Page 9 of Cause Of Death

While Edgar Prince may love his wife, he fuckingadoreshis son.

It’s been a day.By the time I made it to the Barrow clinic, my team back at home base had already sent back-up copies of Kieran’s files to the staff. All that was left for me to do was to read them all the riot act, threaten to report them to the State Medical Board, and to emphasize that it was EdgarPrince, andnotDarla Prince, who was in charge of their funding. While Darla might lead Edgar around like a castrated steer most of the time, there are certain lines even she is hesitant to cross. Having evidence of her messing with Kieran’s health, putting him and his life at risk, well…thatwould either see her go on an extended world cruise only for the ship to sink, or divorce. And if it’s the latter, then she’ll wish she had died instead, because I’ve seen the prenuptial agreement. Shewould end up owing Edgar for every year they’ve been married, plus alimony. I don’t think she’d be able to afford that, not even if she was allowed to sell all her ugly, expensive shit. Hell, I doubt she’d get much from selling her organs and used implants on the black-market, either.

I head back through the main doors to the Royal Tower complex at a more sedate pace than when I’d exited this morning. The afternoon surge of shoppers has inundated the area, crowding the space, and my stomach growls at me in protest.

Fuck. I forgot to have lunch.

I change directions, feeling the urge to pay a visit to one of the bakeries on the fourth floor. They specialize in sweet treats that resemble jewels or other precious items, with most of their offerings sparkling with edible crystals and glitter. Theircupcake toppers are works of edible art, and I swear that they’re realistic enough to fool a thief in the middle of a heist.

As I make my way to the storefront, the alluring smoked vanilla scent from this morning slaps me in the face once more. Unlike this morning, though, the scent is clearer, less muddied by the artificial honey that hid the more subtle notes of petrichor and ozone. I pause, lifting my head to try and inhale more of the heady fragrance, but there are too many people around me. I can’t triangulate where it’s coming from or identify the woman responsible. I attempt to recall what she looked like, but I never saw her face. Only the back of her, and the hulking brute who had her tucked under his arm.

HimI can picture. A walking mountain with auburn hair pulled back in a man-bun and a matching beard, the guy is either a fellow alpha like me, or a rather impressive sigma. No way is he a delta or gamma, let alone an omega. He could be a normie, but unless he’s wearing some über expensive cologne that mimics natural scents, he’s one of us. He was dressed casually, but not shabbily. No, his chinos and shirt were quality, and probably tailor-made to fit a man of his size. If theywereoff the rack, then it would likely be from a store dedicated to dressing alphas and sigmas. He had a clean, soothing scent, one that smelled of the outdoors and nature. While it didn’t affect me in the same way the girl’s had, his scent had been dangerous, nonetheless.

I don’t know why the young couple are tweaking my protective instincts so hard, but if I’ve learned one thing in my almost forty years on this planet, it’s to never,everignore my instincts. With that thought, I decide that after I purchase my coffee and cupcake, I’ll head up to the security hub on the seventh floor and see if they can’t get me the footage from this morning. Perhaps seeing their faces will ease my tension.

I slamthe door of my condo shut behind me, enraged and frustrated after what ended up being an overly long day. It didn’t matter that it was technically my day off, nor did most of the personnel give a flying fuck that their shoddy work practices make it harder for me to protect my charge. No, all they care about is receiving that nice, fat paycheck at the end of each week, and keeping off Darla Prince’s radar.

Well, the joke’s on them. I’mthe one who writes up the reports that get sent to Edgar Prince, and that means that if I feel they’re slacking, they won’t be getting their juicy bonus at the end of the quarter. Is it petty of me?Yes.Do I give a fuck?Hell no.

My cock is rock hard and throbbing, and it’s not due to the usual distraction of my charge. No, this is driven by the scent of smoked vanilla laced with petrichor and ozone, and the fact that while I was able to spot the young couple multiple times on the cameras, I was never able to make out the girl’s face. Somehow, some way, her face was always obscured, no matterhow close the camera zoomed in or the image was enhanced.The guy, on the other hand? His visage is firmly etched into my brain, every freckle and beard hair. His scent has also lodged itself in my nose, both riling me up because it mingles so beautifully with that of the woman, but also soothing and calming me somehow. This dichotomy of emotions is dangerous to an alpha like me, because the uncertainty can either send me into a feral rage, spiral me into a rut, or worst of all, soothe all my alpha aggression when I actually need it to do my job properly. It’s this last possible outcome that has me thinking the guy is asigma—perfect for supporting an alpha and their pack, being the prevailing cooler head, but also having enough of an edge to corral their alpha into action if so required.

He’d actually be perfect, if I ever imagined building a pack of my own. Alas, I have neither a pack nor an omega that would necessitate any type of beta, so it’s a moot point.

I growl in disgust at the state of my body, tearing my clothes off in a manner that resembles a toddler tantrum—or it would, if I was a toddler. Which I’m not.

The moment my skin is free of fabric, my tension eases slightly, and I bundle up my clothing and carry it through to my bedroom, dumping it on top of the hamper to deal with after my shower. I need to wash the stink of the masses from my skin and soak away my troubles. I twist the shower on and step under the punishing spray, the cold water blasting a shock through me and jolting me to my senses. By the time the water has warmed sufficiently, I’ve already lathered up my washcloth with the mulled wine body wash I prefer. The heady smells of cinnamon, cardamon, nutmeg, star anise, and cloves cling to my skin and rise into the air along with the steam, and the rest of my tension dissipates. There’s a reason why Christmas is my favorite time of the year despite all the stress and extra workload, and a lot of it is wrapped up in the scents of the season.

I scrub my body clean and then rinse, ignoring my straining cock until I’m satisfied I’ve expunged all of the unfamiliar, unwanted scents from dealing with the public. It’s only then that I take myself in hand, rather literally.

I close my eyes and lean against the shower wall, feeling the flow of water wash over my skin like liquid silk, the skin of my palms and fingers rough and calloused from the physical training I undertake to keep myself in shape. The rougher texture further inflames my already sensitive flesh, and a singlestroke from the root, over my swelling knot and to the tip of my shaft sends me perilously close to the edge.

Fuck. Has it really beenthatlong since I’ve felt another’s touch? Surely not…

Ignoring the sudden desire to calculatejusthow much time has passed since my last sexual encounter, I instead try to focus on my ultimate fantasy. Soft, full lips often pursed in a pout or spouting bratty responses guaranteed to rile me up. Smooth skin as pale as porcelain, and almost as delicate. Thick, sooty lashes sweeping along high cheekbones as they cover the vibrant gold irises hiding underneath, and long, delicate fingers that belong on an artist or pianist. But instead of my fantasy lover, another appears in their place.

Rich copper hair tumbling past narrow shoulders and spilling over a pair of luscious, full breasts. Hips that flare out enticingly into an ass that could make a man cry, each cheek rounded into the shape of a juicy peach. Slender, supple legs that wrap around my waist with a strength that belies their otherwise petite stature. And the heady, mouthwatering scent of smoked vanilla wafting from the apex of their thighs.

My stomach trembles as my knot hardens, my balls drawing up high and lightning zinging and sparking along my spine as my cum shoots out of my cock in violent spurts, painting the tiles before being washed down the drain. I firm my grip over my knot, the pressure and constriction nowhere near as satisfying as an omega’s ass or pussy, but it gets the job done all the same. Groaning softly in a combination of relief and resignation, I mentally berate myself for allowing a pretty fragrance to have my thoughts so scattered, and for losing focus when I never have before. However, there’s not much I can do about it now except clean up after myself, dry myself off, and then get into something a little more comfortable. There are still almost five hours left ofthe day, and I’d really like to salvage what I can and relax before I head back to the grind tomorrow.

I’m not sure what I’d call today. While we had some success in our reconnaissance mission, there was one overwhelming—and recurring—blight to our day.

The. Alpha.

Steve and I managed to spend most of the morning strolling around the fourth floor of the Royal Tower complex, looking for all intents and purposes like two lovers searching for an engagement ring. In reality, however, we were making note of the emergency exits and fire stairs, elevators, how far public access extended, and—of course—the locations of the various security cameras. Funnily enough, it’s one of Steve’s abilities to “sniff out and obfuscate” cameras and video footage, although he has his limits. In such a large space as Royal Tower, Steve could only disguise one of us—and due to the nature of the job at hand, that fell to me by default.

However, after lunch our circumstances changed. The enticing scent of leather and tobacco reappeared, and several times either Steve or I caught a glimpse of the unknown alpha,standing stock still with his nose in the air, as if he was a scent-hound on the trail of his prey.

That was us. We were the prey.

Don’t ask me how I knew this, I just did. My instincts were screaming at me, but I couldn’t figure out what they were warning me against—was I supposed to avoid this man at all costs, to hide away from him? Or perhaps instead I was meant to walk up to him, blatantly perfume and purr for him before stripping myself naked and presenting for his pleasure?

Either way, he was dangerous to me and my chosen family in some way or another, and I had little inclination to test out the reasons behind this assumption. All I know is that it was enough to have Steve and I silently agreeing that it was time to leave, and that we’d resume our reconnaissance at a later date.

Steve hasn’t spoken a word since we left the outskirts of San Francisco behind us, and knowing him as I do, I sit and leave him to stew in his thoughts. He’ll tell me what’s on his mind soon enough, he’s just trying to get his thoughts straight in his head. He’s always been a little insular like that, but it’s part of what makes him such a good bounty hunter.

I let my own thoughts wander as he drives through the foothills and meanders back to Merced. Information from the Guild regarding the personnel attached to Kieran Prince is at the forefront of my mind, and it’s surreal how when I tug on one thread, even more information accumulates. It’s almost as if I have a mind-palace attached to my psyche, one similar to a server network. Each contract I accept from the Guild allows me access to particular sections that were closed to me before, and once my target is neutralized, that information is archived. It’s still there, but I have to go searching for it instead of having it pop up ready with a simple thought.

One name in particular stands out in my mind—Adam Knight. He’s not only the head of Kieran Prince’s security but isalso his primary bodyguard. The man has worked for the Prince family in one way or another for most of his adult life, and has been in charge of Kieran’s safety since the princeling’s balls dropped. Well, since he turned sixteen, at least. There was some kind of kerfuffle between Kieran’s previous guard and the head of security for the entire Prince family, which resulted in the guard’s removal as the primary guard for the princeling, and the subsequent disappearance of the head of security.

---