Mate Bond

He tapped the phone again and dropped it into his pocket. “He is there.”

“I heard,” Bowman said tightly.

Graham gave Cristian a look of reassessment. “You’re a devious bastard. Why haven’t I met you before?”

“Bowman does not let me attend the meetings of Shifter leaders,” Cristian said calmly. “He keeps me, as you say, in reserve.”

“And you just happened to know the guy’s phone number?” Graham asked.

“Of course. When we began to research Professor Turner, I learned everything about him—where he lived, where he worked, and who he worked with, and I stored it here.” Cristian tapped the side of his head. “Better than a computer.”

Pierce tried to hide his snort and didn’t succeed. Cristian gave him a chilling look, and Pierce quickly drank coffee.

Jamie, Cade, and a few other trackers broke from the main party, Gil in tow, as they left the coffeehouse. They would keep watch, alert Bowman of any trouble, and be ready to assist when needed. Cade grumbled that he didn’t like it, but he acknowledged that secrecy, not a direct attack, was the answer here.

Cristian accompanied Bowman’s group with Brigid back to the campus, then he and Brigid walked away together. They’d been assigned the task of distracting campus security while the other Shifters and Reid slipped inside the building that housed Turner’s lab.

Cristian, with his salt-and-pepper hair and tall body, and Brigid, nearly as tall as he was, her white braids brushing the backs of her knees, were certainly distracting. They drew the gazes of not only the lone security man in his cart, but also every other person they strolled past.

Bowman signaled the others. They opened the unlocked door of the small building Cristian had told Bowman housed Turner’s lab and walked inside, one at a time. Following the directions Cristian had given them, they went down a flight of stairs and through another heavy door at the bottom.

The basement of this building was silent, dim, and empty, and made Bowman’s wolf growl in unease. The place, as Ryan would say, creeped him out.

The scent was wrong, a strange combination of dry, sterilized air and dust. The hall was long, the tile institutional white, the walls painted off-white and needing a touch-up. No pictures lined the corridor, though bulletin boards hung outside each door. These boards were filled with photos, photocopied articles with circled paragraphs, and small posters with sayings like You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.

The metal doors between the ordinary ones unnerved Bowman most of all. These were stainless steel and massive, like the doors of giant refrigerators. Large chains hung across them, locked with padlocks.

Reid touched a door. “Ordinary metal,” he said. “Not spelled. But it makes you wonder what they’re keeping in there.”

Bowman sniffed but caught no scent. The chilled, dry air dampened all smells.

They walked on in silence.

Turner’s lab lay right where Cristian said it would. The word “lab” conjured in Bowman’s mind rows of test tubes and flaming alcohol burners, but then, he’d never seen one outside of TV or movies. This lab was nothing more than a large room of tables, a desk and chair, a ton of dusty books on shelves scaling the walls, and trays that held shards of pottery or skulls and bones.

The Shifters tightened at the sight of the bones. Most were human, and ancient—any life that had clung to them was long gone. Even so, these humans should not have been disturbed from their rest.

Reid stopped before one glassed-in tray that sat by itself. “These are Shifter,” he said.

Bowman went quickly to him, and the other two Shifters closed behind Bowman. Three skulls and several piles of bones occupied the case. Unlike the bones in the other trays, these weren’t labeled.

“You see,” Reid said, pointing, “the shape of the skull is slightly different, the bones a little thicker than those of a human. These bones that look animal are the right size to be Shifter.”

They eyed the remains in disquiet. “How do you know what Shifter skulls look like?” Graham asked in a low voice. “We don’t let people look at them.”

“People, no. Fae, yes. Some of the hoch alfar still have Shifter skulls as trophies in their halls. Passed down through the generations.”

Bowman felt sick. Whoever those ancient Shifters were, he said a prayer to the Goddess for them, hoping their souls had managed to escape.

“Pierce,” he said.

Pierce knew what Bowman wanted. He drew his sword, went to the case, and brought the hilt down, shattering the glass.

Reid and Graham helped Pierce clear the shards away while Bowman stood a little apart, his heart thumping. The skulls were very old, he could tell by the scent, or lack of it, but the fact that they existed at all infuriated him. Turner could only have acquired them from Shifter hunters or from Fae.

Once the pieces of glass were out of the way, Pierce flipped the sword over and thrust the blade through the first skull.

The runes on the sword flashed, and a hum broke the silence. The skull disintegrated at the touch of the blade, a little sigh flowing into the room. One by one, the bones and skulls became dust, the little whisper as each was released making Bowman’s throat tighten.

When Pierce finished, he let the sword’s point touch the floor while he bowed his head and said a prayer to the Goddess. Graham joined him, murmuring the words. Reid only watched, but his face was somber.

Bowman’s cell phone pealed. The others snapped around at the sudden sound. Bowman clicked on the phone and held it to his ear. “What?”