Wildfire

Chapter 35

35. Question

The rest of the night was a blur of activity. Diego had wanted to go charging after Killian right away, but since we knew absolutely nothing about him — apart from the fact that he now took kickboxing classes at Ian's gym — his makeshift plan hit a bit of a speed bump before it ever took off. Marco convinced him to wait while he called someone from the SCC, and less than fifteen minutes later, there was another knock at the door.

Marco went to answer it while Diego collapsed down on his sofa, his expression strained. I knew he was fighting like hell not to change, but every so often, I heard a sickening crack and knew it was a fight he was slowly losing.

I hovered awkwardly near the island, my arms folded loosely around my middle. I was still trying to sort through the information I'd garnered from their conversation and a list of questions was already starting to form in my mind. Diego's depression lingered like a bad taste on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't think about that.

I watched from the corner of my eye as Marco pulled open the door, and a tall, thin-looking guy walked inside. He was wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt that hung off him loosely and his dark brown hair was severely tousled, like he'd been running his fingers through it repeatedly — or someone else had. Despite his anorexic-looking frame, he was strikingly handsome in a pretty-boyish way.

"You're the officer the SCC sent over?" Marco looked dubious.

"No, I'm just the bodyguard." The guy looked amused. "She'll be up in a second, she's just parking the car."

"What kind of SCC officer needs a bodyguard?" Diego asked.

"As long as someone signs my pay-check, I don't ask those kinda questions," the guy replied. "I'll just make myself comfortable, shall I?"

He dropped down on Diego's only armchair without waiting for a response, reaching for one of the magazines on the coffee table. Diego's brows rose, an irritated look crossing his face, but he didn't say anything. He had other, more important things on his mind.

Marco moved away from the door, his back ramrod straight as he stood in the hallway. His pose was strangely formal, like he was determined not to lean back against the wall.

A few minutes later, the click of high heels sounded in the hallway. A flicker of surprise rushed through me as a familiar, blond head appeared in the door frame, an exasperated look on her face.

Georgina.

She was wearing a black turtleneck and a pair of grey pants this time, looking more like a runway model than a police officer — or whatever the human equivalent of an SCC officer was. And what a weird thought that was — weren't those who protected the law supposed to protect humans from the supernatural world or whatever? At least, that's how it worked in most of the books I'd read and films I'd seen. What was an officer-of-the-supernatural-law doing giving supernatural drugs to people like Darren?

"Next time," she huffed, ignoring Marco as her eyes went straight to the guy in Diego's armchair, "you can park your own damn car!"

She threw a set of keys at his head but he caught them deftly, flashing a smirk at her. "Thanks, babe."

She shot him a scathing look before she faced Marco. "You must be the Guardian. You've got the stuffy look down to a T."

Marco's brows rose slightly but he ignored her comment. "We believe there are witches involved in crimes being committed against lupi."