Page 12 of Bold Mercy

“I…think so.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of amusement. “You, Kait. We talked about you.”

I wrinkled my nose, confused. “Me? Why?”

“He spoke about how you find him and his kind interesting. Apparently you understand him.”

I stood, somewhat slowly, my heart beginning to pound. “Rick…that night on your porch. As I was leaving, I felt something. He was there. He heard us talking, didn’t he?” And that meant all sorts of things.

“He’s fixating on you,” he said. He didn’t pace, but he was jumpy as hell. “I need to get you somewhere safe until I catch him.”

“I’m not worried about me. I hope he does show himself to me. But if he gets his hands on you—”

“Just because I was ambushed by…monsters,” he interrupted, “does not mean I don’t know how to handle myself. Do not treat me like I’m weak.” His voice was cold and just a little hard, as were his eyes. “This serial killer has decided to align himself with both of us. We’ll take advantage of that, but not with you out in the open, offering yourself up like an unhinged martyr.”

I studied him, noting the flush high on his cheeks, the glittering heat of his stare, the paleness around his lips. He was not well—not yet. Lennon had helped him greatly, as had Jared’s doctor, but he was not back to normal. He was barely halfway back to normal. He had to know that. And he was angry. So angry. Angry at the vampires, at himself, at the world. At me.

He was hurting.

I walked around my desk and went to him, noting the way he flinched when I wrapped my arms around him. He didn’t try to remove himself from my embrace, but he didn’t hug me back. We stood there quietly for at least five minutes before some of the tension melted from his body.

His scent was at once familiar and strange, as the vampire attack had added something to him. He smelled of warm human, of life, of sun and man and strength, as he always had, but now he also smelled of something dark and cold. He was the same, with extras.

Bad extras.

I closed my eyes, realizing how very much I did not want the detective to change. I wanted him to be as he’d always been—human cop, good guy, secure in his world.

“Fucking vampires,” I whispered. “Fucking Axton.”

If he heard me, he showed no sign of it. Finally, he grasped my arms and pushed me away from him, but he was calmer. “He will use Lucy to get to you,” he told me. “Where is she?”

“She’s with Jared.”

He nodded. “I’ll pick her up.”

“No. There is no safer place for her than Shadowfield. I sent her there myself, Rick, and you know I wouldn’t put her there if it wasn’t secure.”

“Someday,” he said quietly, “I’m going to need to know everything about Jared Walker and Shadowfield.”

But this was not that day. I nodded. When he was ready, I’d tell him about the wolves. He wasn’t ready for that conversation. Neither was I, honestly.

At that moment, there was a quick knock at my office door, then Joe pushed it open and stuck his head inside. “Zach’s here.”

I stood beside the detective and watched as Zach, three of Jared’s warriors at his back, walked into the room. He didn’t slink, didn’t avoid eye contact, didn’t hunch his shoulders even a little bit.

“I’m going to fight with you,” he said, and there was no doubt in his voice.

I didn’t know what had happened in the time he’d been at Shadowfield, but he was at peace with his decision. His stare was calm and unwavering, his spine straight, and his fingertips brushed the sheathed short sword at his hip.

I eyed the wolves behind him. They were three of Jared’s best guards, and I appreciated that he’d sent them to escort Zach to me. But they were more than an escort.

“We’ll guard your back as you track Avis Vine,” one of them told me. He stepped away from Zach and offered his hand. “I’m Wyatt Killen.” He pointed at the female wolf with him, and then the male. “This is Avery James and Brian Faulks.”

A pack’s warriors were unmistakable. They carried themselves a certain way, they were watchful, quietly suspicious, and extremely muscular. They bore scars from their trials, scars that never healed. When a wolf was in trials or in training to be an alpha’s warrior, there were times he wasn’t allowed to shift to heal. Those scars never faded.

They were unflinching in their duties and would die without hesitation to protect their alpha and their pack. A warrior would obey his alpha no matter what was commanded of him. And apparently, Jared had commanded these three to babysit me.

Avery was a redhead with bright green eyes, a couple of inches shorter than me, bulky with muscle, her upper lip bisected by a deep scar that somewhat matched the one that lay over her right cheekbone. Brian was my height, sported a buzzcut and narrow brown eyes, and one side of his face was marred by what could only be the long, vicious scars from another wolf’s claws.