Page 45 of Fake It ’Til You Mate It

“That’s very nice of you,” I begin, not really sure how I’m going to finish my comment.

No need. Max thrusts his hand through his hair, claws leaving track marks through the russet-colored strands. “You ever think maybe I’m not growling at you? Maybe I’m growling at the idea of you getting hurt.”

Oof. That’s a guilty pang running through me right there.

This is my fault. What started out as a way to guard my heart from rejection has gone too far. It hasn’t been a week since I’ve been thrown into this with Max—or, well, butted my nose into this murder case… though that’s not really fair when the killer involved me first—but it feels like I’ve known Max my entire life. Bonded mates have forever. The two months that I’ve spent avoiding him while I got out of my own head… it’s nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Right?

“Max—”

“They’re targeting you, Honey. You’re too sweet to see it.” He rumbles deep in his chest. “They came onto my territory. They challenged me. I can’t let that stand… I can’t let you get hurt, either.”

Too sweet to see that I’m in danger? Oh, I see it alright. But between running my bakery without my family finding out I’m in trouble, trying hard not to swoon as I learn more about my fated mate, our forced proximity making it impossible for me to keep up my walls around me… worrying about some deranged supe-killer is a little low on my priorities right now.

Mainly because, sometime after Sheriff Lobo became Max, I began to trust him with my safety. Gus’s safety, too, and that doesn’t say anything about the way my feelings are changing, nothing will.

Two shifters are dead. I was involved in both, between Declan and the cupcake, plus Abigail and the tea. I’ll clear my name, help Max close the case, and then I can focus on telling him that he’s my mate—and maybe figure out why he hasn’t realized that I’m his.

I don’t know what I’m doing. My one lead crashed out; I don’t even know if Max ever talked to Joey and, if he did, I doubt he’d fill me in. It’s one thing, letting me tag along. It’s another entirely for me to try to do his job for him⁠—

Hang on.

I pause. Max immediately freezes.

“Honey?”

“Do you see that?”

I point a few feet ahead of us. Something glimmers in the sliver of moonlight shining down on the woods. No… it glitters.

Just like the poison someone added to my frosting glittered.

Max throws his hand out. Lifting his nose, he takes a deep breath. “A hint of caramel,” he says, exhaling. “That’s all I get.” He looks at me. “Your scent is always a tease. Like, I get a whiff of it, then it’s gone. Sometimes there’s opossum. You or Gus… I’m blocked when you’re near. But I should be able to smell the woods.”

The guilty pang becomes a stab almost too painful to ignore. I know why he’s blocked: the scent-dampener charm that keeps him from using his instincts to take in my innate scent and aura. The woods, though? “You can’t smell the outside?”

“I didn’t… shit. I didn’t even notice. I’ve lived in Moonburrow my entire life. I know every tree in the woods. Every bush. Every trail. My olfactory memory provide the scent… but we’ve been chasing a ghost the last half an hour. I don’t smell anything except for a touch of you.”

I know what he means. His dark pine scent has my head swimming, but while a wild opossum has an exceptional sense of smell, my nose when I’m in my skin is less than average for a shifter. I didn’t really smell anything out of the ordinary, either—and I think I know why.

I duck under Max’s outstretched arm, scurrying where I swore I saw the glitter. He calls my name, but I don’t stop until I’m right on top of it.

Silver glitter. A violet powder. Shattered glass that looks like it once belonged to a small vial. Look, I even see a cork stopped a few inches away. A black ash underlies most of the mess, and though I’m careful not to touch it or breathe it in, I know exactly what I’m looking at.

I’m looking at wolfsbane.

I’m looking at poison.

Max comes to the same conclusion at the same time. Gripping my shoulders, he lifts me from my slight crouch easily, moving me until his body is between me and the shifter poison.

That, my friend, is what we call in the sleuthing business a clue. Someone is mixing the concoction. It wasn’t just a one-time thing. They’ve killed twice already, and they had enough here to kill again before they… what? Dropped it?

Is that what happened with the cupcake? Did someone dose it for some reason… to kill Max, maybe… and then Declan came back to the alley behind Dough You Believe in Magic to eat it?

I don’t get it. It just doesn’t make sense. Abigail drank poisoned tea at home. Why was Declan left in the alley? Why was that dumpsite important?

I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.