Lord Zebulon stared at me. “Guinevere, this isn’t the body we found with your signature on it.”
Gleason tapped at the screen. “Here, I have footage of the crime scene.” He cycled through a few windows, choosing folders until he reached what he was looking for. He pulled up a giant image of a very dead man. “This is the body from the crime scene.”
“That’s not Trevor,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Not even close.”
“Because that’s Taylor Smith,” Gleason replied, tapping the man’s face to expand. He pulled forward the other photo, the one I knew as Trevor, and opened some notes connected to the frame. “This is Jaxon Christian Trevor, a known Nephilim and recruit of Dark Provenance.”
Zane muttered, “That’s a mouthful of first names.”
No one else bothered to acknowledge the incubus’ comment; we were too busy focusing on the paused frame up in the middle of my living room. Gleason opened another window, and a report file filled the screen. A full-page dossier on Jaxon Christian Trevor, including a photo.
“That’s definitely him,” I said. “That’s the guy I was with who told me he was an accountant.”
“Then who is Taylor Smith?” Zane inquired. “How was your essence all over him? And why is he the one Gleason saw leaving your place?”
Lord Zebulon dipped his chin in thought. “All very good questions.”
“Hold on,” Gleason said, swiping away the dossier, “I’m looking for something.”
He jumped to the search bar and typed in the name of the club where I’d met Trevor. A few more taps and slides took him to an internal server for that club’s surveillance.
Gleason was a genius when it came to science and technology, granting him access to secure video feeds all over the world via his Dark Provenance ties. It helped that everything was digital now as well. There were cameras everywhere as privacy no longer existed in this realm, thus allowing Gleason to access anything he wanted, anywhere he wanted.
He scrolled through hours of surveillance in a matter of minutes, then froze a frame. Even though the footage was blurry and full of blinking lights, I could clearly see myself dancing with…
Jaxon Christian Trevor.
Not Taylor Smith.
“So his name really was Trevor,” I mused, oddly proud of myself for accurately remembering his identity. “But you saw Taylor Smith,” I added, glancing at Gleason.
“Yeah, I would have recognized Jax,” he replied. “Since I’ve met him before.”
“Was the real Taylor Smith at the club that night?” Lord Zebulon asked.
Gleason began scrolling quickly through footage again, his eyes flicking across the screen. I couldn’t keep up with the constantly shifting frames, but apparently, he had no problem with it. He suddenly stopped, backed up a few frames, then pointed at a face on the screen. “There he is.”
I studied the image. “Who’s he talking to?” I wondered out loud.
We all leaned in as one, trying to make out the face in the dim light.
Lord Zebulon went rigid at the pretty brunette next to Taylor.
Zane cleared his throat. “Is that—”
“Amarella,” Lord Zebulon growled. His gaze raked over the screen top to bottom. “That’s impossible. Amarella died over a century ago. I strangled her with silver and ripped her apart in Lord Tardís’s bed.”
I flinched at the visual, and the not-so-subtle reminder of what Lord Zebulon was capable of if I betrayed him.
“Is this thing time-stamped?” he demanded.
“Same night as his murder,” Gleason confirmed.
Zane tapped the pause button right as she lifted her hand and trailed her fingers over Taylor’s collarbone. “Yeah that’s definitely her. Because that’s her signature move.”
“How do you know that?” I asked warily, wondering if Lord Zebulon and Zane had ever shared Amarella.
The thought bothered me. If they’d shared Amarella in the past, then I wasn’t unique or cherished. I was just one more succubus in their bed. Only this time, Lord Zebulon didn’t want to keep me as his consort, the way he’d chosen to keep her. They’d picked me for agoodtime—not alongtime. They’d made no promises to me. Said nothing about keeping me.
