Feral Passion (24 page)

Then, “I’m fine.” Her voice was rough,
sounding cracked and dry.

Misery ran through him.

If he was going to go in, he might as well
dive as deep as he could. “When would you like to hold the
ceremony?” Even though he asked the question, he struggled to get
the words out.

Her face beat red, then paled. “Whenever you
wish,” she replied quietly, looking down at her hands. Hands that
were covered with silken stripped fur, claws curving
delicately.

Raff wanted to ask what had
happened—no, he
needed
to know
what happened. But, if he asked, he feared he would go on a killing
rage. Just staring at her, he felt emotions build up inside of
himself that he had never experienced before.

He controlled his burning rage—just barely.
Clenching his hands at his sides, he glanced down at her hands
again and felt a tenderness for her that he hadn’t ever felt
before. She was so fragile, so…broken looking.

Raff was just about to ask her what happened
when her brother came down stairs, dressed in some sweat pants and
a sweat shirt, looking like a boxer with flaming eyes and clenched
fists.

“Romero called in. A report was called in.
Dead body, knifing victim,” he said, looking at Mary. “I think we
found his house, ladies and gentlemen.”

Raffaele had also looked over at Mary,
but only to see a paling in her cheeks that made him think she was
going to faint. “So he’s really…dead? Like
dead
dead?” she asked, hands twisting in her
lap.

Ulrich nodded, sending a look Raff’s way.
“Romero wants us down there as soon as possible, and I can only
agree. Armoria may be involved in this—actually, I know for a fact
she is. Mary, I don’t want you to say a word about the woman at
all.”

Her brows twisted. “Why?”

“Something tells me that she isn’t supposed
to be alive.”

Chapter 38

Mary rode with her brother to the site, had
resisted any thought or offer of being in the same car as the man
that had made a fool of her. The trees zoomed by as her brother
turned the lights that were on top of the police car on, and
Raffaele followed behind them at the same pace.

She stared out of the window, a
deadened look on her face, feeling as if this weren’t...real. It
was too easy, she thought, picking at her seat belt and watching a
small old couple jump out of the way for her brother’s car, as they
had been walking on the cross walk. Something just felt...wrong.
Like it wasn’t done, that
he
wasn’t done.

What were the chances that the person who was
reminding her of the woman from her dream, who fit the exact
description that Jared had given her of the lady that had caused
him to get hit, would show up, claiming that she had killed the
killer and had “rescued” Mary?

None.

“On our way,” her brothers distracted voice
said into the police scanner that she hadn’t heard talking.

“Hurry up, the coroner is waiting on you and
getting antsy,” Romero’s static voice said into the car.

“Tell him to just start, I’ll be there
shortly.” He snapped his phone closed, finishing the drive in tense
silence.

Mary looked down at her hands, thinking that
she would have to stay in the car if the fur didn’t disappear soon.
Already, it was receding into her skin, the white fur barely
showing unless a trained eye looked close enough. The bruising,
however, would take close to two days to disappear, and already the
ache of the healing was affecting her.

When they pulled up to a somewhat familiar
house, chills covered her. White, plane, the window sill peeling,
the door barely closing all the way, it was eerie in itself,
causing even Ulrich to swallow. He gave her a look that plainly
said “stay” and opened the door, Raffaele pulling in behind their
car in the long driveway that didn’t suit the house at all.

The weather was much like the situation. Dark
clouds rumbled in the distance, small distractions that made the
day worse for her. The trees were swaying with the strong wind, and
it even rocked the car slightly. Rolling down the window, she
looked up at the sky and grimaced.

It hadn’t been so bad when Armoria had awoken
her. The sun had been so bright it had almost blinded her, and now
it was so dark and eerie that she could barely stand to sit
still.

The closing of a car door alerted her, and
she watched as her Raffaele walked passed her, his dark scent
clouding her senses. Her heart clenched, thinking of how distant he
had been when he had asked about the date for the ceremony. Had he
really meant to be so cold, or was it just her own actions that had
caused it? She wondered, hating that this was what had happened to
a relationship that could have been amazing.

As people gathered out side of the house,
items being brought through the door, and a body bag appearing, she
realized that she couldn’t stand by. Already it felt as if this
wasn’t happening, and even though she knew that watching them
wouldn’t alleviate her paranoia, she still had the urge to
watch.

Opening the glove compartment, she checked
for gloves, something to cover her hands. When they had left,
Ulrich had brought down a baggy shirt for her to wear. While she
was thin, it didn’t do anything to hide her arms, or the condition
she was in.

There wasn’t any gloves. Mary twisted around
in the car, unbuckling the seatbelt. What she saw made her bite her
lip. It was okay that her brother was at the seen, out of uniform.
He had perks, and as long as his badge and gun were on him, he was
still on duty. But there, on the back seat, sat his police jacket.
The specially designed leather gleamed needfully, as if calling for
her to wear it.

Reaching back, she ignored what her brother
would do and slipped it on,  ignoring that she had no shoes on
and hoping that her pajama pants would be long enough to cover the
fact that her feat were bare. Zipping up the jacket, she climbed
out of the car and closed the door softly, the murmurs and sounds
around her sounding fake, unreal, as if she were in a dream.

The first pair of eyes to land on her was, of
course, Raffaele’s. The blue orbs met hers, shocked and then
protective, as if he didn’t want her to be out of the car. Mary
ignored the small feeling of pleasure that brought her, remembering
his harsh words and the betrayal he had dealt her.

“You should be in the car—and where are your
shoes?” he demanded, looking pointedly at her feet.

Not letting his light accent that he got when
he was angry affect her, she shrugged and had to force herself not
to reply. Turning, she looked around for her brother, guessing that
he was in the house. Eyes trained on the doorway, she started to
walk pass all of the bodies gathering around the house, but a grip
on her arm stopped her.

She yanked her arm away from Raffaele’s
burning touch, hissing at him. Any other person would have run the
other way, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, holding onto her
elbow, looking down at her with an inscribable look.

“Get in the car,” he told her. The only
emotion that showed came from his eyes—and not even the distance
that she was placing between them was enough to hide the hurt that
she felt at the coldness in his eyes.

“I’m a part of this too,” she said quietly,
tongue in check.

His eyes narrowed.

“Let go of me. There are police officers
here, all of whom care about a woman’s health. I don’t think they
would take too kindly to harassment being made to the leader,” she
said, the threat veiled.

His eyes hardened, mouth tightening. “I
wonder why you are so close, to
so
many men.”

At that moment, the very last word, Mary lost
the last of her gusto. Staring up at him, she felt her eyes well up
and turned sharply into the house. Holding in the tears as best she
could, she searched for her brother through blurry eyes, pushing
people aside when she stumbled into them.

“Mary?” Romero.

A hand latched onto her arm, once again. “Why
are you crying? Ulrich!” he shouted, watching her as her shoulders
curled.

“How old was the vic?” she asked, voice
cracking, trying to fight the urge to sob.

“Around forty, blood samples are getting
taken…” he supplied hesitantly, wary that she might cry again. Not
that she blamed him, she thought, wiping her wet cheeks on her
brother’s jacket.

“What the hell!” an outraged voice said, the
voice of her brother. Looking down at her brother’s now
snot-covered jacket, she smiled a little, knowing why he was so
angry.

“This was
custom
made, Mary! You shouldn’t even be
wearing
this!”

She started to blush, meeting the eyes of her
furious brother. “I…”

“What happened to your eyes?” he asked
suspiciously, eyes narrowing. “It was the stress again, wasn’t it?”
Ulrich nodded to himself. “Well, the killer has been found, so you
don’t need to worry anymore.”

Beside him, Romero grunted, hand landing on
the holster of his gun.

Mary shoved Raffaele out of her mind, her
last thought being that maybe she could find a way to break the
bonding.

“Take me to him,” she demanded, wrapping her
arms tight around herself, forgetting about her brothers anger at
her wearing his “custom made” jacket.

The men shared looks before leading her
through the house, up the stairs of a dark, paint-peeling hallway,
and to the entrance of a bed room, candles still lit, and the bed
covers pulled back neatly. She stared around, then down at the body
of a balding man that was lying just on the inside of the door.

Her stomach heaved, the smell of blood
clogging her nose. Hand flying to her mouth at the site of the dead
man, she turned into the comforting chest of her brother, eyes once
again had tears stinging her eyes. Not because of the lost life—the
man deserved to die after killing all of the women—but because
seeing the body, smelling his life’s blood, meant that finally,
people would stop dying.

Strong arms wrapped around her. “It’s done,
finally?” she asked, voice cracking.

“After we get him processed, autopsied, and
the trial goes through…I think so,” Ulrich said, hand running
through her hair as he had used to when she was a child, crying in
pain from a hurt knee after she fell off a bike.

“What about the murderer?” she asked, keeping
Armoria out of it. Ulrich always knew best, as much as he might be
immature about things.

“I’ll take care of it,” he murmured, arms
tightening.

“You like her?” she asked, pulling back,
ignoring the urge to kick the dead bitch in the head.

Ulrich’s cheeks flushed darkly, arms dropping
from around her. “Why would I? I’ve known her for all of a month. I
could care less, I just don’t want an innocent woman prosecuted,”
he said, defensively.

Mary frowned. “You heard her say it, though.
She’s obviously ki—“ A hand was slapped over her mouth.

She started to grin.

“Take traces from around the room. He’s still
holding an erection, and either it’s fear or from
sexual…excitement. By the look on his face, I’m guessing the
latter. He looks shocked, but barely there,” Romero said from the
doorway, instructing the crime analysis, who was dark-haired,
Acutos, and holding a small case.

He nodded, shooing them out of the room. Mary
was the first to get out, shoved into the chest of the man who was,
right now, her worst enemy.

Big hands wrapped around her arms, holding in
her place. “Go, little children,” Romero said from behind them,
almost mockingly.

She looked up, trying to pull herself back.
Raffaele was staring down at her with a cold expression, and
suddenly, he started to pull her through the house.

“Hey!” she squeaked when her foot landed on
something sharp, probably a nail.

Raff continued to drag her through the house,
until they were outside.

She yanked, trying to pull her arm back. “Let
me go, you jackass!” she exclaimed, wincing when her foot hit the
ground. The cut’s probably opening up worse, she thought, chest
tightening.

Bam
.

An explosion rattled the earth under her
feet.

She screamed.

Chapter 39

“Fuck!” he cursed, using his body to take the
brunt of the fall when Mary and him landed on the ground, black
embers flying into the drive way as the house was set aflame
with…black fire.

Staring at the fire, he felt his eyes widen,
even through the pain and the panicking woman on his chest. The
tendrils of smoke were like that of any other, but the smell of
charred skin alerted him that something more dangerous was at
hand.

Pushing Mary off of him gently, he jumped up
and ran, fighting the urge to keep her safe, to take her away from
here. The earth beneath his feet was still rumbling, seeming to
shift and change, maybe wishing to suck them in and eat them.
Grabbing the door knob and wrenching the burning steel of the door
open, what he saw inside the house made his blood chill.

Everyone was on the floor, struggling to
stand. Ulrich was at the bottom of the stairs, arm bent at an
awkward and painful position, and Romero wasn’t too far from him.
The police men, once on their feet, forgot about their job and ran
for the door, pissing and screaming like pansies. He watched them
run, barely registering anything, and then turned to Ulrich.

Grabbing his good arm and helping him up, he
asked, “Are you okay?” Right as the question slipped through his
vocals, a burnt chunk of wood flew down—right in front of Raffaele
and almost on top of his future brother-in-law.