Cause Ωf Death (Femme Fatale Freakshow)

Chapter 6

A nother week passes before Leslie is able to head into San Francisco and back to Royal Tower with me. Due to the uncertainty of this contract, I’ve taken a leave of absence from my day job for the next month. While my boss wasn’t happy about it, I did helpfully point out that I was taking it as unpaid, instead of out of my paid time off. Honestly, with the potential payout from this job, I may end up walking away from the patisserie altogether if they’re going to get all snarky with me. It’s not like I’ll be left destitute, even without the help and financial support of my family.

Henley left his Bronco behind and instead flew back to Kentucky the day after Steve and my trip to the city, and as Steve is between jobs he decided to go along with him. Steve figures that he can help Henley pack up all of his shit while Hen deals with his discharge, and then he’ll hire a U-Haul and help him drive it back west. While Henley is an incredibly capable alpha, knowing that he’ll be on hand for my next heat—even if it’s a heavily suppressed one—has him on tenterhooks and stressed to the max. Steve feels that with him there to share the driving, not only will Henley be able to relax more than if he was alone, but that it will also be a two-day trip on their return instead of three. However, I wouldn’t put it past Henley to break it into three, as he’s not the type of person to push things past what is sensible or safe, not even to save a day of driving. All going well, the two of them should be back in the next day or so.

All going well? Fuck.

I’ve just challenged the universe.

I’m buckled into the passenger seat of Leslie’s Corvette, with the windows down and blowing through our hair as they zoom along the freeway, darting between other vehicles. Honestly, it’s a miracle they don’t have more speeding tickets, not with how they drive. They seem to follow the motto of “Drive it like you stole it,” even though Leslie has one of the cleanest records I’ve ever seen. I guess it helps in their day-to-day life as a black-market smuggler.

“Okay, as obviously there’s no rear seat for you to change in, you’ll need to ‘wisp out’ while still dressed. I’ll tuck your clothes away so they’re hidden, and then you can do your thing and anchor to me while we stroll about. There are a few places I want to poke around in, and I’m meeting up with Teddy, one of my contacts, a little later. If you want to slip off and check things out by yourself, I’ll need you to give me a signal.” Leslie glances over to me, a small smile playing across their ruby-stained lips.

Today, Leslie is “dressed down,” or at least in their mind they are. They’re in a pair of fitted black high-waisted trousers with dual button details running down both hips, paired with a paisley plum colored short-sleeved wrap-around peplum top. They’ve dyed their hair burgundy to match and have gone for a more “subdued” makeup palette to avoid attracting attention. I don’t know what the fuck Leslie’s thinking, though, because there’s nothing subdued about them in the slightest. It’s one of the things I love about them.

“How about I flutter through your hair, muss it up a little? It’s both a visual and sensory signal, especially if we’re inside. If I do that, then you find a place to settle in and wait for me to come back. I’ll tickle your neck again once I return.”

I stifle a giggle at the dour expression crossing Leslie’s face at my suggestion, knowing just how much they abhor looking anything but perfect. Especially when it comes to their hair.

“Fine,” Leslie bites out, “but don’t go fucking overboard. I don’t need to suddenly take on a windswept appearance or look as though I forgot to brush my hair this morning. I’ll smooth my hair over my left ear to indicate I understand, so perhaps limit your disturbance to that side of my head, hmmm?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I’ll more likely end up in gales of laughter, and I don’t want to push my luck. While Leslie’s power isn’t necessarily dangerous, having the ability to become imperceptible and forgettable even when standing directly in front of a person comes in handy in their line of work. They’re not like me, they’re unable to become insubstantial, nor is it true invisibility. In Leslie’s case, they’re somehow circumventing a person’s senses, compelling others to completely dismiss their presence. You might register that there’s a person standing there, but you have no inclination to pay them any notice. Your eyes slide right off them, and your brain forgets every distinguishing feature.

Thanks to growing up in close proximity together, Henley, Steve, Kimmy and I have some resistance to Leslie’s compulsion skills. Even if we can’t pinpoint their exact location, we’re always aware that they’re around, although there are still times when we’re more vulnerable. While I know Leslie will never actually harm me, they will dye my hair or eyebrows in my sleep if I piss them off too much. I’ve seen them do it to Kimmy when they’ve had one of their rare, massive blowouts.

I settle back in my bucket seat, mentally going over my checklist. Today is another reconnaissance mission, but this time I’ll be actively exploring the various ways I can slip through security and access my target. I’m still undecided on what my end result will be, whether it’s taking out Kieran Prince as I’ve been contracted to do, or to perhaps take out the client instead. It’s one of the clauses I requested in my agreement with the Guild. Should I discover that the contractor has misled myself or provided the incorrect information to the Guild to ensure the death of an innocent, I can instead eliminate the client and receive my payout. I simply need to provide the Guild with sufficient evidence of their perfidy to cover my ass.

Point being, if I tug on this thread of Leslie’s and unravel a deeper plot, I can choose which path to take. Hence the need for a lot more reconnaissance.

The San Francisco skyline grows in the distance as we merge onto the highway that will take us through the foothills and outskirts before we hit the San Mateo-Hayward Bridge. As we cross over the Bay, Leslie closes the windows to both shield my presence and change from strange eyes, as well as providing a safe space for my vaporous form.

“Oh, Disa, one last thing?” Leslie glances over at me the moment the windows are closed.

“I know better than most that the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. If you get the opportunity to do further reconnaissance outside of Royal Tower, take it. Just make sure you anchor onto someone, keep yourself safe, and the moment you can get word to me, do so. I don’t need Steve—or even worse, Henley—neutering me because you went off-script and then got yourself in a bind, mmkay?”

I nod in agreement before ducking down in my seat and closing my eyes, hoping that the level of tint on the windows is enough to hide me as I dissipate. The change washes over me like a cool, refreshing breeze, and my clothes fall to the seat and floor. I mentally shudder at the sensation of the fabric moving through my incorporeal form, but there’s little I can do about it. Instead, I curl up in the foot well of the car like a cat and wait.

Traversing Royal Tower as nothing but vapor is a lot trickier than one might expect. Once we’re away from the main entrance, I’m not overly concerned with the cross-breezes created by the automatic doors and the movement of hundreds of bodies. No, what’s troubling me is the powerful suction of the HVAC recirculating the air through the entire complex, threatening to vacuum me up and send me hurtling through the vents. While I am interested in passing through the system, it’s not my main aim during the peak shopping hours.

Even though I hover several feet above Leslie’s head, I’m attached to their body by an invisible tendril. The strand stretches out in their wake as they briskly walk through the crowds, towing me behind them like a kite on the wind. My vantage point allows me to get a good look at the layout, and by the time we’ve made our way up several stories thanks to the enormous escalators, I have an idea of where I want to take a closer look.

I wait until Leslie pauses in front of the plate-glass window of a high-end boutique before I set myself free. I brush around them, tickling and fluffing their hair over their left ear, before gently tapping their nose.

“Okay, I get it. Go off and do your thing, I’ll stick around this area. I’m not usually a fan of stores like this one, but there are a couple of items that have caught my eye.” Leslie murmurs softly to me, and I dart off between other shoppers to gather more intelligence.

I decide to head straight for the source.

I’m about to pay Kieran Prince a visit.

While I’m not shocked to find Adam Knight situated in the penthouse suite of Royal Tower, I’m rather surprised at who he’s speaking to, and the distrust audible in his tone.

“Darla, I appreciate that Kieran is your son, however he’s not a child. He’s a grown-ass man wholly capable of making his own choices and decisions. Despite his other health issues, there has never been any indication that Kieran is mentally unwell, or suffering from a condition that could affect his cognitive processes. In fact, both his therapist and his physician agree that giving him more freedom to explore the outside world in a safe and controlled environment could prove beneficial to his pre-existing conditions.”

I hover just inside the door to the suite, having followed the elevator shaft up to the top floor and through the vestibule. It wasn’t the easiest of journeys, as I ended up having to wind myself around the cables and slither up like a snake. But I made it without alerting anyone else to my presence, which was the primary goal. The ease at which I find myself inside Kieran Prince’s apartment would be worrisome, if I was the person responsible for his safety and security. But seeing as how I’ve been tasked to infiltrate his home, I’m glad I don’t have to exert myself too greatly.

“Mr. Knight, you are an employee, one who is paid by me . So, if I say that Kieran is to be kept inside and away from the crowds while there is another spike in this damned virus going around, then you will follow my orders, goddammit!”

I don’t miss the grim glee that crosses Adam Knight’s expression, nor the mocking tone as he responds to Darla Prince’s imperious command.

“With all due respect, Darla,” he intones, his very words dripping with disrespect, “ you are not my employer. I am employed by Edgar Prince, and as per my contract states, only he can give me a direct order. It also advises that I am to use my own discretion when it comes to Kieran’s safety, and I can make my own judgment call as long as it doesn’t contravene the advice of his therapist or physician. So, no. If Kieran wishes to go out and enjoy the nice weather and wander around the Noe Valley Farmers Market this coming Saturday and enjoy fresh air, fresh food, and live music, then he’s going to go out and do just that. The only way I’ll override his decision is if he has a major flare-up between now and then, or if the weather turns nasty enough that I think it will put him at risk.” Adam stares at Darla, his gaze steely and unforgiving.

“But don’t you worry, Darla. Kieran’s team and I are all focused on his health and well-being, especially after the close call we had with his medication earlier this week. Edgar wasn’t happy when I reported how the Barrow clinic ‘lost’ Kieran’s updated files and had instead issued him with one of the older prescriptions that he’s had adverse reactions to. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Edgar decides to investigate the whole clusterfuck and send heads rolling.”

Adam turns away from a pale Darla Prince, not allowing her to see the vicious and victorious smirk painted across his lips as he presents her with his back, effectively dismissing her. I’m even more impressed with the man when she doesn’t argue or bitch about his dismissal, or even demand that he turn back around and face her. I have to admit, though, that the expression on her face makes me think that this particular battle isn’t over, not by a long shot.

Darla spins on her heel and storms out, sending me bobbing and swirling in the wake of her departure. I allow myself to drift on the air-currents, taking note of the apartment.

The foyer widens into a mostly open-plan space, the late morning sunlight creating a warm, welcoming glow as it shines across the golden wood flooring. The ceilings are so high that Adam could stand on his own shoulders and still have space above his head, and this allows light to flood the space. Behind me is the front door, leading out to a large vestibule and the elevator. To the right of the foyer is a library, with the same wood as the floorboards used in the shelving and comfortable, oversize armchairs splayed out over a deep pile rug. Straight ahead is a large living space, and I float through the air, making note of the area. There’s a fireplace to the right, set in front of a group of plush sofas, the cushions making my omega tendencies twitch. What I wouldn’t give to simply dive head-first into their pillowy depths, and to drag the numerous throw-rugs draped over the arms and backs of the sofas over me until I’m buried.

To the left is a large circular dining table with eight chairs, and beyond both the dining and living areas is an enclosed sun room. I can see the kitchen through the open archway beyond the dining table, one that has the professional pastry chef in me salivating.

I’m heading toward the kitchen to investigate further when movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye. Adam Knight is standing in the middle of the foyer, head thrown back and eyes closed, sucking lungfuls of air deep into his broad chest. A thrill of excitement and arousal darts through me as I take him in, and that in itself causes me to freeze.

He’s similar in height to both Henley and Steve, maybe an inch or two shorter, although not as muscular as the other men. That’s not to say he appears weak or lacking. Oh, no. No, he’s definitely rocking the whole alpha vibe, and if I had a physical form right now, I’m sure my pussy would be drenched.

Which is concerning, to say the least.

Adam aligns more towards the build of a quarterback than a linebacker or receiver, with broad shoulders and strong arms, but narrow hips and long legs. His swarthy skin tone offsets his dark, unruly hair and enigmatic gray eyes, and if you give the guy a wig, eyeliner, and a goatee, he’ll do a credible impersonation of Captain Jack Sparrow.

An interesting part of my incorporeal form is that, while I don’t have lungs or a physical heart, I can still smell things and feel my pulse race. So, when his heady aroma of leather, tobacco, and wood smoke hits me, I almost swoon. The scent is beguiling and almost overpowering in its allure, and I struggle to keep my distance. Indeed, I want nothing more than to curl up around his body and start purring like Gizmo when he has a belly full of salmon.

This is worrisome. I’ve been taking omega suppressants for the last eight years, ever since I left the orphanage at eighteen. They not only stifle most of my omega urges, but also allow me greater control of my perfume and reactions to alpha and beta pheromones. They also lessen the duration and intensity of my heats. I quickly think back to when I had my last injection, but it was only about six weeks ago. I relax at that, knowing that I’m still mid-cycle and won’t need another shot for another six weeks. While I’ve never responded like this to someone outside of my family before, I can’t say that such a reaction is outside the realm of possibility. I guess I just really find Adam Knight attractive.

All of a sudden, Adam moves. He shoves his fingers through his hair, tugging at it. I can almost see the waves of frustration pouring from him as he grinds his teeth and grumbles to himself, “I must be going mad. I’m smelling her everywhere .”

Wait, what? Smelling who?

He throws his hands out as he spins on his heel, and I waft closer to him, fighting to ignore his delicious scent. He marches back toward the foyer and then keeps going, striding along the hallway until he reaches a set of double doors inlaid with stained-glass. He raps on them briskly, the sound of his knuckles hitting the wood sharp and staccato.

“Kieran? She’s gone. Can I come in, please?”

I melt at the softness in Adam’s voice as he calls through the door, intrigued by the care and consideration that this man is showing his charge. There’s no answer from within, but Adam doesn’t open the door. No, he simply leans against the wall and waits.

I have no qualms about doing the opposite.

I seep my way under the gap at the bottom of the doors, and the scene displayed before me makes me glad I’m unable to make a sound in this form.

Kieran Prince is no normal “nepo” baby.

Kieran Prince has been hiding secrets.

Kieran Prince is a fucking omega!