3 Chapter 3

Ignoring that lacking-in-wit jibe, Lynn finally reached his new partner and scowled down—way down—at him. "Are you sure you're in the right place, unicorn?"

The unicorn stared up at him, eyes a pretty blue-purple-red swirly affair, then smiled in a way that made Lynn think uncomfortably of his mother. "2076 Lady Beth St., Suite 1803, loomed over by a sour-faced attitude problem in a suit that costs more than what anyone here makes in a month. Yeah, I think I've got the right place. Take a step back so I can smell more than overpriced silk and iced coffee."

Lynn scowled, not certain if he was annoyed or enchanted.

Wrinkling his nose, the unicorn gave him a shove when he didn't move, pushed back the loose strands of his ridiculously curly, artfully tumbling hair, and said, "I hope you don't always smell that much of coffee."

"You don't like coffee?" Lynn demanded.

"Coffee is fine, but you don't have to smell like you bathed in it."

That deserved a sneer, and Lynn happily gave it. "What's your name?"

"Ask nicely and maybe I'll tell you."

Rolling his eyes, Lynn walked over to his desk. "Let me finish a couple more reports and then I'll show you—"

"Lynn! Anderson! In my office now!"

Glaring in the direction of Comber's office, Lynn closed his laptop and rose. He followed Anderson—really, Anderson? Weren't unicorns usually named like Sparkleson or something? Earth-type creatures were so bizarre.

"Close the door," Comber snapped.

Lynn did as told and then took his seat, frowning at the distinctly green cast to Comber's skin. At least the scales hadn't come out yet. "You're that stressed already?"

"As of five fucking minutes ago, yes," Comber snapped and shoved a file across the desk. Lynn snatched it up before Anderson—seriously, that was a horrible name for a unicorn who looked like he modeled for dolls or magical ponies or whatever—and opened the rather ragged, worn, dark green folder.

He forgot everything else as he stared at the mug shot scowling up at him. Slowly dragging his eyes up to meet Comber's increasingly red ones, he said, "You're fucking kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm fucking with you, son?" Comber asked, heaving a sigh. "We think it's him, but there have been no actual sightings reported. I want you to dig around before you go swimming, so to speak, but it sounds like it could be him."

"Who is him?" Anderson asked and snatched the folder out of Lynn's hands. "Oh," he said quietly. "Him."

Something in Lynn's gut twisted to hear him say it in that particular tone—disgust, fear, loathing. All the things people usually felt when they discussed one of his kind. He might make snarky comments about unicorns, but he would defend their right to be obnoxious, delicate, pretty pretty ponies to the death. It was depressing that people looked at Lynn's race and death was the only thought in their heads. "Not all of us krakens are like him." He looked at Comber. "Did nobody fucking tell Sparkleson here what his partner was?"

"Sparkleson, really?" Anderson asked, sliding him a look that was so derisive Lynn almost fell in love. "I don't have a problem with krakens, Wriggly. I have a problem with this kraken-dragon asshole. He—well, he's done a lot of shit, and I used to live out by Bottomless Lake."

Lynn scowled, old hatreds turning fresh and new. He looked at Comber. "Where has he surfaced now? I was sure he'd finally slithered under a rock for good."

"We're never that lucky. They didn't want to give you the case, what with the family connection—"

"Family connection?" Anderson asked, eyes pinching at the corners, mouth pulling down.

Lynn sighed and stole the file back, flipping to the page listing information on family and close friends and jabbing at the lines for parents. "My half-brother—we have the same mother. My sister and I are pure kraken, but we have six siblings who are half-dragon, half-kraken."

Anderson's brow furrowed. "Aren't krakens and dragons distantly related?"

"According to lab nerds with nothing better to do with their time, yes, there is an ancient connection. But we're hardly the same thing anymore. Do I look like I hoard shiny things and breathe fire?"

Giving him a look, mouth curving in an extremely irritating way, Anderson took a long, slow look at his expensive suit, his ring, earrings, cuff links, and glittering tie bar before he replied, "I'm going to assume that question was rhetorical, though I'd say you're more inclined to throttle than burn."

"I'll show you throttle," Lynn muttered, staring back down at the file.

Comber heaved a long sigh. "Boys, if you please. I know it's your first day, and I was really hoping to break you in easy, but Lynn is the only one who is likely to keep Wynn in one place long enough for us to catch him and… well, for the moment, you're not going anywhere, Anderson. Agent Lynn Seymour meet Agent Anderson Meadows."

"Meadows? Really?" Lynn looked up. "I bet Anderson isn't your real name. It's probably Frolick, middle initial 'N'."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Are you always like this?"

"Yes," Lynn and Combers said together. Combers spread his hands. "You're stuck with him for now, but if you want a transfer after this case, we'll discuss it."

Stuck with him. Ha! He was the best agent in the state and ranked—well, respectably high in the country—and anyone should consider themselves lucky to work with him. Though Lynn admitted that being stuck with his damned half-brother right out of the water was a bit much for anyone to have to endure.

He stared at Wynn's picture, old fears and loathing curling through him, making him ache to be back home in the safety of his own pool. He wasn't much better off than the humans he was imitating when he assumed their shape, but in water, in his own skin… even his stupid brother couldn't mess with him. Not that Wynn would ever conveniently present himself for the ass-kicking he deserved. "Let's get going—" He paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Where the fuck is Wynn skulking this time?"