Hugh set the phone down on the glass coffee table, a wry smile tipping his mouth. “I’m not sure we’ll rush to recruit her for SERC’s diplomatic corps.”
Gwen snorted. “No. I imagine not. And speaking of SERC—how did your conversation with Councilor Beech go?”
Hugh had hoped that the SERC chair might possess yet-untapped knowledge about the faction of conspirators within her species. Gwen, on the other hand, had been wondering whether the councilor might possibly be a conspirator herself.
“As far as I can tell, she’s unaware of any specific insurrectionist plots within her native community.” Hugh lifted his arm in invitation, and Gwen gladly rested her head against his chest. “She also described fae discontent with SERC rule as scattered in nature and ultimately toothless. With seeming sincerity.”
“Not to mention questionable judgment,” Gwen muttered into his very soft sweater.
“Correct.” He huffed out an amused sound, then tugged lightly at the end of her braid. “Listen, Gwen. I know you need a nap, but I was hoping you might have sufficient energy to do something with me first.”
She raised her head slightly, no longer sleepy in the slightest. If he was suggesting what she hoped he was, she’d willingly—nay,eagerly—delay her nap as long as necessary.
“Do you think we could look at photos of common human generals and known fae agitators before you rest?” He gestured toward his tablet. “If you recognized one or both of the males in your vision, that would hasten our investigation a great deal.”
Oh. Goodbye, sexual satisfaction. Hello, fright-tinged tedium.
She deflated. “Yeah. Sure.”
The conspiracy needed to be her top priority, of course. A little afternoon canoodling would have to wait for better times.
“Are you certain? You seem…” He craned his neck to study her face, smushed as it was into his chest. “Disappointed?”
“I’m just really a fan of”—your hand between my thighs—“naps.”
“I see,” he said, in the tone that always meantI do not, in fact, see.
Back during her childhood, whenever people had speculated about which roles they’d serve in an apocalypse, she’d always privately concluded that she’d die quickly. Because of her inadequate strength and stamina, she’d assumed, not to mention her general lack of useful skills. The fact that she’d survived the recent zombie breach was a testament to both pure chance and her apartment building’s ladder-accessible attic escape room. But the apocalypse wasn’t over, sadly, and now the main reason for her inevitable early demise had finally become clear.
Poor, foolish Gwen, her neighbors would say at her gravesite.She was too horny to live.
“Let’s look at the photos,” she told him, resigned. “Naps can wait.”
—
Two interminable, orgasm-freehours later, Gwen finally hit pay dirt.
“That’s him.” Her ragged fingernail tapped the tablet screen. “That’s the human general.”
The one who’d kicked the werewolf child. She shivered, chilled anew at the memory.
With careful hands, Hugh tucked a cloud-soft throw more tightly around her hips and thighs. Then he reclaimed the tablet and narrowed his eyes at the photo currently on display.
“I’m not familiar with this officer.” His lips tightened into a determined hyphen. “Let me make a few calls.”
Micah Cartwright, as they shortly discovered, served as a general in the common human army. And as of earlier that day, he was nowhere to be found. Not in his office. Not in his home alongside his frantic wife. Not even in the condo belonging to his bewildered mistress, whose identity and location they uncovered a half hour into their search.
The general would be ordered to SERC headquarters upon his reappearance. Gwen wasn’t holding her breath for that, and neither was Hugh.
They’d begun checking into Cartwright’s associates, but the need for secrecy hindered both their speed and the tools they could use to investigate. If they didn’t unearth a better lead soon, she might have to start deliberately prompting more horrible visions, because the ones she’d already suffered through clearly hadn’t helped enough.
“Well…” Stymied, Hugh set aside his phone. “I believe this answers the question of whether the fae in your prophecy actually saw you.”
After a moment of thought, she nodded. “Because he must have warned his compatriot.”
“Who’s now in hiding and/or glamoured and thus unavailable for questioning.”
“Or”—she cringed—“dead, to prevent the discovery of the fae’s identity.”
