Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 60: Catalyst

"Ah." The panther winces, holding a hand to his ear. "Please don’t scream. No one can hear you, anyway."

My hands shake violently as I hold the knife out in front of me. "Don’t come any closer."

"I’m not coming closer. Is this close to you? I am across the room." He speaks with a strange accent. It’s not from America, but I can’t place it otherwise. If he wasn’t a violent murderer, I’d say he even sounds cultured. From Europe somewhere, maybe.

"I’m going to call the police," I warn him, cursing myself for not grabbing my phone when I had a chance. I’d been vaguely worried about things like fingerprints and evidence, and now I have to make my way back to the couch without being murdered to use it.

"Haven’t you learned? The police know nothing. They are fools. They can never catch me." Unperturbed by my threat, he walks further into the room, but still maintains his distance from me. It takes a second too long to realize he’s blocking my escape route.

Can’t go to the front door without going through him.

Stupid, stupid Nicole. I was focused on getting to my phone when I should have just dashed straight for the door.

"How did you know I was here?" he asks, sounding far too casual. Like we’re friends or something.

"What do you mean? I turned around and saw you."

"No." He chuckles. "You were like a glowing beacon of light. You did something, didn’t you? Something magical."

When in doubt, deny. "No idea what you’re talking about."

"Mm, yes. You’ve been trained well, child." He checks the locks on the door, nodding in satisfaction. "Good. You are careful with your safety. But you should lock your windows, too. There are dangerous things in our skies."

My mind flickers to that weird dragon-thing the night we first met.

"What are you doing here?" He doesn’t seem in a rush to kill me. My palms sweat around the handle of the knife, leaving it slippery in my grasp.

"To see you, of course."

"Why do you want to see me?"

He sighs, sounding almost light-hearted in his exasperation. It’s as if he’s dealing with a particularly slow child, and I’m that child. His movements are fluid as he walks toward me.

I step back, my grip tightening on the knife. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. "You said you weren’t going to come closer," I remind him, keeping my voice firm and steady.

Don’t be a pushover. That’s how people die.

His lips curl into a half-smile. "That was before you lied to me, little one."

The pet name sends a chill down my spine. "I didn’t lie—"

"Tsk, tsk." He wags a finger at me. "You claimed ignorance about the magic. But we both know better, don’t we?"

I swallow hard, my mouth dry. This is a line of questioning I don’t want to go down. "Why don’t you explain it to me? Because I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Humans with magic aren’t uncommon. Witches, wizards, sorcerers—they have many names, depending on which guild they’ve associated with. Mere magic shouldn’t get this much scrutiny. But the powers I have are almost forgotten in this world.

He takes another step forward, and I retreat until my back hits the stove, its knobs digging into my back. The knife in my hand feels useless as I recall how swiftly he can take down a human.

"Your aura flares when you lie," he says, his voice silky smooth. "It’s quite beautiful, actually. Like watching the northern lights dance."

I blink, momentarily thrown off by the poetic description. "My... aura?"

He nods, seeming pleased that I’m engaging. "Yes, your magical essence. It’s quite strong, you know. Untrained, but potent. Your control is terrible. It’s leaking everywhere."

"I don’t have magic," I say, but we both know it’s a lie. "I’m human."

"Yes, you are human." He tilts his head. "And what else? It’s strange. A forgotten power, I think. A halfling who shouldn’t exist. Where is your mother, child?"

"She’s dead." The truth won’t hurt here. "I’m not a halfling. I’m human."

"No, you aren’t." He sniffs the air. "Fascinating. So this is why they’ve come here. Such a strange place, but now I understand. I suspected it the first time, but now..."

"Stop speaking in riddles." My bravado comes from who fucking knows where. I’m going to die anyway, right? May as well die with some answers. "Why are you calling me a halfling, and what power do you suspect I have?"

Yes, I know my power is strange. It’s something I’m not supposed to reveal. Mother told me that long ago. It’s probably my earliest memory, as she rocked me in her arms.

It’s a secret I’ve kept hidden, because my mother died to keep it.

But as far as I’ve ever been able to ascertain, it’s not even that big of a deal. I can sense magic and wards. I can sense the auras of people around me. But I light up like a freaking beacon when I do it, so it isn’t as helpful as one would think.

The only other thing I can do is ease the flow of magic where I need it to go—which is what I did the night we met. It’s like becoming a conduit of magic, and it’s sneaky. People can’t sense it, so I can get by using it without anyone knowing.

"You know what power you have." He leans against the counter, just out of reach of my knife, his entire body relaxed. "Do not fret, little one. I will not harm my benefactor."

Yeah, because I’m going to trust the words of some random stranger who goes around killing people.

He smiles again. "Your feelings are written in your eyes. You suspect me. You think I’m here to hurt you."

"You killed Officer Nancy in front of me. She didn’t do anything to you."

"Didn’t she?" His words are almost a purr. "She had plans for you, little one. I saved you."

For some reason, I really think he believes his own words. The man’s psychotic. "How would a panther shifter know what a human’s thinking?"

"Panther shifter?" He tilts his head, then laughs. It’s a loud one, straight from his belly, and he pounds the counter as he roars. "A shifter? Me?"

Shifting my grip on the knife, I point out, "You shifted into a black panther. Twice."

"And you think any shifter can match my size? My strength? My speed?" Before his sentence is over, my weapon is in his hand as he looms over me.

He’s moved that space in an instant, and my back curves over the top of the stove as I try to maintain some space between our faces. His golden eyes move in a way that’s both hypnotic and nauseating, so I focus on the bridge of his nose. "What are you, then?"

Somehow, I manage to sound cool. Like he can’t just cut my throat if he wanted.

He sighs, his breath ruffling against my face, and—it’s not warm. If my hair didn’t flutter and the vague scent of a burning candle didn’t waft into my nose, I’d be half-convinced he’s not really here, even though he’s holding my knife in his hand.

Finally, he steps back, and my knees tremble at the sheer relief that floods through me when there’s space between us again.

"Well, that’s neither here nor there," he says in a maddening nonanswer, fiddling with the blade of the knife as he glances around the kitchen. "Far more important now is the predicament you’re in."

The rest of the knife block is next to his elbow. I feel naked without a weapon, and grab a fork out of the drawer beside me. His eyes don’t even flicker in my direction; he doesn’t see me as a threat. "What predicament?"

"All the deaths around you. You aren’t curious?"

Of course I’m curious. I’m on the hook for two of them, it seems, and I’d rather not be. "What do you know about them?"

"More than you." He seems relaxed again, if somewhat annoyed. "Now that I know what they’re after, it makes my job easier."

He speaks as though I should understand what he’s saying, and I don’t. "You’re talking in riddles. Who are ’they’? What’s your job? And what the hell does it have to do with me?"

"You." He points the knife in my direction, though it doesn’t seem like he’s threatening me with it. "The Catalyst. They want you to join them, of course. They’ll tear your life apart until you have no choice but to sell your soul. It has everything to do with you."

"And who," I repeat through clenched teeth, "are ’they’?"

He frowns, that condescending look having returned to his face. "Dragons, child. Haven’t you been paying attention?"