neck, reassured by the strong, steady beat of her heart. With a sigh, he paced to the window, staring out into the darkness and brooding.
Think, Ronan , he told himself, crossing his arms over his chest.
The sisters weren’t any threat to the PSA. And the agency generally only eliminated threats. Even if they couldn’t recruit vigilante monster fighters like the King sisters, they just went on.
They weren’t any threat—they didn’t know anything that could cause concern. And Ronan had focused too much on getting to Jenai’s side to look beyond doing anything but that.
He couldn’t have focused on anything else. The way the agency operated, if one agent failed at a task, or even hesitated, another was sent in, and another, and another, until the job was done.
If he had slowed for even a minute, how did he know Brunich wouldn’t send another in to do the job?
No, he hadn’t been able to take that chance.
But hindsight was so much clearer. The sisters hadn’t been in danger until he had approached them—exactly as he had been ordered to.
They weren’t a threat, but maybe, somehow, he was.
* * * * *
By sunrise, he had come to the conclusion that Brunich had set him up to be killed, but not because of anything to do with the sisters.
But because of him. For a few months, he had been investigating a series of unusual paranormal deaths. Ronan had been selected for the task by the governing authority of the PSA. He had some select skills that made him better at it than most. The child of a werewolf and a human female, he had many of the abilities that a werewolf had, the long life, the ability to scent blood and death, some of the hungers…
He couldn’t shape-shift, but he didn’t see that as a bad thing. It kept his aura very low key and he could blend almost as well as a mortal.
Ronan was an anomaly, though. His mother had been a witch. The result—a psychic child. And his trademark skill was the ability to scent violent death. He could feel it. It called to him—just like the voices of the lost whispered to him.
These deaths had been unnatural. Bodies drained, empty. Not the stillness of death, but empty , as though something had stolen the soul and then killed the body. His investigation was leading him in a disturbing direction, more and more pointing to a person trusted by the paranormal community.
He sure as hell hadn’t suspected it would be somebody so close to him. He hadn’t ever liked Brunich. But he had trusted him. That foolish trust had damn near killed them all last night.
Ronan had spent the night talking with the handful of people he trusted absolutely. Brunich had been questioning people, very subtly, about Ronan’s investigation.
Though he had no proof, he now had suspicion, and that was most likely why Brunich had wanted him dead. Suspicion, in their line, was enough for an investigation on Brunich. His boss must have figured out that sooner or later, Ronan was going to start looking in places Brunich would rather he not look.
When the investigation had stalled, all killings suddenly stopping, Brunich had requested that his top investigator check out two vigilante autre . Not an unusual request. The PSA was known for recruiting such people.
Ronan had known the minute he’d seen the two sisters that they wouldn’t join any team. Brunich would have known it as well. He wouldn’t have sent Ronan out without thoroughly checking them out himself. And Ronan had been a damn fool for walking blindly into the fray.
Hindsight could be such a bitch.
Conner and Katie, a husband and wife team, were the first people he had contacted. And they had told him, Stay away. Something odd is going on .
So he’d stay away. For now. And watch. Information was the greatest of weapons.
With a tired sigh, he turned back to study the shape-shifter as she tossed restlessly on the bed.
Her skin was pale, and her face looked oddly gaunt.
She needed to wake, and soon.
And then they had to get
Think, Ronan , he told himself, crossing his arms over his chest.
The sisters weren’t any threat to the PSA. And the agency generally only eliminated threats. Even if they couldn’t recruit vigilante monster fighters like the King sisters, they just went on.
They weren’t any threat—they didn’t know anything that could cause concern. And Ronan had focused too much on getting to Jenai’s side to look beyond doing anything but that.
He couldn’t have focused on anything else. The way the agency operated, if one agent failed at a task, or even hesitated, another was sent in, and another, and another, until the job was done.
If he had slowed for even a minute, how did he know Brunich wouldn’t send another in to do the job?
No, he hadn’t been able to take that chance.
But hindsight was so much clearer. The sisters hadn’t been in danger until he had approached them—exactly as he had been ordered to.
They weren’t a threat, but maybe, somehow, he was.
* * * * *
By sunrise, he had come to the conclusion that Brunich had set him up to be killed, but not because of anything to do with the sisters.
But because of him. For a few months, he had been investigating a series of unusual paranormal deaths. Ronan had been selected for the task by the governing authority of the PSA. He had some select skills that made him better at it than most. The child of a werewolf and a human female, he had many of the abilities that a werewolf had, the long life, the ability to scent blood and death, some of the hungers…
He couldn’t shape-shift, but he didn’t see that as a bad thing. It kept his aura very low key and he could blend almost as well as a mortal.
Ronan was an anomaly, though. His mother had been a witch. The result—a psychic child. And his trademark skill was the ability to scent violent death. He could feel it. It called to him—just like the voices of the lost whispered to him.
These deaths had been unnatural. Bodies drained, empty. Not the stillness of death, but empty , as though something had stolen the soul and then killed the body. His investigation was leading him in a disturbing direction, more and more pointing to a person trusted by the paranormal community.
He sure as hell hadn’t suspected it would be somebody so close to him. He hadn’t ever liked Brunich. But he had trusted him. That foolish trust had damn near killed them all last night.
Ronan had spent the night talking with the handful of people he trusted absolutely. Brunich had been questioning people, very subtly, about Ronan’s investigation.
Though he had no proof, he now had suspicion, and that was most likely why Brunich had wanted him dead. Suspicion, in their line, was enough for an investigation on Brunich. His boss must have figured out that sooner or later, Ronan was going to start looking in places Brunich would rather he not look.
When the investigation had stalled, all killings suddenly stopping, Brunich had requested that his top investigator check out two vigilante autre . Not an unusual request. The PSA was known for recruiting such people.
Ronan had known the minute he’d seen the two sisters that they wouldn’t join any team. Brunich would have known it as well. He wouldn’t have sent Ronan out without thoroughly checking them out himself. And Ronan had been a damn fool for walking blindly into the fray.
Hindsight could be such a bitch.
Conner and Katie, a husband and wife team, were the first people he had contacted. And they had told him, Stay away. Something odd is going on .
So he’d stay away. For now. And watch. Information was the greatest of weapons.
With a tired sigh, he turned back to study the shape-shifter as she tossed restlessly on the bed.
Her skin was pale, and her face looked oddly gaunt.
She needed to wake, and soon.
And then they had to get
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