Page 14 of Lovely Violent Things

The closer he draws, a gauzy web of indecision spools around my mind, the heavy thud of my heart drowns out the background of the marsh. White noise fills my head and my hand clasps the bag strap so tightly my fingers go numb.

It’s only been hours since I last saw him, and I’ve already forgotten how consuming his presence is, how—when his sole attention is directed on me—he desires to make me feel like I’m the only person in the universe.

A dangerously deceptive illusion by the chaos magician himself.

Breath bated, I hold his intense stare as he coasts toward me, close enough that when I’m forced to take a breath, his scent of spicy sandalwood burns in my lungs.

Kallum’s mouth tips into a devastatingly beautiful smile. “Hello, Halen.”

4

DAEMON

HALEN

The deep baritone of Kallum’s voice curls in my belly as I stay locked in his gaze, reminding me of our first encounter at the Cambridge crime scene. Beneath that vivid memory, however, some elusive feeling, like a misplaced familiarity, tugs at the back of my mind.

A shadow of the past is conjured against the hazy lamplight: Kallum’s hands stained in red, his suit jacket draped over my shoulders, his voice breaking through the shroud of my mind:Breathe.

I blink hard to clear the vision as the bite mark on my shoulder pulses with heat beneath the bag strap, the place on my body where Kallum claims he traced a sigil before he ever approached me at the university.

“Professor Locke,” I say, my voice breathy as I strive to control the tremor. “Welcome back.”

I wanted to be more prepared before I had to confront Kallum.

I wanted the evidence to profile him as the prime suspect of this crime scene. I wanted to pin him—without a shadow of a doubt—as the Harbinger killer.

I wanted to witness him arrested and handcuffed, where I couldn’t be forced to play his game, where I felt safely removed from his reach.

But life has never once asked my permission before it decided to blow my world apart. I don’t expect it to start now.

So I grip the bag strap tighter, lift my chin, and meet Kallum’s smoldering gaze with cool indifference. Tension infuses the air of the marshland, the silence stretching until Agent Alister clears his throat.

“Right,” Alister says. “No introduction necessary.” Sarcasm laces his words as he glances first at the progress of the crime scene, then between me and Kallum. “St. James, I heard you’ve officially been hired on by the locals.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Two expert consultants,” Kallum comments. “Feels a bit overkill.” The goading remark is punctuated by his smile that reveals the slight dimple in his cheek.

I loathe that dimple.

“There’s two suspects, so maybe not.” I tilt my head, gaze narrowed on him. “That was a fast trip, professor. You work quickly.”

“My services are obviously sorely needed,” he says, letting his gaze drift slow and deliberate down my body to further his innuendo. “And I do aim to please.” His intense eyes settle on my neck, noting the absence of the diamond pendant, and that calculated action trips my pulse.

A reactive flame licks my skin, and I’m forced to look down into the den of the crime scene to escape his knowing leer.

When Alister said he planned to bring Kallum back onboard the case, I had hoped the red tape would take longer to cut through. I wonder how Alister convinced Dr. Torres to release Kallum to the service of the feds once again rather than transferring him to another facility, as he was so intent on.

“I assume everyone will play nice together,” Alister says, attempting to dissipate the obvious awkwardness. He then bows his head in my direction. “Are you leaving?”

Finally breaking free of Kallum’s penetrating hold, I give my attention to the agent in charge. “No, just taking a short break,” I say, deciding there’s no way I can leave Kallum on this crime scene where he can potentially tamper with evidence.

“You look like you’re in need of a bed, Dr. St. James.” Kallum’s voice is fine gravel scraping at my resolve. The dark flame banked behind his clashing eyes sends up a warning flare within me, the insinuation hitting its mark.

I swallow the ache trapped in my throat and flip my white forelock out of my vision. “Some of us appreciate the sacrifice that has to be made.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I mentally claw the air to snatch them back.

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