Green-Eyed Envy Read Free Page A

known—and he very well knew I had.
    Instead of ’fessing up, I wrapped my arms around his body and nudged him next to me on the couch. His amber eyes darkened when I drew him in for a long kiss. Which led to a make-out session I would have given an 8.0 on the Richter scale. Scott had magic hands, hands that raised white-hot lines of heat wherever they touched bare skin. When his fingers snaked down to tug on my satin panties, however, I forced myself to scoot back a few inches. I was not above smooching him into a better mood; but I needed to get business out of the way before we moved on to pleasure. More’s the pity, as my screaming hormones raged at me.
    Scott’s nostrils flared, no doubt scenting the change in my pheromones, or however that Hound crap worked. “Something wrong, baby?”
    “No, no. Not between us. But you remember those two Cat vics I was telling you about the other day?”
    He nodded. “Yeah. Bizarre as hell, with how damned hard they are to kill. Well, permanently kill.”
    My turn to nod. “Exactly. We found victim numero tres earlier today.”
    His eyes widened. “No shit?”
    “No shit. And there’s no doubt that all three are related.”
    “Meaning . . . ”
    “Meaning that Boston has its first arcane serial killer prowling the streets. Or alleys, I should say, since that’s where we keep finding the bodies.”
    He frowned. “Harp’s gonna have a fit when she hears this.”
    A few months ago, hearing him mention his former lover (okay, so a one-night stand didn’t really warrant the term lover ) would have had me spitting with jealousy, but he’d spent the past weeks illustrating just how platonic their relationship had turned out to be—while ours was anything but. Even weirder, though, I’d actually started to like the hot-blooded Latina shape-shifting Cat. And before anyone can accuse me of stereotyping Latin Americans, the hot-blooded part comes mostly from the whole Cat thing. That gutsy, take-no-prisoners personality along with her sharp instincts, wicked intelligence, and drive to succeed had recently propelled her to join me in the record books: I was the first official arcane member of the Boston PD (of any PD), she the first arcane Special Agent in the FBI. Her part in bringing down my bitch-of-a-mentor’s plot to re-fan the flames of war between arcanes and mortals had not gone unrewarded. Although, if you asked me, losing the higher pay rate and lower stress level of an hourly consultant wasn’t really a reward.
    Okay, so maybe I hadn’t shaken off every ounce of feminine jealousy. Sue me.
    I cleared my throat before launching into the segue I’d rehearsed while nursing the whiskey. “You know that mortal saying Cat got your tongue ? ”
    His eyes narrowed slightly, just enough that I could tell he suspected where this might be going. “Yeah. One of my da’s favorites.” His mortal father, Morgan—100 percent Irish born and bred—had immigrated to Boston with his older brothers after their parents left their nest egg as an untimely inheritance. He’d served on the mortal side during the start of the Great War decades earlier—ironic, since Scott’s mother, Liana, had fought on the arcane side.
    “Seems the killer flipped that saying around on the vic. Had his tongue ripped out and replaced with . . . ” I let my voice trail off and watched for Scott’s reaction.
    He didn’t disappoint me, either; he clenched his fist, gritted his teeth, and ground out, “Catnip.” No question mark at the end of that most-distinctly- not -a-guess.
    Even though I’d expected it, hearing him so easily fill in the blank on that sentence made my heart sink. Before today, I wouldn’t have had the first clue what word would have best completed it. And not to brag, but that meant that the vast majority of other arcanes wouldn’t have, either. As a Fury, it was my job to know juicy little tidbits about all magical races to help protect them or—like now—use against them