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 quietly, she rushed down the bleak hal way toward the analysis room. She didn’t 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. Thankful y, no one else was using the room.
Sitting, she began to thumb through the yel owing pages. She liked her solitude, preferred it actual y. Except she wasn’t real y truly ever alone. Her dead grandmother, Eleanore, kept her company. Wel , 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 of Lyra’s actions. Maybe she could put aside the insistent pang of guilt she had in the pit of her stomach. At least for a while. Long enough so she could do her job. She usual y 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 spel 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 spel once or twice before but it had usual y 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 nothing 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 stil picture his unusual gray eyes and the way they smoldered when he had looked at her. To think, a man like that had actual y 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 smal low flame maybe, but not the ful -on blaze she had sensed from Theron. He was definitely a man accustomed to having beautiful, sensual women fawning over him. In fact, she knew him to be quite the ladies’ man. During a magic 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 blonde 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 wel . Too bad things had turned out the way they had.
Pul ing her thoughts back to the important matter at hand, she continued to read and decipher the text. It wouldn’t be long before the kill er struck again. Four murders in the past year.
Two times they thought they had found the kill er, and two times there were proven wrong. They were seeking someone who was not human or Otherworlder. Wel , at least aknown Otherworlder. They had DNA and skin samples that said the kill er 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 all ey, barely escaping with his life. Whatever he turned out to be, Lyra knew he was a ruthless, coldhearted kill er and they needed to stop him before he kill ed again.
Or all hel would break loose…literal y.
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 bel y and continued working. Her report wouldn’t write itself. Wel , not unless she invoked a dictation spel . 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 tel me?” he asked, hovering over her. She shook her head. “Not that I can recal .”
“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 ful force.
“He’s on his way to have a little chat with you.”
“Real y? Am I final y getting a raise and promotion?” she asked, trying to keep the 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 smel ed like.
“It seems he’s just received a cal from Inspector Bel monte 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 because of the way he was pursing his lips. He strode into the room. Another man fol owed 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.”