7. Crypt Keeper #2
“It’s impossible for both of those people to be her biological parents. I’m saying genetically, that kid didn’t come from two humans,” Hack replied. “You know this as well as I do. One of her parents has to be a shifter and they weren’t.”
My jaw tightened. That didn’t make sense.
“Then explain her.”
“That’s just it… I can’t,” he conceded. “Not without breaking fucking biology.”
Silence stretched. I knew that not having the answer had to be driving him nuts.
My eyes went back to Zara. She was staring at me now.
Direct.
Focused.
Like she understood.
“Also,” Hack added, “as we already know, her parents didn’t just die. They were hit. Clean. Professional. Whoever did it got inside before anything went wrong.”
Targeted.
Not random. Exactly why no definitive evidence was reported to be found surrounding their deaths.
“Not about them?” I questioned.
“That’s what I think,” Hack agreed. “It was about her.”
Or what she came from.
“Dig deeper,” I told him. “Old Rougarou lines. Anything on females.”
Hack went quiet.
“That’s not a thing,” he said.
“I know,” I admitted, but I was unable to ignore what my wolf was sensing. There weren’t many of us. Hell—there were barely any. But female? I felt crazy even thinking it.
“Do you know of others in the area?” Hack asked.
“A few,” I finally drawled. “Not many.”
“Any of them capable of—this?”
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. Female Rougarous were unheard of. Yet my guts were screaming at me that this kid wasn’t just a wolf shifter.
“Alright,” he muttered. “I’ll see what I can find.”
I ended the call. Didn’t need anything else. But I didn’t go back inside right away.
The phone was still in my hand, Hack’s words echoing, but something else was louder now.
That burn.
Low in my back, just beneath the skin. Not pain—not exactly. More like heat pressed into bone. A mark that didn’t belong there yesterday.
I exhaled slowly and scrolled through my contacts. There was only one person I trusted to ask this kind of question without it turning into a damn interrogation.
The line rang twice.
“Dallas?” my father answered, voice rough with age and sleep. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I replied, though it came out tighter than I meant it to. “I need to ask you something.”
A pause. That was all it took for him to hear it.
“What happened?”
I glanced back through the window at the small girl finishing the last of the food. She glanced at my plate, then toward me before she reached over and took my plate. I almost laughed.
“Ever heard of… marks showing up after…” I stopped, jaw tightening. “After being with someone?”
Silence stretched on the other end. Then he cleared his throat.
“You mean like a bond mark?” he asked slowly.
“Maybe,” I hedged, suddenly uncomfortable with this conversation.
“What kind?”
Hesitant, I dragged a hand down the back of my neck. Unable to think of a way to back out of what I’d started, I blurted out, “Looks like a tattoo. Burned in. Spine.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“No,” he finally said. “That doesn’t happen.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Not with wolf shifters?” I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t sure. Most wolf shifter packs cast out a shifter that was a Rougarou. That was how my father ended up as the lone wolf he was.
“Not with any I’ve ever known,” he replied. “Mates recognize each other. Sometimes there’s a pull, instincts get louder. But marks? Something physical like that?” He let out a quiet breath. “No.”
My jaw tightened.
“Could it be because of us?” I wondered aloud. “Because of the curse?”
“The Rougarou line?” he echoed.
“Yeah.”
He was quiet again, thinking this time.
“I’ve never heard of that either,” he murmured. “But…” Another pause. “There aren’t many of us left, Dallas. Not enough to say what’s normal and what’s not anymore.”
That didn’t make me feel better. “You think maybe because my mother was an amplifier?”
A short, hissed inhale. To this day, bringing up my mother upset my father. Except because of my mother, I had the strange gift of being able to speak telepathically with other supernatural beings when in wolf form. Maybe there were other things.
“I have no idea. Amplifiers are as rare as we are. You said it burned?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“And the girl—she have one too?”
I didn’t answer right away. Didn’t like how easily he got there.
“Yeah,” I reluctantly admitted. “Same place.”
A low sound came through the line. Not quite a curse. Not quite anything I liked.
“That’s not nothing,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “I figured.”
Another beat of silence.
“I’ll ask around,” he promised. “Quietly. Anyone still out there from the Rougarou bloodline… maybe someone’s heard something like this.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Dallas,” he added, voice sharper now. “Whatever this is—don’t ignore it.”
My gaze drifted in the direction of the swamps. To the woman locked in my cell deep in the shadows. To the mark I’d seen on her back and the heat still branded into my spine.
“Wasn’t planning to,” I assured him. I decided not to mention my suspicions about the kid yet. I’d already dumped enough on him. Besides, it was only a feeling. I could be wrong.
“Dallas… are you still with that gang?” he asked me. The same shit that always came up when we talked. Because my mother had left him for a biker, he despised me being in a club. The fact that the biker had turned out to be a demon as well made me keep that tidbit about Katalina to myself.
I ended the call and stood there for a second longer, the night pressing in around me.
My wolf stirred again.
Restless.
Possessive.
And for the first time in a long time—uncertain.
After running a hand through my hair in frustration, I stepped back inside.
Zara had finished eating. Both plates clean. She was still watching me. Always watching, it seemed. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was just a shifter.
“Ready?” I asked.
She nodded and slid off the chair. No hesitation. No fear. Just trust.
That feeling in my chest tightened again. I grabbed my keys, then led her into my nephew’s room where I borrowed one of his little leather jackets and a pair of his boots. They’d probably be a bit big, but they were better than the cheap little shoes she showed up in.
“I need you to put these on. We’re going for a ride.”
She nodded as she hugged the clothes to her chest.
“You need help?”
She shook her head.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting for you,” I told her before heading through the house and out the front door to where my bike was parked. I put the sissy-rest on the back, making sure it was on securely. Then I went up to see if she was ready.
She was swung the door open as I reached for it. A big chunk of curls fell over her eye and, inwardly, I cursed for not thinking about that.
“Here,” I grumbled, digging in my pocket. “Turn around.”
She did as instructed, and I hastily braided her hair. It wasn’t the best job, but it would keep it from getting too tangled. Then I took my helmet and plopped it on her head. I tried not to laugh as it slid forward, obscuring her eyes.
I righted it and tightened the straps as much as I could. It wasn’t ideal, but I would be cautious and take the back roads to avoid traffic as best as I could. My truck was at the clubhouse. Looked like I’d be driving it home tonight. Glancing at my bike, I sighed.
Using the other hairband, I pulled mine back as well.
“Let’s go.”
I lifted her to the small passenger seat and took a small ratchet strap from my saddlebag. “I’m going to hell,” I muttered as I wrapped it around her hips and the backrest, then tightened it the best I could.
I climbed on in front of her. “You hang on and don’t let go until I tell you to. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice was small, but sure. Like she understood far more than a child her age should.
The engine roared to life beneath me, and we pulled out of the driveway.
Zara sat behind me, small hands gripping my cut.
Steady.
Comfortable. Like she’d done this before. I didn’t like that thought. She was too little.
The road stretched ahead, cutting through the trees as I pushed the bike toward the clubhouse.
Lily would watch her. With the way Dexter watched Lily, she’d be safe.
And me?
I had somewhere else to be. The shack. The cell. The woman I’d dragged out of a bar to fuck, then left in cuffs in my cell because she thought she could play games with me.
Katalina Kingston.
Hunter.
Demon.
And the only person in this state who might know exactly which “werewolves” were still breathing. Or which ones weren’t.
My grip tightened on the handlebars.
Yeah. We were about to have a conversation. And this time—I wasn’t letting her control it.
And I wasn’t going to let her distract me with that sexy fucking body.