What had always angered Chloe was that she, a witch, had been the one to push the project through. The pack leaders should have done something long ago, should have been trying, no matter how unsuccessful y, to find a treatment instead of accepting the terrible side effects of their disease as inevitable and unchangeable. The older wolves had the most control, of their magic and of their packs, and they’d spent so long embroiled in the vampire wars that they were comfortable with their isolationist politics. It was true they had a lot on their plates training their pack members how to use their magic, how to stay alive, but they were leaders. They—not Chloe or Ivan or Jaya—should have lead the way by reaching out for help from the other Magickal races.
Even if it wasn’t the Al -Magickal Council as a whole, they could have gone to the Fae’s Seelie Court, or the Elven Assembly, or the Witch Coven, or even to powerful individual families like the Standishes.
Political y dangerous or not, Chloe had picked the Vampire Conclave for two reasons: they had the most money, and they had the technology and experience needed to work with Magickal diseases. Desmodus Industries had patented a serum vamps drank to manage their need to feed. They stil sucked blood, but it helped them in a way that Chloe hoped her formula would help werewolves.
Selina frowned. “It seems odd that a vampire would be wil ing to go to bat for a werewolf project, even if he was sleeping with you.”
Yeah, no kidding.
Chloe fought the urge to snort. It was like being hard-core conservative and screaming liberal in the Normal world. The two sides just never met. There was no common ground between them, and any ground they’d ever shared was blood-soaked from feuding. Except for the obvious abilities instil ed by a Magickal virus, the cultures that had developed for each species were diametrical y opposed.
The project Chloe had initiated was the first time, for as long as their very long records spanned, that they had set aside their differences for any reason. That someone working on the project had been murdered was bad for more than just Damien. If this project crumbled, it could put the two races at loggerheads. It would drag other races into the mix. It would just be bad for everyone. No, scratch bad, it would be catastrophic.
A sardonic smile curved her lips. “It wasn’t the sex that convinced Damien. I appealed to his ego. Imagine not only the prestige of being on the team that broke through this formula, but the accolades afforded to someone making peacekeeping strides for the whole Magickal world.”
The detective blinked. “Sounds too good to be true.”
Chloe flicked dismissive fingers. “It’s the same argument Damien used to convince his superiors, to convince the Conclave. My aunt and I convinced the rest of the Council, including the werewolf pack leaders, to back the project.”
“Your aunt.” It was obvious Selina knew who Chloe was related to. Then again, you couldn’t be Magickal in Seattle and not know the Standish name. They’d helped settle Magickals in America back in colonial days and had come West during the gold rush. There’d been a Standish on the Al -Magickal Council in this city since the day the Council was founded. “Mildred Standish.”
“Aunt Mil ie, yes. She’s actual y my great-great aunt, but she doesn’t like to be reminded of that.” For the first time, Chloe relaxed. No matter how bad this got, Mil ie would always be there to help her. The Standish family stood together against outsiders, and Mil ie led the local coven and represented the witch race on the Council. She had more than enough clout to fix any mess. A sigh eased past Chloe’s lips, and she surreptitiously wiped her clammy palms off on her skirt.
Selina’s gaze swept over her again, assessing and reassessing. “You’re quite the mover and shaker.”
“Coming from the Standish family has a lot of duties and strings attached. Lots of expectation. But it also affords me influence most people my age wouldn’t dream of having. The least I can do is use it to try to help my friends, lobby for causes I believe in. So I did.” Her shoulder dipped in a shrug, a wry grin curving her mouth. She waved a hand around the interrogation room. “And here I am.”
“Here you are,” Selina agreed.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. Merek closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass of the two-way mirror in the observation room. It had to be her. Of course, it had to be. It wasn’t his memory he’d seen in Raines’s apartment, but a vision of the actual Chloe who had actual y dated the vampire. She’d been there before. He was damn grateful he hadn’t “seen” her fucking the other man. His gut burned at the thought.
“What’s up?” An FBI agent stood beside him, hands in pockets. Agent Rogers.
Merek already didn’t like him. As soon as Selina was done, this asshole was yanking the case away from them. He was just seeing what Merek’s partner could pul from their suspect. Why the FBI was interested, Merek didn’t know. Likely, he would never know. It rankled, but he set that aside and refocused on the interrogation room.
The expression in those wide hazel eyes kicked him in the solar plexus. It was trapped, nervous, worried.
Scared. He’d never wanted to see such vulnerability on her face. He’d seen her passionate, joyful, her eyes reflecting a wicked greed that made his blood heat to remember it. He didn’t like seeing her afraid.
He cleared his throat and glanced away from Chloe to the man beside him. “I’m afraid I can’t help in this situation.”
“No?” The slight points to Rogers’s ears declared him an elf, but the officious tone was pure red tape bureaucrat. One of Merek’s least favorite kind of people. “Why is that, Detective Kingston?”
“I can’t read her. It happens occasional y.” It wasn’t strictly true, but he’d be damned if he admitted anything to this pencil-pushing prick.
Because the truth was enough to break him out in cold sweat. The only people Merek couldn’t read were those who would have the deepest impact on his life. Sometimes that meant a close friend or a lover . . . It had definitely included his wife and his parents. And look where that had landed al of them. In the morgue.
Because when they’d been in danger, when it had real y mattered, Merek hadn’t been able to do shit to help them. He hadn’t known about it, hadn’t sensed a thing. His powers were fal ow when it came to them—the only time his abilities could truly rest, the only time he didn’t have to tightly leash his precognition.
A light knock sounded on the door to the observation room. Merek didn’t even bother to look away from the scene before him. “Come on in, Caval i.”
“You know, having a creepy sense of who’s nearby is supposed to be the purview of howlers and bloodsuckers.” The tal vampire shut the door and settled his shoulder against the wal beside it, crossing his arms over his chest as he, too, watched Selina question Chloe.
Merek flicked his gaze over the other man and grinned. Caval i was tal , tal er than Merek’s six foot three by at least an inch, maybe two. He was whipcord lean, dark haired, dark eyed, olive complexioned, and other than the soul patch decorating his chin, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a catalog for Armani. Or a corporate meeting for a Fortune 500 company. Family money. Vampire money. The kind of man that oozed centuries of charm, good breeding, good looks, excess income, and had women crawling al over him.
Merek arched an eyebrow. “Should I even bother to ask what brings you down to the pedestrian side of law enforcement ?”
The vampire snorted. “What? Your precog doesn’t tel you every little detail of why I’m here?”