Niko felt the wind at his back. “If you were a noble man, you would give me information on the murders. But I think you’re still the same cowardly liar as you always were.”
“If you don’t want to accept my generous offer, then at least return what’s mine. You still have a debt to pay for my saving your life, feeding you, and putting clothes on your back. I’ll give you a fair exchange of information, and we’ll go our separate ways. What value could a book have to a blind man?”
“It’s not what it means to me—it’s what it means to you. Centuries have passed,old friend. I have crossed many seas and lost many possessions to the currents of time. You have no proof that I still have this book in my keeping. Take heed of my warning and stay away.”
Cyrus’s energy flared a bright shade of what Niko described in his mind as orange. He inched forward, but Niko held his ground, still gripping his sword. “Someday I’m going to find out what you hold most precious, and I’m going to steal it away. You’ll come to me on your knees, but by then, I may not want to strike a bargain. You will not have suffered enough—not until your arms and soul ache for this precious thing. If you change your mind, Nikodemos, then ask around for me.”
Niko drew back from the bright flare that flashed as Cyrus’s footsteps faded and he approached his group of men, whose energy Niko could feel from across the parking lot.
He finally released his sword and followed Blue’s fading trail to the car. With luck, something would break this case wide open. But if not, Niko would be faced with striking a bargain with Cyrus in order to save lives, and the price would be high. There were consequences either way.
Immortals gathered enemies through the centuries like a floor collects dust. Everyone had shadows—one reason why Blue didn’t question him when he returned to the vehicle.
After all, she was a woman who had plenty of her own.
Chapter 11
“Raven, wake up.”
My hand flew out and smacked someone in the face.
The next thing I knew, I was gasping for air as water splashed up my nose and into my mouth. I sat up on the sofa in the gathering room, glaring at Christian.
He gave me a smug look and set an empty glass on an end table. “You sleep like the dead. We’re having a meeting.”
I put my feet on the floor. A warm fire glowed in the large hearth against the far wall. I loved the gathering room. It had character, with its tremendously high ceilings and stained glass windows. The window on the left was massive and depicted a forest scene with wolves and people, and on the opposite wall, a grandiose bookcase climbed to the ceiling. A person would need a ladder to reach the top.
I dried my face, surprised that I’d dozed off so easily. Something about the hypnotic crackling of a fireplace had a narcotic effect. When I’d lived on the streets, sleeping made me vulnerable, so I only did it when necessary. Now that I had walls to keep me safe, I could indulge in a little shut-eye since I wasn’t in constant survival mode.
Christian took a seat in a chair to my left. He crossed his legs, and we watched everyone trickle into the room. Shepherd weaved between us and stood by the wall behind me where one of the archways joined. He wasn’t smoking, but the smell of cigarettes wafted from his clothes. Blue and Niko sandwiched me on the sofa, and Wyatt plopped down in a chair to the right, one leg casually draped over the armrest.
When Viktor and Gem strode in and stood side by side, everyone quieted. Gem was a girl who liked wearing shorts, skirts, and even rompers—anything to give the illusion of height. But with the cold chill that hung in the air, she’d put on purple leggings, black shorts, and a cropped sweater. Her chunky black boots gave her a boost, and when her eyes met with mine, I pointed at her untied shoelace. She bent down and looped a big bow as Viktor began.
He squared his shoulders. “I gathered you here for an update. Claude is away, so I’ll fill him in later. We have a promising lead in the case.”
Niko released a heavy breath, and it made me turn to look at him. His face seemed flushed.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
He nodded. “I’m fine. Just… relieved.”
Viktor glanced down at Gem, and she quickly shot up. “Gem has worked tirelessly to uncover the identity of the last victim. I’ll let her provide details.”
Gem’s expressive eyes sparkled, catching every facet of light in the room. The violet color stood out because of her mascara and eyeliner. “Shepherd noticed a tattoo on the woman, and it was written in a distinct language that very few people know how to speak. It’s a Shifter tribe, but I had trouble remembering which one. I did some research, and behold, I found what I was looking for,” she said, anchoring her hands on her hips. Gem cleared her throat as if tamping down her excitement. “The tribe was a mixed group of animals living together in the backwoods of Washington, isolating themselves from the rest of the world. They were natives, and because they were outcasts from different tribes, their language evolved into a unique blend.”
Niko clapped his hand against his leg in applause. “Well done, Gem.”
She rocked on her heels. “I can’t take all the credit. Wyatt researched every Breed tattoo artist in Washington State. I thought that would be a good place to start looking. The tribe disbanded a long time ago, but indigenous people don’t like to stray far from home.”
Wyatt tapped his foot to an invisible beat. “I still ran a check on all the Breed artists registered in the continental United States, but only one name matched up with the surnames Gem had in her book, and he just so happens to live in Washington State.”
Gem fidgeted with her crystal pendant as she spoke. “Back when the tribe was discovered, they documented all the surnames before they were disbanded. Since then, the women may have married outside the tribe and started a family with a new name, but I had a feeling we weren’t dealing with one of the younger generations. Language gets lost when people become transient and move away from their community. The children pick up the common language around them and often reject their native tongue. If theydoknow how to speak it, they don’t always know how to write it. Shifters live a long time, and my gut told me the person who inked the tattoo on that woman was an original member of the tribe.”
“Well, aren’t you the little sleuth?” Christian said.
She beamed with pride. “Our victim wasn’t Native American, so unless she was dating a member of that tribe—which is still possible—the design was probably suggested by the tattoo artist.”
“Do you think she’s Breed?” I asked.
