Chapter 2
Chapter two
Luna
I hated it when impossibly attractive people ordered me coffee exactly how I liked it.
The café Damien had chosen for us to meet sat on the edge of the French Quarter—just touristy enough to avoid attention, just off the beaten path enough to avoid eavesdroppers.
I’d arrived home from Japan an hour ago and changed from my expedition gear into jeans and a torn AC-DC T-shirt, my version of business casual.
My hair was still damp from the world’s fastest shower, pulled back into a messy bun.
Damien, of course, looked like he’d stepped out of some supernatural Esquire issue.
Dark tailored slacks, crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to reveal muscular forearms. Not a single loose curl out of place despite the Louisiana humidity that turned most people into walking frizz disasters. I resented him for that alone.
“I took the liberty of ordering,” he said as I settled into the chair across from him.
A steaming cup of coffee—black, no sugar or cream—sat waiting.
I narrowed my eyes. “Let me guess. Theo told you how I take my coffee?”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Would you believe intuition?”
“I would not.” I took a deliberate sip, maintaining eye contact over the rim. Damn him, it was perfect. Still hot, too. “So, Mr. Cross, your hour starts now. Impress me with this job offer that’s supposedly worth my exclusive attention.”
Around us, the café hummed with lazy afternoon energy.
A few tourists clutched beignet bags, two locals typed on laptops, and soft jazz drifted in from a street performer outside.
Nobody paid attention to the strange pair in the corner—the too-perfect man and the woman with an earpiece who kept one hand near the concealed knife in her boot.
Damien leaned back, studying me with those unnervingly blue eyes. “What do you know about the Shadow Fang?”
I kept my expression blank to avoid revealing all my cards. The Shadow Fang belonged more to legend than history—a supernatural artifact mentioned in ancient texts but never confirmed to exist.
“I know it’s a bedtime story shifter parents tell their cubs,” I replied, watching him for reactions. “A magical artifact supposedly created by the first Alpha Queen that could allegedly cure any supernatural ailment or curse. About as real as unicorns or honest politicians if you ask me.”
“And if I told you it was real?”
I set my coffee down, giving him my full attention now. “I’d say you’re either lying, delusional, or about to ask me to retrieve something dangerous that’s probably guarded by ancient curses and supernatural booby traps.”
“The latter,” he said without a hint of humor. “Though I’ll be accompanying you.”
“Of course you will,” I muttered. “Look, I appreciate dramatic reveals as much as the next tomb raider, but could we skip ahead to the part where you tell me why you need this make-believe artifact and what’s in it for me?
My hour is ticking away, and unlike some people at this table, I actually look like I’ve had a long day. ”
One of the waitstaff approached, but Damien dismissed him with a barely perceptible gesture that somehow communicated “leave now” without seeming rude. He nodded and backed away without a word.
Interesting. That kind of subtle command usually came with significant supernatural status, like dukes and kings and people much more important than me.
Damien reached into an expensive leather bag, removed a slim folder, and slid it across the table. Inside were photographs of ancient tablets covered in a language I recognized instantly—proto-Lycan, the oldest known written language of werewolves.
My heartbeat quickened. Proto-Lycan texts were rare. Most had been destroyed during the Great Purge centuries ago when vampires declared war on wolf shifters. These looked authentic.
“These tablets describe the creation of the Shadow Fang by the Wolf Queen,” Damien explained. “According to the text, she created the Shadow Fang to heal her mate from a mysterious illness that no healer could cure.”
I traced the symbols with my finger, translating mentally. My dad had insisted I learn our ancestral language, one of the few useful things he’d ever done.
“It says the Fang was forged from...’moonlight captured in shadow’?” I frowned. “That’s poetic, but not exactly a crafting manual.”
“Continue reading,” Damien encouraged, his eyes never leaving my face.
I scanned the next section, my fingers tingling where they touched the photographs, as if some remnant of the tablets’ power had transferred to the images.
“The Wolf Queen and her mate infused it with their own life forces, creating a weapon that could ‘draw illness from flesh and spirit alike,’” I translated aloud. “The final lines claim the Fang could ‘restore what was lost’ and ‘awaken what sleeps.’”
My throat tightened. Could it really—?
I shut that whole thought process down. I’d allowed myself to hope too many times, and every single time I’d ended up disappointed.
When I looked up, Damien was watching me with unsettling intensity, those electric-blue eyes seeming to catalog my every micro-expression.
“Even if this artifact exists,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, “why come to me? There are other tomb raiders with more resources, better connections.”
“None with your specific expertise in shifter artifacts,” he replied. “And none with your…motivation.”
“You’ve been investigating me?” My voice cooled several degrees.
His gaze was direct, almost challenging. “I prefer to know who I’m working with. And before you ask, no, Theo didn’t tell me the details of your personal situation.”
“Then how—“
“The supernatural medical community is small,” Damien interrupted. “Rumors circulate about unusual cases.”
“So you know an awful lot about me.” I shrugged, but his digging into my past scraped underneath my skin. “But who exactly are you, Mr. Cross?”
A slight smile curved his lips. “A collector with resources and connections. Beyond that, does it matter?”
“It matters when I’m considering spending significant time with someone in potentially deadly situations.” I studied him—the unnatural stillness, the way he hadn’t touched the tea in front of him, not even for show. “I prefer to know what might be trying to kill me. Or who.”
“I assure you, my presence will be an asset, not a liability,” he said. “I have certain abilities that complement your skills.”
I snorted. “How wonderfully vague.”
“Says the woman who calls herself ‘The Ghost.’” There was that almost-smile again, like he found me amusing despite himself.
I sighed and returned to the photographs, ignoring the way his gaze made my skin prickle with awareness. “Let’s say, hypothetically, I believe this Shadow Fang exists and can do what the legends claim. Where is it, and why hasn’t someone already retrieved it?”
“Because it’s likely hidden in a location most consider inaccessible. And protected by safeguards designed specifically to keep out those who would misuse it.”
“Which means?”
Damien tapped the edge of the table once, twice, then proceeded carefully. “Our first step would be to obtain a more precise location. I know the Shadow Fang exists, but its exact whereabouts are…complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“The information is fragmented, deliberately so.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice, though nobody was near enough to hear. “The Wolf Queen didn’t want just anyone finding her creation. We need to do a bit more digging to acquire the next piece of the puzzle.”
I leaned back, crossing my arms. “So you don’t actually know where it is.”
“I know more than anyone else who’s searching for it,” he countered. “And many are searching, believe me.”
That tracked. For as long as I’d been in this line of work, whispers swirled among supernatural treasure hunters about the elusive Shadow Fang. It would be a major find. Especially for me.
I sipped my coffee, my mind whirring.
“Your compensation,” Damien continued, sliding another document across the table. “Half up front, half upon successful retrieval.”
I glanced down and nearly choked on my coffee. The figure had enough zeros to cover my expenses, of which there were a lot, for several years, with enough left over to live somewhere with real walls instead of the converted storage closet at Dr. Felix’s place I currently called home.
“This is…substantial,” I said, my heart racing.
“The Shadow Fang is worth substantially more,” he replied.
I tapped my fingers against the table, thinking.
Everything about this screamed “too good to be true.” People didn’t just offer that kind of money without severe strings attached.
And Damien Cross definitely wasn’t telling me something, and that something made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up whenever he looked at me too long.
But then I thought about yesterday, before I’d left for the temple job in Japan. How the moss had spread to the corner of her eye, giving her the appearance of crying blue tears.
“I want to know what you’re not telling me,” I said finally, meeting his gaze. “You don’t strike me as the philanthropic type, Mr. Cross. What’s your real interest in the Shadow Fang?”
For a moment, something genuine flickered across his face, a flash of vulnerability quickly masked.
“I have someone important to me who is ill,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “Conventional treatments have failed. Time is running out.”
He was telling the truth, or at least part of it. My instincts for deception, honed through years of dealing with shady clients, told me that much. It was also hard to fake heartache.
But who important to him was ill? A wife? A girlfriend?
“And?” I pressed.
“And that’s all you need to know.”
I snorted. “Yeah, that’s not how this works. I need to know everything. No surprises, no hidden agendas. Full disclosure on what we’re looking for and what obstacles we might face.”
“I see…” He canted his head, still studying me. “Perhaps I’ll tell you later, then.”
“I work my way,“ I continued. “If I say we back off, we back off. If I say a trap is too dangerous, we find another approach.”
“Within reason,” he said.
“And I want the contract to specify that I get to use the Shadow Fang before you take it,” I added, watching his reaction. “Then I’ll give it back.”
Something complex passed behind his eyes—calculation, perhaps, or conflict—before he nodded. “Fine, as long as I can come with you when you use it.”
That confirmed my suspicion that he wanted the artifact for more than just helping his mysterious ill friend. The Shadow Fang, if real, would be worth a fortune to the right buyer, or it could be a powerful bargaining chip in supernatural politics.
“One last thing,” I said. “I work alone for a reason. I don’t want anyone else involved or at risk. Just you and me. And just this once.”
“Agreed.” Damien extended his hand across the table. “Do we have a deal, Ms. Rookwood?”
I studied him for a long moment, taking in the perfect composure, the careful neutrality of his expression, the subtle but unmistakable aura of power that surrounded him.
Everything about Damien Cross screamed danger, not the obvious kind, but the insidious sort that pulled you in before you realized you were drowning.
But desperation made for strange bedfellows.
I-I mean…what? Not bedfellows. Partners.
I took his hand. That unmistakable sensation hit me again, recognition of something inhuman and powerful, in the cool glide of his fingers.
“Deal,” I said. “But I swear, if you’re playing me, you’ll discover why they call me ‘The Ghost.’ I can disappear with your money and make sure you never find me.”
For the first time since we’d met, Damien smiled fully. A predator’s smile.
“I would expect nothing less,” he said, his fingers lingering against mine a moment too long. “Shall we begin researching tomorrow? There’s much to prepare.”
As he released my hand, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d just made a deal with something far more dangerous than I understood. But for something like the Shadow Fang, I’d dance with the devil himself.
And looking into those blue eyes, I had a feeling I might have just done exactly that.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “I’m staying at the Repository…but you probably already know that.”
“I hear the Repository has quite an extensive medical library in the basement. Perhaps Dr. Felix will let us start there.” He stood and took his jacket from the back of his chair. “I’ll have the contracts drawn up and delivered to your residence this evening. Be ready to begin tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be ready,” I said, remaining seated as he gathered his things. “But Damien? Don’t think for a second that being a ‘collector’ gives you any advantage here. I’ve dealt with your kind before.”
He paused, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. “No,” he said softly, “you haven’t dealt with anyone like me before.”
With that, he turned and walked away, moving with that fluid grace unique to the very dangerous. As the café door closed behind him, I let out a breath.
What the hell had I just gotten myself into?
“Jade,” I whispered into my earpiece. “Did you hear all of that?”
“Of course.”
“Remember when you said my impulsiveness would get me killed someday? I think I might have just proven you right.”
“Well, at least he sounds hot. Is he hot?”
“Not helping,” I muttered, gathering my things and leaving a tip that made the waiter’s eyes widen.
What the hell, right? Whether we found the Shadow Fang or not, I was about to be rich.
Or dead.
Or both.