Chapter 23
The sharp chime on the doorbell told Clare that Trent had arrived to drive her into work, but when she opened the door, her eyes widened. Oliver stood there, looking handsome and disheveled in casual workout gear, tracksuit pants covered in grime and a t-shirt that was ripped to shreds.
“Sir! What happened to you?”
“Something exceedingly strange.” His voice was hoarse. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, but the car’s about to arrive to take me to work.”
“You’re not going to work,” he said tersely “We have to talk, urgently.”
Her heart bottomed out. Was he about to reject her again? “If it’s about me kissing you—”
He shook his head. “It’s not. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she led the way toward the kitchen—no way would she suggest the bedroom—barely hearing his footsteps follow. But as they reached the kitchen, she turned to find he was only inches behind her. “Are you leaving again?” she blurted up at him.
His eyes widened in genuine surprise. “What?”
“Last time…” She stood her ground, hands furled to resist the urge to touch him. “Last time there was an incident between us… you left and went to Selig.”
“An incident, eh? I’d call it more than that.
And no, I’m not leaving you, Clare.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, almost a smile, and she wanted to throw her arms round his neck, kiss him from sheer relief.
But gently, he took her by the arms and pressed her down onto a chair, then drew up another and sat opposite her.
Her eyes strayed to the tee he was wearing, noticing how it showed off the line of his shoulders, the clean, taut symmetry of his biceps and forearms. A firm pec was visible through a tear in the material.
“Your shirt is in shreds.” She gulped, trying to ignore the thrum between her thighs.
“You look like you’ve been attacked… did that thing follow you? ”
“No.”
“So how did you end up in such a mess?”
“Crash landing.”
“W—what?”
Oliver’s dark eyes glowed with urgency. “After I left you, I went home, and I felt… amazing, so full of strength… I went to meditate to contain the energy and… gods.” He shook his head, frowning.
“This is so weird, I don’t quite know how to explain it…
but when I finished meditating, I opened my eyes and looked at my hands in my lap. And… no hands. No lap, even.”
She blinked, trying to compute.
“I was invisible, Clare.”
“Invisible!”
“Uh-huh. And it only gets more bizarre from there.”
She listened intently as he explained the strange events that had followed, describing the vast citadel he’d seen being constructed, the turreted palace and parapet walls at its center, a different dimension being built up on the hillside above Tween, its residents completely unaware.
“And what is truly concerning is that the vile creatures building it are grimaalds, Clare. “
“The same as that demon that attacked you?”
“Yes. There were hundreds of them, toiling away to construct something on a much grander scale than Motham. And far more sinister. I haven’t a clue what all this is about,” he finished hoarsely. “But being able to gain access to it… I have a very strong hunch it’s because of… your blood.”
‘My blood?” she parroted again.
He took her hand and clasped it in both of his. Her senses lit up, and her pussy followed suit, despite her best efforts to ignore it.
Focus, Clare.
She scrabbled her brain back into some semblance of order.
“When I… when I tasted you, I knew your blood was unique, like no other blood I’d ever experienced—like nectar, the sweetest, rarest nectar.
And then when I healed so miraculously, and felt so invincible, then accessed this whole other dimension, it finally struck me.
It had to be because of your blood. I think you also have AOx positive blood, Clare. ”
She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You had no clue, did you?”
She shook her head. “No. It was just intuitive to offer you my blood. I sensed that it would help you and then, when you healed so quickly… I mean, I thought maybe that’s what happened when vampires drank blood.
And I’ve never had my blood taken so…” She was frowning so hard her forehead hurt.
She stared down at his hands, sandwiching hers.
In among all her confusion, a pang of hurt coiled around her heart. Had it just been her blood he lusted after?
She slid her hand from between his and clasped hers tightly in her lap, trying not let her emotions get the better of her professionalism. “So I guess that’s why you’ve… you have an attraction of sorts to me—because of my blood.”
She felt his gaze steady on her, willing her to look at him. “It is so much more than your blood, Clare,” he husked.
And damn it, her heart leaped. Stupid, errant heart.
She didn’t know how to answer, so she returned to what she knew. Practicalities.
“So now what do we do?”
“We go to Waldo and get your blood tested. He is the one person in Motham—or anywhere, for that matter—that I trust to do this.”
“Does he have the equipment?”
“Maybe not modern scientific equipment, no, but there are other ways, magickal methods known only to warlocks and witches.”
“And if we find that my blood type is AOx positive like the victims, what then?”
“I’ll make a decision as to whether you remain on the case.”
“No!” She arced up. “No, you can’t take me off the case. Not now.”
“I’ll do what’s best,” he growled.
“Best for whom? For Natalie? For the other missing humans?”
He paused, his jaw working. “What’s safest—for you.”
Clare catapulted back into detective mode. “Sir, if you think I am going to leave this case, even if the results confirm that I do have AOx blood, you are very much mistaken.”
The insistent ring of the doorbell made them both startle.
“That’ll be my lift,” Clare said, jumping up. Oliver stood.
“We’ll take the car to Waldo’s apothecary.”
“How do we explain that to Trent?”
“We don’t. We grab the car, and Trent can take a morning stroll back to the station.
I don’t want anyone knowing we’re going to see Waldo until we can verify your blood type.
” He strode out of the room, and she followed him, glaring at the back of his shredded t-shirt, trying not to notice the gleam of his perfect skin below.
Goddess. How easy it was for the intimacy between them to shatter.
Any other time it might have made Clare smile, how they butted heads constantly, but knowing that he was planning to remove her from the case made her scowl instead.
She stood at the front door, arms crossed as Oliver spoke to Trent, who immediately climbed out of the car with a scratch of his head.
Then Oliver opened the passenger door and beckoned her down the steps.
Still fuming, she cast him a sullen look, which was met with nothing more than raised eyebrows.
Gods, how her middle finger itched to gift him the bird!
They barely spoke on the drive to Waldo’s apothecary, the atmosphere in the car brimming with tension.
But seeing the quaint little shop front, her face relaxed a smidge.
She’d forgotten how pretty Waldo’s apothecary was.
She’d been there once or twice for supplements when she was feeling run down, working her ass off in those early years in the Motham PD.
Built out of Malibar stone, like everything around the old quarter of the city, and constructed in Motham’s early days, it stood in a winding narrow street, with its bow windows full of colored potion bottles.
The street was deserted. It was still early morning, and Old Motham tended to get busy later in the day, but as they arrived, a figure strode up the street, tall and bearded, wearing a woven cloak that shimmered with multi-colored threads.
The figure stopped at the oak doors of the apothecary and took out a bunch of keys from his pocket.
“Fortuitous,” Oliver muttered. “We’ll get to see him before his appointments start.”
Waldo was so popular it was difficult to get a consult with him, Clare recalled, not only for his medicinal skills but also his couples counselling. The mage was renowned for helping those in mixed species relationships work through their differences.
She cast a glance at Oliver’s stony profile. Yep, he was still pissed at her. If they ever became a couple, they’d need Waldo’s services for sure.
She huffed a sigh.
After the way Oliver had almost devoured her when they kissed, she guessed their feelings for each other were—kind of—acknowledged.
But he had a truckload of trauma, and had probably never been in an intimate relationship.
As for her, a few miserable attempts with humans had left her convinced she was incapable of finding someone.
Not exactly the perfect love match.
She tightened her lips and followed her boss as he jumped out of the car. He touched Waldo’s arm, just as the mage had the big wooden door open and was about to walk inside.
Waldo turned, and his face broke into a huge smile when he spotted Oliver. The two hugged, as if in kinship.
Finally, Oliver turned, and she stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Detective Clare Doyle,” she introduced herself.
The warlock’s gaze rested on her warmly. “Ah yes, Clare, I remember you.”
“Really? I only came to you maybe twice, some years ago.”
“Certain clients I never forget.” He cocked his head, eyes bright, looking at both of them. “So the time has finally come.”
It was Clare and Oliver’s turn to exchange perplexed glances now. The mage ushered them inside, closed the huge carved wooden door and slid across the bolt. “I’ve been expecting your visit.”
“You were expecting us?” Clare’s jaw dropped.
Waldo nodded. “I have been following the missing humans case. Returning to my ancient texts to find out what magick and mischief is afoot. But please, come in, we will talk in my consulting room.”