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They had seen the crowd gathering through the window but didn’t catch the entire conversation from back here.
Haut explains as Abony brings in our usual breakfast orders.
She places an extra-large cup of coffee in front of herself before sitting.
“Why not just stick a straw in the carafe?” Tris teases.
“I had a late night.” A blush darkens her cheeks. “I was working at the bookshop with Drake until almost dawn.”
Curiosity piqued, I lean forward. “Just you and Drake, huh?”
Abony raises her large cup to block her face. “We were just working on the translations together.”
Barron straightens in his seat. “I forgot to tell you all that I asked Drake to join the translation project since he’s fluent in German.”
“Great, another non-witch handling the grimoires,” Aspen grumbles, but quiets when Mel elbows him.
We finish our breakfast, the tension from earlier making for a subdued meal.
With nothing urgent to do for the day, I leave with Barron to walk to his bookshop. I want to get more grimoires in case anyone else’s books were destroyed in the storm yesterday.
As we reach the entrance to Books & Blots, Barron freezes, his gaze fixed on the glass doors.
I stop next to him, my hot chocolate from breakfast suddenly uneasy in my stomach. “Everything okay?”
He turns to me. “Call Haut and don’t come inside.”
The urgency in his voice fills me with dread.
Ignoring his warning, I push past him and step through the doors. The moment I enter, the metallic smell of blood hits me, and I instinctively cover my mouth to stifle a gag.
Barron’s voice comes from behind me. “Rowe, go back outside.”
I ignore him and rush to the back of the shop, my heart pounding with dread.
There, I find Drake’s lifeless body on the worktable, a gaping bite taken out of his shoulder.
HOW LONG?
I stand frozen, staring at Drake’s lifeless body sprawled out on the table.
Blood pools beneath the gaping wound in his shoulder and what’s left of his throat. Dull red streaks splatter the wall behind him, as if someone had dipped a paintbrush in his heart and flung it out with abandon.
The carpet under the table, once a warm brown, now appears black beneath the overhead lights.
A hand grabs my shoulder, pulling me backward. Numb, I turn my head to see Barron’s mouth moving, but the ringing in my ears muffles his words. Blood whooshes through my body like waves, still alive while Drake is not.
How long does it take blood to congeal? How long before it loses its vibrant shine? Abony said she was here with him until late last night. How late? Did she cross paths with the killer as she was walking home alone? The streets were probably deserted. How close had she come to being the next victim? And why had she left Drake here alone?
Barron never locks the door to the bookshop. It would have been easy for the killer to slip inside. Or had they already been here while my friends flirted over the translations? Did the murderer play eeny, meeny, miney, moe to choose which of their lives to end?
Barron forcefully turns my head away from the body, dragging me toward the entrance.
The front door bursts open, and Haut’s large body blocks the frame. His moss-green eyes seek me out in a sweeping assessment to make sure I’m unharmed before he strides toward the back, making room for others to follow.
Jesse enters next, followed by Owen, the two men coming toward us.
In the next heartbeat, Barron’s hands leave me as Jesse sweeps his mate up in a tight embrace.
