Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Sydney
I sit behind my desk, steaming coffee at my elbow, and struggle to focus. Weak sunlight leaks through my office window. It’s an ungodly seven in the morning, but it won’t be long before Caden arrives, and I have to look at him. Work with him.
Be unable to touch him.
Last night was, in a word, incredible. He was so passionate, so wrapped up in us as he kept me trembling for more, despite giving me one orgasm after another. Caden was the lover I’ve always wanted. Well, except for the fact he never kissed me. Odd, that. Then again, we were so busy doing other dizzyingly pleasurable things together.
But we’re done now. And the sense of rightness I felt between us last night is gone. He snuffed it out. With regret, obviously. That doesn’t change reality, however. He’s letting everything going on in his life come between us.
Then again, is he the one who truly ruined us? Maybe last night only happened because I wished it into reality, a byproduct of the fact I wrote my fantasy about him in that damned red book. Right down to the connection that made my heart leap.
If that’s the case, how bloody ridiculous and pathetic. I deserve my heartache.
Penning my sexual fantasy in the book and having it come true seems fantastic, but then I write about the unexplained all day. And I’ve believed more than a few of my articles. I just never imagined something woo-woo would happen to me.
Maybe I underestimated the diary.
I cover my face and fight tears. Even knowing Caden is after the name of my informant in the magical war story, I still confessed my desire for him in writing, then succumbed to his touch. And I blamed him. God, how mental!
Granted, we clicked, but I have to put this into perspective. We didn’t share a grand affair of the heart. It was a shag, right? I’ve never allowed any man to break my heart, and Caden won’t earn that distinction after a single night, especially if I brought this mess on myself.
Launching my email, I vow to focus. I perk up when I see a message sent last night from a uni friend who works in the coroner’s office. She has news regarding the partially decomposed bodies of the soldiers in the tunnel discovered just over two weeks ago. The email simply reads: Call me before nine .
Heart pounding, palms sweating, I ring Chloe’s mobile.
“’lo,” answers a groggy man.
“Is Chloe there?”
After a moment of shuffling and a giggle, my old friend answers, “Syd?”
“Sorry it’s so early. New boyfriend?”
“Coworker with benefits.”
I hope that works out better for her than it did for me. “What’s your news?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Chloe shoots back. “ Very unofficially, here’s what I know about the bodies discovered in the tunnel.”
“Following the November fourteenth skirmish I’ve been writing about? The magic thing?”
“Exactly. Tests have identified all the bodies. Are you sitting?”
“Yes. Out with it.”
“All the bodies were of servicemen—from all over the world, including seven of the eight American soldiers who mysteriously disappeared on September nineteen from a training exercise at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. They were all part of the Marines Special Operations Command.”
My jaw drops. “Special Forces… I remember hearing about the disappearance of those soldiers!”
“The higher-ups at the office are all being very hush-hush. But that in itself says something. Next of kin are being notified now, but their identities aren’t being released to the media yet, so I can’t give you that or my boss would be suspicious.”
Chloe has already delivered more than expected. I owe my old friend a pint or two at least. “Of course. Anything else you can give me?”
“You know from our previous conversation that the bodies were decomposed weeks beyond what their battle wounds suggested. Your grainy photos showed that several were decapitated, a few others shot or stabbed. But they bled as profusely as if they were alive. And here’s the kicker: they bled black.”
I couldn’t have heard her right. “Black?”
“Indeed. It’s a complete mystery. Their blood has no color and no type. Everyone was identified by fingerprints, distinguishing marks like tattoos, or dental records.”
What would cause such a thing? New disease? Black blood sounds crazy, but working at Out of this Realm , I’ve quickly learned that nothing is impossible. “Odd.”
“Very,” Chloe agrees. “Assuming your story is real, do you have any theories about which side the poor bastards fought for?”
“No. I’ve heard little about the other side, this Doomsday Brethren. My source swears they’re the good guys, but they’re fighting Mathias, who claims to be battling for equality. Still, he raped the woman until she was little more than a broken shell. But does his evil automatically make the Doomsday Brethren good? If I had to guess, I’d say the soldiers were Mathias’s. If he cares so little as to brutalize a woman, I doubt he’s above kidnapping a few well-trained soldiers and using them in his army.”
Chloe hesitates. “Do you think any of this magical war stuff is true? Maybe it’s a terrorized woman’s hallucinations?”
“That’s possible. But I’ve gathered enough evidence to give me pause. Call me if you hear any more.”
We ring off, and I jot down a few notes—which quickly grow frustrating. I have another story to crank out this week on the magical war, and I want it to be about Chloe’s information, slanted accurately, but I have so many questions.
How do these soldiers fit into the grand scheme of the war? Have they truly been used for magical purposes? How were they persuaded or forced to fight and give their lives for this cause? Perhaps I could run with the facts as they are and leave the rest to speculation, but the pieces of the puzzle don’t fit. I need to talk to my source again and see what else the witch might know.
I place a quick call to Aquarius. When my assistant doesn’t answer, I leave a voicemail, apologizing for the interruption of her holiday and asking for a ring back if her guest will talk again.
A few minutes later, I place the phone back in the cradle, and I feel a presence in the doorway.
Caden.
“Did you need something?” I steel myself and force a businesslike tone. “I’m off to a busy start, so spit it out.”
He steps in and shuts the door behind him, planting his fists on my desk and leaning closer. “Sydney, I’m?—”
“Stop.” I put up a hand, hating the way he already has my blood pumping and my heart aching. If I think too much about last night, I’ll bloody cry. “I have a question. Why did you come over last night? What made you leave your flat in the middle of the night and come all the way across town to mine?”
Caden looks startled by my question. “Impulse. I admit I was attracted to you from the first. I tried to keep things professional because we work together, my life is complicated now, and I can’t give you a tomorrow. But I came over last night because I couldn’t stay away a minute more. I tried talking myself out of it, but every moment I was away from you, I became more obsessed with touching you.”
Was that the influence of the magical diary?
“You didn’t come to seduce me for the name of my magical source?”
“Of course not, but I would love it you made me a full partner in this story.”
“Did you think being my partner in the bedroom would help you get there faster?”
“Damn it! I dreamed of you, literally, in the precise lingerie you wore last night. I dreamed of tearing it off, of the sweet taste of your breasts, of your pussy clutching my cock, of the groans you made when you came for me. How the bloody hell was I supposed to stay away from you after that?”
Oh, god . I sit back with a gulp. “Would you…um, say you felt compelled?”
“Yes. But I take responsibility for mucking up everything.” Caden leans closer, peering at me as if trying to unravel a puzzle. “Wait. Did you write about me in that bloody book Aquarius gave you?”
I want to crawl under the desk and stay for a decade. “Don’t be absurd. It’s a stupid old book. Forget I asked about last night. Let’s focus on work.”
His eyes narrow. “What made you open the door and let me in?”
“It’s no secret I wanted you. But as you said earlier, itch scratched. Moving on.”
“I said no such thing,” he growls.
He didn’t. He denied it, in fact. I need to stop taking my upset out on him and hope that he never discovers what I did in a foolish act of desperation. “Sorry.”
He responds with a curt nod.
That’s as much as I can expect, really, when I used a magical diary to coerce him. He came to my flat and shagged me because that was my wish, not because he felt anything real for me. “Forget I said anything. Work is piling up this morning, and I’m stressed.”
“Will I start another fight if I ask if I can do anything to help?”
“There’s nothing.” Because if he stays with me in this small office, I’m in grave danger of wrapping my arms around him and pleading for his affection.
Before he can say anything more, my phone rings. I’m utterly relieved when I see the caller ID.
Aquarius can’t wait.
I pick up my phone. “Thank god you’ve called. Can you meet me?”