Page 11

When I got home, I read the articles I’d printed. They were fascinating and almost seemed linked. Was the baby stolen from his crib linked to the wolves menacing a village? I couldn’t find enough details to tell.

Later, I stepped behind the bar to get myself a mug of tea. “Thanks for keeping an eye on things for me this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Dave grumbled.

“How’s it going out here?”

“How’s what going?” He put his book down on the bar, his expression blank.

I gestured at the dozen or so patrons scattered around the bar, moonlight sparkling off the dark waves behind them.

He shrugged, seemingly baffled by the question.

I looked at all the empty glasses on the small, round tables. “You know you’re supposed to be checking on people, getting orders, delivering drinks. Tell me if any of this sounds familiar.”

“No,” he scoffed. “That’s how you tend bar. I sit here and read. If they want something, they can walk up here and ask for it.”

“Dave—”

“Stop. You hired me to cook. Tending is bonus, so quit giving me shit about it.” He raised his voice to the bar in general. “You people are fine, right?”

A small voice piped up from the corner. “Well, actually, I could use—”

“See? They’re fine.” He picked up his book again.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be back for orders,” I said to the room at large, holding up a finger.

Dave yelped as I walked toward the bookstore. “Fuck! What was that for?”

When I turned around, Clive was still sitting in his seat, watching Dave. Dave, however, was now on his feet, walking around the bar and collecting empties.

Clive stood, his expression unreadable. “Sam, if I might have a word.” He walked toward the far end of the bar, and I changed direction to follow.

He held the kitchen door open for me, looking gorgeous in a charcoal gray sweater that accentuated his broad shoulders. Waiting for me to pass, he followed me in. He pulled at his sleeve before looking at me. He did it thoughtlessly, stylishly, but Clive didn’t fidget. He was rarely, if ever, anything other than confident, controlled, and a little bored.

He checked his watch. “I have an appointment. I need to get going, but I wanted to make sure you were all right. Any lasting effects from last night?”

Oh. “No, I’m fine.” It was silly to feel disappointed. We weren’t friends. He’d just been forced to spend time with me lately because I seemed to have hit my expiration date.

Nodding, he checked his watch again. “Good.” When he finally met my gaze, there was something there I couldn’t interpret.

“Not to worry, no dates with demons tonight.” I smiled, but as he was no longer looking, I let it drop.

“Probably for the best.” He nodded absently. “Dave informed me you’d been doing research today. Did you learn anything new?”

“Some, yeah. I couldn’t find any reports on women—anyone—being painstakingly carved up, their bodies being dumped.”

“The bodies may not have been discovered or left where they could be discovered.”

“Exactly,” I sighed. “I also looked up wards. They’re tied to blood and my blood could have been taken when I was trapped in the rat vision. That might account for how wolves waltzed in today.”

Clive took my hand and studied the healing wound, little more than a red line at this point.

“And I rounded out my study session with the history of werewolves. I found a creation story naming a Quinn as the first wolf.” Shaking my head, I said, “I have no idea what to make of that. It was the only specific name used in the account. The wicche who’d cursed him was referred to as a Wise Woman.”

Clive looked up from my hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and dropped it. “A wicche? The legend you read said a wicche was responsible for creating the first werewolf?”

I nodded. “Right.”

“But she wasn’t named… Interesting.”

“It was just a folktale, Clive. It probably doesn’t signify anything.” His question about the wicche did have my thoughts swirling, though, imagining connections that probably didn’t exist.

“And what are folktales but stories that have been passed down, generation to generation, while sitting by the fire? Embellishments here and there don’t change the core of the story. I’ll ask Russell to research the topic, as well.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Now, about the wolves this afternoon…” He let the comment hang. He was letting me decide how much I would tell him, how much further I would pull him into my problems. After a lifetime of holding others at bay, it was hard to open up.

“She has my scar.” I needed someone to know.

“Your scar?” His voice had softened, but I could read the confusion in his expression. My body was covered in scars. Which one?

I pulled up my sleeve, just far enough for him to see the infinity symbol above my wrist.

He took my hand gently in his, his thumb tracing over the scar. “Exactly like this?”

I nodded. “Hers was in the same place. I saw it as they were carrying her out.” Reluctantly, I pulled my arm away. His touch was comforting, but baring my scars always left me feeling sick to my stomach.

“I think I know why there are so many wolves in the city all of a sudden. Randy said they found out I was alive and living here last week.”

“Ah. One mystery solved.”

“Marcus is dead,” I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

“I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, I glanced back at Clive to find him watching me. “It’s not like I really knew him. It’s just—I don’t know—another link to family gone.”

“Someone does seem to be trying very hard to isolate you.”

I chuffed a derisive breath. “I do that just fine on my own. No help needed.”

Clive sighed and then checked his watch once again. “I need to leave, but I wanted to make sure you stopped sending checks to the pack.”

“If I owe—”

“You don’t owe Marcus or the pack anything.” He leaned back, his hands gripping the countertop on either side of himself. “I’m the one who paid for the bar. Your checks have been coming to me through Marcus.” He took in my confusion and almost smiled. “What would you have said if I’d offered to loan you the money for your bar when we’d met?”

“I...I would have...” What would I have done? I’d have said no. I never would have indebted myself to a man I barely knew. I wouldn’t have had the last seven years in my home. I should have been angry for being lied to, but there was no anger, only gratitude for my beautiful bookstore and bar, my sanctuary.

Clive continued to argue a case he’d already won. “You would have refused. You were still dealing with the death of your mother, the attack in the woods. Marcus couldn’t be bothered to take you to a hospital or see to your wounds. He shipped you off to a new city to live with a woman you didn’t know.”

“He said I couldn’t go to a normal hospital, that they’d do blood tests and know what had attacked me, know the kind of monster I’d become.” I’d arrived at Helena’s doorstep in the middle of the night, barely able to walk, blood seeping through hastily-wrapped bandages.

“Yes, they would have done a rape kit. We’d have had evidence of who had attacked you.” Clive’s jaw flexed in anger before he could shake it off. “You were dealing with enough. When Helena told me you were talking about wanting to stand on your own, to move out of her apartment and start your own business, I wanted to help. You seemed to trust Marcus. He was family, at any rate. If I told you it came from him, I was fairly certain you’d accept.”

I nodded. I think I surprised both of us when I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He tilted his face, wary interest in his eyes. I don’t know what possessed me. Perhaps the understanding that life was short, that Marcus was dead, and that Clive—as much as he tried to hide it—was a hero, not a villain. Maybe—mostly—it was because I was sick of being isolated. Whatever the reason, I changed my mind at the last minute and kissed him full on the mouth.

I had a fleeting thought to pull back, but I couldn’t. After years of daydreaming about Clive and this perfect kiss, I couldn’t break it. After a moment’s hesitation, he crushed me in his arms. I clutched his shoulders, becoming lightheaded.

A gruff “sorry” from the doorway shattered the moment.

I stepped back, glancing at the swinging kitchen door, unable to believe I’d finally kissed him. No life-saving blood exchange involved. “Thank you, Clive.”

Shaking his head, a grin pulling at his lips, he said, “Perhaps I should say the same.” He studied me for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite figure me out.

He reached out and brushed his fingers over my cheek, pushing a stray curl behind my ear. “Regardless of what you think or what Marcus may have said to you, you are not a monster. You are a survivor.” He gave me another soft, quick kiss. “I really must be going. Please don’t leave The Slaughtered Lamb tonight. Stay safe in your hobbit hole.” He grinned, and I felt a weight lift.

After he left, I escaped to the solitude of my rooms, needing a moment. Once my blood cooled, I returned to the bar to refill drinks and take up residence on my favorite stool. Clive was gone. Just as well. I was embarrassed about the kiss. I took a sip of spicy orange tea, and watched the dark ocean, trying not to brood.

Dave came out of the kitchen, bringing me cookies. “Sorry I was a dick before.”

Clearly uncomfortable with the apology, I put him out of his misery. “Demon,” I reminded him.

Grimace covering his grin, he said, “Yeah. There’s that.”

When I heard stomping down the stairs, I flinched. Dave gave a low curse before an absolutely stunning woman stepped off the stairs and into the bar. She was dressed in a filmy black dress with Doc Martens. She had long black hair and porcelain-like skin with ice blue eyes, surrounded by a fringe of thick, dark lashes. Her cheeks were reddened, but that seemed to have more to do with anger than anything else.

My first banshee. This was pretty exciting. Banshees were Irish fae, female harbingers of death. It was said that if you heard the banshee wail, either you or a family member was already dead. I’d also heard that like some other fae, they could look into a man’s heart and read his soul. Creepy, but so cool.

“Damn it, Maggie. What are you doing here?” Dave’s shoulders were slumped. He knew what was coming and that he couldn’t stop it.

“Ach, there you are, you cheating bastard!” Her eyes sparked with fury.

I looked around the room. Everyone was glued to the unfolding drama. I should have charged admission.

Dave started around the bar, putting his hands up, trying to stave off the inevitable. “Maggie, you know that’s not true. I never cheated on you.” He was using the voice one does with rabid dogs, all soft tones.

“Bollocks!” she spat out. “You didn’t come home last night. Where were you, then? I’ll tell you where you were; you spent the night here with that one.” She pointed in my direction.

I glanced around to see who was behind me. No one. I moved to the far end of the bar, assessing escape routes.

The rest of the people in the bar gave a loud, “Oooooooo.”

“You’re not helping,” I reprimanded our audience.

“Oh, we’re not trying to,” a tiny wicche informed me. Their avid faces were ping-ponging back and forth, eating up the drama. Customers who had been browsing in the bookstore wandered over and were watching from the doorway.

“What do you have to say for yourself, you harlot?” Maggie screeched at me.

Shit. Didn’t banshees have bone-chilling wails that could break windows? I looked over all those eager faces at the glass behind them. “Um, I don’t think those windows were guaranteed against banshees.”

Glancing nervously over their shoulders at the tons of seawater that would crush and drown them if Maggie lost control, the bar patrons were decidedly less enthusiastic about the drama.

“Oh, now you care. Real nice.” I pointed two fingers at my eyes before turning my hand back to each of them. “You’re on my list, all of you. No snacks for any of the bar-brawl-encouraging lot of you!”

Maggie started to run toward me, her hands resembling outstretched claws. Apparently, I wasn’t showing her the proper amount of attention. Dave darted forward, snatching her out of the air as she launched herself at me.

One of Dave’s arms had her body pinned to his; the other held her arms down tight against her own body. She struggled to get free while Dave whispered soothing words in her ear.

The loathing in her glare caused me to take an involuntary step back.

“Maggie, nothing happened. I slept on the couch in the bookstore. Sam didn’t even know I was here until she saw me this morning. I scared the hell out of her...Maggie, come on. Look at her.”

Hey, was that necessary? I may not be pretty anymore, but he didn’t have to be an asshole about it.

“Maggie, stop. I didn’t have sex with her. Look at her.”

Hepsiba jumped to my defense. “Now, that’s uncalled for.”

I was kind of unnerved by the whole scene, but I appreciated Hepsiba’s support, assuming it wasn’t a ploy to get off the no-snack list.

Maggie got a strange far-away look in her eye and stared right through me. I’d noticed some of the wicches and fae do this when introduced to someone new. I had no idea what she could see, what she was discovering about me, but I doubted it was good.

She went limp in Dave’s arms, and he released his hold. Fury gone, her voice was soft, but in the silent bar, it carried. “She’s an innocent.” She turned to Dave. “Why did you not tell me?” Then she turned back around to stare at me again. “All these years...only pain.” She smacked Dave in the arm. “Why did you let me attack the poor thing?”

I was horrified at what she must have seen, what she seemed to know about my past. I looked around the bar and saw many confused faces, but more than a few pitying ones, as well. I backed further away before they all realized what Maggie meant and I was suffocated by their pity.

I left, walking through the kitchen on my way to my apartment. It was times like these that I wished I didn’t have wolf-sensitive hearing.

Maggie was crying, “I made it worse. Tell me how to fix it.”

“Some things can’t be fixed,” Dave said.