Panther's Claim (Bitten Point #2) (14 page)

S
ince Daryl
and Constantine seemed determined to investigate every fiber in that B&B bedroom, Cynthia left, but descended via the rear steps. The boys had given the house an all-clear, the dogman stench restricted to the outdoors it seemed, and old at that.

In the distance, she could hear the sound of car engines and doors slamming, the sign chaos would soon descend in the form of cops.

Cops here to investigate the body in the front hall, a body that wasn’t Aria’s, thank goodness.

But it could have been.
Whatever attacked the owner could have easily gone after other guests.

Daryl said it was a good sign they’d not found any signs of violence against Aria. Personally, Cynthia thought that was worse. It meant whatever came for her best friend didn’t give her warning or time to defend herself.

According to Aria’s phone call, she lived, but for what purpose? She’d heard Daryl and his buddies toss around the idea of shifter experimentation, and with the chief of police insisting the SHC knew what was happening and wished to turn a blind eye, she had to wonder if those suppositions were in fact true.

Was someone taking shifters from Bitten Point and playing God with them?

Shiver.

Surely not. The Shifter High Council would never stand for that. Would they?

The rear staircase led to an open area of sorts at the back of the house. On one side, a hallway stretched, and the faint whiff of decomposition made her tummy clench.

Not going that way.

On the other side was another wide arch leading to a formal dining room, done old-school style with vintage crown molding and white wainscoting, offset by dark and gleaming floor and window trim. The walls above the chair rail wall were hung with rose-patterned wallpaper, somewhat faded, yet a perfect look for a home of this style.

Off the dining area was a room that could only be termed a parlor with its blue velvet-covered chairs held aloft on spindly legs. Wooden curio cabinets with glass shelves were packed with eggs, all kinds of Faberge type eggs, in a rainbow of colors.

She heard a commotion of voices as the cavalry arrived, but she had no interest in answering their questions yet. Leave that to Daryl and Constantine.

The French doors to the garden beckoned, and she stepped out of them, breathing deep of the air, redolent with the smell of fresh flowers with an undertone of bayou. Like many places in Bitten Point, this home’s property skirted the edges, the wildness of the swamp vegetation providing an interesting contrast with the more cultured and planned elegance of the garden.

A stone bench by a pond only a few paces from the door beckoned. She sat and let her fingers trail in the water, melancholy tugging at her spirit. To think they’d finally found a clue about Aria’s last moments and immediately hit another roadblock when no true path to her friend emerged.

Why couldn’t we have found a map or some coordinates that said Aria is here?

Then again, once she found her friend, she’d have no reason to stay.

Ahem.

Okay, so she did have a reason—Daryl, but she still wasn’t too sure what he saw in their future.

If our mothers have their way, we’ll be married before the end of the next week.
But it wasn’t up to their parents to decide, although it would help if they could.

It was pretty obvious Daryl had not meant to mark her. Romantic as it was that he’d lost control, she knew they couldn’t base a future on a lapse of reason, a moment of passion. She was just as guilty of it as he was.

Lust shouldn’t decide whom a person spent the rest of their life with.

Is lust all we have?

What about her enjoyment of his presence? Their love of onion rings. The way he made her feel.

But he doesn’t know our secret.

Her wolf was so worried, yet Cynthia could state with a fair measure of confidence that she didn’t think Daryl was the type to care about a defect on her part.

“It’s not that bad,” she muttered aloud.

As if her wolf listened. She seemed perfectly content to hide within.

Some people’s inner beast proved aggressive, and strong-minded, insisting on being a part of all the decisions and getting their fair share of time outside the human skin.

Not Cynthia’s wolf. Her wolf was more than happy to let Cynthia stay in charge. Yet Cynthia in charge didn’t mean her wolf didn’t look out for her.

Danger.

The sudden stillness in the bayou caught her attention. Her head perked, and she was pretty sure her ears did, too, even if they couldn’t move in this shape.

The hush that fell was unnatural. The swamp was never quiet, not when its residents always made noise. Yet something had silenced them. A predator walked nearby.

It belatedly occurred to Cynthia that perhaps sitting out here wasn’t the wisest course, all alone in a place where murder and other nefarious acts had taken place. Never mind there were cops out front as well as Daryl and Constantine nearby. Could they reach her in time should something attack?

Eep.

Darting glances around her, Cynthia scurried back to the safety of the house, closing the French doors and locking them. Silly, really, given a determined person—or creature—would easily smash through the glass.

Funny how, a few days ago, these types of thoughts would have never crossed her mind. Now, though, she saw danger everywhere. Sometimes in plain sight.

Her mouth opened as she watched the lizard man with the leathery wings step from the shadows of a willow tree on the edge of the property. His gaze locked with hers, and he took a step forward. She took one back.

A part of her wanted to scream. Yell. Do something.

Daryl and so many other people were only steps away, but if she called for help, the lizard thing would take off, and despite his appearance, she wasn’t entirely sure he intended to hurt.

Still, a girl couldn’t be too careful. She whirled for just a second, eyes scanning the parlor for something to use as a weapon. The brass figurine on the mantel for the fireplace looked as if it might have some weight. She tugged it, but instead of coming free, it bent on a hinge.

But that wasn’t the most startling thing.

With only the faintest of creaks, the façade for the fireplace slid to the side. Instant wet-dog smell wafted out, but of more interest, she recognized Aria’s worn pink bunny slipper on the inside of the cavity. She hesitated before the opening, the brave part of her insisting she go looking for her friend. The smart part of her consciousness smacked her brain and told her to go get Daryl.

Before she could turn around, something clocked her from behind!

D
aryl peeked
from the bedroom window, watching Cyn in the garden. Her fingers trailed in the pond water covered in a layer of lily pads. A part of him wanted to shout at her to come inside. Something agitated his feline. It paced his mind, insisting she put herself in danger by sitting out there alone.

Then again, walls hadn’t saved the old woman who now lay dead behind the counter, nor had it protected Aria, it appeared, or the other occupants whose dusty articles remained scattered and forgotten.

What happened here?

As a guy who’d tracked his fair share of prey in the woods surrounding the bayou, Daryl knew how to piece together what happened from scent.

Certain emotions and acts held a particular flavor to them. Violence had a flavor, sharp and hair-raising. Fear was a sour and acrid stench. Blood, of course, had its own scent, coppery and meaty at the same time.

None of those were in this room, yet Aria must have disappeared from it or nearby because on the dresser was her purse and, inside it, her wallet and some cash.

As Daryl stared from the window, he stroked the short beard on his chin, watching Cyn and wondering if perhaps with the danger floating around he should send her away. Send her somewhere safe, somewhere with no abnormal dogmen or dinomen or attempts to kill or, as Cyn appeared convinced, of things trying to kidnap her.

With her friend missing, though, would Cyn leave? She possessed a delightful stubbornness, along with a love and loyalty for her friend. But the harder they looked, the more dire things became.

And the more convoluted.

Look at the wealth of clues in this B&B alone. Several disappearances, none reported by the owner of the house—
perhaps because she was involved?

Could knowledge be the reason Mrs. Jones had died? A loose end snipped before it could spill any secrets?

Despite the attempts to wipe their tracks, we’re getting closer.
Daryl could sense it, almost smell it with that sixth sense predators had when they were closing in on their target. When they did get in sight, he was coiled and ready to pounce.

Something rotten was preying on Bitten Point, going after the unknown and vulnerable. It had to stop.
I will make it stop.

Movement outside the window grabbed his attention. Cyn rose and moved away from the pond to scurry inside. Had she heard or seen something?

The edges of the bayou lined the cleared yard, the stretching tendrils of the swamp looking to take back what it had lost.

It didn’t take Daryl long to spot the lizard creature, stepping from the filmy tendrils of the tree. The thing stood and stared in the direction Cyn had gone. Then it lifted its head and caught Daryl’s gaze immediately.

Nothing else was done. No rude gestures or implied body language. The dinoman didn’t snarl or howl or blow fucking fire or whatever his weird kind did.

He just stood staring, and in that moment, Daryl wondered at its story. How did it become what it was? Because Daryl was now certain there was something unnatural, something forced or created, to make the two creatures they’d encountered the way they were.

The fading sunlight glinted off metal around the creature’s neck, that odd collar that Cyn argued controlled their actions.

The lizard man, as if sensing his curiosity, reached a hand to grasp at the collar. Tugged it. Roared.

Then roared in Daryl’s direction before loping into the vegetation bordering the yard. Only then did it occur to Daryl that he should have gone after it or at least told Constantine to while he tried to keep its attention.

The thing was a monster. It needed to be stopped.

The sound of thumping feet announced the arrival of the sheriff and a deputy. He peeked in and sniffed. “Any other bodies up here?”

“Nope, but the girl this room belonged to is missing.”

“It happens,” Pete replied. “Look at my son. One day, he’s working at Bittech, the next he takes off, won’t tell me where he’s gone, and only calls to say he’s doing great.”

“At least your son is calling.”

“I heard your lady got a call, too. So what makes you think this girl is missing?”

“I’d say the dead body downstairs proves something is going on.”

“Looks like a simple robbery to me.” Pete tucked his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Wouldn’t shit have to be taken for it to be theft?” he pointed out.

“We don’t know for sure what’s gone yet. Could be they were after the old lady’s cash.”

“Or someone is trying to cover their traces.”

A grimace wrinkled the sheriff’s face. “Watch that you don’t let paranoia get to you, boy. It’s a wily creature that sinks its claws in and looks for ways to feed itself. While conspiracy theories are fun, most times, the simplest answer is the truth.”

Daryl might put more stock in Pete’s attempts to allay his fears, except he’d now seen too much in the past few days. He’d experienced things that really hit close to home, like when his sister disappeared for a little bit a few weeks back. What about the fact that Cyn almost got killed? He counted himself damned lucky she’d emerged unscathed.

Our mate needs protecting.

Gack. And, no, that wasn’t a hairball that just about made him choke. It was the realization that he cared so much about Cyn. Cared.

Oh hell. No matter how many times he wanted to deny it, he was falling for Cyn. The bite wasn’t an accident. He wanted her to wear his mark to show the world she was his.

Although, if I wanted it to show, perhaps I should have put it in a different spot. In order for someone to see it, she’d have to take off her pants.

Hell no. The only person she would strip for was him—even if the money was ridiculously good. Daryl wasn’t afraid to apply a double standard to his girlfriend. It seemed he had jealousy issues he’d never known existed. Coveting Cyn. It sounded fucking dirty and fucking great.

The mental cursing and somewhat dirty thoughts went a long way to helping him deal with his epiphany and Pete’s inane assertions that there was nothing untoward happening.

The sheriff and Constantine had their heads together talking, but mostly about the basics they’d discovered.

“I should go check on Cyn.”

Yes, we should. Our mate needs us.

Cool it
, he told his inner feline.
Admitting that I want her in my life doesn’t mean I’m about to super glue myself to her side. She is a grown woman. I can’t smother her all the time.

We should cover her at night. Naked.

Deal.

Some people might find his mental bargaining with his cat odd, except Daryl was of the mind that sharing a body meant sharing decisions, compromising. Some people let themselves completely control the beast, going so far even as to repress it. His friend Caleb had done that for a long time, fighting his inner crocodile, convinced the cold-blooded reptile inside him was evil.

Caleb learned that balance was needed, something that Daryl had known all along.

With his determination that Cyn would be fine on her own—she was, after all, in a house now crawling with officers of the law, and not only were they all armed, they were shifters as well—he decided to check out those other rooms again, especially once he noted that Constantine and Pete had left the room to explore. He trailed behind, ignoring his panther pacing in his mind. Running downstairs to check on Cyn would wait.

The room a few feet down the hall held the interest of Constantine and Pete. They sifted through the stuff in the room, with the sheriff actually locating a wallet on the nightstand.

“The driver’s license is for one Jeffrey Moore. He’s from New England, according to this.”

“But what was he doing here?” Constantine asked.

It was Daryl who noted the jacket hanging on the back of the chair, but more importantly, the name badge pinned to it.

“He’s got a Bittech Employee card.” Daryl held it up. “I’ll have to call Wes and see what he knows about him.”

As head security guard, Wes had access to employee records and had suspected, for a while, the company of underhanded dealings. The CEO, who happened to be Daryl’s sister’s husband, told Wes that everything they were doing was SHC approved. More and more, Daryl wondered if their blind acceptance of that was foolish. The SHC was only as good as the people ruling it.

“Here’s his laptop.” Constantine pulled it from a case and put it on the bed.

The laptop booted as soon as the power button was held down. However, the log-in screen stumped them, and less than a minute later, the screen went black as the laptop died.

“I guess Mr. Jeffrey Moore is keeping his secrets.”

“For now. I’ll take a peek at it,” Constantine offered. “I might be able to find something.”

Pete scrubbed a hand over his jowls, suddenly looking every one of his fifty-three years. “Do that, but keep it on the down low. Report only to me what you find. We don’t want to make you a target.”

“What happened to us maybe being paranoid?” Daryl couldn’t resist the jibe.

Pete’s lips pressed tight together. “I’m still hoping there’s a rational explanation for all this.”

“Other than the obvious that they were taken?” The snort went well with his arched brow. “I don’t know why you keep covering it up.”

“I told you, the SHC—”

“Fuck the SHC. There are people disappearing and being murdered.
Murdered
.” Daryl growled as he took a step forward. “So be a man, be an officer of the law, and do your fucking job. Protect the fucking people of this town. Or, if you can’t do that, then at least make an attempt to do what’s fucking right.”

For a moment, Pete’s face hardened, and Daryl braced for a punch. Surely the bigger, older man wouldn’t let Daryl ream him like that, even if well deserved.

Instead, the lines in Pete’s face sagged, along with his shoulders. “I know you’re right. There is something wrong. Problem is, being right isn’t simple… Or safe.”

A voice called out from the hall. “Sir. We’ve cleared the main floor and swept the grounds.”

“Did you find anyone else?”

Chet poked his head in the door, his freckled cheeks pale. The body wasn’t something any one of them took lightly. “No more bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What about suspects?”

“Negative. While we came across a few scents, there is no one but the men we came with and these two on the premises.”

“And Cynthia,” Daryl added.

Chet frowned. “Is that who’s in the main hall? That body is still there.”

“Body? I’m not talking about a corpse. I’m talking about Cyn, the girl you caught me with the other night. About chin-high, cocoa skin, and smelling of wolf.”

Even before the Chet shook his head, Daryl was moving. He trampled down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, doing more vaulting than stepping. On the main level, he took a moment to smell the air, paying little attention to the pair of guys taking pictures of the body.

Given they couldn’t hide a murder, they treated it like a crime scene, bagging and tagging items while, at the same time, removing or wiping clean any evidence of this being a less-than-human crime. Actually, in this case, they would spin it as a wild animal attack. Yet that weak explanation wouldn’t work with the abandoned items found on the second floor.

Hard to hide three disappearances in one place.

Maybe four.

No. Don’t think that way.
But he couldn’t help a spurt of anxiety as he noted Cyn wasn’t in the main hall or out front with the cop cars. Nor did he locate her in the kitchen, the comfortable living room, or the dining room. However, in the last, he did at least catch a hint of her scent. He followed it, ignoring its trail to the French doors and, instead, approached the fireplace.

He sniffed long and deep. There was Cyn, still smelling of his soap. Then, another scent he recognized, but didn’t. It tickled with familiarity.

It was Constantine who had caught up to Daryl that nailed it for him. “That’s the same smell that came from that guy’s room.”

“But I thought the theory was he was missing. This scent is fresh.” It also didn’t seem to move from this room.

Following his nose, and trying not to think of that ditty from the Froot Loops commercial, he went to the patio doors, grasping the fabric of the hanging drape and bringing it to his face. “He hid in the curtains. Then”—Daryl dropped the material and pivoted to face the fireplace—“he crept out while Cyn was standing here.” Standing before the mantel, Daryl frowned. “And then it’s like they both disappeared.”

“First we have dinoman and dogman. Don’t tell me just found invisi-man.”

A frown pulled Daryl’s brows together. “This isn’t fucking funny, dude. Cyn is missing.”

“I wasn’t being funny. I mean, come on. Given what we’ve seen, can you really deny the possibility?”

“Yeah, I will, because invisibility as a trait could happen. All it would take was a very chameleon-like method of blending into the background, but at the same time, background blending wouldn’t hide scent.”

“Says you. Science can—”

“Kiss my ass,” Daryl retorted. “She did not vanish into thin air with some dude.” It wasn’t even something he could contemplate, and besides, his cat was poking him again, and given it was right about Cyn needing him—
don’t you fucking smirk at me, kitty
—he wasn’t about to ignore it again.

“Fine then. If you don’t think invisi-dude took her, then where did she go?” Constantine gestured to the room. “I might not have your developed sense of smell, but I have eyes, and they don’t see her in this room. Or any of the rooms in this house unless she’s hiding.”

Grr. Ruff.

During their discussion, Princess had entered the room with its impractical chairs and other dainty items. She sniffed at the fireplace, tiny black nose pressed to the floor.

Grr. Ruff.
She made noise again and pawed at the wall.

“Do you have to tinkle?” Constantine asked his dog.