Kaden's vixen

Kaden

I drive to St. Kilda, thinking over the call I got at Sera's. I still can't believe my good fortune in finding her. I thought she ran because of everything that happened that night but apparently, it was a misguided sense of my worth that had been the issue. I shake my head, scoffing at the thought of me being better than Sera in any universe. Parking the car behind the flashing lights in my parents' driveway, I seal off thoughts about Sera till I sort this mess out. Now that I know where she lives, my sweet vixen would be seeing a lot of me.

I'm barely into the doorway when Mum comes rushing out. She gives me her usual tepid hug and only years of therapy and self-control help me clamp down on the shudder that rolls through me at the sight of her red nails.

Stepping back from the hug, I look her over. Despite the time, she is still as regal looking as ever, even in a robe.

"What happened here, mum?"

"I and your dad went out for drinks earlier. When we got back, I had a weird feeling, you know? Nothing was disturbed but I just felt spooked."

We've walked into the living room by now, and I glimpse my dad walking downstairs with no other than Detective Mitchell.

"Oh, you're around Kade," my dad says. I give him a cordial nod, to which he responds with an equally terse one. I see Mitchell watching our interaction, but I ignore it and focus on dad as I ask.

"Mum said nothing was disturbed."

"About that…" Detective Mitchell interjects "I think you should see this."

I follow him up the carpeted stairs. Everything looks the same, from our baby pictures on the wall to the vanilla scent from the packets mum places at strategic places in the house. All that calm comes to a screeching halt when we step into my old bedroom, though. The place looks like a mad man went through it. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to how things were destroyed.

"Mr. Baker, please come in here."

Detective Mitchell's voice drifts out of the bathroom so I step in and stop abruptly at the door.

My vison tints red, and it takes me a while to realize that I'm not having an episode but that the fucking walls have been spray painted red. Whoever did this shit sure was committed. My old bathroom has been turned into a movie set for the zombie apocalypse. I look around, wondering absently if it's actually paint or blood, when Detective Mitchell grunts to catch my attention and tilts his head at the mirror. Written in red (of course), are the words Stay with me, baby, and suddenly, I'm paying a lot more attention.

Detective Mitchell sees my changed demeanor and asks, "This mean anything to you?"

"Yes," I bite out and he looks taken aback by my sudden hostility. Taking in a deep breath, I tamp down the deluge of feelings trying to erupt and say calmly, "It reminds me of something from my past that's all. Can we get it cleaned up? I don't want this to cause my parents any more distress."

He narrows his eyes at me but drops it when I give him nothing in terms of a reaction. Changing the subject, I ask how the perpetrator got in. My parents have cameras and alarms everywhere.

"It looks like they've been watching your parents for a while. The house wasn't broken into, no alarms were triggered, and the person came prepared. Face cap drawn low, hair tucked in tightly, baggy clothes so it's difficult to know if it's a male or female. The only thing we know is that the person is of slight build, and at least six feet tall. We've taken samples and dusted for prints, so I'll let you know how it's going."

I thank him and walk him down to the door. On my way back to the living room, I book my cleaning guys for the next day, then head in to talk to my parents. They are both sitting down, drinking something that smells very alcoholic.

Mum sees me and sits up, smoothing her curly hair back. Dad is right beside her, and he holds her hand when she stares at me with her usual vacant gaze.

"Does the detective know who did this?"

Sitting down, I sigh and say No. "I think you should head out for the holidays, tomorrow"

Forestalling their refusal, I lay out my arguments, "Look, it's almost December. I know you're both done with your commitments for the year. The cleaners are coming tomorrow to clean up the house so you might as well just start the holidays early."

Mum looks halfway convinced but gray eyes like mine pierce into me when my dad asks roughly "What trouble have you brought to us again, Kade?"

And there it is. The unspoken accusation that all I've brought to them has been trouble.

"Nothing sir, just want to clean up this mess, and I want you both safe while Detective Mitchell catches whoever is behind this."

It takes a bit more convincing but soon they agree, and I take charge, booking flights out of the country for them tomorrow.

I spend the next few days supervising the clean-up and lock up of the mansion, while liaising with Detective Mitchell about both cases now involving me. Now that I know where my vixen is, my body constantly itches to see her, but I need to solve this before I can get my girl.

Sera

I am running late for my meeting with the writer called Blossom. She writes dark romance, which while a bit too scary for my tastes, does have a surprisingly wide readership. Alighting from the cab, I stride into the cozy restaurant she picked near the Yarra river. It's conveniently close to work, so I plan to stop in briefly when we are done. I walk in, scanning the people inside when I spy a raised hand from the far side of the room. I walk over to the stunning blonde in a cream silk blouse, red pencil skirt, and bright green eyes. When I shake her hand, I feel a sudden sharp pain in my head.

"Hello, Sera, I imagine. Are you okay?"

Shaking it off, I smile at Blossom and tell her I'm okay.

Our meeting runs a little late, but we have a productive time. At the end of the hour, we've fleshed out her outline, and while I'm still not a fan, this story will definitely be a hit. I decline her offer of a drop and instead, walk quickly to the office.

I pick up two new manuscripts my boss dropped for me (I wonder who still writes their stories instead of typing it in this age.). Lights are dimmed on the floor as most workers have left so I decide to wait for the lift as I am a little tired. Seeing Kaden days ago hasn't helped my sleep. I keep tossing and turning at night trying to escape strong arms and hoarse groans. The fact that he hasn't reached out to me also isn't helping. The elevator dings and I step in without looking at the sole occupant. Checking to see if the ground floor button has been pressed, a soft cough startles me enough to almost loose my balance. Whirling sharply, the scent of nutmeg and something suspiciously ice cream-ish floods my nose when a scarred hand closes around my upper bicep to stabilize me. I look up to familiar eyes and suddenly, I'm backed against the wall of the elevator, and it's been stopped mid-air with a simple push of a button.

"Kaden, what are…?"

My words are muffled when firm lips slide over mine, warm hands reaching up to frame my face before he slides one hand behind my neck while the other hauls me towards him.

Something is not right here.

I can't shake the feeling, even as my traitorous body melts into Kade and I find myself kissing him back. He groans into my mouth and his hands wind up in my hair, fisting it a bit roughly, which causes me to whimper. That little sound seems to bring Kaden back because I am suddenly gently shoved away from him, and he is on the other side of the lift.

We stand unmoving for a few minutes before Kaden speaks again

"Why are you here, so far from home?"

Okay. We are not talking about the kiss. Gotcha.

Trying to speak coherently, (since apparently, I am the only one affected by whatever the hell that kiss was) I stumble over my explanation about my job and how my office is located on the sixth floor. Kaden listens patiently, then strides out of the elevator, turning to me when I stand there, still a little dumb-founded.

"Aren't you coming? I'll give you a lift."

My half hearted denials are ignored, and I follow him down to the car. His car is a sleek, heavy-duty jeep. I vaguely wonder why he doesn't drive the usual luxury cars most rich guys seem to love here and how his poor driver amuses himself while on standby. He ushers me in and shuts the door before sliding into the car on the other side.

"We are ready, Thomas. We are going to Box Hill."

Thomas, a kind looking older gentleman gives me a warm smile before driving off.