Page 28 of Roguefinder

“It has all my playlists on it.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“My playlists are specifically curated.”

“Caleb.”

Cursing softly, he pulled out the phone and handed it over. “I was in the middle of a really good Pardon My Take episode.”

I must have looked as clueless as I felt.

“It’s a sports podcast.”

Stopping, I swung my backpack off my shoulders and slipped the phone into it. “I’m sorry, baby. I should have thought of it before we left London.” Except I hadn’t been thinking about phones. I’d been thinking about him, warm and heavy in my arms while the storm lashed the windows. “We can’t make ourselves invisible, but we don’t have to make anyone’s job easier. I can ward us if we need to disappear quickly. I can’t ward us and a phone.”

He exhaled noisily. “Well, there go my Netflix and chill plans.” He raised his eyebrows. “Guess we’ll just have to chill.”

Heat streaked to inconvenient places. “You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

A grin stole over his features. “You’ve been on the internet again.”

Maybe one day I’d get sick of him pretending I was too old and decrepit to understand technology or modern slang. But he enjoyed the forbidden nature of our age gap as much as I did so, yeah, probably not.

I palmed his shoulder and turned him firmly in the direction of the house. “Come on, smartass.”

His smile lingered as he matched my pace, one big hand steering his bag over the cobblestones. “You still owe me coffee.”

Damn. I’d forgotten it in the hassle of speaking to Stefanos. And the shop I remembered was several streets away. “I said I knew a better place. I didn’t specify when I’d take you there.”

He slowed, displeasure rolling off him. “Jesse.”

“Caleb.”

“I don’t think you realize how much of a menace I can be when I’m deprived of caffeine.”

Amusement and desire tangled in my chest—a combination of emotions I’d grown used to since we mated. I leaned into him. “When we get to the house, I’ll make you forget all about coffee.”

His eyes lightened several shades. “Promise?” he asked, his voice as husky as it ever got.

“It’s a guaran—” I froze as a scent hit my lungs. It was so faint that I might have missed it if I hadn’t been scanning habitually, my wolfseeker’s instincts humming in my head like bass beneath a melody.

But it was there, the stench of fruit left in the summer heat until it fermented past wine and into something mad and cloying.

And I knew the smell. I’d tracked it to New York, where Ulfrik had carried it. I’d burned and scattered it.

Now it was in Rome.

“Jesse?” Caleb prompted, his blue eyes suddenly serious. “What is it?”

I turned in a slow circle, searching for a lead. The white-haired woman and her dog had rounded a corner. The delivery van was gone. A cat watched us from a doorstep with typical feline indifference. The men in front of the tabacchi continued arguing across their chessboard.

The street was otherwise still.

Suddenly, the scent strengthened. Deep in my mind, my wolf bared its teeth. I surged forward.

“Rogue.”

Chapter