“I’ll see you around,” I said, marching up the steps.
“Raven?”
I paused and looked down at him.
Switch didn’t look up. “Nothing. Never mind.” He shifted, his brown wolf giving me a sideways glance before racing down the stairs.
A few months ago, I might have thought that look was all about his feelings for me. But I no longer got the love vibes from Switch. That look was something else entirely.
Switch had a secret.
When a woman holds a secret, it’s either deeply personal or juicy. When a man holds a secret, it’s nothing but trouble.
Christian rarely entered my room uninvited, so I didn’t bother going there. His Honda and Ducati were both in the garage, so unless he’d gone for a long walk, he was probably in his room or having a drink downstairs.
I knocked and then pushed open his bedroom door. Viktor had assigned us rustic living quarters, but I’d dressed mine up with sumptuous bedding, a painting, rugs, and flower arrangements. Christian hadn’t done a damn thing to his room since day one.
A fire crackled in the hearth on the far wall, only a basic chair in front of it. I peered around the left-hand entryway into the bathroom but didn’t find him there either. Tempted by the candy dish, I padded over to the bed, set my boots on the floor, and plopped down. His crystal dish was the only real décor in his room, if you could even call it that. Christian liked the old-fashioned stuff my daddy used to buy: butterscotch, ribbon candy, various hard candies, and sometimes lemon drops. Tonight it was green peppermints. After twisting off the wrapper, I popped the delicious sweet into my mouth and set the wrapper on the bedside table.
“There’s a waste receptacle by the bed, you know.”
I noticed his shadow in the doorway. “I wasn’t sure when you were coming back, so I wanted you to know I’d been here.”
The door closed behind him. “I always know when you’ve been in my bed, Precious.” He strode to the table and tossed the wrapper into the trash.
“How?”
Christian bent over and put his mouth to my ear. “I can smell your blood.”
That sent tingles where it shouldn’t have.
“Since when are you a fan of the brassiere?” he asked, lifting my shirt over my head.
“I can’t interview grieving families with my tits out.”
“’Tis a shame. They’re fine tits.”
“I tried to find you this morning before we left. Where did you go?”
He tossed the shirt on the floor. “Shifters aren’t fond of Vampires on their land.”
“You could have stayed in the truck.”
“To what purpose? I’ll go with you tomorrow on the rogue cases. How’s that? Now tell me about your day at the office.”
I lay back and locked my fingers behind my head. “Two completely different deaths. One woman died in bed. Her boyfriend and the Relic said it was her heart. The second death was a young guy who fell off his motorcycle.”
He unzipped my jean shorts and slid them off. “Hardly sounds suspicious.”
“They found the bike in the middle of the road. No skid marks, no front-end damage to the bike, nothing to indicate it was hit by another vehicle.” I yawned and crawled all the way onto the bed, my head just below the pillow.
Christian rounded the bed to the left side and sat against the headboard. “Motorbikes are death machines.”
The wood snapped in the hearth and split in two, sending a shower of sparks up the flue.
I turned on my side and propped my head in my hand. “He was wearing a helmet.”
Christian frowned. “That’s peculiar. A Shifter would heal his wounds unless he was knocked out. Any other injuries?”
