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But there was no response.
He tried sending some playful selfies and silly memes.
He tried sending random texts.
But Philippe didn’t reply.
Yesterday, he finally gave in to threats. He threatened to drive over to Arsenault Manor and force his way in if Philippe didn’t reply just to prove that he was still alive and well.
The response had been immediate that time, if less than reassuring.
I’m well. Will be in contact soon.
A week without seeing Philippe’s beautiful, smiling face. Without being able to smell his light, citrusy cologne. Without being able to feel his wonderful arms wrapped around him or hear his musical laughter. It was like a limb had been hacked off.
Or his heart pulled straight from his chest.
A part of him was missing, and it was as if he couldn’t properly function without it. He wasn’t even bothering to go through the motions anymore.
After the fight at the construction site, Marcus had stubbornly brought him back to his own home rather than Rafe’s. Bel met them there and proceeded to cluck over Rafe’s healing injuries while at the same time peppering him with questions over the wolves. His dear twin couldn’t understand that Rafe hadn’t taken the time to figure out their species, size, age, and weight while trying to fight off their fucking teeth and claws.
Winter had appeared shortly before sunrise to deliver the bad news that he had managed to lose the vampire and his evil pets. He tried to reassure them that he had some new leads to follow, but the lack of anything concrete was a heavy stone in Rafe’s stomach. He’d already failed Philippe once; he couldn’t do it again.
It had to be why Philippe was refusing to talk to him.
The leader of the Arsenaults had turned to the Variks for help. He’d looked specifically to Rafe to get them the information they needed. And Rafe had failed at every turn. He failed to find the attacker who kidnapped Piper, and she ended up dead. He failed to identify the vampires who chased and attacked Ezra, leading to the horrible injuries Philippe sustained. Ezra was one of the Arsenaults’ strongest members. Philippe couldn’t risk losing them so long as they were still under attack.
Philippe couldn’t afford to rely on the Variks any longer. Couldn’t risk trusting Rafe.
“Fuck this,” Rafe snarled as he violently turned off the water. He shoved his hands through his hair, slicking it back, and wiped the water from his face. Opening the shower door, he grabbed a fluffy white towel hanging on the warmer and started to dry himself off with brisk strokes.
He’d made it perfectly clear to Philippe time and time again that investigations and tracking killers was not his forte. If the clan leader had been so damn determined to find this fucker, then he should have listened to Rafe in the first place and gone with Winter or Marcus. He didn’t know shit about locating killers and stopping them. He ran a nightclub. He drank, partied, and fucked.
The righteous anger lasted until he was standing naked in his closet. Exquisitely tailored clothes stretched out before him in a lovely array of colors and fabrics, but he didn’t see them. There was only Philippe and his beautiful moss-green eyes staring up at him with such hope and trust.
Rafe swallowed hard past the lump that had formed in his throat. It didn’t matter that tracking a killer wasn’t his strong suit. He’d wanted to do it for Philippe. A part of him longed to live up to all his expectations and more. He wanted to be the person Philippe turned to when he was worried or angry about something.
But he’d failed so spectacularly when he tried.
And he was terrified if he kept trying, Philippe was going to be the next one to die.
Without really looking at what he grabbed, Rafe pulled on a pair of black slacks and a black button-down shirt. Black was his mood. It was almost tempting to replace all the colors in his wardrobe with black.
He was searching for a pair of socks when a familiar feeling pressed against him. There was a vampire close.
No, Aiden was close.
And not just close. He was in the penthouse.
He didn’t know how it was even possible. He should have known the moment Aiden was in the same damn city. Fuck, he should have known the moment Aiden was in the country. Pain and frustration had his head so fogged that he’d not even noticed it until Aiden was in his own damn home.
Rafe dropped the black trouser socks he’d picked up and ran from the bedroom. His bare feet squeaked across the floor when he came to a sharp stop at the sight of Aiden lounging on the sofa, a little half smile on his weary face.
“You’re here,” Rafe whispered. His brain wasn’t yet working beyond stating the obvious.
