Chapter Fourteen
The wind and rain are pissing me off.
Now that I know these storms are because of that little fucking fox inside, I’m going to kill him. There’s no reason to have it rain this much all of the time.
When Lula takes her phone call from Jake, my sour mood disappears. There’s been a homicide at a local jewelry store, and I’m excited until I remember I haven’t killed anyone in a few days because Lula has been able to satisfy all of my violent cravings.
At the same time, I don’t like it when someone is one-upping me in murdering others. I’m the monster. I do the murdering.
Holding my palm out, the roots grow together, making a small stalk. A nightshade flower blossoms on top, the purple shades giving a hint of beauty in the gloomy day. I set it on her windshield, wanting Lula to know I was here.
I’m always here.
Wherever she is, I’m never far. I can either always see or hear her. When the distance between us grows too much, my monsters become unsettled.
Taking one last look at the small gift I left on her windshield, I’m across town at Harold’s Jewelers in the next minute, the rain finally easing.
Sheriff Holland and Officer Waylon are here, talking to witnesses a few doors down. I survey the parking lot, doing my best to hold in my growls. The audacity of someone else ruining my killing spree only has the nightmare inside me roaring with fury.
I duck behind the Sheriff’s car, doing my best to hide my massive body and listen to the Sheriff’s conversation.
“You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary? Or hear anything, Ms. Trudel?” He questions the middle-aged woman who seems to own the boutique just a few stores down.
“No,” she answers, clearly upset by the emotion in her voice. “I only heard the gunshots. I’m sorry. I didn’t come outside when I heard them. I locked my door and hid in the backroom with my loaded shotgun—which I have a permit for,” she adds with a bit of attitude.
“Thank you, Ms. Trudel. I appreciate your time today.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help, Sheriff,” she says.
She walks back into her boutique while the Sheriff and Officer Waylon stay outside. Sheriff Holland clicks his pen over and over again, staring at his notepad.
“Someone had to have seen something. We have a few more businesses to hit,” Waylon tries to sound positive.
“That’s not what’s eating at me,” Sheriff Holland sighs. “This murder isn’t like the others. The others were brutal, gruesome, and almost filled with hate. You could tell by looking at the bodies or what was left of them.”
Pride swells in my chest. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.
“This is a clear robbery and homicide. Three gunshot wounds to the chest. Harold didn’t stand a chance. This is another killer, Waylon. If I can’t stop these murders or start catching the fucking killer, this entire town will be after my badge, and they might elect someone else.”
“The killings always stop,” Waylon states, pointing out a small bit of hope. “They happen, yes, but then they stop. That’s good for us.”
“No, Waylon. No, it isn’t. Because not once have I arrested anyone over the years for any of these killings,” his voice a harsh, inpatient whisper. “This is bad for me, and something needs to change.” Sheriff turns around and walks away, heading to another place of business.
Waylon blows out a heavy breath, following his boss, but not before he turns to peer at the car I’m hiding behind, as if he can see me.
I stay crouched, wishing the one ability I had was to be invisible.
Shrugging his shoulder, he hurries to catch up to Jake.
That leaves me all alone until Lula gets here.
Bright yellow crime scene tape creates a border around the outside of the jewelry store, warning everyone to stay away, but the scent of that old man’s blood calls to me, especially when fear still hangs heavy in the air.
I roll my eyes when thunder rolls above, the clouds darkening again, and rain threatening to fall.
Again.
There are two places on my body I like wet. My mouth from eating my mate’s pussy and my cock from when my mate comes on it.
Making sure no one is around to see me, I’m inside the jewelry store before the next flash of lightning strikes.
“Messy,” I snarl in disgust when I see the mess this amateur made. They didn’t even take all of the jewelry. What is the fucking point of robbing someone if you don’t take everything?
I squat, picking up a large diamond ring that would look beautiful on Lula’s hand.
The shape is familiar, but I can’t remember the word off the top of my head.
It’s almost like an oval, but skinnier, and the ends are pointed.
Black diamonds frame the main one that makes me think Lula would love that part the most—hopefully because they remind her of me.
Seeing as the place was robbed already, I tuck the ring in my pocket, kicking the dead guy’s leg.
To make sure.
I sniff him, trying to understand the heavy scent of fear that still lingers. It doesn’t belong to Harold. This smell belongs to the killer. My mouth waters at the excitement of finding the suspect. Lula might be proud of me if I do.
I’ve never had anyone be proud of me before.
“Shade.” Lula’s voice has my skin reacting, thousands of pebbles arising on my skin, my cock twitching from the panic and worry clinging to her throat.
“What are you doing here?” She grips my arm and tries to drag me towards the back of the store.
“You can’t be here right now, Shade. What if Jake sees you?
You’re at a crime scene. Anything you’re doing could be disrupting it. ”
“I have the scent of the person who did this.” I try to whisper, but my voice is too deep, and it carries. “I can find them. I think they’re still close too with how strong their fear is.”
Lula holds my hand, which is unusual for me. I don’t hold hands. I never have. It seems intimate and important. I don’t understand why people do it, but her palm against mine soothes the violence inside me, as if it’s a baby that needs to be put to sleep.
“Okay. Go. Let me know somehow that you’re okay. They have a gun, Shade, and they could hurt you—”
Picking her up, I silence her with a kiss. She sighs against me, relaxing when our lips meet, and her palms skim up my bare chest.
“You are real,” she whispers into my mouth.
I lean back, curious as to why she would think I wasn’t.
“Last night is a blur. I thought maybe you were a dream. I couldn’t decide.”
“Very real, Lula. That bite on the back of your neck means something.”
Her hand flies to her neck, gasping when her fingers trace the indents of my teeth. “Because I’m your fated mate.”
I nod, remembering the conversation I heard her having with Caden as he explained mates.
It made more sense to me when I heard him tell Lula the importance of mates.
Everything inside me clicked due to the massive possessiveness I feel for her.
The way I need her builds into a dangerous emotion in my chest—similar to rage.
It’s consumption.
“Is the damn forensic team not here yet? Harold’s body needs to be taken to the morgue. He doesn’t deserve to be lying in his own damn store for so long.”
Lula’s eyes widen. “It’s Jake. You have to go. Go! Find them.”
“If I find them, I’ll kill them.”
“I don’t care. You do what you have to, and one day, I’ll help you get what you need.” She places her palm on my chest again, right where my heart beats, and I grunt, my skin reacting to her once again.
“You’re cold,” she whispers, dragging her finger across the expanse of my chest.
“No. I’m yours.” I kiss her on the cheek, Jake’s footsteps getting closer, and a low rumble vibrates my chest at the fury of leaving her with other men.
“Go,” she urges, her anxiety poisoning the air between us.
I’m outside behind the business, standing in the alley before she can blink again.
I’m ducking by the dumpsters, I tilt my head back as I take a deep breath in to find the trail of the killer. I would have hunted and killed this person anyway, but having Lula’s approval? It has my entire body on fire. My cock is semi-hard, pressing against the sharp teeth.
Later, I’m going to fuck her all over again. Now that she wears my mark, there’s nothing her body won’t be able to take from me.
My head slowly turns to the right, catching the scent of the killer’s trail, and a sardonic laugh escapes me just as the rain begins to fall.
I take my time walking down the narrow dirt road, knowing I have all the damn time in the world because the person who killed Harold isn’t in a hurry with how strong their scent is.
Even with the rain, the fear and anxiety are potent.
A chittering sound clicks within my throat, the nightmare swelling inside my skin to be set free.
I’m starved to hear screams of someone begging for their life.
My arm stretches out, my claws lengthen, cutting into the metal fence that is on my left. On the other side is a huge field with tall grass, the wind swaying it from side to side.
I pass a guy with a round stomach, wearing a greasy apron, and he has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, tossing a large bag of trash in the dumpster.
He gives me a nod, and I stop in my tracks.
“Can I get one?” I ask, tempted to take his entire pack if he says no. By force.
He doesn’t say a word. He takes the pack out of his back pocket, opens it, and offers it to me.
“Thanks.” I take one, then snag another. “For the road.” I tuck it behind my ear, lean forward, and lock eyes with him. “What you’re about to see, hear, or witness is not your concern. You won’t remember meeting me. You offered a stranger a light. That’s all.”
He nods, digging out the lighter from his pocket. “Yeah, okay. Whatever,” he grumbles.