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A soft shuffle behind him made Riker glance back. Griff Broussard, the dragon-shifter detective, approached the crime scene with his usual swagger, his sharp features highlighted by the dim streetlights. Riker felt his hackles rise instantly. He’d never liked dragon-shifters. Hell, he barely trusted shifters in general, and Broussard had always been a cocky sonofabitch.
"Looks bad," Broussard said, his deep voice dripping with casual indifference. He crouched next to the body, eyeing the politician with a clinical interest that made Riker’s skin crawl.
Riker clenched his jaw. "What the hell are you doing here, Broussard?"
"The captain called me in," Broussard replied, his tone cool. "Seems like they think we need to work together on this one."
Riker’s gut churned. "And why’s that? Last time I checked, I didn’t need a dragon to help me with my cases."
Broussard chuckled, standing and brushing off his pants. "Because this isn't your usual case, Riker. This isn't just about magic. There’s something bigger going on, and the brass thinks we need all hands on deck."
Zane bristled, the air between them crackling with tension. He knew exactly why Broussard was here, though. It wasn’t just because of the crime scene. It was because of the Duvall sisters—the fae. Riker wasn’t fond of people—supernatural or human—but he disliked the fae most of all.
The fae weren’t known for wanting to peacefully co-exist with anyone. In general, Riker felt like they caused too much chaos and harm; Riker valued honesty, loyalty and straightforwardness, the fae’s cunning and elusive nature could make them untrustworthy. He never felt quite sure that any feelings he had about this were real. They had a tendency to manipulate others’ emotions and, in some cases, reality itself.
"I don’t need your help," Riker growled, stepping closer, trying to keep his hand loose and relaxed. "And I don’t need you poking your nose into things you don’t understand."
"That’s rich coming from you," Broussard shot back, his eyes flashing with amusement. "You’ve been riding the edge of the supernatural world for years, Riker, and you still don’t get it. This city is changing, whether you like it or not. You’re gonna have to work with more than just humans and shifters."
"Stay out of my way, Broussard," Riker said through clenched teeth, stepping closer, his towering form casting a shadow over the dragon-shifter.
"Careful, Riker," Broussard warned, a glint of danger in his eyes. "You’re not the only one in this city who knows how to handle things."
Before Riker could retort, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was a text from the assistant medical examiner, Geneva Duvall. She usually worked fast, and if anyone could figure out how to make sense of a body twisted by magic, it was her. Riker breathed out through his nose, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn’t afford to let Broussard get under his skin—not when there were bigger problems at hand.
"I’ve got to talk to the assistant M.E.," Riker muttered, turning on his heel. "Don’t follow me."
Broussard smirked. "Don’t worry. I’ve got other leads to chase."
As Zane walked away, he felt Broussard’s eyes burning into his back, but he refused to look back. He hated working with dragons. Hated it even more that Broussard had gotten tangled up with a fae, especially Catalina’s sister, Phoenix. It was one thing to deal with shifters, but fae? They were a whole different breed, and Riker didn’t trust them. Not one bit.
Riker stormed into the precinct, still fuming from his encounter with Broussard. The hum of the place was a constant buzz in his ears, officers moving in and out, phones ringing off the hook. The chaos of human law enforcement clashed with the strange, supernatural world he had been dragged into long ago.
He marched down the hallway, his boots echoing off the tiles, and headed straight for Captain Evelyn Moreau’s office. The door was open, and she was sitting behind her desk, her sharp eyes immediately snapping up to meet his as he entered.
"Captain," he said, his tone clipped. "We need to talk."
Moreau gestured for him to sit, though Riker remained standing.
"What is it, Riker?" she asked, her tone exasperated. "I’ve already heard about the scene. I know it’s... complicated."
"Complicated?" Riker huffed. "That’s one way to put it. I’m not sure how you expect me to explain that twisted body to people on the force, much less the press. People are gonna start asking questions I can’t answer."
"You’re not going to have to answer them alone," Captain Moreau replied calmly. "I’ve called in a consultant."
Riker stiffened. "What kind of consultant?"
"Someone the assistant medical examiner recommended,” Moreau said, her expression unreadable. "Catalina Duvall."
Riker groaned. The name hit Riker like a punch to the gut. His jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"No," he growled. "You can’t bring her in."
Moreau raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"
"She’s…” Riker groaned, searching for the right word. “Different,” he said lamely. “Besides, her sister is involved with Broussard. This isn’t just about the case. This is... personal. You don’t know what you’re getting into with her."
Moreau leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "I don’t care about your personal issues, Riker. What I care about is solving this case. The Duvall sisters are the best consultants we have when it comes to things not easily explained. If she can help us figure out what’s going on, then I’m bringing her in. End of discussion."
