Page 46 of Bonds of Pain
“And now you’ve been tasked with leading the investigation,” Logan flatly states, though the question hanging in the air between them is obviously implied.
Thane’s smile is faint. “Though I do not specialize in forensic science, the king thought my expertise would be useful in evaluating the physical evidence collected from where Ander’s body was found. And my skills for investigating medical mysteries should translate well to a criminal one.”
“I see.” Logan steeples his fingers in front of him on the table, back straight as he stares down at the smaller man. “I’ve been told you have questions for me.”
I watch the back-and-forth between Logan and Thane like a tennis match, my initial terror giving way to confusion, then suspicion. The doctor’s questions are precise, clinical. He asks about Ander’s relationship with Logan, their last interactions, Logan’s whereabouts on the night of the murder.
Logan’s responses grow increasingly terse, each answer shorter than the last. His knee presses against mine under the table, the movement jittery and out of character for a man who is usually in perfect physical control. Any emotions through the bond are hazy and difficult to identify, but I feel something I’ve never quite felt from him before.
Unease.
“Prince Ander was found with significant trauma to his skull and neck,” Thane says, adjusting his glasses. “The injuries suggest a struggle with someone of considerable strength.”
Logan’s jaw imperceptibly tightens. “That sounds consistent with murder. Must be those keen investigative skills of yours at work.”
Thane’s small form might be unassuming, harmless, but his eyes gleam with a predatory light. “The timeline places Ander’s death between midnight and two on the morning of October 12th. Are you able to provide an alibi for that time?”
“I was in my quarters,” Logan says flatly. “As is typical for the middle of the night.”
Cillian shifts his weight slightly behind me.
“Alone?” Thane presses.
“With my pack.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Thane makes a note in his small leather-bound book. “And can anyone outside your pack corroborate your whereabouts?”
“No.” Logan’s voice is ice. “We value our privacy.”
Another note. “I see.”
Fear courses through me, too strong to be solely my own. The anxiety spikes so high that I have to grip the edges of the table to steady a sudden urge to flee from the room.
My gaze flies to Cillian, who stares at the Inquisitor as if the man has suddenly grown a second head. He catches me looking at him, and a mental wall slams down between us, leaving only a cold vacuum behind where all that emotion had been. But not before I drank deep of that deep, dark pool, long enough to recognize the precise feeling.
Pure terror.
And suddenly, I understand.
The strange tension that has been between all of them from the moment I arrived. Logan’s determination to see himself named as heir. Cillian’s fear that rides so high, I can still taste it at the back of my throat.
And the most obvious clue of all—the existence of the bond between Logan and Cillian that neither would have chosen outside of an extreme catalyst.
Logan killed his brother.
I might not know the details, how it happened or the specific circumstances that triggered the deadly encounter, but I have absolutely no doubts. Maybe Ander discovered the secret of Cillian’s designation and threatened to turn him into Oversight. Maybe it was all just a tragic accident that the whole pack is now trying to hide.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter.
This knowledge is more than enough to take them all down.
I just have to figure out how to use it.
After the interview is over, our walk back to the apartment is tense. No one speaks, but the air practically vibrates with tension. The Inquisitor’s pointed questions have shaken something loose in all of them. I can feel it.
