Lycan Unleashed (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

“We
need to get out of here.” I fidgeted next to Mason and blew out a gust of breath that condensed in the chill air surrounding us as we stood on the sidewalk in front of Mary Stone’s house.

He glanced up from his cell. “It’ll be a while before I can get agents out here to take care of her.”

“Call Vasquez. This is a joint investigation. He can get a black and white here in five.”

Mason frowned but made the call. Seven minutes later, a patrol car pulled up and we were free to go. Mason, normally a conscientious driver, peeled out of the widow’s neighborhood and broke every speed law possible on our way to the Magister’s house.

Except house was too common a word for Luc Chevalier’s abode. Something like manor or estate fit it better. I’d been here before, but always with Claude. And without him, it somehow felt more oppressive than normal, even with Mason’s solid presence beside me. Maybe because this world—the vampire’s—was even more foreign to him than it was to me.

We strode to the front door and Mason hit the doorbell, then knocked loudly for good measure. I pulled my coat tighter against my body.

A stiff, balding man in a creased suit answered the door. I recognized him from the other times I’d visited. What had he seen during his years of service to the Chevalier family? I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

I stepped in front of Mason before he could yell at the butler and demand to see Nicolas and Luc immediately—thus guaranteeing us a long wait.

“Hello. We’re sorry for the intrusion, but we need to speak with the Magister at his earliest convenience. Could you tell him that we’re here? It’s very important.” I gave him a tight smile and his nose dropped slightly from its perch high in the air.

“Detective Holmes. If you and your guest will follow me.”

I started at my name. The man must have a great grasp of names to recognize me, especially without Claude at my side. But such a thing would be part of his job. And to work for the Magister, the man would have to be very good at his job.

Instead of leading us to the small office right off the entryway where Luc Chevalier generally met professional guests, the butler led us to an opulent living room. The room was equipped with two large couches and a loveseat along with a couple of oversized puffy chairs, all situated around a coffee table. Rich leather coated most of the furniture. It blended nicely with the dark hardwood floors and intricately woven rugs. Two other chairs sat facing a fireplace, which was in full burn, fire licking at logs piled high. No gas fireplace for the Magister.

The butler disappeared and Mason pushed his hands into his pockets and leaned against a couch instead of sitting. To the casual observer, he might appear relaxed. But I could see the predatory wariness of his gaze, the barely tensed muscles of his body that were ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

And I remembered exactly how that fighter’s body felt under my hands, under my lips. How it felt poised over mine. How my body responded to his.

Our eyes met, and something of my thoughts must have leaked out in my expression, because the tension in his body increased and he looked at me with his hunter’s gaze. My mouth went dry, and I licked my lips. He took a step toward me. My body buzzed in anticipation.

“Agent, Detective,” the Magister’s voice entered the room at the same time he did. “What brings you to my home, today?”

Mason swerved, and instead of pouncing on me, he reached out and shook the Magister’s hand.

I blinked. I’d felt the thrum of power that said the Magister was home when we had pulled up, but I hadn’t noticed his proximity before he entered the room. I shook myself. Mason Sanderson was dangerously attractive if he could distract me—even for an instant—from the approach of a vampire of Luc’s caliber.

“We’re here to ask for your assistance in finding one of your people. A person of interest in a case. And to inform you of our interest in questioning her.” We didn’t have to inform him, strictly speaking, but I was glad Mason had included that little line. I’d insisted during the drive over, but I hadn’t been entirely certain he would actually say it.

Luc’s expression didn’t change. “I will endeavor to help the police however I can. Who are you looking for, and what is your interest?”

“We’re looking for Min, the woman we met when we spoke with you earlier this week. And she is a person of interest in a murder.”

If a pin had dropped somewhere in the room for three seconds after Mason’s statement, I imagined that it was almost quiet enough that I would have heard it. Ridiculous, of course. The dull roar of the fire alone would have overshadowed such a small sound, but the Magister went quiet and still in such a way that only vampires were capable of. In a way, I imagined, that was only possible for dead things.

The beats passed and Luc lit back up with life and polite concern. “Is this related to Jake Stone’s death?”

“Yes,” Mason said simply. We needed the Magister’s help to find Min—we didn’t even know her last name, if she had one, and time was of the essence. And Mason wasn’t going to offer any information that he didn’t strictly have to. But we did need the Magister. There was a small chance that Min wasn’t the one who picked up Jake—but I doubted it, given her close relationship with Nicolas. But if Mary Stone said it wasn’t her, we’d need the Magister’s help to track down the woman who picked up Jake the night he died.

“Gerald?” Luc called. He didn’t raise his voice, but it carried.

The butler—Gerald—reappeared from the way we’d come in. “Sir?”

“Get me Nicolas’s schedule, please.”

Gerald gave the Magister a small bow and disappeared again.

“Why do you believe that Min, of all people, is responsible for this death?”

“That’s need to know information,” Mason said, voice tight.

The Magister stiffened. “Well, I need to know. That is, if you want my help.”

Mason looked like he was on the edge of saying something on the wrong side of the politeness scale, so I cut in before he could speak. “I’m sorry, Magister, but that’s not something we can divulge. Surely you understand. Once the suspect is in custody, we’ll be able to share more.” I wasn’t at all certain of that, but the Magister relaxed a hair at my words.

“Sir. Master Nicolas’s schedule for the week.” The butler moved so quietly, I hadn’t even noticed him reentering the room. But he carried computer printouts. I caught a glimpse as he handed it to the Magister.

Lo and behold, even old vampires used Outlook.

“Fu
cking vampires,” Mason growled.

I glanced up from where I was looking through a stack of files at Mason’s kitchen table.

“Didn’t go well with Nicolas?”

“Arrogant bastard.” He dropped his keys onto the table and yanked at his jacket.

“Let me guess. He had no idea Min could have been involved in something so terrible, and he has no idea where she might be found?”

“Pretty much.”

After Mason and I found Nicolas, a patrol car took me back to Mason’s house and Mason questioned Nicolas alone. I’d decided not to argue with the lycan. He’d seemed edgy, and was right when he said that a cop currently on administrative leave questioning a Chevalier at OWEA headquarters was a bad idea. I’d considered pointing out that I’d been with him in the field questioning witnesses, but I didn’t want to push my luck. Besides, I got the feeling that Mason mostly just didn’t want me breathing the same air as Nicolas Chevalier.

“Did you release him?”

“We’ll have to by morning. But I’ll put a unit on him. If he moves wrong, we’ll know it.” He picked up one of the papers I was looking through. “What are you working on?”

“Just trying to connect some dots.” I rolled my shoulders and tried to work out some of the tension. “That coin is bothering the hell out of me.”

Mason moved behind me and then his hands were on my shoulders. Massaging gently, he worked on my knots. I let out a noise that was far too close to one of Charlie’s purrs. “Oh… You can stop that, never.”

Mason chuckled, a low sound that vibrated from his chest. “So what about the coin is bothering you?”

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. It was so tempting to just melt into a puddle. “How it got out of evidence.”

“With money like the Chevalier’s, he could have had it spelled out of there. Hell, he could have paid a cop off. Or just a good thief. Evidence lockers are pretty secure, but someone really good could still manage. With the help of a little magic.”

I grimaced. He was right. We’d probably never know for sure unless we got Min and gained a full confession. But I didn’t have to like it.

“Are you hungry?” Mason asked, and his hands gave my shoulders one last squeeze before he headed to the kitchen.

I followed him and watched, mesmerized, as he whipped up a small feast. My offers to help were waved off, so I enjoyed the show.

“Where’d you learn to cook so well?” I asked, then took another bite of the most well-cooked steak I’d had since I could remember.

“My mom,” he said gruffly.

Keep things light. “I wish mine had passed on such a useful skill.”

His eyebrows rose. “Your mom didn’t cook?”

I snorted. The idea of my mother in the kitchen was too funny. “No. She ordered things from the cook. She never would have deigned to get her hands dirty.”

“Is she—I mean you talk about her in the past tense.”

The bite of steak I’d consumed suddenly formed a rock in my stomach. “No, she’s not dead or anything. She’s just no longer in my life. Or, I guess it’s more accurate to say that I’m no longer in hers.”

Mason just waited silently, eating his asparagus and eyeing me over his fork. Leaving it up to me if I wanted to continue.

“My mother is married to one of the Leighs. I changed my last name. Took her maiden name when I graduated high school.”

Mason chewed his food slowly, before swallowing it and taking a sip of wine. Thinking about the only Leighs worth mentioning as if the name would mean something all on its own, no doubt.

“Any relationship to Natalie Leigh and her family?” he asked. Natalie Leigh was the department’s witch, or near enough. An independent contractor who the local police departments consulted when they needed the service of a Covenant witch.

“She’s a cousin.” I shook my head. Telling him half the story wasn’t enough, and wasn’t fair. I’d opened the door. Time to walk through. “The man I thought was my father until I was a teenager is Atticus Leigh.”

Mason whistled low under his breath, and I could hardly blame him. I’d just uttered the name of one of the most powerful Covenant witches in the country and included the word “father” in the same sentence.

I took a long drink from my wine glass. “At first, they just thought I was an unfortunate screw up of nature. It happens sometimes, you know. A child born of a powerful witch couple has no magical ability. It’s rare—but it does happen. Such children are usually ignored, but not exiled.”

“But you’re also a sensitive,” Mason said thoughtfully.

“Yes. When I got old enough to start showing my very human power, my mom could no longer deny that she’d had a…dalliance. With a human. So my father had me shipped off to boarding school for the rest of my childhood, and now they pretend I don’t exist.”

Mason’s grip around his wine glass tightened.

“It’s not so bad. I have a small trust fund that ensures I’ll never starve, even if I didn’t have my income from the Force.” My forced smile faltered. “I’m just never invited home.”

“Fucking-a. How can your mom let him do that?”

A nervous laugh escaped me. “I’m pretty certain that most of my exile is due to her. Not that Atticus Leigh wants proof of his wife’s affair hanging around, but I think her shame exceeds his.”

Mason looked like he wanted to kill someone, so I tried to reassure him. “I’m fine, really. I’m not complaining. I got the best education money could buy, and was never abused—not really. Besides, I’m not the only person ever ostracized and banished from family gatherings, right?”

He grimaced. “About that…” He poured us both a new glass of wine.

More wine needed? This was bound to be interesting. I took a sip and waited.

“My family didn’t really exile me. Not in the way yours did.”

I frowned. “I thought you said someone died—that you no longer spoke with your family.”

“I don’t. But they didn’t exile me. I guess you could say that I banished myself.”

I set my wine glass down carefully. “So you’re saying that you have a family out there just waiting to let you back into their lives—waiting to love you—and you
choose
not to talk to them?”

His eyes clouded over with regret. “I made a huge mistake, Astrid. And even if they weren’t willing to punish me, someone had to. I haven’t seen them since, nor have I changed forms.”

“What did you do that was so awful? Who died?” How long had it been since he’d talked to them, since he’d changed?

“A girl I was supposed to marry.”

My mouth went dry and I stared at him.

“It was arranged, clans of lycans still do that sometimes to strengthen the bonds. We were both willing.” He shrugged and looked down at his half-finished meal. “I was ten years younger, in my early twenties. And she was beautiful.”

My stomach swirled and wrenched. “And what happened?”

“She had a boyfriend before agreeing to the match. He followed her into the city. He didn’t want to let her go. So the night before our wedding, he killed her, and then himself.”

My mind raced. Did Mason love her? Is that why he’d never wanted to pursue me past that kiss until we were forced together because of this case? And God, how could he blame himself when someone else had killed her?

“I don’t get how that’s your fault,” I said finally.

“She was under my protection. I should have stopped him. Should have saved her.” Self-loathing and guilt cut across his features, transforming his normally hard, expressionless face into something raw and bloody.

“Mason. Her death wasn’t your fault. And I think your family would agree with me, if you’d let them.” Not only had he not talked to his family in a decade, he hadn’t changed into his lycan form. It was a double punishment. He didn’t get to be around the people who loved him, and he had robbed himself of the power he could gain by changing. And while he might someday talk to his family again, the power of his lycan form might never be regained. Changing wasn’t easy for lycans. The process was difficult, and it only got harder if they didn’t shift often. And by denying that change for years, Mason may have denied himself his natural birthright forever.