Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 43

"Dead? What do you mean, Brutus is 'dead?'" Mathilda demands.

She stands before the hearth in the library, a hand pressed dramatically to her breast. August, Aileen and Penelope sit in various chairs, while Ambrose and I occupy the sofa. Dane stands before the tall windows, center stage, while Freya leans against the wall by the door, a silent but keen observer.

It's a little after five in the morning, and everyone looks somewhere between alarmed and half-asleep, still in their nightclothes, a little vulnerable, and not quite their best selves. Which is exactly what Dane is aiming for.

"I mean dead, as in 'no longer alive,'" Dane answers. "I mean someone murdered him."

"Murdered?" Penelope echoes softly, sounding more interested than distressed, her pale blue eyes even larger than usual. "How?"

"Fire iron," Dane growls. "Brains bashed in."

"Oh lord..." Aileen sinks back against the cushion of her chair, smoothing her hands over her frizzy hair and looking ill.

I swallow a bit thickly myself. Dane has slipped into his 'detective' persona as easily as an actor assuming a familiar role. I know that his blunt, impersonal attitude is meant to elicit a reaction, but it seems insensitive and harsh, given the circumstances.

"So." Dane looks at Mathilda, Aileen, Penelope, and August in turn. "What happened tonight between midnight and three a-m?"

August looks up from the pattern in the carpet he's been studying and fixes him with a red-eyed glare.

"My fucking gift-relic was fucking stolen, that's what happened," he rasps.

His thin, greasy hair stands up in clumps and his hands shake. I'd expected him to reach for relief in a bottle, his greatest fear having come to pass, but he hasn't touched a drop that I've seen.

"That, and a man is dead," Dane agrees. "Now from what I hear, it's no great loss, but I still mean to find out who killed him. So start from the beginning. What happened?"

"Excuse me," Mathilda interrupts sharply, drawing herself up and lifting her chin, "but that 'man' was my son, and you will show some respect. He may not have been perfect, but he had a far greater influence on the world than you ever shall, detective. Why are you here, anyway? Why has no one called the police?"

"I think you know this isn't something the police can help you with, Ms. Macleod," Dane answers, frowning at her. "My sister and I have... a unique set of skills. We're your best bet—maybe your only one—at catching whoever did this."

"Really?" she sneers. "Because you've done such a wonderful job so far. Not to mention you're hardly impartial. Your brother is Ambrose's new fuck-toy." She jerks her head at me. "For all we know, he did it and you're protecting him."

Dane doesn't react, but Ambrose's eyes flare red and the heat coming off him tells me Mathilda is on dangerous ground. I lay my hand on his thigh and very slightly shake my head. Dane is baiting her on purpose for some reason, and turning her to ash won't solve anything.

"We agreed to come to this gods-forsaken house because you said we'd be safe here," she goes on, arms crossed over her chest, her silk dressing robe wrapped tight and doing little to conceal the fact she's wearing nothing underneath. "We've barely settled in, and we've had another theft, and now one of us is dead. Forgive me if I don't have much faith in your... 'abilities.'"

"Fair enough," Dane allows. "But something about what happened tonight is different. August didn't get a warning. So far the thief has tipped each victim off to the fact they're the next target—revealed exactly when and where she'd strike—but as far as I know, Ambrose was the last to get a note."