Spirited

A Treasured Series Story

Cari Z

Warning: this book contains adult language and themes, including graphic descriptions of violence.  It is intended for mature readers only, of legal age to possess such material in their area.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, companies, events, and locations are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author and publisher.

Spirited: A Treasured Series Story

Copyright 2021 by Cari Z.

Cover Art by Black Bird Book Covers

Editing by Leta Blake

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

About This Book

*Author’s Note—Spirited is set in the Treasured universe and stars a minor character from the first book, but it doesn’t feature Daniel or Rhys. Just a warning so you’re not surprised!*

Detective Jack Haney is tracking down the manufacturers of a new, dangerously toxic drug. He's disgusted to learn that her superiors have brought his former partner--and lover--Garrick O’Connel in to help with the case. The drug has a magical component that makes it hard to preserve, and Garrick’s magical abilities can get the job done. He seems eager to get back in Jack's good graces, but after the way they parted five years ago, Jack’s not sure he can trust Garrick.

The case is turning deadly, and Jack's dangerous magic might be the only way to solve it. It also might kill him, but Garrick swears he can keep Jack safe while he hunts down the sorcerer behind it all. Can Jack trust him to keep his word this time?

Can he trust Garrick to save not just Jack's body, but his heart?

Chapter One

Summer, 2011

A single dusky blue orchid sat on my desk when I returned to the station. Just the one flower, elegant and exotic, curving slightly towards my chair with its sweet-smelling blossom perfuming the room.

And it was growing out of my coffee cup.

“Damn it!” I threw the paper sack that held my lunch onto my desk. No way. No way in hell. I stormed out of my cubicle and down the hall to where my supervisor, Paul Myers, spoke on the phone in his much more private office. He held a hand up to forestall any interruption. I waited with ill grace until he hung up a few minutes later, then I exploded.

“I’m not doing it!”

“Jack.” He tried to placate me. “It wasn’t my idea, but the commissioner insisted on it. Try to be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” I exclaimed. “How can I be reasonable, when you’re handing my case over to that arrogant, selfish, ass-kissing little—”

“Jack, you’re keeping the case. O’Connell will just be assisting in the fieldwork. It’s safer for you to have backup anyway. Someone inside the clubs, not just sitting in a squad car a block away.”

It was reasonable, but I didn’t want to listen to reason. “He can’t tear himself away from a mirror long enough to be helpful. Paul, come on,” I pleaded. “I’ve been working on this case for three months and I deserve to be the one to see it through. Just because the police commissioner thinks Garrick O’Connell is the greatest thing since the inception of forensic thaumaturgy doesn’t make him a good man in the field. He’s a lab rat disguised as a caped crusader. He doesn’t follow orders. He—”

“Steals glory?” Paul interrupted softly. His voice was kind but firm. “I know how you feel about O’Connell. I know you two have a history together. But you said it yourself, Jack. You’ve been working the case for three months, and you still haven’t managed to get your hands on a sample of the drug. We need to know what we’re dealing with in order to hunt down the people who are manufacturing and distributing it, and this stuff has the fastest half-life of any magical narcotic we’ve ever encountered. We can’t hold the people who sell it because as soon as they turn out their pockets, the stuff disappears.” He sighed heavily, the lines in his face deepening.

“Meanwhile we’ve got everyone from runaway kids to the wife of a state senator getting sick on the stuff. O’Connell’s skills fit this case. The police commissioner thinks we need him to close it, and I agree with him.” Paul heaved himself up from behind his desk and walked around to me, then put a hand on my shoulder.

It wasn’t strictly professional, but I didn’t care. Paul and I went way back. He was one of the only people in the world I could truly call a friend, him and his wife Moira. The only other person in this part of the country whom I’d known as long as them was Garrick, and our relationship…hadn’t turned out so well.

“He’ll be back soon; he had some sort of official luncheon to get to and couldn’t wait for you. When he gets here, give him the case file, okay? Try to be polite. You’re both adults. Both professionals. Both cops. You can do this.”

It was all true, yet I felt like a whiny teenager. Something about Garrick pushed my angst button. Maybe it was his showmanship, maybe it was that his career had gone so much further than mine, maybe it was just that I sometimes woke up with tears on my face after I dreamed about him.

But Paul was right. I needed to focus on solving the case. People’s lives depended on it.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice almost steady. “Yeah, of course I can. Sorry about the tantrum, Paul.”

“If you never threw them, I’d suspect a doppelganger had taken your place.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mean? What? Did I say something?” Paul grinned and headed back around to his chair. “Old age is messing with my short-term memory. Or at least that’s what I tell my wife whenever I can’t find the remote to change the channel from football to interior decorating.”

“You’re a bad man.” I shook my head. “Very bad. I hope Mo gives you hell.”

“She does, and I prefer to think of it as adding a little spice to our relationship,” he replied smugly. “Now get out of here. Go take a walk or meditate or whatever you have to do to be ready to deal with him when he gets back.”

“Will do.” I turned around and left his office, moving a lot more slowly than I had when I’d entered it. Inside though, my heart raced. Meditate? I’d need my punching bag to calm down at this point.

I sat down hard in my chair, rocking it back onto two wheels, and stared resentfully at the orchid. My lunch sat uneaten on the desk, and my appetite had fled with my composure. Garrick O’Connell. Shit. Well, the least I could do was be ready.

I started organizing the files on my desk, pulling together everything I had on the drug case. The files practically were my desk these days; this case had consumed my world. A brand new drug called Dream, manufactured by magic and controlled the same way, it seemed. I had been trying to get a bead on the dealers for weeks and weeks; that was usually the easiest place to start. It was no good, though. The drug dissolved into thin air as soon as we touched it. Apparently user intent played into its very existence, and if we weren’t buying then we weren’t getting anything, not even a speck.

Buying it didn’t work either though, not in the long term: if you didn’t take Dream within ten minutes, it vanished again. There was something new every day, but this stuff was so new it was on a level all its own.

I was so busy getting things together that I didn’t notice his arrival. The scent from the flower suddenly grew stronger, and I looked up just in time to see Garrick run one of his long, slender fingers down one of the velvety petals.

“I designed this orchid just for you, Jack.”

I didn’t raise my gaze beyond his hand. I didn’t want to see the slow curve of that smile spreading across his too-handsome face. I didn’t want to look at him at all. After a brief pause, I kept pulling my paperwork together. “Blue isn’t my color.”

“Well, originally it was going to be a lighter shade, but there was a little coffee left in your mug when I willed it to grow.” He sounded amused.

“Light blue is still blue, Detective O’Connell. It’s a pale, washed-out figment of its better self, but it’s still blue.”

“Do I detect some rancor, Detective Haney?”

I lost my cool and glared up at him. It hurt to see him for that first few seconds, standing so close after years apart, but I let my anger override the piece of me that still felt an anxious sense of desire and longing in his presence. He was smiling, the bastard. His hair was rich auburn, longer than regulation, but of course he got away with that. He was part of a family that got away with a lot of things thanks to their warm, endearing perfection. Their particular gift leant itself to beauty and health. Whereas mine…

It isn’t a competition, I reminded myself sharply. I made myself smile at him. “Rancor? Not at all, Detective O’Connell. Here.” I thrust a three-hundred page file into his arms. “Some reading material to start you off. Feel free to pull up a footstool.”

“I’m fine here, thanks,” he replied, settling his weight on the edge of my desk. “And I think you can probably fill me in faster than reading this file could.”

Damn it. I fought to keep my professional face. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you have any ideas about the chemical makeup of the drug?”

“All we know is that it’s a powerful hallucinogen,” I replied. “It induces euphoria in small doses. Larger doses lead to manic fits, hysteria, and seizures. A large enough dose can cause death, and it isn’t a pretty way to go.” My eyes glazed over for a moment as I remembered the girl from last weekend. Cute young thing, probably expecting a high like ecstasy, and instead she screamed herself to death. When I came out of my brief stupor, I noticed Garrick looking concernedly at me. Concern looked good on his face, but I knew better than to trust him.

“Despite that, the demand for the stuff is higher than ever. Dream has a magical component to it that connects it to the will of the dealer. If they want it gone, it’s gone. It has to be used fast and that’s probably one reason for the overdoses. People get anxious and they take too much.”

“The maker is a sorcerer, then.”

I nodded. “And the dealers all have to have some ability too, in order to make the connection to the drugs. There are several guys I’ve been covering, but they move around a lot, and the sorcerer has a spell that changes their appearances.”

“Aha.” Garrick smiled knowingly. “That’s the real reason you’re on this case.”

My particular talent did assist me with identifying people, but the way he said it rankled. “I’m on this case because I broke this case wide open, Detective O’Connell. I work Vice, or didn’t you remember that? Oh wait, that’s right!” I plastered a falsely bright smile on my face. “You don’t get into the trenches anymore. You’re too busy kissing ass on Capitol Hill. Do Italian boots taste better when you lick them, Gare?”

I tried to make him mad. I hated his presumption, his casual ease, his designer clothing, and his heartthrob smile. I wanted to break his composure. Angry, guilty, whatever—as long as it wiped away his cool. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh my god, no one has called me Gare for years! Jack, you do care.”

“No, I don’t.”

“If you say so.” He glanced down at the file. “So you need me to stabilize the drugs?”

“So they tell me. We need to find out what’s in them, get a handle on where the sorcerer is getting his raw materials.”

“Why not just tail the dealers?”

“It’s not that easy,” I said defensively. “Their appearance changes, Detective. It changes every five freaking minutes. This is a high-level spell, and I’m under orders not to break cover. I’m a spotter, nothing more.” That rankled, too. “By the time I get a description off to the uniforms and they move to arrest, the face has changed. The one time we did get a collar, the drugs had evaporated. This is a sharp organization. These guys are really good.”

“Is your cover solid?”

God, I wanted to smack him so hard I knocked his ass right off my desk. “Yes,” I said slowly and calmly. “My cover is solid. My cover is great. My cover is not the issue here, so drop it.”

“It’s a security question, Jack, nothing personal.”

Everything is personal with you.

Damn, I was losing it. I needed space, fast. “If you have everything you need to make a start, I’d appreciate it if you’d go, Detective O’Connell. I have a lot of work to do.”

“I’m sure you do,” he replied. “Are you running an operation tonight? Should I be getting ready?”

There was no way I was ready to run an operation with him. “Not tonight. I’ve got other plans. Tomorrow.”

“Friday it is.” He got up off my desk, taking the file with him. “I think I’ll go see Paul again before I leave. It’s been a long time. Call me when you’re ready to go out.”

“Yeah.”

He paused, then crouched down next to my desk, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet. His eyes somehow forced mine to meet them. “It’s good to see you again, Jack. Really.”

I didn’t say anything. I just couldn’t; my throat had swollen shut. Forcing it open now would cause a dam to break inside of me, and I couldn’t live with myself if I made a pathetic scene in front of Garrick. He looked at me searchingly for a moment, then got up and walked away. I exhaled explosively as soon as he turned into Paul’s office, and felt the prick of treacherous tears threatening my eyes. I had to get out of there.

I grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair, pulled my bag off the floor and tossed my unappetizing lunch into the trash can. After a moment’s pause, I took the stupid orchid with me as well. No reason to let it suffer just because its maker was an asshole.

I went out the back door, not wanting to go by Paul’s office while Garrick was in it. My little clunker was waiting for me in the lot. Parked right next to it was a monstrous SUV, silver hued with custom hubs. Garrick’s car. The irony of his parking placement didn’t escape me. If I didn’t love my Beetle so much, I would have bashed his door with mine.

I kept my composure and pulled out of the lot. I kept it on the drive home. I kept it until I was through the front door of my apartment, my things were on the counter and my shoes were off. Then I put the orchid on my kitchen counter and let myself vent—yelling, tears, the whole shebang.

It didn’t make any sense. I was over Gare; I really was. I hadn’t had any interaction with him for five years, not since we were both rookies working our first cases together. We had met in training, and as the only two trainees with magical abilities, we were put together a lot by the instructors.

It was impossible not to be attracted to him at first sight. Beautiful and talented and smart…back then he had been kind, too. He was the first person in his family to break with the healing tradition to go into law enforcement, and he felt isolated because of it. I was thousands of miles away from my own family, and even lonelier. We became friends, partners, and eventually lovers.

The partnership only lasted a year. We were assigned to find an escaped convict hiding in a Louisiana swamp. He was half troll, and talented enough with nature magic to hide himself well. Gare could track him through the muck, though. He’d always been good with finding things in the wild.

We’d followed him into a deep section of mangroves before realizing that it was a trap. Hip deep in swamp water, the liquid suddenly became thick sludge, holding us fast. The convict could do more with his magic than just evade us, it turned out. The mud sank beneath our feet, burying us further and further in the thick, murky water.

Except it didn’t affect Gare like it did me. He hadn’t realized before that day exactly how much power he had. He broke free of the spell, propelled himself straight out of the water, and willed the mangroves themselves to hold the convict in place. It was an astonishing display of nature magic, and the convict was as surprised as Gare. Once the prisoner was secure, Garrick had remembered me.

Only by that point, I had drowned.

He saved me, obviously. Pulled me out of the water and revived me with his skill. He wasn’t as good with healing people as the rest of his family was, but he had more than enough power to restart my heart. So I went to the hospital, the convict went back to jail, and Gare sailed into the limelight. He got a lot of attention for the case and soaked it up like a cat in a sunbeam, delighting in being recognized as more than just an appendage of his famous family.

Oh, he remembered me eventually. He came to the hospital, brought me heaps of flowers and apologized for taking so long to save me. He knew he’d be able to bring me back, he’d told me. It was a simple enough trick. He would never have let me die; he’d always be there to save the day.

Except he had let me die. I had drowned. Drowning sucked. Sure, it was just for a few seconds, but a few seconds were an eternity under the circumstances. It didn’t matter that Garrick could cheat death. My time underwater might as well have been forever for all I had known.

The fact remained that he’d gone for the convict before me. Maybe the convict would have escaped otherwise, but I ranked my life a little higher in the chain of importance than losing a target. We’d have found him again, together. Instead I came off like dead weight and Gare was the hero.

I’d refused to listen to his apologies. Professions of love had no effect on me. I sent his gifts back unopened, let his flowers die, and never picked up the phone when he called. We’d already been assigned new partners. Gare was on the fast track, and I was still mired in sludge. After a year, he stopped trying.

If I had a fatal flaw, it was pride. I’d wanted to be first in his heart, in his mind, in his life. I had convinced myself that I was first, no matter what situation we got into. I was wrong and learning that devastated me. He’d done his job and we’d come out of it alive, but I hadn’t been first. He was desperate to prove himself and let that desperation rule his actions.

It had worked out for him, but I couldn’t forgive him. I just couldn’t. He had been one of my first friends in a new place, and the best lover I’d ever had, and I’d been crazy about him.

The line between love and hate really was fine, it turned out. I’d thought I’d hated him, and in some ways I did, but that didn’t mean my love was totally exorcised either.

I finally got tired of being pathetic and wiped my eyes, blew my nose, and headed for a hot shower. Half an hour and a beer later, I was feeling a lot better, and not a little sheepish. I could handle this. I had to handle it; my ass was on the line if things didn’t get resolved soon. It wasn’t like anyone was going to blame Garrick. So I was working with him again, big deal. I could contain both my anger and my desire for him, especially if I focused hard enough on the job. I badly wanted to catch the sons of bitches that were behind this. Even if I did have to share the credit.

I dressed in some sweats and prowled restlessly around my apartment for a while. It was early, and I was bored. Most nights I was out in the clubs stalking the dealers, but I’d blown that option for tonight. Cracking open another beer, I lay down on the couch and hauled a photo album out from under the coffee table. I probably shouldn’t have been looking, but he was in my mind now, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I didn’t have many pictures of Garrick, but the few I did have were gorgeous. Of course, everything he did was gorgeous. He could have made a lot more money as a male model than a cop, but service was bred into his bones.

There were a few shots of him in uniform. Yummy. I didn’t have to like him to be able to appreciate his body, and he wore a uniform well. His hair had been shorter back when these were taken, but otherwise he looked the same. Happy, smiling Gare. There were a couple of the two of us together as well, one with us both in our dress uniforms—that had been taken right after graduation, I remembered.

The other was a casual picture from our celebration later that evening. I didn’t look so out of place next to him. My straight black hair was buzzed short, and my pale skin glowed under the restaurant lights. One of his arms was wrapped around my slender waist, and while I was looking at the camera, he was looking at me. He’d liked holding me. We had always been good together, physically.

The last picture was a Polaroid, one I had snapped of him sleeping. I’d only got his face and shoulders into the picture, and hair was obscuring most of his expression, but even sleeping his mouth tilted slightly up at the corners.

I sighed, then shut the book and stowed it again. Reminiscing like this wasn’t healthy, but it was hard not to think about him when we were being thrust together again.

Probably he was dating. Whenever his picture made it into the papers, if he wasn’t posing with a city official, he had a guy—or occasionally a girl—on his arm. All beautiful, probably all as shallow as he was. I wanted to say they deserved him, but even now I wasn’t so sure. Christ, I needed a life.

I spent the next few hours working up a sweat on my treadmill and with my punching bag. I reheated Chinese leftovers, had yet another beer, and popped in a DVD. What was Garrick doing tonight? Going out to a new restaurant with one of his paramours or maybe staying in with a bottle of champagne …

God damn it! I was not this pathetic! I switched out the comedy I’d put in for an action flick, and let the panic and mayhem surrounding the main character take me out of my head for a while. Eventually I got tired enough to actually fall asleep, and wandered back to my bed, pausing to take a pass at my teeth with the toothbrush before falling into the comforter.

The problem with sleeping was the dreaming. My subconscious was running the show tonight, and it knew exactly where it wanted to go. We were lying on my bed, moonlight illuminating the planes of our bodies. One arm held me close as the other trailed across my forehead, down my face and towards my chest. His touch was light and sure, and his long, skillful fingers gently pulled moans from my lips as he ran his thumb over my nipple, pinching it lightly before traveling lower, finally reaching my eager cock and stroking it with his fingertips before he wrapped his hand around it.

His own erection was hard against my thigh, and I reached for it even as he rubbed his thumb over the head of my cock, making me arch with pleasure as I rutted into his hand, pushing harder and harder, bringing him in close for a kiss as I started to fall apart in the safety of his arms, coming so hard I—

Woke up. Shit. I was awake. I was alone. I was making a mess out of my sweats. I took a moment to catch my breath and slow my heartbeat. Oh, hell. Working with him was going to be harder than I’d thought.

I glanced at the clock. Five a.m., and I wasn’t going anywhere near sleep again. Might as well get something done if I was going to be up. I got out of bed and dropped my sticky clothes into the hamper, then headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Looked like I’d be going into the office early today.

Chapter Two

I got my things together, including the outfit I’d be wearing for the evening, and headed for the front door. The sight of the unwanted orchid sitting on my counter stopped me. It was looking a little wilty. Hah, I should let wither. It would be a fine metaphor for my relationship with Garrick.

In reality, though, I knew I wouldn’t do that. This wasn’t like the cut flowers he had given me before. The orchid was a living thing, and I didn’t want to destroy it, despite the fact it was growing out of my favorite coffee cup. I carried it over to the sink and added some fresh water to the mug, then put it in a sunny spot on my kitchen counter. I’d figure out a better system for it later.

I was the only one in the office that early. I grabbed a muffin from the communal box up front that Mandy, our station manager, always kept supplied, bless her. I would have gotten some coffee to go with it, but my mug was gone and I’d forgotten to grab another one before I left the house. Brilliant. I settled in at my desk and fired up my computer, ignoring the sand in my eyes and the tiny receptors in my brain that screamed for caffeine.

Wouldn’t it figure that the second person into the office would be Garrick? I frowned in his direction as he saw me and beamed, a wide white smile splitting his perfect lips. He was carrying two designer paper cups and immediately brought one over to me. “I was going to leave this here for you, but you beat me.” He extended the drink towards me, then looked a little closer. “Rough night?”

“Slept like a baby.” When I didn’t take the cup, he set it down on my desk.

“Cinnamon soy latte, your favorite.”

Oh god, it was my favorite, and he had remembered. I had stopped drinking it after our last case together. It had been a long, long time since that drink had passed through my lips. Fuck, I was kidding myself when I said everything between us was in the past if I just now remembered the drink I’d given up because it reminded me of him. “Thanks,” I managed after a moment. “But I’ve already had some coffee. Maybe later.”

“It’ll keep,” he replied, sipping his own drink. He looked at the bag beside my feet. “What’s that?”

“My gear for tonight.”

“Your disguise.” He drew the word out mockingly.

“My cover. I suggest you get yourself one as well. No one in these clubs wants to see a cop, even one that looks like you.” Damn, the compliment slipped past my lips before I could stop it.

Garrick’s lips quirked up slightly, but all he said was, “I’ll get something together.”

“Good.” I looked pointedly towards the door. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I just wanted to drop off the coffee and return this.” He passed the file back over to me. “Interesting reading.”

“You finished it in one night?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t doing anything else. My cell number’s on the top. Call me when you need me.”

“Just come by around eight.” I preferred not to call his private line if I could help it.

“Your wish is my command.” He turned and walked back out the door, leaving the cinnamon soy latte and the faint scent of his cologne in the air. I picked up the cup and sipped it tentatively. The flavors flooded over my tongue, sweet and nutty and slightly bitter, and I sighed with contentment. I had missed this drink. I had missed…

I threw myself back into my work and let the coffee grow cold beside me.

At seven thirty I got into my outfit. First came the wire, strategically taped to my body and equipped with a kill switch so I could keep the patrol car from suffering through all the background noise. Then I got into my gear. I was staking out The Tomb tonight, a neo-goth type club that catered to a crowd interested in magic and more. You had to look the part just to get in, and I did. Black jeans that looked like they’d been painted on, knee high fuck-me boots covered with steel studs, a long-sleeved black mesh shirt, plenty of dark makeup around my eyes, and silver lips completed the look, along with enough hair gel that even my spikes had spikes. I added a few pieces of strategic silver jewelry, then went back into the office.

Ramy and Johnson were my follow car tonight. They were most nights, and when they saw me come through the door they nodded respectfully—a far cry from my first time out in this outfit, when they’d been all catcalls and gender-baiting. We’d had a long and uncomfortable—for them—discussion of what was and wasn’t okay with regards to talking about my—or anyone’s—appearance, in general but especially when on the job, and that had been that.

I didn’t count on Garrick’s scrutiny, though. His jaw just about hit the floor as I entered, and his bright baby blues widened. I had to admit, that made me feel good. He was dressed generic club chic, fortunately all in black. I reached into my backpack and handed him the makeup bag. “Don’t stint around the eyes.” To give him credit, he didn’t blanch, just took the bag and headed for the restroom.

Michel Ramy winked at me. “You look ready to suck a few throats. I bet O’Connell would volunteer if you buttered him up a little.”

“Ha, ha-ha, aha.” I knew it wasn’t personal—Ramy didn’t know about my history with Garrick, after all. But I hated the mere suggestion of intimacy, more so because a part of me wanted it so much. “Let’s check the mic.”

Ramy and Johnson were gone by the time Garrick reemerged, and it was my turn to stare. He was stunning. He had been stunning before, but when he was given a part, he got into it. The makeup made his features look more delicate, and he had changed a few things with his sleeves and put some nicely strategic rips in his own skintight jeans. He winked one mascara-laden eye at me. “Ready if you are. Mind if I drive?”

“No.” Kind of, but I wasn’t going to admit it. We walked out into the night together. It was a good thing it was summer or I’d have been uncomfortable in my mini-everything, but the breeze was warm. His car smelled slightly of his cologne, and slightly like a woman’s delicate perfume. I didn’t want to think too much about whose.

We didn’t speak on the ride to The Tomb. Garrick parked about a block away, then turned to me. “So, do we know each other?’

“Inside, you mean?” He nodded.

“We’d probably better.” It made sense if he was going to be my backup that we have reason to stick close to one another. “But no touching unless absolutely necessary.” I had to emphasize that part. I didn’t know what Garrick touching me would do to my control.

“I’ll be a gentleman,” he promised me. We got out of the car and walked down to the club. In these shoes I was his height, and side by side I’m sure we were striking. We were at least good-looking enough to cut the line and get right inside.

The club was packed, most of the people out on the dance floor, writhing to the latest Marilyn Manson rip-off playing live on the stage. No DJs for The Tomb, they always went for costumed moaners who didn’t sing so much as slur or scream their lyrics into the microphone, and somehow always managed to look and sound the same. It wasn’t my favorite, but who was I to judge, dressed like a vampire wannabe myself?

Garrick and I made our way to the bar. It was less crowded than the floor, and I perched up on a stool to get a better view. Garrick leaned in close to me. “What are we looking for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“I see.” He looked up at me, concern evident. “Should I be worried about you passing out?”

“No, I’m keeping it short until I find one of them. If a dealer shows up tonight at all.”

“And if one does?”

I shrugged. “We figure out a way to get you some Dream. If we can take it off a buyer, it would be better; I don’t want to tip our hand. Once I get the dealer, I’ll let you know who he’s passing it to, and you can try to get a sample and preserve it.”

“Sounds good.”

Time to work. I focused my energy, sending it deep into my body. My vision blurred and my breathing slowed as I prepared myself. Another few seconds, and then I pushed.

My spirit suddenly escaped my body. My body was sitting on the stool where I’d left it, eyes glazed over, chest unmoving. I would last as long as I could hold my breath. If I stayed out of my body too long, I’d lose consciousness and my spirit would be forced back inside.

Garrick was looking at me, his expression rapt. I turned away from us and back towards the floor.

Projection was my magical ability. In my spirit form I could see things normal eyes couldn’t. Auras became visible, glamours disappeared, and I could see people for what they truly were. That meant I could see everything, from the slightest physical hurt to the deepest emotional satisfaction. Everything manifested in the spirit some way, and when I separated, I could see it all. It had taken me years to make my talent into something useful, and it was a hard-earned ability. I didn’t like seeing what people were really all about. We put up walls for a reason, and it was invasive in a way that made me uncomfortable, but on nights like tonight, I ignored that so I could do my job.

I scanned for the dealer. I could see a few users in the crowd, but they might have come here from somewhere else, none of the doses glowed with freshness. When the dealer showed up, he’d glow from head to foot. Dream affected the spirit in profound ways, and I wondered what sort of people the sorcerer had found to deal that could handle the drug’s volatility. Cold-blooded psychos? Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Normal people had a capacity for cruelty that was amazing, given the right circumstances.

My body was beginning to tug insistently at my spirit. I let them slide together and suddenly took a deep breath, then began to cough.

“Here.” Garrick handed me a glass filled with mineral water. I drank slowly, settling my stomach after the separation. Nausea was a frequent side effect of my projecting. “You’ve gotten better at that,” he commented after a moment.

“I’ve had reason to work on it,” I replied. “No luck yet. I’ll try again in five minutes.”

“What’s the longest you can hold it?” he asked.

“About two minutes these days. After that I usually pass out. It’s easier when I’m able to lie down, but I think even these people would notice if I suddenly went catatonic.”

“They probably would,” he agreed. “I didn’t know you could walk so well in heels.”

A slightly abrupt topic change there. “Well, I didn’t know you could apply eyeliner so well. We all have our secrets.”

“I suppose we do.” Now he was staring at me, and his gaze was intense. “Jack…can we talk about what happened?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Obviously there is, or we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

“Stop trying to be cute,” I hissed at him under my breath. “We’re working. This isn’t the time to bring up personal issues. I need to be on my game tonight and so do you.”

“Later, then. Please.”

“Later,” I agreed reluctantly, then turned my eyes back to the crowd.

It took five more tries, but eventually the mix started to change. More and more people were showing up with Dream, and after a moment’s search I spotted the dealer. “There,” I murmured to Garrick. “Latino guy, red velvet jacket, black fedora.” I relayed the information to Ramy as well.

“I see him,” Garrick said. “I’ll keep an eye on him, watch for the next hand off.”

“Okay.” A few minutes later, Garrick slid away from the bar. I don’t know how he jammed his way through a floor full of people, but in moments he was within five feet of the dealer and grinding his body against a dark-haired woman wearing a too-tight corset. She seemed to be enjoying his attention; she slid one hand around to cup his ass. I fought a sudden, irrational surge of jealousy down.

After a few more moments, he disengaged himself and melted away into the crowd. The woman looked around in confusion. By the time she gave up, Garrick was back by my side.

“Strong grip,” he commented absently, his hand fingering something in his pocket.

“Did you get some?” I asked.

“Yes.” He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to hold on to, though. I’m putting a barrier around it now so it won’t evaporate. There are traces of botanicals…and powdered sugar, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I believe it.” I might doubt Gare, but never his abilities. Then I saw something that made me curse. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” He followed my gaze, then grimaced. The woman whose pocket he’d picked was back at the dealer, obviously upset. The dealer, instantly wary, immediately went on the defensive. His look changed, from a small Latino to a lanky, scruffy-looking blonde. He started to move away.

“He’s leaving!” I stood up suddenly, unsure of what to do.

“Can you follow him?” I knew Garrick wasn’t talking about physically.

“Yes, but not without some way of occupying my body in case it takes more than half a minute to tail him outside.”

“No problem.” In an instant Garrick’s arms were wrapped around me. He gently pulled me into his embrace and brought our lips together.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to dissolve into him. Kissing Garrick O’Connell! Some goddamn disguise. Then again, it was a pretty good reason for me to be short of breath, so I forced myself to ignore the pleasurable sensations and pushed myself out of my body.

Holy shit, he was hot. I felt a tug in my abdomen that meant my spirit really, really wanted to return and get some of that, but I had a drug dealer to track down first. I turned away and walked straight through the crowd, leaving a brief chill in the people I passed through.

Dream, cocaine, pot and booze were the most obvious drugs. Red blossoms of pain, simmering white pleasure and bright green fear all lit up people’s spirits like Christmas to my sight. I followed the dealer, ignoring my growing lightheadedness. Why was he moving so slowly? How long was it to the back door of this place? It was getting harder and harder to resist the pull of my body.

Finally he stepped outside. A car was sitting there with a driver inside of it, and he stepped into it without a word. I stuck around just long enough to get the license plate numbers, then slammed back into my body with a sudden shuddering intake of breath. Garrick stopped kissing me, but held me just as close as spots swam across my vision.

“Jack?” His voice was trembling slightly, like he was afraid, or maybe…aroused. “Are you all right?” One hand cupped my cheek. “Jack? Say something, baby.”

“Five nine nine, jay-el-are.”

“What?”

“The license plate,” I said hoarsely. “The license plate number. It was a white Cadillac. Call it in to Ramy and Johnson, maybe they can follow it.”

Garrick did so, briskly, then turned back to me. “You’re spent.”

“Yeah.” I was, too. Not enough sleep coupled with too long spent outside my body left me dizzy and ill. I didn’t want to accept any more of Garrick’s help, but I couldn’t quite push his supporting arm away.

“We should go.”

“Yeah. This place is tapped for the night.”

We walked outside and back to his car. The night air was cool and revived me some. We got inside and he started up the engine. “Take me to the station, I want to check the license number.”

“Just call it in, Jack,” he replied, merging into the late night traffic. “You should be in bed.”

“I’m not made of glass, Garrick,” I said, annoyed. “And all my things are at the station. I need to get them back before I go home.”

“So go home with me. I’ll take you by to get your stuff in the morning.”

Oh no. No way. “I am not staying with you,” I replied hotly. “I’m not some fucking himbo that you can lull into complaisance with one kiss. This is my work, my investigation, and you’re not going to steal my initiative.”

“It’s just a polite offer, Jack,” he insisted, but I could hear that he was offended. “I’m not coming on to you. I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Like you looked out for me before? Yeah, that worked out great. No thanks,” I laughed bitterly. His kiss had unnerved me, and things I shouldn’t have said began to flow out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I’ve had enough of your help, Detective O’Connell. We live in different worlds now, and it’s no good pretending there’s any sort of bridge between them. I worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished, and I managed it all without selling my soul, so excuse me if I don’t fall back into the category of bed warmer in order for you to get ahead.”

The car went completely silent. Garrick didn’t say a thing, his lips tightly compressed. I immediately started feeling guilty, and I couldn’t rationalize my way out of it. We got to the station ten minutes later. Garrick put the car in park but didn’t turn it off.

“I’ll get the compound analyzed,” he said finally, not looking at me. “And I’ll let Paul know this won’t be working out.” He finally met my eyes. I didn’t know what emotion I saw there, and I’m glad my spirit wasn’t out to show me. “Goodnight, Detective Haney.”

I didn’t say anything. I just got out of the car, feeling red from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. He drove away and I watched him go, and the guilt bit deeper.

The car was a dead end, owned by a rental company that was too lax with its record keeping to be helpful. Ramy and Johnson hadn’t been able to tail the vehicle. The one person who’d gotten something useful out of this damn night, and I’d gone and ostracized him as soon as my composure broke.

I felt lower than dirt. Garrick didn’t deserve what I’d said to him, despite our history, but I didn’t know how to apologize. I’d spent so much of the past five years focusing on my anger, I hadn’t had much time to analyze the rest of my feelings.

Again, I barely slept. I dragged myself to the station on Saturday and tried to work, but it was a losing battle. Halfway through the day I flopped down on the couch in the break room and ended up falling asleep. The next thing I knew Ramy was shaking my shoulder gently, his face concerned. “You okay, Jack?”

“Hmm? Yeah.” I glanced around, then down at myself. “Shit, shit, I can’t believe it.” I wiped one hand across my face. “I’m sorry, I just…give me a few minutes and I’ll get ready to go.”

“Why don’t you take it easy tonight, Jack?”

“What?” I shook my head slightly. “No, I can’t, I already skipped detail on Thursday.”

“You’re burning out, kid.” I wasn’t that much younger than Ramy, but the compassion in his voice took the sting out of his words. “You’re going to kill yourself over this if you aren’t careful. I know how important it is that we get these bastards locked up, but you’re a risk to yourself and the people around you when you try to work on empty. Kristen’s all lined up to watch tonight.” Kristen had a minor psychic talent, and she’d run backup for me several times. “We’ll pick up fresh on Monday, okay?”

“Why Monday?” I asked.

“’Cause Sunday’s my anniversary and the situation’s covered. Give your friend Garrick time to figure out something about that stuff.”

If I blanched, Ramy didn’t let on. He stood up and stretched. “I’m heading home. See you later.”

Discreetly babied by three different people in forty-eight hours. I must be losing my touch. I sat there a while longer, staring blankly at the wall, then gathered my things and left the station.

Ramy was right though, I was burning out. Before Garrick had gotten involved, I’d go weeks without a break at stakeout, and then right on into work in the morning. It couldn’t last.

The phone was ringing when I got home. I lunged for it and answered just as my machine kicked in. “Hang on, hang on—” I shut the damn answering machine off. “Hello?”

“Hello, Jack.”

“Moira!” Well, that was a surprise. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much, honey. I just wanted to know if you’re free to come over for brunch tomorrow morning. It’s been months since I’ve seen you.”

It was true. The last time we’d gotten together was at her Christmas party. “Sure, I’d love to.” Moira was an amazing cook and wonderful company, just like her husband. “What can I bring?”

“How about some of your cinnamon rolls? Not that I need any cinnamon rolls, I’m trying to cut back, but yours just melt in my mouth.”

I smiled into the phone, the first one to crack my face in what felt like forever. “Sure. What time do you want me there?”

“Oh, mid-morning. Ten thirty or eleven, whatever works best for you. Bring enough for six, I’m having some work friends over as well.”

“Sounds good.” I really was looking forward to seeing her. Moira reminded me of my mother, gone for years now. She was tall but welcomingly soft, with short, graying brown hair and bright blue eyes, and she gave the most amazing hugs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great, honey. See you then.”

I hung up the phone, still smiling. Now at least I had a way to occupy my evening. I got out the things I’d need to make a pan full of cinnamon rolls, spritzing my orchid with a little water as I did. It was easy not to think as I mixed and rolled out the sweet pastry dough, sprinkled sugar and cinnamon and chopped pecans onto it, then doused the works with melted butter and stuck it in the oven. I stayed awake long enough to pull them out and drizzle honey over the top, then went back to my room and collapsed onto the bed. I was out within moments.

Chapter Three

I woke up at eight the next morning, with plenty of time to putter around before I needed to be at Paul and Moira’s. I showered, dressed, and cut the cinnamon rolls. I changed my mind and put on a different outfit, then I did it again…then I sat down and sighed.

I needed to apologize to Garrick.

I had to. Guilt would drive me crazy if I didn’t, and the longer I thought about it, the clearer it became that he really would be a huge help on this case. Hell, he already had been; he’d managed to preserve some of the drug. He had been overbearing about it, yeah, but that was just his way. Just like I could be a son of a bitch without thinking twice.

The only question now was how to apologize. I thought about calling him, but that was too impersonal. I could go by his place, but there was no guarantee he’d let me in. Finally ten o’ clock rolled around and I shelved the problem for a while. Right now, I had a brunch to attend.

Paul and Moira lived out in the suburbs, in a quaint little house built in the fifties. They didn’t have children despite loving them, which I think was part of the reason they’d adopted a stray like me when I first got here. The house had a comfy, lived-in feeling. I never felt out of place when I went there or afraid of breaking some precious antique. They had a big backyard too, and the weather was perfect for enjoying it.

I knocked on the screen door and Moira was there in an instant, wiping her hands on a dish towel and beaming at me. “Jack!” She let me in and enveloped me in a warm, wonderful hug. “Honey, it’s so good to see you. You look so handsome.”

I laughed. “You’re such a liar, Mo.”

“Honey, if I looked half as good in my youth as you, you wouldn’t have heard me complaining,” she told me archly as we walked into the kitchen. “Do I smell my favorite cinnamon rolls?”

“As requested. Should I put them on the table?”

“We’re eating outside today, You can take them out there. You want a mimosa?” She handed me a champagne glass and filled it up before I could reply. “Paul’s out back grilling the sausages, and the other guests are sitting there as well. I’ll bring the eggs out in a moment. Could you take these serving spoons, too?”

“Okay.” I walked through the back door, balancing my offering, my glass, and the spoons awkwardly as I made my way to the table. Paul waved at me, but I didn’t look closely at the people sitting under the umbrella until I was within five feet of the table. By then it was too late to turn around.

There was an amazingly beautiful blond woman reclining in one of the deck chairs. Her hair flowed like liquid gold over her shoulders and across her breasts, and she had the healthy glow of someone who went straight from pale to tanned without burning. A dark-haired man sat to her left, his hand resting on top of hers. I didn’t recognize either of them, but I did recognize the fourth person. Garrick looked as gorgeous as ever, in a perfectly pressed white linen shirt and khaki shorts, but there was something stiff about his posture, and his eyes looked slightly bruised. He stiffened even further when he saw me.

They’d all turned to look at me as I approached, and I knew I couldn’t just stand there with my mouth gaping like a landed fish. I was so going to take Paul and Moira to task for this. I walked forward, set the cinnamon rolls and serving spoons on the already-crowded table, and forced a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Jack,” Paul said conversationally. “Glad you could make it today. Have you ever met Liane before?”

“No.” Although as soon as I saw them together, I knew who she had to be. Garrick shook himself out of his surprised reverie and made the introduction.

“Jack, this is my older sister Liane Fitzpatrick. This is her husband, Henry Fitzpatrick.” We duly shook hands. “Guys, this is Jack Haney.”

I could see a flash of interest in his sister’s face, but she controlled it. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Haney.”

“Jack, please,” I insisted as I gingerly took a seat. I felt like I was wound so tight I might explode at any second, and sipped my mimosa to help mask my discomfort.

“Ooh, cinnamon rolls.” Paul looked appreciatively at my offering. “My favorite.”

“Moira requested them.”

“My wife has excellent taste.”

“That’s true,” Liane said with a slight laugh. “I’m always jealous of the lunches she brings in to work. I can’t get food that good at any of the restaurants closest to the hospital.”

“You work with Moira?” I asked, then felt like slapping myself for the obviousness of the question. She didn’t seem to care, however.

“Yeah, we’re both at South Med. Usually I’m an emergency room physician, but lately all my time has been taken up rehabbing those Dream users.” She shook her head tiredly. “Some of them just aren’t going to come out of it, no matter what I do. It’s hard to make the people in charge realize that my gift can’t heal everything.” She smiled at her brother. “You did a smart thing going in a different direction, Garrick. Although I have to say I’m kind of surprised you didn’t become a botanist.”

His shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Not much need, when there are real druids out there willing to do the work, and do it better. It makes a better hobby than a profession, I think.”

“You’re so modest. You two work together, right?” She turned back to me. “Have you ever seen any of his roses? They’re amazing, the biggest blooms I’ve ever seen.”

“Not his roses, no,” I managed. “Henry, what do you do?” I was desperate to change the subject, but he looked pleased to be asked and started talking to me about computer programming. Terrifically boring. I asked him endless questions to keep him talking.

Moira joined us a few minutes later with scrambled eggs mixed with goat cheese, chives and sautéed onions. Paul passed around sausages and we tucked into the food.

It was delicious, all of it, but my appetite wasn’t what it should have been. I picked more than ate, and Garrick seemed a little reticent as well. Henry and Paul more than made up for our loss, though, and by the time we started in on the cinnamon rolls Paul was on his third plate.

“These are amazing,” Henry complimented me after his first bite. “Seriously good. You should sell these.”

“Thanks.” I nibbled at my own, finally giving in and taking a good-sized bite. I did love my cinnamon rolls.

“Paul mentioned that you’re the officer in charge of the Dream case,” Liane said. “It’s good this stuff is getting taken so seriously. With you and my brother working at it, I bet you’ll crack it soon. I’m glad you’re working together. It makes me feel better when Garrick isn’t left to his own devices.” She winked playfully at her brother

Garrick frowned and cleared his throat. “Actually—”

“I’m glad we are too,” I interrupted. “I’m very lucky to have someone with Garrick’s expertise working the case with me. He’s been a huge help so far.” I avoided looking at him as I said this, but I knew he was surprised. I hoped our audience didn’t catch on. “Can I take some plates back?” I stood up and grabbed my own, then the closest empty platter.

“Honey, you can leave those to me.”

“No way, Moira. Not after you did all the work getting things ready. I’ll be back out in a moment, as soon as I load them into the dishwasher.” I grabbed a few more things and walked back inside, hoping my retreat didn’t come off as, well…a retreat. Once inside I sighed hugely, set the plates on the table, and leaned over it for a long moment.

“Ahem.”

I spun around so fast I almost lost my balance. Garrick was standing in the doorway, a couple champagne glasses dangling from one hand. “I came back for some refills,” he said quietly.

“Oh.” The silence between us grew longer, and I knew I’d have to make the first move. “Garrick…I…” I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked back into his wary gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ve been really, really rude to you since this began, and I shouldn’t have acted that way. It’s incredibly unprofessional. Please keep helping me with this case.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, then stepped further into the room and closed the sliding glass door behind him. We were as alone as we could be. “I’m sorry as well,” he said seriously. “For making you uncomfortable. For making you feel like I was taking advantage of you.” He looked down at the floor. “Will my apologies ever be enough, Jack?”

I knew he was talking about more than this moment. My throat tightened and I couldn’t answer him. After a second he went on.

“Everything that happened between us…it’s been killing me.” He shook his head slowly. “The memory of what I did to you is like a knife in my chest, and every time I think about you it stabs deeper. I made a bad call, Jack. A really fucking miserable call, and I regretted it as soon as I made it. I was…”

He shrugged helplessly. “I was wrong, for a lot of reasons. I never blamed you for not forgiving me then, and I understand if you still can’t forgive me now, but I have to know if there’s any chance. I’ll do anything to get back in your good graces, and if that’s impossible then I’ll do my best to help you solve this case and then get out of your life. What do you want?”

I clutched the edge of the table with both hands. Could I really do it? Could I let go of all the pain and grief that had been choking me for what felt like forever? I had the chance to begin now, but it wasn’t easy to let go of the habits of years, even when they were bad ones.

Garrick stretched his free hand towards me, his face etched with concern. “Jack?”

To hell with it. I was tired of living in a shell, and I didn’t want to hurt any more. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore. My throat was still too tight to speak, but I reached out and took his hand. The feel of his skin, so warm and soft, broke something inside of me, and I ducked my head down and pressed my free hand to my mouth to muffle the pained noises coming out of my throat.

Garrick didn’t hesitate. He set the empty glasses down and moved in close to me, taking me gently into his arms. It wasn’t possessive, it wasn’t demanding. He was just holding me, and it felt incredible.

I hated crying, I fucking hated it, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I turned my face into his shoulder and promptly soaked his beautiful linen shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. He cradled me to him, making soothing noises and stroking my back. His body was like a furnace, warming me through and stopping my tremors before they had a chance to really get going. After a few minutes I calmed down enough to realize that the people outside were probably wondering what the hell had happened to us, and I reluctantly pulled away from Garrick’s embrace.

I plucked a little at his damp shirt. “Sorry about dousing you.”

“I don’t care,” he said sincerely, his blue eyes soft as he looked at me. “Whatever you need.”

I smirked at him, trying to regain some of my aplomb. “Dangerous words, Garrick.”

“I mean it.”

Suddenly the sliding door opened. Moira was there, carrying a load of dishes and looking worried. “Everything okay, honey?”

“Yes,” I said, managing to smile. Actually, it felt easy to smile. “Fine. Here, let me put those away.” I took the pile from her, set it down and opened up the dishwasher. “I’ll be out again as soon as I’m done, I promise.”

“If you say so, hon. Garrick, your sister’s getting thirsty.”

“I’m on my way,” he said. Moira cast a wary eye over the two of us, then turned and left. Garrick refilled the glasses, but he never looked away from me.

“I’ll join you guys in a minute. I’d rather not go out there looking like I was just on a crying jag.”

“May I help?”

“Sure, you can try.” Not the most confident response, but Garrick stepped close and cupped my face between his hands. His eyes met mine, and I dissolved into his soothing gaze. So warm, so relaxing, calming…the dampness on my face seemed to slip away, and the heat receded, spreading across my entire head and dissipating fast. After a moment he let go and smiled at me.

“Feel better?”

“Yes.” I touched my face tentatively. My skin was dry and felt normal, not flushed or red. “How did you do that?”

“I’m good at moving water around,” he replied, brushing a hand down his shirt. “How do you think I coaxed that orchid to grow so fast? Did you throw it away?”

“The orchid?” He nodded. “No, it’s on my counter at home. I thought about tossing it, but I just couldn’t.”

“I’m glad.” He touched my shoulder briefly, then grabbed the glasses. “I should be getting back out there.”

“Your shirt’s dry,” I noticed suddenly.

“Yeah, I save a ton on dry cleaning bills.” Garrick grinned and left the kitchen.

The rest of the morning passed without incident. I felt like a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders, and Garrick was livelier as well, playful even. His sister clearly noticed the change but didn’t say anything, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t ready to answer any questions about myself and Garrick, mostly because I didn’t know any of the answers.

I wanted to forgive him. I was forgiving him. The process had begun, and I knew he was forgiving me too, for all my hurtful words and actions. We had five years of bad history between us and it would take more than a morning together to repair our relationship, but it was a start.

We stayed for several more hours, all of us chatting and laughing like we had known each other for years. I guess most of us had; it was just Garrick’s family I’d never met before. He’d been reticent to talk about them when we were together, and with a family so famous that was understandable. He had a lot more self-confidence now, and I liked Liane and Henry. Eventually Liane had to call it quits, though.

“The babysitter awaits,” she said regretfully as she pushed back her chair. “Jenny will be fine but little Garrick just turned two and is quite a handful.”

“Little Garrick?” I glanced over at the blushing uncle. “You named him after his uncle?”

“Yeah.” Liane grinned impishly. “And don’t let his embarrassment fool you, he’s pleased as punch to have a namesake.”

“I never said I was embarrassed!” Garrick protested.

“Sure you’re not.” She accepted her light jacket from her husband and kissed his cheek, then turned back to her brother. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” he replied, but I could tell that he didn’t want to leave yet. And honestly, I didn’t want him to go either.

“I can give him a lift,” I volunteered. “His place is on the way.”

Liane’s eyes were full of questions, but she resisted asking any of them. “Sounds good. Moira, Paul, thanks so much for having us. Everything was wonderful. Jack, it was lovely to meet you.” I stood up and held out my hand, but she pulled me into a hug instead. I inhaled the scent of her perfume and realized it was the same as the one I’d smelled in Garrick’s car two days ago. Not some girlfriend, then. “Take care of my brother,” she murmured.

“I will,” I promised. She let me go to embrace Garrick and I shook Henry’s hand, and then they left the garden.

We stayed with Paul and Moira until it started to get dark, just like old times for a little while. Moira cast me a few concerned looks, and around the time the mosquitoes really came out she took Garrick aside, leaving me alone with Paul.

“So,” I drawled, nicely relaxed from the heat, good food, and plenty of mimosas. “Whose brilliant idea was this, yours or Moira’s?”

“Mine,” he said unabashedly, stretching out in his chair. “Moira always liked Garrick but she wasn’t really willing to give him the time of day, not after what happened with you. She’s friends with his sister, though, and I thought it was worth a try getting all of you together and seeing if you could make it through a day without killing each other.” He smirked at me. “Looks like I was right.”

“You could just as easily have been wrong,” I reminded him. “Then all the pain and angst I suffered would have landed squarely on your shoulders.”

“I’ll take reality over your imaginary angst any day,” he said. “You two needed time together away from work, to see if the work could even happen. I know about your little incident the other night, Jack. Hopefully now you can shelve some of your issues and grab this damn sorcerer before he kills more people.”

“Jeez.” I shook my head. “You and your logic, Paul. Seriously, though,” I reached out and squeezed his forearm for a second, “thanks. I don’t understand how you know me better than myself sometimes, but thanks.”

“Quit it. You’ll make me blush,” he grumbled. “Then Moira will think I’m having a heart attack and rush me to her damn hospital. Spare me that.”

“Anything but that,” I agreed. Moira and Garrick were headed back our way, and I glanced at my watch. “Shit, it’s almost eight o clock. I’ve got to get home, I have work to do.”

“Do it tomorrow,” Paul advised me. “Your boss will understand.”

I grinned at him. “Will he understand giving me a month of paid vacation after I finish this case?”

“He’s not that understanding.”

I chuckled a little, then stood up and turned to Garrick. “We should get going, Gare.”

“Sure.” He turned and hugged Moira. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” She then came over and shared the love with me. “Be careful on this one, all right honey? It sounds pretty bad.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I told her. “See you soon, Mo.” I grabbed my empty pan of cinnamon rolls and we headed for my car. Garrick looked a little bemused. I waited until he was in the Beetle before asking, “What did you guys talk about?”

“Hmm? Oh.” He smiled a little, but it was pained. “You, mostly. And how Moira will make me suffer if I hurt you again.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” I thought about it for a moment, then grinned. “I like having everyone on my side for once.”

“Those two will always be on your side, Jack. You’re the son they never had.”

“They’re good people,” I said softly. We drove in silence until I reached his building. “Well. Umm…” I knew that now was the time for the night to end, before we did something to ruin what had been an unexpectedly good day, but I didn’t want it to end.

“Can I make you some coffee?” Garrick smiled over at me, easier now that he wasn’t stinging so badly from Moira’s reproofs. “It’s not cinnamon soy, but it’s half decent. Just coffee, I promise,” he added. “I won’t try anything.”

“Damn.” I parked the car and got out before Garrick could do more than raise his eyebrows. “Fine, coffee. Decaf.”

“Decaf?” Garrick asked as he shut the door. “What’s the point then?”

“The point is I can’t spend another sleepless night and expect to be able to function at work tomorrow.”

“Really?” Garrick held the front door to his building open for me and we walked inside. “What’s been keeping you awake?”

I didn’t answer, distracted by the sumptuous foyer of his building. Appearances showed this to be one of the classier apartment complexes downtown had to offer. The marble floor gleamed a soft white, reflected in the bronze furnishings. The security guard behind the desk on the right smiled at us as we walked to the elevator. The opulence wasn’t quite overwhelming, but it definitely contrasted with my own home.

Garrick didn’t speak again until we were in the elevator. “I inherited the place from my grandfather.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’ I still get paid like a detective, Jack.” We exited on his floor, the highest in the building, and walked to his apartment. He let me inside, and I stepped into a tropical paradise. Huge, fan-like ferns covered the walls, resting in giant ceramic pots. Slender vines hung from the ceiling and orchids dotted most of the flat surfaces. It was slightly damp, and the air felt full of life. I turned to Garrick in astonishment. “You couldn’t do this before.”

“No.” I could hear the pride in his voice as he looked around his place. “It took me a long time to learn enough control to grow these and keep them all alive. My water bill is huge. This isn’t the best part, though. Come out to the balcony.” He reached for my hand; unthinking, I gave it to him. His warm fingers wrapped around mine and when I looked at his face, his smile was nearly enough to stop my heart: sweet, sexy, and heated. He turned away and drew me towards the far side of the living room, to two tall frosted-glass doors. Opening one, we walked out into the warm, muggy night air. My breath caught in my throat.

Thick vines covered the walls and railings, and each vine burst with roses. Velvety red roses, spanning the spectrum from nearly pink to so dark they appeared black in the dim light, filled the air with the sweetest smell I could imagine. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, letting their essence flow into me. It was heady and rejuvenating, and when I opened my eyes again I grinned helplessly.

“They’re amazing,” I murmured, speaking softly. There was no real reason to whisper, but I felt like I was in a sacred place.

“Come over here,” Garrick murmured, tugging me towards the nearest flower-filled wall. “I want to do something for you.” He turned me so that my back was nearly touching the vines, then posted his arms to either side of me, framing my shoulders. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he chuckled. “I’ll be good, I promise. Just close your eyes.” He closed his first, and I copied him. Then I felt it.

Velvet traced my limbs, from the base of my calf along my thighs and up my arms. Soft, pungent satin brushed the base of my spine and the sensitive skin along my neck. I gasped and trembled a little. These roses had thorns…but none of them touched me. It was all softness, all sweetness, feather-light touches that caressed my body and left a quivering, heated trail in their wake. Petals curled around my face, drifting across my cheeks until one heavy, slightly-furled bud traced the edge of my lips. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped me, and the answering one from Garrick startled me enough that my eyes flew open.

He stood braced against the wall, eyes closed and face sweating. He was concentrating intently, his mouth hanging open. I could feel the heat of his breath on my face, and when he suddenly opened his own eyes the blue was more vivid and brighter than it should have been. He gazed at me, almost gasping, and I felt the force of his effort quiver in a thousand petals.

“Gare.” I didn’t even realize I was speaking, it just came out. The words broke the spell, and the roses slowly began to withdraw from my body. Garrick closed his eyes and shuddered briefly, then straightened up and removed his arms.

“I think you should go now, Jack.”

“Why?” How could he send me home now?

“Because if you stay, I won’t be able to be good.” He swallowed. “I want you too much, and it’s been too long since we…there’s too much between us still. We have time now, and I want it to be…perfect.” He stepped back, giving me more space.

I understood. I wasn’t necessarily happy with him turning all responsible just when I wanted him, but I knew why he was doing it. It was a chance for him to prove himself, somehow, and we were going pretty damn fast. “Okay.” I smiled a little shakily. “I’ll pass on the coffee for now. You can bring me something tomorrow.”

“A cinnamon soy latte?”

“Sounds good.” I edged past him, stroking one of his wrists as I went. The urge to grab on and hold him was intense. I definitely needed to go.

“Jack?”

I turned back towards him. He held a rose in his hand, the same rose that had brushed my lips like a lover’s kiss. He extended it towards me. “A little souvenir,” he said with a grin.

“Since clearly the rest of this wasn’t memorable at all,” I replied archly. “Thanks.” I took the rose, our fingers brushing, then I walked out. Out of his apartment, out of his building but not, hopefully, out of his life this time.

The rose filled my car with its sweet scent. It was a continual distraction, and I was a little surprised I made it home without damaging my car. My body felt a little shaky and my mind was filled with the image of Garrick leaning into me, flushed with exertion, gorgeous and breathless and wanting me...fuck, I needed to get off.

I grabbed the rose and empty pan, almost running into my apartment. I threw the pan into the sink, stripped out of my clothes, and landed on my bed in under a minute. I held the rosebud to my face, brushing it over my eyelids and nose and my wet, swollen lips. My free hand traced my body, tracing the same path the roses had touched, feathering over my skin in an attempt to rekindle the fire that burned me in Garrick’s presence.

It worked. The scent of the rose, the softness of the bed, and the feel of my own hand stroking me worked me into a blaze, overflowing with desire. I wanted Garrick. I wanted him kissing me and sucking my cock and pressing inside of me, moaning my name as he thrust into me again and again, loving me until I was delirious. I stroked the rosebud down my body, circling my nipples with its smoothness before delving lower, into my bellybutton and down, over my curls and then against the head of my cock, a gentle yet insistent pressure.

I moaned as I clenched my hand around my shaft, pumping my flesh as I pressed the soft rose petals against the head of my cock, imagining him down there. lips as soft as the petals were now, using his mouth on my, maybe stretching me with his fingers, absorbed in my pleasure and swearing he was mine, that he loved me, that he wanted me to come for him…

I fell over the edge, tightening my hand and crushing the rose in my fist as I came gasping and calling Garrick’s name. I felt no guilt, no remorse, nothing but satisfaction as I cried out for him, touching myself more gently as I rode out my orgasm. Tiny starbursts faded from behind my eyelids as I slowly calmed down.

I set the much-abused rose on the pillow next to me and slowly stood, making my way to the bathroom to clean up. I fell asleep completely satisfied and happier than I could remember being. When I woke up the next morning, I saw that the petals had fallen from the stem of the rose, and covered the pillowcase and sheet. I smiled with the realization that I had exhausted the poor thing, then got ready for work.

Chapter Four

It was good that Garrick and I’d had some time to reconnect, because nothing else that week was going right, and by Wednesday everyone in the task force was on edge. Five more people had overdosed on the drug and one of them had died. The mayor was laying some serious pressure on the unit, and Paul in turn had to lay more pressure on us. The final thread broke when the press found out that the latest person to die was a sixteen year old boy.

“The feds are clamoring to come in,” Paul said tiredly on Thursday morning. He hadn’t slept for the part thirty hours. None of us had. Garrick and I had hit the clubs consecutively for the past three nights, but it fast became apparent that the dealers were onto us.

Not necessarily us, because I didn’t think they recognized us, but onto the fact that someone was watching them. Instead of a single dealer, two or three would be stationed on the floor. With their appearances changing ever faster and only one of them handing out any of the drug, it was harder and harder to get a read on them. I’d almost blacked out from the effort the previous evening, and a dull, throbbing headache still drummed through my brain. Garrick silently moved behind me and stroked the back of my neck. The throbbing eased and I sighed with relief.

“We have until tomorrow to wrap this up, otherwise we lose jurisdiction, and the department gets a black eye we won’t be forgetting anytime soon.” In other words, smaller budget, fewer officers, and no prospect of moving higher in the ranks. Lovely. “We’ll send both teams out tonight. We need something solid, people. We need to make an arrest; we need to find the source. We need the manufacturer. Otherwise more people are going to get hurt and we won’t be able to do anything about it because we’ll be under the federal heel.” Paul had some strong feelings about jurisdiction. “Dismissed.”

I walked back to my desk and sat dejectedly. “I don’t know what to change,” I confessed quietly to Garrick, who sat down beside me. “I can’t keep track of them well enough. I can’t follow them when they leave, and even if I could there’s no way I could stay out of my body long enough to follow one back to the source.”

“I was thinking about that.” Garrick looked at me seriously. “Can you track by blood?”

“By blood?” That wasn’t the question I expected from a healer. Blood magic was powerful, but also highly restricted. It delved too deeply into dark arts for mainstream society to be comfortable. I had learned to work with it, but it wasn’t my favorite thing to do. “Yes.”

“If I got you a sample of a dealer’s blood, do you think you could follow it without making eye contact with the individual?”

I considered it. “If I start following fast enough and have a decent idea of where they’ll be. What are you thinking, Gare?”

“I’m thinking that I go into the club, get you a blood sample, then call in the regulars. The dealer books it, you follow him, and once he gets back to home base, you come back to your body and lead us there.”

I shook my head. “It won’t work. I can’t follow them from the clubs to wherever their base is without having to return to my body, it’s too exhausting. And I’d collapse in the club if I tried.”

“I’ll go into the club alone,” he clarified. “You stay in the car. We’ll run the a/c, lay you back, play soothing music, whatever it takes to relax you. I’ve got a great memory and some of these guys have used the same disguise more than once, I’ll spot one of them. When I get back with the blood, I’ll keep your body from freaking out while you track down the dealers. I can keep you healthy for probably five minutes without you having to return.”

I stared at him. “Healthy?”

Garrick shrugged uncomfortably. “Without permanent damage. I can’t promise it will be painless, but I swear I won’t let you get hurt.” He grimaced. “It’s a shit plan, I know, but I don’t know what else we can do. People are dying, and…”

“I understand.” And I did. I knew it was hard for him to bring up, too. “Let’s do it. Which place do you want to hit?”

“I look best in black.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “The Tomb it is, then. Is there anything I should do to get ready? I don’t know, meditate or something?”

Garrick smiled at me, a tired but genuinely amused smile. “I can’t picture you meditating. I think that would just piss you off. Just do what you normally do, then go home and relax. I’ll come get you at nine.”

“It’s a date.”

“No, it’s not. When I take you on a real date there will be dinner, dancing, steaks and whiskey and a gigantic chocolate dessert.” He grinned. “I’ve got it all planned out.”

“Apparently.” I wanted to feel a little pissed about him planning everything before he’d even bothered to ask me on a date, but I couldn’t summon up any indignation. “What kind of chocolate dessert?”

“The decadent kind,” he promised me, leaning in closer. “Rivers of molten chocolate. Bourbon. Flames. Ganache. The works.”

My mouth was watering. “Sounds good,” I managed.

“I know. Now picture it in bed.”

I did. “Flames in bed isn’t smart, Garrick.”

“I’ll be very careful,” he murmured in my ear. “When I lick it off of you.” Then he got up and walked away. I watched him go and felt my dick stiffen a little. Holy shit. That sounded like a great dessert.

I got off work at six, made sure Ramy and Johnson knew what was going on, and headed home to get ready. I took a long shower, I had a drink, I propped my feet up…

It was no good. I ended up pacing back and forth in my living room, waiting impatiently for nine o clock to arrive. I was anxious about tonight, about it being our last chance. We had to get something. I wouldn’t have risked this under many other circumstances. Two minutes…two minutes before I fainted under normal conditions. Gare thought he could extend it to five. I knew that pearl divers and certain specially trained mages could stay under for that amount of time and longer, but I wasn’t a pearl diver. I was going to be straining the whole time I was under, using my magic to find the dealer and track him.

When Garrick finally arrived, I was a walking bundle of nerves. “Finally!” I exploded when I opened the door.

“You didn’t try meditating, did you?”

“No, smart ass,” I growled as I stepped outside and locked my door, “I’m just going insane with waiting. Let’s get this done.”

“As you wish.”

Garrick looked amazing, as usual. He was a walking poster boy for the undead, paling his skin with powder and coating his eyelashes and eyebrows in black. A dark red rose was stuck through one of the gaps in his net shirt. Ugh, he was just too pretty.

We walked down to his mega-car and got in. It was already cool inside.

“How are you planning on getting his blood, anyway?” I asked as we pulled out into the street.

He brushed his fingertips across the petals at his collarbone. “I’ll use the rose.”

I tried to picture it in my mind. No luck. “By giving it to him, forcing his hand around a thorn, and then taking it back?”

“No. I’m going to grow the stem around my arm and make the thorns larger. Once I identify the dealer, I’ll just walk by. All I need to do is scratch him. It’s practically a mosh pit in there, he won’t even notice me.”

I snorted. “You better hope he isn’t into guys, because otherwise he will definitely notice you.”

“It comes with the territory,” Garrick said with an easy grin.

My territory, I wanted to say. I didn’t, but Garrick must have seen the possessiveness rising in me somehow, because his grin went all soft and sweet. God, I wanted to take him home, toss him onto my bed, and fuck him into oblivion.

Tonight’s job couldn’t go fast enough.

We made it to The Tomb by nine-fifteen. Garrick showed me how to recline the seat—with an electronic switch that my car had never even dreamed about, poor baby—and turned the air conditioning to high. “It’ll get cold. Let it. Relax, slow your breathing, and get ready.”

I closed my eyes resolutely. “Go scratch your boyfriend already, Gare.”

“Nah, I think I’ll leave him here.” He left the car, locked it, and walked to the club. I settled back onto the leather seat, trying to relax.

Blood magic. I’d have to run to catch the taint of it in time to follow it. My spirit form could move much more quickly than my normal body, but it took extra effort. I lay there and connected to every part of my body, then to my spirit, infusing it with energy. The car got colder. I was going to start shivering soon.

Garrick came back after about a half hour. “Got it,” he said with grim satisfaction. I glanced drowsily over at his hand, then blinked. He had created a thorn gauntlet out of the damn rose. “You could start a new trend,” I murmured.

“Just rest, Jack. Hang on. Ramy is already on his way inside.” Garrick listened intently to his earpiece for a moment. “He’ll be through in a minute. Here, get a feel for the blood.” He thrust his arm towards me. I pushed my spirit towards the rose, not entirely leaving my body but hovering half-in, half-out.

I sensed Garrick’s spirit first, bright with energy and life. The rose, dying slowly now that it was cut. And on top of it…the blood energy was like a fingerprint, like a scent. I brought it into myself, though it disgusted me, and prepared to follow it.

“Now!” Ramy must have broken up the party. The dealers would be fleeing. Taking a last deep breath, I pushed my spirit up and out of my body. The insistent pull between them ebbed as Garrick put his hands on me and made leaving easier. I sped into the club, through walls and crowds, ignoring everything except the blood trail. There it was, hovering in the air and on the floor. So many people were bleeding something, but I followed the dealer’s trail. Out back…there, getting into a car. Dark green sedan, license number…it didn’t matter, I couldn’t report it yet anyway. I started to trail the car.

My body was tugging at me, but it was a distant, disconnected thing. I stayed focused on the car. The dealers drove fast, managing to miss the red lights, and headed towards the pier.

The tugging was getting worse. I kept following, past the nearby residences and to the pier itself. Down onto the docks…

The pull was tearing at my mind now, screaming at me to return. I waited, following the dealers to a dock with a small warehouse adjacent to it, and inside the warehouse…

It was too much. A horrible tearing pain suddenly erupted through my spirit, catapulting me back into my body. I slammed back into the seat and gasped, shuddering uncontrollably. Garrick’s arms were around me, and his face was white.

“I couldn’t block it any longer, you were gone too long,” he said, stroking sweaty hair out of my face. “Deep breaths, baby. Deep breaths. Slow it down, Jack, you’ll be all right.”

I didn’t have time to slow things down. “They’re moving!” I said between heaving breaths. “Changing…locations. Have to get there…now, before it’s gone.”

“Get where?”

I gave him the address of the warehouse as best as I remembered it and Garrick radioed it in, then started the car. “We’ve got to get to the scene, Jack.” He passed me an open bottle of water. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

Drink? How could I drink when I couldn’t even catch my breath? I tilted the chair up slowly, hit hard by the pounding headache that blurred my vision. I sipped, then gagged.

“I’m sorry, Jack.” Soothing fingers touched my temple and lessened the headache enough to get rid of the nausea. “You were gone for over six minutes, and I didn’t have time to help you back gently. I had to release my hold on your body or you were going to be damaged.”

“I understand,” I whispered.

“When we get there, you stay in the car. I’ll—”

“No.” No, there would be no more repeats of the past. “We’re going in together.”

“You’re ill. You need to rest.”

Ha, no chance. “I won’t get any rest with you going alone into that place. I’m coming with you. When Ramy and Johnson join us, I’ll step aside.”

“Can you even hold a gun right now?” Garrick demanded anxiously.

“I’ll manage.”

“Jack…” His voice just trailed off, taking whatever objections he had with it, I hoped. Besides, my head was feeling better. Instead of seeing triples of everything I was down to doubles, and I could nearly count my heartbeats again. Garrick didn’t say anything else to me, he just drove and occasionally touched my temple or shoulder, carrying pain away. By the time we got to the docks, I was nearly normal.

I could hear sirens in the distance as we exited the car. Ramy and Johnson were coming. But if we could hear them, so could the people inside the warehouse, and the drug was probably melting away even now. “We have to go in,” I muttered. “Now, before the evidence is gone. There were only three when I saw them earlier.”

“And only two of us.” Garrick looked sidelong at me, silently evaluating, and then nodded. “I’ll go first.”

“Fine.” We moved slowly to the warehouse door, guns in hand. There were no windows to give us away, but the back of the place was open, and we could hear them easily. Men cursing under their breath, references to “product,” the sound of tearing garbage bags. Garrick glanced at me and I nodded. He squared off at the door, kicked it open and entered in a rush. I was right behind him, my head spinning a little.

Garrick shouted for the people to stay still as we covered the three men. One was halfway out the back, carrying a full trash bag. The other two had been loading more. Tables lined the walls, and on top of them were test tubes, alembics, unmarked vats of liquid and, of course, plenty of Dream. The place was packed with Dream.

I recognized the spirits of the dealer and his driver, even though they’d changed their appearances. The third man was staring at us with murder in his eyes. He had an aura of power about him, and clearly was in charge of the little group. I trained my gun on him.

“Keep your hands where I can see them and lie down on the ground.” Hearing the steel tones come out of Garrick’s mouth instantly dispelled his goth disguise. The dealer and the driver obeyed, moving slowly, but the third man, the sorcerer, didn’t move at all.

“Get down,” Garrick growled, his gaze narrowing. “I won’t ask you again.” The wail of sirens was growing louder and louder. I blinked my eyes, wavering a little. It was so hot in the warehouse, such a tiny, hot little space. And I was so tired…

The sorcerer’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Garrick. With a twisted grin, he stretched his hand towards the Dream lining the table. Suddenly it began to dissolve, sliding into nothingness.

“No!” Garrick darted towards the table, extending his free hand to get a preservation spell up over some of the drugs before the evidence disappeared entirely. The sorcerer snatched a gun from his waistband and raised it towards Garrick.

Panic filled me and I squeezed off two shots at him, but one went wide and the second just grazed his shoulder. Fuck, I couldn’t even focus enough to hit a man at ten feet.

My shots had the desired effect, though. The sorcerer turned his gun from Garrick to me. He pulled the trigger just as the door flew open again. Chaos filled the room as the bullet tore into me, penetrating my chest and knocking me onto my back. The pain was excruciating, but I couldn’t scream around all the blood welling up my throat and into my mouth.

Sound, all around me. Sirens, people, gunshots. A man screamed. Was it Garrick? I wanted to sit up and see, but I couldn’t move. My fingers twitched, but they weren’t under my command. I formed his name with my lips, my lungs fluttering and unresponsive but trying to breathe so I could call to him.

Suddenly he was right above me. Shock made his tanned skin look paper white. No, that was makeup…wasn’t it? Perhaps it was both. He was breathing fast, almost hyperventilating, and with my hearing getting fuzzy I could barely make him out. “No, no…” His hands were hot on my chest, ripping my shirt away and feeling the edges of the bullet wound. “Oh, fuck.” He shouted something to someone else, raising his head, then looked back at me. One hand cupped my face; the other gently pressed the wound on my chest. “Stay with me, Jack.”

I felt my flesh crawl under his fingertips, striving to obey his command to staunch the blood and preserve me long enough for an ambulance, a doctor, a miracle. My rapid heartbeats were fading, though, and my vision was going dark.

I wished I could say something to him. Anything...

Suddenly my spirit was out of my body. I had only been forced out once before, when I’d drowned in that god-forsaken swamp. I was dying, then.

Maybe I was already dead.

Garrick made an ugly noise. It was low and guttural and desperate, and I was shocked to hear something that graceless emerge from him. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering energy, then released it into me like a shockwave.

My heart stuttered. Instantly I was back in my body, looking up at Garrick through filmy eyes. He was sweating, and long lines of mascara streaked down his face. “Stay with me, baby,” he begged, forcing more of his energy into me. It burned inside of me, channeling the power of growth into the ruin of my lungs, but I still couldn’t breathe. “Jack, stay!” I wanted to, God I wanted to, but I couldn’t. “Stay!”

I couldn’t. I was forced out of my body again. I watched his desperation turn into panicked fear, and then he lost control. Gathering every ounce of power he contained, Garrick screamed, a primal, furious sound, and released it into me.

I was back. I could breathe. Barely, but I could breathe. How was it even possible…

I saw the horrible strain in Garrick’s face and suddenly understood. He was breathing for me. He was living for me. He’d bound our spirits together, dark magic that I’d heard of but never seen done before. Every beat of his heart powered mine, keeping my broken body intact at a terrible expense to his own.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off. “Stay,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. “Stay.”

“I’ll stay,” I mouthed to him. Shock had nearly banished the pain from my body, but he clearly felt it. He shook violently, every muscle taut with agony, but he never dropped his gaze. Not until the ambulance had come, not until we were at the hospital, not until his own sister broke the connection and left me to the care of three other healers. Then Gare collapsed. I reached for him, but before I could do more than straighten my arm, I was put to sleep.

Chapter Five

When I woke up next, I was so swathed in bandages I couldn’t move. Or maybe I just couldn’t move, period. I left my eyes closed for a bit, taking an internal inventory. Heart beating. Lungs working. Everything seemed to be in place, no matter how badly some of it hurt. At least I could feel it. Even the pain was muted, probably with morphine.

I opened my eyes and blinked, wincing at the brightness of the light. Someone dimmed the glow, and then a warm hand slipped into mine. “Jack.”

“Hi,” I said, turning to look at him. I tried to say it, anyway. My mouth was desert dry. Garrick put a straw to my lips, and I sucked a little cool water into my mouth, swished it and swallowed. Then I looked at him.

Bright blue eyes, wide smile, shining auburn hair…but he looked different now. There were dark stains beneath his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights. He was smiling, but his mouth was still compressed with worry. And his hair…faint lines of silver traced their way back from his temples and disappeared into his ponytail.

Holy shit. He didn’t have any gray hair the last time I looked at him. “How long was I out?”

“Five days,” Garrick replied, cupping my single hand in both of his and warming me to the bone. “The healers induced a coma. They worked on you for over twelve hours that first day, and you’ve been soaking up magic ever since. You should eventually make a full recovery, but it’s going to be tough for a while.”

Holy fucking shit! “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” he countered, his expression serious.

That was a good question. “I remember…tracking the dealers. I remember going into the warehouse. I remember being shot…kind of,” I extemporized, because that part was mostly a blur of pain. “Then, not much.”

“You remembered more than Liane thought you would. You had massive blood loss, and that can sometimes lead to…” His voice trailed off, and he sighed deeply. “Fuck.”

“I remember leaving my body.” Pieces fit together in my mind. “You saved me.”

“Yeah, after getting you into the whole fucking mess, the least I could do was save your life.” Garrick’s voice was bitter. “I should never have let you go in with me. We should have waited for backup, or at least put on vests. I had two in the trunk of my car. I fucked up, Jack. It was just like before. The goddamn past repeated itself right in front of my eyes and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“We’re alive,” I pointed out. I hated seeing him hurt himself like this.

“Barely. All I could think about was saving the goddamn evidence, and as soon as I was distracted that motherfucker went for his piece.”

“You needed to save the drug, otherwise they might have walked.” A horrible thought struck my mind. “They didn’t walk, did they?”

“Trial is pending, but the evidence is completely damning. The bastard closest to the exit had a bag of Dream that didn’t melt away. The sorcerer, Miguel Cabrera, he was shot twice but survived. He’ll probably get life for assaulting you, plus the drug charges. He gave away his other dealers and raw suppliers to avoid the death penalty.”

“Good.” I reached over with my other hand and stroked the back of his arm. “What happened to you?”

“I—” Garrick’s voice cut off abruptly. He swallowed and tried again. “I heard the shot. I saw you fall. The bullet passed through a lung and nicked your aorta. I went to you, and you were dying. There was blood on your chest, blood coming out of your mouth, your nose…” He shuddered. “I tried to fix things enough for you to breathe, but then you left your body. I put you back in. I restarted your heart, but I couldn’t do anything for the lungs, and you were dying, so I bound us together.”

I remembered feeling him labor for me. “Dangerous stuff.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh. “It’s not something a healer is ever supposed to do. It drains you too fast, and more often than not both people die. Liane almost had a heart attack when she realized what I was doing. She forced us apart.” He looked down at our hands. “I’m not a great healer. I’m better with plants than I am with people, and I didn’t even know if I could pull a binding off at all, but I had to try. I couldn’t let you go, Jack.”

He had been willing to die for me. He had reached inside of me and bound us more intimately than any two people were ever meant to be bound, and it had nearly killed him. It wasn’t a repeat of the past, not by a long shot. I couldn’t assign a number to my place in the hierarchy of his affection; it would be meaningless in the face of his actions. Everything was different now.

“I love you, Gare.” I needed him to know that before things went any further.

Garrick stared at me, astonishment written on his face. It was better than the self-loathing that had been there a moment ago, and got even better when he grinned. It was a genuine grin this time, not pained or worried. He suddenly looked like himself again. “I love you too, Jack. More than anything.” He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “More than anyone.”

“Then everything will be all right.”

“Yes.” He chuckled softly, then leaned in and brushed his lips over mine. It was a soft, fleeting kiss but it made my heart soar. The beeping of the heart monitor sped up, and Garrick grinned again. “No more kisses or the nurse will throw me out for over-exciting you, and I don’t intend to be thrown out. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Good.”

Once I got out of the hospital, I ended up spending most of my recuperation with Paul and Moira. Paul had to work and pointedly reminded Garrick that he had to work as well. Moira took a leave of absence from work and stayed with me, nursing me and mothering me in turns until I was so full of food, love and care that I thought I’d burst. I had two weeks of bed rest and one of assisted care before she was satisfied that I could leave the house unattended.

Garrick came to me every day after work and stayed late into the night, usually until I fell asleep. We hadn’t progressed beyond kisses and a little teasing, but it was getting harder and harder to resist. After a full month of time off, I was feeling well enough to be on my own again. Garrick loaded my transplanted clothes into his car while I kissed Moira and Paul goodbye.

“You’re so good to me,” I said as I wrapped Moira in an embrace.

“You deserve it, honey.” She pulled back and dabbed at her eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be all right at home alone? You have another two weeks before you go back to work, you could spend them here.”

“Let the man be, Mo,” Paul interjected, “he deserves some peace and quiet after putting up with us for near a month.” He hugged me gently, careful of my chest. “You can take more time if you need it, Jack.”

“I’m getting pretty ready to be working again, Paul, but thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. I’ll call you both tomorrow, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“Drive slowly,” Moira admonished Garrick as he came back up to the front porch to get me. “Take him straight home.”

“Yes ma’am.” Garrick hugged Moira, shook Paul’s hand, then helped me down the stairs and to his car. He held the door open for me, then got inside and started it up. I waved goodbye through the window, then sighed with relief as we pulled into the street.

“Getting to be a little much?”

I nodded. “I love them dearly, but after living by myself for years it’s hard to always be with someone else, even someone as wonderful as Moira and Paul.”

“So you’re looking forward to getting back to your place?”

“I guess.” Well, not really. “Actually, what I’m really looking forward to is some unsupervised time with you.” I was so horny I could taste it, and no matter how I’d tried to coerce him into bed with me Garrick had remained a perfect gentleman. At least, while I was in Moira and Paul’s house.

“Me too.” Garrick smiled slyly at me. “How do you feel about going to my house first? I’ve got a surprise for you there.”

“What sort of surprise?”

“The surprising kind, babe. The kind where I don’t let you play twenty questions and tease it out of me beforehand.”

I threw one of my spare, clean socks at him. “You’re no fun at all.”

“You won’t be saying that after tonight.”

I didn’t want to give away how much his words affected me, so I went with a smile and silence. It seemed safer. My body still ached, but I wasn’t going to let that keep me from getting what I wanted tonight. I wanted Garrick. I wanted all of him. Dreams weren’t enough anymore.

Garrick carried my small night bag upstairs but let me walk by myself. I wanted to show him I was capable, but inexplicable shyness was tightening its grip around my throat and keeping me from saying anything. The silence stretched out, and I knew I was blushing. Garrick glanced at me and smiled, then walked ahead once the elevator opened to get his door. “Come in.”

I went inside. It looked just like it had before, almost five weeks ago. Plants, flowers and vines stretching up the walls and across the ceiling, filling the air with their rich warmth. The lights were soft and when Garrick’s fingers gently pressed my back, I managed not to jump. Garrick put my bag down and stepped in behind me, wrapping me in a tender embrace. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I’m not,” I replied automatically, but the words tried to catch in my throat and came out very quiet.

“Yes, you are.” He brushed his lips over the back of my head and kissed the top of my ear. “And that’s okay, but you don’t have to be. Nothing we do together is wrong, no matter what it ends up being.”

I sighed heavily. “Gare, I haven’t had sex with someone else for a really long time. I thought about you more than was good for me. I loved you, I hated you, and now I love you again. I’m getting over being shot and I have a scar the size of my hand on my chest. Literally everything is making me nervous, okay? I know I have issues. I can’t help it.”

“Dreamed about me, huh?” Garrick chuckled and kissed my hair. “And this makes you embarrassed? Jack, that’s nothing. I put a picture of you on my ceiling so that when I went to sleep at night and woke up in the morning you were the first thing I saw. I kept it there even though it made me feel guilty as hell, because I hated not seeing you. Five years and I couldn’t even look at another guy without comparing him to you, but I didn’t have the balls to approach you after being such an incredible asshole.

“Then I jumped on the chance to work this case for you because I was too pathetic to come near you without an excuse, and through all of it I loved you hopelessly. So we have issues together. And by the way,” he added smilingly, “I think you’re incredibly sexy, and having a scar doesn’t change that. I have grey hairs now; you’ll look like you’re dating an old man.”

“Grey hairs make you look distinguished,” I said as I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“And that scar is a precious reminder that you’re alive, when you could have been…otherwise.” Our faces were barely an inch apart, and his was full of love, compassion and fast-rising desire. “Jack…” He leaned in and kissed me, gently at first. His mouth was warm against mine and my lips parted, letting his tongue slide in. He caressed the edges of my lips and the tip of my tongue, exploring my mouth while his hands moved up to cup my face. He held me still, patient and tender as we learned the taste of each other’s kisses again.

Fingertips brushed the lines of my face and I moaned softly as his hands traveled down, lower and lower until they had skirted my shoulders, traced down my spine and come to rest on my hips, pulling the rest of my body into contact with his. I dragged him deeper into the kiss, wanting more so fast my entire body was starting to shake.

“I need you,” I whispered against his lips, not wanting even a millimeter of distance between us. “I need you so bad.”

“Jack,” he groaned, “this isn’t part of my plan. There was going to be seduction, music and whiskey and that chocolate dessert—”

“They can wait.” I grinned at him. “You can be my dessert.”

“Fuck.” He kissed me hard, then pulled back a bit. “At least I got some of the set-up done before you got here. You’re going to love this.” Wrapping his hands around my waist, he walked me slowly backwards towards his bedroom, kissing me all the way there. The room was dark, but it smelled incredibly sweet. Once we got past the edge of the doorway, Garrick stopped us. He kept holding me, kept kissing me, but now his hands were moving beneath the edge of my t-shirt, fingers sliding under soft fabric and brushing me, tantalizing me.

“Gare,” I begged, “let me get out of these, it’ll only take a moment.”

“Nope. I want to do it.” He grinned wickedly at me. “Slowly. So you hold still for a little bit and let me play. It’s the least you can do after postponing my grandiose schemes.”

“But—” There was no but. Garrick wasn’t going to be denied. He pressed his lips to the point of my shoulder while hooking his thumbs inside the waistband of my loose sweatpants and sliding them slowly down over my hips. He pulled them just far enough to expose my ass and left them there, then splayed his fingers out across my butt—a little less round than it had been before the shooting thanks to my injuries, but he seemed to be enjoying it. And God, was I enjoying him touching me. The memory of his hands on my body had sent me over the edge plenty of times, but the reality was a million times better. Warm, possessive, soft, callused, tender, squeezing pressure all wrapped around his own obvious pleasure and the shudders of enjoyment touching me gave him, made me desperate for more. “Gare, c’mon…”

He slipped one of his hands around my waist to my front, dipping his fingers down until they wrapped around my cock while the other hand kept touching my ass, brushing lightly over my hole. He slicked one of his fingers with my pre-come and pressed it a tiny ways up into me, and I almost lost it.

Garrick knelt in front of me, and I braced myself on his shoulders. He pulled my sweats the rest of the way down my legs, kissing every new inch that was exposed as he went until they were down to my feet. Then he stood and repeated the process with my shirt, lifting it up and over my head and dropping it to the floor as his lips and fingertips caressed my nipples, careful to avoid the scar. I pressed his head harder into my chest and he bit me lightly, just enough to make my skin sting before laving over it with his wet, eager tongue. My legs felt weak and I worried I wasn’t going to stay standing much longer, so I pulled his face up to mine.

“Bed,” I murmured desperately. “Now.”

“Yeah.” He walked us backwards again, until my knees hit the edge of the bed. Garrick lowered me down onto it, careful to support my back, and when I touched the cover I got the most delicious surprise. The bed was coated with rose petals, a quarter-inch thick layer of velvety smoothness. Just like before they clung to me, infused with Garrick’s power and responding to his command.

Petals curled and unfurled in rhythm with Garrick’s heartbeat against my body and every nerve was alive with pleasure. Garrick lifted a handful of petals and dripped them over my chest, and they molded to me like a second skin, warm and soft and with just enough pressure to feel like fingertips gently touching me.

Garrick watched me with a look of such heated contentment that I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He covered my body with petals, each one becoming a new caress. It was as though he had a hundred hands, and each one was stroking me, loving me. He paused to undress, and the petals paused with him, becoming limp as his presence left them for a moment. I watched him. He was so beautiful, slender but strong, and his cock was fully erect, swollen and glistening. I reached my hand out as soon as he was within range and curled my fingers around him, and he shuddered.

“I won’t last if you do that,” he whispered, bringing his face down next to mine and kissing me heatedly.

“Don’t last,” I replied. “I want you in me. We have all night, you can last later, but I want you now.”

“Jack…” Garrick thrust his tongue between my lips and I welcomed him, pulling him between my legs at the same time. His body pressed against mine, and the petals fluttered rapidly as his heart rate increased. Garrick held himself up on his elbows, keeping his weight off my chest, but his length pressed hard against my inner thigh. I shifted my hips and drew his cock flush against mine.

“Get lube,” I demanded. “Now.”

Garrick kissed me again, then let me go long enough to grab the lube he’d strategically placed on the floor—because of course he had. He slicked his fingers and pressed one, then two inside of me once he knew I was, in fact, ready and going to shout at him if he didn’t get on with it. Fuuuuck, he felt so good, better than my toys ever did, and he touched me so slowly and gently. It felt so good I didn’t want to speed him up, just enjoyed the feel of him inside of me again, after so long without.

“Still good with your hands,” I rasped as I looked at him. He smiled at me.

“Ready for something different?”

“So ready.” He pulled his fingers out, then hitched one of my knees over his forearm as he got into place above me and slowly, finally began to slide inside.

Nothing had prepared me for the feel of his cock again, none of my dreams and none of my memories, not even his fingers. He slid deep, so deep, stretching me and touching places that I’d almost forgotten. The feel of him was so amazing I knew I wasn’t going to last, I was going to come in under a minute of getting fucked and there was nothing I could do about it. I rolled my hips into his thrusts, wrapping my legs around his hips and forcing him deeper. I was going to come, I was coming, I—

“Fuck!” I moved my hands, one fisting his hair while the other slid back to his ass. I pulled him as close as possible, my whole body straining to bring him into me as I began to crash, and I threw my head back and screamed as my orgasm ripped through me.

Garrick let go too, burying himself in me and gasping harshly as he came deep inside of me. The petals all around us fluttered desperately, beating against the bed and my skin like trapped moths. The moment stretched, and stretched, and I forgot to breathe as I stared at him, so achingly beautiful and mine again, finally mine, finally where he belonged.

His orgasm slowly ebbed, and Garrick slumped down and pulled out carefully, still cautious of my chest but unable to hold himself up. He practically glowed in the aftermath, and as he relaxed I felt his power ebb and the petals, delicate extensions of his magic, subsided into just petals again, soft and sweet but separate from us. I held him, stroking his back and shoulders and kissing whatever I could reach of him, giving him the time he needed to recover. When he finally lifted his head to look at me again, I grinned at him. “I think I know where I’ll be spending my next two weeks off.”

“With me.” His voice was soft, and his eyes glittered in the faint light. “You can stay longer than two weeks, Jack. I don’t want you to leave, ever.”

Oh, wow. “Living together is a pretty big jump, Garrick.”

“I consider it going slowly, considering what I really want to ask, but I don’t think it’s time for that.”

Whew, no, it wasn’t time for that. Not that more permanency couldn’t be on the horizon, but we were still learning to trust each other again. Once the faith was there, really, solidly there, we could consider other paths. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, stroking the back of his hand against my cheek before he stood up. “I’m going to go get something to clean up with, and then I think it’s time for dessert.”

“I like the sound of that.” I arched my back as I stretched, and appreciated the way his eyes moved with me. “We can have dessert on the balcony this time…or maybe in the shower, or on the living room couch…”

He laughed. “I’m talking about food, Jack.”

“Oh, okay. Go be boring then.”

“Smartass.” He headed for the bathroom, and I stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then around the bed, where thousands of petals were slowly wilting. He must have stripped every rose he had for this. He could grow more, of course, but the symbolism wasn’t lost on me. I felt happy, happier than I’d been in years.

I was lucky to get a second chance with Garrick. I was lucky to be alive. I was safe, I was loved, and I wasn’t lonely. The emptiness and distance that I’d cultivated for years melted away, leaving a renewed relationship in its wake. I couldn’t stop smiling.

I hoped I’d smile with Gare for the rest of my life.

~*~*~*~

That’s all for the Treasured world…for now. However, there’s plenty of danger, magic, and romance to be had in Luckless, the first book in Cari Z’s epic M/M fantasy romance series! If you like dragons and people with the ability to bond with them going toe-to-toe against monsters in the wrecked and rebuilt remnants of human civilization, then you’re going to love Luckless, now available on KU! It’s sequel, Dauntless, releases September  21st, 2021!

Purchase or borrow your copy of Luckless on Amazon, and get ready to get caught up in a dangerously addicting fantasy series! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B088WG8ZLQ/

Get more on Cari’s latest releases and exclusive content by subscribing to her newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/x1x1m4

~*~

Luckless

Chapter One

“Incoming, one thousand feet!”

The gunner manning the corner turret wielded his megaphone like a whip, waving toward the edge of the wall. “Archers, move forward! Pikemen, get your asses ready to back them up!” Evan stepped up to his position, close enough to the edge to shoot over it but far enough back that he wouldn’t be vulnerable to the first thing with claws to crawl up there.

He glanced down and frowned. The crix were still about eight hundred feet away, but there were a lot of them—more than he’d ever seen before during a winter attack on the city. The dragons and their riders were already battling the bigger beasts farther out in the ruins that used to be Denver, but there weren’t enough of them anymore to keep the city completely clear. That was where Evan and the people like him came in.

The man to his left—a boy, really, probably no more than sixteen—shivered as he took his own peek over the wall. His hands were shaking so badly they could barely hold on to his bow, much less nock an arrow when the crix got close enough to shoot. His fear struck a chord in Evan, who still remembered the brutal chaos of his first battle almost twenty years ago. He smiled sympathetically. “First time on the wall?”

The boy gulped and nodded. “Uh-huh.” His posture was so stiff it seemed his back might break. “I thought—I thought there would be fewer of them. That’s why my dad chose now to bring me up here, so I could—I could get used to fighting them before the big waves come in the spring. But this is . . .”

“Unusual,” Evan supplied. “Around double what we’d see during a normal winter attack. That probably means they’re being driven.”

“Driven?” The boy turned wide eyes on Evan. “By what?”

Evan shrugged. “Lack of food, a bad weather front closing in, or more likely in this case? A bigger monster. Crix are tough, but they’re too small to put up much of a fight against a really big monster, and they don’t have the temperament for swarming for long. Too prone to cannibalism.”

“Oh. Right.” His voice sounded so small, already close to defeat without even seeing battle.

Evan moved a little closer to him. “Remember, aim for their heads—if you can crack the carapace, you’ll stun them, and then the other crix will take care of them for us. If you shoot them through the eye socket, you’ll kill them fast. Don’t bother going for the legs, they’ve got too many backups. Just breathe, nock, draw, and loose.”

“Breathe, nock, draw, and loose,” the boy repeated, sounding better already. “Breathe, nock, draw, and loose. Aim for the head.”

“You’ve got it.”

“Right.”

Evan patted the boy on the shoulder, then dropped his hand when the man stationed on the kid’s other side stalked over to them, pointing an accusing finger at Evan.

“You leave my boy alone, Luckless!”

“Dad, calm down.” The kid seemed embarrassed, but whether for his dad’s words or for responding to Evan’s attempt to comfort him, Evan didn’t know. “He was just telling me about how to take down crix.”

“You take down crix like you do any other monster—you shoot it,” his father said stiffly. “That’s what the damn bow is for. You don’t need Luckless to tell you that.” He focused on Evan again. “Ollie doesn’t need advice on killing beasts from a failed rider who couldn’t even keep his own dragon alive. I’ll tell you one last time—leave my boy alone.” He grabbed Ollie by the arm and hauled him a few feet farther to the left, away from Evan.

The kid seemed confused, but Evan just looked away. He’d gone through this same encounter so many times since coming to the massive fortress that was the city of Forge that the accusations had almost stopped stinging. There wasn’t much about what the man had said that wasn’t true, after all. Evan had lost his dragon, as well as everyone else left in Marble after that hellish summer five years ago.

Evan watched as the gunner swung his .50 caliber M2 machine gun toward an incoming flock of harpies—carrion feeders who only banded together when there was bigger prey in the offing. The gunner fired a short burst and half of the monsters fell, losing feathers and blood and shrieking almost intelligibly. This machine gun was one of only four in the city, and one of the very few firearms that they still managed to produce ammunition for. Even so, its store of brass casings would wear out eventually, and then they’d have little more than muskets to fire along with their arrows.

Some of the defenders cheered, but Evan simply tuned them out and glanced over the edge again. The first wave of crix was almost within range, their leg blades singing over the whistle of the icy wind, their armored bellies nearly scraping the chunks of pitted concrete and rebar that were all that remained of southbound I-25. Their front legs were shaped for climbing, short and stubby and tipped with thick, sharp claws, while their hind legs were long and built for propulsion. When they rubbed those blades together, they made a sound almost too beautiful to possibly herald death.

They were no more than a hundred feet away now, the bigger ones starting to jump in anticipation of bounding up the wall. It was an ugly, patchwork thing, made from the bones of skyscrapers and museums, the city it surrounded packed to the brim with the survivors, their herds, and their dragons. In most places, it was too steep to jump straight over, and the crix had to climb, but sometimes a few of them got lucky—especially the bigger ones, closer to mule-sized than dog-sized.

The gunner lifted his megaphone again. “Archers, fire at will!”

Evan had an arrow nocked before the man finished speaking, and loosed it at the largest crix within range. It hit a glancing blow on the creature’s head—not quite enough to crack its shell, but it was still stunned, limbs waving dazedly as it rolled onto its side. Five or six smaller crix immediately diverted to attack it, and Evan smiled grimly. There was no better way to take out a monster than with another monster.

He fired again and again, striking true and winnowing down the oncoming horde as effectively as he could. Unfortunately, most of his fellow archers weren’t having the same success. Ollie in particular seemed to have forgotten Evan’s advice in the heat of the fight, firing almost blindly and with no thought to aiming, which meant most of his arrows skittered into the ground. Evan gritted his teeth over it until his last arrow was gone, then lowered his bow and ran to the boy’s side.

“Slow down!” he shouted.

Ollie turned to him, his expression blank with shock, hands so tight on the bow they were blanched bone white. “Wha-what?”

“You have to slow down if you’re going to have a hope of hitting anything.” Evan kept his voice loud even though they were face-to-face now, trying to break through Ollie’s fear and the rising sounds of the advancing crix. The gunner yelled something again, but Evan couldn’t make it out. “You’re just wasting arrows otherwise. Try to—”

“Luckless!” Ollie’s father marched back over, dodging around advancing pikemen with rage written in the craggy lines of his face. “What the hell did I just tell you? You leave my boy alone or I’ll—” A crix the size of a house cat leapt over the edge of the wall, dodged the pikeman who tried to impale it, and landed on Ollie’s father’s chest.

It was small, but heavy enough to knock him to the ground. He screamed as he fell back, the crix fastening its mandibles into the front of his shoulder and violently shaking its head.

“Dad!” Ollie dropped his bow and ran to his father, trying in vain to pry the crix off of him. The creature’s leg blades keened and the boy jumped back, cradling his lacerated hands to his chest with a dumbfounded expression.

“Son of a bitch,” Evan muttered. He unsheathed his bowie knife as he ran over, reversed his grip on it, and then stuck it straight down, right through the side of the crix’s neck. He put his other hand on the back of the creature’s head and drew the blade in a circle. The wound seeped dark-blue blood, staining his glove, and a second later the crix slumped over onto the parapet, its grip vanishing in death.

He glanced back at Ollie, who blinked at him uncomprehendingly. For fuck’s sake, what were they doing in training these days? “Get your father off the wall,” Evan said. “Take him to the medics.”

Ollie nodded but didn’t move.

“Now!” His volume finally mobilized the kid, who managed to get a grip on his moaning father despite his bloody hands and hoisted him to his feet. Evan plucked the rest of the arrows out of Ollie’s quiver before he could disappear, then shoved the pair of them toward the nearest stairwell. Their injuries didn’t look too bad. They’d probably both live to fight another day.

Although if this was their idea of fighting, everyone would be better off if they stayed at home.

Not nice, Evan thought as he fired a pilfered arrow at the next crix to make it past the pikemen, a larger specimen that hissed menacingly when he cracked its shell. It reeled like a drunk, though, and he was able to jam his knife into its brain with little danger. But there’s no place for nice when you’re fighting for your life. He’d offered to help train the archer corps before, but had been bluntly rebuffed. Might have to insist.

The sound of the machine gun rang in the air, ugly and beautiful all at once. Their gunner was a good shot, really good, but he was too busy taking out fliers to help with the horde coming over the wall, and over it they were. Evan fired his last arrow straight into the eye of a crix not ten feet away, partly on and partly over the wall. He ran to it and shoved the quivering carcass off the edge, diverting half a dozen others toward their next meal, but it wasn’t enough. The crix were still coming, four or five bodies deep as they crawled up the wall, mandibles clacking and leg blades singing a haunting chorus. The pikemen would be overwhelmed soon, and there weren’t enough archers left on this section of the wall to do much good. They needed a strafe.

“Hey!” he shouted at the gunner, hoping against hope that he’d be heard above the noise. “Flare!”

The man didn’t even glance his way, still focused on shooting down harpies. Their feminine faces contorted with agony as the bullets tore into their flesh, the girlish illusion ruined by the cluster of razor-like teeth framing every scream.

“Flare!” He started running toward the turret, dodging the pikemen engaged in direct combat. He could climb up there and—

Shing! Bright white pain shot through Evan’s left calf and emerged as a half-choked shout. He turned to face the raccoon-sized crix that had sliced into his leg even as he drew his right foot back. Too fast for the creature to counter, he kicked it just beneath its jaw. The beast flew onto its back, writhing and squirming, and Evan jammed his knife into its throat and twisted the blade before it could right itself. His glove was soaked with blue now, but he kept his grip—salamander skin didn’t slip. He pulled the knife free and kept running, forcing his gait to stay long and smooth. He didn’t have time to limp—they were going to be overwhelmed, and their idiot of a gunner wouldn’t even notice until a crix pulled him out of his perch.

The easiest way to get up the turret was to take the stairs, but those weren’t accessible from the outside, so Evan found purchase for his hands and began to climb.

It was only twenty feet. It felt like twenty miles, especially when a tiny crix, no bigger than the palm of his hand but no less deadly for it, jumped straight at his face. Evan saw it coming and managed to parry it with the knife, barely maintaining his hold on the wall with his other hand. The crix hit the ground, but it wasn’t hurt, and it gathered itself to jump again. This time Evan met it with his boot, and the steel in the toe impacted the beast’s head hard enough to crack the carapace. The crix fell again, twitching uncontrollably, and Evan turned back to the climb.

He hauled himself over the edge of the turret, then threw up his hands when he found the gun swinging around to point at him. “Whoa, easy, relax!”

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” the gunner demanded. His lank brown hair was held back from his face by a red kerchief, and his eyes blazed with indignation. “Get back down to your post!”

“We need a strafe! Or we’re going to lose this section of the wall and all the defenders on it.”

“I decide when we need a strafe, not you!” He swung the gun around and fired off a few shots at a distant cluster of harpies. “You’ll manage.”

“Look at our complement—it’s down by half with injured.” Injured or dead. “We don’t have the archers or the ammo to slow down the crix enough so the pikemen aren’t overwhelmed.”

“You bein’ up here isn’t helping! I can— Oh, shit.” The gunner pivoted again and continued to fire, winnowing through an incoming cluster of fliers in a spray of blood and feathers. “Yeah! Take that, you bitch-faced pigeon fuckers! Take— Hey!” He grabbed for the flare gun that Evan had just lifted from his belt, but too late—Evan aimed it into the sky and fired. A few moments later, a burst of red exploded above them. The defenders on the wall cheered.

In the distance, Evan could just make out one of Forge’s dragons—Gorot, such a dark green he was almost black—turning away from whatever he was fighting and flying ponderously toward the wall. The dragons and their riders were spread thin these days, only three of them left with the mass and strength to engage with whatever might come at them across the ruin of the old city.

Once Gorot and his rider, Susan, got close enough to flame, the gunner—still glaring at Evan—lifted his megaphone and shouted, “Cover!” Fighters all along the wall pulled back to the far edge, and eager crix followed them.

Hundreds of monsters died instantly as a dense spray of fire roasted them in place against the wall. The heat was brief but intense, the burning warmth clinging to cold concrete in the form of charred gore. The crix already on top of the wall lost their focus, scattering in panic at their confrontation with an immeasurably more powerful beast. Some leapt back down the wall; others were skewered as they scuttled about, either by defenders or their own frantic cousins. Gorot turned to make another pass, but a sudden rumbling roar sent him heading back the way he’d come, and stopped everyone else in their tracks out of pure shock.

“Oh god,” Evan breathed. “Manticore.” He hadn’t seen a manticore in the flesh since leaving Marble, but he’d never forget that roar. The sound echoed across the city, and in its wake came the creature itself. As tall as a dragon but thicker, stronger, this beast with a shockingly human face, a lion’s body, and a killing, quill-covered tail was one of the deadliest and most destructive monsters roaming what used to be the United States.

It wasn’t in and of itself so dangerous to a dragon—they were armored and could fly, after all, and enough fire would drive off even something like this. No, the greatest danger a manticore posed to a dragon was to his rider. The quills in its tail could be fired like darts, and they were poisonous on top of being wickedly sharp. If a dragon got too close, the odds of their rider escaping injury were . . . not good.

Evan and the rest of the defenders watched in anxious silence as the two dragons who were closest engaged the manticore. It leapt at them like a cat jumping for a bird, dodging their fire with the speed of a snake. Two on one should have favored the dragons, but they were already tired from the earlier battle, their flight slower than it should have been. One of them—Lyra, the oldest dragon, grizzled and gray and missing half her teeth—was glanced by a leaping paw as she banked around the beast.

The move destabilized her flight, tilting her dangerously toward the ground. That was when the manticore fired his quills. Evan couldn’t see them fly, but he saw their effects clearly enough. One second, Lyra was attempting to stabilize herself and then—

A dragon’s roar was different from a manticore’s, less of a growl and more like an instrument, a clarion trumpet. Usually clear and smooth, Lyra’s roar now was tortured, a sound of pure, animalistic grief and rage. Evan could just barely make out the silhouette of a tiny figure dangling limply from Lyra’s back. His heart spasmed in his chest, his withered empathy reaching out but still unable to connect to the dragon. He was broken, and with the loss of her rider, Bram, so was Lyra.

Lyra abandoned the skies, diving straight at the manticore and spewing flames from her maw. The manticore ducked low and darted forward, but Lyra caught his hindquarters with her claws as she crashed to the ground, and dragged the beast in tight before smashing hard into an old pile of rebar.

Evan winced as he heard a loud crack reverberate across the valley—she had likely broken a wing, and just as obviously didn’t care. The manticore bit and scratched, but Lyra wouldn’t let go, rending it as she fought to bring her fire to bear again. For a moment it seemed like she would prevail, but the manticore was more agile on the ground. It got beneath her long jaw and dug its fangs into her throat. Her scream was a death knell now, tapering off after several agonizing seconds of pain.

The manticore had no time to celebrate its victory. Gorot and Kisthe converged on it from opposite directions, fire blazing so hot it was nearly white as it poured from their throats. The beast, still tangled with Lyra’s corpse, couldn’t avoid both jets. Half its body caught fire, the long, dangerous tail shriveling and curling like a dead match. It swatted fruitlessly at the sky, enormous paws grasping greedily until the very end. When it died, it did so with an enormous shudder that even Evan could make out.

The dragons screamed with grief. The defenders watched with breathless dread. And the remaining crix reversed direction and scuttled, en masse, toward the carcasses.

About The Author

Cari Z. is a Colorado girl who loves snow and sunshine. She writes award-winning LGBTQ fiction featuring aliens, supervillains, soothsayers, and even normal people sometimes. Cari has published short stories, novellas and novels with numerous print and e-presses, and she also offers up a tremendous amount of free content on her blog and on AO3 as CariZee. Follow her blog, join her Patreon, or sign up for her newsletter to read her serial stories! New chapters post on a weekly/monthly basis.

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