Finally, with a satisfied sigh, Conal lay down and pulled her into his arms. He felt huge and hot against her, all thick muscle. His body seemed to gleam in the light of the city, pearlescent with sweat. Helena clung to him, loving the feel of his muscled arms around her. Burying his nose in her hair, he made a deep rumbling sound. “God, you smell good.”
“You smell pretty good yourself.” And he did, a hot tang of masculinity and magic. His hair spilled across his pillow, a mane of stark black silk against the linens. Her cheek resting on the thick muscle of his pectorals, Helena listened to the slowing beat of his heart and drank in his scent. For the first time in days, the relentless burn of the moon had died to a background hum. Though she’d probably want him whether she was in her Moon or not. All that crazed heroism… The question is, would he want me?
“I think I’ll take you sightseeing in the morning,” he said in a lazy, sated voice. “I’d like to show you Beltane, introduce you to the people there.” His expression went grim. “For one thing, I suspect some of them spy for Siobhan.”
She lifted her head and stared. “Why in the hell would they do that?”
He huffed something that wasn’t a laugh. “The universal reasons to sell your soul: power, money and greed.”
“But there’s all that crazy. Like going to work for a ‘gator. Sooner or later, she’ll get the munchies.”
“That’s the fucking truth.” He brooded a moment, then shrugged. “Then I want to take you shopping, give you a look at what Changelings can do. They may not have as much power as pureblood Sidhe, but they do a fuck of a lot with what they’ve got. And they work.”
She grinned. “You seem to do plenty with yours.”
He grinned back, a flash of teeth, violet sparking in his gaze. “Why, thank you, ma’am.” They eyed one another. With the lust banished for the moment, something else hung in the warm darkness -- a sense of intimacy that felt even more seductive than his naked heat against her bare skin. “I need to get some sleep,” Conal said finally in his deep thrum of a voice. “You’re welcome to go back to the guest room, but if you want to stay here, I wouldn’t turn down the company.”
She felt a smile break across her face. “I could use a little company myself.”
“Good.” With that little purr of approval, Conal drew her into a closer snuggle. His skin looked very pale in the moonlight, particularly compared to her own, and his chest felt hard and strong under her cheek, the beat of his heart comforting.
He must have been exhausted, because he slid into sleep between one breath in the next. Considering the day he’d had, that was probably no surprise. Sleeping with him was a probably a bad idea, but why spend the night alone when he was here, solid and warm? Besides, maybe she could get some sleep, now that her libido wasn’t howling at her to find someone to fuck. She closed her eyes and listened to the beat of his heart, and slid into the dream that rose out of her memory like a leviathan from the dark, black and lethal. Helena frowned in her sleep, her body jerking in the circle of Conal’s arms. But it pulled her down into the agonizing past like a riptide, and then she couldn’t even fight.
* * *
“Ready for another exciting day in law enforcement?” Tim Finch grinned at Helena over the roof of the black Bureau SUV. His face was pleated with smile lines, his pale bald head gleaming in the morning sunlight as if he’d polished it.
There was something about Finch that had always reminded Helena of her dad: solid, intelligent, endlessly patient. But while her father was an academic, Tim had spent the past thirty years in law enforcement, twenty of them as an FBI agent. She’d counted herself fortunate when he’d taken her under his wing, probably because he had a daughter about her age.
They’d become frequent partners at the Atlanta field office, going out together almost every day, Helena taking notes as he worked his hocus po-po on suspects, witnesses and victims alike. Depending on the circumstances, that might mean understanding, kindness or a heaping helping of Don’t Fuck With Me. Either way, people always ended up telling Tim what he wanted to know. He was the finest cop she’d ever known -- everything a special agent was supposed to be. Helena often joked that when she grew up, she wanted to be Tim Finch.
As they rolled up on the garage on the outskirts of Atlanta, Helena felt the hair on the back of her neck rise for no reason she could see. It was just a grungy, run-down cinderblock building with two garage bays painted a dirty beige.
No. Oh, no, not again, said a voice deep in her dreaming mind.
A high wooden fence behind the building concealed what Google Earth had revealed to be a huge junkyard. Rusting carcasses lay piled, some dating back to the last century. Helena frowned, not sure why her law enforcement instincts were screaming. “Should we call for backup?”
“For this?” Tim pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. We’re just dotting i’s and crossing t’s for the New York office.” Which had just busted a car theft ring with tentacles in ten states. Records they’d seized suggested a possible connection to Janson’s Garage. “We’ll just introduce ourselves, ask a few questions, see what kind of reaction we get from this guy. If we decide to get a warrant, we’ll come back later with all our buddies in blue.”
Helena frowned, but when Tim got out, she joined him, following his broad, gray-suited back across the gravel parking lot and through the door marked “Office.” Bells over the door jangled as they entered.
Tim lifted his voice. “Hello?”
A big, middle-aged man entered the office from a side door, rubbing his grease-stained hands with a rag. He had a square, pleasant face, his skin ruddy, his dirty-blond hair falling in lank strands around his face. “Can I help you?” His easy tone had Helena relaxing.
“Looking for Brad Janson.”
“That’s me.” The man smiled.
Tim gave Janson his best good ol’ boy grin as he pulled out his credentials and flipped the wallet open to display them. “Tim Finch, FBI Special Agent. This is my partner, Special Agent Helena Baker. We’ve got a couple of questions, Mr. Janson. Won’t take…” His voice trailed off as if at the same clawing unease Helena felt.
The man was staring at Tim’s credentials, his gaze fixed, his body coiled tight. When he finally looked up, his eyes glowed in his skull, bright red as a pair of Christmas lights. His lips peeled off teeth that lengthened into fangs even as they watched.
“Fuck!” Tim went for his Glock at the same time Helena did. Something in Helena’s head was chanting Nonono, voice high and hysterical. Slow, she was moving so fucking slow, her hands closing on the weapon’s butt, taking too long… Light flared from the man’s entire body as if he’d turned incandescent. The Glock cleared her shoulder holster…
A seven-foot monster towered where Janson had been. Tim fired a heartbeat before she did, their 9mms thundering a fusillade that sent the werewolf staggering back a pace. A clawed hand flashed out on an astonishing long arm. Blood sprayed the dirty garage walls as Tim reeled backward into her. Helena caught him automatically, bracing his body with hers as she kept pulling the trigger until the Glock produced only a dry click click click.