Chapter Thirteen
RAJ
Milo opens the flat door, inhaling deeply when he sees the enormous pan I’m carrying in both hands, a stack of naans balanced on the upside down lid. “That smells incredible. Come on in.”
“Thanks.” I head towards their open plan kitchen, my feet bare because I couldn’t be bothered to put shoes on simply to go next door.
“Bryn’s just finishing something up. He promised he’d save me leftovers if I answered the door.”
My brow furrows. “You’re not staying?”
Not that I mind having Bryn all to myself, but he suggested that I come over to his flat tonight so that I could get to know Milo better, albeit as Dhiren. I won’t be undercover forever though, and although Bryn and I haven’t put a label on what we’re doing, getting to know the people in his life feels important. Which is unusual for me, because I never had that urge with any of the women I dated.
“Change of plan, I’m afraid. A uni friend is unexpectedly in town tonight for work, and I haven’t seen her in months. I couldn’t say no when she asked me to meet for dinner, although smelling that, I’m tempted to invite her here instead.” Milo groans as I set the pan on their kitchen worktop. “Ugh, no, she’s got social anxiety and doesn’t handle meeting new people well. We’ll do this some other time, yeah?”
Bryn looks up from where he’s perched on the sofa, his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, and gives me a distracted wave before refocusing on the screen.
“Of course,” I say to Milo. It’s a shame he can’t stay, but I understand.
“And you’ll cook again?” He eyes the naans longingly.
I smile, always happy to have appreciative mouths to feed. “I will. I even accept requests.”
He grins and lightly smacks me on the shoulder. “You’re my new favourite person. Right, I better skedaddle or I’ll be late. Have fun, and don’t worry, I’ll wear my earplugs when I get home.”
He winks at me then waves goodbye to Bryn, who looks up again as Milo leaves the room. The front door closes a moment later.
Bryn’s brow furrows when he notices the food I brought. ‘I thought I was helping you cook?’
His presence in the kitchen isn’t usually that helpful, but he’s determined to keep trying. Last night he insisted on doing it all himself and bringing it over to my flat once it was done, which resulted in the most garlicky Bolognese I’ve ever had in my life. Turned out he’d added three bulbs of garlic instead of three cloves.
‘You could have if you’d come over an hour ago.’ I soften my reply with a smile.
He checks the time on his laptop and winces. ‘Sorry. I got caught up doing something.’
He closes the laptop lid and comes over, his hands immediately reaching for my waist as he presses his lips to mine. He has this way of kissing me that makes me forget everything else, whether it’s intense and passionate, or soft and sensual like now.
I tug him in until we’re pressed together and lose myself in him for a few minutes, pushing all my worries about missing shifters, arms-trafficking fae, and Bryn’s safety to the back of my mind. Of course, it can’t last forever, and all too soon he’s pulling away.
We set the table and dish up, sitting opposite one another. Bryn and Milo’s flat has a much darker aesthetic than mine, and although I would never have chosen something like this, it does give a cosy atmosphere to our meal.
He takes his first bite of chicken shatkora tarkari and naan and closes his eyes, his shoulders relaxing. He opens them again, quickly tearing off another piece of bread. I smile as he devours the entire plate and goes for seconds, then thirds, while I eat my own portion more slowly. Cooking for him always satisfies a quiet need inside of me, especially when he enjoys my food so much that he abandons all conversation.
When he’s finally finished, I get up and clear our plates, setting them down next to the sink and rubbing my forehead. Between my worries about this case and Bryn’s nightmares, this tension headache has become a permanent feature of the past few days.
He stands behind me, massaging my shoulders with confident hands. I lean into his touch, taking the comfort he freely offers. My tiger urges me to shift so we can have our fur petted, and although it’s one of the best feelings in the world I ignore the suggestion for now. Every time I discuss the case with Bryn my mind is clearer by the end of it, and there are updates I want to share. I need hands, not paws, for that.
After another minute or so, I turn around. ‘I finally heard back from the Bristol task force while I was cooking. They’veconfirmed no one matching Valerie’s name or description has ever lived at the address she supposedly emailed her pack, and although the job contract with her name on it is real, she’s never shown up to work there.’
Valerie is the last of the missing shifters we’ve been waiting to hear back about. Having a copy of Bryn’s contract to show the penalty for breaching the terms of the mandatory work programme, combined with the official confirmation that Jay is missing, were the final pieces we needed to prove enough of a welfare concern to involve other task forces. Unfortunately, the response has been the same for each shifter. There’s no evidence that they were ever in their supposed new homes or jobs.
His eyes are stormy, his hand movements tense. ‘I’d ask if they’re going to help with the search, but chances are Val was never even in Bristol.’
I sigh and lean against the sink. ‘I know. Having this confirmation doesn’t really change anything.’
We were already working under the assumption that everyone was missing, and the attempt to kidnap me cemented that theory in my mind. I’m holding out hope that these people are still alive somewhere, that even now there’s a chance we can rescue them, but is that realistic after they’ve been missing for so long?
‘We’ll find them,’ he signs, his hand movements confident.
