Dodge picked his cigar back up. “I should let her go. If I was a good guy, I wouldn’t tell her about the mate stuff. I’d keep her safe until the shit with Bridger is resolved, and I’d let her go back to her normal life. Keep an eye out for her for the rest of my life, make sure she’s okay. Maybe that’s the best I can do for her.”
The wolfman growled and tensed, and his attention went to the cellar stairs. Dodge glanced over and started scowling as Todd poked his head in. “What?”
The second-in-command gave him a hard look. “Watch your tone, wolf. I’ll kick your ass across the lawn if I need to.”
Dodge grunted as he poured more whiskey, and waited for Todd to go on. The guy couldn’t keep his mouth shut for even a second, not when he thought he had something important to say.
Todd didn’t disappoint; he went on almost immediately, nodding toward the house. “Detective wants to talk to you. How drunk are you?”
“Not nearly drunk enough to talk to a cop and still be civil,” Dodge said.
“For fuck’s sake...” Todd pinched the bridge of his nose, then pointed at the spot next to him at the top of the stairs. “Go talk to her. The faster she gets what she needs to start investigating, the faster the cops will be able to deal with Bridger and keep Percy safe.”
Not that Dodge would have minded protecting Persephone for the rest of his life.
He shoved to his feet and knocked the coal off his cigar, putting it away for later. He raised the glass to toast Silas and said, “Thanks for listening, mate,” before draining the rest of the drink and trudging up the stairs to the kitchen.
The detective stood in the kitchen, studying a pot of coffee that brewed on the counter. Dodge folded his arms over his chest and ignored Todd lingering in the doorway, no doubt to make sure Dodge stayed on his best behavior.
O’Brien didn’t look away from the coffee. “Your girl is terrified.”
A growl escaped before Dodge could bite it back. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing, boyo. She can’t get through talking about what happened with the body choppers on her own. Normally I interview witnesses separately, so they don’t influence each other. I planned to talk to you after her and see whether you remembered anything useful, but since Persephone is falling apart, I figured you might have some ideas on how to keep her focused until we get through this.” O’Brien frowned at him, something fierce and ancient in her eyes. “You’re connected to her in some way; I can see the thread that tangles you together. Maybe your presence will steady her enough to provide the statement.”
Dodge tensed. He could absolutely steady Persephone. Steady and protect her. He nodded, one sharp jerk of his chin, and started toward the door to the living room. “Yes.”
“Let her tell the story,” O’Brien said. “Not a word until I ask you a question, understand? You’re just a prop so I can talk to her. Your interview comes later.”
He didn’t care if he was just a prop. It was enough, if it meant being close to Persephone when she struggled with telling her story. He nodded to the detective and muttered, “I’ll be in the living room with her whenever you’re done fucking around in here.”
The detective scowled but seemed more interested in getting coffee, so Dodge shoved through the door and searched for Persephone. She’d curled up in the corner of the loveseat, practically folded into the smallest ball possible, and rested her forehead against her knees, hiding her face. He took a deep breath and shoved down all the anger and rage he felt for her being so uncomfortable and sad. He gentled everything about himself before he approached. She needed soft and careful and quiet and gentle. She needed her mate to care for her, even if she didn’t realize what that meant.
He cleared his throat and murmured, “You doing okay, Lawson?”
She took a deep breath and looked up. The blaze of relief in her gaze nearly knocked him flat. She wanted him there, she didn’t look afraid of him or disgusted by him. Persephone shook her head in the negative, though, and whispered, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can,” Dodge said. He moved to sit on the loveseat next to her and carefully draped his arm along the back, giving her the opportunity to snuggle closer if she wanted to. He caught up the blanket on the ledge behind the loveseat and draped it over Persephone. Maybe a nest would make her feel better. “I know you can. You’re strong and brave and you’ve got this.”
“I don’t feel strong or brave,” she said, voice wobbling.
“Girl, you’ve had more shocks in forty-eight hours than most folks get in forty-eight years, and you’re still up and moving. You’re ready to fight for yourself. That’s strength and courage. I would know.”
Persephone leaned against his side, her head resting against his bicep. She held the blanket closer and stared at the door where O’Brien would reappear. “I’m glad you’re so certain, because I could use some of the confidence.”
“I have enough for both of us,” he said. Dodge couldn’t help it; he bent his head to kiss hers, and held her close against him. The awful tension of being away from her melted away. He could finally breathe.
He was in so much goddamned trouble.
Chapter 21
Percy
Iwas doing my best to disappear into the couch cushions as O’Brien went to the kitchen to get coffee. Eventually the rise and fall of voices clued me in to someone else being in there with her, maybe arguing with the detective. I tried to psych myself up for what would come next: reliving the awful moments of sneaking into the kitchen and seeing the blood, hearing the bone saws...
I shuddered and hunkered down, trying to push those thoughts aside. I couldn’t let them haunt me or take over my mind. Surely there had to be a flow-chart or wiring diagram to explain how to work through traumatic memories. Someone must have come up with a process or checklist. Maybe there was a laptop somewhere in the house I could use for research. Almost anything could be solved with a bit of studying and concentration.
Then a quiet voice interrupted my spiral into disorientation, and a weight immediately lifted off my shoulders: Dodge. He moved slowly and carefully to sit next to me, telegraphing every move, and treated me like I was fine china teetering on the edge of a shelf. He brought so much relief that I almost couldn’t contain my emotions. It would have been embarrassing as hell to start sobbing into his shoulder just because I was happy he came back and I could lean on him for the awful parts.
