The Truth About Shadows

By Amanda Arista

Merci Lanard made peace with her past and is ready for a simple future of murders and larceny while protecting the heart of her city. The Truth has other plans.

When her boyfriend gets a distressed call from his old pack in Scotland, she cashes in her vacation days to help Rafe pick up the pieces of a life he left behind 18 years ago. A life that included a pack and a hot ex-girlfriend.

Instead of roving the bonnie hills, she is uncovering mangled bodies entwined with the Shifter politics. As they fight their way into the pack's good graces, Merci gets to see the powerful Primo Rafe used to be and doubts her place in his life.

As they work together to unearth the painful past of the pack, she finds the truth about monsters, the truth about buried secrets, and the truth about the light that true love brings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Dec 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094451671

Amanda Arista

Amanda Arista was born in Illinois, grew up in Corpus Christi, and lives in Dallas, but her heart lies in London. When not writing, she often dreams of co-opening an evil bakery and selling despicable desserts. She spends her weekends writing at coffee shops, practicing for the day that caffeine intake becomes an Olympic sport, and plotting character demises.

Book preview

1

Clicking the ‘send’ button was still as satisfying as it was the first time. The rush of a story well-researched, thoroughly investigated, and expertly told. If Hayne okayed it within the next hour, we’d scoop every paper in the city. Again.

This particular article had demanded a week’s worth of tracking down business holdings to uncover the real reason behind the auction of a historical hospital after it went bankrupt. Turned out it was just another trust fund baby getting in trouble as he tried to outdo his family’s legacy.

In the melee of the newsroom, I leaned back and stretched. It felt good to be back in the saddle. My saddle in my city, feeding my chaos as I brought truth to Philly. Not traipsing about some country club, but here at home, stale coffee, horrible lighting, and all.

Lanard!

I smiled as I looked at my computer clock. Hayne was getting slow in his old age. He’d had the story for almost six whole minutes before he found something to yell at me about.

I walked over to his office and casually opened the door. You yelled?

He didn’t look away from his computer, just motioned for me to come in, then pointed at the hot seat. The old leather chair was a dear friend, and we hadn’t had a chat in a long while.

I dropped down into the chair. It protested with a loud squeak, but I rubbed my hand along the armrest to calm it.

You got papers on this? Hayne asked as he squinted through his bifocals to read the article on this computer screen.

Yes, sir. Got transactions from the holding companies. Every interview recorded. A few emails from a secretary.

Are you sure?

I frowned. He’d never asked me that before. I sat up straighter in the hot seat. Something wrong? And don’t bother lying to me. You know I can sense a lie at thirty paces.

Hayne tugged off his glasses and leaned back in his swivel chair. Newspaper might be going the way of the hospital.

The threat to my livelihood brought a hit of adrenaline which piqued both my concern and my Charm. The concern, I could control. The Charm—my magical hunger for chaos—I was still working on. What?

Hayne closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a loud sigh. Nature of the beast, I guess. Circulation is down. Owners talking about bringing in fresh blood to shake things up. Give the place a facelift.

Thick fear, cold and gritty like cement, moved slowly down my neck and shoulders.

How bad is it? My voice was low, slow, and unsteady. I nearly didn’t recognize it. Fear wasn’t my usual go to—anger was more my wheelhouse.

You’ll be fine. You’re the best journalist we’ve got.

But that wasn’t enough. I didn’t need my ego stroked— I needed to know this place was safe, secure. This place, my work. It wasn’t just my livelihood— it was my legacy. I needed the steady source of not only income, but also the trouble it brought my way, the chaos I needed to feed off of as part of my demonic lineage.

Do you want me to look into it? It was a dangerous question, one igniting the static of the Charm around me. The magical gift, the curse, whatever I called it most days. Once a question was asked, I couldn’t not stop digging until it was answered. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. I couldn’t stop. I can sniff around, see if there’s anything happening under the table.

Hayne looked at me, chewing his lower lip as he thought. We need to see how a few more things play out. Listen, I know it’ll kill you, but…

He didn’t have to finish his sentence. I knew. Knew that softened look in his eyes which made him look more tired, more distraught, more of a father than I deserved.

You don’t need me to get into any trouble, I finished for him. I understand. But the Charm now hissed in the back of my brain like a tea kettle ready to whistle.

He arched one of his bushy eyebrows. You do?

I do. I pinched up a smile through the sizzle in my brain. When my passion gets the best of me, I can be more like a mortar shell than a sniper rifle.

He relaxed. And might have looked a bit shocked. Self-reflection had never been my strong suit, but even Merci Lanard can achieve personal growth if you throw enough at her.

But when you do need a mortar shell, so help me God, if you ask Brian the newb to look into anything, I’ll—

He barked out a laugh, which Hayne never did, or at least rarely did with me. You’re the only person I’ll call.

It put me at ease, got us back to the annoying patter as journalist and Editor-In-Chief. I needed that relationship. It was one of the few cornerstones in my life that hadn’t been taken from me in the past year.

He put his glasses back on his nose. Actually, you can do something for me. Two things.

I rose, standing at attention for my marching orders. All ears?

He waved his hand at the computer. Keep doing this. Good journalism. Truth. Despite your esoteric literary references and love of adverbs.

I nodded, trying to shake loose the tension in my shoulders with a joke. You’ll have to vigorously pry those sensational words from my arctic, lifeless fingers. Second thing?

He didn’t like the second thing; it was all there in his eyes. He dropped his chin, knowing I could read him like a book, because he’d taught me himself. Get some solid wins for yourself. Consider a few of those conferences you get invited to. Go rub some elbows. Show the world what you can do.

I scoffed. Are you joking? Never. Besides, I’m a horrible public speaker.

Think about it, Merci. Even you need some good press. Might even get the paper to cover some travel or something.

Well, the thought of a free vacation wasn’t horrible, but it still felt strange, like he was trying to kick me out of the nest.

He cleared his throat and turned to the computer. Shut the door on your way out. I’ve got some editing to do before this goes to press.

I offered a salute. I’ve got a hot date with a new drug informant anyway.

He fought a smile. Two full smiles in one day were out of the question. Just stay out of trouble.

I laughed my way out of his office, through the newsroom, and nearly all the way to my car. Merci Lanard? Stay out of trouble?

Never.

***

I could smell the curry the moment I slid open the back door to my townhome. Curry and chicken. Which meant peas, jasmine rice, and a boyfriend who had been watching cooking shows while he prepped his spring semester coursework.

Honey, I’m home. I dropped my messenger by the door and kicked off my boots.

Rafe came out of the kitchen in the apron I’d bought him for Christmas, with a spoon full of something orange and steaming. You’re late. Taste this.

He practically shoved the spoon in my mouth, and I ate it. The curry hit me first and then the cayenne, which was only made spicier by the tomato. The burn started on the tip of my tongue and quickly spread through my mouth and immediately settled in my cheeks.

I dashed to the fridge for some milk to stop the burn before it curled my hair even tighter. I gulped it down, and the burning stopped. I took in a deep breath and held the gallon, just in case.

I’m not late, I gasped, still feeling the echo of the spice in my mouth. We didn’t have plans.

He’d followed me into the kitchen, spoon still in hand. Do I need a formal invitation to cook you dinner?

I screwed the cap back on the milk jug. Never. I’m running low on leftovers. But I didn’t know you were coming over, so I can’t technically be late.

He just watched me with those stormy sea blue eyes and that canonical right angle of a right eyebrow. What do you think about the curry?

Crap. I couldn’t lie. Not only was it against my nature, but I literally couldn’t lie. Another perks of my powers—I couldn’t tell a lie without some horrible taste filling my mouth. Though at this point, I wasn’t sure if I’d even be able to taste anything for the next few days. It’s too spicy for mere mortals. You’ve got too much tomato. And I really don’t like curry.

Rafe sighed and tossed the spoon into the spoon rest. I’ve been working on this all afternoon.

The chicken was tender? I offered.

He grabbed a towel and wiped his hands. I’d hurt his feelings, but in my defense, he knew I couldn’t lie. And I wouldn’t lie to him. It was part of how we worked. The Demon and the Wolf. Honesty above everything else.

Though perhaps it was time to get to the food preferences, potential allergies, and medical history conversations. Right? Wasn’t that the next step in the relationship checklist?

What else did you do today? I asked, trying to sound sympathetic as I put the milk jug back.

He added a few more things to the pot and checked the recipe on his phone. Caught up on work emails. Read up on my demonology. Found this recipe.

Did you find the recipe in a demon book? Would explain the spice.

Ha ha. But he smiled.

And that smile would forever be the best part of my day. Seeing him was always the best part of my day, because no matter how horrible things got, I would always find him, and he would always find me. We’d proven that enough times over the past six months, and even the universe couldn’t deny it as truth.

What about you? Anything weird?

Yes, actually. I popped up on the counter while he adjusted the dinner. Hayne was acting strange, going on about circulation numbers.

He paused his fussing about in the kitchen. And why are you here and not chasing down every angle to that story?

I exhaled. Still feeling a bit like a dragon spewing flames. Because Hayne asked me not to.

Rafe just looked up at me with those Aegean blue eyes. Really?

I kept everything at bay and am following his wishes.

The twang of the lie hit me, and I’d wished the curry had burned away my taste buds. The lie detector flooded my mouth and a creamy curdled lemon flavor clashed against the spicy curry, souring it more. I hadn’t really kept everything at bay. Instead of using the itch of the Charm to hunt down the answers about the paper, I might have used the residual magic to pull out a little more information from the drug dealer than either of us expected. But I got a new informant out of the deal, so no harm no foul.

You really aren’t going to investigate?

Hayne asked me to do something else. He asked me to get out there in the journalism world and be seen. Go to a conference or something.

You hate public speaking.

I gaffed. I know, right? But I think he’s only looking out for me.

Good, I could use the help.

I reached up to play with the silver medallion hanging around my neck. Ethan, Rafe’s brother. The first one to keep me out of trouble had given it to me. My best friend. Since he’d died, I hadn’t done a good job of staying out of trouble, but Rafe at least got into the trouble with me.

Rafe ran his hands up my legs and nestled between my knees. Concern was etched between his brows. What’s going on up there?

I dropped the medallion to my chest. It’s six months tomorrow.

Do you keep a daily countdown?

I nodded. I’ve hit the bargaining stage all the grief books talk about. I keep thinking that if I hadn’t been so stubborn, he wouldn’t have gotten killed.

And if you hadn’t been so stubborn, that demon would have eaten half the souls in Philly.

I knew Rafe was right. I’d done nothing but good since Ethan’s death, though I’d earned a few new scars along the way as well. I’d spent these months helping others. But I was still thinking that if it wasn’t for me, maybe all those others would have been just fine.

"You think I haven’t been through the chorus of if-I-was-a-better-brother a million times?"

I reached up to brush the new silver at his temples, and he nuzzled the inside of my wrist with his nose, catching my hand in his and holding it to his cheek.

"Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow," Rafe quoted Tolstoy.

And while most girls in his Russian literature class would swoon, another line ran quickly through my mind.

"No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear."

Rafe exhaled and pulled me close to him on the counter. I should have never given you that C.S. Lewis for Christmas.

I draped my arms around him and leaned forward, pressing my forehead against his, taking a deep breath of curry and his perpetual scent of sandalwood and paper dust. His warmth quieted my rocky soul. It always had.

I’m sorry I ruined a spontaneous date night with emotional turmoil.

It was ruined the moment you balked at my cooking.

A laugh roiled out of me, and I pulled away from him, watching the clear sparkle in his eyes. Come on. Let’s go to MacTaggart’s and get some real food.

***

Rafe leaned down and kissed me one last time before he launched himself off the bed and walked across the room, the waxing moonlight glowing against his pale skin.

I need a drink.

I laughed at his comfort with casual nudity. Had to be a Scottish thing. Make it a double.

As his footsteps thumped down the stairs, I stared up at the ceiling, still tasting his earl grey kisses. My ceiling, in my home with my boyfriend traipsing about in nothing. At least we’d managed to get one part of our relationship right. I stretched under the soft sheets and forced my toes to uncurl.

A glass shattered downstairs.

I sat up quickly and listened, holding the sheet to my chest and straining to hear anything from downstairs. Silence. No sounds of a struggle. Perhaps he’d bumped something in the dark.

Wishful thinking. Wolves saw just fine in the dark.

I inhaled deeply and listened over the pounding of blood in my ears. The adrenaline brought an edge to my power, rising to protect me. As it bubbled out around me, I didn’t sense any magic. The only bonus to the power in my demon blood—it was activated by adrenaline and could sense where it could get its next meal, where it could find the chaos that magic created. No fresh chaos, and no new magic, was in my home.

I knew not to call out in case it was a human intruder, but I didn’t like just sitting there, naked. I pulled the tangled sheets around me and was about to get out of bed when Rafe stalked through the door.

Frantically, he started searching around on the chair where he always folded his clothes, flipping pants and shirts this way and that, cursing under his breath. Where’s my bloody phone?

I stretched across the bed and flipped on the nightstand light.

In my heightened state, with the fear of his silence still pumping through my body, I could feel the Shifter magic of his wolf. It bristled out around him, nervous and churning. He was frightened as he dug around, opening drawers.

Rafe finally found his phone, half-hidden under the nightstand where it had slid out of his pants pocket. He sat on the edge of the bed and, holding his chest, dialed a number.

I watched, still and curled against the headboard, as his chest rose and fell, as if he were in pain, the air hard to get in and forcibly pushed out. I waited because he didn’t need questions right now. I held my tongue and fought the thrumming of my instincts to find out what was happening.

Piper? Rafe asked.

Why did he call Piper?

The one question drew the Charm out of its slumber and electrified the air, danced along my skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. The questions started their normal barrage against the inside of my skull. What had happened? Why was he in pain? What could possibly have him calling the Den Mother at this hour?

I only heard snippets of Piper’s voice over the phone. It was high and tight, and she spoke with an alacrity I had never heard in her voice before.

Aye. But how? I mean… He covered his face in his hands. Okay. Can I come now?

She said something and he nodded and ended the call. He ran his fingers through his hair before resting his head in his hands. His energy was manic, like a dog that heard the bathtub running after a muddy day.

I waited for one more moment—it was all I could give him. I waited for his power to settle before I dared insert myself into whatever this was.

I twisted the sentence around in my head so it wouldn’t trigger the Charm again, so it wouldn’t come out in the form of a question. It felt strange as it rolled off my tongue.

Please tell me what happened.

Rafe took in a deep breath and turned toward me, covering his lap with a sheet. Naked didn’t seem like the correct state for this conservation.

He rubbed his chest, that same part behind his sternum where his power resided, where his wolf lived. Something is wrong with my pack in Scotland.

What? I snapped. Damn it. I’d tried so hard. The magic of my Charm crackled, and I dropped my gaze to the wrinkled sheets between us, so as not to ensnare him in the trap of my magic, so not to add to his already frantic state.

One of them reached out, and I felt it. Missy Laird, the sister of the Primo there. Something happened to her and now she’s gone.

I licked my dry lips. You haven’t been their Primo for eighteen years.

His exhale traveled the small distance between us. Once a primo, always a primo.

I dared to look up at him. And Piper felt it too.

Rafe nodded, his blue eyes focused on the window behind me as if he could see that far, could discern what had pulled at him from across the world. Piper’s still connected to the older ones. The ones who were there for the War.

The Great Shifter War. While Rafe had been brushing up on his Tolstoy, I’d been brushing up on the history of the Wanderers. Eighteen years ago, the Shifter nation united under Piper and those who were there pledged their power to her, all five thousand. Eighteen years ago, Rafe gave up his pack to stay with Piper and started his new life in America, never looking back. Never talking about them again.

Until now.

Piper thinks I need to go to Scotland.

My mouth dropped open. Don’t they have phones there? Can’t you just call the new Primo?

I’m not sure if it was my sarcasm or my doubt that jolted him into action, but he leapt off the edge of the bed and pulled on his boxers.

I don’t understand, Rafe.

He stopped, half-dressed and flustered. Something so terrifying happened to one of my pack members that Piper and I felt it on the other side of the world, Merci. Like a scream across an ocean. I need to know what it was. If it could hurt anyone else.

Between the tone in his voice and the echo of his words, I quieted. The Charm didn’t. It had a million questions, and they all beat around in my brain, like a swarm of angry bees.

And he could feel it, could sense the sear of it across my skin as he pulled on his shirt and tried to ease it with explanation. Missy was powerful, a pure line of Shifters. If something attacked her, it had to be big. If something….

I watched him frantically work the buttons of his shirt, trying to figure out if he planned for quick exits by folding his clothes so neatly or did he just organize his clothes like he was trying to organize his wild thoughts now.

He grabbed his pants as the next layer in the pile and pulled them on. Why are you just sitting there? Get dressed.

I’m not pack, Rafe.

He grabbed my jeans from the floor and came to sit on the bed next to me, turning his sea-clad eyes to me. I swam in their depths for a moment as water filled his gaze.

I could almost feel the pull of his need in my own chest as his hand reached out to grasp mine. His need to go home. His need to find out what happened. Answer questions. I saw it in him easily because I knew it so well in myself.

And every part of me wanted to help him do that. Find those answers, ease the chaos I could feel within him.

Every minute counts, I finally said. Let’s get going.

He bounced off the bed, grabbed his sweater and shoes, then headed downstairs.

I pulled on my jeans and found a bra on the floor. I didn’t worry about taking a shower or fixing my hair. Piper had seen me in far worse conditions. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Rafe like this.

***

All right! Emily clapped like a teacher praising her worst student. You are three for three.

I just glared up at her. I told you, Emily. That whole sensing magic thing—I’m good. Harpooning someone with the Charm, I’m good.

Emily sighed and sat on the other end of the swing on Piper’s porch. This was our swing, where we’d spent more than one early morning discussing life, liberty, and the pursuit of making it through another day. She was still here at Piper’s more often than she was at home in the house she’d shared with Ethan.

Rafe and I had been here since five am, and Emily had made us coffee while Piper and Rafe were making phone calls and trying to find out what happened. Since it wasn’t Emily’s pack and it wasn’t my people, we decided to excuse ourselves to the porch. The spring morning was still chilly, but the coffee and the company helped.

Emily wrapped her hands around her mug. If you’re all trained up, then what am I good for? she asked.

Being a friend? I offered, finding solace in the dark brown swirl of my oversweet drink.

Why does Merci Lanard need a friend this morning? Emily asked. Totally honest, totally serious, and completely correct.

Before he died last October, Ethan had been my only friend in the world, and my stubbornness got him killed. Now Emily, his widow, was my go-to for calling me out and forcing me to hone my demonic power so I didn’t hurt anyone else. I was grateful she put up with me, grateful we had found a little piece of Ethan in each other. And more than grateful I could ask her questions when I needed answers.

And I needed answers to the million questions in my mind about Scotland, Rafe’s old pack, and his life before me.

Has Rafe ever told you anything about his pack in Scotland? Did he ever talk about it to Ethan? About their father?

Emily curled her figure tighter into a ball at the end of the porch swing. Not really.

Don’t you think that’s strange? That he never talks about it at all.

Well, if it wasn’t for that serial killer over Christmas, would you have told him about your mother this early in the relationship?

Touché. I winced. Another reason I kept her around—to keep me humble.

I mean, have you asked him?

Damn. She was good. I wasn’t sure I’d even had the chance. I knew the big stuff; I knew what pertained to him being Ethan’s half-brother. But for the girl who asked a million questions, I’d never really asked him about his past. I really was a terrible girlfriend.

She looked at me and read my frown. What is your actual question?

What was my actual question? I sipped my coffee. I needed something else besides this nervous energy to fuel my brain. Before we knew what type of demon I was, I didn’t think that he should get involved with me. But now I’m going to nuts realizing all the things I don’t know about him. I mean, honestly, what kind of future can a Shifter and a Lilin even have?

There. I said it. It was out in the world now to cause its own chaos.

If you were a normal couple, I’d say you’ve only been together six months. You’ve got time. Time to figure it all out. See if you’ve got what it takes to go the distance.

Her words stung, mostly because that was the only answer I’d come up with myself. However, she didn’t sound like she was done. "I hear a ‘but’."

Emily turned toward me and tucked her foot under the crook of her knee, leaning her head on her hand as she looked at me. But you are not a normal couple. You have a connection I’ve never seen before. Something within his wolf pulls at your demon blood. Rewrites how magic is supposed to work.

Her answer didn’t help my mood. So, what are you saying?

Emily bit her lower lip and picked at the cuff of her pullover. Life’s short, Merci. And what you have with Rafe is real. So, you have to decide if you’re brave enough to embrace it or if you’re going to push it away. Answers or no answers.

What would you do?

Embrace it. One hundred percent. Freely and recklessly, knowing that I loved with everything I had so I wouldn’t face the guilt later.

I knew what guilt she meant. I’d guess we were both squarely in the bargaining phase of grieving over Ethan, in our own separate ways. I knew the guilt of reliving those last moments together, that last drink, that last cheesesteak, and kicking myself for not just being with him, enjoying his friendship, instead of always being on the hunt for the next story.

But even the guilt over Ethan couldn’t stop the squirmy feelings right under my diaphragm, just above my stomach. There’s just this strange twisting in my gut. This insecurity. This little voice telling me we don’t even really know each other.

Well, that’s not a question of magic at all. Emily laughed. Welcome to the fear that comes with loving someone.

I didn’t want to hear that answer. Because I knew the truth of it. I loved him, though we’d only said it to each other a few times. Merci Lanard, who could barely maintain one friendship at a time, had found herself a boyfriend who would withstand her storm.

Emily’s lively eyes had clouded over, like they always did when she thought about Ethan. This longing look that happened when she got caught up in one of those moments of guilt or a memory.

What’s going on up there? I kept my voice soft.

I’m starting to forget what Ethan smelled like. It’s fading from the house, from his clothes in the closet.

I licked my lips and took my coffee back up to warm my hands. I know you have super smelling because of the wolf thing, but he always smelled like baby powder to me.

She turned to me, and I caught the faint freckles across her nose in the sunlight from daybreak. One time he came home smelling like you.

What?

Emily nodded. Earlier last year. For some reason he didn’t call for two days and then came home reeking of whiskey and marshmallows.

Do I reek? I asked. Rafe told me my essence smelled sweet but burnt. I told him it was probably coffee creamer and hellfire.

Well, no, but it wasn’t his smell. And to a wife, and especially a wolf, any other woman’s smell is dangerous.

I tried to remember when that could have been. I didn’t want Emily having any horrible memories of Ethan. I wanted them all to be good and light, even though I knew that life wasn’t all good and light.

We did a lot of stakeouts, but what could have made this one so different, long enough to make her suspicious? I ran through my rolodex of stories. Was it around May?

Emily nodded.

Bingo. We were tracking a set of siblings involved in a murder case who kept being moved through Child Protective Services.

Emily shook her head. I don’t remember that one.

I turned to her and tucked my legs up underneath me. I rested my head on my hand, mirroring her as I narrated. Four different foster homes in two days. We couldn’t figure out why. We were in my car for three days, and every time they moved the kids, we moved with them, so we couldn’t get away. After two days, I caught one of the CPS workers alone and found out that one of the kids witnessed a murder.

She frowned. I still don’t remember that one.

I sat up and met her wide eyes. How could she not remember? Ethan and I started digging into the family, and then the kids got moved again. And we found out that the guy who might have killed their parents had active ties to the mob.

Emily’s eyes glazed over, I guessed in an effort to remember the story we had worked on. There had been so many. The Charm started to itch up my neck, the pressure of something building in the back of my head.

"I cornered the lawyer who was signing off on all the moves through the CPS system. He gave me the name of the

Reviews for The Truth About Shadows

[Jaedean Mitchell · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Amanda’s writing grabs you and pulls you in.! I’m addicted to her stories and style. I can’t wait for another.