Page 16 of Savage Claim

Instead of leaving, Fane brushed his lips over my temple. “Don’t make a big deal over this.”

I nodded, unable to keep my thoughts in a straight line. Fane just admitted that this bond affected him as if we were mates.

This wasn’t a fated mate bond, but was our link evolving into something similar?

The rickety desk in the archives rattled as I slammed the book closed. I’d been here so long my ass had created a permanent imprint on the wooden chair. A frustrated huff burst out of my mouth as I pushed the pile of useless books away.

“Are you okay?”

I jumped at the feminine voice and turned to the young, petite blonde across the room, her warm brown gaze surveying me with a thinly veiled level of caution.

“Oh, sorry.” A headache bloomed in the center of my forehead after hours of aimlessly searching for info on my parents. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“I’m usually really quiet.” She laughed nervously and pushed her black-framed glasses up her nose. Since she was a shifter—bitten—she’d have perfect vision, so they must have been a fashion choice. “Need some help?”

My lips pursed as I debated on how much I could say. “I was just researching humans born from shifters in a specific year, but I can’t find much.”

“A lot of human babies born from shifters don’t survive. I’m not sure why.” She twisted a lock of golden hair from her bouncy ponytail. “Maybe try looking at deaths from that year.” The female shifter disappeared around a corner and returned with two worn leather-bound books, dropping them on the desk in front of me.

“I never would have thought of that.” Probably because I didn’t realize human kids had such a low survival rate.

A bright smile spread her glossy lips. “I’m Charla Campbell, by the way.”

“Tate.”

“I know. I’ve seen you around.” She grabbed the papers she’d been collecting before I interrupted her work with my mini-tantrum. “If you ever need a break from your hot, super-scary mate, come hang out. You can find my number in the directory downstairs.”

My mouth opened and closed, unable to form words. Maddie was the last person who offered to be my friend so easily, and it didn’t end so well for her. “Oh, um, sure.” I forced a smile. “That would be great.”

“Cool.” She waved and flounced out of the archives, her ponytail swaying.

Most of my so-called friends either ended up dead or hated me now, so hanging out with Charla would only lead to disaster.

After flipping through the books she brought, I found a few newborns—or slightly older—deaths that year and noted them. What was next? Look for information on the parents?

I needed to go to detective school for this shit.

As I continued to study the books, I came across an entry for Barric’s son. Anton Thames Hartwell would have been my age. Actually, we were only a few weeks apart—if my birthday was correct. Notes in small, sharp handwriting were scrawled along the bottom of the page.

There was no reason Anton should have died. Was this foul play?

Did someone hurt Barric’s son and wife, maybe an enemy of his? You’d think a child born from a head alpha would possess some seriously badass genes, so how did he simply stop breathing? Shifters didn’t get sick, so what caused Anton’s death? Even Tamara’s death could have been suspicious. Women died in childbirth, but there had to be serious complications for that to happen to a shifter.

Had Barric gone nuts after they died, wondering what really happened?

Tingles rippled across my scalp as the faint lines of the tree symbol Valeria showed me on Barric’s painting appeared in the middle of the page, drawn over the writing. What the hell did it mean?

The door opened, and a golden-brown head of hair appeared in the crack. “Roomie!” Logan jogged toward me like a happy golden retriever. “I missed you.”

“Hey, Logan, I mi?—”

He wrapped me in a bear hug and lifted me off the chair, swinging my feet in the air. “If Fane wasn’t obsessed with you, I’d beg you to marry me.”

I snorted. “Fane obsessed with me?”

The high demon set me down, grinning. “Don’t deny it. That beast has a one-track mind focused on you, spell or not.”

“On killing me,” I muttered.

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