Page 21 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

“This’ll have to do.” If Craig insisted, Orlando would simply use mind control to make him do what he wanted.

Craig met his gaze. “What’s it about? Are you in some sort of trouble?” He read the card. “Montreal, huh?”

Orlando shrugged and lied, “Let’s just say that I had a stalker once. I wanna know whether it’s him again.”

“And you don’t want the police to handle it the usual way?”

“It’s complicated. Do me a solid, will you? I swear it’s nothing illegal. All you need to do is run the prints through AFIS.”

Craig hesitated for a moment. “And what if the person isn’t in our state’s AFIS? What if he or she is in another state? I’m not sure I can get access to IAFIS, the FBI’s database, without an active case.”

“Then let’s hope my stalker has committed a crime in California and got caught.”

Craig sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it. I owe you that much.”

“I appreciate it.”

Craig nodded. “Well, let’s get your right hand fingerprinted then, so we can exclude your prints.” He reached into his shoulder bag and retrieved his tools of the trade. “If I ran your prints through AFIS or IAFIS, would I get a hit?”

“Nope.”

And that was the truth. After all, the individual states’ Automated Fingerprint Identification Systems, which were fed to the FBI’s IAFIS system only captured subjects who’d committed crimes or had undergone background checks in the US, not in Canada.

13

Montreal, February 24, 1981

Everywhere he looked he saw blood.

With his fangs extended and his eyes glowing red, Orlando stalked through the old house, the home of the Arnaud family, his blood-bonded mate’s kin. Lifeless human bodies lay in pools of blood, draped over furniture or expensive rugs that covered the wooden floors of the mansion. Bloody handprints graced the doors and windows, left behind by those who’d tried to escape. They hadn’t been so lucky. One man had managed to open the French doors leading into the garden, but he hadn’t made it far. His blood now drenched the snow outside, all life seeping from his body, a final gurgling breath subsiding as his heart stopped.

Orlando looked over his shoulder, back into the house that was brightly lit with old-fashioned chandeliers and wall sconces. As he walked back toward the door, his bloody boots left more footprints in the snow. He entered and walked into the hallway. There, he froze and listened to the sounds in the house. Where was she? Where was Margarite hiding? He knew she was here. He could smell her.

Come to me, my love.

He sent the silent telepathic command to his blood-bonded mate. He knew she could hear him. She was close. Somewhere in the house. Hiding from him.

I’ll make it all right, Margarite, trust me. I love you.

Only one part of his message was true. The other was a lie. Would Margarite sense it? They’d been bonded for three years now, and their union hadn’t been an easy one. Interference by her family had made his life hell at times. Their accusations had hurt, and he’d hated them for it. He’d wished for them to have no part in his life with Margarite. He’d asked them to leave them alone. They hadn’t listened.

Orlando heard the creaking of floorboards above him. She was on the second floor. In one of the bedrooms. Treading lightly, he walked to the stairs and ascended.

It’s just you and me now, my love. Just like we always wanted.

Once on the landing, he finally felt Margarite’s telepathic message reach him. Yes, like we always dreamed of. Now it’s all possible.

Orlando walked toward the bedroom Margarite’s parents had called their own. Margarite, they’re all dead. Every last one of them.

The door to the master bedroom stood open. Orlando entered. Margarite, his beautiful raven-haired wife stood at the window looking out into the garden.

“Margarite, my love,” Orlando whispered.

She turned around. Her dress was stained with the blood of her family. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “They should have never tried to keep us apart.”

Orlando slowly approached her. “No, they shouldn’t have.” And that too, was a lie. By the time he’d realized what Margarite’s family was really doing, it was too late to change the outcome. Too late to turn the boat in a different direction. Too late to stop the inevitable.

He reached for her. “Let me make it all right.” He pulled her into his arms, gently like he would with a scared child. “I’m so sorry, Margarite. I’m so sorry that I didn’t want to see it.”