>>All right.
The first victim was gwyllgi. For that reason, Midas Kinase assigned Ford Bentley to act as my temporary aide and represent the pack’s best interests. The other victims have yet to be identified. Until such time it is determined the first victim is their only casualty, I felt accepting Midas’s offer was prudent.
>>You mean he left you no choice but to accept oversight or surrender the case.
Pride stung, I deflated on the spot. I like how I said it better.
>>Our alliance with the pack is critical to maintaining the balance of power in the city. Accepting Midas’s offer tells them that you’re willing to cooperate in the gray areas where our laws overlaps theirs. You made a judgment call, one I happen to agree with under the circumstances.
Relief sang through me upon reading his validation. I’ll keep you updated.
>>Please do.
“Checking in with Linus?”
I sent Bishop the same update then pocketed the device. “Is it that obvious?”
“You scrunch up your face when you text him. If you were one of us, I’d say you were baring your teeth.” He shrugged. “Makes sense, really. He’s your superior, and you’re looking to move up. If you were gwyllgi, you’d probably be at his throat.”
“If I were gwyllgi,” I said, willing to be distracted. “Who do you think would win?”
He didn’t hesitate. “You.”
“You would bet on me against the POA?” I barked out a laugh. “You are insane.”
“Linus has a home, a family, a fiancée, a whole other life south of here. For all that he does his job and he does it well, his heart hasn’t been in Atlanta since Grier Woolworth put that ring on his finger.”
“Award me a sympathy win, why don’t you?”
“Let me finish.” He shushed me with a raised hand. “You’re hungry, and you’d have to be blind not to see the chip on your shoulder. You walk lopsided because of it. You’ve got something to prove, and you believe this is the place to do it.”
“I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”
“Not even to yourself?”
A pang resonated through me when his jab landed too close for comfort, but I ignored the hurt. I was an old pro at that. “Can you pick up the scent of whoever—or whatever—did this?”
“I’m not a bloodhound.” He pushed out a long sigh. “But yes, I smell it. That is to say I smell something. I’m not sure what. The rot and the water make it hard to parse the individual strands.”
“So,” I nudged, “you can’t tell if it’s the same as what you scented on Shonda’s remains.”
“No,” he said patiently. “I don’t have the best nose, and I can only do so much with it in this form.”
Before I goaded him into shifting forms, which may or may not do us any good since he had been on two legs then as well, I flexed my toes on the slick rocks and considered other options.
“The predator scent is hours old.” He filled his lungs, humoring me. “The killer isn’t here.”
A shadow on the water confirmed his assessment with a wavering nod, but Ambrose had already told me as much. I just had no way to convey that information to Ford without telling on myself.
Potentates were expected to bond with a wraith or even multiple wraiths, if they had the power to leash more. They used them as backup on the streets, but—as Bishop had pointed out—Ambrose was no wraith. Until I earned the title, I couldn’t afford to take any chances.
“I’m getting pruney.” I started back. “I’ll go sit with Bonnie until the cleaners arrive.”
There was nothing more for me to do here, and I bet questioning her woman to woman would go over better.
“I’ll wait here.”
I could have told him the dead didn’t need him to stand watch, but gwyllgi protective instincts demanded he stay put, and I wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.
After I stepped out of the water, I yanked on my socks and shoes then joined Bonnie.
The smaller woman trembled despite the heat. “Did I do the right thing?”
Unsure if she meant her ill-advised solo recon, which we had already addressed, or calling Midas instead of me or the cleaners, which might land her in hot water if these victims were anything but gwyllgi, I kept my answer as vague as I felt.
“It’s good we got a look at this scene before it was disturbed.” I dragged a damp hand down my face before remembering where it had been. “Ford got a hit on the scent before we had to deal with cross-contamination, and that might make all the difference.”
Tension shot through her spine. “He can track the person who did this?”
“We can hope.”
“Oh.” A frown gathered across her brow. “Can he tell if it’s a warg or another gwyllgi?”
“No,” I admitted. “We’re stumped on that front, but we’ll figure it out.”
Hopefully before another innocent paid the price.
“The cleaners should be here in a minute. I hear vehicles approaching.” She relaxed her rigid posture and inched closer until our hips brushed. “I don’t like them. They smell like death and chemicals.”
Given their line of work, I wasn’t surprised they carried their profession in their scent. “If I can keep you out of it, I will. If I can’t, then I’ll stay while they question you.”
“Okay.”
Once even my weak hearing picked up the sound of approaching footsteps, I rose and went to greet the four men dressed in waders and carrying crime scene kits. They each nodded on their way past, about as much of a hello as you could expect from cleaners, who did their best to avoid on-scene interaction to keep their impartial reputation intact, but the red-faced man who arrived next made a beeline for me.
“You should have followed standard operating procedure. You should have called us immediately, not waited until it was convenient for you.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of his team. “You contaminated the scene, you compromised this investigation, and your superior will hear about this.”
“Don’t raise your voice,” Bonnie whispered. “Please.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” he spat then turned back to me. “Or you.” His cheeks puffed with outrage. “Not yet.” His face kept mottling. “Not ever if I have anything to say about it.”
“Please,” Bonnie said again, barely an exhale.
The man slanted her an annoyed glare that slid toward panic in the next instant. “What is wrong with—?”
Crimson magic splashed up Bonnie’s slight frame, washing away her human form as it crested over her head in a tidal wave of power. As it drained, I got my first look at her other self, and I almost wet my pants.
Bonnie might be submissive, but she was a giant submissive. Frakking gargantuan.
She was also snow white from tip to tail minus her button nose. It, and her eyes, were as pink as the tiny flowers on her dress had been. Her scales were translucent and shimmery like they had been sprayed with glitter, and even her claws were clear to the quick.
All that might have been fine if she hadn’t been the size of a robust pony, easily twice the height of any gwyllgi I had ever seen. In this form, she came off as a lot less timid and a lot more willing to eat people who frightened her.