Because he knew in some way he had helped the shadows find their mark. Because of his tainted past, he had brought them to Lyra. He’d been such a fool to mess around with black magic all those years ago. His quest for power, especial y of his own making and not in relation to his father, had blinded him to the dangers of playing with the dark, malevolent magic. At first it gave him just enough power to aid him in obtaining what he pursued—money, possessions and women. But after a time it started to demand more in payment. He’d nearly lost his soul, especial y that night when sweet, trusting Jenna had been injured. He’d never forgiven himself for his negligence in performing the spel that had crippled her, and he’d been atoning for it ever since.
Lyra was his salvation in more ways than one.
Chapter 8
The next morning, as Lyra walked into the crime lab staff room, she barreled right into two hundred pounds of lycan. Luckily, Jace had lightning-quick reflexes and managed to avoid dumping his scalding hot coffee all over her.
“Whoa. Keep your eyes open when you’re walking.”
Lyra grunted in return and made her way to the counter to grab her morning caffeine-laced drink. She poured the dark brown liquid into a big mug and took a healthy sip. The brew was strong, bitter and delicious. It helped somewhat in chasing away the residual horror of last night’s bad dreams. She took another sip and sighed. “This is heavenly. Who made it?”
“Your Frenchie.”
Her hand jerked and sloshed coffee over the rim of her cup, sending it down to splatter on the toes of her shoes. “Excuse me?”
“Your Frenchman made the coffee. It’s some blend he had imported from Colombia. I guess he had some stashed on his private jet, or something real y obnoxious like that.”
“He’s not my Frenchie.” She wiped the drips from the bottom of her cup.
“He’s been here for the past two hours. He’s in the analysis room with Caine going over that big old book of his.”
“Oh.” A sudden pang of jealousy washed over her. It was foolish to feel that way, but she couldn’t help it. The translation of the book was her job, wasn’t it? Why was Caine muscling in on her territory?
“You look a little miffed. Something wrong?”
She frowned. “I’m fine.”
“When you said you’d bring souvenirs back from your trip, you weren’t kidding.” Jace smirked.
“Shut up, Jericho. Don’t make me spel you again.”
Jace’s face fel , probably remembering the last time she used a binding spel on him. Shuffling his feet, he changed his tactics.
“Okay, I’ll see you later.” He stepped into the hal way and gave her a little wave. “Go find your Frenchie and get to work.”
Sloshing coffee over the rim of her cup again, Lyra stuck her head out of the room and yel ed at Jace down the hal .
“He’s not my Frenchie.”
A couple of people who were walking down the hal way stopped and stared at her, making no attempt to hide the smal secret grins blossoming on their faces.
Huffing, Lyra swiped at the coffee splatter on her pants and made her way down the corridor to the analysis room. She heard col ective snickers as she passed. Just perfect. The last thing she needed was rumors flying around the lab about her and Theron.
Both Caine and Theron looked up at her as she marched in, chin lifted. Setting her coffee down on the table, she looked from Caine to Theron. “Morning.”
Theron kept her gaze and she could see the dark shadows under his eyes. It looked like she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t sleep wel . She wanted to ask him what kind of dreams he had had. Had she been in them? Because he had been in hers.
The sound of his voice, screaming her name, stil echoed in her ears. Lyra!
The image of him running toward her, hand outstretched, his face twisted in anguish, made her shiver all over again. She picked up her coffee and took a drink. The hot liquid did nothing to stem her shakes.
“How—”
“Let’s dispense with the niceties and get back to the case.
Okay?”
Fear clamped a hand around her heart, squeezing tight.