Page 57 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Then Roman stops walking. “Scarlet.”

I turn.

A white ribbon flutters beneath the far railing tied in a careful knot. Fresh.

My stomach drops.

Wes reaches it first, crouching near the dock supports while Roman photographs the scene beside him.

I move closer carefully.

Chalk marks stain the boards near the ribbon. They’re faint and half washed by afternoon rain. The symbols are old.

“What is it?” Wes asks.

I kneel beside him, close enough that heat rolls steadily from his body through the air between us. “Release markings,” I say softly. “Not complete ones but fragments.”

Roman looks up from the camera. “Meaning?”

I stare at the chalk lines and the ribbon. “Whoever’s doing this knows stuff from the old records, the real rituals people used to use.”

Wes straightens beside me, and his shoulder brushes mine. It doesn’t feel accidental. It feels like the purposeful claim of someone choosing to stay close.

My breath catches before I can stop it.

The look that passes between us is full of heat.

“Let’s finish up and take this back to the house. See if we can start to make some sense of all this,” Wes says.

The house. The way he said house implies a shared home. Despite what I’ve been telling myself, the idea of them belonging in my home feels more right than it should.

Chapter 14

Roman Osprey

Astorm breaks as we pull into Scarlet’s drive. Rain hits the swamp hard and fast, drumming against the SUV’s roof while Wes carries evidence boxes inside like he personally intends to arrest the weather. Inside, Scarlet disappears down the hallway to change before either of us can stop her from tracking marsh water through the house.

A minute later, old blues crackles from the record player. Vinyl static threads beneath the singer’s voice while rain pounds the windows.

I set the camera case on the kitchen table and glance toward Wes.

He drops a stack of folders on the counter with more force than necessary.

“She’s becoming comfortable with us,” I say.

“You say that like it’s reassuring.”

“I say it like we need to be careful what we do with it.”

In the bond, I feel the war waging between the alpha and the man.

The house smells different tonight. Scarlet’s sage, rain, and honey still live in the wood and soft furniture, but now cedar, cinnamon, and cardamom move through the rooms with it. Our scents have remained since last night, caught in the quilt on the couch and the jacket she left hanging across a kitchen chair.

My beta recognizes the mixture as pack. Home is too large a word. It still comes close.

Wes unpacks the evidence without looking at me: sample bags, photographs from the gathering path, the white ribbon, images of the muddy residue inside the museum display.

“What is bothering you?”