Page 17

Kara wandered back in an hour later, wearing jeans tight enough to be painted on and a baggy sweater that fell to mid-thigh, her hair in a loose pony. A faint trace of her honeyed, exotic jasmine perfume clung to her as she flopped down on the sofa opposite.

She gave me a guilty look, then stared down at her lap as she toyed with her clothing.

“I’m sorry.”

“Bit busy right now, Kara,” I muttered, not looking up from the document I was reading.

“What’s all this?” she asked, gesturing to the photos and papers I’d laid out across the floor and coffee table in some half-assed attempt at organizing my thoughts.

“The assignment your dad gave me.”

“The journalist you mentioned?” She leaned forward and picked up one of the photos.

“Yeah,” I said, deciding to take the interruption as an opportunity for a break, leaning back in my seat and easing the stiffness in my shoulders. “Seems she chose to investigate a couple of your dad’s companies.”

Kara gave a small wince. “Would you mind calling him ‘Dacien’? It’s … easier.”

I shrugged.

“Any ideas so far?”

“None,” I said wearily. “But I’ve got to come up with something, otherwise Dacien will remove the problem.” And me .

Kara frowned. “You mean kill her?”

“He will, I won’t. He did suggest that as an option, but not the only one, thankfully. Bad enough that I have to ‘dissuade’ or ‘discredit’ her.” I sighed. “I’m a philosophy lecturer, not a spook.”

“There’s an easier way,” Kara said, tossing the photo back on the floor.

“I’m open to suggestions at this point.”

“She’s cute. You could bond her. Then all you’d have to say is ‘stop doing that’, and she’d be all like, ‘yes, Master’ and bat her eyelids at you.”

I froze in my seat, staring at Kara. “Tell me that was a joke.”

“That was a joke, Master.”

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Did you tell me that was a joke because I just told you to tell me that was a joke, when it wasn’t originally a joke?”

“Er …” She shifted in her seat.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered. “I’m not bonding anyone, okay? I don’t even know how to anyway.”

“All right. Well … um … we could just ask her not to write it.”

I picked up a sheet of paper Dacien had so thoughtfully included.

“Juliana ‘Jules’ Hammond. She’s a norm, twenty-eight years old, smart enough to be published in academia.

Works for Helix Journal, known for longform investigations and deep dives.

She spent three months undercover in post-quake Manila, where she embedded with aid workers and then wrote a piece blowing the lid off a laundering network run through reconstruction contracts.

She’s filed stories from Jakarta to D.C.

, always following the money—and always punching up.

Pragmatic, idealist, apparently keeps her phone encrypted and hard-copy notebooks.

No idea how your d—how Dacien knows that.

No relationships, but her parents are still alive, and she has a sister—married with two kids.

” I winced. “To be clear, I’m not touching any of them. ”

I lowered the sheet and raised an eyebrow. “That sound like the sort of person who’ll just say, ‘oh, sure, no problem,’ when asked to drop a story?”

Kara fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. “Depends how you ask, I suppose.”

I dropped the sheet on the floor and stood up, stepping over the documents as I strode to the window and looked out over the city.

“What does your dad want from me? As far as I’m concerned, Miss Hammond has every right to investigate, and good fucking luck to her.

What am I supposed to do? Prove she lied on her CV and get her fired?

Kill her dog? You think that would stop her? ”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Hell if I know.”

“You want me to talk to my mom? Get this stopped?”

“We’ve had this conversation.” I turned to face her. “Do you really think Dacien would let me off the hook?”

She looked thoughtful, and I felt a small flare of hope. Then she reluctantly shook her head, and the hope died. “No, you’re right. If he’s this serious about it, he won’t. Or if he does, Jules will turn up dead within the week.”

“Your dad is not a very nice man.”

She grimaced. “And you said he’ll kill you if you don’t?”

“Yes.”

“So even if I talk to Mom, there’s a chance some accident will still befall you.”

“Dacien said it was a win-win—for him. Either I remove his little problem”—I gestured at the spread-out documents—“or he removes me, freeing you.” I watched her closely, wondering what she really wanted now, in the cold light of day.

Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. Dacien may be my father, and maybe I do love him—family is complicated—but I’m not blind to the fact he’s an asshole, and I do not want you dead.”

“You love your dad, huh?”

“It’s not simple. I know what kind of man he is, but he’s never treated me badly. Always given me what I needed. You know how it is, right? Or are your parents perfect?”

“No idea. Never met them.”

Kara blinked. “Dead?”

“Still no idea. Grew up in the foster system.”

“That … I’m so sorry.” She actually looked it, too.

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Old news. Put it behind me years ago.”

“Aren’t we a pair. You don’t have parents, and no one would want mine.” She gave a dry laugh, then shook herself. “Anyway, I don’t much see we have a choice. Think of it like this: you’re saving Jules’ life.”

I grimaced. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

“And your own. Two lives for the price of what, a little misdirection? That has to be worth it, right?”

“Whatever. Sure.” I sighed. “Helpful chat, but still no closer to figuring out a solution.”

“We’ll find a way.”

“‘We’? This is my task, you don’t have to get involved.”

She gave me a flat look. “You’re pretty dense, sometimes. Don’t you realize we’re bonded now?”

Her gaze was unwavering, her chin tilted up in that stubborn way she’d occasionally shown.

“The bond was an accident,” I said tentatively, “and we still don’t know for sure that I’m a warlock—or that it’s permanent.”

“Feels pretty damn permanent to me. I still… When you …” She rose, hugging herself, and walked over to the kitchen island, turning to face me as she leaned back against it.

“I’m sorry I was so pissy when you came back earlier.

I thought you’d left for good. After the way my parents …

” She trailed off, then took a breath. “I don’t even have your number.

No way to reach you—not knowing if I’d ever see you again or …

” She exhaled sharply. “Only four goddamn hours, and I’m a mess!

Maybe it’s the bond, and if so … that part sucks.

But I don’t want you gone, and I sure as hell don’t want you dead. ”

“I’m sorry I’ve fucked up your life.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “You believe me that it was an accident, right?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I was there. One moment you sailed across the bar and smashed the tables, the next I just had to intervene. You think I haven’t given this any thought?

It was too fast to have been deliberate.

Conrad was going to kill you, I could see it in his eyes.

You shouted ‘stop’, and I couldn’t stand by and let it happen after that.

But of all the people in the room, it was me that responded. Why was that do you think?”

“Er …” I frowned. I hadn’t considered it. “I don’t know.”

“Had it occurred to you that maybe I wanted to? Isn’t this how it all works? I acted because, at some level, I couldn’t not ?”

“Maybe you just didn’t want to stand by while a helpless near-norm got butchered by four werewolves.”

She gave a scathing laugh. “Yeah. That doesn’t really sound like me, does it?”

I supposed it didn’t, and said nothing.

“I don’t know why your bond chose me, but it did.”

“Well … like I said, I’m sorry.”

Her chin came up. “I’m not.”

I blinked. Twice. Her words hung in the air and echoed in my head.

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m not. Maybe I was originally, but not anymore.”

“Okay.” I was still processing this. “Um. Why not?”

She didn’t reply immediately, watching me with a frank gaze as she contemplated her words. “There’s a lot more to you than first meets the eye.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

But she wasn’t finished. “Your composure on Halloween, first with Conrad then the fire … the green. Holding my hand. Most people would’ve panicked, but you were never even rattled, were you?”

So far from the truth she had no idea, but she was still speaking.

“And then at my parent’s house. How many people could’ve sat down across the table from my mother like that, and been so cool?”

That may have been true, but it was apathy, not bravery.

“You know what type of man my father is,” she said. “If he’d detected any weakness at all, after you’d bonded me, you wouldn’t have left that house alive.”

That was easy to believe, and a deep unease spread through me at the reminder of how close I’d been to death. Twice, in as many nights.

“Makes sense,” I said, “but I don’t know where that leaves us.”

“It leaves us bonded.” She cocked her head at me. “Had it occurred to you that maybe your bond chose me because you wanted it to?”

I frowned, unable to reconcile that. Kara? Of all people? Sure, there was more to her than I’d first thought too, but at the time, back in the bar … no saving graces.

She saw my expression. “Never mind,” she muttered. “It was just a theory.”

Awkward, and again I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Turns out I’m the one who should apologize,” she said bitterly. “I’m sorry your bond chose me, when it could’ve chosen … someone better. Emma, perhaps.”

Shit . “I … er …” Was she right? Would it have done? Emma had been in the storeroom, calling Baldwin. Was that why it hadn’t? But she wasn’t a supe. Kara had saved me. If the bond had chosen Emma, would I even be alive?