Chapter 5
FIVE
“He’s like a sealed vault, that one,” I continued, the bitterness sharp around the edges of my words.
I stared into the glowing liquid of my Lumen Whisper, watching the light refract through the glass.
“I told him I knew his name was wiped from the record.”
Dane studied me, his gaze narrowing. He picked up his glass, swirling the dark liquid. “And?”
“He shut down. Told me to drop it. But he looked… terrified.” I slid my glass across the table, the condensation leaving a wet streak on the black surface.
“He gave me a name: Daniel Thorne. His partner. Thorne was the warning shot. He dug too deep twenty years ago, and he ended up dead. Eamon survived because he learned to keep his mouth shut.”
“So we’re not just fighting Darian Morrow,” Dane said, voice low. “We’re fighting a twenty-year-old ghost story.”
“A ghost story that’s killing people again.”
The music hammered through the floor, a relentless bassline that shook my teeth.
“I need to find Thorne’s people,” I said. “Eamon won’t talk. But Thorne might have left something behind. A stash. A journal. Someone who remembers.”
“I’ll dig into the pension records,” Dane offered. “Personnel files might be scrubbed, but payroll never forgets. If he has a next of kin—a wife, a sibling—they’ll be on the beneficiary list.”
I nodded, the tension in my neck easing by a fraction. “Do it. If we can find family, we might find the truth.”
Dane leaned back, letting the conversation drop. His gaze lost its tactical edge. “How’s the shoulder holding up?”
I flinched. Dane never missed a thing. It was annoying, that Varkyn sensitivity—like living with a human lie detector.
“It’s fine,” I said, too quickly.
“Selene.”
“I said it’s fine.” I took a long swallow of my drink to break his stare. “Just a muscle spasm. Stress.”
Lies. All lies. The searing ache, the pressure, the way the magic had flared earlier when Riven Ashborne walked into the bullpen—that was a recognition I didn’t understand and definitely didn’t want to discuss.
Dane didn’t press. He just looked at me, those intense eyes reading all the things I refused to say.
“You’re running on fumes,” he said quietly. “And you’re scared.”
“I’m pissed off,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Not from where I’m sitting.” He finished his drink and set the glass down with a final clink. “I’m on early rotation tomorrow. Wolf patrol at dawn. I need to head out.”
“I get it. Duty calls.”
“Are you staying?”
I glanced towards the bar. The lights were bright, the crowd was loud, the noise was enough to drown out the questions spinning in my head.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think I need to not be a detective for an hour.”
He gave a faint smile, a rare softening of his hard lines. “Just… be careful, Sel. Don’t numb yourself on Eamon’s account. Or anyone else’s.”
“Get out of here, Lennox.”
He turned and disappeared into the crowd, the empty space he left behind feeling suddenly hollow.
I leaned back against the plush velvet, staring at the condensation on my glass. I didn’t want to think about Daniel Thorne. I didn’t want to think about Eamon, or Darian Morrow, or the burning sigil on the victim’s arm. And I definitely didn’t want to think about Riven Ashborne.
I needed a drink. I needed noise. I needed to get out of this booth.
I pushed myself up and headed for the main bar. The lights were brighter here, the crowd louder. I squeezed into a gap at the counter, trying to flag down a bartender who was currently ignoring everyone not waving serious money.
“Lost your way, love?”
The voice cut through the din—warm, light, and wonderfully uncomplicated.
I turned. A man was leaning against the bar next to me.
Late twenties, dark hair falling over his forehead, and a smile that crinkled the corners of his light eyes.
He defied my usual radar—neither copper nor criminal.
He looked like a clean slate. A bright, inviting escape route from the tangled mess of my week.
“Just trying to procure some beverages,” I replied, a small smile touching my lips. “It’s a jungle out here.”
“Tell me about it.” He gestured with his glass, where gold dust swirled in violet liquid. “Worth it for this, though. Starling Kiss. You should try one.”
The bartender finally looked my way.
“I’m usually a Lumen Whisper kind of girl,” I said to the man, then turned to the barman. “But make it two of those, please. Starling Kisses.”
“A woman of bold choices,” the man said, grinning. “I’m Jamie, by the way.”
I picked up the glowing drink. Then I looked at him.
Don’t numb yourself. To hell with that.
“Selene,” I said.
“Well, Selene,” Jamie said, nodding towards the sunken floor where the bass was currently rattling the floorboards. “My friends abandoned me for the smoke. Care to help me reclaim my dignity on the dance floor?”
I looked at his extended hand. Then I looked at the spot where Dane had vanished.
“Why not?” I took his hand. His skin was warm. “Lead the way. I need the music louder than my thoughts.”
Jamie steered me into the crushing heart of the dance floor. He moved with an easy grace, unburdened. We lost ourselves in the music, bodies swaying together, a temporary oblivion where the jagged edges of the day receded.
The heat of his hand on my lower back pushed away the memories, the prickle of danger. When a slower track began, he guided me towards the less crowded edges, breath warm against my ear.
“Fancy another drink?” he asked, voice a low rumble.
“You read my mind.”
We found ourselves back at the bar, the vibrant energy of the crowd still pressing in. Jamie ordered two more Starling Kisses. The metallic taste of magic on my tongue, usually a jolt, now just felt like part of the celebration.
“You’ve got a good smile,” he said, turning to face me fully, eyes searching mine. “Should use it more often.”
Heat crept up my neck. “It’s been a long week.”
He laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. “I can imagine. Looks like you carry the weight of the world on your back.”
His gaze dropped to my left shoulder, where the mark burned beneath my clothes. A flicker of unease. He didn’t see it, of course—just a fleeting impression of tension.
“Just trying to keep it from collapsing,” I quipped, diverting him.
He studied me for a moment longer, a softness in his gaze that made my gut clench. Then he grinned again. “Come on. One more dance before I lose you to the night.”
Back on the dance floor, the music was a living thing. Jamie drew me closer, our bodies brushing in a sway that felt age-old and new all at once. His hand found my waist, tugging me tighter until there was barely a hair’s breadth between us.
His head lowered, and I tilted my chin to meet him. His lips brushed mine, soft at first, then harder.
My mind emptied, the world narrowing to the press of his mouth, the insistent warmth of his body. My hands found his hair, tangling in the soft strands as the kiss deepened. A hunger flared, sudden and unexpected.
It had been months since I’d let anyone this close. The alcohol had taken the edge off the fear, but I needed something stronger to bury it completely. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to feel.
He pulled back slightly, eyes dark with invitation. “My place isn’t far.”
“Good,” I murmured, leaning back in. “Because I’m not ready to call it a night.”
The taxi ride was a smear of neon. The moment his door swung open, he kicked it shut and backed me against the cool plaster of the hallway. His mouth devoured mine, hungry and demanding. My trousers were unfastened and shoved down before I could catch my breath.
Good thing I never missed a pill—the one sensible habit I’d managed to keep. No reason to let worry shove its way into this. Not tonight.
There was no finesse, just raw instinct.
I wrapped my legs around him, drawing him flush against my heat.
He didn’t wait. He slid into me with one smooth, powerful thrust that tore a guttural sound from my throat.
The friction was a blunt force—rough fabric, desperate hands, the primal urgency of it playing out against the wall until I came apart, a wild, breathless spasm that dragged him over the edge with me.
After, he carried me to the bed. Button by button, my shirt gave way, clothes discarded on the floor. This time, the pace was slower. Gentler. His fingers traced the curve of my hip, the line of my collarbone, asking no questions, demanding nothing but touch.
I closed my eyes, willing the sensation to drown out the day.
Instead, my mind betrayed me.
For a split second, the warmth of Jamie’s skin was replaced by a phantom memory—a prickle of cold static. The smell of cheap cologne was overwritten by the copper scent of rain.
I gasped, and Jamie took it for pleasure, his grip tightening. He misread the signal entirely. My mind had snapped back to the police station, to that terrifying, dangerous stillness that had set my blood on fire.
This was safe. This was human. But my body betrayed me, looking past the comfort to ache for the storm I’d felt earlier. Deep down, the safety rang hollow. I starved for the danger.
I chased the release anyway, desperate to bury the thought. We found the pace again in the damp warmth, but the friction was just biology now. When the wave finally took me, I drifted off with his limbs tangled in mine, waiting for a silence that refused to come.
The sound of my phone jolted me awake. I fumbled for the device on the bedside table, my arm the only thing moving while the rest of me remained heavy under the duvet. Mind still thick with sleep. Six o’clock. Too early for anything except trouble.
“Yeah?” My voice was rough, muffled by the pillow.
“Selene.” Orin’s voice, usually calm, held a sharp edge. “You need to get to the office. We have a problem.”