The pillow against her cheek might as well have been anesthesia. First there was darkness and then, slowly, red glowing symbols haunted her sleep. Strange images burned and charred beneath her fluttering lids. She could see her wolf running through the shadow lands, mist obstructing her view of the hooded figure holding a brand. Then, with a yelp, she was naked and cold, her spirit rising as the stench of burning flesh, hers, filled her nostrils. Pain gripped her abdomen and as she looked down, her belly was raw, newly branded by the eerie sigil she’d seen.

Then suddenly she was jerked awake by Hunter’s lips on hers and the sound of wild barking in her ears-or was it in her head? Sasha yanked up her tank top and stared at her stomach and then relaxed. Great-this case is already starting to show up in my dreams.

Releasing a soft groan of annoyance, she pushed her tousled damp hair away from her face, realizing that Hunter had never moved in his sleep. Then who kissed her? Had to be part of the dream, just like the barking. She looked at him for a moment and then caressed his cheek. He was sleeping peacefully and dreaming. The sight of his easy exhalations and inhalations made her smile softly, kiss him, and then fall back to sleep.

Dawn came with a vengeance. Fatigue clawed at Sasha, but the couple of hours of shut-eye that she and Hunter had been able to catch at the old Dugan B &B was simply going to have to do. She could tell he was also feeling it by the way he dug his fingers into his mass of onyx hair and hung his head as though merely contemplating getting out of bed was more than his mind or body could deal with.

“I feel like I have a hangover,” Sasha muttered, slowly heading for the bathroom.

“You’re telling me,” Hunter said in a hoarse murmur. “This isn’t normal, Sasha. I feel like hell warmed over.”

“Probably a parting gift from the baron.”

“Remind me to kick his ass the next time I see him,” Hunter said, closing his eyes and breathing slowly through his nose.

Sasha’s cell phone went off, making them both cringe. “Jesus H. Christ,” she muttered and hurried to get to it just to stop the awful sound. “What’s up, ’Rissa?”

“You okay?” Clarissa asked. “Your voice came out as a growl.”

“Sorry. Late night,” Sasha muttered. She hadn’t meant to snap at her teammate, but it was an ungodly hour in the morning.

“No apology needed… I guess I really owe you one, looking at the clock,” Clarissa said gently. “But you know I wouldn’t have called unless it was important.”

“I know, I know,” Sasha croaked and swung her legs over the side of the bed, knowing full well that Clarissa was the sensible one on the team. She wasn’t given to sudden histrionics. As their resident psychic, Clarissa wouldn’t have called unless there was a good reason. Sasha fought the haze in her brain and tried to focus. “Talk to me.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling, Captain. Like, there’s this serious dark energy vibe all around you… and I was worried.”

“Have you told Doc or the fellas?”

“No,” Clarissa said quickly. “But I told them they need to hurry up and get down there, just to have your back, just in case. This is New Orleans, you know.”

“Okay,” Sasha said, realizing how complicated this was becoming. “Here’s the thing… I’m looking into something for Sir Rodney that has to stay off the radar for now. I can’t go into it, but Hunter and I are fine.”

“Do you need any help? What do you need us to do?”

“It’s cool. We’re good. Just come down as planned and be ready to hang out at the Fae ball-it should be a blast.”

A moment of silence was Clarissa’s initial response. Sasha flopped back against the pillows when Hunter gave her the eye. It made sense that Clarissa picked up dark energy. Hell… the baron was pissed off, something Were was lurking, there was a killer on the loose, and two Phoenix chicks had torched.

“Just be careful, Sasha,” Clarissa said, strain evident in her tone.

“We will,” Sasha replied, trying to make her voice sound upbeat. But when she clicked off the phone, she just closed her eyes. How did you fake it with a psychic?

One thing was for sure, when Desidera was killed, there was a feral scent and the smell of blood in the basement. If Vampires were involved in it somehow, then it was also possible that Weres were involved-specifically the Werewolves of the remaining Buchanan Broussard clan. Old Buchanan had tried to pull a coup and get his daughter, Dana, to marry Shogun-then send the Werewolves to war against the Shadow Wolves, all the while having a dirty backroom deal going with Shogun’s sister Lei. Not to mention their demon-infected mother. With old man Buchanan, his daughter Dana, plus Shogun’s sister and his traitorous mother all killed in the post-courtroom battle, the Buchanan clan was very likely suspect, to her way of thinking.

Plus, with sorcery and Vampires somehow involved, that would be an interesting alliance. Sasha opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, clutching her cell phone in her hand. Yeah… What if they could have found a way to mask their scent? She wondered if a nasty coven spell might be able to make a Werewolf smell like something else… and if so, why not make the scent elusive, untraceable, exotic? “Hmmm…”

“You’re going to give yourself a headache this morning,” Hunter said, standing.

“Too late. Already got one,” Sasha said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and then pushing off it to grab her jeans.

She opened her pocket, found the spiral pad in it, and looked at the sigil again. If she hadn’t promised Sir Rodney she wouldn’t get her team involved unless absolutely necessary, she would have Bradley run a check on this. She’d have to loop back with Ethan about it, even though he and Margaret had completely freaked out about it last night. Regardless, there were questions she needed to ask… namely, what specifically did the symbol do?

Sasha glanced at the clock-the digital display said 6:12. Staff wouldn’t be at Ethan’s until ten. That was a lot of time to kill. Sasha looked up when she heard Hunter’s stomach growl all the way across the room.

“Let’s go get some grub… then try to find a Pixie.”

It was no wonder the Pixies and garden Faeries didn’t greet them when they entered the gardens at Chaya. Sasha took one look at Hunter’s five o’clock shadow and surly mood, and if she were one of the wee folk, she would have avoided him, too. But she wasn’t much better-two Shadow Wolves that looked like they’d seen the worst side of the moon.

Sasha trudged forward, undaunted, keeping her voice low and calling out gently. If Penelope worked at the tea salon, then the Pixie staff or garden Faeries would know whoever else she worked with, so they could track that person down. They’d also know who the Pixie was in the photo. Somebody had to know something. But after a moment, Sasha stopped walking.

“I know Pixies and Faeries are unusually shy, but it’s just way too quiet out here.”

Hunter nodded and glanced around. “We have done them no harm and have helped them in the past-why would they hide from us?”

“Listen… nothing,” Sasha said, standing very, very still. “Not even crickets or morning birds.”

On guard, both Shadow Wolves moved slowly toward the small mansion that had been turned into a delicately ornamented teahouse. Sasha motioned with her chin toward a long shadow cast by a weeping cherry tree. At this point, they couldn’t worry about the Fae investigators. There was probable cause to enter Chaya via break-in. Within moments, she and Hunter had entered the shadow, coming out of it inside the shadows within the abandoned salon.

A thin film of dust covered the surfaces of once gleaming wood furniture and privacy screens. The gorgeous hardwood floors had lost their luster and dust sat in the crevices of intricately carved panels. Sasha and Hunter shared a look.