Witches Can't Fly (Otherworld Crime Unit Book 3) Page 2

  She grit her teeth. “No, it wouldn’t.”

  He gave her that amused look again that nearly had her biting down on her lip to stop from screaming. “Hmm, I really want to help you, Lyra, but—,”

  “How about you pack the book up in an air-tight wrapping and I can take it with me and send it back to you the same way.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t do.”

  “Why not?” Frustration mixed with anger, was starting to swirl in her stomach like a mini-tornado.

  Ignoring her comment, he suggested, “How about I come with you to Necropolis and I’ll bring the book?”

  She flinched as if slapped. “No. Why on earth would you do that?” Her voice went shrill, panicked. The last place she wanted Theron LeNoir was in her home town. She couldn’t escape him then, couldn’t shut down the feelings that were beginning to surface. She’d spent years building walls around her for protection from emotional pain and she had a feeling that Theron could be the one person that could and would want to break through them.

  “I don’t know, it might be fun working on a case with you.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?” He smiled, flirtatiously. It made her knees weak. She wanted to slap herself in the face for acting so foolishly around him. But he had that affect on her and by the way he was looking at her, he damn well knew it. “I think you and I would work well together.”

  “The last time you and I did something together it was disastrous.”

  His eyebrow lifted seductively. “That’s not the way I remember it.”

  “Are you going to give me the book?” She sighed, trying not let her anger dictate to her, but failing miserably.

  “Not like this, no.”

  “Well, since you feel that way. I’m sorry I have to do this.” Lyra flexed her fingers.

  “Do what?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  After a twelve-hour flight from France to America, Lyra marched down the hallway of the Necropolis crime lab. She knew she held the key to the murders that had plagued the city of Necropolis and the surrounding city of San Antonio. The book she carried weighed heavy, not only in her hands but in her mind.

  “Lyra,” Gwen the lab technician called poking her head out from her DNA room. “How was Nouveau-Monde? Meet any cute French guys?”

  She waved at Gwen but continued on. The last thing she wanted to talk about. She just about had her fill of those to last a lifetime.

  She marched into the staff room where Caine, a vampire and her supervisor, and his human wife Eve, who had transferred from the San Antonio crime labs, were sitting having their supper break. She walked to the table and slammed down the huge book in her hands. Both Caine and Eve jumped.

  “I think I found the real reason for the past four murders.”

  With his napkin, Caine wiped up the tea he spilled from her explosive entrance. He crumpled it, tossed it into the garbage pail then glanced at Lyra. “Good to see you back. How was the seminar?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I said-,”

  “I heard you loud and clear, Lyra, but I still like to engage in mundane conversations once in awhile with a colleague I haven’t seen in a week. Helps keep my civility.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Have it your way.” She sat in the unoccupied chair. “The weather was good. It only rained one day. The food rocked, and I think I may have gained five pounds. The seminar was enlightening, and I didn’t snarl at anyone, even when they irritated me.”

  Caine smiled. “Okay. Now what about this big book you brought?”

  “It’s a rare ancient text that clearly defines the murders as ritual killings for the sole intent of eventually opening a porthole to hell.”

  Both Caine and Eve looked at her as if she’d just grown horns. They should’ve known by now it was impossible, especially for a witch of her standing. Those types of things just didn’t happen to witches. Vampires maybe, but never witches.

  Eve ran her hand over the book. “Where did you get this? It looks really old and delicate.”

  Lyra closed the book and gathered it in her arms.

  Eve shook her head. “You’re as territorial as a lycan.”

  “I am not. It’s just this book is ah, fragile and I don’t want other people touching it.”

  “Did you buy it or something from an antique shop?” Eve asked.

  “Doesn’t matter where I got the book. It’s what I’m telling you that’s important.”

  “We hear you, Lyra.” Caine set his fork aside. “Go over the text, write a report of what you think is happening and we will go over all the evidence again to see how this fits in. Maybe it will open a new lead we didn’t see before.”

  She nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Where’s Jace?”

  “He and Tala have a night off,” Eve said. “I think they’re celebrating a certain something.” She lifted her eyebrows.

  “You don’t know that, my darling,” Caine interjected. “Please don’t start rumors.”

  Lyra looked between Eve and Caine. “What’s going on?”

  Eve leaned across the table, and whispered, “I think Tala is pregnant.”

  “But they just got married, for Goddess sake,” Lyra said. Jace was the lycan on the team, and during the case they’d worked on in San Antonio he’d managed to fall in love with Tala, who had been a cop working for the humans. She’d masqueraded as one as well. In truth, she’d turned out to be half human and half lycan and one hundred percent perfect for Jace.

  “And I think they’ve spent most of that time in bed.” Eve chuckled, but Lyra could see a flash of pain in her eyes. She knew Eve wanted children, and because Caine was a vampire it was unclear if they could conceive or not.

  Caine set his hand on top of hers. “So did we, if I recall.”

  Lyra cringed. “Please. Keep it to yourselves.” She really didn’t want to hear about anybody’s sex life, especially when hers was non-existent. She was still feeling a little raw from the incident in Nouveau-Monde with a certain Frenchman. But she didn’t want to think about it, and certainly not talk about it. No, she would keep that little secret to herself for as long as she could.

  “How’s Gwen doing with deciphering the DNA from the last case? Has she made any headway in determining what we are dealing with?”

  Caine shook his head. “Not yet. But we’ll figure it out. With Jace‘s description and the skin samples we got from under his nails, we will find out just what we are dealing with.”

  “Okay. I‘ll get started on the translation and get the report written for you.”

  “Lyra, you just got back. Why don’t you take some time to go home, unpack, and get some rest? You had a long flight.”

  “I don’t think we have the time for that.”

  “It’s been quiet for the past couple of months; I think a few hours won’t hurt anything.”

  “And that’s exactly why there is no time. Because he will strike again, and soon. I can feel it.”

  Lyra shivered remembering her latest set of dreams. Every since she had touched down in Nouveau-Monde a week ago, she had started having dark mysterious dreams about a man shrouded in the shadows. A man without a face who always seemed to be seeking...searching...for someone.

  Caine covered her hand with his. “Are you all right? Is there something you want to tell me?”

  She shook her head. No, she couldn’t talk to Caine about it. He wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t the dark dreams bothering her, but the way they made her feel, the way the shadowed man made her feel. Her throat went dry just thinking about it and desire flicked at her insides.

  Not a sensation she felt often. Actually she could probably count on her fingers the number of times she had those types of feelings.

  It disturbed her to no end.

  Lyra squeezed the book tighter to her chest. “I’m fine. I’ll be in the analysis room if you need me.” She left before either of them could say a word.

  Quickly and qu
ietly, she rushed down the bleak hallway toward the analysis room. She didn’t really want to stop and chat with anyone. Too many emotions and thoughts twisted in her mind to have an ordinary conversation.

  With a sigh of relief, she entered the room and set the book down on the table. Thankfully no one else was using the room. Sitting, she began to thumb through the yellowing pages.

  She liked her solitude, preferred it actually. Except she wasn’t really truly ever alone. Her dead grandmother, Eleanore, kept her company. Well, her spirit anyway. Eleanore was a constant companion to Lyra, offering her wisdom and counsel when she needed it. But since her departure from Nouveau-Monde, Lyra found her gran strangely silent.

  Perhaps she disapproved of Lyra’s methods of obtaining the book.

  She was sort of happy her gran was absent and wasn’t asking for an explanation to Lyra’s actions. Maybe she could put aside the insistent pang of guilt she had in the pit of her stomach. At least for awhile. Long enough she could do her job. She usually didn’t like to perform magic on someone, but Theron had asked for it. Or at least, she wanted to believe he had. He had offered to help her, although in his own way. Maybe she’d been too quick to act. The spell she’d used hadn’t been harmful. Just solid enough to afford her enough time to take the book and get out before he could counteract. She’d used the binding spell once or twice before but it had usually been on fleeing criminals.

  Shame at her action rose to the surface, but she stomped it down with a heady dose of self-righteousness. She was good at that.

  As she settled on the right pages, Lyra took her pen and started to decipher the text and symbols. While her fingers traced the line and shape of the symbols on the weathered page, her thoughts returned to her trip to the Otherworlder European city. The rumors about the beautiful French metropolis were insignificant compared to the reality of the place. Lyra had been instantly charmed.

  But it was the guest lecturer Theron LeNoir who had surprised her the most. In more ways than she wanted to consider even now.

  She could still picture his unusual gray eyes and the way they smoldered when he had looked at her.

  To think, a man like that had actually smoldered in her presence. Lyra snickered, thinking about the oddity of the whole situation. She was definitely not the type of woman men burned over. A small low flame maybe, but not the full-on blaze she had sensed from Theron.

  He was a man definitely accustomed to having beautiful sensual women fawning over him. In fact, she knew him to be quite the ladies’ man. During a magical seminar five years ago, she had considered succumbing to his flirtations, but his fiery libido had scared her into rejecting his advances. He hadn’t been hurt though, because the next evening she’d heard that he had slid into bed with one of the other attendees—a buxom blond from Norway named Ingrid.

  So she had been surprised when she saw him in the large conference room, standing at the podium. Their eyes had met and something had passed between them. Something, dare she say it, magical. Lyra had felt the tingle all the way to her toes, and she knew Theron had experienced it as well.

  Too bad, things turned out the way they did.

  Pulling her thoughts back onto the important matter at hand, she continued to read and decipher the text. It wouldn’t be long before their killer struck again. Four murders in the past year. Two times they thought they had found their killer, and two times there were proven wrong.

  They were seeking someone who was not human or Otherworlder. Well, at least a known Otherworlder. They had DNA and skin samples that said the killer was much more than that. A species not known on any charts. Part vampire, part lycan, and part something utterly alien.

  Eve had a brief encounter with the mystery figure when she’d been kidnapped over a year ago. So brief she wasn’t sure it even happened. And Jace had battled him in an alley, barely escaping with his life. Whatever he turned out to be, Lyra knew he was a ruthless, cold-hearted killer and they needed to stop him before he killed again.

  Or all hell would break loose...literally.

  Finishing one half of the text, she moved down to the second more complicated half. The part she knew explained about the final ritual ceremony. She didn’t possess the knowledge to decipher it. Theron did, though, yet he’d been too arrogant and so utterly sure of himself that she couldn’t stand it. Those were traits Lyra despised in a man. It was most likely because of his vampiric genetics. It certainly couldn’t be because of his witch background. Lyra had never met a dhamphir before. Half vamp-half witch, and completely foreign. But she couldn’t deny her attraction to him.

  Even now, her stomach flipped over at the thought of him.

  She rubbed a hand over her belly and continued working. Her report wouldn’t write itself. Well, not unless she invoked a dictation spell. Then she could just speak the words without having to write them.

  Before she could consider it, Caine strode into the room. A look of frustration wrinkled his otherwise remarkable face.

  “Is there something you forgot to tell me?” He asked, hovering over her.

  She shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”

  “The baron just phoned.” He leaned on the table with his hands, inching closer to her. Lyra had the urge to recoil. She didn’t like it when Caine put on the power. It was like standing in front of a raging fire, with sparks coming at you full force.

  “He’s on his way to have a little chat with you.”

  “Really? Am I finally getting a raise and promotion?” she asked trying to keep her nervousness out of her voice. By the way Caine lifted his brow, she knew she hadn’t done a very good job of it. The chief had an uncanny ability to pick up on other people’s moods. It came to him like a scent or taste.

  She wondered what her guilt smelled like.

  “It seems he’s just received a call from Inspector Bellmonte of the Nouveau-Monde Police Department about an incident that occurred there.”

  Fidgeting in her chair, she avoided his gaze. “I can explain.”

  “I’d certainly love to hear it.”

  Lyra swiveled around toward the door. The baron, Laal Bask stood in the doorway, his pinched face looking even thinner with the way he pursed his lips. He strode into the room. Another man followed in his wake.

  Lyra could feel the blood draining from her face. Suddenly she felt very faint. “Oh, crap,” she muttered.

  Caine straightened and stared at the new arrivals. “Laal,” he tipped his head toward the baron. “And you are?”

  The other man lifted his chin. “I am Theron LeNoir, the owner of the book on the table.”

  “I see. Then I believe we owe you gratitude for loaning this to us. It will be invaluable to our investigation.”

  Theron lips twitched, but not in humor. Lyra’s stomach sank into the floor. She buried her head in her hands and sighed. She was busted.

  “Oh, you mistake me, Monsieur Valorian, I did not loan it to anyone. Ms. Magice stole it from my home.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Theron entered the room and saw Lyra bent over his book, a look of fierce concentration on her face, his heart actually fluttered. The reaction surprised him. Most of his reactions to women were in lower places on his anatomy. But there was something about her that was unique. He had noticed before, and he was certainly noticing it now.

  It wasn’t that she was gorgeous, because she wasn’t. Certainly, she had some redeeming qualities—big, brown, soulful eyes; wide, inviting mouth; a petite, nubile body—but it was something more than all those things. A quality that transcended physical beauty. A thing almost ethereal in nature.

  Standing now, her face stern, and her hands on her hips, Lyra looked like a diminutive Amazon goddess.

  Caine remained impassive, his brow cocked; regarding Theron as if he was nothing. Then he looked at the baron. “Are you taking this man’s allegations seriously?”

  “Are you calling me a liar, monsieur?” Theron replied.

  “I’m sorry but I f
ind it hard to believe that Lyra, who has more integrity than most of us at the lab, would steal anything.”

  “Your investigator came into my home, bound me with a sophomoric binding spell at best, and took my book without permission. If that is not theft, then what is it?”

  “It was not sophomoric,” she grated out between clenched teeth.

  Everyone looked over at her.

  It made Theron chuckle to see the tick at the little witch’s jaw. Magic surged out of her like a suddenly sparking electrical wire. He could feel it all around him. It surprised him at how intense it was. She possessed power, this woman. More than he suspected she even realized.

  “Lyra, is what this man saying true?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Is it no, or not really?”

  She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

  Laal huffed, “Well, someone had better start explaining because I’m very close to firing someone.”

  Hands clenched into fists, Lyra glared at the baron and took a step toward him like an advancing lioness. Theron swore he saw her eyes spark with flames. “You can’t fire me because of this.”

  “I most certainly can.”

  Caine put his hand up to interpose. “No one is getting fired. I’m sure there is a logical explanation for all of this. Isn’t there, Lyra?”

  Hands still fisted, she halted her progression toward the baron and turned her fiery gaze onto Theron. “If this stubborn jerk hadn’t refused to help with the translation, I wouldn’t have done anything so...so drastic.”

  His body started to sweat from her heated gaze. Oh, she was a firecracker indeed this witch. If he had more time in Necropolis, he would certainly enjoy battling with her. He wondered if their battles would translate into something more passionate. Something they could take to a private venue, like his hotel room.

  “I don’t remember you thinking I was a jerk when you were flirting with me at the seminar.”

  “I wasn’t flirting. You were the one hitting on me as I recall.” She pointed her finger at him. “You were the one who invited me to your house, for a little midnight rendezvous,” she said the last few words in an exaggerated French accent.