The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances (40 page)

Inside the enormous library, I do a quick scan of the long tables with laptops and shelves of books. It smells like old paper, but I don’t have time to waste. The directory says I need to be on the third floor for the town archives.

When I step off the elevator a librarian with a short brown bob sits behind the desk. She only gives me a glance before returning to her computer screen. A glass case is between us, and I step forward to examine an elaborate pop-up book depicting the original town of Woodland Creek. The recreational areas are shown in such detail, for a moment, I am distracted from why I came here, but only for a moment.

“I’m looking for a death record from early in the town’s history.” The librarian glances up at me. “Any local periodicals from that time?”

“This way.” She stands and leads me through double-glass doors down a long row of tall bookshelves to a center space where a bank of computers is situated.

“You’ll have to use the Lexis-Nexis network to search it. The site-specific password is printed on the card there.”

She motions to a laminated card next to a grey machine that looks a hundred.

“Thanks,” I say, nodding, and grab the card to log in.

It’s possible there will be no record of Hayden’s wife’s death, since she was an immortal, but I might find clues if anyone reported anything to the authorities.

Shifter business is closely guarded and kept inside the packs, but the sheriff might have been alerted, depending on what happened. It’s a long shot, but I’m taking it.

An hour passes as I search every keyword phrase from “mysterious death” to “new families” to “Quinlan and Cross.” Nothing comes back, and I’m beginning to suspect I’d been right from the start—no shifter business will be reported in the local media—when a headline catches my eye.

I almost jump out of my seat when I see it.
Croix
is French for
Cross
. The story has to be about Hayden’s mansion, but I wasn’t aware it had a name. A quick scan has me on the edge of my seat.

I skim the rest, knowing the high council is in Chicago. If Hayden were making frequent trips there, it was no doubt about the loss of his mate and establishing the pact. The final sentence gives me the smallest hint.

I passed through Newcastle on my way into Woodland Creek. It’s a midsized city just south of here. Sitting back, I try to think what this means. Hayden changed his name from Croix to Cross, most likely to throw off suspicion about why he never ages or dies. Was Mercy’s family name Strong or was that a fiction?

My mind is on Mercy when I feel a sharp pain in my midsection. It’s a sensation of fear and heartbreak. It’s desperate, and as fast as I feel it, I know what it is.
Mercy
.

Standing, I clear the computer screen quickly and gather up my notes, shoving them in my pockets. Logging off and powering down the computer just in case, I practically run through the stacks to the double glass doors.

Skipping the elevator, I jog down the stairs and out the entrance to the campus lawn. Looking around me in all directions, I try to pick up the sensation again, try to see if I can place where she is, if she’s in danger.

The feelings were intense—sadness, fear, heartbreak. “Where are you, Mercy?” I whisper, looking up at the blazing yellow leaves of a Ginkgo tree. A few quiet moments pass, and I find her again.

Too many students fill the courtyard for me to shift. I can’t shift without losing my clothes and the notes I’ve taken, but I take off hustling fast in the direction of the observatory. She’s in our meadow.

I’m heading east until the path ends then I’m pushing through the trees. I’m not worried about stealth or quiet as I blast through the foliage. It’s easier to navigate the woods in my panther form, but in the heavy boots and jeans, I’m making good time.

The forest has turned seemingly overnight into a blast of deep reds, bright yellows, and purple, but I only have one thing on my mind. At last I’m pushing through the final river birch, when I pull up short. I’ve made it to the clearing, and there she sits, still wearing the jeans and maroon tee she’s had since I took her to my place.

“Mercy?” She’s sitting so still, I don’t want to startle her. “Did you go to the mansion?”

In a flash of dark hair and blue eyes, she’s in my arms. She’s holding me tight around my neck, her body pressed against my chest. All of her emotions hit me in a silent rush. She’s fighting her fear, but the fear is winning. It ignites my desperate urge to protect her because overwhelming all is her love for me. It takes me by surprise. Her feelings are words we’ve never spoken out loud.

My face is buried in her beautiful hair, and I close my eyes, drinking in the sensation of her love. The blood has bonded us, and I can’t help wondering what she’s sensing from me.

I’m holding her back, and I slide my hands lower as she leans back to find my eyes. Hers are warm, and I’m pretty sure she’s picked up what I just discovered. Stepping back, our hands fall together, fingers entwined. She leads me to the base of a red maple, and we sit facing each other.

Our legs are crossed, knees touching, and she holds both my hands. “Our connection is growing.”

“I feel your pain. What happened at the mansion?”

“He’s not going to let me go. I summoned him, and he came to me. I tried everything…” Her chin drops, but she doesn’t cry. She only holds my hands, stroking my palms with her thumbs.

“I won’t give up on this. Even if we run out of time, I’ll figure out a way to enter the underworld and carry you back to me.”

A sad little smile curls her lip. “Storm the gates of hell?” She’s still looking at our hands, and her feelings are changing to sadness, despair.

“Damn right, I will. I’ve been to hell. I’m not afraid to go back there.”

Her slim brows pucker, and she glances up at me then. “You never told me what happened. Why were you cut off from your pack?”

Shame tightens my throat. I never wanted to tell her this story.

“But you can,” she speaks to my thoughts. “Never be ashamed with me.”

“You hear my thoughts?”

Another tiny smile, and she nods. “Can you hear mine?”

“No. I only sense your feelings.”

“It’s probably for the best.” She reaches up and lightly touches my lips. “We’d never get anything done if you knew how badly I want to kiss you all the time.”

Leaning down, I capture her beautiful lips. I’m about to deepen our kiss, but she holds my cheek, pulling back. “Tell me what happened. I need to know.”

Straightening, I clear my throat. “I was a boxer when I lived in the east. A champion middleweight.”

That makes her smile. “A champion.”

“My shifter reflexes probably helped. I was a shit, taking unfair advantage.” Looking down, I don’t want to elaborate on just how arrogant an asshole I was. “My best friend and I were at a bar one night. He was pissed about some match up he’d been snubbed for…”

“You were in a fight?”

“A couple of punks came up and started talking trash. We took it outside, and…” Inhaling deeply, I say it. “I didn’t realize the guy was dead. I’d hit him a few times when I realized Slayer… Slayde was out of control. Blood was everywhere.”

Memories of the rain falling on us fill my mind. Great drops of water spreading out the black-red pool of blood on the wet asphalt.

“It was a horrible scene.” Mercy sees it in my mind.

“I wasn’t bothered by the blood. We saw blood every day. I was bothered because I knew he was dead. It was the end of the line for us.”

“So you ran away.” She’s reading the story as it filters through my memory, but I don’t mind. I don’t like saying the words out loud.

“We didn’t really run. We went down to the ocean. Atlantic City is a two-hour drive south. When they came and got us, we were both arrested for murder. The judge reduced my sentence to involuntary manslaughter, but I spent six years in prison.”

“And you were exiled from your pack.”

Slayde’s words come back to me from when I saw him last…
What happened to us was our fault.

“Slayer is a wolf?”

“Yeah, he had a hard life. His mom died leaving him with a drunk who regularly beat the shit out of him. Found out later it wasn’t even his real dad.” Rubbing my chin, I look away remembering my mom’s face the night when I was banished. “He at least had a reason. I had no excuse.”

Mercy climbs into my lap, legs straddled, and wraps her arms around my neck. Her love floods my chest as she rests her cheek against mine. It’s the most healing sensation I’ve ever felt. I hold her tightly, thinking how she has become an anchor to me. She’s given me a purpose, saved me from despair.

“I lived a life of bad choices. They finally caught up with me.”

Pulling back, she looks into my eyes. “Everybody makes bad choices at some point in their lives. You paid for your mistakes. You want to find a better life. I see it in your heart.”

Reaching up, I hold her small, beautiful face. “You make me want to be a better person. I want to make a better life with you. It’s why I won’t let that asshole take you. I will save you.” Her expression falters, but I hold her. “Do you know anything about your ancestors? The one who murdered Hayden’s mate?”

She shakes her head. “Last week was the first I’d heard of any of this.” I see her thinking, a light in her eyes. “My aunt Penny might know!”

“Let’s go.” We’re on our feet, and I take her hand, leading her through the woods in the direction of the mansion.

P
enny’s
still in her room when we arrive at the mansion. I leave Koa in my bedroom and head down the long hall to where she hides most of the day and night. It never occurred to me to ask why. I’d always chalked it up to her personality.

“Are you awake?” I call softly, tapping on the door as I enter.

She’s curled at the head of her enormous bed. An elaborate headboard of blonde wood and blood-red velvet serves as her pillow. It matches the red velvet armchairs arranged around the space. Beaded lamps and cut-glass chandeliers make up the rest of the décor. It’s vintage, but Penny is older than my mother would be, which puts her nearly one hundred.

“Mercy?” Her voice trembles, and her eyes fill with wonder as she sits up. “He didn’t take you?”

“I told you he would honor Dylan’s arrangement.” Walking around the room, I take her hands in mine. “Hayden’s not a monster. He simply is what he is.”

“So you do like him then?”

The question catches me off guard. I pause to consider my feelings for my new owner. “I don’t know how I feel about him now. I never hated Hayden. I hated the way he felt forced on me and his entitled attitude, which now I understand. I guess all I feel now is desperate.”

Shaking her head she looks down at her lap. “Persephone hated him.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Sitting on her bedside, I catch her hands. “I need you to tell me about how this started. Who committed the crime? How did it happen exactly?”

“Why do you want to know this?” She pulls her hands away and fumbles for a shawl as if she feels a chill. The room is suffocatingly hot.

“Koa wants to know.” A curl lifts the corner of my mouth. “He thinks he can save me.”

“He can’t! If Hayden doesn’t take you, he’ll kill us all! He’ll release those things on our family… on the town…”

“Shh! It’s okay, Aunt Pen.” I try to hug her shoulders, but she’s frantic, pushing me away.

“You have to fulfill your obligation, Mercy. You have to try and love Hayden if only for yourself.”

“I’ll never love Hayden. I’m bonded with Koa.”

“Oh, no!” Her hands fly over her face, and she turns into the pillow. “It’s the end of everything.”

I’m growing tired of my aunt’s behavior. As much as I want to care about her feelings, it’s my future I’m fighting to save. Her theatrics make my stomach cramp and erode my confidence.

“Either way,” I interrupt, my voice commanding. “Can you at least tell me the name of our ancestor? The one who did it?”

“Hunter. It was your great great grandfather Hunter Quinlan. Only at the time, they went by the last name Strong.”

My brow lines. “Why did they change our last name?”

“It was a common thing back in those days. People would change their names to distance themselves from criminals or unsavory incidents. The country was young. It wasn’t hard to start over.” She turns to the side, pulling the shawl even tighter as if trying to disappear in her cocoon. “Especially if you had nothing to lose.”

“Our family was poor.” I turn this idea over in my mind. “Hayden let us live here in his house, on his property.”

“I’m tired now.”

Stepping forward, I kiss her head before going to the door. “I’m sorry to make you worry. I hope this isn’t the last time we see each other.”

She doesn’t answer, and I head down the hall. Stopping just inside the door, I see Koa is on his burner phone. He’s standing in the center of my room in jeans and a plaid shirt. His dark hair is pushed back from his face, and his green eyes glow with determination.

“If you find anything, call me on this number. We don’t have much time.” He waits a moment. “Thanks. I owe you.”

He disconnects, and I go to where he’s standing. “Who was that?”

“All our talk about my past, about Slayde, it gave me an idea. He works in paranormal investigations now, with one of the top four guys in the country. I thought maybe—”

“You think he can help us?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it can hurt to ask him.”

Going to my armoire, I pull out a small bag and put the few items I can’t live without in it. A photograph of me with my mother, one of my first really nice ceramics, Koa’s shirt.

“Where did you find that?”

“The night you came here. When you shifted, you left your clothes. I slept in it when we were apart.” Holding the black tee to my nose, I take a deep sniff. “It smells like you, wild woods.”

He catches my chin and plants a kiss on my lips. “You don’t need a shirt anymore. You have me.”

“Still…” I go to my dresser and take out underwear, a sleep shirt, shoes. “Oh! Aunt Penny said the man who killed Hayden’s wife, my ancestor’s name was Hunter Strong. Apparently, he changed our name after it happened.”

“That explains it.” Koa nods, rubbing his chin as he paces my room. “I found an article about the construction of this mansion. Did you know it was called Chateau Croix?”

“I never knew it had a name.”

“He built it for his wife, the former Cora Strong of Columbus.”

“Columbus? My family came here from the north, from Canada.”

“I’ll call Slayde and give him this new information. It sounds like a lot of what we think we know has changed through the years. Perhaps the truth has also been changed.”

“You think we might find a loophole?”

“I don’t know, but I won’t stop looking.”

For the first time in days, a glimmer of hope spreads across my chest. Koa pulls me into his arms at once.

“Yes, Mercy. Hold onto that hope.” His lips are against the top of my head, and my eyes close. His strong arms surround me. I’m protected by my fierce panther. “You’re mine. Nothing mortal or immortal is taking you away from me.”

* * *

Mercy still goes to her job at the gym, even though the new moon is two nights away. I suppose it takes her mind off the hours slipping past as we search for any way around what’s coming. It gives me time to scour the library, searching for anything we might use.

So far, my efforts have been futile. I’ve switched from looking for news about Mercy’s family to researching fault lines in the area, trying to pinpoint where the rift occurs, where the boundary between our world and the underworld breaks.

Back at my apartment, looking at the calendar on my phone, I feel the first twist of fear. My fists tighten, and the network of ink on my forearm ripples. I can fight. I can use my fists to beat him to death, only it isn’t that easy. Thinking back to that sermon Doris made me sit through, I remember that pastor’s words,
Our battle isn’t against flesh and blood.
I can’t kill an immortal with my bare hands.

Fuck!
I punch up Slayde’s number and hit send, waiting as the tone buzzes in my ear.

“Slayde here.” His voice has lost the cold it once had, but he’s still focused.

“It’s Koa. Just checking in.” He emits a low growl, and my insides cramp. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I searched the existing databases. We have good people scanning the old records into our system, but this case is more than a century old.”

“So nothing?” My fist clenches again.

“I’ve got a call in to a guy in Chicago. Derek’s partners, the Knight brothers have family there. Shifter connections.”

“Dogs.”

“Actually, a mix. Their sister is a cat.”

Unusual. The only time you get mixed shifters among siblings is when shifters of different types mate.
Like Mercy and I would have…
Another flinch of nerves.

“We’re running out of time.”

He’s quiet, and I can hear the sound of computer keys clicking in the background. “I’m seeing what I can find under the Strong name. Also seeing if I can get any photographs of the body. An autopsy might provide a loophole of some kind. Something we could leverage in the High Council for a pardon.”

“Would they do an autopsy on an immortal?”

“No, which is why I’ve requested photos. They did one in this case.”

“They took photos that long ago?”

“They did, actually, but it was the kind that took hours—the small box on three legs with the photographer under a black cape.” He exhales, and I can hear him leaning back. “I’m hoping we’ll find something.”

For the first time in forty-eight hours, I feel hope. “Really?”

“Don’t get excited. Something as ongoing as the type of pact you’re up against will require concrete verification to get it revoked.”

“What’s on your mind?”

He exhales in the phone, and I hear the sounds of movement. “Only thing that might save her would be a mistake. Some way to prove it wasn’t murder.”

“Accidental death?”

“Involuntary manslaughter got you a reduced sentence.”

I wince at the reference. Still… “Immortals don’t follow human rules. They’re vengeful bastards.”

“It’s the best chance we’ve got of freeing Mercy.”

Not encouraging. “Keep me posted.”

Disconnecting the phone, I have to fight the urge to throw it across the room. My jaw tightens as I think.

Jealous rage I can understand. I’m ready to rip Hayden Cross limb from limb when he comes for her. It still might come to that, only I know it would be a death sentence for me.

At the same time, we’re talking about an immortal. As time passes, the sting of rage and grief dulls in our minds. After a century, holding onto this tribute system feels more like pride… or spite.

I’m out the door, descending the wooden stairs when I see my little landlady standing in the driveway. Her stick is propped against her hip like a kickstand, and she’s dressed in pink polyester pants and a cream shirt with large, burgundy flowers on it. Her white halo of hair is also pink.

“Doris,” I say, intending to pass her and head into town to find Mercy. I don’t want her working anymore. I’m desperate to hold her in my arms.

“Where are you going, Kona?” She squints up at me before pulling out the biggest pair of sunglasses I’ve ever seen and putting them over half her face.

“Headed into town.”

“Going to find that little girl who’s been spending the night?” She adjusts the cane on her hip. “Back in my day, they’d have you two at the alter with a shotgun for all this shacking up.”

That makes me grin. “Mercy’s parents died when she was young. I don’t think her older sister is the shotgun type.”

“Dylan Strong.” The old lady nods, and I pull up short.

“What did you say?”

“Folks always trying to change their names. Think us old timers will forget who they really are.”

Returning to where she’s standing, I lean down. “What do you know about Mercy’s family?”

“One of those Strong daughters was my best friend.” Her voice grows sentimental, and her eyes look past me into the distance, into the trees. “It was a long time ago. She went away.”

Doris has some pretty deep wrinkles on her ancient face, but I can’t believe she’s much more than eighty. She can’t be talking about anyone who could help us, and most likely, she’s talking about Mercy’s mother who died. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’d know her by the mark. They all have it. Tells you who they are.”

For a moment, I don’t respond. I’m pretty sure Doris isn’t aware of the shifters in Woodland Creek. At the same time, she’s a scrappy old biddy. No telling what she knows, and if she were best friends with Mercy’s mother… Don’t best friends tell each other everything?

“Those shoes fit you well.” She motions with her cane to the canvas slip-ons I’m wearing. “Figured you two were about the same size.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks again.”

“Don’t thank me.” She starts for her house, and I straighten, watching her go. “Love is stronger than death. It’s deep magic. Stronger than anything.”

She wobbles through her door, and I stand there watching her like an idiot, puzzled by her strange words. “Stronger than anything,” I repeat as the metal door slams behind her. “Deep magic.”

Even if she’s talking about her dead husband, I can’t help thinking she’s giving me a clue. Turning for town, I take off at a jog, but her words linger in my thoughts.