My Fault
Lucien hung up the phone softly, his heart breaking for his mate.
It wasn't fair what was happening to her right now, and it wasn't her fault. Even if she weren't the one to invent the de-scenter in the first place, someone else would. All this shit was because Bernadette Smyth decided that she wanted more money.
"Caleb, you free?" he called out.
"I am," answered the crow, entering the living room while wiping his hands on a towel. The fact that the towel was turning red was completely ignored by the other man. "What's going on?"
"Do you remember what we did with that owl?" asked Lucien, his head cocked to the side. He remembered Caleb playing with her earlier, but now he had no idea where they had left her.
"It's been a few weeks, but she should still be in that room," shrugged Caleb like it wasn't that big of a deal. "I'd really be impressed if she was still alive at this point. Why?"