4. Katalina
KATALINA
From deep in the shadows, I watched and waited.
He was rarely alone. He’d also managed to give me the slip the other night.
He’d gone into the clubhouse and come back out with the vampire.
They had disappeared into the swamp. I’d tried to track them, but it seemed like their scent was everywhere and nowhere.
Good thing I was patient. Despite Rafael’s insistence, I had time.
A car pulled up as I waited. An older woman appeared to be talking to herself, then glanced into the back seat before she got out. She was terrified—genuine fear, not manipulation. I could smell it from where I hid. Yet, there was something off about the whole situation.
She went inside, then came out with several of the bikers. When she opened the car door and a young child got out, I was confused.
I’d tried to listen to what was said, but I was a bit too far away. If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought they called the child Zara and something about bringing her to Gideon.
I squinted my eyes and tilted my head as I tried to hear why someone would bring a young child to the wolf.
If the woman was trying to sell the child, she had come to the wrong place.
Though these bikers were, in my opinion, uncivilized, they were not traffickers. At least not from what I’d seen so far.
Several of the club members, including Gideon, took the child inside while the woman waited out front in the gravel lot. Not much surprised me these days, but when I watched her toss out a bag and haul ass, my jaw dropped.
The Kings of Anarchy had been as surprised as I was when they came running out as the bag was swallowed by the dust. They’d gone back inside, and the anger had pulsed off them in waves.
Later, one of their women exited their clubhouse with the little girl in tow. Despite the way my lip curled at the scent of the vampires, I wasn’t interested in them. Her male followed them on his bike when she drove off.
Gideon remained at the clubhouse talking quietly out front with two other males. Eventually, they all got on their bikes, and I slipped from my hiding spot, raced through the trees, and into my vehicle. From my position, I could see when they pulled out of the compound and onto the blacktop.
The motorcycles’ engines faded into the dark Louisiana road, and I followed.
Because I had a hunt to finish.
As I drove in the direction the bikes had taken, I thought about what I’d seen. The child had arrived unexpectedly. That alone made me pause.
If Gideon Bourque—Crypt Keeper—was the monster that Rafael claimed, he wouldn’t have allowed a child anywhere near his den.
He would’ve terminated it. Werewolves were dirty, nasty creatures with no conscience or refinement.
They were, after all, created in an attempt to annihilate demons—something we demons kept under close wraps after our ancestors’ attempt to wipe out the werewolves thousands of years ago failed.
But it seemed monsters were rarely what the stories said they were. And Gideon Bourque… was certainly not what I had expected.
Curiosity beyond piqued, I followed the scent of the exhaust and the wolf-man I’d been hunting. It didn’t take long to track him.
The rumble of his bike carried down the highway like distant thunder as I closed in. I followed at a careful distance, headlights off, letting the darkness swallow my car as they turned into a parking lot just inside the city limits.
A bar. Why was I not surprised?
Rusted metal siding clad the building, and a neon sign flickered above the door—the kind of place where bikers drank cheap whiskey and no one asked questions.
A smile lifted the corners of my lips. Perfect.
I parked at the back of the surprisingly crowded lot and pulled off my black long-sleeve shirt. After tossing it in the back seat, I untucked the black tank top I wore beneath. Then I unbraided my hair and let the black tresses fall in loose waves.
Glancing in the mirror, I quickly swiped blood-red lipstick on and added a coat of mascara. When I sat back to look at myself, I figured it would have to do. I considered changing my appearance. Though it wouldn’t matter. He would smell that it was me in no time.
Ignoring the odd way my heart sped up, I walked toward the muted music and laughter, boots quiet against gravel.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and beer. Music rattled the old speakers overhead while a handful of locals crowded the pool table. Almost all of the mismatched tables were full.
And there he was. There was already a female hanging all over him.
Gideon Bourque sat at the bar next to two of his brothers—one broad-shouldered with a shaved head, the other tall, with a scar down his cheek. Zeus and Bronx, if the intel I’d gathered was correct.
But my attention stayed on him and the blonde who was doing her best to engage him.
He hadn’t seen me yet.
Shoulder-length hair tied loosely back. Leather cut hanging off a massive frame, groomed stubble catching the dim bar light, he smiled at the woman. Though his posture was calm, I could see the tension beneath it.
Predator at rest. Until he wasn’t. That, I understood well.
With each step closer I took, his scent filled my senses. Boldly, I slid onto the stool beside him. “Whiskey, neat,” I told the bartender when he glanced my way.
The man nodded and poured.
Gideon didn’t look at me right away, but I felt the shift in the air when he realized someone had taken the seat beside him. The wolf in him scented me. I could almost see it sniffing the air. His spine stiffened, and I knew recognition had hit him.
Good.
The bartender sat my glass in front of me. No fancy napkin underneath it, some of the golden liquid ran down the side and onto the scarred wood. I lifted my glass and turned slightly toward him.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming out tonight,” I murmured softly.
That got Bronx’s attention. He looked between us, brow furrowed. The woman frowned and eventually walked away with a huff.
Gideon’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Those golden eyes slid to mine. Flecks of green seemed to glitter. Appreciation flared, then vanished just as quickly.
I hid my grin behind my glass as I took a sip. The man had incredible control. I’d give him that.
“Do I know you?” he calmly asked as he lifted his drink to his lips. The lie was flawless.
I leaned closer, letting my hair fall over my shoulder.
“I’m hurt,” I purred with an exaggerated pout. “You were much friendlier the other night.”
Zeus snorted into his drink.
Bronx chuckled.
Gideon’s gaze darkened.
He couldn’t call me out without admitting he’d been alone in the swamp—something I knew Boomslang had explicitly forbidden because I’d heard it as I lurked outside their clubhouse.
Which meant I had the advantage. For now, anyway.
As I parted my lips, I let my hand slide across the bar until my fingers brushed his. Electricity sparked up my arm.
His reaction was immediate—a barely contained tension that rolled through him like a coiled spring.
“Careful,” he quietly warned.
“Or what?” I whispered, as I leaned in.
His voice dropped lower. “You’ll find out.”
Enjoying the game, I smiled. Then, I leaned in close enough that only he could hear me.
“You should be more polite to the woman who almost killed you.”
Bronx choked on his drink.
Gideon’s hand closed around my wrist. Not hard. But firm enough to remind me exactly how strong he was.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he chided, his voice smooth.
“Well, I do enjoy dangerous games.” The air between us crackled as his breath feathered across my lips.
For a moment neither of us moved. The air seemed to still.
Then Gideon stood abruptly.
“Drink,” he told his brothers.
Bronx raised an eyebrow. “You leaving already?”
Gideon’s lupine eyes never left mine. “Something came up.”
Ensuring I held his gaze, I finished my whiskey slowly, savoring the burn. Then followed him outside.
The night air was thick and humid as the heavy door slammed behind me.
To the right of the entrance, he was waiting beside his bike when I stepped into the gravel lot.
“Bold move,” he said. If I wasn’t mistaken, the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile.
I shrugged. “You looked lonely.”
He studied me in silence for a moment. Then stepped closer. Too close. His scent wrapped around me—smoke, leather, and something wild beneath it.
“You followed me,” he accurately deduced.
“Of course.”
“And you walked into my bar.”
“You own it?” I asked, eyes wide in pretend surprise. Then I dropped the act, and a wicked grin curved my lips. “I wanted to see how you handled pressure.”
The corner of his mouth lost the battle as it kicked up slightly. “And?”
“You’re better than I expected,” I admitted.
“You plan to kill me here in the parking lot? Next to my bike? Or were you going to drag me behind the dumpster?” One brow arched as he waited for my reply.
“I haven’t decided yet. I do love to toy with my prey,” I cooed.
For a moment, we simply stared at each other. The night seemed to crackle. Then the tension snapped.
Quicker than I would’ve thought possible, he grabbed me. In one fluid motion, he spun and slammed my back to the tin.
Then he did the last thing I expected from a wolf creature. He kissed me.
Hard.
It wasn’t gentle or careful—it was violent, hungry—the kind of kiss that was more like a fight than affection.
My hand fisted in his shirt before I realized I’d moved.
His fingers slid behind my neck.
The world narrowed to heat and breath and the pounding hearts of two predators colliding. Sharp canines bit my tongue, and the metallic taste of my own blood hit the back of my throat.
A moment of panic hit me because a werewolf bite could kill a demon. Then I remembered he wasn't a werewolf. At least, not exactly. He wasn’t a simple wolf shifter. I’d encountered those before. They were essentially harmless to demons. Gideon smelled… different.