Page 15 of Lost Kingdom

I wrinkle my nose, like a fiery little bulldog too stupid to know it’s outmuscled and outmatched. “You know what?”

“I know you’re proud and smelly and insecure and still, so fucking perfect it terrifies me.” He offers the gum wrapper, twisted and turned, and presents it to me in circle. A ring.Good lord, it’s a ring! “We’re gonna come out the other side of this, Aubree. I’m not sure what life will look like. Idon’t know if we’ll be happy or arguing or even alive. But I know we’ll do it together.” He grabs my hand and threads the ring onto my middle finger.

A statement, but at the same time, not.

It’s a promise, perhaps, but not a proposal.

“I hope someday, if we can log ninety days argument free, that you’ll accept a date when I ask you out. That’s when we’ll figure this out. That’s when we’ll know.”

“And maybe we’ll send each other to hatred.” My bottom lip trembles as I look down at the ring he made for me. It could be genuine gold and diamonds, and it wouldn’t be as special as this one. “Relationships—whether romantic or platonic—cannot survive on snark and bad moods.”

“Sure they can.” He wraps his arm over the top of my shoulders and pulls me closer until my cheek rests on the side of his chest. “Archer and Minka do just fine with their anger.”

5

TIM

THIS IS MY REALITY

Listening to the police scanners while I work is a way of life for me now. Or having them crackle in the background of my existence, especially when I’m sleeping, is the equivalent of someone else’s white noise or ocean track on their phone.

It’s not that I need the brain-focusing sound so I can relax. It’s not even something I enjoy listening to. But when I lay in bed the morning after our whirlwind trip to New York City, my body stubbornly awake despite it only being a little past eight in the morning, I hear the words I’ve come to expect day in, day out.

“Code one,” the female dispatcher orders for cars. Non-emergent. No sirens. No lights. “Priority three.” Dead body, but it isn’t an ongoing threat.

That means someone from the George Stanley will be en route too.

“Contact has been made. GSM. Doctor Emeri will attend.”

And there it is.With Minka away, it’s Aubree’s time to play. And since she’s just coming back from time off, she’ll have no other active cases laid out on her autopsy table. That means she’ll assign herself, because beneath all her color and sass and bad jokes is a woman who wants so fucking badly not only to please her boss, but to honor the dead.

That’s her calling in this life.

It’s dark and dreary outside, overcast and snowing. But it’s also warmer than I’d expect considering how close we are to Christmas, which meanslater, when the snow melts a little, the sidewalks will turn to sludge and the dead people will multiply. Especially the older members of society.

“Detective Charlie Fletcher responding.” My brother’s best friend, his partner on the force, speaks through the radios, back on the job just like Aubree. “ETA, ten minutes. Inform the M.E. I’ll swing by and collect her from the GSM.”

There’s a part of my soul that aches at the thought Fletch might consider the friendship he has with Aubree as something more. He’s single. He sure as shit likes women. And he’s a damn good guy to know. But then I remember that loyalty, to him, is as important as it is to us. And there isn’t a soul in this city clueless to the fact Aubree Emeri is mine.

Whether she likes it or not.

I glimpse the sparkling orange eyes of a tabby cat sitting at my bedroom door. His fur is still feral, just like his personality. His teeth are decaying, but the vet says he’ll be okay. His age… well, we’re estimating he’s around five or six years old. But he rarely lets me close, and trapping him in a cage to take him to the vet clinic is a once in a lifetime affair.

I’ve spent my quota, and live with the scars.

So now he’s my buddy. The lone feral cat who still lives with me after Aubree stuffed a dozen of them in my apartment in a fit of rage.

A different fit. A different day. Same attitude, though.

Capone, the cat, named for the long, jagged scar marking the side of his face, lives a relatively peaceful life now. We don’t talk. We don’t hang out. He eats well and knows to expect his meals around midday and midnight, considering my shitty bartending schedule. He keeps an eye on me while I sleep, and I scoop shit out of his tray twice a day.

It’s a situation we’ve both come to accept.

Fuck knows, but he provides me with a reminder of Aubree’s fire. Her ability to take whatever the hell she wants, and her penchant to destroy anything in her path as she hunts down her desires.

She’s all rainbows and good vibes on the outside. Sweetly spoken and ‘she can’t possibly be anything except cotton candy’ attitude. That’s how shepresentsherself to most. But beneath that is a woman who could be a queen someday. A fucking lioness strong enough to lead an entire army. A warrior who would lay scourge to a city if anyone dared hurt those she loves.

It’s an interesting dynamic, for sure. And my job, as far as I’m concerned, is to keep her alive long enough to reach her destiny.

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