The Curse (Belador #3)(12)

By the time Evalle had returned home, Storm had disappeared without a hint as to where he’d gone beyond the e-mail she’d received that same night sent from his cell phone, which read:

Evalle,

I’ll be in touch.

Storm

That might have been comforting except for one problem. Storm had left his phone in her motorcycle tank bag when he’d shifted into a jaguar. When she’d returned from lockup to retrieve her Suzuki GSX-R motorcycle, everything was there except his phone. Until then, no one had ever been able to steal her Gixxer or take anything she’d stowed on it because of a warding that protected her bike. She didn’t think Storm had the ability. Who had gotten past the warding? She’d also searched for the clothes Storm had hidden in bushes near the Decatur MARTA subway station.

They were gone, and so was his broken body.

Her soul refused to accept the obvious, the logical, that if he was alive, he’d have contacted her by now. The only other possibility was that he had survived and just hadn’t gotten in touch.

He wouldn’t do that to her.

Quinn broke into her thoughts when he said, “Of course, Storm is still your partner. Forgive me for speaking in past tense.” He studied her with wise eyes that knew a lot more about relationships between men and women than she did. “And you are fond of Storm.”

He hadn’t asked, only stated that he clearly understood that she had feelings for Storm. True, but what she felt for Storm was complicated, tangled with damaged emotions she waded through every time they were together.

Storm took her flaws in stride and read her too easily at times.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d miss him if he went away, until now.

Every day became more unbearable.

Quinn waited silently. He deserved an honest reply, but she wasn’t up to sharing something she didn’t completely understand, so she said, “I’d just like to know why Storm left and if he plans to return.”

“I see.” A noncommittal Quinn comment.

Time to change the subject. Her heart hurt too much to keep talking about Storm. “Thank you for stopping that Rías from killing me, but I’m sorry you had to use your powers that way.”

Quinn waved it off as though he blew up heads every day, which he didn’t. Just being his usual noble self.

“And,” she continued, “sorry I killed our best lead in figuring all this out. You could have read the Svart troll’s mind and gotten intel, couldn’t you?”

“I’m glad you saved yourself. That was more important than all the intel in the world.”

Always thinking of others. This was the Quinn she knew.

The ball of guilt inside her expanded a little more and threatened to choke her. Should she ask him now about what that witch Kizira had said and get it off her chest? Her palms were damp with indecision, but it would have to wait. “You still didn’t answer my question about reading the troll’s mind.”

Quinn shrugged, the movement as refined as his impeccable clothes. “I might have found out something from this Svart, but they are highly trained to prevent being broken during interrogation, and taught to fight to the death. He may have had an iron-tight mind, or there could have been a trap waiting to attack the mind of someone who probed him.”

In other words, the Svart might have raped Quinn’s mind in return.

In that case, she should be thankful she killed the Svart, because even with the risk of danger to himself, Quinn would have tried to retrieve information.

“None of this makes sense. I thought trolls were more interested in stealing bling than fighting. The ones I’ve met are generally pretty simple creatures and kill only for food. Think this Svart could have been working with the local trolls we’ve found in these attacks?”

“Not exactly. Based upon what I read in the briefings about the interrogations, I think the Svart have brainwashed some of the local trolls, who seem to know very little beyond a compulsive urge to fight with gangs in cemeteries.”

That would explain the local trolls being in the gang battles, but not the reason for the constant fighting. Evalle brought up the only connection she could see. “Why cemeteries?”

“That’s a good question. Perhaps everyone has focused too much on the gang element and not the locations.” Supporting his elbow with one hand, Quinn tapped his chin as he scanned the activity around them. His gaze settled on Evalle. “Why was the Svart in this particular cemetery and why did he attack you?”

“Have no idea. Maybe I was closest.” She ran through recent similar battles in her mind. “This cemetery is larger than the others. Oakland is older and downtown … more ghosts … history. Who knows?” Swallowing still hurt Evalle’s throat. She cupped her neck, glad for chain burn and some bruising as the worst of her injuries, and looked again at the headless human. “Wait. There is one difference here. This was the first battle where a Rías shifted.”

“Ahh,” Quinn said, picking up her train of thought. “Who showed up first? The Rías or the troll?”

“The Rías started shifting, then I taunted him with kinetic hits to draw him away from humans. That’s when the chain wrapped around my neck.”

“Perhaps the Svart attacked you to stop you from harming the Rías.”

“Why would he do that?” She stared at the body of the poor headless guy. He’d probably had no idea he was part beast.