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“I’ll meet with him,” I tell her. “Bring him in.” On my track in my Rink with the home turf advantage. I straighten my spine and wrap cold anger around me like body armor.
Forget the recent outbreak of serial killers and crazy sea monsters we’ve had in Syn City. Hell hath no fury like an actual Fury, and Nolan will regret the day he decided to mess with this one.
3
NOLAN
Between the recon I did at marshal headquarters before the trip and then the eternity that the damn rabbit shifter makes me wait outside, I should’ve memorized all seven Houses of deity daughters in Syn City. The Rink—yes, they insist on capitalizing it—stands six staggering floors, towering over everything else so that it’s visible from miles away. A jumbotron dominates one curved side, but much like everything else in this town, it’s dark. Banners for each House have been painted along the exterior columns. I stare at them, but I’m still having trouble remembering all seven.
The black banner stands for the House of Furies—Sadie’s group. Which explains why she’s only ever photographed in black.
The women who pushed past me a few minutes ago, glaring at me as if willing my dick to shrivel with a glance? Gorgons in yellow with snake tattoos. Fucking snakes.
Gods, I hate snakes.
The other Houses run together. Not that it matters when I’ll sweet talk whatever I need out of Sadie in the next few minutes, gather evidence from the two crime scenes tomorrow, and leave this strange place that even smells wrong.
With the whole town empty other than deity daughters, their families, and staff employed by the Houses, the hotel in what they call their Pleasure District has closed until the tourists return. So I’m stuck in a small cabin at the edge of the woods next to a medieval weapons training school where the sound of women’s war cries echo like there’s a battle headed straight for my front door. Several of those women look as though they’d rather make out with a knight than become one themselves.
I got dropped off at the cabin by a Huntress and told don’t go into the woods or the Furies might toss you to the sea hags in the swamp, especially the blonde Fury who hates shifters.
The sooner I get out of here, the better. Preferably if I can go without meeting that particular shifter-hating Fury.
Captain Zaleski can get the brass to lay off me for the use of force investigation if I bring them a suspect. Not that I understand them coming down on me for shooting someone who hurt a kid, but politicians love to brag about solved crimes, and stopping a serial killer means another press opportunity for them. They don’t need to know it means the world to me.
The squish of work boots approaches, and I shade my eyes against the setting sun to see the rabbit shifter returning. Bunny. What self-respecting shifter lets herself be named after her animal? Her nose twitches to the point I wonder if it’s a nervous tic or an affectation to mess with my head. Hell, it makes me want to scratch my face to get rid of whatever’s bothering her.
“She agreed to see you,” she says.
Thank the gods. “She alone?”
Not that it matters, but Sadie will be easier to manipulate if she doesn’t have anyone else to hide behind. She could barely string a coherent sentence around me at her parents’ house yet she’d stood up for her baby sister any time she thought I’d dared to insult the kid.
Shame, guilt, and regret roll through me. If I’d known there’d be a threat, I could’ve arranged marshal protection, and the little girl and her whole family would be alive. So would my brother. Shoving those still-open wounds aside, I scowl at the rabbit who’s reluctant to answer me.
The twitching stops for a moment. “She’s alone for now, but I’m coming with you.”
Brave little bunny.
I follow her through the double doors. The massive coliseum looks like holograms I’ve seen of professional basketball arenas from the time before the Witching Wars. Stacked with seating on every concrete level reaching to the roof, it doesn’t waste spectator space on an exterior loop. We enter on the middle round where concessions stands and merch counters crowd the space, casting shadows from the low lights above. With a quick glance at the ceiling and the maze of metal catwalks beneath it, I estimate only a quarter of the normal lighting’s activated.
Bunny follows my gaze. “Without the tourists, we cut everything but the essentials to keep energy use down. Part of the Gorgon team practiced today.”
Which explains the players who left earlier, but not the skater I’m looking for. “I thought Sadie was a Fury.”
“She is. Best you not forget that.” Without expanding on her cryptic comment, the rabbit walks ahead to the steep descending stairs toward the oval skating track below.
The track’s empty. I inhale, pushing past the scent of the rabbit, the Gorgons who left, and harsh disinfectants. There. What is that perfume? It yanks me faster down the stairs until I almost topple over Bunny.
A woman stalks up a half-flight of steps that lead from the track to the stands. With her long blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, she’s dressed in black that skims over her curves. Sadie.
She turns her gaze on me, and my world narrows to her. My vision goes fuzzy at the edges, and a freaking gong beats in my chest where my heart used to be. I can taste the tartness of crisp apple and smell autumn leaves. A pull starts deep within my belly, a tugging of heavy chains and unbreakable ropes that lead back to the anchor of her.
No. That can’t be. She died. Any fantasy I had of a fated mate died with her. After three years of being stuck unable to fantasize about anyone but her, with one locked gaze, my inner beast has chosen his mate. Death didn’t destroy the bond. If anything, it’s stronger now.
Mine, my wolf—mixed with the other animal that the marshals don’t know about— screams in my mind. I could simply take her, force her not to reveal the secret that could destroy my career. I’m still deciding whether to give in to my beast’s urge to grab her or run when she speaks.
“You’re not welcome here, marshal.” Her upper lip—that fullness that pillows bigger than the bottom one in upside-down lushness—curls into a sneer.
