Hidden Dragons (6 page)

Watching Adam fall in love and get married the previous year had required some adjusting. Luckily, Rick was over that. Adam’s wife Ari had become his friend as well, and her bringing a new baby into the pack made both him and his wolf feel good. When it came down to it, Rick was a simple soul. He wasn’t prone to brooding or bad moods. He loved his family, his pack, and his job—pretty much in that order. As long as they were safe, he could deal with a change or two.

Weird though this case was on its surface, it seemed unlikely to threaten that.

On the other hand, if they had stumbled over a fae conspiracy, best to keep the information within the family. The first thing Rick did after entering the squad room was walk straight to Adam’s office, yank out his bottom drawer, and activate the anti-eavesdropping charm Adam kept stored there. Per usual, Adam had been hanging in the squad room with his men. He followed Rick into the windowed office. Seeing his second making himself at home, he snorted humorously.

“Should I shut the blinds for you?” he offered.

“Sure,” Rick said, knowing his alpha was too secure to take offense. “At the least, we’ll want it dark to watch this footage.”

He stuck a thumb drive into the port on Adam’s computer. By this time, the squad had squeezed around Adam’s desk to watch. Silence reigned while the faeries fought like Errol Flynn on steroids. Considering the combatants were more or less superhuman, it didn’t surprise that the clash ranged from the tracks to the platform and the steel-beamed ceiling. Both faeries had meant business, the action moving so fast that more than once Rick had to slow the playback. The video ended with the EMTs arrival.

Tony whistled in regret for all of them. “Now I’m really sorry I didn’t get Sword Guy. That lady faerie was badass.”

“Does her outfit look familiar?” Rick asked. “I swear I’ve seen it before.”

“Maybe,” Adam said unsurely.

Nate Rivera, their snazziest dresser and maybe their sharpest tack, snapped long fingers. “
Mini-Dragons to the Rescue!
Evina’s kids are obsessed with that cartoon. That black costume is what the dragon keepers’ protectors wear.”

Just last weekend, Nate had married a weretiger. She had two kids already, whom Nate was adopting.

“The dragon keepers’ protectors?” Adam repeated.

“There’s a Dragon Guild on the show. The keepers train the dragons, and the protectors safeguard them.” Nate sounded sheepish for knowing.

“That’s right,” Tony said. “Ethan watches that all the time.”

Ethan was Tony and Rick’s nephew. Like most kids, he loved dragons. Rick had seen snippets of the show himself every Sunday he babysat.

“So . . . what then?” Adam said. “Our vic is a mini-dragon fanatic?”

A tingle took hold of Rick’s shoulders. “Maybe she’s a member of the actual Dragon Guild.”

“Dragons are extinct,” Adam said. “The big ones, anyway.”

“They’re extinct
here
. We don’t know everything that goes on in Faerie.”

“What I miss?” Carmine asked from the door. The final member of their squad was an uncle figure, a good-natured stocky older wolf who’d once been their only married detective. He’d been questioning a suspect in another case. Rick assumed he’d finished.

“Scooch in,” Adam said. “And shut the door behind you.”

Carmine’s bushy brows shot up at the extra security measures. He listened attentively while Rick went through his account again. The longer Rick talked, the more unsettled he was by his own story. The sword fight in the subway couldn’t be all there was to this. Resurrection’s mysterious fae founders must be up to something.

“That’s what she said?” Carmine asked when he finished. “You have to protect some woman, and the destiny of the city depends on it?”

“She might have been nuts,” Tony suggested, seemingly for the hell of it. He’d braced his back against Adam’s shelves of procedural manuals. He was relaxed now, easy among his pack. “Faeries live so long sometimes they go bonkers.”

Barring death by violence or misadventure, faeries were immortal.

“I’ve heard rumors that in their own realm, they occasionally get so tired of their lives they erase their memories. Actually self-induce complete amnesia.”

This contribution came from Nate. Third in the pack hierarchy, he sat on the corner of Adam’s desk, one alligator-booted foot wagging where he’d pulled it across his knee. Some might consider his posture—and his position—presumptuous, but that was Nate for you. Rick had learned not to get his back up every time Nate got big for his britches.

Adam reinforced who Rick was in the pecking order by addressing him directly. “Did the fae seem crazy to you?”

“No.” Rick was careful not to deliver his opinion as if it were established fact. “A little dramatic, but not unhinged.” His hand was still in his pocket. He hesitated, then decided to pull out the object his fingers were curled around. “She gave me this before she died.”

He opened his palm, looking at what he held for the first time himself. That was weird, he realized. Logically, he should have peeked by now.

“Are those brass knuckles?” Carmine asked, leaning forward with the rest.

They certainly looked like it. They had four finger holes, plus a bracing loop on the bottom to fit the palm. Short sharp spikes topped the circles, guaranteeing being punched by them would do damage. Incised runes marked the metal’s curves, suggesting more mystical defenses. Oddly, though the faerie’s hand had been slender, these rings were suitably sized for him.

“I think they’re electrum,” Tony said, one finger stretched toward the silvery gold metal.

Rick didn’t jerk his hand away, but he should have. The instant Tony’s fingertip connected, a spark the size of a walnut zapped out at him.

“Ouch,” Tony said, electrocuted fingertip in his mouth. “You didn’t warn me that thing bites.”

Rick looked at it. “I didn’t know it would.”

Because he was Nate, Adam’s third tried to touch it with the same results.

“The pureblood keyed it to you,” Adam concluded.

“But why?” Rick was utterly flummoxed now. He was an ordinary wolf, not the sort a faerie would involve in anything important.

“Because you’re ‘The One,’” Carmine teased, quote marks obvious from his tone. “You’re supposed to warn some chickie she’s in danger.”

“I swear I have no idea what she meant.”

“Don’t you?” Adam peered at him. “She claimed you already knew who the woman was.”

“That doesn’t mean I do!”

“Put them on,” Carmine suggested. “Maybe the pureblood keyed the answer into them.”

“What if it isn’t safe?” Rick said, feeling uncomfortably hemmed in. “If the knuckles are enchanted, maybe one of the department psychics should vet them first.”

Even as he made the suggestion, his fingers closed over the faerie’s gift. His brain was at war with his instincts. They didn’t want anyone touching this thing but him.

Adam didn’t miss the unconscious gesture. He put all his alpha soothing into his voice. “Hang onto to them for now. You know there are no coincidences in Resurrection. We’ll follow what leads we’ve got, and maybe an answer will come to you.”

Rick opened his mouth to repeat his denial. Before he could, a tiny tickle of something nudged the back of his awareness. It was like trying to remember the words to a song he’d caught himself humming. Rick
almost
saw a face. A scent came with it, a sensation of old longing. Muscles tightened in his chest. He realized his groin was heavy and hot, like he was about to throw wood.

Sheesh
, he thought, startled by the reaction. Rick was a normal guy. He got boners, sometimes for no reason. This, however, reminded him of the instant hard-ons he’d been plagued by in high school. God, they’d driven him crazy. As he recalled, they’d been inspired most frequently by one particular pretty girl.

No
, he thought to himself. No way could she be involved in this.

“I’ll hang onto them,” he agreed, wanting out of Adam’s crowded office that second.

“Good.” Adam’s gaze sharpened. He must have sensed more going on than Rick was saying. “Let us know if you come up with something.”

Rick’s penis twitched. He feared
coming up
with something would be the problem.

~

The squad had other crimes to investigate besides Rick’s fae-on-fae violence. Carmine had caught lead on a vampire homicide—or re-homicide, Rick supposed. The undead were famous for big egos and short tempers. Carmine asked Nate and Rick to back him up while he questioned the case’s primarily nocturnal witnesses. Carmine was good with people, getting them to talk, putting them at their ease. Rick and Nate were mostly along as muscle. They returned to the precinct around daybreak. When Rick checked his email, the report from the uniform who’d interviewed his witness was waiting.

Sadly, the waitress hadn’t heard the sword fighting faeries speak. She knew no reason for the altercation and couldn’t describe the surviving pureblood even as well as Rick. Officer Compton, who Rick guessed had a sense of humor, noted she’d expressed the wistful opinion that the male had been “too gorgeous to breathe around.”

Rick doubted he’d get an ID from that. If their killer didn’t keep a home in the Pocket—and even if he did—purebloods weren’t in the system like other folks. No birth certificates, no taxes, no credit cards required. What they were was the
abracadabra
to open any door. Thinking back to his brief glimpse, Rick was inclined to believe this pureblood wasn’t a regular visitor. He’d seemed wild to Rick in ways he couldn’t put his finger on. Fae familiar with the city weren’t that alien. Occasionally, they even went native. Rick was willing to bet this male spent most his time in the Old Country.

Which left Rick pretty much nowhere.

The psychic who swept the motorcycle repair shop came up empty as well. The killer had disappeared his trace and himself. She was able to assure Rick he was highborn. According to her, juice like his wasn’t common to lower ranks.

So now Rick had a—maybe—royal fae conspiracy, possibly involving dragons, and perhaps a risk to their fair city.

Stymied, he stacked his feet on top of his cluttered desk. The nearest cop in the squad room was Nate. He sat at the desk in front of Rick’s, tapping his phone after hanging up a call. His dark ponytail—just one of his vanities—was so neat and glossy it looked polished.

He must have been aware of Rick staring. Without turning to look, he balled up a piece of paper, threw it over his shoulder, and hit Rick in the head with it.

“Don’t think too hard,” he teased. “You wouldn’t want your brains to run out.”

Sometimes Nate was lucky he was Rick’s cousin.

“Sorry,” he said, swiveling around to catch Rick frowning. “If it makes you feel better, I asked Evina to gather up Abby and Rafi’s
Mini-Dragon
DVDs. The cubs will be ecstatic when I tell them I have to watch them for work.”

He did make Rick feel better, though not out of revenge. Rick was willing to admit Nate’s brain was worth consulting.

“It’s a cartoon,” he said, not wanting to get his hopes up.

“Sure it is.” Nate leaned forward across his knees. “On the other hand, according to my Oogle search, the original showrunner was a pureblood. Maybe there’s a thread of truth behind the stories.”

“Mini-dragons are actual creatures. They’re just aquatic.”

“More truth than that.”

Nate was being less jokey than usual. Maybe marrying his tigress had made him more of a team player. Rick fought off a pang of jealousy. Before Evina, Nate had defined
ladies’ man
. Of all the pack, Rick was probably the least committed to bachelorhood. And now only he and Tony were unhitched. No matter what challenges his little brother faced, considering Tony’s natural charisma, Rick probably shouldn’t count on having company long.

The stupid brass knuckles dug into his hip. Ignoring them, he rocked his chair squeakily. “What did big dragons do that was so special? Besides chowing down on virgins and setting villages on fire.”

“Dunno,” Nate said. “All I’ve read are fairy tales.”

In Rick’s experience, they weren’t much better than cartoons. He glanced at his watch. Two thirty. Normally, he wasn’t eager to knock off work, but today he was restless. Making his decision, he swung his legs down and stood.

“I’m going home. Maybe I’ll do some research there. Call me if anything new breaks.”

“You okay?” Nate asked, tilting his head at him.

“Fine,” Rick said. He didn’t know what to think of the sudden ache that jabbed behind his left eye.

~

Rick’s place took up the second floor of the narrow brownstone he owned with Adam and Tony. He had a door—and a lock—though you wouldn’t know it from the way the others made themselves welcome. The space inside was comfortable but messy. Because he hadn’t done it that morning, he took his usual trashbag around the kitchen and living room, clearing up the stuff he should have tossed right away but somehow never did. Takeout cartons disappeared into the green plastic maw; Adam’s newspaper minus the sports section; Rick’s subscription to
Police Monthly
. Those empty bottles had to be Tony’s. Rick eyed the fanciful label suspiciously. He certainly didn’t drink “Cracked Pumpkin.” The name sounded like something trend-conscious Nate would dub the next big thing in craft beer.

On a roll, he nearly threw away baby Kelsey’s squeaky bath duck. What was
that
doing here? Ari and Adam hadn’t brought the baby down in days. Unless Ari had borrowed his washer-dryer while he was out. She kept telling Adam
he
should try doing laundry for three people one load at a time.

Rick smiled as he perched the rescued duck on his mantelpiece. Ari was a pip. Being married to an alpha didn’t cow the human at all. Done now, he looked around the room with a sense of accomplishment. Not spotless but much better. Nobody could say he was too slobby to be a good boyfriend.

He went cold as a terrible idea hit. His weapons closet. Had it been locked when Ari came down with the baby? He ran to check, relief flooding his whole body when he found it secure. He’d remembered. And he’d never, ever forget. He knocked his brow against the wood to make sure the intention would sink in.