Page 4 of Petrified

“I’m trying to work,” I mutter, even as I tip my head enough to give him more room. “My body apparently doesn’t understand that crime scenes aren’t foreplay.”

Amand leaves his hand there another second before standing, which is just long enough to make heat creep down my spine. Across the alley, Rowan’s deep brown eyes catch mine from where he’s watching the street. His gaze drops briefly to Amand’s hand before returning to my face, and I turn back toward the victim before my dick decides to join an investigation it has absolutely no qualifications for.

Medusa steps closer, her eyes staying on the victim. “This is cleaner than the wolf.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” I grimace and clear my throat. “Yeah, fuck. sorry.” I rock back on my heels and look him over again. “Your ex is leveling up, which feels deeply unfair considering the rest of us had to suffer through training.”

Her mouth tightens, but she doesn’t argue. I lean closer and breathe slowly through my nose, sorting the surrounding signatures until the city begins falling away. The victim is canine, something smaller than a wolf, his own magic warm beneath the petrification. Medusa is easy to find now that I know her scent, ancient enough that my nose catches on it immediately.

The gargoyle’s magic takes longer to locate.

I close my eyes and breathe again, following the wet-stone edge across the victim’s shoulder and down his chest. It’s stronger than yesterday, but something about it feels wrong enough that I shift closer until Rowan’s hand lands on my shoulder.

“Don’t climb on him,” Rowan says, his thumb pressing once into the muscle beside my neck. “I can see you thinking about it.”

“I was going to get closer.” I reach up and wrap my fingers around his wrist, keeping his hand where it is while I scent again. “There’s a difference in the magic.”

Medusa moves to my other side. “What kind of difference?”

I chew on my lip again, trying to separate something that no longer wants to separate. “Yesterday I could smell your magic tangled around his. Like he was forcing the snake to do the work while his own magic sat underneath it.” I inhale once more, then wrinkle my nose. “This isn’t doing that anymore. Yours is inside his.”

Medusa’s expression changes immediately. “Inside?”

“His signature smells like gargoyle, but it’s carrying the petrification now.” I look up at her, still holding Rowan’s wrist against my shoulder. “Not all of it. I can still tell which part started as yours, but the edges are getting muddy. It’s like his designation decided stealing the snake wasn’t rude enough and started helping itself to the rest of you too.”

One of the snakes beneath her scarf hisses, and Rowan’s fingers flex against me. Medusa notices the movement but keeps her attention on the victim. “That shouldn’t happen. He can preserve the snake because of what he is, and with enough effort he can force it to respond, but its magic is mine. His designation should not be adapting around it.”

Amand comes up beside her and folds his arms over his chest. “What about the snake itself? If he’s forcing his magic through it repeatedly, could it be adapting to him too?”

Medusa goes very still. Her hand rises toward the scarf before she catches herself and drops it again. “They’re part of me. They aren’t pets I can detach and hand to someone else. If he’s changing the snake enough that it starts answering him naturally, I don’t know what happens to the connection between us.”

I straighten slowly, Rowan’s hand sliding from my shoulder to the side of my neck. “Wonderful. So we’ve upgraded from psycho ex with stolen snake to psycho ex potentially merging with stolen snake.” I glance at the petrified man. “Mother Nature has entirely too much free time.”

Rowan’s thumb moves beneath my jaw, and my concentration tries to follow it. I catch his wrist tighter before my head can tilt into the touch. “Stop making that feel good while I’m trying to be horrified.”

His eyes darken slightly, but he keeps his mouth shut, which is probably for the best because Amand is watching us with the look he gets when he’s one bad decision away from encouraging Rowan.

I force myself back to the case and scent the victim one more time. “He’s getting better because he keeps using it. The failed animals, the guy who lost his leg, the wolf, now this. Every time he does it, the magic gets cleaner.”

Medusa folds her arms tighter. “Then we need the snake back before he gets any better.”

“Preferably before he discovers some exciting bonus feature none of us knew existed.” I rub my thumb along Rowan’s wrist and stare at the victim for another second. “I’ve had enough surprises from rare magical creatures to last me through several reincarnations.”

Rowan’s hand shifts beneath my jaw, and I turn my head on instinct, catching the side of his finger lightly between my teeth. He goes completely still against me. The reaction shoots straight through my stomach before common sense finally wanders back into the alley and reminds me there’s a petrified man three feet away.

I let him go and clear my throat. “That was your fault.”

Rowan’s mouth curves, but he doesn’t answer. Amand reaches down and catches the back of my shirt instead, tugging me away from both the victim and Rowan before my life choices deteriorate any further.

The stupid mate thing between us is a blessing and a curse. It was worse during the last case, and some of that need has settled since, but it’s still there. If one of them had kissed me, it would be game over and Medusa would get a show.

By the time we get back to Essence, Gerald is already waiting. His office door is open, several files scattered across his desk while he sits behind them with a mug of coffee. Rowan walks in close enough that his hand stays at the small of my back, and Amand takes the chair beside mine rather than the one across the room.

I drop into my seat and immediately lean sideways until my shoulder touches his arm, because apparently personal space has become something I only remember exists when neither of my mates is available.

Gerald listens while I explain the victim, but the second I get to the blended signature, his attention sharpens. “You’re certain you could distinguish them?” he asks, setting his coffee aside. “Not simply recognize Medusa because you already know her scent. You could identify the gargoyle’s magic beneath hers?”

“I can identify both.” Rowan’s hand settles on my shoulder from behind the chair. “It’s harder now. Yesterday they were tangled. Today they’re starting to smell like they belong together, which is something Medusa says should be impossible.”