tabloid rumors of mating heat.
That was exactly how it would be seen—as a form of rape or mesmerism.
“And does your sister believe she’s been bewitched?” Arching his brow, he kept his tone tinged with amusement.
“Her sister believes in happily-ever-after and the man she’s in love with.” It was Liza who answered his question as she stepped from her bedroom.
She was dressed in jeans that cupped and loved her delectable ass while giving her a leggy, exotic look. The white cotton top was sleeveless, tiny straps holding it in place, and he was betting the bra she wore beneath was strapless.
She was wearing one, as much as he hated the thought of it. He could see just the faintest outline of it beneath the material of her blouse.
“Then there you go,” he commented to the answer she gave to the question he had asked Chelsea. “All’s well, because I know for a fact Malachi is dedicated to Isabelle.”
“And isn’t that so unusual as to be unbelievable.” Chelsea snorted. “Breeds are the ultimate bad boys, and we all know the ultimate bad boys really can’t be tamed.”
Arching his brow, Stygian turned back to Liza. “Are you ready?”
“Where exactly are you taking her?” Chelsea demanded then. “That way, I know where to send the search party to find her dead body when she doesn’t return home.”
Scratching at the side of his jaw, he momentarily debated assuring her that Liza was in zero danger. Chelsea though, was in definite danger of being gagged.
“Come on, Chelsea,” Liza chastised her gently. “I don’t think Mr. Black’s going to allow anything to happen to me.” Smiling back at him, he almost winced at the look in her eyes. “After all, his boss is far too interested in all that lovely information he refuses to accept that I don’t have.”
Yep, he knew it was coming, he just wasn’t certain which form the smart-ass remark would be in.
Now he knew.
“Exactly.” Shooting Liza, then Chelsea, a tight smile, he agreed with her mockingly. “If it wasn’t for that, I’d have nothing but murderous intentions.”
His intentions might not be pure, but the last thing she had to worry about was coming to harm in his bed.
“I’d like to know where we’re going, though,” Lizainformed him as she shoved a few bills and her ID in the back pocket of her jeans.
He could have sworn they were snug enough that even a breath of air wouldn’t have fit.
“I thought we’d take a ride out by the lake,” he told her. “I go out there every few days to feed the ducks.” That, and to investigate the area several miles to the west where Liza and Claire had gone over a barren cliff and nearly died in the resulting accident.
Even twelve years later, Stygian had found evidence of the accident, but he’d also found evidence that something more had gone on during that time.
A sweat lodge had been set up not far from the wreck in the canyon below, though great effort had gone into ensuring all evidence of it was wiped away.
Certain things couldn’t be wiped away, though.
The large rocks used in the fire pit had been scattered about the canyon, but even more than a decade later the scars and discoloration of certain herbs used in ritual sweats held to the rock.
Those particular herbs and medicinal roots were such an odd combination, their scent so powerful, even after such time had passed, it had sent a chill racing down Stygian’s spine. Confused by it, he’d had Braden bring his empath Megan to the canyon, to help sort it out. The moment she’d picked up the first stone she’d dropped it as though it still held the heat of the fire and refused to advance any farther into the canyon.
“Fine then, you know where we’ll be,” Liza stated as she turned back to Chelsea.
“Yeah, thankfully, the lake isn’t really that hard to drag. When old man Dunkirk fell out of his boat and drowned himself last summer, they even found that bag of bones secured to the bottom. Remember
That was exactly how it would be seen—as a form of rape or mesmerism.
“And does your sister believe she’s been bewitched?” Arching his brow, he kept his tone tinged with amusement.
“Her sister believes in happily-ever-after and the man she’s in love with.” It was Liza who answered his question as she stepped from her bedroom.
She was dressed in jeans that cupped and loved her delectable ass while giving her a leggy, exotic look. The white cotton top was sleeveless, tiny straps holding it in place, and he was betting the bra she wore beneath was strapless.
She was wearing one, as much as he hated the thought of it. He could see just the faintest outline of it beneath the material of her blouse.
“Then there you go,” he commented to the answer she gave to the question he had asked Chelsea. “All’s well, because I know for a fact Malachi is dedicated to Isabelle.”
“And isn’t that so unusual as to be unbelievable.” Chelsea snorted. “Breeds are the ultimate bad boys, and we all know the ultimate bad boys really can’t be tamed.”
Arching his brow, Stygian turned back to Liza. “Are you ready?”
“Where exactly are you taking her?” Chelsea demanded then. “That way, I know where to send the search party to find her dead body when she doesn’t return home.”
Scratching at the side of his jaw, he momentarily debated assuring her that Liza was in zero danger. Chelsea though, was in definite danger of being gagged.
“Come on, Chelsea,” Liza chastised her gently. “I don’t think Mr. Black’s going to allow anything to happen to me.” Smiling back at him, he almost winced at the look in her eyes. “After all, his boss is far too interested in all that lovely information he refuses to accept that I don’t have.”
Yep, he knew it was coming, he just wasn’t certain which form the smart-ass remark would be in.
Now he knew.
“Exactly.” Shooting Liza, then Chelsea, a tight smile, he agreed with her mockingly. “If it wasn’t for that, I’d have nothing but murderous intentions.”
His intentions might not be pure, but the last thing she had to worry about was coming to harm in his bed.
“I’d like to know where we’re going, though,” Lizainformed him as she shoved a few bills and her ID in the back pocket of her jeans.
He could have sworn they were snug enough that even a breath of air wouldn’t have fit.
“I thought we’d take a ride out by the lake,” he told her. “I go out there every few days to feed the ducks.” That, and to investigate the area several miles to the west where Liza and Claire had gone over a barren cliff and nearly died in the resulting accident.
Even twelve years later, Stygian had found evidence of the accident, but he’d also found evidence that something more had gone on during that time.
A sweat lodge had been set up not far from the wreck in the canyon below, though great effort had gone into ensuring all evidence of it was wiped away.
Certain things couldn’t be wiped away, though.
The large rocks used in the fire pit had been scattered about the canyon, but even more than a decade later the scars and discoloration of certain herbs used in ritual sweats held to the rock.
Those particular herbs and medicinal roots were such an odd combination, their scent so powerful, even after such time had passed, it had sent a chill racing down Stygian’s spine. Confused by it, he’d had Braden bring his empath Megan to the canyon, to help sort it out. The moment she’d picked up the first stone she’d dropped it as though it still held the heat of the fire and refused to advance any farther into the canyon.
“Fine then, you know where we’ll be,” Liza stated as she turned back to Chelsea.
“Yeah, thankfully, the lake isn’t really that hard to drag. When old man Dunkirk fell out of his boat and drowned himself last summer, they even found that bag of bones secured to the bottom. Remember
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