Page 24 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

Cooking breakfast was a win. He hadn’t been sure how it would go over. But hearing her make those little sounds as she ate his food? He’d wanted to pull her off the damn bar stool and carry her upstairs. Or rather, the goblin in him had.

For now, he recognized his lust for what it was, but he could see exactly where this was heading if he allowed it. The goblin side of him would grow protective. Would start seeing her as his in ways that went far beyond physical. His instincts were already stirring...

Fuck.

It was good that he was dropping her off at home after this. He would keep their relationship strictly professional going forward. Consultations over the phone rather than in person.

Eleanor stopped at the front door, hesitating as if to collect herself. He pressed in behind her, close enough that his chest grazed her back. He forced himself to relax and ignore the sensation. “Whenever you’re ready, sugar, it’s unlocked. Take your time. We can hang out here, if you need.”

Just keep standing there, his body demanded. I don’t mind the feel of you against me.

He didn’t want to rush her. Even now, her scent had changed. He could smell the heavy dregs of anxiety rolling off her skin. It raised his hackles when it shouldn’t have, pulling at a primal part of him. As soon as this case was solved, they’d have no reason to see each other again—what did he care if this upset her?

When she nodded, the top of her pink ponytail brushed his chin. He glanced down at it and his lips twitched. His free hand lifted, reaching for it, but he stopped himself before he could.

“I…” she sighed and shook her head, opening the door at last before stepping through.

He gave her some space, waiting for her to acclimate. She walked through the entry and into the living room, then began moving around the space, inspecting things. He studied her, noting the way her lips had pressed into a thin line, her expression pinched tight.

The air was stagnant, the scent of death lingering even now. Everything was eerily silent. Something had happened here beyond a simple murder. He felt it the moment he first arrived on the scene, and each time thereafter. A fine trace of malice, almost imperceptible.

It had always been that way for him, which was what made him so good at his job. His ability to sense lingering traces of death. Not that it had done him any good in this case.

“What happened to her after…after she died?” Eleanor stood frozen in the middle of the living room.

“Moved her to the morgue for autopsy.”

She shuddered, then nodded. Her throat bobbed. “Where…?”

He pointed. She followed his finger and walked over, head down, studying the area. “Burn marks?” she asked.

“Yes, they found them around the body, and a charred streak across—” He cut himself off, because the graphic details weren’t something she needed to hear. “Just focus on the house, sugar. What do you see? Anything missing? Out of place? Anything that makes you suspicious?”

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed, then pointed at the ground. “This. This makes me suspicious.”

He sighed. “We can get to that later, if you like.”

Her jaw clenched, then she nodded, moving away.

She inspected everything, remaining silent. He stayed out of her way, watched as she moved from room to room. He should have used the time to get one more look at everything, even though he’d been over it twice. Instead, he watched her. Fixated on the way her brow furrowed, the way she sucked her lip between her teeth, like she was contemplating.

Once done, they headed back to his truck. He’d left the bike at home, knowing she’d be more comfortable in this. A long silence stretched between them once she was belted in.

“Well?” he asked.

She blew out a breath. “I can’t say for sure, but…” She angled toward him and their eyes locked. “Professor Miller had a private collection of…things.” His eyes narrowed in question. “Like, artifacts, I mean.”

“Artifacts…”

“Things built by humans, you know?”

“When you say humans, you mean artificers?”

She nodded.

He made a humming noise in his throat.

Magical objects—artifacts—were well known and regulated among supernaturals. These were objects constructed by humans, and those humans were known as artificers. The why of the matter wasn’t fully understood. Humans crafted them and used supernatural blood to imbue power into them. During ancient times, artificers had become blood chemists, learning to mix different supernatural bloods holding different magics to create new recipes of power.