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  “It’s her. The one who’s supposed to be dead. Get Zach on the phone and find out what happened.”

  Newt picked up his phone, but his fingers were numb, clumsily pressing his camera application instead of his phone. He murmured a hurried apology, trying to get back to the home screen, but Murphy was already dialing his own cell, sneering at Newt as he did so.

  This time, Newt didn’t hide his sigh. He let his shoulders fall forward.

  Murphy’s face reddened further the longer he held the phone up to his ear. Was he going to throw the device? For one frightening moment it seemed that way. But the senator waited for the answering machine, growling, “You’d better call me back, Zachary. I need to know what happened, now.”

  He slammed the glass square on his oak desk, rattling the framed pictures of himself, his wife, and three Pomeranians hard enough that it was a wonder his phone didn’t break. Murphy and his wife had no children together, and Newt had heard a rumor that the senator surgically ensured he’d never have children. Sometimes he wondered how the wife felt about that decision, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He couldn’t imagine a man like this reading fairytales to a child anyway.

  The man would only be able to do the villain voices.

  “You’ve done enough, Newt. You can go.”

  The moment Murphy waved him away, Newt scrambled to get the hell out of the office. With any luck, he could work with the road team for the rest of the day helping cut signs and pick out which shirt designs would bring the most votes.

  As he practically ran away from the very senator he was trying to help get re-elected—despite his wish that the man would lose, badly—he picked up the cardstock pages on his way out, neatly stacking them in roughly the order in which they were printed.

  Closing the door behind him as quietly as he could, he bent over to get the last two pages, which had slid under the door and into the hallway outside the senator’s office. One depicted the same house where the girl had been, except it was crumbled as if someone had taken a wrecking ball to the place. Blue chips of wood were scattered everywhere in the image, and the mailbox held the same number as the earlier photographs.

  Horrified, yet extremely, morbidly curious, he glanced at the next picture, expecting to see blood and gristle. Except now, the house was fine. There wasn’t a crack in the glass of the windows, or a chip in the paint on the porch.

  The time stamp read ten minutes after the picture where the house was completely destroyed. Newt was sure because he checked five times, thinking his contacts must have moved out of place.

  He looked for messages on his phone from the private investigators, oh, maybe mentioning how in the hell a house could be rebuilt in under ten minutes, but there was nothing. So he looked at the message with the images and saw they weren’t taken by anyone in particular, but were from a camera set to automatically take pictures at certain time intervals throughout the day.

  These images had been sent about an hour before the messages about the arrests.

  Putting the pieces together in his mind, he came to two conclusions. First, Senator Murphy was involved in some things Newt wanted to keep very far away from. Second, he was not going back into that office to deliver this kind of news. As far as the senator was concerned, the house belonging to his hitmen was still standing. That’s all that mattered, right?

  His heart pounding, Newt ripped up the pictures in his hands, destroying as much of the strangeness as he could, wishing the images in his mind could be destroyed as effectively. The secretary around the corner shot him a look from under her horn rimmed glasses, but he didn’t care. On his way to the road office, he put the torn pieces into the paper shredder behind her desk, unrepentant.

  I don’t get paid enough for this.

  * * * *

  Heath Frazier looked at the screen of his phone, where dozens of unanswered messages appeared in a neat column. His brother, Vale, was out of touch, and had been for almost three months.

  Sure, when he’d been a convict it had been fairly normal to go that length of time—even longer—without contact, but now that he and his brother were on better terms, they used to speak almost every day. More than that, they’d speak in person despite Vale’s permanent residence in Asheville, North Carolina.

  Both of them had the ability to travel anywhere on a whim, which Heath had used to try to track down his brother. He’d gone to Vale’s place in the mountains numerous times since the radio silence, and each time more dust had gathered there, the food in Vale’s fridge rotting until Heath had finally emptied it all.

  As of two weeks ago, Vale hadn’t been in his own home in months. What was he doing? Heath asked Raphael to find out if the Elders had sent Vale on some sort of top-secret mission, but Raphael came back with nothing. Vale’s disappearance had nothing to do with werewolf business, as far as he knew. Heath cursed himself for not getting the contact information for the woman he thought Vale had begun to date back in February, Katarina. He didn’t even know the almost-warlock’s last name.

  Just when his screen darkened over the messages he’d sent, it lit up with an incoming call from Canada.

  Figuring it had to be Sebastian and Sophia’s old pack, which was based in Halifax, he threw his phone at Sophia, who caught it with one hand. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk, anyway.

  Setting aside the video game she’d been playing on her laptop, she pressed the answer button on the phone and flounced on the bed, pulling her long legs underneath her. Heath loved the way her compact body moved, and he did nothing to hide the hungry expression beginning to cross his face.

  This call had better be quick.

  Amused, Sophia raised an eyebrow, ran her pink tongue over her lips, and said, “Heath Frazier’s phone, this is his mate, Sophia, speaking. Are you from the Halifax pack? I don’t recognize this number.”

  “Do I seem like the pack-dwelling type to you, ginger werewolf?” a feminine voice asked. Instantly, Sophia’s delight turned wary, and Heath moved to sit next to her on the bed. With his sensitive hearing, he didn’t need Sophia to turn on speakerphone to hear the woman as clearly as Sophia could with the phone pressed to her ear.

  They weren’t speaking to one of Sophia’s old packmates. They were speaking to one of the most batshit-crazy, dangerous faeries Heath could think of. Luckily for them, Christabel had proven to be a valuable ally, but after an incident where the faery had burned most of Sophia’s body out of jealousy, neither of them were inclined to fully trust the woman.

  “What do you want, Christabel?” Sophia growled.

  The faery laughed in response, which made Sophia angrier. “Can I please burn her?” she whispered to Heath, holding the phone far enough away not even creatures with the best audition could hear her. “Just enough to hurt a lot?”

  “What I want,” Christabel began, “benefits you as well. Well you and Heath. You there, Heath? Hi!”

  Heath grimaced, while Sophia’s eyes narrowed on the phone in a murderous expression.

  “Hello, Christabel,” he said in his most dry tone.

  “Glad we’re all here,” the faery continued. “See, I have a problem, and I think it involves your problem. How’s your brother?”

  Stunned, Heath met Sophia’s gaze. His own panic reflected in her.

  “What do you know?” If the faery hurt his brother, their alliance was off. Christabel would be lucky if Sophia burned her to a crispy crunch.

  “All I know, soldier, is that your brother disappeared when my witch disappeared.” So Katarina was gone too. Had they gone somewhere, or were they taken? Heath froze, and so did the condensation on the windowsill, as well as the drops running down the glass of water Sophia had set on the side table.

  Could they be dead?

  No. He wasn’t a particularly spiritual man, but he’d know if something that …permanent happened to his single brother. Besides, Vale had lived for over six centuries. By now, he knew how to keep himse
lf—and anyone around him—alive. If Heath trusted anything about his brother, it was that fact.

  “When was the last time you heard from your almost warlock?” Heath demanded.

  “She’s a witch, as she never truly became a warlock, and I stopped hearing from her around the time she went to some hospital in Asheville to be tested.” Christabel sounded put out. If Heath didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was defending the witch.

  “Tested for what?” Even though he doubted Katarina was immortal yet, as witches became sometime in their late twenties, she still wouldn’t get most diseases that humans could. Like most creatures, witches were fairly immune to disease with some exceptions. There were also some diseases only witches could contract.

  “Katarina is half witch. Vale set it up for her blood to be tested so she could know what, exactly, the other half of her is, but before she had the chance to tell me, her employer, she disappeared. That was sometime in early February.”

  “Could she be half-human?” Sophia asked, filling the silence Heath would have let stretch for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

  Vale had no enemies, but depending on what turned out to be running through Katarina’s veins, she might. And the witch had dragged Vale down her rabbit hole.

  Christabel laughed, but this time there wasn’t even feigned humor. “That witch is half-human like I’m half-human.” She clucked her tongue reprovingly. “The first time I saw her, lined up like cattle like the warlocks do, at the very end of their power spectrum, I knew the warlocks made a huge mistake.

  “She’s going to be someone that makes those like you and me seem human.”

  “Great,” Heath muttered, hardly noticing Sophia’s firm grasp on his hand. “She might just have killed my brother.”

  * * * *

  No one questioned Leila’s decision to go home with Alex. It was late, Wish had dropped off some rehearsal gear for her, and she was so exhausted that she struggled to keep her eyes open as Alex drove uptown from the firehouse, which was in the Warehouse District.

  And I thought I was tired this morning, right after I woke up. She laughed, more than slightly hysterical. Today, she’d seen a man die before her eyes, and then she’d killed a man. Yet she only felt drained, not guilty. This second, if she could muster the energy, she’d make the same decision all over again.

  If anything, she was merciful. Whatever Alex planned for the human was much worse than the quick death she’d dealt with her voice. Having never tried as much before, she’d had no way of knowing if it would work, but it did a little too easily.

  Perhaps the legends that said banshees were meant to both predict death and take lives were true.

  Still, the man had shot her, killing her once, and intended to do it again—although interestingly, Senator Murphy hadn’t seemed to inform him that she remained alive. Did he not trust even his employees with his supernatural background?

  “Was I on that list?” she asked Alex, suddenly hitting her second wind. He’d told her what he and Heath had found on the computer as soon as she and Mary finished bawling over old pictures of the family who were their blood, theirs.

  Maybe Alex caught onto her stream of thoughts because he hesitated before answering. “You were on their list of past kills,” he said slowly. “But you weren’t on any watch list. The address to the pack’s house in Pass Christian was there, but there was no name associated with it.”

  “That’s why he had Zach kidnap me. He was related to the senator somehow, could be allowed to know what I am, what runs through his own blood.”

  Alex’s knuckles went white against the steering wheel, and Leila wondered if he’d turn this one into dust. The sooner they got back to his house, the better—she didn’t want to test how quick his reflexes were if he was half as tired as she was.

  “This doesn’t mean you’re safe.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Even with the entire operation arrested, you are not safe yet.”

  He parked his BMW, but they weren’t in front of the dilapidated home fronting as his house. Alex got out of the car, opened her door for her, and took her hand to help her to her feet even though Aiyanna had ensured her leg was completely healed before they’d left the firehouse. He didn’t release her hand when they stepped onto the curb together.

  “I’m going to keep you safe,” he promised, stopping to put firm hands on her shoulders before lacing their fingers together and continuing down the dark street. Now that she was more used to his powers, however unpredictable, she’d noticed the blue sparks, the same bright color as his eyes, tumbling off his skin as if he had simply too much energy to contain in his body.

  She knew he’d keep her safe. And she’d let him, and the rest of the pack, worry over her and Mary until the threat was gone. Leila could take care of herself, maybe even better than she realized, but having Alex watch her back would allow her to rest at night. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to refrain from jumping at the slightest noises her implants picked up.

  They strode in silence, hand in hand, and she pretended she wasn’t scrutinizing every shadow, every rustle from a stray cat or branch pulling in the light, warm wind. A large animal approached, but rather than bring fear, he put a smile on her face.

  “Beau!”

  Her call merely made the dog bound toward them faster. He placed two large paws on her shoulders, pressing his cold, wet nose against her cheek before licking her ear and proceeding to give Alex the same treatment. Leila couldn’t help but giggle at the beast, but it turned into laughter at Alex’s stunned expression. His mouth, with his full lips that so casually made Leila feel weak-kneed, had fallen into an O.

  “What?” she asked when he shook his head, watching Beau quizzically as he pressed against both of their legs. They continued their walk toward Alex’s house.

  “Dogs don’t like warlocks,” he said, frowning. “Ever.” He sighed. “Maybe he isn’t a normal dog.”

  Beau’s lopsided smile grew wider, as if he understood what Alex had said. Either way, Leila disagreed.

  “You’re not a normal warlock,” she countered confidently.

  Alex watched her, his face unreadable, until they reached his front door. This time she wasn’t as shocked to see the transformation between exterior and interior. Rather, she felt as if she was in on a secret only they shared, and it uncurled something satisfied and possessive inside her.

  “You can stay here.” Alex showed her to the guest room she’d glimpsed earlier, and the part of her that said mine when she looked at him hissed in displeasure.

  “I can,” she murmured disappointedly. Instead of lying on the seemingly comfortable bed and falling asleep wishing she were somewhere else in this house, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “But I don’t want to.”

  Before she was finished speaking, Alex had her in his arms in a hold so tight, she wasn’t altogether positive he’d let her go. Not that she wanted to be anywhere else. He smelled faintly of grapefruit and musk: bitter, sweet and male.

  He didn’t put her down until they were in his bedroom, where he carefully laid her across his cashmere blanket checked in shades of black, cream and gray.

  Beau curled up on a cushion Alex must’ve placed in the corner, snorting softly as he laid his head down.

  “Would you like to shower?” he asked so softly, she barely heard.

  She’d hardly noticed it, but there were pieces of wood and drywall in her hair, which was coming out of its ponytail in tangles around her shoulders.

  “Yes, please.”

  Before she could become nervous—which would be ridiculous anyway since people she hardly knew saw her naked on a near-daily basis—she carefully took off the external processor section of her cochlear implants and placed them on a nearby table, instantly plunging her into silence.

  Alex helped her out of the rehearsal clothes that clung to her body so tightly that pink hem lines were pressed into her skin once they
were off. The only sign of his desire was the heat in his eyes, which he didn’t lower from her face even as she pulled her bra over her head.

  Well until she pushed his jeans over his hips and saw his boxer-tented erection standing proud. Her hand fluttered to her chest, and her eyes widened.

  Finally, his intense gaze waned, a shadow coming over his expression. I can wait until you finish, he signed. Was that sadness tipping his lips down?

  I’ve never seen anything like this before, she signed back before brushing an appreciative hand over his stomach, lower to the waistband of his boxers. She wasn’t shocked at the visible signs of his longing—it thrilled her just as much as it scared her—she simply hadn’t seen a naked man before. Not even her visual art elective in college had included a nude portrait.

  It was time to tell him something she hadn’t dared to, not for lack of trust, but because of embarrassment.

  There’s been nothing with any other men.

  His gaze softened, but his hands said, I don’t understand.

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and she inspected the shag carpet under her now-bare feet. I’ve never touched a man before you. Not in any sense of the word.

  He gently palmed her cheek, and she looked up to see even more heat than before in his gaze. There was a feral edge to him now, but there was nothing rough in the way he ran his other hand up her back, pulling her closer.

  You’ve never done this with another? he signed before he swooped in for a kiss that made her think there was no way they hadn’t kissed before today. His lips were soft, warm on hers, but his tongue was hot when it swept in her mouth with a confidence that said how comfortable he was touching her, learning her.

  It took him a deliciously long time to pull away for her answer. She could feel herself panting as she shook her head. I haven’t.

  Good. There was something vulnerable in the jerky movements of his signs when he motioned, I don’t want there to be another. You belong to me, with me.

  She laughed, clutching his chest as she did, her hand placed squarely on his heart. A few minutes ago, I was thinking the same thing. She jerked him closer. Unlike him, she wasn’t gentle. You’re mine.