his father. “Not a damned thing. Why? Do you expect me to have inside knowledge?”
“The last murder occurred Sunday in Montana, not far from our home. This one was here in San Francisco. You were in Montana on Sunday. You’re here now.”
He tapped the screen, shutting down the view. Then he turned away from Sebastian and stared out the window.
Silence truly could be deafening.
Sebastian clamped down on the surge of anger. There were some topics he’d rather not argue. This was one of them, but he wasn’t about to let his father’s insult go entirely unanswered. “What’s your point, Father?”
“Are you still shifting? Still running as a wolf?” Aldo continued to gaze out the window as he questioned his son.
“I am.” Sebastian took a deep, controlling breath. “Are you insinuating that I have anything to—”
“Do you?”
The question, the fact the man would actually voice it, startled him. He stared at his father’s back. Stared until the bastard slowly turned and glared right back at him. Energy sparkled in the air between them. Energy and anger unlike anything Sebastian had ever experienced. He felt his wolf stir within, an unnerving, unexpected sensation. For the first time ever he had to consciously hold back the shift. There was no magic in this—it was rage. Pure, relentless rage.
He clenched his jaw, fought for control, and won.
Still the two of them stood there, glaring at each other like two alpha wolves daring one another for control. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to. Anger simmered, a palpable force in the room.
Sebastian was the first to lower his gaze. Seething inside, fighting the wildness reaching for release, he stared at the stone tiles that covered the floor. He didn’t raise his head until he was certain his father had left the room.
Once again, he’d been judged.
Judged, and found wanting, even though he knew he had his father bested.
Sebastian could shift. The wizard couldn’t.
Long moments later, he felt the wolf subside, took a deep breath, and then let it out. He inhaled again, slowly, until his thundering heart settled back to its normal cadence in his chest.
He turned to the window, breathing slow and steady as he watched the fog rolling in over the dark water, but his thoughts were far away. He wondered about the latest victim—who she was. What she had been like.
What her thoughts had been before she died.
If she had known the one who killed her.
It was a little after ten when Lily paid the cabbie near 19th and Lincoln, got out of the car, and slipped into the fog and shadows at the edge of Golden Gate Park. She wore loose sweats and sandals and carried a cloth bag, well aware she looked more like a homeless transient than the CEO of one of the largest import companies in the city.
It was exactly the look she wanted.
Slipping into the thick shrubbery that bordered this area of the park, she stripped out of her clothing and stuffed shoes and sweats into the bag. Naked, shivering in the cool night air, she bent low and shoved the bag with her stuff under a low-growing shrub.
A branch cracked nearby, sharp and loud as a gunshot. She went totally still, crouched low beneath the brush. After a moment, Lily heard laughter, a feminine giggle, and the soft tones of a masculine voice. She raised her head and sniffed, picking up the faint hint of cologne, a softer, feminine perfume, and the rich cloud of pheromones in the still night air.
She heard the sound of clothing rustling, a soft whimper, and a rough, masculine moan.
Just her luck. She wanted to run, and the dude on the other side of the bush wanted to fuck. It would be funny if she weren’t so desperate to leave her human self behind tonight, though she almost laughed out loud when she thought of what Alex would make of the situation.
He had a smart-ass comment for everything, and he’d absolutely be loving this mess, which meant she’d probably tell him about it later. She could hear him now, running a riff about her hunkered down in the bushes alongside one of the busiest streets in the city, bare assed and buck naked while some bozo tried to make it with his girlfriend less than two feet away.
She waited, hoping they’d disappear, maybe find a room somewhere. Instead, she heard the snick of a zipper, a soft, “Oh, baby. That’s it . . . that’s . . .”
Shit. Enough already.