Chapter 4

Ch. 4: Dane

Latte in hand, Julian wanders off to browse, leaving me to deal with Ms. Wong. I guess he figures the 'cop talk' is my shtick, but sometimes I wish he'd stick around for it.

Women relate to him better. He says most of them would rather talk to 'tall, dark, and handsome' than 'pale and wispy' any day, but experience says otherwise. My height doesn't help, and my neutral expression gets read as a scowl.

I try not to loom, and do my best to appear "nonthreatening" as Stephanie frowns up at me.

I'm afraid we didn't find much," I begin. "This thief's no amateur. He knows how to leave a clean scene. Best get the police in here and let them do their thing."

Her expression pinches with disappointment and displeasure.

"So, you're telling me this has been a complete waste of time, and now your prints are over everything, so the real cops won't find anything, either? Great. Jeffrey was right; we should have saved our money and invested in better security, instead of hiring the Hardy Boys."

"Who's Jeffrey?" I ask, ignoring the minor outburst. No one's at their best after being victimized.

She winces and sighs, rubbing her brow. "I'm sorry. I know you've done your best. Jeffrey owns the bike shop at the end of the block."

I nod and make a note of this. Most of the shop owners had joined forces to hire us, but there'd been a few holdouts. If memory served, Jeffrey was the most vocal of these.

"If it's any consolation, the police won't dust for prints, anyway," I say, pocketing my notebook. "They'll assume the thief wore gloves. They'll probably just take your statement and write up a report."

"How do you know that?" she asks, a hint of suspicion edging her tone, as if it's just occurred to her that I know an awful lot about burglaries.

I check my phone, signaling that I'm done with her. "Because I carried a badge once, and cops don't waste resources or time. Just tell them what you told us, and don't mention we were here first. If they ask—"

A soft thud interrupts me, and I turn. Julian is nowhere in sight.

"Jules?" I call, moving towards the spot I'd seen him last. I round the corner of the aisle and see him sprawled on the floor.

"Shit. Julian?"

In two strides, I fall at his side and turn him over to look at his face. His eyes are closed, features relaxed, and his skin is paler than usual: stark white with a blue undertone. He isn't breathing.

"Julian!" I shout and shake him, and then—just as fear is about to scatter my senses—my training kicks in.

The problem is, I don't know how much of my training applies. I know what to do if someone faints; I'm less sure what to do if that someone is Fae.

Then again, Julian lived 29 years thinking he was human; his physiology can't be that different.

Quickly, I straighten his arms and legs and check that none of his clothing is too tight. All the while, my mind races at full tilt. I've seen him react badly to readings, but he's never passed out before.

Stephanie Wong hovers at my back.

"What happened?" she asks, panic edging her voice. "Is he okay? Should I call 911?"

If Julian were human, it would be the right thing to do; but he's not, and some instinct tells me an ambulance isn't what he needs.

"Not yet," I tell her. "Give him a minute."

"A minute for what?" she asks shrilly. "Is he even breathing? I really think I should—"

"Just wait," I say, and put a hint of Alpha in my tone. She listens, and hangs back while I work over Julian, rubbing his chest and arms, and calling his name, all while praying I'm not making a terrible mistake.

Ten torturous seconds later, he stirs and draws a shallow breath, and I nearly sob with relief as he comes around. His eyelids flicker and open, and he blinks up at me.

"Dane? What—" Wincing, he presses his hands to his eyes. "Oh, fuck. My head."

"Take it easy, sweetheart," I say, gently prying one hand away from his face so I can take his pulse. "What happened?"

"I dunno," he mumbles, keeping his eyes shut. "I was just looking around. Then..."

Abruptly more alert, he struggles to rise, and I help him to sit up. "Slow and easy, Julian Take your time."

Still wincing with pain, he points at the wall. "There's a mark—a rune of some kind. I touched it, and... Shit." He hunches over and rubs his temples. "Feels like someone Tased me between the fucking eyes."

"Is it electrified?" Stephanie asks, studying the wall. "I don't see any wires."

"I think he's confused," I say. "Can you get him some water?"

She nods and scurries away.

Once she's out of earshot, I lean closer to Julian. "Impressions?"

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed. "No. Just a bright light and a bolt of pain."

I squeeze the back of his neck. "Sometimes you take a while to process things, right? Maybe it'll make sense later. For now, put these on." I take my dark glasses from my back pocket and slip them on his face, knowing he'll be sensitive to light. "I'll get some pictures of the mark, then we'll split. Sound good?"

He nods. Stephanie returns with a bottle of water and hands it to him. I get to my feet and inspect the wall, taking a series of pictures with my phone.

"Is this new?" I ask, studying the strange symbol. It looks like a tall H with a double middle bar, drawn at a slant, and two smaller lines coming off the side, all enclosed in a circle the size of a large coin.

Stephanie joins me, leaning close to peer at the mark. "It wasn't here yesterday. I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed it."

"How sure is 'pretty sure?'" I ask. "If you're certain, that means the thief may have left it."

She frowns. "It definitely wasn't here on Monday. That's when I put out this table and lamp."

I pull my notebook out and record this information. Stephanie seems observant enough I'm willing to take her at her word.

"Do you recognize it?" I nod at the mark.

"It's not Chinese, if that's what you're getting at. Not that I could read it if it was. You think it's connected to the burglary?"

I lift a shoulder. "Could be. Point it out to the police, anyway. We'll be in touch if we learn anything more."

Returning to Julian, I help him to his feet.

"Come on, baby. Let's get you out of here."

He groans and leans against me, and I kiss the side of his head. We keep it strictly professional around clients, but at the moment, I don't care what Stephanie sees.

I needn't have worried. In fact, as it dawns on her that Julian is much more than my work partner, her demeanor warms considerably.

She holds the door for us and recommends I take Julian straight to Urgent Care, just to be safe.

It's not a bad idea, but as I get him settled in my car, he brushes off my ministrations.

"Dane, stop fussing," he grumbles. "I'm fine."

With his head leaned back and his eyes shut, I study him. His delicate appearance and unusual beauty make people assume he's weak just because he doesn't fit the usual mold of masculinity. I know better, but I fall into that trap, too, sometimes. I look at him and see something precious—something I need to guard and protect—instead of someone as fierce as any Wolf, in his own way. At the moment, however, I feel my concern is justified.

"You're strong, Julian," I say, reaching over to press my hand to his brow. "But you're also my mate, and I love you. Let me fuss."

He sighs but submits as I continue to check him over, taking his pulse and removing the sunglasses to see if his pupils are responding to light. They're still blown wide, the irises nothing but a thin ring of amethyst around a black core, and I slide the glasses back in place as he winces in pain.

His skin is still a little cold and clammy, and I grab a blanket from the back seat and cover him. I know he doesn't like it when I hover, but he doesn't understand how ingrained the instinct is.

My mom had her first child (me) at twenty-three, and her last (Ingrid) at thirty-seven. With seven siblings spaced over those fifteen years, I naturally became a kind of third parent—a second dad, almost. I sometimes had to make decisions in my siblings' best interest that they wouldn't have decided for themselves: bedtime, bath-time, when enough was enough. I'd carried that sense of responsibility with me to the service, and while it hadn't made me popular, it had served me well.

Julian's not a child, though, and he's not my subordinate. He's my equal, and my partner. But sometimes I struggle to find the line between caring and control; between doing what he wants and doing what I think is best.

I try to compromise.

"When was the last time you saw a doctor?" I ask.

"What?" His eyes snap open behind the sunglasses as he turns to look at me.

"I just mean... have you been to a doctor? Had x-rays, blood-tests?"

"The hell are you asking me, Dane?"

I tug on my hair and sigh, realizing we should have had this conversation a long time ago, and that I'm doing a bad job of bringing it up now.

"Look—Wolves have markers in our blood. A human doctor wouldn't know what they are, but they'd know it was something unusual. They'd probably think it was a disease of some kind. Same with x-rays. Sometimes our bones or joints don't look quite right. So, we avoid those things. What about you? Could I take you to the hospital right now if I needed to, or would you end up in a secret government lab somewhere?

"Jesus." He sighs and leans into the headrest again. "I'm fine. And I don't know. I've had plenty of blood tests. I used to get them pretty regularly when I was younger, because..." He bites his lip, probably thinking I'd rather not hear about his exes. "Anyway, no men in black ever showed up to take me away, and I've never been sick enough to need the ER. I don't need it now, either."

"How do you know?" I challenge. "Have you ever passed out like that before?"

"No, I haven't; but we've got an obvious line of cause and effect. My senses were already at full receptivity from reading the store. I touched the symbol, and whatever energy it held knocked me flat. I'm already feeling better."

"You stopped breathing, Julian," I snap, frustrated by his refusal to see things from my side. "If I'd passed out and stopped breathing, would you just take me at my word that I'm fine?"

He doesn't speak for a moment, and then clears his throat. "No. I guess I wouldn't. I'd be worried, too. How did that work, anyway?"

I squint, confused. "How did what work?"

"You were in the military. Don't they do random drug tests and stuff all the time?"

Sighing at his attempt to change the topic, I give up and start the car, turning my attention to driving us home. "They do; but I wasn't the only one. We've got... networks, I guess. Shifters and Wolves at different levels in the chain of command. The higher ups shield those lower down."

"Who shields the higher ups?"

I stop at a light and check my rearview mirror as I catch the wail of sirens in the distance. If Stephanie called the cops when we left, they'll be here soon. The station's only a few streets away.

"Does it matter?"

"Just curious." he mutters, slouching in his seat.

"Yeah, that's what the cat said, too."

He mutters something else, but before I can ask him to speak up and share with the class, more sirens distract me. These are louder, and coming from a different direction. The light turns green, but I stay where I am, not wanting to block the path of emergency vehicles.

A moment later, an ambulance flies around the corner, sirens screaming, and zooms off in the direction we'd come.

Julian presses his hands over his ears, being sensitive to sound as well as light, and twists to look back through the rear window.

"Stephanie didn't call 911, did she?" he asks.

"No, I told her not to. They wouldn't send an ambulance without confirming one was needed, anyway. Must be something else."

I turn the car around.

"What are you doing?" Julian asks, sitting up. "Why are we going back?"

"Just curious," I say, throwing his line back at him with a crooked smile.

We pass Stephanie's shop and see her standing outside with her arms crossed, frowning and shielding her eyes as she looks down the street.

At the end of the block, two police cruisers, a fire engine, and the ambulance have parked in front of Jeffrey Lagrange's bicycle shop. I pull into the nearest parking spot I can find and unclip my seatbelt to get out.

Julian reaches over and grabs my arm.

"Wait—where are you going?"

"To check it out. Stay here."

"Like hell." He fumbles with the buckle of his own belt.

I reach over and take his hand, putting the tiniest trace of alpha in my voice—just enough to get his attention.

"Julian."

He stills and looks up at me warily. "What?"

"You're okay, right?"

"Yes; I've told you, I'm—"

"I believe you. Now I need you to listen. Stay here and rest. I'll be right back. Please," I add, after a slight hesitation, and squeeze his hand.

He looks at me tensely, and then—to my relief—he relaxes, whatever he sees in my face having convinced him.

"Alright. Don't take long."

"I won't." I lean over and kiss him before getting out and walking toward the scene.

A cluster of officers gather near the front of the shop, and a pair of EMTs attend to a crying woman. As I approach, one officer—a rookie I don't recognize—turns and lifts a hand.

"Sir, keep your distance. This is a crime scene."

At his side, my former boss, Chief Coleridge, turns and lifts gray brows at me as she waves the officer off.

"Hunter. Fancy seeing you here."

"What's going on?"

She nods at the shop. "Mr. Lagrange's store was burgled last night. Apparently, he confronted the thief."

My interest sharpens.

"Is he hurt?"

"Nope."

I glance at the ambulance, but Coleridge continues before I can ask what, in that case, it's for.

"He's dead," she says.

I pause to absorb this information. "Homicide?"

She shakes her head. "Unclear. I got a feeling, though. You know the one."

I do. Instincts aren't just a wolf thing; humans have them, too, and Coleridge's are especially well-attuned. The one she's referring to gets honed in cops over time: the feeling that something is off with a scene.

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?" she asks. "According to Erickson, you and Hart were here the other night as well."

Silently cursing my erstwhile co-worker, and knowing that Coleridge will find out soon enough anyway, I tell her what Julian and I had discovered so far.

"Actually, I'm glad you're on the case already," she says. "I was just thinking of calling you." Taking out her phone, she pulls up a photo and angles the screen at me. "That mark you found in Wong's—it looks something like this?"

I study the image and nod. The symbol in the photo is different, but similar in style.

"Not exactly, but yeah." I show her the photos I'd taken earlier. "Wong will show you where it is; I told her to point it out."

She taps her screen. To my surprise, my phone pings and I see she's sent me the image. "We found it near the body," she says.

"This is evidence," I remark, although she's obviously aware of that as well as the fact she shouldn't share it with someone who's not a cop.

She nods, hands on her hips as she surveys the scene, watching as police, paramedics, and other personnel do their jobs.

"Look; I know you said you're done with the violent stuff, Hunter, but I think we could use you on this one. Hart, too. You want in?"

I glance back at my car. Julian will absolutely want in. He's eager to put his Fae abilities to the test, and what happened today won't dampen that enthusiasm one bit. On the other hand, the thief may have just proven himself more than capable of delivering on his threats. Maybe what Julian doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Chief! Come look at this!" an officer calls from the scene.

Coleridge raises her brows at me in invitation, but I shake my head.

"Nah," I say. "Not this time."

She gives me a knowing look and pats my arm.

"Call me when you change your mind," she says, and walks away to see what her team has found.