Deceit Can Be Deadly

  Obviously she was pissed, but about what? The optimist in him hoped it was concern for his well-being. The realist nixed that idea. Most likely she was pissed over the bug he’d planted in her office.

  At least she hadn’t ripped him a new one or tried to poison him. That was a positive. Or maybe she just hadn’t figured out where to hide his body and was keeping him alive until then.

  Well, it was doubtful he could make the situation worse. Might as well try again. “I thought aloe was the go-to remedy.”

  “It is.” She flicked a look at him. “However, Sherman took a dislike to my aloe plant and I’ve not replaced it yet. Honey is my next choice because it’s a natural antibiotic. The pH balance is inhospitable to bacteria. As a topical ointment, it cools the burn, relieves pain, and helps the skin to heal.”

  “Interesting.” He noted there was a slight tremble to her hand as she worked. Maybe she did feel some concern for him.

  “It really was foolish of you, getting injured like this.” She compressed her lips. “You could have been seriously injured. That jolt of energy could have done permanent damage to a less fit individual.”

  “You think I’m fit?” He gave her a crooked grin.

  She slammed down the jar and stood up. “Forget the smart comebacks. This is nothing to joke about. You could have died.”

  “But I didn’t. There’s always an element of danger in my work. I’m alive. My jacket barely got scuffed.” He nodded towards the garment that was draped over a nearby chair.

  “Oh, of course. How stupid of me not to realize that the well-being of your jacket was paramount.”

  There was sheen to her eyes that caught his attention. “You are concerned about me.”

  “Of course I’m concerned. I’d be concerned about anyone who was injured.”

  “Anyone?” He stood up. “Or is your concern greater because it’s me?”

  “Full of yourself as always.” She looked away.

  “Why is it so hard for you to admit that you care about me? Even if it’s only a little bit.”

  “I care for no one.” She folded her arms and raised her chin.

  “I think differently.” He used his uninjured hand to guide her to look at him. His thumb brushed her lower lip, then he ducked his head and gently kissed her. “See? It’s not so hard.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. A sigh escaped her and she stepped back. “There are complications you can’t begin to fathom.”

  “Like your age?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I have a contact who mentioned you enacted a blood spell that slowed your aging.”

  “Who?”

  “Sorry. I don’t reveal my sources.”

  She wasn’t pleased.

  “It doesn’t matter to me. I like older women.” He gave a soft chuckle.

  “That’s not even remotely funny. And nowhere close to being the issue.”

  “Then explain.”

  “I—” A sound from the main part of the club had her pausing. “The others are here. We’ll debrief in the club.”

  “Gwyneth…”

  She shook her head. “I’ll bring you out a strengthening tea. Go tell the others I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He gave her a hard stare. “Don’t think we’re done with this.”

  “You really are like a dog with a bone.”

  He laughed and went to meet the others.

  Gwyn moved about her kitchen, putting water on to boil and getting out the teapot, all the while scowling. Seeing Dante injured had affected her more than she liked to admit.

  He was a Lycan.

  He was annoying.

  He’d bugged her office for heaven’s sake!

  He was a handsome devil, though.

  And clever, with a sense of humour and the ability to match her in a verbal battle.

  Plus, she sensed there was something broken about him, a loneliness she could relate to. Not that it mattered.

  She took out the various jars of ingredients, checking the neatly printed labels she’d affixed. Dandelion, plantain. Her hand hovered as she considered his symptoms and then reached for a few more glass jars. Fresh picked leaves would have been preferable but she’d gathered these herself and dried them carefully to ensure maximum potency.

  Her concern for Dante was inexplicable. Not for the first time did she wonder if some external force was drawing them together. It was a ridiculous notion, though; Lycans couldn’t cast spells. She added the various teas to the pot and poured the boiling water over them, then found a mug.

  It was curious that she and Dante should end up almost working together. It would seem they were both after the malefic witch. Naturally, once she’d gathered any pertinent information from him and the others, it would become strictly an affair for the Coven to deal with and the Lycans could go on their way.

  She strained the tea and carried the mug downstairs to where the others were gathered in the club. Yes, she’d be done with Dante quite soon. The flicker of regret she felt over that fact meant nothing, of course.

  The soft hum of conversation greeted her as she entered the club. Everyone was gathered around the table and Matt was serving drinks. Presumptuous, but she’d forgive him.

  “Here.” She placed the mug in front of Dante and scooped up the shot glass that he’d been about to reach for. A frown marred his face which she ignored.

  He sighed and took a sip and then made a face. “What’s in this?”

  “Dandelion, plantain, lemongrass, rose petals…” She shrugged. “All natural ingredients.”

  “Lawn clippings. Wonderful.”

  “Drink it.” She gave him a stern stare and then went to talk to Bendov.

  Dante downed more of the tea. It was a particularly vile concoction and he wondered if she’d made it that way on purpose to get back at him for worrying her. If so, he’d drink it gladly since it was a sign she cared. And it was supposed to help him recover from whatever damage that spell had done. He glanced down at his burnt hand. The skin was already healing. Whether that was thanks to Gwyneth’s remedy or his own Lycan metabolism, he wasn’t sure.

  At least the weak, shaky feeling had almost dissipated and he no longer felt the need for assistance should he want to walk across the room. His gaze slid to Bendov. The werebear had proven to be a decent sort even if he was currently a bit too cozy with Gwyneth. She was giving the man a warm welcome home now that she’d finished playing nurse.

  Dante studied the two. Bendov had been missing for several days. Gwyn had been friends with the werebear for some time. It was perfectly logical she’d be pleased he was safe. And, he reminded himself, she’d broken things off with the man. Or at least that’s what he’d assumed. If so, there was no cause for jealousy. He took another drink of the tea and made a face. The bitterness of the liquid matched his mood perfectly.

  Sam and Damien were sitting across the table from him. Their hands were clasped and Damien kept looking at his mate as if he expected her to disappear again at any minute. Apparently, Sam hadn’t mentioned they were father and son. That sort of news would have caused a minor explosion at the very least. Damien wouldn’t be pleased. Perhaps making contact with him hadn’t been a good idea after all. And yet the need to warn him of the family curse was paramount. Damien had already lost one mate and despite the fact that danger had been averted this time, there was no guarantee Sam would remain safe.

  “We have a pretty good idea why you’re in Chicago, Dante.” Smith addressed him, interrupting his train of thought.

  “Really?” He leaned back in his chair as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Smith had always been an annoying itch he couldn’t wait to be rid of, yet the man was actually being cordial. Why the change in attitude? He narrowed his eyes wondering if being Damien’s father was the reason. He considered the implications of possibly working with Smith rather than dodging him.

  They finished explaining their theory with regards to
his current assignment and he slowly nodded. Most of their conjecture was spot on.

  “The only thing we aren’t sure of is why Lycan Link is endorsing your activity.” Brandi concluded.

  “Lycan Link has never officially endorsed anything I do.” He corrected.

  “Semantics.” Smith leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

  Dante hesitated then gave a shrug. This was his last job. He had Higgins pinned neatly in a corner. What did it matter if he shared what he knew? “For years now, the malefic witch has been killing people—humans, shifters, Fae—and Higgins has managed to keep it swept under the proverbial carpet until now…someone is noticing the bump. The killings have become more frequent for some reason, rumours are circulating and High Council members are asking questions. He wants the witch gone before this becomes public knowledge and jeopardizes the Alliance.”

  “And you knew nothing of this?” Brandi swung her gaze to Gwyn.

  “No. She’s managed to use some kind of cloak to hide her activity. The few energy fluctuations we’ve noticed were always explainable.”

  “She?” Dante narrowed his eyes. “Who are you referring to?”

  Gwyneth raised a brow. “Camille. The malefic witch, of course.”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s a male.”

  “This matter has to do with my people. I dare say I know more about what is going on in the Coven than you do.” She gave him a dismissive look and it was like a match to his fuse.

  “Not this time, sweetheart.” Dante set his drink down with a thud. “I’ve been tracking this witch for years. Heard him speak, followed every rumour, scoured the dregs of society for leads. My life has been devoted to finding him so don’t tell me I’m less than informed, especially since you claim you didn’t have a clue what was going on right under your very nose!” He rose to his feet and braced his hands on the table, glaring at her.

  “Claim? Are you insinuating I’m somehow involved in this…this…abomination of witchcraft?” Gwyneth stood as well.

  “The thought originally crossed my mind.”

  She gasped and everyone else at the table seemed to freeze.

  Their eyes duelled over the length of the table until Dante eventually compressed his lips and looked away.

  “I apologize. I admit I initially had my suspicions that as a member of the Coven you might be assisting the malefic witch but I’ve found no evidence to support that belief.”

  She inclined her head. “If the positions were reversed I might have felt the same. However, rest assured I am not assisting Camille.”

  “But it’s not Camille.”

  “My information comes from an old and trusted friend.” She placed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “He’s felt the energy fluctuations, noticed Camille acting strangely.”

  “Speculation. How does he know she’s the cause of the fluctuations? Has he actually seen her kill someone?”

  “Well…”

  “Because I have. The woman I loved died right in front of me. Her blood stained my clothing. I heard the witch’s voice, felt the waves of evil coming off him.”

  “You didn’t see him?” Reno interrupted.

  “There you go. You haven’t seen the perpetrator either.” Gwyn straightened. “And there’s no one else on the council that it could be other than Camille.”

  “It was dark,” Dante conceded. “A large fire was between us. I could only make out a shadowy figure but it was definitely a man. He was wearing a hooded cape. I had the impression he was older.”

  “Does it have to be someone on the council?” Brandi asked.

  “No,” Gwyn folded her arms, “but it’s highly likely it is a council member as no one else would be powerful enough.”

  “I agree with Dante,” Matt stated. “It was definitely a man who brought me food and explained what was going to happen. I couldn’t see his face. As Dante said, he wore a long cape with a hood that kept his face shadowed.”

  “A confederate of the malefic witch perhaps?” Damien suggested.

  “Matt’s evidence supports me.” Dante began to pace the room. “There’s no logic in arguing the point.”

  “Whoever is responsible, we have to act soon. He will have noticed we’re missing from the warehouse and either come looking for us or go find another victim.” Matt leaned forward clasping his hands on the table. “I think we need to meet with Camille; invite her here and present her with what we know.”

  Damien shook his head. “If Camille is the culprit, Gwyneth could be in danger.”

  “But it isn’t her,” Dante pointed out which earned him a scowl from Damien.

  “Can you summon her here?” Reno asked. “With all of us here to back you up—”

  Gwyneth snorted. “She could wipe all of you out with a flick of her little finger.”

  “But she won’t,” Dante said. “Because she isn’t the malefic witch.”

  “Dante, you are so full of shit.” Damien rolled his eyes.

  “I believe him,” Sam leaned back in her chair. “He wouldn’t endanger the baby by inviting Camille here if he had any doubt.”

  Dante inclined his head, barely keeping his features under control. “Thank you.”

  “Sam, we need to talk. In private.” Damien surged to his feet and jerked his head towards the front entrance.

  At the same time, Gwyn also spoke, gesturing towards her office. “Dante, we need to talk. In private.”

  As both couples left the room, Reno stretched his arms out and, fingers laced, put them behind his head. “Anyone care to make a wager on the outcome of those discussions?”

  Matt reached for his wallet. “I’m in!”

  Chapter 27

  “I have sound reasoning for suspecting Camille.” Gwyn stood with her arms folded. “At first I had my doubts but Cyrus had several valid points that eventually swayed my belief.”

  “And those valid points were?” Dante quirked a brow.

  “She’s worried about keeping her job.”

  “So is half the population.”

  “And she was the first to mention the energy fluctuations,” she pointed out.

  “Then why would she incriminate herself by mentioning them?”

  “To deflect any suspicion from herself. If she’s mentioning them no one would suspect her of being the source.”

  Dante nodded slowly. “A rather twisted logic but plausible.”

  “It seems you’re not as thick as a brick after all.”

  “I didn’t say you’d convinced me. You’ve merely made an interesting point. Anything else?”

  “Cyrus mentioned she’s been acting suspicious; twitchy he called it. She began to pace then realized her small office wasn’t suited for the activity and settled for sitting on the edge of the desk. “She’s been questioning the suitability of members, even my relationship with Matt.”

  “It sounds like she’s being vigilant. And if she’s felt these energy fluctuations you mentioned then she’s looking for the culprit.”

  “I’m sure I saw black marks on her hand.”

  “Black marks?”

  She explained about the sealed pages of grimoires. “In fact, that’s how I knew you had a grimoire.”

  “I don’t follow your logic.”

  “Your hands had black marks on them.”

  He glanced at his hands. “I don’t recall seeing marks.”

  “Only another witch would notice. When I was cleaning the office, I found the napkin you used the other day. There were dark marks on it from your hands.”

  “There’s only one problem. The spells in the book I had seemed very innocuous. I’m sure none would be considered dark.”

  “I…” She frowned. “You’re right. I noticed they’d been removed from the grimoire when I examined it.”

  “If the dark marks weren’t from me then who else had been in your office?”

  “Cyrus.” She breathed his name, her thoughts racing. “I reminded him about the gloves and he
appeared confused but surely he would have followed such a basic procedure?”

  Absentmindedly, she rubbed her temple, the beginnings of a headache. “What if he was actually casting dark spells?”

  “Then the gloves wouldn’t protect him, but he wouldn’t—”

  “All of the supposed evidence you’ve given me is supposition that originated with Cyrus.”

  “No. He wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “He’s a sweet old man, a little forgetful—”

  “An old man who perhaps sees his life coming to an end.” He narrowed his eyes. “What does he look like?”

  “Elderly, white hair. He likes to dress up in capes and—”

  “Capes? The malefic witch does that.”

  “No. It’s Camille.” She winced as the throbbing in her head increased. “Cyrus is theatrical. For years, he’s performed charity magic shows for poverty-stricken children all over the world.”

  “A perfect cover for hiding his activities; he came and went, no one connecting an aging magician with a string of missing persons.”

  The headache was making it hard to think and she gave her head a shake.

  “Gwyneth? Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath. “A headache. I’ve been getting a lot of them lately.”

  “I’ve not noticed you mentioning them before.”

  “Oddly enough, you’re not the cause. It’s usually when I’m around…” She paused, a thought occurring to her. “Cyrus.” She turned to look at Dante. “The headaches occur around Cyrus or when I’m thinking about the malefic witch.”

  “You think he’s cast some sort of spell on you?”

  She rubbed her temple again. “No, he wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “He might if it would keep you from thinking critically about his case against Camille.” Dante pressed his case. “Think about it Gwyneth, all the evidence points to him being the man we’re looking for.”

  She stood silently, her hands clenched into fists. She’d trusted Cyrus, considered him a dear friend and confidant but Dante’s logic was sound. She’d never suffered from headaches before and it would have been easy for Cyrus to place a subtle, short-term spell on her. He often took her hand or touched her shoulder, likely renewing the spell each time.