Mate Bond
Page 35
Caller ID told him the number calling was private, but no one would call a Shiftertown leader at four thirty on an icy morning if it weren’t important.
“What?” he asked in a rasping whisper, not wanting to wake Ryan in the next room.
“In the woods near the burn site,” came a muffled voice, pitched to hide the caller’s gender. “Come now. It’s important.”
“Why the fuck should I?”
“You need to.” The caller sounded anxious, and now Bowman knew she was female. “I don’t like what he’s doing. I thought he was right, but now—this is bad. I need to show you, or you’ll never believe me.”
Behind him, Bowman heard Kenzie’s phone give the faint buzz that said she had a text. Kenzie leaned to the nightstand to grab it, stretching the sheet over the curve of her hips.
“Who is this?” Bowman demanded.
“I’m—” The woman broke off with a gasp. “Oh, shit! I have to—” And the phone went dead.
Bowman slammed his finger onto his recent calls list, but it didn’t give him any more information than before. Private caller.
He threw down the phone to find Kenzie texting, her thumbs moving rapidly. Bowman could never get the hang of texts. Either talk to me or go the hell away was his motto.
Kenzie finished her message, waited a moment, then read the return message when her phone buzzed again. She typed two letters with her thumbs and hit the send key hard.
“Cristian?” Bowman asked.
“Yes.” Kenzie looked up from scowling at the message. “How did you know?”
“I can almost smell him through the phone. And no one else can piss you off as much with a text message.”
“You could,” Kenzie said darkly.
“I don’t text. What did he want?”
For answer, Kenzie showed him the phone. Cristian had first written, I found out something about that Serena. Come to me and speak.
Kenzie had written, Just tell me.
The reply: She has passed on information about Shifters that I fear has endangered us. You need to come. Meet me in the woods near where the monster died.
Kenzie’s NO blazed in response.
Bowman nodded, indicating he was finished reading. The fact that Cristian had written in English meant he fully expected Kenzie to share the message with Bowman and wanted nothing to be lost in translation.
“We have to go out there,” Bowman said. As Kenzie opened her mouth to protest, he said, “My call was from Serena, I’m pretty sure.”
Kenzie looked at her message again. “Crap, you mean Uncle Cris is hunting her out there?”
“Something’s going on. I need to find out.”
Kenzie scrambled out of bed, beautiful and naked. The streetlight outside touched her breasts with a misty glow, and Bowman wished he could forget all about human pseudo-groupies, strange mythical monsters, and her pain-in-the-ass Uncle Cristian and take her back to bed.
Kenzie leaned over to retrieve her clothes, not cooling his distracted body. “I’ll call my grandmother to come watch Ryan. I hate to wake him.”
“He’s already awake and you know it,” Bowman said, watching her cover her beauty with drawstring sweatpants, a thin camisole and a sweatshirt. Clothes easy to remove for shifting. “But yeah, call her. If Cristian’s out rampaging, Afina will be up and worrying anyway.”
Kenzie settled her sweatshirt, shutting him out of her body again. Bowman realized he was holding his jeans in nerveless fingers while he stared at his mate.
She gave him a what-are-you-doing? look as she pushed past him, her phone already in her hand. Bowman hurriedly finished dressing and ran out to catch up to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The drive back to the arena was dark and cold. Bowman rode his motorcycle, happy to be able to again, his back warmed by Kenzie clinging on behind.
The moon was still in the sky, rendering the world black-and-white. Snow had fallen all yesterday afternoon, but the clouds had cleared as Kenzie and Bowman slept. The ground glittered in radiant silver, the towering trees like cut black silhouettes. The wind was icy, the temperature in the teens. Weather like this was dry rather than damp, air burning inside the nostrils and lungs.
Kenzie had wrapped a scarf around her nose and mouth, but Bowman rode with only his leather jacket zipped closed to keep out the winter. Cold never bothered him.
The road wound through tree-dense hills. They met no approaching headlights, overtook no one. On this January Sunday morning, humans were staying snug in bed before rising for church, or had just crawled home to sleep off their wild Saturday night.
Bowman cut down into the farms and then up another hill to the arena. He parked where they had when they’d found the griffin and dismounted the bike, sniffing the wind.
He smelled decaying monster, overlaid with cleansing fire, the woods at night, and Kenzie, who’d come up close behind him.
Faintly, from a distance, he caught a new scent—that of human death.
Bowman didn’t need to tell Kenzie to follow. The motorcycle would be safe enough here, hidden in shadows. He moved off into the darkness behind the arena, following the moonlit trail. Kenzie walked noiselessly behind him.
Bowman veered from the site where the pyre had been. Smoke hung in the air, but the fire was long gone. His Shifters would have made sure it was completely out before they left.
Down another hill, mud frozen beneath their feet. Kenzie gripped Bowman’s hand as they climbed down slippery rocks and found their quarry at the bottom.
Bowman wasn’t surprised to see Cristian Dimitru sitting in a crouch beside the body of Serena, the pseudo-groupie, possible-reporter. She had been shot twice, her chest black with blood, her eyes staring upward. She was very dead.
* * *
Kenzie took a step back and said a quick prayer to the Goddess. She never liked the smell of death—no Shifter did—whether the corpse was human, animal, or otherwise.
Bowman didn’t like it either, she could tell by the tightness of his shoulders, but he joined Uncle Cris on the ground, both of them looking over the body.
Bowman pinned Cristian with a hard gaze. “Did you do this?”
Cristian’s golden wolf eyes narrowed, the gray streaks in his hair pale patches in the darkness. He looked much like his wolf at that moment, a great black beast with yellow eyes.
“You think I would make this kill?” he asked. “With a gun?”
“What?” he asked in a rasping whisper, not wanting to wake Ryan in the next room.
“In the woods near the burn site,” came a muffled voice, pitched to hide the caller’s gender. “Come now. It’s important.”
“Why the fuck should I?”
“You need to.” The caller sounded anxious, and now Bowman knew she was female. “I don’t like what he’s doing. I thought he was right, but now—this is bad. I need to show you, or you’ll never believe me.”
Behind him, Bowman heard Kenzie’s phone give the faint buzz that said she had a text. Kenzie leaned to the nightstand to grab it, stretching the sheet over the curve of her hips.
“Who is this?” Bowman demanded.
“I’m—” The woman broke off with a gasp. “Oh, shit! I have to—” And the phone went dead.
Bowman slammed his finger onto his recent calls list, but it didn’t give him any more information than before. Private caller.
He threw down the phone to find Kenzie texting, her thumbs moving rapidly. Bowman could never get the hang of texts. Either talk to me or go the hell away was his motto.
Kenzie finished her message, waited a moment, then read the return message when her phone buzzed again. She typed two letters with her thumbs and hit the send key hard.
“Cristian?” Bowman asked.
“Yes.” Kenzie looked up from scowling at the message. “How did you know?”
“I can almost smell him through the phone. And no one else can piss you off as much with a text message.”
“You could,” Kenzie said darkly.
“I don’t text. What did he want?”
For answer, Kenzie showed him the phone. Cristian had first written, I found out something about that Serena. Come to me and speak.
Kenzie had written, Just tell me.
The reply: She has passed on information about Shifters that I fear has endangered us. You need to come. Meet me in the woods near where the monster died.
Kenzie’s NO blazed in response.
Bowman nodded, indicating he was finished reading. The fact that Cristian had written in English meant he fully expected Kenzie to share the message with Bowman and wanted nothing to be lost in translation.
“We have to go out there,” Bowman said. As Kenzie opened her mouth to protest, he said, “My call was from Serena, I’m pretty sure.”
Kenzie looked at her message again. “Crap, you mean Uncle Cris is hunting her out there?”
“Something’s going on. I need to find out.”
Kenzie scrambled out of bed, beautiful and naked. The streetlight outside touched her breasts with a misty glow, and Bowman wished he could forget all about human pseudo-groupies, strange mythical monsters, and her pain-in-the-ass Uncle Cristian and take her back to bed.
Kenzie leaned over to retrieve her clothes, not cooling his distracted body. “I’ll call my grandmother to come watch Ryan. I hate to wake him.”
“He’s already awake and you know it,” Bowman said, watching her cover her beauty with drawstring sweatpants, a thin camisole and a sweatshirt. Clothes easy to remove for shifting. “But yeah, call her. If Cristian’s out rampaging, Afina will be up and worrying anyway.”
Kenzie settled her sweatshirt, shutting him out of her body again. Bowman realized he was holding his jeans in nerveless fingers while he stared at his mate.
She gave him a what-are-you-doing? look as she pushed past him, her phone already in her hand. Bowman hurriedly finished dressing and ran out to catch up to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The drive back to the arena was dark and cold. Bowman rode his motorcycle, happy to be able to again, his back warmed by Kenzie clinging on behind.
The moon was still in the sky, rendering the world black-and-white. Snow had fallen all yesterday afternoon, but the clouds had cleared as Kenzie and Bowman slept. The ground glittered in radiant silver, the towering trees like cut black silhouettes. The wind was icy, the temperature in the teens. Weather like this was dry rather than damp, air burning inside the nostrils and lungs.
Kenzie had wrapped a scarf around her nose and mouth, but Bowman rode with only his leather jacket zipped closed to keep out the winter. Cold never bothered him.
The road wound through tree-dense hills. They met no approaching headlights, overtook no one. On this January Sunday morning, humans were staying snug in bed before rising for church, or had just crawled home to sleep off their wild Saturday night.
Bowman cut down into the farms and then up another hill to the arena. He parked where they had when they’d found the griffin and dismounted the bike, sniffing the wind.
He smelled decaying monster, overlaid with cleansing fire, the woods at night, and Kenzie, who’d come up close behind him.
Faintly, from a distance, he caught a new scent—that of human death.
Bowman didn’t need to tell Kenzie to follow. The motorcycle would be safe enough here, hidden in shadows. He moved off into the darkness behind the arena, following the moonlit trail. Kenzie walked noiselessly behind him.
Bowman veered from the site where the pyre had been. Smoke hung in the air, but the fire was long gone. His Shifters would have made sure it was completely out before they left.
Down another hill, mud frozen beneath their feet. Kenzie gripped Bowman’s hand as they climbed down slippery rocks and found their quarry at the bottom.
Bowman wasn’t surprised to see Cristian Dimitru sitting in a crouch beside the body of Serena, the pseudo-groupie, possible-reporter. She had been shot twice, her chest black with blood, her eyes staring upward. She was very dead.
* * *
Kenzie took a step back and said a quick prayer to the Goddess. She never liked the smell of death—no Shifter did—whether the corpse was human, animal, or otherwise.
Bowman didn’t like it either, she could tell by the tightness of his shoulders, but he joined Uncle Cris on the ground, both of them looking over the body.
Bowman pinned Cristian with a hard gaze. “Did you do this?”
Cristian’s golden wolf eyes narrowed, the gray streaks in his hair pale patches in the darkness. He looked much like his wolf at that moment, a great black beast with yellow eyes.
“You think I would make this kill?” he asked. “With a gun?”
