm up. Cold water blasted me and I gasped, shivering.
What was wrong with me?
The man in my living room was a druid, a rogue, a murderer, and a wanted criminal. I shouldn’t find him attractive. I shouldn’t want to kiss him, make out with him, or rip his clothes off him. I was smarter than that.
I finished showering, twisted my damp hair into a bun, and wrapped myself in my fluffy blue bathrobe. Cracking the door open, I peered out. Zak sat on a kitchen chair, slouched tiredly and looking at something on his phone.
Ensuring my robe was tightly closed, I stepped into the main room. “You can have the shower if you want.”
His eyes came up. They met mine, then drifted slowly downward. There wasn’t much skin to see, but I had no doubt he was imagining my naked body beneath the thick layer of terry towel. I waited to feel fury at his boldness.
Instead, slow heat roiled through my lower belly.
“Sure,” he said as though he hadn’t taken a good twenty seconds to reply while he mentally undressed me.
I strode into my room and slammed the door. When I turned toward my bed, I came up short.
A white feline sat primly on the foot of the bed. He lifted a paw, licked it, and casually swiped it over one ear, all without breaking eye contact.
Ríkr, I murmured silently.
Saber, he replied, drawing out my name. Having fun, dove?
I cleared my throat. Not really, but it isn’t your business anyway, Ríkr.
Protecting you is my business. He rose to his feet and stretched, back arching. I do delight in watching you and the druid circle each other like territorial cats, but drop your guard too far and—
I won’t, I interrupted. I don’t trust him any more than you do.
He flicked his tail side to side. I must disagree. I would certainly never allow the druid to—
“Don’t finish that,” I growled, accidentally speaking out loud.
—in my mouth—
“Not listening!”
Trying hard to block out his voice, I hastened to my closet. Dressing in boy-short-style underwear, a sports bra, sweats, and another oversized t-shirt, I picked up my discarded jeans and transferred my switchblade into the pocket of my sweatpants. Then I slipped my fingers into the other pocket and withdrew the golden locket I’d taken from Arla’s office.
Zak was gone and the shower was running when I emerged from my room. Taking the locket to the kitchen sink, I scrubbed it with disinfectant, then washed my hands. Water splashed noisily from behind the bathroom door, and I glanced at it, my lower lip caught between my teeth.
Tearing my gaze away, I turned—and paused. A black backpack leaned against the table leg. He’d forgotten his bag.
I picked it up. As I carried it to the coffee table, Ríkr trotted out of my room. He watched me shamelessly empty the druid’s belongings onto the tabletop.
Violating the druid’s privacy by examining his possessions, my familiar observed. I approve.
I sorted through the items. Clothes. A single towel. A bare-bones bag of toiletries containing a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor blade, and other essentials. Ríkr prodded a bar of pine-scented brown soap with one paw.
Picking up the knife, I unsheathed it and studied the ten-inch blade with a serrated section of steel. A weapon but also a tool.
More interesting was a tangle of leather ties, each one knotted around a colorful crystal. Two leather wrist bracers held more gems. The Crystal Druid indeed. They were artifacts, I knew—objects containing an arcane spell. I had no way of knowing what the magic did.
Stuffed in the bottom of his backpack was a bundle of sturdy leather. I undid the tie and unrolled it, discovering an alchemy kit. Together, Ríkr and I examined the collection of potion bottles, dried herbs, powders, liquids, a mortar and pestle, measuring instruments, drafting paper in a tight roll, pencils, and thick markers for creating arcane circles.
So he didn’t merely use alchemic potions. He was a full-blown alchemist. Di-mythics—double-gifted magic users—were few and far between. How much training and discipline did it take to master two completely different magics?
I studied Zak’s assorted belongings, then tugged his backpack
closer. If he was an alchemist, he should have a grimoire—a book recording all the alchemic recipes he knew. I unzipped the bag’s front pouch to find the trail map he’d taken from me, along with a notepad. Scrawled on it were descriptions of where he’d found animal and fae bodies and what he’d discerned about them.
Setting those aside, I turned his bag over. On the back was a short zipper—a pouch intended for a wallet or passport. I tugged it open.
“You,” a male voice growled, “are trying really hard to make me lose my temper, aren’t you?”
I looked up. The bathroom door was open—the shower silent—and Zak stood in the threshold, my purple towel wrapped around his waist. Water glistened on his skin, droplets running down the planes of his chest and ridges of his abs. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, all hard muscle. A fine trail of dark hair ran down from his navel and disappeared under the low-riding towel.
It took me a good long moment to force my gaze up to his face. His dripping hair hung over his forehead, but it did nothing to hide the fury in his eyes.
I arched my eyebrows, then rezipped the hidden pocket without opening it. While he glowered from the bathroom doorway, I methodically replaced each item in his backpack in the same order I’d removed it. When everything was packed away, I closed the bag, carried it across the room, and held it out.
Holding his towel with one hand, he grabbed a strap and pulled it away from me. “You don’t look even slightly ashamed.”
I said nothing, not bothering to pretend.
Shaking his head, he stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door in my face.
Returning to the sofa, I sank down in my spot and whispered to Ríkr, “Thanks a lot for the warning. Why didn’t you tell me he was done showering?”
My familiar gave me a feline smirk, then transformed into a hawk and flew through the wall, vanishing from sight.
Five minutes later, Zak returned, fully dressed in worn navy jeans and a lightweight, long-sleeved black shirt that clung to his torso. His hair was roughly combed back from his face, and his green eyes flashed with muted anger as he looked at me reclined on the sofa, a gold chain tangled over my fingers.
He sat on the opposite end of the sofa and set his bag beside him—on his far side, as though I might lunge for it if it were within my reach.
“Will you finally tell me how that farmer’s palomino died?” he asked irritably.
I leaned back, the locket swinging from its chain. “Its heart was gone.”
His mouth hung open for a second, disbelief replacing his anger. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Stolen with fae magic. Not that the human vet realizes that. The killer is stealing their victims’ hearts.”
Muttering a curse, he slumped into the cushions. “That’s terrifying.”
I didn’t mock him for admitting the killer frightened him. Any sane person would be scared. A fae that could steal your heart without wounding you—possibly without even touching you—was the stuff of nightmares and horror tales. Considering four deer had died seemingly within seconds of each other, the killer’s power had little to no restrictions. How did you defend against that?
Cross paths with this fae, and you’d die.
“Do you know of any fae with an ability like that?” I asked.
“Not off the top of my head, but it gives me something to ask other fae about.”
I balled up the locket chain and tossed it to him. “I found that under my coven leader’s desk chair. Open it.”
He pried it open and peered at the two tiny photos.
“The woman is my coven leader’s daughter, Laney. The man is Jason Brine, also a witch. He and Laney had a whirlwind romance before he disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Arla—my coven leader—was a rehabilitation supervisor for the MPD. Convicts join the coven until their parole is complete or they violate the conditions and get dragged back to a correctional center.”
“He was a convict?” At my nod, Zak’s gaze slid across my face. “And are you a convict as well?”
“Yes.”
“Crime?”
“Murder.”
His eyebrows rose slightly—mild surprise, as opposed to the horrified repulsion most people felt upon learning they were sitting beside a murderer. “Lallakai said the other witches accused you of killing the coven leader.”
My fingers curled into fists. “I didn’t kill her.”
“But your coven thinks you did.”
“So does the MPD,” I told him flatly. No point in hiding it now. He could put the pieces together on his own. “I’m a convicted murderer, I have a bad reputation, and I had motive since she was in charge of my parole. Plus”—I puffed out a breath—“I discovered her body.”
I could feel his gaze, but I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need to see him weighing this new information and putting together all the things I hadn’t said—and all the reasons I’d first sought him out after finding Arla dead.
I waved at the locket. “Anyway. Jason.”
“What about him?”
“He didn’t finish his rehabilitation. He decided to cut and run six months ago, ditching Laney. But the photo in that locket is recent—less than four weeks old. Her hair in it is blond, but she only bleached it last month. Before that, it was brown.”
He lifted the locket close to his face, eyes narrowed. “Their faces were cut from the same photo. You can see her hair on his shoulder, and his arm is around her.”
I nodded. “So Jason is back, and he’s either trying to win Laney over with gifts, or they’re already together again.”
“And you think Jason is involved with the fae killer?”
“He liked to brag about his conquests. His whole MO was calling rare, dangerous fae and making black bargains.” In witch vernacular, a black-magic witch was one who made deals with fae that involved violence, death, or betrayal. “Apparently, he did this for hire and made a lot of money.”
“And got himself arrested while he was at it,” Zak murmured, studying the photo. “There are a few different ways to call fae, and using a crossroads makes all of them easier. If Jason is after a fae that’s difficult to lure out of the fae demesne, it makes sense he’d come here to do it.”
“So we can assume he showed up here four weeks ago, or less, and reconnected with Laney. They took a photo together and made this locket.”
“And we can assume that around two weeks ago, he successfully called a deadly fae to the human plane,” Zak murmured, continuing the narrative, “and the fae’s been stealing hearts and leaving trails of dead bodies on the mountainside since then.”
“Arla found out somehow. Maybe she found the locket and asked Laney about Jason—or she saw Jason visiting Laney. Or something. Whatever she found out, the fae killed her because of it.”
“Jason could be controlling the fae.”
“Maybe.” I tugged on a lock of my bangs. “Does Laney know Jason came back here to set a killer fae loose?”
“And does she suspect that her boyfriend might have murdered her mother?”
Remembering Laney’s crazed accusations, I frowned. “She really thinks I did it.”
“She could be in denial,” Zak suggested, rubbing his jaw. “Or maybe Jason isn’t involved. If he is, she might have answers, but approaching her will be difficult. We don’t know how close Jason might be, or how the fae targets its victims. If we draw her—or his—attention, we could end up face to face with this fae before we’re ready.”
“Laney already wants me dead,” I mused. “If she could send that fae after me, she would have by now. But we still need to know what the fae is and how it kills before we put ourselves in Jason’s crosshairs.”
Zak nodded. “I think another visit to the crossroads is warranted.”
My eyes lost focus as I thought back to my last visit. “The kelpie told me he knows the creature you’re seeking. I didn’t get the feeling it was a bluff.”
“Hmm. All right
, I’ll start with him.”
“We will.”
His mouth twisted. “Last time I suggested we work together, you attacked me. You might remember. It happened an hour ago.”
I ignored that. “I get off work at four tomorrow. Meet me here.”
“You want to waste an entire day at work?”
“I, unlike wanted fugitives such as yourself, need my job.” When he gazed at me expressionlessly, I sat forward. “Don’t even think about going without me. You’re here for fae favors, but I’m about to get charged with murdering my own coven leader. I have way more on the line than you do.”
“Speaking of which, the MPD knows where you work. Going there is a risk.”
“They won’t arrest me in front of a bunch of humans. And I’m trying not to look suspicious by missing work and vanishing for an entire day.”
Which I’d already done and shouldn’t repeat.
He grunted. “Where’s your phone?”
“Why?”
“Just give it to me.”
I had to get up to grab it off my bed. Dropping back onto the sofa, I held it out. He took it, tapped on the screen for a moment, then passed it back. A new text message was open, the recipient’s number already added.
“That’s the MPD’s crime hotline,” he informed me. “Report that you saw me in this area.”
“Are you serious?”
“Obviously.”
“Don’t screw with me. The MPD won’t let me off the hook for Arla’s death just because a wanted rogue walked through my neighborhood.”
He rolled his green eyes toward the ceiling. “No, and I don’t plan to take a fall for you or anyone else. But you need to change the trajectory of the MPD’s investigation, and this is the fastest way to do that. The agent in charge of my bounty won’t ignore a tip if you describe me.”
“But how is involving another agent going to help?”
“You’re already their prime suspect, so it can’t hurt, can it?”
Grumbling, I turned my attention to my phone and, after a moment’s hesitation, typed out a description of a dark-haired, green-eyed druid armed with alchemy and crystal artifacts riding a fae stallion. I showed the message to said druid.
The One and Only Crystal Druid (The Guild Codex: Unveiled Book 1) Page 15