He kissed me before I could answer, a slow and wonderful kiss, his hands sliding up my back, warming my chilled skin, and I lifted my hands to his hair, wrapping my fingers in it and kissing him back and—

My phone rang. Ricky let out a growl, and I chuckled.

“It’s no one on my ring-tone list,” I said. “Therefore I can safely ignore it.”

I kissed him again, but before I closed my eyes, his gaze shifted toward my phone on the nightstand. I sighed and pulled back.

“You want me to answer?” I said.

“I think that the fact an unknown number is calling at three in the morning might not be something to ignore.”

I reached for the phone, but he beat me to it, picking it up and saying, “May I? If it’s nothing, I’d like to give them proper hell.”

I smiled. “Go for it.”

He answered with a grunted, “Hello,” devoid of his usual charm. He held the phone far enough from his ear for me to hear.

“Wh-who is this?” a young female voice asked.

“Ricky Gallagher.”

“Arawn,” the voice breathed, exhaling the name, and Ricky stiffened.

“It’s Ricky,” he said.

“I-I know. Sorry. Is Mat—Eden there?”

He said nothing.

“Olivia,” the voice said quickly. “She goes by Olivia now. I’m sorry. I’m just—I need to speak to her. Please. I know it’s late—early—but I really need—”

“Who is this?”

“I-I’m a friend—a client of Aunika. One of her girls. From the clinic.”

“If you know who I am, then you don’t need to beat around the bush. Liv has spent two days in the hospital because of Aunika and her ‘girls,’ and she’s recovering with some much-needed sleep.”

“Lamiae,” the girl blurted. “I’m one of the lamiae. I’m sorry. I’m just … I’m not accustomed to—”

“Get to the point.”

Every time he was curt with the girl, I had to resist reaching for the phone. Gwynn was right—I may know they’re fae, but I see teen girls, and right now I heard a lost girl in trouble.

“They call me Melanie,” she said.

“What matters to me is that it’s three in the morning, and if you so desperately need to speak to Liv, you’ll tell me what it’s about before I hang up.”

“Something’s wrong at the clinic. There’s—”

“Why are you there at this hour?”

“Looking for Aunika. One of the others saw a light after midnight. We thought Aunika might be back. But I can’t get in. There’s cold iron blocking the doors.”

“Isn’t there always?”

“Not the main doors. She just puts it on her office and her apartment because there are fae who’d like to hurt her.”

“Why?”

A soft hiss of frustration, reminding me what Melanie really was. “I’ll answer all your questions later, Arawn. Right now, something’s wrong. I can’t get past the doors and I … I smell blood.”

“All right. Thank you for the information.”

“Wait! You’re not—she’s not coming?”

“Whatever happened in there will wait until a decent hour.”

“But—”

“If you were so concerned about Aunika, maybe you should have returned the message Liv left for you this morning.”

“I—”

“If you want to speak to Liv, wait at the clinic. She’ll show. Eventually.”

He hung up, handed me the phone, and rolled out of bed. He didn’t ask if we were actually going to wait until morning. He didn’t need to.

“You make a very good hard-ass,” I said. “You know that.”

“I don’t get nearly enough practice, so I take advantage of every opportunity. Long-term job training.”

I smiled and grabbed my jeans as he tossed them my way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ricky stopped at the end of the clinic block and let the bike idle, as if he was surveying the playing field. Which he was, but this was also an unspoken opportunity for me to pick up any omens that shouted, “Thou shalt not proceed.”

I took off my helmet and looked around. It was a crisp October night. The full moon hung low in a star-filled sky.

Perfect night for a hunt.

I smiled as the thought came unbidden. Sadly, that wasn’t why we were out here. I was about to put my helmet on when I caught a flicker of movement to my left. I turned sharply. Ricky followed my gaze, squinting with his visor raised, but all I saw was shadowed darkness.

I tilted my head to listen. The idle of the Harley made that impossible. Ricky turned off the engine without any sign from me.

We both looked into the silent night. Then his chin shot up, and he turned. I followed his gaze but saw nothing.

“I thought I heard …” He frowned and then said, “A horse whinny. I thought I heard a horse whinny.”

Perfect night for a hunt.

But the Cŵn Annwn couldn’t ride here. There wasn’t a forest for miles. Ricky stayed tense, his sharp gaze cutting through the night, and when I leaned in to kiss the back of his neck, my lips brushed goose bumps.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

He said nothing. Just kept looking. Then I heard him inhale, and I caught the faintest whiff of horse.

With his gaze still on our surroundings, he reached back, took my hand, and moved it to my pocket. I pulled out the boar’s tusk. He felt it in my hand and nodded.