Belladonna's Mark: Poisoner of Charm City, #1

By E.M. Whittaker

Aviere Mye has two choices. Join the Renegades, or die before clearing her name.

Murder is serious business, and Aviere Mye is a top notch professional. Her work as a poisoner and apothecarian earned her a place in Charm City's crime syndicate, and she's looking forward to her retirement.

Except retiring isn't so simple for this feline shifter.

After her boss is murdered using one of her trademark poisons, it sets the authorities on her trail. The hitmen aren't far behind them. Before she escapes, she's taken hostage by a group of supernatural assassins, who give her a magical hitman for her protection.

Armed with her genius intellect and shifter abilities, her brothers, her trigger-happy partner Travis, and his hacker-for-hire Peters, Mye sets out to apprehend the culprit and clear her name with the syndicate. She has seven days to complete her assignment before her tracking bracelet explodes. 

But there's another problem.

Travis and Peters might kill her first. 

Belladonna's Mark is the first full-length novel in the Poisoner of Charm City series. This slow-burn enemies to lovers urban fantasy/supernatural suspense series is perfect for fans who like Jim Butcher, Dannika Dark, and Seanan McGuire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.M. Whittaker
• Release date: Jul 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201720674

E.M. Whittaker

E.M. began writing when she turned 13 with fanfiction, but considered fictional writing after creating original characters and back stories within fandom universes. After extensive encouragement and building up her fanbase, E.M. plunged into original writing in 2012, specializing in paranormal mystery, urban fantasy, and psychological thrillers. She learned about the writing and publishing world while working at Borders Bookstores from 2008-2011, participating in running various book signings with indie authors, connecting with others and reading vast material to find her calling. After Borders shut down, she worked at Amazon in their Print on Demand (or Make on Demand) department, where E.M. learned about the expectations for self-publishing with CreateSpace and their software. After a year of working in this department, E.M. left the corporate world to pursue her dream of writing. Readers can find bloopers, pictures and the latest news about E.M.'s projects at http://www.emwhittaker.com.

Book preview

1

The world crashed into Aviere’s stomach when her brother mumbled another half-hearted apology. What should have been her last assignment — and the key to her freedom — resulted in snide excuses, apologies, and pleas for forgiveness.

Sorry wouldn’t solve Lim’s colossal screw up. It wouldn’t give her back the package he lost. And sorry wouldn’t give her back four years of her life or another shot at escaping the mob.

After the fifth blubbered apology—which he mumbled into his hand this time—she slammed her fist on the desk, sending plastic pills, sulfate, and her patience all over the floor.

In one hour, her idiotic brother had ruined everything.

The pain radiating through her hand as her fingernails shifted into claws was nothing compared to the darkness seeping into her soul.

I’m sorry, Sis! I didn’t mean to lose your package, I swear!

Her bony fingers laced through his greasy brown hair, jerking his head forward until he met her eyes.

Four years of meticulous planning wasted. Four years of kissing her boss’s ass meant nothing.

There was something else in her brother’s eyes—well, other than his being bug-eyed and the kicked puppy look in them—as he scrunched his eyebrows together.

A scrap of intelligence. That was it.

Her sharp claws raked along his scalp. You moron. You have cost us everything.

Sis—

She shoved his head into the corner of her desk halfway through his pathetic whine. I don’t know why I bother working with you, sometimes.

Ow! Blood ran down his forehead. Seriously, tone your attitude down a notch. He wiped it away while regaining his balance. I’m not one of your men, and you’re not a mafia mistress anymore.

Skunky, musky pot mixed with copper as it wafted through the air. She licked at her chapped lips. No. Not him. He was her brother, not prey—even if he was flighty like a doe-eyed deer.

She yanked him forward, sinking her claws into his cheap polyester shirt.

His Red Sox baseball cap landed on top of her combat boot.

Red. How fitting. If only he were a throwaway Star Trek character. Her ear twitched at his short, punctuated breaths as she waved a hand around their barren workshop.

Remind me again, Lim. Spitting out his name left a sour taste in her mouth. Whose fault is that?

He whimpered. Oh, God. Please. Don't play your dominant game today, sis.

A predatory smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, growing bigger as silver glowed in his smoldering blue eyes. No. Sharp claws brushed along his chest. You understood what delivering my package meant.

Accidents happen all the time.

She licked a pointy canine, shoving his grubby body away from hers. Hot air burst from her nostrils, and she snarled as he landed hard on one knee.

Everyone said he’d be unreliable, but the man on the floor wasn’t her brother. Fear didn’t lace his scent.

No—he coated himself with fruity deodorant mixed with putrid, dead skunk.

I finally bought our freedom after working for that slave driver for four years. She straightened in her chair, brushing off her punctured glove. I’ve dreamed of the day I’d be able to stop kissing Edith Eisen’s ass.

Lim kept his voice at a whisper. Yeah, I know.

Why, Lim? Mye pounded her palm on the desk, shoving papers into another corner. Why didn't you deliver my package to Eisen?

There were cops at her place.

Freedom slipped between her fingers. So much for making her tires peel rubber across the highway.

She shivered, glowering at Lim when he brushed dandruff out of his hair.

Her claws sank into the chair. The man before her hadn’t showered or wore decent deodorant in weeks. Tired, dilated eyes blinked at her when she brushed her claw against the tip of her nose.

This wasn't her brother. This was a hopeless bum.

Lim was smarter than this.

Explain two things to me. If she talked any louder than a murmur, she’d lose her temper. Why do you smell like pot and why were the cops at her place?

They were there when I arrived, smartass. There were federal agents at her house, too. Between the two of them, I was lucky they didn’t catch me. And for the record, I don’t care about going back to jail. Smoking weed shouldn’t be a crime.

It was, though. Her shop and career suffered for his countless mistakes.

If he wasn't her flesh and blood—if he was anyone else— she’d send him sprawling on his ass. His empty desk on the opposite side of her shop sent her heartbeat into overdrive.

Imaginary rocks dropped in the pit of her stomach. There was nothing else to sell inside their salvaged laboratory.

His old MacBook paid her overdue rent. Her pharmaceutical building and most of her high-tech machines paid off a third of her husband’s gambling debts. Her building and current equipment were the only items left,

Unless she used herself as collateral.

Again.

She swallowed down the rising bile in her throat and saliva flooded her dry mouth. How did she get herself into these messes?

Eisen’s delivery wasn’t hard. Why didn’t he call her second-in-command? Evelyn could have taken the package on her behalf. No one would ever suspect poison inside a gift-wrapped jewelry box.

Well, she wouldn’t, at least.

Eisen’s vial was part of her gaudy necklace.

It didn’t matter what she thought. All Lim had to do was deliver her last package. After this last delivery, the underbosses would accept the formal resignation she gave them at their meeting yesterday.

Otherwise, they’d never be free.

Lim. Against her better judgement, Mye softened her voice and tried a different approach. Before I ask any more questions, we’ll try another delivery when—

Eisen’s dead, Aviere.

The words knifed through her churning stomach. What?

Her entire family got iced this evening. A gruesome look crossed his face. "It’s the reason the cops and the feds were there."

The stabbing knives turned into fluttering butterflies. Someone iced another one of their underbosses.

Her fist slammed against the desk, mirroring her shattered dreams.

Eisen was the second victim in the last two weeks.

Cheap buttons popped from her shirt while fur brushed along her billowy sleeves. A canine pierced through her lower lip. Copper trailed along her tongue as she licked the blood away, rising from her seat.

Sis, your shirt—

I don’t give a damn about my shirt. Her hands pressed against her thighs. Four heaving breaths later, she tightened her abdomen, holding her body in its half-transformed state. The feds know someone’s icing the underbosses, and you pissed around telling me.

You kept having an attitude. You jammed my head into your fucking desk for God’s sake!

She met his narrowed eyes and shaky fingers, resting a firm finger on the bridge of her glasses. I’ll poison you in a minute if you don’t tell me what happened at Eisen’s place.

Chill. I’m getting to it. I’ll let you know if someone breaches my defense barrier.

She pressed a cold finger to her throbbing temple. Lim, I swear… sensing people with your magical abilities is your only redeeming quality.

He pouted. What’s that supposed to mean?

All those years of smoking weed and jail has killed your sense of urgency. Her eye twitched while rattling off his mistakes like clock‐ work. If you didn’t know how to make certain medicines, I wouldn’t be working with you anymore.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

He coughed, then cleared his throat. The cops aren’t important. You’ll want to keep an eye out for the feds. From the way they carried themselves, they were at her house for a while.

Okay. She tapped a claw against her forehead, gulping down nausea when more skunky, Skittle-like smells hit her nose. You got anything useful on these guys?

His eyes brightened. I thought you’d never ask.

Go on, then. Don’t keep me in suspense.

Silver gleamed in his eyes again while sitting at the end of her desk. The whiny guy—I think he's more of an information specialist. He was taking pictures and barking orders like a bitch in heat. I’m guessing he worked in IT or forensics before becoming a fed. He’s super OCD, too. He’s a professional at pissing off his coworkers.

Whiskers sprouted from her tightening cheeks. And the other guy? What about him?

The other one doesn’t seem too bright. He kept asking how to use a freaking tablet, but he's our problem child.

Flakes of dandruff scattered around her brother’s scrawny neck and shoulders. Squeaking assaulted her ears when his soles scuffed against the floor. Why did he keep wringing his hands together? The jittering movements from his foot were normal.

Her abdomen churned, despite sucking it in. This was more than running from their local precinct.

The authorities knew their family by heart.

Lim. She grabbed his hand, rubbing it when his arm shook. What is it?

Sweat beaded on his forehead. Ah…well…

Go on. Tell me.

He rubbed the back of his neck. The other guy chased me outta the house.

So?

No, you don’t understand. His voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper while he lowered his head. This guy… well… he teleported after me.

Her claws hovered over his trembling hands. Why did everything go wrong for her? The deities must be cursing her. She was sure of it. Nothing wanted her to move forward with this chapter of her life.

Or start on her one-woman crusade.

She retracted her hands, rubbing warmth back into them through her gloves. For good measure, she tested her fingers, then flicked her wrist, sending reports flying through the air. "Everyone said your drug addiction dulled your magical senses, but you’ve never forgotten to cloak yourself before."

Oh, for god’s sake, sis! He leapt off the desk, trembling and holding his fists at his sides. Her whole family died! Her husband— well—someone got a little too happy mutilating him. His pungent body odor sharpened through the room with each hurried word. I know you’re a contract killer, but you’d be freaking out, too. There was blood and guts everywhere.

She closed her eyes and tossed her glasses on the desk, holding her trembling body upright. Mutilation? Just like the first underboss the feds found—a bloody torso and his severed head.

Heat flooded through her like a raging inferno. The seams of her jeans ripped. What a sick bastard. This was more than a mere turf war. Anything went for adults, but murdering entire families bordered on overkill.

Fur coated her body. Icy daggers stabbed her throat.

Once someone went after kids, they crossed a dangerous line.

Breathe, sis. Breathe.

Damn. Lim’s voice cut through the other possibilities running through her head.

Remember what the doc keeps telling you. His comforting voice made her eyelid twitch. You’ll produce more poison once you transform. Keep your human form in your head, okay?

You…you realize…they’ll look for us. Croaked words escaped her throat. No one—

"Breathe. Just breathe."

Mye pointed to her bag. If he told her to breathe one more time—

He patted her shoulder. Okay. Take deep breaths. I’m getting your meds now.

Lancing pain shot through her arms. Right. Deep breaths. Hold her human form. Easier said than done when icicles kept ramming into her throat.

Tears welled in her eyes. Her transformations were painful. She’d rather be cut open without anesthesia.

Anything was better than dealing with her cursed form.

The ass of her jeans split, and her ruined bell bottoms pooled around her feet. The mafia would mark her for sure. As one of Eisen’s closest associates, she automatically became a suspect.

Well, her or Lim. Whoever they decided on first.

His hand patted her bicep. A stinging sensation traveled through her arm. The ten-thousand pounding footsteps stopped stomping against her chest.

Good. You did better this time.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one choking on his own breath while waiting for his tense muscles to work.

I mean, you held yourself in check longer—well, till I told you what happened at the house. He guided her toward her chair. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, but—

Stop. Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Ma always lied better than you.

She shot him her nastiest glare, turning to a plastic baggie when it dropped on top of her desk. Both of her hands pressed on her heaving chest as she sat down in her office chair.

Breathe, girl. Breathe.

Mye paused at the commanding voice inside her head. Who was that? Her? Or someone else?

No. That voice couldn’t belong to her shifter.

The doctors said she’d never merge with her.

I grabbed these vials before I ran. Lim’s voice interrupted her thoughts again. You use these for certain medicines and stuff, right?

Why did he ask her pointless questions? He knew they did.

Small talk wouldn’t dispel her aggravation or fix her ruined bell bottoms.

Yeah. This time, her voice came out shaky. After another deep breath, she knelt beside her desk, holding onto the chair with one hand while grabbing a handful of papers. What about it?

There were two vials in the bathroom next to her kids…the same kind you use for oral medicines and poisons.

Oh good. She grabbed the rest of her precious notes and reports, tempted to shred them like her shattered dreams. You waited a half an hour before telling me something useful. Mention dead kids sooner next time.

I told you about her family, but you—well, you know. What were her kids doing with poisoned vials, though?

Poison? Good question.

Eisen ordered belladonna for her right-hand associate. It wasn’t the type of poison she’d usually order for clients, but she never asked useless questions once they paid her. As long as they weren’t hurting children, involving her in their plans, or trying to kill her, she didn’t care what they did.

Don’t ask, don’t tell. The safest policy ever created.

Somehow, she got her reports into her oversized purse without dropping any more papers. Once she finished, she turned to the plastic baggy, studying the contents while pursing her lips in thought. The black droplets in the vials taunted her as she squinted, turning the bag back and forth. No lip or finger smudges on the glass. No dribbles or stained streaks outside the vial.

In four and a half years, she never lost a client.

Tonight, someone killed two of her best-paying ones.

Mye asked the most important question. How did her kids die?

His eyebrows scrunched together. Why do you ask?

There’s no smudge marks, but you said you found these by her kids. She tapped the baggie. Someone gave this to them somehow. Their cause of death—

They were lying face-down in their own bloody vomit.

Goosebumps trailed along her arms. No one swallowed poison willingly—well, except for the weird ‘inconceivable man’ in The Princess Bride.

There was only one poisoner like her who lived in Charm City.

Someone framed her.

A bullet through Lim’s skull was the least of her worries. Once news spread about her boss’s death, she’d be the target of a citywide manhunt. Between her family’s tarnished reputation and her resignation, they’d go looking for her first.

How many hours did they have? Seven, eight?

It didn't matter. If she didn't figure out who killed her boss, they'd make her family pay by tomorrow morning.

Another whiff of musk and earthy undertones hit her nose when Lim stood beside her. You know the underbosses will order a hit on you by morning.

She nodded, nibbling on her lip. I know.

The feds mentioned you as a prime suspect—you know, ’cause you worked for her and all. He grabbed her laptop, moved the mouse, and powered it down. I hope you saved whatever you were working on. They’re on the way here. I probably should have told you that first.

Shit, shit, and triple shit. Her glove squeaked between her fingers. A bullet between his eyes wouldn’t appease the crime lords of this shady city. They’d either hunt her down or use her—whichever benefited them more.

Yep. The deities were cursing her for starting her one-woman crusade. Casting aside her life as the Poisoner of Charm City was the only way to bring her missing husband home.

At this rate, she’d never escape.

Or go back to racing cars again.

Lim, listen to me.

He dropped her laptop battery in her hand. What?

Find out what— Ooo. Warmth seeped through her gloves, trailing into her fingertips. "Anyway, find out who killed them. Our lives depend on it."

For once, he didn’t argue. Okay.

Her whiskers fell onto the floor and she rubbed her tingling cheek. While Lim took care of her computer, she continued shoving items into her bag. The laptop battery went first. Once it was tucked away inside a deep side pocket, she reached for another item, ticking it off her mental checklist.

Family photos? Check.

Scribbled addresses and names? Double check.

Post-It notes for her orders? Yep. All there.

Keys? Wallet? Phone?

She patted each one of her pockets. Good to go.

Lim, I’m serious. Go home. Grab Reese. Work with him and hide somewhere safe. Every hitman in this city will go into a bidding war for a chance to kill me. I don't need you guys involved in this manhunt.

I know. His foot lifted a creaking floorboard, overshadowing his exasperated words. I’m not a total moron, you know. The laptop thudded into its hiding place. Before I leave, you should know more about the other fed.

It doesn’t matter if we buy his silence.

They both knew the truth, though. He was another problem on top of her growing to-do list.

She slid a hand underneath her desk, patting it while scanning the different areas of their makeshift laboratory. The floorboard creaked one last time. Nothing lingered on their concrete tables or desks.

Fantastic. The agents wouldn’t find anything if they broke into the shop.

Check the lab one last time, Lim. Her head turned toward the door. If we can’t buy his silence, I’ll handle him myself. He can’t be any worse than dealing with you.

Lim sighed softly. Jesus. Don’t do this shit now.

You had your chance to take over.

Look—

No. She whirled on him, standing on her tiptoes while her finger pressed against his chest. My husband didn’t trust you when our family ran Central Charm City. This was my last job under Eisen. You remember that, don’t you?

Vividly. The word held a demonic tone. Quit blaming me. I tried helping you out tonight.

It’s not my fault you got busted for selling cocaine to undercover cops. We wouldn’t be in this mess if— Her butt cheek vibrated, and she grabbed the phone from her back pocket. So it begins. Smiley emojis mocked her when the screen lit up at her sudden movement. Ugh, not now.

Who is it?

The wall of notifications disappeared when she unlocked her phone, texting at the speed of light. What was her supplier doing here? They met earlier in the week, didn't they?

Well, who texted you?

Darren's upstairs. The read receipt came up on her phone after hitting send. Hurry up and get rid of him before he's arrested, too. When nothing happened, she poked him again. I’m serious. Move.

What’s he doing here?

She didn’t remember scheduling anything with him, which meant one thing. He’s probably hunting us down like everyone else if word got around about Eisen. Now, get going. You and Reese have work to do.

His arms wrapped around her.

She jumped, startled while shoving her phone into her back pocket. Hey!

Stay safe, sis. He seemed like he cared. Don’t die on me, you hear? There was some trace of her brother left between his strong arms and rumbling voice.

Yeah. Her arms wrapped around his neck. I love you, too. Call me later.

I will.

He gave her his roguish smile before rubbing her shoulder and scurrying up the stairs. After a few pitter-patters, she rested a hand over her heart.

The phone vibrated against her butt cheek again. She hunched forward, keeping her arms close when she opened her desk drawer for her weapons.

Two modified air pistols. Two magazines. Three vials.

Her eyes narrowed before shoving one gun into her purse.

Two meddlesome agents would prove a lucrative bounty indeed.

Fifteen minutes later, Aviere left her shop, rubbing the painful lump settling in the back of her throat. Each stomp against the pavement mirrored her growing heartache and distrust, amplified by pungent aftershave lingering through the air.

Damn that dunderhead! Damn him! Why would he keep something like this from her? Secret agents tailing them changed everything. She couldn’t plan for something like this. Not without a fresh supply of ammo or her trusted muscle headed friend for backup.

Between Eisen’s death and these nosy agents, dying looked better by the hour.

Her jaw tightened while she walked toward her car. How long were they tailing her? Did they learn anything about her?

It didn’t matter. They had to die.

Footsteps thudded softly behind her. A hint of spice and alcohol assaulted her nostrils. Synthetic. Definitely human. Whoever made this deserved a fate worse than death.

Another sniff. Ugh. Skunk incoming.

She whirled on her visitor, hissing as they approached. The barrel of her gun jammed into their chest and she tilted her head, glaring at her brother’s disheveled appearance.

Goddammit, Lim. She lowered her gun. Let me know you’re behind me next time. I can’t smell anything right now.

A smirk came to his lips. I noticed.

No, I’m serious. Her voice lowered. Someone doused themselves in alcohol. You know it screws with my nose.

Yeah. Don’t sneeze. He pointed toward her Ferrari. Dick Tracy is standing by your car.

Seriously? She pinched the bridge of her nose following the direction of his finger. A detective stood there, not a federal agent. No, this couldn’t be their man. Between the tan trench coat and wide-brimmed cowboy hat, he bordered on an identity crisis.

This couldn’t be their federal agent.

Mye tilted her head forward. What in the world—

That’s him, sis.

"Him? She raised an eyebrow. Are you sure?"

Yeah. That’s our guy, all right.

What a weirdo. Humans didn’t face shifters on their own. Coffee and donuts didn’t linger on his scent. Law enforcement generally drank large amounts of coffee.

She chalked up not smelling his coffee to his disgusting scent until she blinked at his long tan trench coat.

Yeah. Now, she saw it all.

Retirement couldn’t come soon enough. Then she could race to her heart’s content and vacation in the heart of Virginia.

Christ. She pressed a finger against her temple. How do I get myself into these situations?

You kill people for a living. Now hush. I can’t cloak us forever, you know.

Lim was right. Tonight was her last night on the job.

Her back went ramrod straight when the weirdo shattered her driver’s side window. Shards of glass dropped by her tires. Shrieks from Jet’s car alarm rang through her delicate feline ears.

The agent opened the door, kneeling on top of her leather seat.

Sharp twinges radiated through her shoulders.

She lined up her shot and fired.

Her lips twisted into a predatory smirk when the vial embedded into the agent’s neck. The cowboy hat landed next to her tires when he jerked, slumping over her steering wheel.

Federal agent her ass. No one was this clumsy.

Then again—

Sis…

She turned to her brother, sighing when she lowered her gun. What?

Look at your vial real quick.

What about her vial? What was he—

Aviere turned around, glancing at her ammunition.

Shit.

The color of her vial was wrong.

Before her brother objected again, she shoved the gun in her holster, sprinting toward her car as her prey thudded onto the black‐ top. One hand slid into her pocket, lining a key between each of her fingers.

Screw him. No one hurt Jet.

He wouldn’t live long enough to tell the tale.

She dashed into her baby, slamming the door across the agent’s hand as he yanked on her ankle. Keys jingled while locking her door and starting her second love. Jet’s purring engine soothed her hammering heartbeat. She rubbed his steering wheel.

Soon, they’d race together on the open road—after a new window and pocketing a couple thousand bucks.

Movement flickered from the corner of her eye. She jumped when bloody shards landed in her lap. The agent’s handgun pressed against her temple.

Screw this.

They weren’t dying today.

Tires squealed, peeling rubber while she backed out of her parking space. Cool air from Jet’s broken window cleared her nose, soothing her reddened face. Every few seconds, her eyes flitted to her mirrors, praying he didn’t follow her.

He wasn’t a fed. This was a cleaner.

Someone already put a contract out on her.

A thunderous boom came from the roof of her car. She slammed her foot against the brake. Whiplash wasn’t in her plans, but the car dipped, sending her prey flying flat out on his ass. Aftershave and tangy, sour meat carried through the breeze. Loud curses came from behind her car.

She shivered, patting the hairs on her neck when he disappeared from her side-view mirror.

Her adrenaline spiked as she skidded into a parking garage, taking up two parking spots. She put Jet in park, scouted her mirrors, and took the keys out of his ignition. What kept this man going? How was he still alive? No one lived through her poisonous doses.

This agent had to die.

She shoved the vial gun inside her glove box, staring hard at her purse. What would stall him for the next five minutes?

Blow darts wouldn’t work fast enough. Handguns were messy. Her claws were out of the question.

Pepper spray.

Yes. Perfect.

Quickly, she bolted out of her car, grabbing the pepper spray from her center console. It dropped back into the car when someone snaked an arm around her throat. Both hands reached for his arm, fighting through twinkling stars and tunnel vision. Choked cries left her lips. One arm became twisted behind her back.

Her fingers throbbed as circulation was cut off from the middle of her right wrist.

I don’t want to assassinate you, Mye. Her fingers throbbed from the missing blood flow. Just come with me, and—

Words faded as blood pounded in her ears and she scraped her nails against him. Her eyes widened when her claws didn’t appear.

What a time for them to stay hidden.

All right then. Onto Plan B.

Her heel jammed into the toe of his boot He strengthened his chokehold.

She tried again, but she couldn’t put enough strength into her kick. Twinkling stars turned to black spots. Choked cries turned into long, desperate croaks. If she couldn’t break free, she’d end up behind bars.

Ten years of careful planning would be wasted.

Damn, you’re a hellcat, Mye. Dick Tracy continued in awe. The boss was right about you for once.

Right about what?

Before she gasped for clarification, her body spasmed, slumping forward.

Her body never seemed to hit solid ground when she fell.

2

Bounty hunting, federal cases, and magic didn’t mix well for anyone. In the five years Keith Travis worked for the FBI, no one had ever come close to killing him.

Last night, that crazy bitch did.

The job was simple. Pick up the suspect and take her back for questioning. There was nothing complicated about arresting criminals. Nothing hard about roughing up suspects. She was a tiny woman with her stoner brother.

The fabled Poisoner and her beloved mage looked like everyone else.

One careless mistake made a simple arrest turn into the Seven Layers of Hell. She gave him a first-class seat, strapping him into a sky-winding roller coaster that never stopped twisting and turning until he reached his destination.

The Apocalypse at Six Flags was bad enough, but this ride was a sixteen-hour nightmare. Fever dreams and memories haunted him at every turn. Funerals and body parts from forensic labs popped to the surface. Faces of the dead cried, begging to be saved. Gruesome crime scenes made him empty his stomach over and over again.

His wife’s chilling last words—how she loved him and to catch the bastard who killed her—became his anchor inside his black cloud of despair until the angels of death visited him.

At that point, he escaped the medical ward.

The hell if they mocked Lyssa's comforting words. Taunting him with Heaven’s pearly gates reminded him of his constant failures.

Where were these angels when Mye poisoned his happy ass? Right. Partying with God.

The stuffy son-of-a-bitch probably had a supreme meat pizza and Pepsi while watching his ordeal on a sixty-inch flat screen TV.

Travis wiped the sweat away from his eyes, hugging his battle-worn trench coat close to his shivering, clammy body. A little warning about her claws would have been nice. Knowing about her poison would've been better, though. Who knew she used it in her ammunition?

He rubbed his injured arm. Someone upstairs screwed up their intel big time. Between the bounty he’d signed and the stupid dossier he read a few days ago, something was off about this woman. Aviere Mye was worth well over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

So why was her original bounty so low?

Whatever she shot him with sent him through Dante’s Inferno and back. A two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar bounty belonged to a small fry, not for someone as smart as her.

One foot trudged in front of the other. Just how much was she worth? A million?

No. Too much.

Five hundred grand?

Too low.

Three quarters of a million dollars? Maybe. Lawyers were known to ask for more when their clients suffered from emotional distress.

What was the price for sending him headlong into Lyssa’s tender embrace and returning him back to this hellacious world?

Eight hundred thousand dollars.

A grin spread across his lips.

Yes.

He turned down another corridor, stopping at the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps behind him. Few women shook his moral compass, but he teetered between saving and killing her shifter hide.

Killing her meant lining his pockets. Killing her meant leaving his dickhead boss and his lowball contracts. Killing her meant saving his dim-witted partner from his hostage situation and give him his boring everyday life back.

God, Mye was already a pain in the ass, and he hadn't even interrogated her yet.

He panted the longer he shuffled down the floor, fanning himself with his sticky, day old shirt. Lyssa’s imagined voice didn't motivate him. In fact, he hadn’t heard her since he fled from the medical ward twenty minutes ago.

A hazy, dark blue aura stood underneath the fluorescent lightning near the interrogation rooms, and he felt tiny rocks drop in the pit of his stomach.

Lyssa, don't leave me alone with Peters tonight, sweetheart. I'll choke him if he pisses me off.

He leaned against the wall before sighing. Damn. Still nothing.

She wouldn't visit him again tonight.

Travis cleared his achy throat, risking another cold chill as he stomped over to his prim and properly dressed partner manhandling his iPad Mini. Peters, how many times do I have to explain—

His partner thrust the tablet underneath his nose, playing video footage of his chase with Mye. Intelligence work suits me. What happened last night?

Shit. He couldn't get out of this one.

I can’t believe you left the hospital against medical advice. Peters’s thumb pressed against the play triangle while tapping his finger against the back of his tablet. How can I hide video footage like this? Didn’t you bitch about keeping ourselves on the down-low?

Travis almost bit his tongue while he held in his comment. Her dossier didn’t say she was a shifter.

Yours doesn’t disclose what you are, either.

Whatever. Travis’ voice shook while taking a deep breath, shrugging off Peters’s brightening aura. You’re not stealing my chance to interrogate her. You weren’t the one inside the hospital puking your guts out and drinking that toxic pink Pepto Bismol yesterday.

Of course not. I wasn’t the dumbass that got himself poisoned by a woman.

Travis hid his fist behind his back. Oh yeah. There went all his toys during their next assignment. He could hunt paranormals alone while he enjoyed a nice whiskey and coffee at his desk, uninterrupted by this constant bitching.

I ah…I heard about the hospital, though. Peters peeked up from the tablet and rested a hand on his shoulder. About Lyssa, I mean.

Travis pushed his hand away, twitching at the way his annoying voice softened. I don’t need your sympathy. I’ve been through worse, you know.

You’re not the only one who misses her.

Nope. Not today. Another stroll down memory lane would drive him over the edge.

Chugging down toxic sludge grew more appealing with each spurt of heartburn tearing up his chest and throat. Don’t.

Peters didn’t take the hint. You always forget—

I said not now. I can't hear Lyssa. Emotion died from his voice as he glared down the corridor, wrapping his arms around his ribcage. Mye will pay for this.

Yeah, yeah. Stay here a minute. You left before Louise could give you any more medication.

Travis wiped the sweat from his forehead, grimacing when oil coated his fingertips. Soft pitter-patters behind him turned into