Page 6 of Roguefinder

With another covert look at the cabbie, I smiled at Caleb and mouthed, “It shouldn’t.” Maybe “willingness to murder” wasn’t the most romantic sentiment in the world, but my wolf didn’t care about social norms.

The cabbie slowed, pulling to the curb where I’d directed him. Caleb and I exited, and the driver eased back into traffic. The rain had slowed to something finer than a drizzle, and mist hung in the chilly air. The Thames snaked its way through the city at our backs, its black surface sparkling with light from the buildings.

Caleb gazed around the jumble of Victorian warehouses and sleek high rises. “Which one is Moray Tower?”

“None of them,” I said, gesturing him forward. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”

“Seriously?”

I nodded as he fell into step beside me. “I don’t want any nosy humans connecting us to Sterling. I also don’t like approaching a building without walking the final stretch. If there’s an ambush waiting, I’d rather spot it before it spots me.”

He shot me a quick grin. “You can take the soldier out of the Army…”

The twinkle in his eyes sent heat crawling over my nape. “I guess I never thought of it that way. But you might have a point.”

He ducked his head, his smile in place. Mist clung to his eyelashes, turning them spiky. Amber light from the street lamps made the freckles on the bridge of his nose look like gold dust. He would have laughed at me if he knew my thoughts. Rolled his eyes and accused me of writing bad poetry. But he would have blushed, that telltale pink stain spreading over his cheeks.

Caleb needed to be reminded he was loved. He needed to know I’d mapped those freckles, tracing the constellations on his skin while he slept. He needed someone willing to embarrass themselves over him. And I was so game.

“What does Moray Corporation actually do?” he asked now, his breath forming a hazy cloud.

“Officially? Finance. They loan capital to other businesses who use it to acquire more businesses. Unofficially, they hoard power by perfecting their spells. For the right price, they’ll create them for just about anyone. But the price is always astronomical.” I squinted ahead. “Nearly there.”

Caleb followed my gaze, recognition in his eyes as he spotted the glass tower with “Moray” at the top. The building loomed over its neighbors, its windows reflecting the Thames and the city lights beyond.

A sharp caw made me pause and turn. A handful of carrion crows picked at a patch of waterlogged grass lined with empty park benches.

“Everything okay?” Caleb asked.

I nodded and motioned him forward. “Yeah. Let’s keep moving.”

Lightning split the sky, turning the wet streets white. Thunder boomed on its heels. A few people across the street flinched, and a woman near a crosswalk grabbed her companion’s arm with a high-pitched yelp.

Caleb looked at her, then at me. “Why is everyone so freaked out? It’s just thunder.”

“England doesn’t get severe thunderstorms the way we do in the States. Most people here aren’t used to it.”

He eyed the sky, where storm clouds were bloated shadows against the darkness. “They’d lose their shit over a tornado.”

“Probably,” I said, memories stirring. “I hated herding the cows into the barn when the weather got bad.”

Caleb gave me a curious look. “You mean when you were a kid?”

“Yes.”

The curiosity in his eyes deepened. He knew the broad strokes: the farm, my Dutch parents, the war. He knew my folks had died without knowing I was gay or a werewolf. He knew about Philippe finding me dying in a trench and turning me, and he knew why: Philippe had been searching for someone impossible to find, and I hadn’t measured up. But Caleb didn’t know the smaller things. A century of living produced far more unremarkable details than remarkable ones, and most of mine weren’t worth the breath it would take to share them.

“The cows don’t head for the barn on their own?”

Caleb’s question jerked my attention back to him. I cleared my throat. “No. Well, not usually. Most of them just turn their backs to the wind.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he bumped his shoulder against mine. “I bet you were a good farmer.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Hardly.”

He shot me a look from under his lashes. “You were,” he insisted, and he turned his gaze forward. “You’re good at wrangling stubborn, stupid things.”

My breath caught. Because we weren’t talking about cows anymore. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain picked up, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop. Before he could question it, I palmed his nape and smashed my mouth to his.