Page 7 of Vows & Violence
I lift a hand, trace a slow line down her spine with my fingertip. Her body arches in response, lazy, not fully awake.
“You’re staring again,” Phoenix mumbles, voice rough and perfect.
“You’re worth staring at.”
She doesn’t smile, not exactly, but her lips curve. Her hand reaches back, fingers brushing my thigh like an invitation and a dare rolled into one.
I roll over her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, bracing my weight with the other. Phoenix’s legs part easily, instinctively, and her dark eyes blink up at me, sharp even half-asleep.
“Planning something, detective?” she teases.
I dip my head, brush my mouth along the curve of her neck. “Thinking of conducting a thorough investigation.”
“Better hurry,” Phoenix whispers against my jaw. “Before the world decides to fuck us over again.”
I move slowly, deliberately. This isn’t about friction or speed. It’s about reminding ourselves we’re still here. Still tethered to something real.
Phoenix’s legs wrap around my waist. Her breath hitches. And for a few minutes, there’s no war. No spirals. No traitors. Just her skin under my hands and the sound of her saying my name like a secret only we share.
She’s humming in the shower when my burner vibrates across the nightstand.
A local unknown number flashes across the screen. I answer, already bracing.
“Mercer?” The voice is gravelly and regretful. “Weller. Need a word. In person.”
Captain Weller. My old precinct commander. We haven’t spoken in years.
“What’s this about?”
“Just come in. It’s... better if you see it. Off record.”
“Weller.”
“District morgue. Half hour. Trust me.” He hangs up.
I stare at the burner like it might offer more answers, then toss it on the bed and scrub a hand over my face. My gut’s already tightening.
The bathroom door opens, and Phoenix steps out with a towel wrapped low around her breasts, another twisting her hair up. Water beads glisten on her skin, and under any other circumstances, I’d be dragging her right back to bed.
But she sees me, and immediately, her eyes narrow. “What happened?”
I shrug, half-assed. “Old contact wants to meet. Something weird.”
“How weird?”
“Morgue weird.”
She’s across the room in two steps, digging through her duffel for clothes. “I’m coming with.”
“You’ve got your own lead to chase, remember?” I stand, start pulling on jeans. “Voodoo bar. Spirals. That woman, Mama Dusk?”
Phoenix doesn’t flinch, but I see the tick in her jaw. “Viper says she’s the real deal. Not street corner tarot. Old blood, old magic.”
“Fitting for Halloween,” I mutter, grabbing my hoodie.
She moves toward me, fingers looping into my waistband, eyes on mine. “We check in every hour. You miss one, I come find you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
