Her rioting pulse kicks against my palm in challenge, but the stoked embers in her hazel eyes reveal that fire that wants to burn us both to cinder. A broken whimper escapes to rouse my cock, but she bites it back.

“That’s a shame,” I say, jaw clenched around my disappointment. “I don’t mind if you take it out on me. But if you do, use your claws.”

Her mouth hardens. “This is how it’s going to be with us,” she says, livid, her tone questioning. “Fighting, fucking…hurting each other.”

“Sweetness, you can fuck me and fight me at the same time. Whatever you need.” I glide my thumb over the thrashing pulse in her neck, drinking in every expressive emotion. “I’ll even fight you for us if I have to. Hell, I’ll be the one to fight for us. But you can't lie to me, you need the fight. The hurt wouldn’t feel so good otherwise.”

“You’re a deviant,” she snaps. “A fucking sexual sadist who gets off on punishing me for having feelings for you. I know you, Kallum. Anger excitation is nothing unique. No matter how charming and intelligent you are, you’re still just a textbook deviant trying to fulfill his psychosexual needs.”

I tighten my fingers around her throat, loving the way her skin pinks, her eyes flare, the tantalizing frisson vibrating through her body.

“Hmm. Psychoanalyzing me gets my little profiler so fucking hot,” I say, catching her bottom lip between my teeth before I release her. “But don’t sell yourself short, Halen, it’s where you live, too.”

Her narrowed eyes threaten to flay me, but the reflexive tremble of her body exposes that buried need.

“What do you fear?” she demands, lowering her voice to control the tremor. Our first night on the case, she asked this of me, and I refused to give her any answer. “Come on, Kallum. You’ve probed all my fears to get your rocks off. I want to know what terrifies the notorious bad boy.”

The earthiness of pending rain mingles with her alluring scent to test my control.

“In twelve hours, I’m boarding a plane to the Graystone Institute,” I say, dropping my heated words in the charged air between us. “That’s the time you have to find whatever answers you need to part with this case.”

She runs her fingers over her neck, the delicate space between her brows creases. “Crosby got you the transfer.” Her insistent gaze touches mine, demanding the truth.

A confirmation would alleviate some of the guilt she’s drowning in at my incarceration, but she’s not wrong in her analysis; I really do enjoy seeing her squirm.

The squelching sound of footsteps disturbs the gathering tension as a shadow falls across the moonlit reeds.

“Dr. Keller, you have impeccable timing,” I say as the woman moves into view. She is more of a nuisance than Stoll ever was.

Keller glances between me and Halen. “Agent Rana is asking for you and Miss St. James.”

I pull farther away from Halen. “Doctor,” I correct her as I move out of the shadows. “It’s Dr. St. James.” To Halen, I say, “Twelve hours.”

Agitation strings my sinew tight as I advance toward the scene and dip beneath the caution tape to meet Agent Rana and Hernandez inside the perimeter. “So who found the body?” I demand, surprising Rana with my direct question.

“Officer Michaels.” Rana nods to one of the local uniforms. “The vic has been ID’d already as Bethany Elsen.”

As Halen appears at the fringe of the scene, Hernandez hands over her gear across the band of tape. “I recognize the victim from the mine. She was the Thyrsus holder.”

Rana seems to understand that role amid the priestess’s Dionysian ritual, requiring no further details. A stark contrast from Alister. “ME’s estimated TOD is between two-to-six hours, but there’s no clear cause of death. Elsen was discovered an hour ago. We can’t patrol every inch of the killing fields and search the mine tunnels at all times.” Her tone is bordering on exasperated. “But I’m more interested in why this site is so cryptic and deviates from the others.”

“I’m not sure it’s cryptic,” Halen says, motioning to the woven patterns in the web as she unzips her bag, her movements hurried to disguise the lingering tremble in her hands. “The yarn work is similar, still encompassing an esoteric connection. While the artistry is ritualistic, this is not a rite or ritual in and of itself.”

“Childs obviously spent a good deal of time here.” Rana props her hands on her waist. “If it’s not connected to her objective, why risk exposure?”

“You’re only looking at Childs for this,” Halen points out, dropping her camera around her neck. “The Harbinger killer likes to leave nonsensical riddles with the victims.”

I swipe a hand over my mouth. Though she may want to, Halen can’t exonerate Devyn of every crime, especially when there’s a flaw in her logic. If she wants closure on the Harbinger killings, then she can’t revive the killer from the dead in Hollow’s Row.

Choices choices.

Agent Rana tilts her head. “How likely is it that the Harbinger is actually here? It’s more plausible that Childs was using a link to you, one of your past cases, for her own purpose. It’s Occam’s Razor, St. James.”

I study Halen’s profile, noting her open stance. Despite her own agenda, she appreciates Rana’s logical outlook.

“I was told by Agent Alister to incorporate the Harbinger in my profile as it was your theory, Agent Rana.”

“Well, he’s obviously no longer in charge.” Rana crosses her arms.

Halen raises an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am.” She moves around the exhibit, using her camera lens to zoom in and study the details of Devyn’s design. The rapid-fire shutter click fills the dense air as Halen photographs the scene.

“The weaving is ceremonial, the act itself sacred,” she says, walking around the woman suspended between the marsh trees. “Where the other scenes were crafted as ritual offerings, this one is more intricate. I think the perpetrator is attributing this specific skillset to Athena, making it divine.” She lowers the camera, her gaze cast upward on the slender antler tines. “She’s taken the time and care to honor this victim.”

Halen’s use of generic verbiage in place of a name is telling, trying to distance herself from the woman she’s profiling, but she can’t disguise her anguish, the connection she still feels to Devyn.

At Rana’s confused expression, Halen says, “Athena the goddess. She was a weaver.”

Rana’s tough exterior softens a fraction as she studies Halen. “I remember my mythology classes,” she says. “That doesn’t answer why Childs deviated in method. Why display this victim rather than dismember her for a sacrifice?”

Halen slides on a pair of latex gloves and leans in to examine the symbols traced in blood, focusing on the circle within a triangle, the philosopher’s stone. “Because she cared for this woman. Because she couldn’t bring herself to offer her to Dionysus. They were friends.” Emotion cracks her voice, and she looks away. “I think once the medical examiner conducts an autopsy, they’ll conclude the victim died of natural causes.” Halen snaps her gloves off, the sharp sound concluding her examination.

Rana holds up a hand. “That’s a huge leap, Dr. St. James. Care to share a theory?”

Still chasing away her unsettled emotions, Halen reinforces her stance. “Based on the deviation, it doesn’t fit the other ritual scenes. The perpetrator could also be devolving.”

The way Agent Rana scrutinizes Halen spears my chest with apprehension, and I move in closer. “Your perp has lost most of her higher men, her sacrifices,” I say, diverting the lead agent. “Symbolically, she may believe this exhibit will garner her more favoritism from the god.”

“I’ve never once heard you utter an indecisive word, Professor Locke.” Rana pins me with a skeptical look before returning her attention to Halen. “The perp is Devyn Childs. She murdered an FBI agent and decapitated him. Yes, clearly, she’s devolving. I’d like to stop her from devolving further.”