Chapter 21

Ch.21: Julian

A tangled curtain of dark hair, a pale face, and the cold press of metal against my throat tell me who I'm dealing with. I lay absolutely still as Rhiannnon leans over me, the tip of her nose almost touching mine, and studies me with an intensity of expression as immobilizing as the threat of her blade. She seems especially fascinated with my eyes, and traces the curve of my brows with the fingers of her free hand.

"Rhiannon," I whisper, hoping she'll respond to her name.

She draws back in surprise, and I hold my breath as the pressure on my windpipe increases, making me wonder if I'm about to join what I hope is the small number of people ever murdered by their own grandmother. After a moment, she relaxes and the press of the blade vanishes. She raises a finger to her lips, and I nod in agreement, thinking that she wants me to be quiet.

She leans closer again and stares into my eyes, then slowly points to her own, then back to mine. Tracing the rest of my features with her fingertips, her brows pinch close and she shakes her head.

Guessing the source of her confusion, I dare another whisper.

"I'm not David," I breathe. "I know I look like him. He was my father. I'm Julian. I'm... the son of your son," I add, remembering the way the Fae refer to relatives.

She tilts her head a little to the side, and I wonder if she understands. Then, slowly, she withdraws the knife, which I see is the same type of short, curved blade that struck Halloran, and slips it back into a small sheath on her belt. As she does this, I take in the rest of her appearance and note its strangeness.

The belt looks like something from a video game or a Renaissance fair, so I'm guessing it's Fae-made, but the rest of her clothes look like they belong to a tourist with bad taste.

She wears a pink sweatshirt a size too large for her that reads "I ♥️ Spring Lakes," and a pair of sweatpants in the colors of the local college sports teams: blue with a yellow stripe down the side. After a moment, I realize that I've seen both garments before—in the 'gift' area of the hardware store. Rhiannon must have clothed herself with stolen items from the various burgled shops.

As this dawns on me, I realize I have the perfect opportunity to solve our entire mystery right here.

Excitement shoots through me with a second rush of adrenaline, and I lift myself on my elbows a little as questions flood my brain.

"So, you are the thief," I whisper. "You're hunting the skin-changer, right? Do you know who it is? Did you follow it here? How did you escape the Shadowlands? What happened to—"

Eyes widening with alarm, she leans forward and covers my mouth with her hand, shaking her head and making her long black hair swish.

Emboldened by the fact she hasn't killed me yet, I push her hand away.

"It's okay," I say, in a low but audible voice. "There's no one else here. We can talk. Please—I just want to understand."

She stares at me a moment, her bright purple eyes a mirror of my own, and then—thankfully—she backs away, climbs off me, and allows me to sit up.

Stuck by a thought, I hold up my hand. "Hang on—I have something to show you."

Leaning over, I open the drawer of the bedside table and pull out my dad's book—her book, really. When I turn back, I find her watching me warily, one hand on the hilt of her knife.

"It's okay," I say gently. "Look."

I hold the book towards her and, cautiously, she takes it.

"That's yours, right? My dad left it for me."

She looks up in surprise, then back at the book, an expression of dawning wonder on her face as she opens it and runs her fingers over the rune-covered pages.

She glances up at me and taps the book, her brows lifted in question.

I shake my head. "No, I can't read it. My..."

Unsure how much to say, I stop myself from mentioning Noah as a new set of questions bubble up. Does she know I'm mated to a Wolf? Would she care? Does she still hate Wolves, or is that in the past for her? Present case aside, there's so much I want to know and ask her that I'm not sure where to begin.

Biting my lip, I decide to try a different angle. "I was planning to show it to Halloran—to your brother Rian, I mean. I was hoping he could translate it for me, but—"

Instantly, Rhiannon's head snaps up, alarm and fear on her face. Dropping the book in her lap, she makes a series of rapid gestures that look almost like Sign language and shakes her head emphatically.

I frown and shake my head in reply. "I don't understand. Can't you speak?"

More gestures follow, and when I show no sign of comprehension, she loses patience with me.

Grasping my hand, she pulls it towards her and starts making me follow her gestures, like a preschool teacher trying to show a recalcitrant student how to write his ABCs. Unfortunately, she's grabbed the wrist with the cast, and I wince and then yelp as she tugs on it too hard.

Instantly, she lets me go, startled and distressed by the sound, and presses her hands to the sides of her head.

"It's okay," I say quickly, hoping to keep her calm. "I'm fine. Hey, you can write in English, can't you? I'll get some paper and a pen, and—"

Rhiannon startles again, but this time it seems to be triggered my a distant sound—barks and howls from the other end of the meadow, signaling Dane and Ingrid's return. Wild-eyed, Rhiannon pulls at her own hair as she casts about the room, as if searching for something, though whether a means to communicate or a means of escape, I'm not sure. Picking up her book again, she flips through it rapidly, then holds it towards me and taps frantically at the page.

I can only shake my head again. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

She reaches towards me and touches the side of my face, an expression of tortured frustration on her own, but a second round of quiet barks sounds from closer to the house, she pulls back as if burned.

Then, with a final glance at me, she snatches up the book, darts to the window, slips through, and vanishes.

***

"Fuck."

Dane swears under his breath as he examines the window, bare shoulders hunched and muscles tensed with anger.

I'd struggled, briefly, with whether to tell him about Rhiannon's surprise visit at all, but in the end it wasn't really a choice: a stranger breaking into our home in the middle of the night and threatening me with a knife was something he needed to know about.

Not to mention, she'd stolen my book—even if it was her book, really.

To my surprise, he hadn't immediately shifted back to his Wolf and chased her down, instead doing a simple inspection of the house and surrounding area in human form before returning to our room.

"You're sure you're alright?" he asks, coming to stand before me where I sit on the end of the bed, his tone and expression softening a little. "You want me to go after her?"

"I'm sure she's long gone by now," I say, hugging myself and frowning unhappily. "But thank you for making that a question."

He smooths his hands over my shoulders and raises his brows at me. "Why? Did you think I'd turn rabid the second I heard what happened?"

"Kinda," I admit.

"Believe it or not, wolves get tired, too. I'll do my best to track her if you ask me to, but honestly I doubt I'd have much success. I'd rather my energy for tomorrow's problems."

I blink. "If there wasn't a skin-changer on the loose, I'd ask who you are and what you've done with Dane."

"Not funny," he admonishes, but smiles as he sits at my side and rubs the back of my neck. "Being an alpha isn't all about power and playing action hero. It's about having the wisdom to know which actions are appropriate, and when."

"You're doing a good job, then," I say, humor fading as I meet his eyes. "She didn't hurt me, and I don't think she intended to, but she's still dangerous. She's still a... whatever Halloran called it. A Wolfslayer."

"You're worried about me?" he asks.

I frown at him. "Of course. You're not the only one who gets to worry. And you're not invincible, you know."

"I do," he says, his expression softening a little more. "I'm sorry about the book. I know what it means to you. What did she say, anyway?"

Sighing, I rub my hands over my face. "She didn't say anything. I don't think she could."

Briefly, I describe the strange encounter. By the time I finish, I'm leaning against Dane's side with his arm around me, propped against the pillows and beginning to feel a little sleepy now that the adrenaline has worn off.

"So, she's mute," Dane muses when I finish. "That's interesting."

"Yeah. And why didn't Halloran mention that?"

"I think the more interesting question is why she seemed so afraid when you mentioned him."

"Well, he is after her. She probably doesn't want to get sent back to the Shadowlands."

"Hm," he grunts. "That's Halloran's story, anyway. Conveniently, Rhiannon can't tell hers."

I hesitate a moment, then tell him the rest of what I'd learned earlier in the day.

He listens without interrupting, and his expression darkens as I speak.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," I conclude. "I didn't want to distract you, and it seemed like it could wait."

"I'm not mad," he says, rubbing the side of my arm. "I'm just... thinking." He sighs. "It feels like we're missing something—some piece of the puzzle we haven't found yet. I don't like that feeling."

"Yeah," I agree, remembering how strangely confused and desperate to communicate Rhiannon had seemed. "Neither do I."

***

Unsurprisingly, neither Dane nor I find it easy to fall asleep, and stay awake talking about the case, skin-changers, Halloran and Rhiannon, Wolves and Fae, and whatever else comes to mind until dawn. Finally, I fall asleep with my head on his chest as he strokes my hair and tells me a story about a case he once worked in Seattle, where the drug lord he was after turned out to be the prime suspect's grandmother.

He'd just reached the part where they'd caught her, trying to flee across the border to Canada in a minivan full of drugs hidden in balls of yarn, when I finally drift off.

I awaken sometime later, roused from a dream in which Rhiannon chases me with a knitting needle while Halloran tries to tell me something with gestures I don't understand. Early morning sunlight streams through the window, and I groan and rub my eyes, but resolve to get up and start the day.

Dane is still asleep, snoring softly with his head tilted back, and I do my best to extricate myself from his arms without waking him.

Somehow, I succeed, get dressed, and head for the kitchen, in dire need of something hot and caffeinated.

The beep of the coffee maker startles me, and I realize I'd zoned out, staring at nothing, almost asleep on my feet.

Shaking my head, I pour myself a cup, add my usual 'dash' of cream (an amount Dane says the American Heart Association would find concerning) and go to sit at the table with my phone to read the morning news.

I skim the usual depressing national stuff, fall victim to a few pieces of clickbait, and then—once the caffeine starts to kick in—switch over to the local sources.

A headline glares at me. I read it, take a sip of coffee, and read it again. Dimly, I'm aware that some part of my brain has sounded an alarm, but I can't quite pinpoint the cause. I read the headline one more time, and then it sinks in, and I'm on my feet and calling for Dane.

Body Found in Spring Lakes Reservoir Identified as Local Small Business Owner, Stephanie Wong.