Chapter 1

Perrin

Every curve of her was supple and warm, wanting to be touched. But every time my hands stroked her–found their way around her hips, up to her breasts; she peeled them off of her. Gently, but firm. She wanted my hands above my head where I couldn’t touch her.

It was a game, and one that I was totally down to play. And it was incredibly hot, watching her naked body cover my own, her breasts trailing along my abdomen. I felt my cock pressed against her smooth belly as she roved over me, eager for attention. But she took her time, her lips were wet against my skin, trailing fire with an intensity that filled my blood.

“Lo,” I moaned, as she kissed my hip bones, her tongue forming a hot trail on my blazing skin. But in the next moment, she had me in her mouth. I was already near the brink, and the feel of her tongue on my shaft had me nearly exploding.

No. Not like this. I wanted to come inside her, but I wanted to thrust hard and home. I was too pent up for this. If I was in her mouth, I’d only get stifled moans, and I wanted to erupt into her with the force that made her scream.

In a few quick motions she was beneath me on all fours, her hips raised and round ass in front of my hips. She was breathing hard, as if turned on by the anticipation of this style. We hadn’t done it before.

I squeezed her round, supple ass. Goddess there was so much I wanted to do to it. To her. My fingers trailed along her center and I felt her shudder in anticipation, but I skipped over that, my throbbing erection narrowing my focus.

My shaft was still wet from her cock, so I eased in slowly, feeling her open and tighten around me. She gasped, her head whipping back, silver hair flying.

“Perrin–” she breathed.

It was all the encouragement I needed. I thrust myself into her one one fluid motion, the entirety of my cock pushing deep within her, the warmth of her begging my cock to explode. My name rang in the air again, desperate and pleasing.

I withdrew and pounded into her, my balls swinging hard against her skin as I thrust again. She arched her back, allowing me even deeper than I had gone before. I reached around, one hand grasping her breast and tugging at her nipple. She cried out, backing her ass into my other hand and grinding hard against my hips.

Pound. Again. Pounding harder and harder, waiting to feel her slick release around my cock so I could find my own. But it was impossible to wait–impossible not to lose myself in her. Pound. Again. Pound.

POUND. POUND.

“PERRIN!”

The door to my bedroom flung open.

What the– 

Kira stood in the doorway, two coffees in hand. 

“Good morning!”

“For the sake of the Goddess, Kira!” I yelled, grabbing a bed sheet to cover me. My hand had been wrapped around my shaft and doing exactly what I thought had been going on–only Lo hadn’t been here. Where was she?

I put my head in my other hand, rubbing my eyes. Kira has crossed the room and flung open the curtains. 

“You weren’t seriously doing what I think you were doing, were you?”

“Get out!” I snarled, half asleep and half eager to finish where I had left off. Lo wasn’t here. She had barely been gone for ten hours. 

Undeterred, Kira approached the bed and sat down on the edge of it, extending an offer of coffee in my direction. “On c’mon. She hasn’t been gone that long. You can’t be that desperate to beat your own meat.”  

I growled, but took the coffee, covering myself so that the evidence of my near wet-dream wouldn’t be noticed. She sniffed knowingly at the air, but then wisely shut her mouth and sipped her coffee instead.

“We need to set some boundaries, Kira,” I said gruffly, still foggy from the dream. Goddess, she has felt so real.

“Hardly!” Kira said brightly. She was too chipper.

When Kira used to drink, she couldn’t be a morning person because she was still sleeping off the alcohol. And when she did wake, it was afternoon and she was still hungover, a delightful ball of sour attitude until she felt better–or, had had another drink. This new bright, happy-go-lucky, carpe diem Kira was a lot to handle. Especially when I was missing my mate.

“What time is it anyway?”

“Half past six.”

I groaned. “Why are you here? It looks like you’ve already been for a run.”

“Oh, I have, actually. I went out early and saw Jack afterwards.”

“Is he awake yet?”

“No. But I’ll head back after lunch. Deidre is keeping me posted.”

I grunted, trying hard to focus on anything but Lo and drive the conversation elsewhere and away from the blood flow at my hips.

“Gowan?”

“He was still sleeping. We can check in on him after.”

“After what?” 

“After we meet your father and Mark in his office. They asked us there about half an hour ago.”

I scowled and sipped my coffee. “What does my father want with us so early?”

“I’m not sure but it sounds serious. You best get ready.”

I looked pointedly at the sheets and then at my bare chest. “Boundaries, Kira.”

“Oh!” She jumped up, then headed for the door. “I’ll just wait out here.”

**

“Good morning,” I said, appreciative that Kira had taken the time I had used to get dressed to seize a breakfast sandwich from Dina. My mouth was half full as I said it, but thankfully my father was already too preoccupied to admonish me. I knew this wasn’t how an Alpha Select should behave, but it wasn’t even seven in the morning. I was still coming down off of the high from the Challenge and non-too plussed about leaving my mate so soon. But of course, Alpha Select training didn’t wait for anyone, including the Alpha Select. If this was pack business, it was my job to be here.

“Good morning,” my father grunted, his own giant mug–or was it a bucket?– of coffee steaming at his side. Mark stood at the side of the room and beckoned us to sit down.

“What’s going on?” Kira asked. Mark didn’t show it, but he stiffened slightly at her chipper tone.

“There was an attack last night.”

I nearly dropped my sandwich. “Another one?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Alby. Janitor at the Pack archive.”

I sat back into the sofa. I had met him a handful of times. “Is he alright?”

Mark shook his head, his arms folded across his chest. “Dead.” Kira winced, and Mark looked at her critically. “You’re going to need a stiff upper lip if you’re going to be his Beta. We’re going to investigate and speak with Marge. She is the one who found him.” Kira merely nodded.

“Any leads?” I asked.

“Marge isn’t really talking. I think she’s in shock.” My father said, eyeing me from across his desk. “Usually this is the type of thing that a Beta handles, but considering you and Lo spent a lot of time at the Archive in the last month, I thought it would be helpful for you to go alone. Perhaps make her feel more comfortable as she’s being questioned.”

I nodded. “The attack. Was it–?”

“No, thankfully,” answered my father. “This one looks like a ‘smash and dash’ –forgive the crude term. I don’t think it was intentional or planned.”

Kira whimpered again, and Mark shot her a look. I followed up with my father. “What makes you say unintentional?”

My father waved a hand. “It was messy. Used Alby’s own wrench when they did him in.”

“Well, that’s a good thing and a bad thing then, I guess?” I wasn’t sure. It was good that whatever had attacked Jack hadn’t made a reappearance last night. On the other hand, murder was murder. 

“Exactly,” my father responded. “Marge is in her office at the Archive. Report back once you’ve spoken with her.”

**

A team of Alpha Guard had already removed Alby’s body and had cleaned up the scene. Nobody would have known that this was the site of a murder last night.

“I’ll take the lead with the questions,” Mark said to us as we entered the circulation area. “But Perrin, if you hear anything that sounds odd, let me know.”

“Sounds odd? Like, I don’t know, a murder in the middle of the night?” 

Kira chuckled softly but straightened at another blazing look from Mark. “C’mon you two. Let’s go.”

Marge was covered in an oversized blanket in her office, perched on a chair that seemed too large for her. It made her seem small; somehow insignificant; not the looming, over-zealous protector or the archive with oversized glasses. This didn’t feel right, and I observed how her hands clutched around the steaming mug of tea in her hands. Marge never allowed liquids in the archive without a lid or top for fear of spilling on the precious books. She was clearly rattled.

“Good morning, Marge.” Mark said stiffly, sitting down across from her at her desk. She didn’t seem to have noticed us entering, and jumped when Mark sat down, the weight of his stocky figure creaking the chair in which he sat.

“Oh! Oh. Yes. Yes, hello Beta. Perrin, good morning. Um, um… Kira, is it?”

Kira nodded and smiled sweetly. She approached the desk as if to take her hand, but Marge recoiled quickly, sloshing steaming tea over the sides of the mug and onto her lap. But she didn’t seem phased, only focused on the three people around her.

“Marge, we’re here to try and figure out what happened to Alby. Can you walk us through what happened last night?”

Marge’s eyes, small pinpricks in the dark of her office, flitted back and forth between the three of us, as if unnerved to have a team of three in front of her.

“I d-don’t know… I–I–I don’t know if I…”

“We just want to know what happened,” Mark said. I was surprised; I didn’t know Mark could be this soothing. 

“He’s d-d-dead, that’s what h-h-happened!” The old woman squeaked, more piping hot tea spilling out of her mug. I belatedly registered that the woman didn’t even like tea. Lo and I often brought her back a coffee from the coffee shop around the corner when we needed a snack break, and she had always been so grateful. 

Mark inhaled slowly, then began again. “Do you mind if we take a look around? Maybe try again in a few minutes?”

“Of c-c-course,” she muttered, shooing us away with one of her gnarled hands.

We left the office quickly, spreading out across the archive. It was clear neither Kira or Mark had been here in awhile–or, ever, I thought, glancing at Kira. She looked so out of place, her neck craning backwards as if surprised that this many books in the world existed.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” I said. Mark seemed to follow, and Kira behind him.

I rounded the stacks and glass windows, the morning night now peaking through and illuminating the beautiful pictures in the stained glass. Row after row, everything looked normal. Nothing out of place, until–

“That’s odd,” I said, pointing. A desk has been shoved up against the wall of the archive, blocking an emergency exit. 

Mark came up behind me, his shoes squeaking beneath him on the stone floor. “The floor is soaked.”

“Maybe a leak!” Kira piped in helpfully.

“Nah, this door has a tendency to open during storms,” I said. “Marge always mentioned that Alby needed to fix it.”

“Maybe that’s why he was here last night?” Kira ventured again, eyeing Mark for approval.

“Maybe,” I said. “Looks like the desk is just here to keep the doors closed.”

“I’ll make sure a work order is put in for it,” Mark said, squelching towards the desk as he pulled out his phone to make a call.

Kira and I walked on around the perimeter. We neared the farest point from the entrance to the archive, a small domed area when–

“That’s not right,” I said. 

Kira stopped just shy of walking into me. “Tell me about it. This place smells like mothballs.”

I elbowed her in the stomach. “No. Look.” I pointed at the metal stands holding ropes by the nearby stairs. “That’s a restricted area.”

“If it’s restricted then why aren’t the ropes in place keeping people out?”

I rolled my eyes. “Come on.”

We made our way down the stairs into the darkness. I pulled out my phone and lit the screen to illuminate the way. This part of the archive hadn’t received modern electricity like the upstairs. It had smelled of beeswax and leather when Lo and I had been down here last, the candles offering an eerie, romantic kind of glow. It was one of the first times I had noticed the smell of her coconut shampoo. She had been pressed up against me behind one of the stacks. Someone had been down here at the time.

“Look!” Kira said, interrupting my thoughts. She was pointing at the floor. “Footprints!”

She was right. Footprints had made clear scuff marks in the dust on the floor. Candles littered a nearby table and there was a faint smell of sulfur. I sniffed the air. They had definitely been lit recently. “Somebody was down here,” I nodded. “But I’m not sure what this had to do with Alby’s murder.”

“Maybe nothing,” Kira said. “If I was a murderer, I’m not sure I’d use this place as a hide out. It’s way too creepy.”

I peered around, trying to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. I scanned the shelves, the table, and reinspected the footprints on the floor. I snapped a few pictures on my phone, then returned upstairs with Kira.

“Find anything?” Mark asked, putting his phone in his pocket.

“Not sure,” I said. “But I have a few questions for Marge.”

**

Marge hadn’t had any more of her tea, but was now rocking back and forth slowly in the large chair. She looked even more troubled than before.

“Marge?” I asked quietly, taking the seat that Mark had occupied before. She looked at me in answer, her eyes wide. “Did you know that there was a desk pushed up against one of the emergency doors?”

She didn’t answer at first, but nodded slowly.

I glanced quickly to Mark, then back to the old woman. “Do you know when it was moved there?”

She nodded slowly again. 

I breathed in and out, forcing myself to be patient. “Did you do that, Marge? Or did someone else?”

“I d–did,” she stuttered, sloshing tea once more into her lap. The entire room smelled like chamomile and mint. “Bad s–s—storm last n–night.”

“Ok,” I said. “We’re going to get that fixed for you.”

Her eyes went glassy, as if realizing that Alby wouldn’t be the one to do the job. I changed direction, eager to stall the dam of tears that was building. “Did you give permission for anyone to enter the restricted area?”

Her eyes flung open, the tea cup in her hands falling to the floor with a crash, splintering into dozens of small, ceramic pieces. “No! No I did not!”

She was shaking now, anxious and terrified, but her words had been clear. She fell from her chair to her knees, trying to pick up the sharp shards with her bare hands.

“Let me help you,” Kira said gently, stepping forward. 

“No! No!” Marge swatted at Kira’s hands and she backed away. 

“Marge, can you tell us if you had any formal visitors last night?” I already knew the answer, checking the log book on our way in at the circulation desk.

“Nobody!” She said, refusing to meet my eyes. I smelled the sharp, coppery scent of blood as she cut herself on one of the small pieces. 

I reached for Kira’s arm and beckoned for her and Mark to follow me outside the tiny office, shutting the door behind me and leaving Marge there on the floor. 

“She’s off her rocker,” Kira said, folding her arms across her chest. 

I ignored her, looking at Mark. “I think she may have blocked any exit the intruder may have had to escape.”

“Intruders,” Kira corrected. “There were definitely more than one set of footprints down there.”

Mark narrowed his eyes as he listened to what we had found. 

“Do you really think they meant to murder someone?” Kira asked.

“No,” I said. “I think unfortunately Alby just got in the way.”

“But murder?” Kira said again. “That seems rather desperate, doesn’t it?”

“Desperate not to be found,” Mark said. “Only someone trying not to be discovered would do something like that.”

“They must have been looking for something in the archive,” I said, brow furrowed. “But I didn’t seen anything suspicious on the table. I supposed they could have taken something. I’d have to ask Marge to know for sure.” Though I doubted Marge's current state that she’d be able to do an inventory assessment without setting one of her precious books on fire with the way she was shaking. I sighed. “So either they didn’t have permission to access it–”

“–or didn’t want a track record of them being in there in the first place,” Mark finished,  nodding thoughtfully.

“I have one last question for Marge,” I said again. “But I think it’s best if I do it on my own. I’ll meet you back at the pack house.”

Mark opened his mouth to protest but I held up my hand. “If this is going where I think it is, I don’t think she’ll say it in front of you.”

Mark opened his mouth again, but Kira cut in. “Good idea, Perrin. Gain the witness’ trust.” I tried not to roll my eyes. She sounded like some court scene from a bad movie.

She put her hand around Mark’s shoulders and steered him out. I tried not to laugh at Mark’s look of horror as he was escorted from the building.

I walked back into the office. Marge was still on the floor, inspecting pieces.

“Marge?” I asked quietly. She stiffened and stopped, but didn’t begin to tremble again like before. She poked her head up from behind the desk.

“You said you pushed the desk in front of the door?”

She nodded, her voice small. “Like I said. A b-b-bad storm blew in.”

I nodded. “Can you tell me why you were in the basement archive last night?”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, her back stiffening as she rose to her chair, cup fragments forgotten. “I’m the pack archivist,” she said shrewdly, repositioning her cardigan on her shoulders. There was pride in her voice and she didn’t like being questioned. That much was clear. “I don’t need a reason to go down there.”

“Yes, I understand,” I said genuinely, taking the seat opposite her once again. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t return the sign and ropes to their places, barring off the section to visitors.

She froze, her sudden confidence waning. 

“Lo and I spent late evenings here, and every time we wished to enter, you let us. And everytime we left, you were a stickler about returning the barriers to their positions.”

She didn’t speak.

I went on. “So I’m a little confused as to why there are wet footprints in the dust down there amidst dry ones; all recent ones, by the looks of it.”

The little color that was left in her face drained. Her finger curled around the arm rests of her chair, her mouth trembling.

I folded one leg across the other and pulled out my phone to record our conversation, laying it on the desk between us in clear view so there would be no misunderstanding.

“I don’t believe you had anything to do with Alby’s murder, Marge.” I said calmly. And I meant it. “But I do believe you witnessed more than you’re sharing. And I think it’s best that you start talking.”