Keri Arthur: Circle of Desire

"No." Gwen hesitated. "He comes here because he thinks we know more than what we are saying — " "Which we do." She grabbed the kettle and poured the water into the three cups. "Does he take milk?"

Her grandmother shook her head. "Three sugars."

"Black syrup. Yuck."

Gwen smiled and continued, "And because he's desperate for a miracle and willing to chase the most remote lead."

She nodded. Had their positions been reversed, she'd be doing the same thing. "So, what's the plan?"

"I think we need to keep your wolf on a very tight leash."

"He's not my anything, so quit it." She stirred some sugar into the second coffee then handed it to her grandmother.

"You don't have to try to set me up with every eligible male that comes within sniffing distance."

"Someone has to. You're doing a somewhat foul job of it yourself."

Kat rolled her eyes. "I thought gray-haired grannies were supposed to warn their granddaughters against the evils of casual sex, not sit down and plot ways of getting them into the sack with some guy."

"My dear, you're so much easier to deal with when you've been laid."

"Gran!"

Gwen's green eyes twinkled. "Well, it's the truth, isn't it?"

"Maybe," she muttered. A good night of sex certainly did have a way of easing tension — but she didn't have the time for that sort of thing. Not with this case.

"My dear, there's always time if you use your imagination." She patted Kat's arm then hobbled over to the sofa.

Kat picked up the two remaining coffees and followed.

"What do you mean by a tight leash?"

"Just that." Gwen eased her feet onto the coffee table and sighed. "Would you mind massaging my feet later?

They're aching something fierce."

Kat nodded and placed one coffee cup on the table. The other she held on to as she walked to the door. "We can hardly hog-tie him and keep him captive."

"We won't have to. Trust your grandmother and open the door."

She did. "Welcome, detec — " The words died, snatched away by the potency of the man approaching. In some ways, he was nothing out of the ordinary — dark hair, nut-brown eyes, a determined chin that desperately needed a razor. He wore a black leather jacket that strained across his shoulders, a white shirt pulled over the top of faded denims and black boots.

An everyday man. Except on this man, everyday was not only powerful but sexy as hell.

"Coffee?" She inanely offered him the cup.

One dark eyebrow rose as his gaze rolled languidly down her body. It was a touch that wasn't a touch, and yet one that sent lust winging through every fibre of her being.

Though she wore an old T-shirt that exposed far too much of her midriff and loose sweat pants, the intensity of his gaze suggested she might well have been standing there naked. His desire burned her. Made her tremble. Ache.

"Thank you."

He wrapped a hand around the cup, and his fingers briefly caressed hers. Energy jolted her spine. Knowing werewolves were sexually magnetic during the rising of the full moon and actually coming under the effects of one were two entirely different things. She resisted the urge to mop her brow, and stepped back.

"Come in."

"Thanks."

He moved past, and she caught a whiff of his after-shave.

It was an odd mix — the rich aroma of freshly cut wood combined with the tang of earthy spices.

"Evening, Detective Morgan." Amusement touched her grandmother's voice. "Nice of you to finally drop by and say hello."

"You were expecting me?"

"You seem surprised."

"A little." He folded onto the chair opposite Gwen.

"Though Benton told me you were both psychics."

Kat sat crossed-legged on the floor and grabbed her coffee. "But you didn't believe him." It was a statement rather than a question. One that had echoed through their entire lives.

His gaze met hers. There was nothing to see in those rich depths now. No emotion, no heat. What had passed between them at the door had been carefully controlled and thrust away.

"I had no reason to. I still don't."

A werewolf who didn't believe in the supernatural.

Interesting. She shared a glance with her grandmother, then said, "So what did you come here for?"

"To satisfy curiosity." He took a sip of his coffee.

"Perfect. Thanks."

Kat ducked her head to hide her smile. He might not believe, but he wasn't about to query. Not when he wanted help.

It was Gwen who continued. "Ask your questions, werewolf. It's been a long night, and we both need to rest."

A raised eyebrow was the only reaction Gwen got to her calling him a werewolf. Maybe he thought ignoring the statement was better than confirming what he was. "You found the body of the second victim — how?"

His tone was deliberate. Controlled. Looking at him you'd never guess his niece was one of the missing kids.

Still, you didn't have to be psychic to see where this line of questioning would lead. She glanced at her grandmother. Usually Gwen didn't go too in-depth with details, but she had an odd feeling it would be different with the werewolf.

"Scrying," Gwen answered.

"Which is?"

"You want the short form or the proper explanation?"

He hesitated. "Proper."

"Then it's a type of divination in which a trance is induced that allows the practitioner to see events or people — be they past, present or future. My preferred method is via a crystal ball, but any polished surface will do in an emergency."

"Then you've tried finding the other victims?"

Absolutely nothing showed in his face. But then, he was a cop, long schooled in the art of questioning without revealing. And despite the earlier instances of sensing his emotions, right now Kat was getting zip.

"Yes. But it's not something you can turn on and off. It often takes time."

"Time those children might not have."

"We know that, Detective."

He nodded. "Does talking to the victims' families help any?"

"No. It usually only muddies the psychic waters." Gwen hesitated. "You do know the chances of your niece still being alive are small, don't you?"

He didn't react, not physically. Yet his anger stepped into the room, became a presence that was almost overwhelming. "Until I see her body, I won't give up hope."

"That is as it should be."

"So will you try to find her? Now?"

Gwen pursed her lips. "I can't guarantee — " "I'm asking you to try, not guarantee."

His voice was brusque, harsh. A man not used to asking for anything.

Gwen considered him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Kat, get the crystal."

"Gran, you need to rest — " "I feel the need to do this. Get the crystal for me."

Kat shot an annoyed look the detective's way but he absorbed it without impact. She climbed to her feet and retrieved the small ball from the table, handing it carefully to her grandmother.

Gwen eased her feet off the coffee table then carefully placed the crystal on it. She rolled her neck, stretched gnarled fingers until they cracked, then began to stare at the glittering surface of the ball. After a few moments, her gaze became glassy and unfocused. A sure sign that this time it was working.

Kat walked over to the sink, grabbed a glass of water and a couple of pain killers, then sat back down. There was nothing to do now but wait.

The detective made no noise, no move, his expression intense as he watched Gwen. He might not believe in psychics and witchcraft, but right now he was obviously desperate and willing to go to any lengths. Even if it meant relying on the unbelievable.

Kat finished her coffee and reached for the herbal pack, then lay back on the floor and placed it over her forehead.

The detective's gaze swept her, something she felt rather than saw. Desire stirred deep inside. Gran was right — it had been far too long since she'd been with a man. And self administering to ease the ache was certainly a colourless substitute.