enough. This shit was making him angry.
“Caprise.” He said her name because he needed her conscious. Needed her to talk to him, argue with him, whatever to keep his mind off what the hell was going on with his senses.
“He’s dead because of me,” he heard her say in the barest whisper. “It’s my fault.”
“You weren’t even there” was his reply. “We need to get packed so we can go back.”
She shook her head then. “I don’t want to go back. I should never have come back.”
“Why do you say that?” X asked, thinking of what had made her run away in the first place. “Why shouldn’t you have come back to your home?”
“It’s not my home. It’s Nick’s home and my parents’ home. I don’t have a home.”
She sounded like a teenage girl, and when X looked down into her face he almost thought she was one. Her eyes were open, barely, teardrops teasing her long lashes, as if waiting for permission to fall. And as X surveyed the rest of her face his gaze lingered on her lips. He’d kissed those lips that morning when they were in the elevator. The significance of this act—X had never kissed another female before. It was too intimate, a word he had long since dissociated himself with. And yet he’d kissed Caprise without a second thought. Why he was thinking of that right at this moment, he had no clue.
“Your home is Havenway,” he heard himself saying even though X would swear his mind was taking a walk down the carnal hall of fame. He wanted her again, his entire body ached for her. And yet he stood perfectly still, holding her like a baby, talking to her in a calm, solid tone he didn’t even know he possessed.
She shook her head, still not willing to believe him. And as if that were a cue, X did something else that was so not in his repertoire. He kissed her forehead—just a light brush of his lips over her forehead where wispy tendrils of hair lay quietly.
“He was only twenty-five,” she said. “And he was assigned to protect me. I should have protected him.”
“That’s not how male shifters work. Seth was doing his job.”
“And it got him killed. So what’s the point in all this shifter crap if all you’re going to do is end up dead?” With that she began to squirm in his arms, trying to break free.
X put her down. Reluctantly. He stood back as she pulled on the hem of her shirt. She rubbed her palms over her face, down her head along the ponytail she wore.
“I’ll go back but I’m not staying at Havenway anymore. I’m not staying in DC,” she told him.
Inside, X’s cat roared, pushing at every inch of him to growl loudly and stake his claim. But X ignored it. Sort of.
“Get your stuff and meet me downstairs in an hour.”
“Fine” was her tight reply.
“Fine” was his in return.
X left the room. He had no other choice. It was either leave or throw her over his shoulder and carry her straight to the bedroom. Words would not get through Caprise’s thick skull, but X was sure he could reach her on a more physical level. And then what? That was the million-dollar question.
Why was it so important Caprise stay at Havenway, and why did he give a flying fuck about how sad she looked when she said she didn’t have a home? It didn’t matter. None of it did. He was just fine before she’d returned. Just fucking fine!
Now? Now he was pacing up and down the hallway in the resort like an expectant father. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides while his teeth gritted so hard he figured they’d all fall out the minute he opened his mouth. But if he opened his mouth, the first thing coming out would be a roar that would likely tear this whole place down. Bas would not be happy about that.
Once more X found himself with a shitload of questions and not enough answers to buy himself a get-out- of-jail-free card. The one answer he did have without a shadow of a doubt was that Caprise Delgado was never leaving him again.
Blood pooled in a pothole that DC’s Department of Public Works would most likely say didn’t exist in the alley right behind Athena’s. The MPD had been called when a dozen larger-than-normal, bouncer-like guys—their words, not Dorian’s—had showed up.
“What else did the witness see?” Dorian asked Detective Eric McCoy, his brother-in-law.
“Between twelve and fifteen big dudes surrounding an SUV. Maybe a jeep, he couldn’t really tell since it was still dark and the SUV was black.”
“Were they all males?”
Eric nodded. “All males.”
“All black?” Dorian asked as he walked around the spot of blood. He’d been looking down on the ground, then looked up to Eric.
Eric shook his head. “No. It was a mixture, some black, some white. Then he said one or two looked Hispanic.”
“So he was close enough to see they were Hispanic but not close enough to make the vehicle?”
“Come on, Dorian. He’s an addict. He was probably high.”
“But you believed his word enough to call me to have a look?”
“I believed his word because he’s a good informant. You’ve been looking into those weird killings. I thought this was connected,” Eric told him seriously. He’d been on the force for more than fifteen years and married to Dorian’s older sister Miranda for half that time. As far as family went, Eric was a part of Dorian’s and he was to be trusted.
Dorian saw a plastic bag near the wall. He’d guessed at the size of the vehicle and tried to configure where it would have been parked. Right up against this brick wall would have been the passenger-side door. If somebody fell out of the truck, shot maybe, or stabbed and cut like the other victims, they could have fallen right where that pothole was and bled out. Kneeling, he picked up the plastic bag and turned it over between his fingers. There was a symbol printed on one side, like a shield, and below it was the word SAVIOR. Back at his office, in the accordion folder where he’d been storing all his information about these killings, was another bag just like this one. It had been found with the body of Diamond Turner.
“So where’s the truck and where’s the body?”
“That’s why I really called you. MPD’s not even looking into this. Said without a vehicle or a body we don’t have a case.”
“Which is true,” Dorian said.
“Somebody lost a hell of a lot of blood out here. It’s at least worth finding out who,” Eric implored.
“The blood’s on the ground, man. We can take a sample and have it tested, but I’m sure it’s been compromised. Besides, if it’s not from a criminal whose DNA is already on file, we’re never going to find out who it belongs to.”
“Right. So we let it go?” Eric asked, nodding.
“No,” Dorian said, clenching the plastic bag in his palm. “We’re not letting it go.”
“They got a report about a truck and some strange-looking guys standing around it. A unit was sent to investigate, came back with nothing,” Kalina told Rome and Nick first thing the next morning.
“Are they asking around?” Nick asked, taking a sip from the mug in front of him.
It would be tea and not coffee; Kalina knew that after living here with Nick for weeks and having breakfast in the dining hall most mornings with him and Ary. As volatile as Nick’s personality was, she’d half expected him to drink cold hard liquor every morning when he awoke. But that just went to show how you never really knew a person until you lived with them.
“No. The caller was an addict, so they’re not putting too much credence in what he had to say. He did mention that the men didn’t look human.”
“Shit.” Nick cursed quietly, putting his mug down and scrubbing his hands over his face.
“But they’re not looking into it so it’s fine,” Rome commented.
“How’d the team do last night?” she asked.
“Sabar’s not showing his ugly face. His second, Darel, is there every night. He’s got two big-ass cats that walk every step with him. And there’s a new guy,” Nick said.
