Poison Fruit (2 page)

“I brought cinnamon rolls,” he offered, holding out a bag when I opened the door. Mrs. Browne’s cinnamon rolls were legendary. All her baked goods were. No one, human or eldritch, can bake a better brownie.

“Thanks.” I took the bag. “Come on in.”

I put the cinnamon rolls on a plate while Cody hovered in the living room of my apartment, which seemed smaller with him in it.

“Have a seat.” I set the plate with the cinnamon rolls on the coffee table in front of my futon couch.

“Daise . . .” Cody stayed on his feet. His hands opened and closed in a gesture of frustration. “I’m sorry. This is awkward.”

“Yeah.” I blew out a breath. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

He sat on the futon, and I took a seat on the adjacent armchair. The cinnamon rolls sat untouched. Mogwai, the big calico tomcat who had more or less adopted me, peered warily around the door to my bedroom.

“How have you been?” Cody asked. “Since . . . ?” He let the sentence die.

“Okay,” I said. “You?”

“Okay.”

See, here’s the thing. I’ll spare the details, but the gist of the matter
is that if Cody and I hadn’t hooked up that first time—which was, by
the way, completely spontaneous and unexpected—it’s possible that we would have found the Tall Man’s stolen remains; or at least Cody, with his werewolf-keen olfactory sense, would have. There’s absolutely, positively no way we could have known it at the time, but the fact is that while we were lolling in the afterglow of earth-shattering sex, a thunderstorm washed away a scent trail we would have stumbled across in the course of duty, which would have meant no Halloween debacle, no axe-wielding zombie skeleton. All in all, a much better outcome.

I know Cody didn’t blame me, but I knew he blamed himself for it, which made a situation that was already awkward even worse. And it frustrated me, because it gave him an excuse to avoid me.

Which is why I’d put a lot of thought into the matter while I was mooning over life’s subtle beauties.

“It probably wouldn’t have mattered, you know,” I said to Cody. He looked blankly at me. “You and me? Delaying the investigation?” I shook my head. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Cody. We spent a couple of hours canvassing the neighborhood around the cemetery that morning. Either way, the thunderstorm would have passed through long before we went to Brannigan’s house. That scent trail would have been gone.”

“Yeah.” Cody ran a hand through his bronze-colored hair. “I figured that out after I had a chance to cool down. We still should have started investigating right away and I’m not letting myself off the hook for it, but . . .” He shrugged. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Oh.

“Why?” I asked softly, regarding him. He wore a worn flannel shirt and faded jeans, and it looked good on him. Unlike a lot of men, Cody Fairfax could pull off backwoods chic. “Are you here to give me the unsuitable-mate speech, Cody? Because I’ve already heard it.”

A corner of his mouth twitched wryly, but there was regret in his topaz eyes. “Not the long version.”

I said nothing.

Cody glanced around the living room, his gaze lighting on the small
steel buckler leaning against my bookcase. “What the hell do you have a shield for, Daisy? Are you going to a Renaissance fair?”

“No,” I said. “It’s for practicing. It helps me visualize a mental shield.”

While I don’t have any special powers per se, it turns out that thanks to my outsize emotions, I do have an abundance of what Stefan Ludovic—hot ghoul, six-hundred-year-old immortal Bohemian knight, and the issue
I
was actively avoiding—informed me the ancient Greeks called pneuma, or the breath of life, and George Lucas called the Force, or midi-chlorians. Just kidding on that last part. I don’t think Stefan’s seen
Star Wars
, although he has surprised me before. At any rate, under his tutelage, I’ve learned to channel that energy into a mental shield, which is handy for warding off things like the emotion-draining ability of ghouls—more politely known as the Outcast—and vampiric hypnosis.

It can also be used as a weapon, which Stefan warned me was very, very dangerous, and that I should not attempt it before he gauged me ready. Given that I nearly got myself killed doing that very thing, I’d say he was right.

Anyway.

“Did Ludovic give that to you?” Cody asked me, an edge to his tone. His nostrils flared slightly, and there was a glint of phosphorescent green in his eyes. In the bedroom doorway, Mogwai hissed and bristled.

“Yeah,” I said. “He did.” My heart ached a little. “Goddammit, Cody! We’ve been over this before, too. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t tell me I’m an unsuitable mate, then act jealous. It’s not fair.”

“I know, I know!” Cody took a deep breath and wrestled himself under control. “That’s why I’m here.”

I swallowed. “Is this the long version of the speech?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is. You know I haven’t been in a relationship since Caroline died—”

“You’ve dated a ton of women!” Not exactly a considerate response under the circumstances since he’d just referenced his Canadian werewolf girlfriend who was tragically killed five years ago, but it was true.

“Human women,” he said. “They don’t count.”

Being half human myself, I couldn’t help feeling a surge of
indignation. My tail lashed, and a few knickknacks on my bookshelves rattled in protest. “I’m sure it would warm their hearts to hear it.”

Cody sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. But it’s not the same, and you know it.”

Unfortunately, I did. The intensity of what I’d experienced with Cody was unlike anything else I’d ever known.

He shifted on the futon. “That’s why I never dated anyone for longer than a month. I never let it get serious. I never, ever misled anyone.”

“I never said you misled me,” I pointed out. “And you also never dated anyone longer than a month because they might start noticing a conspicuous pattern of absence around the full moon.”

“True.” Cody gave me the ghost of a smile. “But you . . .”

I waited. “What?”

His smile was gone. “You’re getting under my skin, Daise,” he said simply. “I wasn’t expecting it, but you surprised me.”

Oh, crap. My heart gave another painful hitch. “But.”

“But I have a duty to my clan.” Cody leaned forward and clasped his hands loosely between his spread knees. “I know it doesn’t seem fair, but it’s not just one of those arbitrary eldritch protocols. The entire survival of our species depends on our mating and breeding with our own kind.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But . . .” I didn’t have a “but.” There really wasn’t anything to say.

“My family’s given me a lot of leeway since Caroline’s death,” Cody said. “But at twenty-six, it’s time I started thinking about settling down with a suitable mate.”

“Are you sure?” I was just stalling now. “Twenty-six is still young.”

“Not when you run a higher than average risk of being shot by a hunter or a game warden,” he murmured.

That was how his Canadian werewolf girlfriend had died. “But . . .”

Cody’s gaze was candid and human. “But it’s not going to happen if we go any further with this, Pixy Stix.”

Despite everything, I made a face at the nickname. “Oh, gah!”

“See?” His lips curved into a rueful smile. “That’s one of the ways I know I’m getting in too deep. I find myself making up excuses to tease you.”

“Yeah, if we were six and eight again, you’d be pulling my pigtails on the playground at recess,” I muttered.

“Not at the risk of setting off your temper,” he said. “That old boiler at East Pemkowet Elementary was awfully touchy.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” I pleaded.

“Sorry.” Cody rubbed his hands over his face. “I really am, Daise. But I have to try to do the right thing.”

“So . . . what?” I asked him. “Does the Fairfax clan have someone in mind? Are you going to settle down with your second cousin?”

“No.” He dropped his hands to his knees. “We’re careful about bloodlines. With a relatively small gene pool, we have to be. Even wolves in the wild do their best to avoid intrafamilial breeding.” He hesitated. “Sometime in the next couple of months, the Fairfax clan will host a mixer.”

“A mixer?” I echoed.

“Yeah.” To his credit, Cody didn’t look happy about it. In fact, he looked fairly miserable.

“Okay.” I stood up. “Well, thanks for telling me.”

Cody stood, too. “Daisy . . .”

“What?” I spread my arms. “It is what it is, Cody. Like I said, you never misled me. I knew what you are.”

“I wish I could share it with you, Daisy,” he said to me. “All of it.” A distant, slightly dreamy expression crossed his face. “The call of the full moon rising, all silvery and bright in the night sky, tugging at muscle and sinew and bone. The incredible release of shifting, the incredible freedom of casting off your humanity and hunting with your packmates; howling to each other, howling back at the moon, howling for the sake of knowing you’re alive. The thrill of the chase and the glory of the kill, the scent of your prey’s fear in your nostrils and the taste of blood in your mouth. I wish I could. Because you’d love it, Daise. You’d fucking
love
it. But I can’t.”

“I know.” Well, I didn’t know about the whole
taste-of-blood-in-your-mouth thing, but I knew what Cody meant. I’d love it if I were a werewolf, but I wasn’t and I never would be, which meant there was an intrinsic part of his life that I could never, ever share with him.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“So I guess . . .” Cody cleared his throat. “That’s all I had to say. I’m sorry, Daisy. I really am.”

I nodded. “Are you going to be okay if we have to work together again?”

“Are you?”

“Sure,” I said. “It’s my job. I’ve been doing it all along.”

He nodded, too, and held out his hand. “Anytime, partner.”

I gave him a look. “Jesus, Cody! A handshake? Really?”

Cody grabbed my hand and yanked me in for a hug, hard and fast enough that I stumbled into the embrace. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his lean, muscled strength, my fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. I inhaled his scent of pine needles, musk, and a trace of Ralph Lauren’s Polo
mixed with laundry detergent from his shirt. He pressed his cheek against my hair, then let me go.

“Take care, Daise,” he murmured.

I blinked back tears. “You, too.”

On that note, Cody made his exit. I waited until the sound of his footsteps had receded to let my tears fall. If he’d just stuck with the unsuitable-mate speech, it would have been easier. Somehow, the fact that he’d admitted to developing feelings for me made it worse. Mogwai wound around my ankles and purred, trying to console me.

“Dammit, Mog,” I whispered. “It’s not
fair
.”

He purred louder in agreement.

I got up and put Billie Holiday on the stereo to sing about heartache, then ate one of the cinnamon rolls. Neither did a whole lot to make me feel better, so I grabbed my phone and called my friend Jen.

“Hey,” I said when she answered. “Any chance you’re available to come over and get epically drunk with me?”

Two

E
veryone should be lucky enough to have a BFF. Jennifer Cassopolis has been mine since we were in high school. We knew each other’s histories and secrets, hopes and fears and dreams. When you need to get good and drunk, that’s the kind of person you want keeping pace with you.

“Okay, girlfriend,” she announced as I opened the door. “I’ve got a bottle of Cuervo, a bag of limes, and a carton of Breyers cookies and cream, just in case. So go get your saltshaker and—” She cocked her head at my stereo. “Oh, hell no!”

“What?”

Jen thrust a shopping bag at me. “Put the ice cream in the freezer and cut some limes. I’m putting on some music from this century.”

“Okay, okay!” I went into the kitchen. In the living room, the plaintive strains of Billie Holiday’s voice gave way to the stomp-and-clap cheerleading beats of Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl.” “Hey, that’s not our old high school playlist, is it?”

“Yeah. I plugged my phone into your stereo.” Jen came into the kitchen. “Remember when you and I’d have our own dance parties in your mom’s trailer?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Good times.”

“Uh-huh.” Jen hopped up to perch on the counter beside my cutting board. Her dark, lustrous eyes were shrewd. “So, what’s the damage, Daisy? Officer Down-low or the hot ghoul?”

I finished slicing a lime into wedges and fetched a pair of shot glasses from the cupboard. “Cody.”

“Oh, Officer Down-low!” Jen shook her head. “What now?”

I sighed. “Let’s move into the living room.”

Over the course of a couple of tequila shots, I laid out my tale of woe. Of course, Jen knew the background.

“Damn,” she said sympathetically when I’d finished. “I’m sorry, Daise. That’s harsh.”

I shrugged. “Like I said to Cody, it is what it is. I mean, it’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Jen licked the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand and shook a judicious amount of salt onto it. “He didn’t have to tell you that he was basically starting to fall for you. That just makes it harder, doesn’t it?”

I salted my own left hand. “I know, right? It totally does! Do you think he did it to make himself feel better? Or me?”

By the time we’d finished giving my conversation with Cody the sort of thorough analysis and dissection that it deserved, the level in the bottle of Cuervo had dropped noticeably, and both of us were feeling the effects. Not exactly drunk yet, but sober was definitely in the rearview mirror. On the stereo, Outkast was telling us to shake it like a Polaroid picture, and after one more tequila shot, it seemed obvious that the thing to do was order a pizza, dance around the living room, and flirt with the blushing delivery boy when the pizza arrived.

Okay, maybe we were more than a little drunk.

One medium sausage-and-mushroom pizza, two beers I’d found in my refrigerator, and at least another tequila shot later, we were
definitely
drunk.

“Okay, Daise.” Jen set down her empty shot glass with an emphatic thud. “What about the hot ghoul? Are we gonna talk about the hot ghoul?”