Calla
Pleasure boats filled with sightseers floated along the river at regular intervals. More than a few passengers' heads turned in our direction when they came in sight of us. From my vantage point off to the side of the photoshoot at Garnier Wharf, I couldn't help but blush at the way Rhys's brother shamelessly flaunted his washboard abs and flirted with the photographer as she burned provocative images of him into her camera's memory card. The phrase "make love to the camera" seemed to have been made for Aamon Rawlings.
He always paused after she instructed him to pose in a certain way, deciding for himself if that was the right call. "No," he told her when she asked him to turn to the side, instead facing her straight on as he perched on a stool, his legs spread wide. "You'll prefer me from this angle."
He winked and she giggled, taking the shot as he'd framed it. After a while, he simply moved how he wanted, and everyone around him obliged. If they minded, they didn't say so, or act perturbed. I seemed to be the only one who found his behavior off-putting. Maybe it was the awkward, unsettling way the press conference had ended, with a veiled threat from the anti-shifter media, that left me less inclined to put up with Aamon's antics. Everyone else—the photographer, her assistants, Aamon's manager, Sury's Thirty Under Thirty curator—all of them seemed to be enamored with him.
It became clear as the shoot progressed that Aamon wanted more than to enjoy superhero status amongst the citizenry of Sury—he longed to be their sex god as well. And if these photos were any indication, he was well on his way to achieving this goal.
"Well?" he asked me after the session ended. By this point, he was wearing nothing but a towel. If the hand holding it in place were to fall, so would any remaining sense of modesty.
"Well, what?" I said, not in the mood to play a guessing game with him. "Why did you bring me here, Aamon?"
"I thought you'd be happy to have an excuse to get out of that office you're forced to share with my brother. I love him, but the whole Alpha thing makes him a bit insufferable. You must admit, between the two of us, I'm much better company."
In no universe was this true. "It's more of a matter of which one of you sets the bar lower."
He wagged a finger at me, a move startingly reminiscent of Rhys's gesture when he'd caught me in a lie of omission this morning. "A Luna wouldn't be worth her salt if she didn't play coy...but I have faith." He winked at me, just as he'd done to the photographer. "You'll come around. They always do."
I wondered who this "they" was that he referred to, but asking would only prolong the conversation, and I'd been over it for a while already. "Can we go?"
"Sure, but you're coming to the autograph signing with me, right?"
"How could I possibly dream of missing that?"
"Good, because I need you to see."
I didn't like where this was going. "See what?"
"That people still believe in the Apex brand. Children still look up to me. Men are still envious and at the same time, filled with awe. And women still wet their panties when they're around me. Nothing's changed."
God, he was so crass, but I had to hope, for the sake not just of Apex, but of Crown as well, that he was right.
The signing took place in a bookstore, a location Aamon seemed eager about, even though he had confessed to me during the ride to Apex's University District that he hadn't read a single book since high school.
"That can't be true. What about your own book?" I asked, referring to Aamon's memoir Metamorphic Books had stocked for today's event.
The Iconic Life of a Shifter created a stir when it was released last year. I'd read a review and a few quotes, instantly regretting I'd chosen to do so so soon after eating. "An intimate look into the life of one of Sury's most prominent shifters, and it's most enticing eligible bachelor!" one of the reviewers had claimed. Another stated the memoir was the most profound piece of literature of the decade. What it really was, in my opinion, was the masturbatory ramblings of a textbook narcissist. As it turned out, it wasn't even that.
"Oh, that's right...my book." Aamon laughed. "I guess I should have read it, but I'm sure the ghost writer did a good job. I won best autobiography of the year after all."
"Wait...you didn't write it, and you didn't even take the time to read the words that were supposed to have come out of your brain?"
"Come on, Calla. You thought I took the time to sit down and write all that? I have an important job. And, as you know, I model on the side. There's only so much a person can do, even if that person is me."
The more time I spent with Aamon, the better Rhys looked in comparison. I let my mind wander to Aamon's older brother, especially to a particularly delicious moment where he learned I'd be tagging along with Aamon. It was after the press conference, and just as I was about to turn Aamon down on his offer to make me deal with his ass the rest of the day, along came Rhys, looking downright pissed at his brother.
"Calla's busy, Aamon. She doesn't get paid to babysit you."
"In what universe is watching me undress babysitting? I'm giving her an opportunity here. Besides, who's the babysitter for real? You're the one who has to take Liam to his college orientation."
Rhys's eyes bore into his brother's. "It's called being a loyal older brother. It's what you'd be doing this evening too, if you gave a shit."
"You give enough shit for the two of us, brother. Good thing you're full of it."
Rhys stepped forward, fist clenched. "Mind your words, brother."
I shook my head. All this testosterone over the fact that one brother had invited me somewhere the other brother couldn't go. It was ridiculous, and I was here for it. "Aamon, will you really be nude for this photoshoot?"
He gave me a flirtatious grin. "It's what the people want."
I disliked this side of Aamon even more than when he was hurling insults my way, but I refused to let it show. "Well then, that does sound...titillating. I'm in."
A low growl emanating from Rhys made the whole middle part of me tingle. He hated this, and I loved that he hated it.
"You should fuck off now, Aamon," Rhys said as he pulled me aside. Once his brother was out of earshot, Rhys turned to me with a look serious enough to make me feel like I was a schoolgirl about to be scolded. The tingling sensation intensified in all the best places.
"Be careful, Calla."
"Or what?"
"He's playing with you. It's all a game to him."
"A game to him?" Since he was still holding onto me, I echoed his stance, placing my left hand onto his right forearm. "What is it to you then?"
Rhys let in a sharp breath, then abruptly dropped my arm, turning his head to the side as though he might choke if he had to share the same airspace as me. "I can't believe I'm the one taking this seriously. You're going to get yourself killed."
"I'm going to tag along and watch your brother pose for a magazine shoot. It's hardly high stakes."
"You shouldn't go."
"Because you don't want me to spend time with Aamon or because I'm in danger if I do."
"Both," he said in a low voice before he walked unceremoniously away from me.
What the hell? He criticized Aamon for playing games, but maybe he just didn't like it because he thought his little brother was playing better than he was. How utterly confusing for him. I smiled to myself. Let him be confused, and dare I say, jealous. I could run circles around both brothers if I wanted.
As soon as I thought this, uncertainty crept in. Aamon was a loose cannon. It was naïve of me not to consider Rhys's advice.
"I'll be careful," I said to him. The muscles in his back tensed for a second, but he didn't slow his pace.
At the bookstore, a swarm of excited fans, called Aamonatics amongst the fandom, buzzed while standing in line, some holding Aamon's book, others clutching posters, or t-shirts, or other Apex merchandise, all eager to get to stand near their handsome hero while he penned his name onto their possessions, and in the case of one woman, directly onto her left breast.
"What did I tell you?" He asked as the woman sauntered away, laughing with her friends. "Nothing's changed. If I told these people to dance like chickens for the chance to touch my pinky, they would."
We were an hour into the signing at this point, and by now every word out of his mouth grated on my nerves.
"In fact," he continued, "maybe I'll make this next group bow down to me before I give them anything." He raised a finger at the three human teenagers waiting for security to let them up to Aamon's table.
I pushed his hand down and then slapped it. "Just stick to signing books and boobs, Aamon."
"Easy there, Calla. I slap back."
Before I could respond, my phone chimed. Looking at my screen, a burst of adrenaline hit. "I have to take this," I said to Aamon. "Be right back."
"Dev," I said after connecting to the call. "Hold on a sec."
Hurrying past the line of waiting fans, I opened the front door of the bookstore, stepped outside, and retreated into the parking lot, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to hear my conversation. "Okay, what's up?"
"I sent you video footage. Did you get it?"
"I've been busy. Footage of what?" I asked as I checked my messages. Sure enough, Dev had sent me a file.
"It's from an Apex security camera the night of the full moon. The clip is only a few minutes long. Watch it."
He didn't have to ask me twice. I played the video, a kernel of anxiety knocking around in my stomach like popcorn in a hot kettle. The video was set outside of the bank of elevators in Apex's headquarters. At first, there was nothing of interest, merely closed doors and an empty corridor. Then, a person entered the frame. She wasn't looking right at the camera and the footage was grainy, but I knew immediately from the tight curls outlining her cheeks and the oversized linen blazer she wore that it was Vicki.
Vicki went up to the wall, consulted her phone for a moment, and then punched the button. She stood, hands held together in front of her, and then a door opened. A few seconds later, she disappeared as the door closed, the elevator presumably taking her to her fate.
"Oh," I said.
"It's her, isn't it?"
"Yes. Do you have footage from inside the elevator?"
"They claim not to have cameras in the elevators."
"Really?" I recalled my elevator ride with Rhys. He'd known that anything that happened in that elevator wouldn't be recorded. Whoever lured Vicki to Apex that night would have known it too. "What about other floors? What floor did she get off on? Was there anyone waiting for her?"
"That's what's odd. We couldn't find anything. It's like she got on that elevator and then disappeared."
"That's not at all suspicious."
"It's too soon to jump to conclusions, but...okay, yeah. It's odd. Something doesn't add up," Dev said.
"They're hiding something. Who gave you this footage?" I asked.
"Who do you think?"
"Shit." I started the video up a few seconds before it ended and then hit pause, studying the still of Vicki as she stepped into the elevator, gazing straight ahead. I hit play again. She moved forward, hand rising as she moved inside and out of sight. I ran it back and watched it again. "Dev, do we have any other camera angles to look at?" From this angle, I couldn't see into the elevator. Had she raised her hand in greeting? Was the person we were looking for waiting for her in the elevator?"
"That's all we were given. If only we knew someone invested in this case who also worked at Apex and could see if there were other cameras in the lobby."
I glanced around the parking lot to make sure I was still alone. "You know I can't be traced back to this."
"But Rhys knows. Are you saying you trust him now?"
"No. Especially if he didn't give you all the camera footage. I have to go, but...I'll take my chances and talk to him. See what's up."
"Just be careful."
Just be careful. That seemed to be a reoccurring statement men in my life thought they should make as though I was a child about to cross a busy intersection. "I'll be in touch."
Ending the call, I retraced my steps back to the bookstore, strategizing all the way as to how I would broach this subject with Rhys. If I could put aside my disdain and distrust for a moment, I could use sexual persuasion to get what I wanted. The idea was tempting—more tempting than I wanted it to be.
As soon as I opened the bookstore door, my fantasy disintegrated into the terrified screams of Aamonatics. Sprinting towards the chaos, I pushed myself through teary-eyed teens until I could see what was causing the commotion. Aamon's table had been overturned, water from his bottle spilling onto the pages of one of his books. Aamon stood behind the table, chest heaving like he'd just finished running a marathon, eyes wide and wild. And on the floor, partly obscured by the table, lay a man who looked to have been pummeled by a powerful werewolf, a werewolf whose knuckles now dripped with blood.