Page 89 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
He closes the cabin door behind us with a low thud that sends a flicker of anticipation down my spine—though not the kind he intends. I’ve danced in fire before, but this? This is a whole new level of danger.
Bode turns toward me, his eyes glowing faintly amber. “You make a man wait too long, sweetheart.”
I laugh softly, the sound breezy and sweet. “You make a woman long to come back.”
He grins. It’s sharp and smug, the expression of a predator who thinks the prey is ready to lie down willingly. He cups my face, tilting it up for a kiss that’s more force than finesse, allalpha pride and territorial hunger. I respond in kind, letting him believe I’m swept up in it.
Then his hands go to the buttons of my shirt.
Not yet.
“Slow down,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his jaw. “Let me look at you.”
He straightens, chest out. Good.
I reach into the pocket of my jacket, fumbling like it’s all just nerves.
He leans in. That’s when I move—quick, practiced, lethal. The syringe slides from my sleeve into my hand with a whisper of metal against fabric, the cold sting of its presence matching the chill in my spine. One fluid motion, and I plunge it into the side of his neck.
His eyes widen. “What the—”
He stumbles back, reaching for the wound, but the sedative hits fast and hard. His knees buckle. I guide him gently to the bed like we’re dancing, stroking his hair again as his vision dims.
“Sleep well, lover.”
The moment he’s out, I’m across the room, finishing the job I started two nights ago.
No time to waste.
I scan the drawers, the wardrobe, the carved wooden box near the dresser. Nothing useful. Then my gaze catches on a display of costume jewelry laid out on velvet. Something has changed since my last visit. I see a glint under the soft cabin light.
A silver watch.
Not just any watch. I’ve seen this one before—on the FBI investigation board.
Yes, and on Agent Leighton’s wrist.
My throat tightens.
I don’t like what this means, but I’m not surprised.
What it does give me is the link I need to get a warrant.
I leave everything where it is and snap a few pictures with my phone. I capture images of other unidentifiable trinkets while I’m at it--a ring with dried blood under the setting, a cufflink engraved with initials I don’t recognize. They’re either trophies of his kills...or gory movie props.
My magic hums, urging me to get out before he stirs. But I consider Bode one last time. There’s no satisfaction in this. Just certainty. I made the right call.
Now to get this evidence into the right hands before the monster wakes.
Ember and I meet just before sunrise, our rendezvous point cloaked in mist and the hush of pre-dawn silence. They wait by their car, arms folded, face unreadable.
“Got something for you,” I say, sharing the images from my phone.
Their eyes narrow at the contents—first the watch, then the bloodied ring. “Where’d you get these?”
“From Bode’s den. He’s keeping souvenirs. The watch looks like Agent Leighton’s. There’s more, probably.” I hand over the USB drive with the images on.
“Good. This, along with the results we got back on the claw, will give us enough to get a warrant.”
