Page 3 of The Tracker's Revenge
This was a time to grieve, not to drive around town on errands. But there would be no grieving in the traditional sense, anyway.
There would be no service for Damien, no funeral. It had been the mage’s wishes, Eric informed us. The mage had been so old, he’d had no family, except for his daughter, who turned out to be estranged from him. I’d found this out yesterday when, grasping at straws, I’d pleaded with Eric that we should call her, tell her Damien was dead, ask her what we should do about a funeral, but Eric insisted, “She won’t care, Toni.”
“But—”
“She hated Damien. They hadn’t talked in years. He was hoping the cure would patch things up between them.”
“Oh no.” That bit of news had broken my heart. Damien had worked so hard to create that cure for her. And, in the end, he’d died making sure it was safe and extricating a promise from me to make sure I delivered it to her. Life wasn’t fair. Not one bit. It made me angry at Liliana, made me want to deny her salvation. But I’d given Damien my word, and even if I hadn’t, I would never betray a man’s dying wish.
Going to see her wouldn’t be fun, but at least I was looking forward to the first half of the day. I couldn’t wait to deliver Damien’s elixir to Aaron Blackridge’s boyfriend. He would be so happy, and I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about ruining his life anymore. I’d paired him up with a terminally ill vampire—not exactly the kind of thing my customers signed up for.
And maybe, just maybe, after that deed, our agency’s reputation wouldn’t be ruined. I didn’t know if Aaron had told people about what had happened, or how many of his friends had simply noticed, but I was still afraid of how that might hurt our business. If rumors spread, it could be disastrous. Rosalina and I might never get a customer again, at least not the high-profile ones we’d hoped for.
With a deep breath, I ushered those thoughts out of my mind. There was no point worrying about it. Only time would tell, and all we could do was hope for the best.
Finishing my coffee, I walked to the sink, washed the cup, and placed it on the stainless steel drying rack. “I need to swing by my place.”
“What for?” Eric shouldered his way to the sink and washed his cup.
“Cupid, I have to feed him.”
“Cupid? Who the hell is that? Your dog? Don’t you have a neighbor that can do that? We don’t have time for that.”
“No, not a dog. My betta fish. And no, I don’t know any of my neighbors yet. I just moved in.”
Eric narrowed his blue eyes at me. “A betta fish? That’s your pet?”
I nodded, holding my chin high. I wasn’t going to let him talk smack about Cupid. He was a good pet. He never complained and had the prettiest, most-wavy, colorful fins. “What? You have something against fish?”
“Not as long as they’re fried.”
“You don’t fry betta fish, you monster!”
His expression tightened. Oops, it seemed our banter had gone too far. I shouldn’t have called him the “M” word.
Many considered Eric Cross a monster, many who feared him and never forgot the rumors that he’d massacred an entire pack to avenge his wife’s and daughter’s deaths. I still didn’t know if the rumors were true. He never talked about his past, wasn’t into sharing his feelings and opening up. On the contrary, whenever anyone asked things he didn’t want to answer, he closed up tighter than a vacuum-sealed mason jar. Lately, he’d seemed to loosen up a bit, bestowing rare smiles on us and even one or two full-bellied laughs, but Damien’s death seemed to have destroyed whatever lightheartedness he’d regained. Using the wordmonster,even jokingly, was a dumb move.
His face pinched, he leaned forward and snapped his teeth as if chomping on a small fried betta. “I guess not. They would hardly make a worthy snack. In either case, we don’t need to take unnecessary risks such asfeeding your fish. You’ve already insisted on delivering the cure today, even when I think we should wait until after we meet with the Pack Rule. Bernadetta and her people are watching us. I’m sure of it. She and Stephen want their hybrid army, and they won’t hesitate to kill us to get the dagger back.”
“Wehaveto deliver the cure. One more day could mean the difference between life and death for Josh and Liliana.”
“Which is why I agreed to go, but feeding your fish is out of the question.”
“He’ll die.”
“He won’t die,” he said in a tired tone. “Bettas can go for up to fourteen days without food.”
“You just made that up.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. That’s too specific. Besides, how would you know?”
He sighed. “I’ve dealt with betta fish before. My daughter had one.” His gaze fell to the floor, becoming blank as he got lost in the memory.
I blinked, taken aback by the hurt that flashed across his features. I tried to think of something to say but I was struck mute.
“Once, she forgot to feed him for over a week, forgot he even existed,” he said with a chuckle. “She’d been too excited over Christmas break, and it slipped her mind. We were at the table, eating dinner when she jumped up and screamed as if she’d seen a ghost.”
