Page 3 of Fanged Embrace
“Then don’t,” I cut in, sharper than intended. When Arlon’sface fell, I exhaled and fixed my eyes on the row of liquor bottles glinting behind the bar. “Really, I’m fine. Just… tired.”
“Right.” Arlon set his drink down and I wrung my wrists in my lap. Then he squared his shoulders and leaned an elbow on the bar. “How about a drink then? My treat.”
My chest tightened. I glanced his way and then wished that I hadn’t. I couldn’t handle that look in his eye—hopeful, almost tender, the kind of look that made me want to run very fast in the opposite direction.
I couldn’t give him what he wanted. And even if I could, he deserved better than… Well, me.
“No, I’m good.” I let my shoulders drop, forcing a neutral tone—walking the line between friendly, grateful, and definitely not interested. “Look, can we just…” I paused, grappling for the right words to soften the blow. “Can we just talk about the case, please? I can’t—I can’t handle anything else right now. I’m not… ready.”
Arlon blinked, once, then exhaled with a resigned, dragging sigh. “Yeah, I figured.”
My stomach writhed in discomfort. I didn’t want to hurt him—it was the last thing I wanted to do—but I couldn’t shoulder his affection. Not when I was barely getting by under the weight of my own baggage. I stared down at my hands, fingernails bitten to the quick. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Arlon mumbled, working up a small shrug that definitely looked forced. “It’s okay. I get it.”
But he didn’t ‘get it’. He could never understand. All he could do was watch from the sidelines while I tore myself to pieces over a bitter history he could never comprehend.
There was a beat of tense silence, then a quick flicker of his eyes as he retreated back into that professional cover he wore so well. “So,” he straightened up, voice turning brisk, “how about we talk business instead?”
“Sure.” Relief was a balm to my nerves. This was aconversation I could handle. This was safe. “How’s the case going? Yesterday you mentioned a breakthrough.”
Arlon grimaced. “I’m making progress, just—slowly. This group…” He hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t make him sound like a paranoid nutcase. I understood the struggle. “They’re elusive, bigger than we thought, and their influence goes deep. They have resources, connections. My gut says there’s something… I don’t know—somethingoffabout them.”
I swallowed a grimace of my own.Off indeed.If only he knew the full extent.
But I pressed my lips together, forcing back the truth. It wasn’t just some shady cartel or underground syndicate that Arlon was investigating on my behalf. It was something far more sinister. Something intrinsically entwined with the supernatural.
Arlon would never believe that part, though. And there was no point in revealing a truth that would only complicate his life further. I was complication enough. The guy did too much for me already.
“Any suspects?” I asked softly, carefully steering toward the practical details he could share.
“A few. Nothing solid yet.” A heavy sigh escaped him, and his shoulders sagged. “It’s not an easy investigation by a long shot. All I have to go on is what I’ve learned from you, and these people are really good at covering their tracks. Too good.”
I sighed and stretched out over the bar counter, squishing a cheek against the sticky surface. “Figures. Two whole years of digging and we’ve barely scratched the surface.”
Then my eyes narrowed. A lone bag sat perched on the counter near my nose, straps dangling loose over the edge. I lifted my head and turned back to Arlon.
“Hey,” I murmured, jerking my chin at the abandoned item. “Whose is that?”
“Hmm?” Arlon glanced over, frowning. “Oh shit. I think itbelongs to this woman I was chatting with earlier. She left in a hurry.” He shrugged, tilting his head back to gulp down the last of his drink. “I guess she forgot it.”
Nudging off the counter, I reached for the bag. “Maybe there’s an ID or something in here,” I murmured, wrestling with the embroidered buckles. “Might as well let her know she left it behind.”
“She was actually pretty cool.” Arlon was musing at my shoulder, holding his empty glass suspended at his lips. “If you’re ever thinking of replacing me as your honorary detective, she’d be a good substitute.”
“Uh-huh.” I was only half-listening as I rummaged through the bag, suddenly struck by the oddness of the contents.
A deck of tarot cards, edges worn from overuse. A tangle of charms—some looked handmade, little bits of string and stone. A battered notebook with scribbles in swirling ink. Random baubles, lighters, a snippet of rope?
What the…?
Something glinted at the bottom of the bag—small and cylindrical. Multiplesomethings. A collection of small vials, all clinking together when I jostled the bag onto my lap. I lifted one and hunched over to inspect it.
Inside, something red and viscous.Blood.
A jolt of alarm shot up my spine and I swallowed, concealing the vial before Arlon could see it.Hell.A normal person might think it was fake, or some bizarre herbal tincture. But that was blood—I knew it well—and there was a lot of it.
Arlon raised a brow, clocking my sudden silence. “Something up?”
