Breaking the Play boy′s Curse
Chapter One
“Hey, you ready for lunch?”
Draven Mansetti looked up from his paperwork and at his partner, Ricky Malone. “Sure,” he replied. “Just give me five minutes to send this report off, and I’ll meet you out front.”
He watched the fellow police detective give him a smirk and a salute. Ricky turned away, and Draven heard him mutter, “Work-a-holic,” under his breath as he walked away.
Not responding to the jibe, after all, the human certainly didn’t think he could hear him, Draven returned his focus to the drug bust report he was putting the finishing touches on. As he double-checked everything, he felt his stomach rumble. True, he was hungry, and a burger would hold him over for a while, but what Draven was truly hungry for was something else.
The memory of the scent he’d noted in Kontra Belikov’s rented mansion came to mind. He’d visited the place over a week ago, but still, the delicious aroma lingered in his nostrils, as if he’d smelled it just an hour before.
My beloved.
His vision had come true, finally, just as he’d known it would. They always did, well, the clear ones anyway. The ones that comprised of shadows in the dark and half-formed faces…those were the tough ones. The ones that was harder to figure out. Sometimes, he didn’t understand them until they happened.
Draven pushed the thoughts away and clicked send. Rising, he grabbed his leather trench coat and swung it over his shoulders. He received all kinds of shit from Ricky for wearing it, but it was comfortable, and he needed all the hidden pockets he’d sewn into the lining to hold all his wards and charms. One could never be too careful.
Leaving the building, Draven slid into the passenger seat of Ricky’s vehicle. The man always insisted on driving. Draven had decided long ago that the human was compensating for something, but he’d never asked what, and if he were honest with himself, he didn’t really give a shit. The man was a bigoted asshole and if Draven hadn’t had a vision that showed him meeting his beloved in San Francisco, he sure as hell wouldn’t have put up with the man.
Now, his vision had come true, and he needed to figure out how to approach the shifter. Draven idly wondered what kind of shifter his beloved was.
He thought about just showing up at the mansion the biker band of shifters were renting and announcing that he was the one who’d be training Tim, but he really wanted the other warlock to come to him. He knew Tim was a warlock hybrid like himself, although part shifter instead of vampire. His ever-changing visions of the man who’d bring much upheaval into Draven’s life kept him apprised of Tim’s progress.
“You all right, man?”
Draven lifted a brow and turned to look at Ricky. “Fine.”
“I’ve been talking about our missing person’s case for the last five minutes and you haven’t heard a word I said,” Ricky said, a scowl on his face as he glanced over at Draven. “You’ve been distracted for days. What gives?”
Draven knew they’d find the fifteen-year-old girl within the next twenty-four hours. He’d had a vision about it that morning. He was just waiting for the anonymous call that would send them searching the abandoned home where her ex-boyfriend was hiding her. This was the time he hated visions. He couldn’t always act on the information he’d been given until something happened as a trigger, a catalyst.
If Draven went in without a warrant, evidence could get tossed out of court, allowing the perp to walk. At times, he really just wanted to say, screw the system. He’d even given in to that desire once and as a result, been sent to internal affairs. Draven had been forced to leave town early and create a whole new identity for himself. Advancing technology made that more and more difficult, but at least he had the added bonus of being able to cast a glamour if need be to confuse people.
Jerking his attention back to Ricky before the human thought he was even stranger, Draven said, “Just thinking about that Land fellow. Did his sister ever tell you how he’s doing?” It was fairly close to the truth.
Ricky curled his lip. “Why the fuck do you think I’d ask about him? As if I care about her fag brother,” he muttered.
“You also have a fag brother, if I’m not mistaken,” Draven pointed out mildly, not able to resist verbally poking at the bigger man just a bit.
His partner’s face turned an interesting shade of magenta. “Shut up,” he snarled.
“A hockey player, isn’t he? Big man, hits pucks and checks people for a living?” He twisted the knife just a little bit. “You know, not all homosexuals are effeminate. Take that big bear of a guy at that mansion where Land lives now. Kontra, I believe his name is.”