6
Savannah
The following morning, the house was thankfully free of ghosts, though I’d distinctly avoided my aunt’s office on my way to the kitchen for breakfast.
With zero enthusiasm, I pressed my spoon into the brick of shredded wheat lying morosely in my bowl. It was…well, pretty damn unappetizing, to be honest. But I’d eaten more sugar in three weeks living with the LaSalles than I had in my entire life, and it was high time I started making changes.
I sorrowfully spooned a little milk over the dry haybale.
We should just switch to eating bacon every morning,my wolf whined.
“We’re out,” I said, rather mournfully.
Despite the prospect of eating what I was certain amounted to recycled cardboard, I felt pretty good, all things considered. I’d slept hard and late, and my nerves were chill. It might have had something to do with the whiskey and Xanax Casey had given me before bed.
A sweet aroma wafted through the room, and a moment later, Casey clomped in. “You’re not really going to eat that, are you?”
“Uncle Pete eats it.”
“Yeah, but Dad also drinks his own potions. I think he might not actually have taste buds.” Casey chuckled.
I looked down at the shreds. It was a fair point.
Casey dropped a pink box down on the kitchen table. The scent of sticky glazed donuts emanated from inside, and my mouth watered.
I looked up with pleading eyes. “Case, I can’t keep eating this much sugar.”
He opened the lid and made the box talk. “You know you want me. Just a bite.”
I gestured to the fang marks on his neck. “Is that the line you used to pick up your lady friend last night?”
Casey grinned wide. “Vampire bites are an aphrodisiac. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
The doorbell chimed, and he glanced over his shoulder. “Are you expecting visitors?”
I shook my head and peered around him. God, it’d better not be Jaxson.
Casey’s magic prickled the air around me, and he strode up the hall toward the door, muttering, “I don’t like unexpected guests.”
I shrugged and eyed the open box of donuts. Half were plain, while the other half were maple glazed with bits of caramelized bacon. He knew my type. The aromas were driving my wolf senses wild.
Bacon, please.
I seized two maple glazed donuts and started shoving one in my mouth as I heard Casey unlatch the four locks on the front door.
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
A woman’s voice answered, “I’m looking for Savannah Caine. I believe she’s living with you…”
I instantly stopped chewing and looked behind me, but I couldn’t see all the way down the hall to the door. I could hear perfectly with my wolf ears, though.
Casey grunted. “Never heard of her. Is she somebody famous or a porn star or something?”
“Savannah Caine. Your cousin. Who put your address on her Magic Side ID. I know that’s her car outside, Mr. LaSalle, so let’s cut to the chase—she’s not in trouble, and you’re not in trouble. I just need to talk to her.”
My pulse skipped a beat, then began pounding. A cop—it had to be. But why? About what had happened last night?
“‘Mr. LaSalle,’ is it now?” Casey asked in a tone I couldn’t quite place.
My ears pricked at the sound of furious…chewing?
“That’s the way it’s always been,” the woman snapped.
Great. Clearly, they knew each other—which, judging by my cousin’s reputation around town, didn’t bode well. I scooted off the stool. While I appreciated Casey’s caution, there was no way I wanted him representing me to the cops.
“Coming,” I said as I hurried up the hall and shoved myself between Casey and the open door.
The blonde standing on the porch wore a long brown coat and jeans and had an official-looking badge secured to her belt. She had gorgeous eyes and a curvy figure, and she was emphatically chewing on a wad of gum as she shot daggers at Casey. The way she had her arms crossed and hip cocked out said, Don’t screw with me, buster. Her scent and posture told me she didn’t like Casey, not one bit. I was pretty used to that reaction at this point.
I held out my palm. “I’m Savannah Caine.”
The woman flashed one last deadly glare at my cousin, then gave me a warm smile as she shook my outstretched hand. “Agent Harlow Blake. Special Investigations for the Order.”
Casey put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t tell her anything. We don’t have to talk to these people.”
I used my hip to maneuver him back inside and gave him a brusque shove. “You don’t have to talk to these people because they want to talk to me. Now buzz off. I’ve got this.”
After making sure he’d truly withdrawn into the kitchen, I turned back to the woman. She was poised and confident in a way I wished I could be. Her scent told me she wasn’t a shifter, but I couldn’t place what she was. Her magic tasted like honeysuckle, felt like brushing your fingers over soft grass, and smelled like warm vanilla.
“How can I help?” I asked.
“We got a report that a gang of bikers tried to force your vehicle off the road last night.”
My blood froze, and I inadvertently glanced at my Gran Fury. The bumper was still dragging on the ground, and I spied a bullet hole next to the spare tire. There was no plausible way to deny it, even if I wanted to.
“Where did you hear about this?”