28. Bram
Bram
Except Finian’s.
So I work backward on a hunch. Sure enough, Finian’s name is on the manifest for the same ship, but from a year and a half prior. Then his name appears again on documents kicking off the construction of a large Victorian-style house.
Pieces begin falling into place. I brace myself as I load the microfilm for the newspaper clippings from the date of Finian’s death and the days that followed. My heart sinks as I read the headlines.
“Bram, I found the three members of Finian’s pack. They were on a ferry. It doesn’t look like they made it.” Clara’s voice is slightly raspy, like she’s holding back tears, and it guts me. It also doesn’t make what I’m about to tell her any easier.
“That’s the same wreck Victor and Dagan are working on for their series.” Her eyes widen, the air between us sharpening. “I found something over here too,” I add carefully.
I e xplain about Finian being on the manifest the year before, and the permits for the house.
“So, you think Finian was sent by his pack first? To build them a home? And then, when they finally came, they perished in a boating accident en route?” she puzzles out.
I nod.
Something in my expression must give away that I’m still holding something back, because she straightens, eyes narrowing slightly.
“What else?”
I take a deep breath and pull out the chair next to hers. Reaching out, I tuck a stray black curl behind her ear and run my knuckles along her smooth cheek. She turns her face into my touch, scent-marking me.
I can’t help but lean in and nuzzle just behind her ear. Her apple pie scent blossoms beneath my touch and I savor it. I know that it’s going to sour with the next thing I say.
“The headline in the newspaper the day after Finian’s death was ‘Local Recluse Jumps from Bluff’.” Could this be the spirit that destroyed Victors room?
My little ghost’s scent immediately turns bitter, burnt sugar and charred pie. A tear slips down her cheek and I can’t help but swoop forward and kiss it away. The salt mixes with her apple pie skin in a delicious swirl.
I remind myself that we’re in a library, discussing tragedy. That this is not an ideal place to have a raging hard-on. But I must not have hidden my aroused scent fast enough, because Clara looks up at me with wet, hooded eyes.
The sadness in her expression is unbearable. So I lean down slowly and press my lips to hers. Her mouth is soft and sweet. She tastes like caramel glaze over softened apples in a hot cast-iron skillet.
Cla ra lets out a soft moan into my mouth, and it snaps the last of my restraint. I stop caring that we’re in a public place. The door to the room is closed, but anyone could walk in.
I break the kiss. Not because I want to, but because I need air. I’m panting hard, almost missing the omega whine that slips past her red, swollen lips.
For a second, I’m too dazed, imagining those lips wrapped around the shaft of my cock, that pretty little mouth taking me deep. But then she presses a kiss to the sensitive skin on my neck, and her hot forehead grazes my chin.
I kiss her cheek and gently pull back, using the knuckles of my fingers to tilt her chin up. Her pupils are blown wide, and another high, needy omega whine escapes her.
“You need your alpha ghost?” I ask softly.
She nods emphatically. Her omega is fully in control now.
I reach over and lock the door.