Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) Read Online Free Page B

boss,” Sloane said. “And fuck the wolves.” He hated those guys, more concerned with who had the biggest dick than with getting anything decided. He’d spend the day breaking up fights and cooling tempers. He’d rather cut the lawn out front with nail clippers. “I thought Richards and French had that gig.”
    “They do, but the boss feels they need back-up. Someone called the police two nights ago claiming they saw wolves in their neighborhood. We’re to go talk to Gabriel tonight while Richards and French patrol the neighborhood where the sighting occurred.”
    “Wish I’d known about this sooner. I promised Frankie I’d take her out to a nice dinner tonight.”
    Fulsom gave him a long look. “You’re looking a bit peaked, Rice. You coming down with the flu? Maybe you should sit this one out.”
    “And if I do? You’ll be stuck partnering with Shoring for this gig. You want that?”
    “I want you to make it work with Frankie,” Fulsom said, in a rare serious mood. “I like her and she deserves to be treated better.”
    Sloane grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on. “Then maybe you should date her.”
    “I’m married, asshole, but someone else is going to be dating her if you don’t take better care of her.”
    Sloane strode toward the door and their usual beat patrolling known fae neighborhoods, but he knew Fulsom was right. Frankie did deserve better and a part of him hoped she did leave him. She was gorgeous, and smart, and funny and incredible in bed, but the thought of her leaving him only filled him with relief and hope. Hope that she could find someone better than him, someone who’d give her what she wanted. And give him a break, another, darker part of his mind whispered. A night without a fight, a night in his own bed, the freedom to live as he chose. Yeah, it was time for Frankie to go and, if she couldn’t figure it out for herself, maybe he’d give her a little push.
     
    “Hello, agents,” a sultry voice purred in Sloane’s ear. The woman attached to the voice ran a hand down his back and actually pinched his ass. He spun and had her by the wrist and against the wall so fast he felt a bit dizzy. The female werewolf just laughed and Sloane had to admit she had no reason to be shy. She had the face of an angel and the body of a devil and her laugh, god her laugh, made him warm in places he liked to get warm. “I had a feeling you liked it rough,” she said.
    “I’m working, Sherry,” he said, clenching his teeth and trying to tamp down his body’s response to her. He should have been exhausted after the day he’d had, searching for a missing fae kid and then breaking up a fae brawl in the middle of downtown, but Sherry charged his adrenaline.
    She shrugged. “Maybe later, when you’re not working?”
    “Leave the guy alone, Sherry,” a husky voice said over Sloane’s shoulder. “Or Vince will have to kick his ass.”
    Sloane released Sherry and stepped away from her. “You and Vince?”
    “Yeah,” she pouted. “You ruin all my fun, Tom.”
    Tom grabbed her hand and led her away from Sloane and farther into the shifter-owned bar. He had no interest in tussling with Vince. And he was sure Sherry was nothing but trouble, even without a jealous, two-hundred-pound werewolf boyfriend.
    Shifters, in general and in specific, were nothing but trouble. All of them, male and female, were obsessed with dominance games and sex. He had argued with his boss that shifters shouldn’t be in their jurisdiction, but part of their job was keeping the supernatural world a secret and snarling werewolves was the sort of thing that drew unwanted attention. Even so, he’d been in the division for eight years, was almost thirty and felt he was definitely too old and too experienced to still be dealing with fist fights and shifter politics.
    Sloane studied the crowd filling the bar. Wolves, in human form, chatted and slapped one another on the back, but very few