Chapter 5 #2
Does my supposed mate really have to look that irresistible? Why is the universe conspiring against me like this?
To distract myself, I decide to do my part and help, in my own way.
“You know, for a detective, you’re not very smart about knowing when you’re being conned.”
Harper glances at me, one eyebrow raised.
“I mean, you’re literally playing a game designed to make werewolves fail,” I continue. “But sure, keep throwing your money away. It’s not like your stupid alpha pride is the problem here.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you trying to make me angry?”
“Since when do I have to try to annoy you? I thought it was just something that came naturally.”
“Maybe you’re losing your touch.”
“Watch it,” I warn. “You’re the one that needs to get angry here so you can win the prize and we can leave.”
“That’s your plan? You think werewolf strength is like hulk rage and if I get mad, I’ll hit harder?”
“…Is it offensive if I say yes?”
A muscle tics in his jaw, but then something unexpected happens—he laughs. Just a short, surprised sound, but it transforms his face.
“You’re insufferable,” he says, but there’s no real heat in it.
That’s… not what I was going for. It’s nice. But I don’t want nice; I need angry.
“Concentrate!” I order him. “Think angry thoughts. Like how I stir my coffee or how the coffee at our hotel is terrible. Would it kill you to make a coffee run in the morning? You know, fetch. Isn’t that something dogs do?”
“Dodger, don’t—”
“Or focus on how I drown out your annoying voice with music, or how I pretend I can’t hear you the first three times you knock on my door because my headphones are in.”
“…I didn’t know you were pretending.”
“See, isn’t that annoying?” I give him an obnoxious grin. Who knew needling a werewolf would be so much fun?
“You’re playing with fire here.” The heated look he sends me doesn’t slow me down.
“And of all the cool kinds of books out there, why are you interested in classic literature? Why not something from this century? Or at least something with sex or violence in it? Do werewolves age slower than humans? Are you actually hundreds of years old and that’s why you like boring things?”
“No—”
“Then you have no excuse. Of course it doesn’t matter when exactly you were born. You’re still ancient compared to me.”
He glares at me. “I am not.”
“What was that, old man? You better hurry up and win this. It’s past your bedtime.”
Harper growls, a real honest-to-God growl that should be terrifying, not thrilling.
He steps up to the machine, golden eyes flashing, jaw clenched tight.
The muscles in his forearms flex as he grips the hammer and I can’t tear my eyes away.
There’s something mesmerizing about watching him like this, all controlled power and determination.
His whole body moves in one fluid motion as he brings the hammer down. The marker shoots up, climbing higher and higher until it hits the bell with a resounding ding.
“Nice job. I’m not even mad.” The satyr claps. “That was a good show.”
Harper sets the hammer down and turns to me with that same intensity still burning in his eyes. My throat goes dry. I’ve seen him serious, I’ve seen him professional, I’ve even seen him annoyed, but I’ve never seen him worked up this much. He’s seriously hot. I can’t even pretend otherwise.
“Happy now?” he asks, voice a low rumble that does things to my insides I refuse to acknowledge.
“Ecstatic,” I manage to say, hoping my face isn’t as flushed as it feels.
When the satyr hands Harper the music box, he lifts the lid and immediately a harsh melody fills the air between us. It sounds like an angry heavy metal song. Totally not what I expected for the beautiful box with notes carved on the outside.
The satyr laughs. “The music matches whatever you’re feeling inside.”
Oh. Harper’s still coming down from the anger I coaxed out of him, so the music matches his heated mindset.
He snaps the lid shut, looking embarrassed as he holds it out to me. “Here, take it. It’s for you anyway.”
I accept the box cautiously. Sure enough, a different melody pours out when I lift the lid, nothing like what we just heard. A happy, bouncing tune, like a sappy pop song.
My face heats up instantly. Shit. Is that really what I’m feeling? I shove the box back toward Harper. “Here, take it back.”
Harper accepts it, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
I need his angry tune to fill the air so we can forget the positively sweet melody the box played for me. But the song hasn’t changed. The same happy tune plays as he holds the box this time, like making me happy made him happy.
On the Same Page?
Dodger
Navigating the streets of Concordia at night is surprisingly relaxing with the man at my side.
The city is winding down as shop windows go dark one by one.
Few others are around as we walk back to our hotel, just the occasional late-night reveler stumbling home or car full of people leaving the carnival.
“Where can I get a guitar that plays magical musical notes?” Because I need one yesterday. “Is there a magical music store somewhere?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Harper answers. “I’ll have to look into that.”
“Nah, that’s okay. It’s probably out of my price range anyway.”
“Maybe you can channel your powers into the guitar you have now?” he suggests.
“Not sure that would create the pictures we saw. What if I raise the dead with my playing or something?” Oh god, I hope I’m joking.
Harper shrugs. “There’s never gonna be an empty seat in the audience.”
Playing for an entire concert hall of zombies and ghouls sounds more terrifying than a living audience. But it’s surprisingly nice to chat about this. I glance at Harper’s profile, his strong jaw outlined by the soft glow of a nearby streetlight.
I realize I feel... safe. The thought is so unfamiliar that I almost trip over my own feet.
“You surprised me tonight,” I tell him when I recover and remember how to walk like a normal person.
“What, that a dog like me likes to read?” he guesses wryly.
“No, I thought you were an upstanding honorable man of the law.” At least teasing Harper is a familiar pastime, though there’s no bite to my words this time.
“And you’re saying I’m not?”
“Not according to the evidence laid out in front of me.” I nudge him with my elbow playfully. “You’re a cheater.”
“Here I thought we were actually getting along, then you go and insult me.” He places a hand over his heart, feigning offense.
“It’s not an insult,” I assure him. “I’m kind of impressed you tried to cheat at the high striker game by using the machine for humans.”
“Oh, that.” Harper coughs, looking almost embarrassed. I almost want to stop and study that look, the way his gaze drops to the pavement and his hand rubs the back of his neck, but that would be weird.
“Well, I wanted to win you the prize,” he admits, and my stomach does a little flip I wasn’t expecting.
“So I’m the bad influence that started your downfall? Likely story, blaming the necromancer.”
“This was a one-time incident,” he insists.
“Sure, that’s what they all say.”
He snorts. “Fooling an attendant at a carnival game doesn’t make me a criminal mastermind.”
“Not yet.”
“When it came to either failing to disclose my shifter nature or missing out on seeing you light up the way you did when I gave you the music box, I decided that missing out on your smile was the bigger sin,” he says softly.
When Harper faces me, the streetlight catches his golden eyes, making them glow like warm honey.
“Whoa.” The word tumbles out as my brain short-circuits.
“Sorry, was that too much?”
“Just surprising,” I say. The whole day’s been full of surprises, and I’m not talking about the carnival.
I start walking faster, not sure I want to stick around and see what he’ll say next.
I can’t quite remember why getting closer to him is a bad idea, besides the giant mate-shaped tyrannosaurus in the room—because an elephant is too small—but there are definitely reasons we’re a bad idea.
I may remember them tomorrow when I’m not drowning in the amber warmth of his gaze and the lingering scent of carnival treats on the night air.
“Dodger, wait. I need to say something.” Harper catches up to me at an intersection and stops me before I can cross.
“We got started off on the wrong foot, and it’s probably my fault.
You’d have plenty of reasons to be wary of a detective from Brighton and I didn’t do anything to ease your concerns. ”
“I just thought… I wondered if…” For some reason, my voice won’t come out louder than a whisper. “Do you not like necromancers?”
“Who someone is and what they do matters more than what they are,” he says.
The faint flicker of the streetlight above us catches the sharp line of his jaw, casting shadows across his face.
He pauses, drawing in a deep breath. “But to be completely honest, I did have a bad experience with a necromancer in the past. I thought I was over it, but being around you is bringing up those memories again.”
“Oh.” Sharing even this vague admission seems to have cost him a lot, so I bite my lip to avoid pressing for more details.
The questions bubble up regardless. What experience with a necromancer left such an impression on him?
It has to be something personal instead of professional.
He doesn’t seem to rattle easily while on the job.
“But my issues aren’t your fault and have nothing to do with you,” he continues. “I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to adjust.”
“Uh, I get that it must be difficult,” I say, shuffling my feet. “You have plenty of reasons not to trust me. I’m accusing your boss.”
His gaze remains steady, unwavering. “I believe you.”
My head snaps up. “You do, really?”
“A guy doesn’t just fake his death for no reason.”
“Yeah, I was kinda out of options.”
“Well, now you’re not alone.” The conviction in his voice makes something warm bloom in my chest. “I don’t know the first thing about helping you control your powers, but I know someone who may be able to help.
We’ll figure something out. I’m going to see this through and ensure you have nothing to fear, from our department or anything else. ”
Harper holds out his hand for me to shake, his golden eyes watching me intently.
I stare at his offered hand, then back at his face.
There’s something so open and honest in his expression now, so different from the suspicious, rigid cop I met just days ago.
My experiences with his Chief of Police and his history with another necromancer made us both wary and clouded our judgment, but we’re getting past that.
I’m getting to know the real Ethan Harper. He’s a good man.
“Okay,” I say quietly as I reach out and take his hand.
His hand feels warm and strong as it wraps around mine, and a small jolt of electricity runs up my arm at the contact.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly I’m hyper-aware of everything about him—the way his golden eyes seem to darken as they focus on me, the heat radiating from his body, that forest-after-rain scent that’s uniquely him.
It’s almost romantic, like we’re at the end of a date, and the realization makes my heart pound so hard I’m sure his wolf ears can hear it.
We’re not even shaking hands anymore. We’re holding on, neither of us willing to let go first. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. His gaze drops to my lips for just a second, and that’s all it takes.
Screw it.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a step forward, closing what little distance remains between us. I lean forward, tilting my face up toward his. My eyes start to flutter closed as I feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine…
And then suddenly, the warmth is gone.
Harper steps back, abruptly breaking our connection as his hand slides from mine and cold night air rushes into the space between us. The loss is so jarring that for a moment I can’t process what just happened.
“We should, uh—” He clears his throat, looking anywhere but at me. “We should get back to the hotel.”
He walks ahead without another word. I stare after him, face burning hot with embarrassment. What the hell just happened? Did I imagine the tension between us?
No. The way he looked at me, the lingering handshake, the electricity between us… It was all real. So why did he pull away? He’s the one who said we were meant to be together. Why is my supposed mate so confusing?