8. Katalina
KATALINA
The shack didn’t smell like a prison. Not exactly.
It smelled like restraint.
Old but sturdy wood, damp earth, iron, and something deeper beneath it—magic, layered and deliberate. Not sloppy. Not desperate.
Controlled. Very controlled and specific.
That told me more about Gideon Bourque than anything he’d said so far. He didn’t lock things up because he was afraid. He locked them up because he understood exactly what they could do.
Including himself.
Frustrated, I leaned back against the far wall of the cell, bare skin meeting cool, scarred wood without a flicker of discomfort. The warded cuffs bit into my wrists—not painfully, but enough. Enough to remind me they weren’t a fucking decoration.
They were made to hold something like me.
Or him.
My gaze drifted over the runes carved into the beams, etched deep and filled with something dark and old. They hummed faintly against my senses, pressing against my demon like a warning.
Stay.
Contain.
Survive.
Interesting. Yeah, I’d seen cages before. More kinds than humans would believe existed. This wasn’t one. This was a choice. Those runes were made by a witch, but made for someone. Gideon.
The door opened. I didn’t move. Didn’t need to.
I felt him the second he stepped inside.
Gideon.
Dallas.
Crypt Keeper.
Whatever name he was wearing today.
He closed the door behind him, the sound solid, final. His gaze found me immediately. And held.
There was something different about him now. Tighter. Like he was holding something in.
Good.
My lips curved; I liked when men lost control.
“You going to stare,” I lazily drawled, “or finally tell me why I’m here?”
His jaw flexed. Then he stepped closer. Not all the way to the bars. But close enough.
“I need information,” he said.
I smiled faintly.
“Then you’re going about this wrong.”
“I don’t need you to like it,” he replied. “I need answers.”
I tilted my head, studying him. There it was again—that pull. Subtle, but stronger than it had been last night. Like something invisible had hooked between us and was slowly drawing tighter.
I ignored it.
For now.
“What kind of answers?” I asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “Werewolves.”
My expression didn’t change. Of course.
“You’re on my list,” I said simply.
His eyes darkened.
“We’ve been over this before. I’m not a werewolf.”
“I know,” I replied.
That stopped him. Good.
“I knew it the second your blood hit my blade,” I continued. “You’re something else.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Then why am I on your list?”
I shrugged slightly.
“Because someone put you there.”
Silence stretched. Long enough that I was certain he had nothing more to say.
“Who?” he finally asked.
Defiantly, I held his gaze.
And for the first time since I’d met him—I hesitated. That didn’t happen.
“Rafael,” I surprisingly admitted.
The name hung between us.
“It didn’t come through my usual channels,” I added. “It was… direct. Specific.”
Gideon’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Never heard of him.”
“Most haven’t,” I explained with mild amusement. “That’s the point.”
His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping. That was a problem for him.
Oh well. But that wasn’t what was really bothering him. I could feel it. That tension under his skin. That restless edge.
“You didn’t come here just to ask about yourself,” I murmured quietly, getting to my feet.
His eyes snapped back to mine. There it was. The crack. Small. But real. He exhaled slowly. Then stepped closer.
Close enough now that I could see the faint shift in his pupils. The way his body leaned toward mine without him realizing it. I caught myself wanting to move toward him as well.
“You have records,” he assumed. “On wolves in this area.”
“Yes.” I didn’t elaborate or offer up information.
“Any of them female?”
That caught me off guard. I frowned. Something that almost felt like… jealousy sparked under my skin. My eyes narrowed.
“Why would that matter?”
His gaze dropped for a second—just a second—before coming back up. And something in him shifted. Not weaker. Not softer. But… open.
Like he’d made a decision.
“There’s a kid,” he admitted.
I stilled.
“A child,” he continued. “Five. Showed up at the clubhouse a few days ago.”
My mind moved quickly. So this was the child I’d seen. I didn’t let on that I’d been watching that day.
“That’s not unusual,” I replied. “Humans abandon their young all the time.”
“She’s not human.”
That made me go still.
“What is she?” I asked.
His voice dropped.
“I think she’s a shifter.”
I pushed off the wall, stepping closer to the bars despite the pull of the wards.
“And?” I pressed. Most shifters were notoriously protective of their young. They wouldn’t simply abandon them.
His jaw tightened.
“And I think she’s a Rougarou.”
The word settled into the space between us like something ancient. Something almost forgotten. I stared at him. Then let out a quiet breath.
“I didn’t think those actually existed,” I admitted. Not once during my research did I come across mention of a female Rougarou.
His eyes flickered, uncertain. “I’m thinking maybe they do.”
“Apparently,” I murmured. “But have you seen this in the child?”
“No. She only arrived the other day. After the full moon.”
“At her age, will she change on a full moon?” From what I’d gathered, Rougarous didn’t change on a full moon until puberty. Until then, they lived a life of a simple shifter.
“She shouldn’t, but…” He trailed off with an unsure shrug.
“Has she shifted?”
“Not yet, but she’s only five. Without guidance, many wolf shifters don’t have the mental and emotional capacity to change until they are closer to seven or eight, sometimes ten.”
In my mind, I ran through everything I knew. Every contact. Every piece of intel I’d recently gathered.
“They’re… localized,” I said slowly. “Rare. Almost impossible to track. Most of what I found was buried in folklore and regional records. Only in Louisiana and this area, primarily.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That tracks.”
I studied him more closely now.
“So, you really think the child is one of you,” I repeated.
“Honestly, I don’t know, but I know she’s something,” he explained. “And my gut says it’s that.”
I considered that. Then shook my head.
“No,” I said.
His eyes narrowed.
“No, what?”
“No female Rougarou,” I clarified. “Not in anything I’ve seen.
No reports. No records. Nothing even hinted at it.
Though even as I searched, the reports aren’t consistent.
In the back of my mind, I still didn’t believe it even after our…
encounter… in the swamp. I thought it was all simply varying legends that were really werewolves. ”
That didn’t sit well with him. I could feel it.
“Your contacts?” he pressed. “Anything they said that maybe hinted at it being heard of or possible?”
“Nothing,” I confirmed. “And if it existed, I would’ve found something. I was thorough in my search.”
The stillness and quiet stretched. Then I tilted my head, studying him again.
“Where did she come from again?” I asked.
“Dropped at the clubhouse,” he told me. “By some woman claiming to be her aunt.”
“And you just… kept her?” I asked, a bit amused. As if she was a stray puppy.
His gaze hardened.
“She’s not safe out there. Her parents were murdered.”
No hesitation. No doubt. Interesting. I stepped closer to the bars, ignoring the way the wards prickled against my skin and the way his gaze swept over me.
“And you think this is connected to me?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But I think you might know something I don’t.”
“About your kind?” I pressed, surprised.
“About anything that hunts them,” he corrected. “Because it’s possible that whoever killed them thought they were werewolves too.”
Ah. Now we were getting somewhere. I wrapped my fingers around the bars, leaning in slightly. My nipples hardened at simply being near him, but I ignored the sexual pull.
“Then you should let me help you,” I said softly.
His expression didn’t change. But I felt it. That pull again. Stronger now.
“At first, I thought maybe you had killed her parents thinking they were werewolves like you did me.”
“And now? How do you know I didn’t?” I hadn’t. I would remember killing a couple.
“They were human.”
I hid my shock. Or at least I thought I did. “That’s not possible.”
“That’s what we’ve said. If that was indeed her mother, her father must’ve been someone else. Or vice versa.”
“Is she yours?” I asked.
“Hell no,” he insisted without hesitation.
“You sure?”
He paused. “I mean, I don’t think so. Her ‘aunt’ referred to her parents.”
I could see when it clicked with him that the woman claimed to be her aunt, but they didn’t believe that. Which meant she could have lied about everything.
“Unlock the cuffs,” I beseeched. “I have contacts you don’t. Networks you’ll never reach on your own.”
His jaw tightened.
“I don’t trust you.”
Fair.
“Then come with me,” I offered. “Watch everything I do.”
His wolf surged. I felt it. That possessive edge, sharp and dangerous, brushing against my senses like heat.
He wanted to. But he didn’t move. Didn’t unlock the cuffs. Didn’t step closer.
Instead, he held the line.
“Things are too new,” he said finally. “And you’re still a threat.”
I smiled slightly.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
That pleased me. At least he wasn’t stupid. But I saw it. In the way his gaze lingered. In the way his body leaned just a fraction closer than it should. In the way his control was starting to strain.
His wolf was already choosing.
Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.
Understanding the unusual pull I could see him experiencing, I let go of the bars and stepped back slowly.
“Then keep me here.” I carelessly shrugged. “But you’re going to run out of time before you run out of questions.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Maybe,” he murmured as he pulled out his phone and appeared to be sending a message to someone. Then he turned, his intent to leave obvious.
“Wait. Are you really just going to leave me here? Naked?”
He glanced back. A wicked grin lifted the corners of his handsome lips as he stared pointedly at my tits and bits on full display.
“I’ll be back,” he announced.
“You can’t just leave me here!” I snapped.
“I just did,” he shot back, then he turned and walked out. The door shut behind him with a solid thud.
“At least give me my damn clothes!” I shouted to the empty room.
I heard his motorcycle fire up and rumble away.
Ruminating, I stood there in the quiet, the wards humming around me, the heat of that strange connection still lingering under my skin.
A female Rougarou.
Impossible. Right?
And yet… nothing about Gideon Bourque was supposed to exist either. In the over one hundred years that I’d been alive, I’d never come across a Rougarou until him.
I smiled faintly to myself. This hunt had just gotten a lot more interesting.