Chapter 3

Three

As soon as I enter the premises, I know Galena unwittingly escaped events that are going to change the course of her human lifespan. My Jaguar roadster sits top down in the rain, parked haphazardly on the side of the road. Phang will know as soon as he sees my car that trouble lies ahead.

My first clue that something was amiss at the Gharlick estate was not the echo of the screaming that would have preceded the metallic scent of the sanguine smorgasbord splattered throughout the property. It wasn’t the impending doom tugging at my lungs or impeding my ability to swallow. No, what I sensed was tangible. A spell worked shroud, hovering under while mimicking the night sky. A corporeal web of powerful, delicate magic, just waiting for its maker to the pull the proverbial string. Once triggered, like a rudimentary rabbit snare, the ensorcelled trap fell over the manor like a velvet fog.

My legs slow as approach the property. Although I can sense a foul deed wrought, the only thing that lingers are ghosts. The magic is spent. Stomach twisting into knots, I reach inside my jacket and pull out a handkerchief. Holding over my mouth for two breaths, I discard it with a growl. Adding the scent of my housekeeper’s infernal potpourri satchels to the stench of spent bowels, piss, and copper-tinged terror only increases my nausea.

My hands shake as my mind tries to comprehend the magnitude of destruction. As I approach the southern border of manicured back lawn, I swallow hard, trying and failing to mentally steel myself for the carnage my olfactory glands have informed me lies ahead.

Strings of light twinkle, illuminating a large tent with a parquet dance floor. The light reflects off immaculately shined brass instruments, in the spots where bits of exploded sinew and flesh didn’t land. Gorgonzola chicken with raspberry balsamic sauce and rosemary buttered potatoes still roast in silver chafing dishes, the white linen tablecloth hanging heavy with chunks of bones and muscle. A sparkle catches my eye near the end of the buffet where the silverware stands relaxed but upright in mason jars tied with jutte cord and bundles of greenery. It’s an earlobe, speared into the linen by the post of a large diamond earring.

If only the scent of gourmet human food were enough to overpower the odor of death.

From the woods, behind the cut grass and ornamental trees, an owl hoots. Too late buddy, I think.

This was rich folks picnic. The kind they like to throw for weddings and anniversaries. The kind of party these kind of people hate. Why would Geldhardt Gharlick throw an outdoor anything unless it was a children’s birthday party? It doesn’t make sense.

One hour later I’m back in my office. Galena lay on my chaise lounge, her head in my lap, her feet resting on Phang’s. The sound of her grieving echo in my mind as smooth my cool palms over her forehead and her glossy mahogany locks. Phang rubs her feet, glancing at me as an inappropriate moan tumbles out of her mouth. “Mm, that feels so good,” she mutters. “Your hands are so cool on my hot face. But the rest of my body was cold. Just having my feet…” she shuffles around a bit. Phang grunts. She doesn’t notice as she continues. “Mm, no wonder Greta likes wolves. You’re so cozy.” She sighs, her puffy lids drooping. The whites of her eyes are so reddened from crying that the verdant flecks buried in her kaleidoscope of amber and gold glow iridescent in the low light.

Galena lifts her hips, shifting to her side. She slides a hand under her cheek. Phang snickers as I stiffen. “The police are going to want a statement,” she sniffles. “I can’t do it. Not tonight.”

Phang glides a hand up her calf, his corded forearms flexing as he massages his way down. “Shh. Hush pet,” he murmurs, his voice somehow gravelly and soothing at the time. “They won’t find it until tomorrow. We’ll deal with it then. Together.”

“You promise?” Her lashes flutter against my trousers. Her fingers close, reflexively squeezing my dick in the same rhythm Phang is kneading her leg. He chuckles, well aware of what her grief addled hand is doing. “Close your eyes sweetheart. Get some rest. We won’t leave you alone.”

“Will you stay with me? You’re so warm.” She shivers, her hand jerking.

“I should get out from under her. I’m making her cold,” I whisper hiss at Phang. My cock twitches, protesting my suggestion that I remove him from her grip.

“No. Please don’t leave. I hate warm pillows. I want to stay right here, in your lap.” She rolls her face into my crotch, rubbing her cheek over the hand that’s clutching my dick through my pants. Phang snorts.

“This isn’t funny! How much of that shit did you give her?” Furious at my partner for drugging our new client into a cock clutching stupor, I stroke her hair back one more time before I swing my arm across the chaise and punch him in the chest. All I get is grunt, issued through a grin. He smooths his hand over her foot and begins on the other leg.

Ignoring my question, he says, “I called Mrs. Houseman while I was upstairs getting the tea. She’s going to come over and watch Galena while we go back and search Geldhardt’s place.”

A fierce possessiveness claws at my throat, uneasiness about leaving her unattended by one of us. I trace one finger down her profile and over the sweet pucker of her lips, bunched up against my leg. Her eyes remain closed, her breathing even except for the occasional hitch as she drifts off into a green witch concocted slumber. “Stop wasting your thoughts on the tea.” Phang snipes. “There is no magic in it. Only herbs. You know I would never magick a human without their permission.”

I press my lips tight and nail him with side eye and a lifted brow. “That’s one of the things I love about you Thirsty Fürsty,” he muses, bringing up a very old, very out of date nickname. “You’re so expressive for an undead asshole. Let me reiterate. I wouldn’t magic a good human without their consent. I told her the tea would help her sleep.”

“You have no idea if she’s good or not. For all we know she offed Greta because she’s been fucking your cousin behind her sister’s back for the last six months.” Galena sighs and flops over. She pulls her legs up, away from the radiant heat of Phang. Her mouth is now positioned right in front of my shamefully tented trousers. Her next breath begs entrance, her warm exhalation winding through the weave of the fabric before wrapping around my hardness. I jam a hand through my hair and swear.

Phang shakes his head. “Only you could sit here and accuse her of murder with your dick harder than Fae steel. You’re disgusting.”

“I’m aware. You’re also privy to the fact I don’t use any of these massively inconvenient boners on clients, so fuck off with your manufactured concern. Whose spare room is she sleeping in?” It doesn’t matter if Galena goes upstairs to Phang’s penthouse or downstairs to my lair under the building, Mrs. Houseman cleans both of our private residences and every inch of the building between. The woman is a force of nature with lips no criminal’s crowbar could pry open. We pay her a queen’s ransom to run our household and she’s worth every penny. There is no one after Phang I would trust more than our housekeeper to watch over Galena. “She should sleep in yours,” I rush out, before he can answer. “She’ll sleep more comfortable warm.”

He lifts a brow. “She sleeps the most comfortably between warm and cool temperatures, obviously. But she can sleep at my place. I need some laundry done anyways. You know Mrs. Houseman will have the entire place sparkling clean before sunup.”

I shiver thinking of how messy Phang truly is. “You are truly part porcine. The woman just cleaned your place two days ago. How dirty could it be?”

Phang shrugs as he stands and stretches. He picks up Galena easily. Although he could make the leap through the hatch from a standing jump, but he chooses the stairs. I have my suspicions his choice has nothing to do with not jostling her and everything to do with keeping her in his arms as long as possible. Usually, Phang treats women like hamburgers and hot showers. Something to be enjoyed and then forgotten until he needs another one.

I stand in the doorway, watching him disappear up the stairs into the dark, rationalizing that it would be difficult for any creature not to develop an urge to protect Galena. Watching her sob and shake as she took in the news of the devastation at her father’s estate brought back memories I’ve spent two lifetimes trying to bury. Phang’s urge to draw her close and protect her, although rare for him, makes sense.

I pour myself a couple fingers of scotch and toss them back, hoping the burn might erase the sight of the color leaching from her skin as I did my best to soften the blow of what happened at her father’s estate while paying her the respect of hearing the truth. Even the stars seemed to shrink back from the waves of pain that ripped from her throat and wormed into my psyche on the back of her heart wrenched, guttural cries. Watching her fall to her knees in a pool of tears tore something inside of me. But I kept my eyes open, letting the sight of her rocking and the sounds of her keening seal my vow to find her sister.

I clutch the bottle tightly as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying and failing to banish the images trampling one over another in my mind. When Phang enters my office, the bottle shatters, the glass crushed between my fingers nothing more than dust.

“Did you see it?” he asks.

I stare dolefully at the mess I’ve made. “Yes,” I whisper. “I saw it. So did the magic. It was waiting for her. I could feel it.” Whoever wove the destructive magic, wanted to see the work wreaked.

Phang worries his lower lip with his index finger and his thumb. His hands fascinate me. Phang has the standard overbuilt, bulging musculature of the wolves, but there is something about his hands. His fingers are long, dexterous, like an artist’s. Although his palms are wide, and his nails chewed short like many of his brethren, I can’t help wondering if the universe has bigger plans for the giant alpha whose uncle would have made an enforcer. The current alpha of the Von Shülderbitten pack is a massive meat headed asshole would have used his own nephew as muscle until the day he decided the dominant beast inside of Phang, so like his own, was a threat that needed to be put down. That’s why Phang left. He loved his family, more than the wülfen traditions and hierarchy. Phang left so his weaker cousin could second his father and eventually take over the pack. He ran away, before the pack could use him up and spit him out, forcing him to chose between forfeiting his own life, or killing both his uncle and the cousin he loves like a brother.

Phang thinks his uncle will leave him to live in peace.

I know differently. But until that day comes, we don’t speak of Phang’s past. Just as Phang doesn’t talk about my castle in Scotland, my London townhouse, or the thousands of acres I own across the Atlantic. He doesn’t talk about my witch mother, or her coven, and he certainly never mentions my dead wife or the hive that actively hunts me.

Phang drops his hand from his mouth. Whatever thought he was chewing on, he’s decided to swallow. “I sensed the remnants clinging to you when got back,” he whispers shuddering. “I’ve never felt a spell stick like that. Especially after the magic is spent.” He runs a hand over his hair starting at the back of his head. “That magic…it smelled familiar Fürst.”

Rage flash burns through me. I move through a cloud of ash, so fast I knock the massive wolf back two steps. Before he can blink, I’m in his face, my eyes locked onto his. I don’t need proximity to glean the truth, nor to smell the acrid burn of a lie rolling off his tongue. Perhaps I long to be close to intimidate, to dare my best friend and partner into speaking what we both know is not possible. “My mother is dead,” I grit from clenched teeth.

Phang lift his hand between us, and we both stare at his index finger as his talon sprouts. Curving and razor sharp, I stare silently at the weapon, honestly unsure if the massive claw is meant to be a threat to me, or to the wielder of the magic that thrummed with desire for out new client. “I know,” he whispers, his face a mask of hurt.

I back away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I want her,” Phang whispers, using our tiny dove as a segue. He taps my lips with the claw. “As you do. Don’t deny it. You’re little rule about not feeding or sleeping with clients is about to go out of the window.”

Stiffening, I take another step back, deeper into my office, and turn to the window. “We’ve got about three hours until dawn.” The soft tap of sensible loafers onto marble four floors down reaches my ears. “Mrs. Houseman is here. Let’s go back to the scene and gather what information we can. We’ll leave the carnage for the police.”

“After you.” Phang steps out in the hall after opening my office door, a giant paw sweeping out in the universal gesture. By the time we enter the damp fog of the night, he’s fully shifted, and I’m over his insinuation that the death magic at the Gharlick estate was my mother’s.