Blind Hearts and Silenced Passion (5 page)

Chapter Four

Baqir was furious with himself. He should have known better
than to make promises he couldn't keep. He should have never believed in the
promises of someone else. Why had he done it? Why had he forgotten?

Sentiment. Foolish emotions. Things that Baqir had torn out
of his heart, until only familial protectiveness remained. Clearly, he hadn't
done a good enough job, because he hadn't managed to completely wipe away the
urge to have a mate—that urge that made every werewolf stupid over people
they'd barely even met.

Thinking back, Baqir knew that Remy had been angry and
afraid, and that had triggered his outburst. He knew that he shouldn't feel
betrayed, and perhaps lingering on the conversation was giving it far more
attention than it deserved. He also knew that his own impulse to trust someone
else in such a delicate matter should have already alerted him that something
was very wrong.

And yes, Baqir was self-aware enough to realize the truth
about his desire to protect Remy, but that didn't change the basic core of the
situation—the fact that they were both too stubborn to reach a compromise. More
importantly, he was and would always be a silencer—and Remy would always resent
his kind for the loss of his eyesight.

It was just as well that Reynard had new information for him,
because if Baqir dwelled any longer on his failure of a love life, he'd go
insane. Reynard must have also realized he wasn't in the best of moods, because
the moment Baqir entered his tea shop, he was ready with the information that
served best to distract him.

"The new body is just like the others. Concentrations of
a form of GHB in the bloodstream. Traces of serotonin, phenylethylamine,
testosterone, endorphines, epinephrine, norepinephrine and cortisol—just like
before. Signs of intercourse. No obvious sign of what could have killed
him."

Baqir rubbed his eyes tiredly. If the dead men had been
human, the date-rape drug could have affected them to the point of suffocation,
but that was not the case for werewolves. Reynard had studied GHB extensively
and had pointed out that werewolf bodies were naturally resilient to the way
the drug worked. The silencers targeted popped up hours after rigor mortis had
already set in, and they seemed to have been fiercely aroused before their
deaths. The cortisol suggested they might have also been afraid, but that
didn't make any sense, because first and foremost, werewolves—whether they were
silencers, enforcers, or your run-of-the-mill regular shifter—had very strong
self-preservation instincts. Arousal wouldn't endure their fight-or-flight
impulses. But there were too many variables to considered, and the line between
the brain chemistry of sexuality and that of fear was so thin that it was
impossible to figure out what exactly had happened to the victim.

One thing was certain, though. "Whatever is killing them
is unlike anything we've seen before," he said, feeling frustrated and
angry with himself and the situation. The GHB element was, at the very least,
unusual.

Reynard nodded and grimaced, which ironically almost improved
Baqir's mood. Not being able to decipher the mystery of the deaths was probably
like a personal insult to Reynard, who'd dedicated his whole like to studying
chemistry and biology. The amusement faded when Reynard cleared his throat, as
if uncomfortable. "Actually, I might have misled you. There is something
different about this one."

Baqir gaped at Reynard. It wasn't like the other werewolf to
skip something that could be important. "What?"

"Stop looking at me like that. There was no further clue
on the body, although you're welcome to see it yourself—it's down in my lab.
But we did find something else, a note."

A note. Baqir didn't know if he was shocked or disappointed
by the revelation. A note was not included in the previous pattern of their
killer. Until now, they had assumed the deaths of the silencers were strictly
related to the investigation. It was easy enough to figure out they'd stumbled
onto something or someone they shouldn't have touched. What purpose could a
note serve?

Well, there was only one way to find out. "Show
me."

Reynard retrieved a simple piece of paper from his coat. It
was in an evidence bag, but Baqir didn't even have to remove it from inside.
One glimpse over it made his muscles freeze up.

The message wasn't much. "Come out and play." Simple,
taunting, only four words that told them nothing of their killer. Addressed to
Baqir, maybe? They couldn't be sure. The Gathering could very well be the
target, perhaps likelier than Baqir, since by all accounts, he was already
playing the game.

But one distinctive element he had not expected was the
penmanship. The letters were blocky but sharp, tilted slightly to the right.
Baqir had made it his business to recognize the writing of all the people who'd
once belonged to his guild, and this had definitely been written by Jean—the
very same man whose dead body Baqir and Reynard had been discussing mere
moments earlier while studiously trying to avoid thinking about his identity.

"So let me get this straight. This person made him write
the note before killing him?"

Reynard blinked. Obviously, he hadn't realized that, but
then, he had never been as good at deciphering writing as Baqir. "That...
That doesn't make sense."

"And yet, here we are."

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? The writing showed no
signs of strain whatsoever, no tremor or anything that could have suggested
Jean had experienced any suspicion of what would happen. But any silencer worth
his salt would have alarms blaring in his mind if asked to pen a note like
this. The assumption was that he must have written it before the GHB had
entered his bloodstream, but if that was the case, surely Jean would have
retreated. There would have at least been signs of struggle on the body.

Baqir shared a look with Reynard, and he knew his friend was
thinking exactly the same things he was. "This isn't good. Pull everyone
out. No one touches this investigation until we figure out what we're dealing
with."

They were silencers. First and foremost, they had a duty to
their people. But recent events had destroyed everything they'd thought was
right. Baqir had painstakingly managed to keep the trust of some of his guild
members—largely because those particular individuals had nowhere to go and no
other family—but that also meant they had to stick together and be far more
careful than they used to be. Granted, some of the people he'd recruited to his
cause had actually been former members of Florent's recently disbanded guild,
and others who he'd hoped he could count on had left him. Whatever the case,
they couldn't afford rashness, not anymore, not now that the whole basis of the
silencer system was shattering and breaking.

Reynard let out a sigh, although it didn't seem to hold any
relief. "That's probably for the best, but to be honest, I don't think it
will keep anyone safe."

"No, it won't," Baqir agreed, "but if we
continue this way, we'll just be cannon fodder." The silencers who'd been
killed so far had been killers themselves, but also people Baqir had known for
decades. "If the message is aimed at me, I will find this person on my
own. If it's not, the rest of you will still be killed for no reason."

Baqir's mind automatically went to Remy, to the mate he'd
left behind in the apartment they could have, under different conditions,
shared—a place with laughable security that could easily become Remy's tomb.
His mouth dried and his heart started to race. Cortisol, epinephrine,
norepinephrine—the words did nothing to describe actual terror, the dreadful
fear he felt at the idea that Remy might be the next victim of this killer.

So far, the murderer had stuck to silencers, but what was to
say he wouldn't change targets? Baqir almost wanted to take his command back,
to leave his own people at the killer's mercy as long as it threw this
mysterious person off Remy's scent. But he couldn't do that, not anymore, so he
needed a different plan.

"I... I have to go," he somehow managed to say.
"I'll keep in contact with you. Let me know when you manage to send
messages to the others."

Reynard looked confused, but let him go without protest. It
was fortunate, because Baqir didn't have time to further debate the previous
matter. He had just left Remy alone, and while his mate might not want to have
anything to do with him, while their relationship could quite possibly be destined
to fail, Remy's safety mattered more than the whims of Baqir's battered heart.

He made the trip to Remy's apartment in no time. Really, he
couldn't have been gone for more than an hour. Baqir reminded himself Remy was
not helpless, and that hour was nothing compared to all the time Remy had spent
alone before he and Baqir had met.

Those reassurances might have been more of a relief had his
mate answered his intercom. There was no reply, though, and Baqir fumed in a
mix of anger and fear. Fortunately, the less than ideal security systems of the
building served him well this time around. A nearby alley provided him with a
level of privacy and an escape from the CCTV. While for a human, it would have
been impossible to scale the wall—no fire escape in sight on this side of the
building—he managed, pulling himself up through the sheer strength of his arms
and the liberal application of claws. The task was physically demanding, but
Baqir was nothing if not determined. His advanced senses guided him to his mate's
apartment, and after a good amount of effort and clever maneuvering, Baqir was
inside.

The place was completely empty, but Remy's scent was still
just as strong, combined with that of another person—a stranger, a woman. She
smelled like gun oil, flowers and metal, and Baqir's senses immediately
screamed 'danger'.

There was no point in trying to use his nose after that.
There were no signs of a struggle, which meant that his mate had left with the
person willingly. If he'd gone through the front door of the building, Baqir
would have sensed it going in, but that was obviously not the case. That meant
they must have taken the car from the underground parking lot.

As much as Baqir hated it, in situations like this, not even
silencers could do things alone. He retrieved his cellphone and dialed a number
he'd hoped he'd never have to use.

****

Remy didn't have a lot of time to develop his new and quite
possibly insane plan. Twenty minutes or so after Baqir's departure, his
intercom sounded. Remy rushed to the door, hoping his mate had changed his mind
and had returned so they could talk out their differences.

No such luck. The new arrival was, frustratingly,
Blanchefleur. Remy consoled himself with the reminder that he likely needed her
for the success of his tentative plan. He would have much preferred to see his
mate instead, but he'd make do.

Of course, since nothing was ever easy for him, Blanchefleur
instantly knew something was different. The moment she entered the flat, her
entire demeanor—previously relaxed—shifted. "What's wrong?" she asked
without preamble.

The 'nothing' was on Remy's lips, but he didn't insult either
of them by actually uttering it. His relationship with Blanchefleur was tricky
on a good day, but he respected her intelligence and she gave him the same
credit. Still, he wasn't comfortable talking about Baqir just yet, so he
decided on a vague response. "It's a long story, and very
complicated."

"How long can it possibly be?" Blanchefleur scowled
fiercely, pushing past him to stalk into the apartment. "When we last saw
each other, you were perfectly all right, and I don't think I need to remind
you my mission didn't exactly take ages."

That was true, which was sort of befuddling since Remy felt
completely different from the man she'd left behind. How was it possible that
he could change so much within the course of twenty-four hours?

Shaking himself, he straightened his back and faced
Blanchefleur. "I want you to teach me how to be a silencer."

Blanchefleur's eyes widened, and Remy experienced a level of
satisfaction at actually surprising her this time around. That tiny victory
didn't last, because it soon became obvious he should have been far more
tactful and gradual in his approach.

The silencer didn't immediately respond to his request. Instead,
she scanned his living room and kitchen, sniffing the air. She zeroed in on the
mugs of tea—the ones he and Baqir had used the day before, not this morning—and
tensed even further when she bent over to sniff them. "There was someone
else here." She turned toward him, and she was paler than Remy had ever
seen her—or had thought she could be, outside an incident related to her son or
her dead mate. "Remy, what happened? Did someone force himself on
you?"

"What?" Remy goggled at her. "No! What could
possibly make you say that?"

"Oh, maybe the obvious drugs in your drink, and the fact
that I can still smell him on you," she snapped bitingly. "Not to
mention that you're suddenly hell-bent on revenge and becoming a silencer when
you've only ever showed resentment for my kind."

Now that she put it like that, Remy could see why she'd drawn
the wrong conclusion. And of course she could still scent Reynard's tea even if
he'd washed every mug in this place. Fate was laughing at him.

"That's not it," he quickly said. "Yes, there
was someone. I... It was complicated, and we were going to talk about it, but
we both got carried away. The tea is a special blend, nothing harmful, nothing
like what you're thinking. The effects were more like what alcohol would do to
a human. I needed something to calm down. We both did."

"So, he didn't force you." Blanchefleur still
didn't look convinced. "Why all this silencer business then?"

Okay, so maybe he'd phrased that wrong, even in his own head.
Remy bit his lower lip and carefully considered his reply. "Because he's a
silencer and he needs my help. And because he's my mate."