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All of which was definitely—as Ward had suggested—not the modus operandi of the Magic-Free Movement.
Which left us with a weird ritual sacrifice cult that was into Aztec gods and practices that wasn’t the Magic-Free Movement and probably also wasn’t the Ordo, since that didn’t seem to be their schtick, either.
The one damn thing we knew was that this bunch of not-MFM-not-Ordo homicidal maniacs seemed focused on shifters.
And dogs.
And then I got a very personal taste of something like what I imagined Ward must have been feeling when the Ordo was targeting Arcanid witches because I put two and two together and figured out that the personIactually cared about was both a shifteranda dog and had also just served as a consultant on this case.
Fuck me.
8
At about twoin the morning, I decided I was never, ever going to give Ward shit about worrying about Doc ever again. I might be an asshole, but I’m not a hypocrite.
At least I tried not to be.
Because lying there, staring up at my shitty, stained motel ceiling, worrying about the fact that Taavi met two of the demographics for being murdered by these fuckers, I was starting to understand what it felt like to worry about someone’s safety. And I’d selfishly asked Taavi to look at evidence from the case rather than do my homework myself.
And, yes, I was fully aware that Raj had also asked him to look at the evidence, but only because of me.
Was it likely that whoever was out there killing dogs and shifters—and Rosemary Carlisle—would find out that Taavi had given information? Honestly, probably not. My logical mind understood this.
But worry didn’t come from the mind. It came from the heart. And my heart understood that the more involved Taavi was in this case, the more likely—howeverunlikely—it would lead him to become a target.
And that was terrifying.
Because as much as I’d pushed him away, it was becoming increasingly clear to me that I was not even remotely over Taavi Camal.
If you could call it ‘over,’ given that we’d never actually been a thing to begin with.
One date that ended in disaster was not a thing.
One date six months after he’d lived in my apartment. As a dog.
And then when he’d kissed me, I’d told him no.
God, I was a fucking dumbass.
Elliot had been telling me as much for the last week, and I hadn’t argued the point, but apparently two in the morning is my come-to-Jesus time, at least when it involves introspection and my ability to realize just how fucking stupid I can actually be.
I’d liked living with Taavi. Sure, living with a shifter stuck as a dog who you essentially have to treat as a dog isn’t the same as living with someone who is acting like a person-person, but shiftersarepeople, even in their animal forms. A little weird, if Ward’s encounters with their ghosts was any indication, but still people.
Taavi in dog form had definitely still had a person’s personality.
Mischievous, clever, protective, and sweet.
Really sweet.
Fuck.
So fucking what if he was attracted to my body? He’d lived with me for two months. He knew what my asshole personality was like. He’dtold me so, explicitly, and I’d ignored him because I was too much of a fucking chicken to take the risk that he might break my heart.
And my hearthadbeen broken, because I’d fallen hard for that stupid hairless dog.
It was one thing to love an animal—I adored Pet, and she was a cat. But I knew she was a cat. I’d known the whole time he’d been with me that Taavi wasn’t a dog. That the mind that watched me through those mismatched eyes was just as human—so to speak—as mine.
And when youknowthat, it’s fucking different. Because you know that this person—because he’s a person whether he’s in a human body or a dog body—is capable of everything you are, they’re just constrained by four feet and no opposable thumbs.
