Chapter Eight
Bastion and Amber excused themselves, and Loki was out for the count, leaving Robbie and me alone. My mind was still whirling, but duty was at the forefront, as always. And that meant Robbie and I had to have an uncomfortable conversation before we could get onto more personal topics.
‘Business first,’ I said crisply. ‘Talk to me about Lord Theodore Marlow.’
Robbie met my eyes with stormy silver. ‘He’s not on our books. If an ogre killed him, it wasn’t a legal contract killing. It wasn’t ratified, no due process.’
‘Goddamn it,’ I muttered, a headache starting at the base of my skull. It would have been far easier for me if Marlow’s death had been contracted. Without a contract, I was back to looking at Robbie’s people, and that didn’t feel good when I was dating their king.
I rubbed a tired hand over my face and wished I could curl up with Loki and avoid the world for a few days. Avoid this for a few days. Robbie and I were going to argue, and I wasn’t so secure in our budding relationship that I was confident we would be okay afterwards.
I hated the uncertainty, and I hated that our work lives were encroaching on our personal ones.
I exhaled. It had to be done. Time to seize the bull by the horns or, more accurately, the ogre by the tusks. ‘The ME confirmed that ogre tusks created the wounds,’ I began.
‘Yes, I read the report,’ he said evenly.
I glared. ‘What do you mean you read the report?’ So much for confidentiality.
‘Exactly that. You can get anything for the right price. You know that.’
‘Kate would never—’
‘Not Kate,’ he interrupted. ‘The leak came from my source at the Connection.’
I groaned. ‘The source that everyone will now assume is me.’
‘Perhaps, but we know it’s not you.’
My temper flashed, hot and red. I was a straight arrow, had worked hard to cultivate that reputation, and now it was in jeopardy because of who I was dating. ‘Damn it, Robbie! This is my career on the line!’
He stood up, temper curling in his mercury eyes too. ‘And my people are being framed!’
That cooled my temper as swiftly as it had risen. ‘What do you mean, framed?’
His breath exhaled in a harsh whoosh. ‘You’re not going to love this, Inspector.’
I braced myself. So far anytime he had said that to me, I hadn’t loved what followed. I gave him a ‘go on’ gesture.
He grimaced. ‘An ogre was killed last week. An unsanctioned death. Not in-house.’
I stared at him. ‘One of your people was killed last week, not an in-house matter, and you’re just now telling me about it?’
I couldn’t deny the sting of hurt that caused, and he clearly saw it, for he reached towards me.
I swatted his hand away and stood, temper warring with the dull ache of hurt that he hadn’t trusted me with this.
Though the mating bond between us hadn’t crystallised yet, I hadn’t expected him to keep something like this from me.
We spoke every day. The omission had been deliberate on his part, and that hurt.
I needed a moment to collect myself, so I walked to the kitchen.
I flicked the kettle on, and the ghost switched it off.
‘Not now!’ I snapped, putting it on again.
A beat later one of the kitchen cupboards opened and a packet of Dairy Milk chocolate floated out.
A peace offering. I snagged the huge sharing bar from the air, unwrapped it and broke off a line.
I rewrapped the remaining treat and then bit into the smooth chocolatey goodness while the kettle boiled.
‘Stacy …’ Robbie’s voice behind me was soft.
‘Give me a minute,’ I said brittlely, not looking back, not looking at him. I busied myself with making myself a cup of tea, trying to ignore the way my heart ached. I made a tea for me and a black coffee for him, because it would have been rude not to, and Mum hadn’t raised me to be rude.
I passed him the cup, which he took without comment. It looked small in his hands. I always admired a man’s hands, and his were no exception. He had strong, powerful hands.
Hands that killed, as was par for the course.
And I was a goddamn murder cop.
This was a mess. A mistake.
So why did it feel right?
I finished the much-needed line of chocolate and sat on my sofa. Robbie sat on a chair opposite, giving me space which I appreciated and resented in equal measure.
I took a sip of the scalding liquid before I spoke. ‘I’m a homicide detective, Robbie, and you didn’t tell me that one of your people got murdered.’
‘It was out of your jurisdiction,’ he said patiently. ‘It was back in the region of my old den, in the Home Counties.’
‘I don’t give a shit if it was in Timbuktu,’ I ground out. ‘You tell me about it.’
‘I didn’t report it to the Connection at all, Stacy. Telling you about it would have put you in an invidious position.’
‘You tell me about it,’ I said firmly again.
‘And we work out together how to move things forward. If we’re going to be mates, then you need to act like it.
You need to share your life with me, your highs and your lows.
Not just what you think I want to hear. Don’t keep shit from me.
You called me every day last week. You talked about politics in the den and various other things, but not once did you say, “Hey, one of my people was murdered. You’re a professional murder cop. You got any ideas?”’
‘It wasn’t a case I could report to the Connection,’ he repeated.
‘Damn it, Robbie! I didn’t say you had to report it, not officially, but you should have reported it to me. I could have helped you.’
He studied me, his face utterly blank. He could make one helluva killing on the poker circuit, but that enraged me more. Now he wasn’t just keeping facts from me, but his emotions too.
‘I didn’t need help,’ he said. ‘I knew who killed him and why.’ He shrugged.
‘Tell me,’ I demanded, temper whipping through me.
Robbie sighed, leaning back into the small chair that looked like it might break under his weight.
‘He was killed in a black tourney. I have expressly forbidden all ogres to take part in them. That has proven … unpopular. The black tourney is seen as a test of strength and virility for some of the younger ogres. Thrain Olofsson wanted to show off, but in doing so he directly disrespected my authority.’ Face still blank, he continued, ‘His parents are loyal to me, and they were scandalised not only by Thrain attending the black tourney against my orders, but by him doing so and dying. It’s a fucking mess.
’ His face softened a fraction, but it was nice to see Robbie starting to bleed through, even though he looked weary.
‘Out of respect for them, I’m keeping it as quiet as I can and passing his death off as if he died in the line of duty. Better for us all that way.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Eighteen. Young, and dumb, and thought he knew it all.’
Goddamn. What a mess. What a waste. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said, because I could see in his eyes that the mask was dropping.
‘Thank you.’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘Here’s where it gets weird.’
‘Weird?’
‘Before I could collect the body, his head was removed.’
‘What the hell?’
‘And despite my best efforts, I haven’t recovered the head as of yet.’
It all clicked into place with a thunk. ‘The dead tissue Kate found …’
‘Yes, I think it was Thrain’s.’ Before I could say anything, he held up a hand.
‘I’ve already arranged to send a sample of his flesh to Dr Potter so she can confirm a DNA match.
Thrain’s body hasn’t been burned yet. His parents are holding off in the hope that we can recover his head so he can be burned whole. ’
It was unbelievable. ‘You’re telling me someone used Thrain’s decapitated head to kill Marlow?’
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘I believe so. The ME will confirm it. Someone is trying to set us up.’
‘You could have – should have – told me all of this a week ago when it happened.’
‘Perhaps I should have,’ he conceded. ‘But I didn’t know why someone would take the head, what it would be used for, and his family are upset that he broke my order. They would suffer shame if it was widely known, so I didn’t want to involve the Connection.’
‘I’m not just the Connection, Robbie,’ I said, exasperated. ‘I’m your mate.’
He stilled. ‘That’s the first time you’ve acknowledged it out loud, Inspector.’
‘Well,’ I sighed, ‘it seems like today is the day for accepting bonds.’ I met his stormy eyes. ‘And I accept you, Robbie. There’s something between us, something unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and I don’t want to run from it. Don’t think I could if I tried.’
He stood and walked over before kneeling in front of me.
He took my hand in his giant one, and if we hadn’t been fighting, it would have been romantic.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I made a mistake, keeping it from you. I thought I was doing the right thing, rather than telling you and having to ask you to keep it off the record. I didn’t want to place you in a difficult position. ’
My hand was so warm in his large one, and my skin tingled pleasantly from the touch.
‘I appreciate that, but I am a big girl. I get to make my own choices, but I need all the information to do so. I don’t need to know everything about your life, Robbie, but I need to know more.
You come here, and you see me, but there’s still so much I don’t know about you. ’
He studied me, still kneeling at my feet. ‘All my life,’ he said softly, ‘I have been different. Half ogre, half piper. Too human for one, too creature for the other. I hold my cards tightly to my chest because when I’ve shared them with others, they’ve been mocked.’
‘I won’t ever do that,’ I promised fiercely.
He smiled. ‘I know. I’ll try harder to share with you, but it’s difficult. It doesn’t come naturally to me.’
‘Nor does it to me. I accept that sometimes there might be confidential things you can’t share with me, and at times I may have the same issue with you, but all we can do is try our best not to block each other out.
Be honest if there is something you can’t tell me, but don’t lie, don’t omit.
And I’ll do the same. Can you do that for me? ’
‘That, Inspector, I can do.’
‘Get up then, you big lug.’ I pulled him off the floor and tugged him onto the sofa next to me. ‘I think that was our first fight,’ I said, breaking the fragile silence that had formed.
He looked at me, but his eyes were still reserved, wary. He’d hurt me, and he knew it. ‘It wasn’t so bad.’
‘No, but now it’s time for us to kiss and make up.’
A slow smile drew across his face. ‘Actually, I think I like this fighting thing.’
I hit him lightly, a laugh escaping me. ‘I think I prefer the making-up part.’
He moved towards me, slow and certain, and I’d be lying if I said the anticipation of his touch wasn’t vibrating through me. Not as good as an actual vibrator, but close.
The air between us was charged and before I could say another word, he tumbled me back onto the sofa.
I groaned as he used his weight to pin me down, just enough to make me feel utterly desired.
Sexy. His mouth found mine in a kiss that stole what air I had left, all heat and apology and want tangled together.
His fingers skimmed up under my shirt, towards my lace-covered breasts.
Then he froze like a gargoyle in the sun.
His hand trembled against my side. His gaze, which had been molten a moment ago, cooled into something else. Concern.
‘Stacy,’ he rasped, low and uncertain. ‘Your scars. I—’ He swallowed, eyes flicking down to where his hand rested, careful as if he’d just realised he might break me. ‘I don’t want to inadvertently remind you of anything.’
I cupped his cheek, forcing him to meet my eyes. I had demanded honesty from Robbie, the highs and the lows, and he deserved nothing less from me. But as it would for him, it would take time for me to reveal it all.
We had time, but I could still give him something. ‘I wasn’t raped. Wasn’t hurt that way.’
‘You were hurt in other ways.’ His voice was dark.
‘Do they bother you? The scars?’ I could still recall the way Sam had recoiled when he found them during a hot-and-heavy make-out session. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to—’
‘I could kill Radcliffe,’ he said conversationally, and I wasn’t sure whether it was a statement or an offer.
‘Please don’t,’ I said just in case.
Robbie reached up with thick fingers and, with surprising dexterity, undid the buttons of my shirt, opening it and laying me bare to his eyes.
‘In ogre culture,’ he said, ‘our scars are marks of pride. Of strength. We do not use healing potions. Every cut upon our skin becomes a mark of our trials and our continued survival.’ He leaned down and kissed a ragged scar across my ribs.
‘No,’ he said, whispering against my skin, ‘your scars don’t bother me. They enthral me. What a strong mate I have, to have been through so much and still be so fierce.’ He lowered his head again, and he kissed along a scar puckered across my collarbone.
Robbie’s body temperature seemed higher than mine, and every kiss scorched along my skin in the best way possible.
He was holding me so gently, so reverently, yet it only served to remind me of a darker past, when I wanted to be swallowed by the present. ‘Robbie, I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me. Don’t treat me like I’m fragile.’
‘Not fragile,’ he murmured, ‘but precious.’
Still, something in his expression shifted. He bent his head again and kissed me, and this time he let his passion burn hungrily. He kissed me fiercely, possessively, and I moaned low as he stoked the fire within me.
‘You promised to pull some “oh my Gods” from me once,’ I murmured.
‘That I did,’ he said with a wolfish smile, reaching for the top snap of my waistband.
And he proceeded to do exactly that.