Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Luna
Something was wrong.
I woke suddenly, every instinct on high alert before my conscious mind could identify the threat.
Dawn was just breaking, the jungle filling with its usual morning chorus of birds and howler monkeys.
Damien stood at the edge of our small camp, his body a dark silhouette against the emerging light, coiled tension evident in every line of his frame.
“What happened?” I whispered, sliding silently from my sleeping bag.
“We both fell asleep.” His voice carried a dangerous edge. “Someone came while we slept. Curious, considering the perimeter alarms.”
I followed his gaze to the thin tripwire he’d set the night before, which was still intact and undisturbed. Whoever had approached our camp had either known about our precautions or had serious skills.
After pulling on my boots, I moved to examine the surrounding area.
Just beyond the natural boundary of our sheltered campsite, I found what I was looking for—a partial footprint pressed into the soft earth where the morning dew had settled.
The print was deep at the heel, suggesting someone had paused there, watching us while we slept.
“Professional,” I murmured as Damien appeared silently beside me. “Military or paramilitary training. See how they distributed their weight to minimize tracks?”
His nostrils flared slightly as he crouched beside me, his fingers hovering over the impression without touching it.
“There were at least three,” he said, his voice dropping to a register that raised goose bumps along my arms. “One female, two males. The woman wears an unusual perfume…sandalwood and something synthetic.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Show-off.”
The corner of his mouth ticked upward. “Just observant.” His gaze swept the surrounding jungle. “They didn’t attack while we were vulnerable.”
“No need to hurt us if we’ll lead them straight to the crypt.” I continued my examination of the area.
Then I saw it, partially concealed beneath a fallen leaf—a cigarette butt with a distinctive gold band. I crouched to examine it without touching it.
“Shit,” I breathed.
Damien moved closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned in. “You recognize it.”
“Yeah.” I grimaced. “Marcel. He has a thing for custom-made Russian cigarettes with gold filters. I found that out during a recovery job in Tunisia. Double-crossed me and left me in a collapsing tomb. I made it out; his reputation didn’t.”
Something dangerous flashed in Damien’s eyes, another glimpse of the predator that lurked beneath his civilized exterior. “If I would’ve known that he’s responsible for putting you in danger previously, I would have had a more serious conversation with him at the masquerade ball.”
The casual way he said it, coupled with the cold fury in his eyes, sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
“Yeah, well, I was too high on moonpeaches for story time,” I said with a tight smile. “But right now, we need to focus on the fact that if Marcel’s here, it’s with serious backing. He doesn’t move without guaranteed profit, which means someone’s paying him very well to follow us.”
“At least he’s on the side of those who want us alive.” Damien straightened, scanning the tree line with renewed intensity. “At least for now.”
“We need to delay them. Buy enough time to reach the crypt first.” I began packing our gear.
“What do you suggest?”
I considered our options as we eliminated traces of our camp and then smiled grimly. “They want to follow our trail? Let’s give them one they’ll wish they never found.”
For the next hour, we worked to prepare a series of unpleasant surprises for our pursuers. I’d spent enough time in various jungles to know which plants caused skin reactions, which mudbanks concealed deeper sinkholes, and how to redirect natural animal paths to intersect with human ones.
“These vines secrete an oil that causes temporary but intense skin irritation,” I said, arranging a lattice across a narrow section of trail. “Not deadly, but really uncomfortable. Marcel’s mercs will need to stop and treat it or risk debilitating discomfort.”
Damien watched, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes.
“Physical and psychological warfare. They’ll become increasingly cautious, slowing their progress.
” He moved beside me, his hands swift and sure as he added his own modifications to my trap.
“If we place it here instead, they’ll be forced to step exactly… here.”
The precision of his adjustment transformed my adequate trap into something elegant and nearly invisible. When I looked up in surprise, he shrugged.
“Remember when I said I track people for a living? In the 1800s, I spent twenty years hunting a particularly vicious vampire through terrain not unlike this. One develops techniques.”
“Twenty years for one vampire?“ I whistled low. “That’s some dedication.”
His expression darkened. “He slaughtered an entire village, including children. Time was irrelevant; justice was not.”
“Damn. That’s terrible.” I wanted to know more about his past, about his job, but I didn’t have time to ask.
Instead, I focused on our next trap—a small pit disguised with large leaves and branches.
“This won’t seriously injure anyone,” I explained, “but a twisted ankle slows a whole team.”
As we worked, Damien contributed ideas that complemented my own.
Where I focused on physical deterrents, he suggested subtle manipulations that would play on human fears, like arrangements of stones or branches that triggered subconscious unease, placements that would cast particular shadows as the sun moved.
“Most humans still have instinctive responses to predator signals,” he explained, positioning dark stones in a seemingly random scatter that somehow resembled eyes watching from the underbrush.
“They might not recognize why they feel threatened, but they’ll hesitate nonetheless.
The mind processes threats before consciousness can name them. ”
He twisted several branches into an asymmetrical arch that shouldn’t have been disturbing but somehow evoked the sensation of something readying to pounce. The hairs on my arms rose even though I knew it was fake.
“You’re tricking their brains into thinking a predator is nearby.” I whistled, seriously fascinated.
Damien nodded, his pale fingers adjusting a final stone. “The most effective deterrents aren’t walls or barriers. They’re warnings that speak to the primitive brain. Fear is ancient, older than language.”
“That’s disturbingly effective,” I admitted, stepping back to view the whole arrangement. What looked artful from one perspective transformed into something subtly threatening from another. “Is this a vampire hunting technique?”
He grinned. “Among other things.”
By mid-morning, we’d reached a small ridge that offered a vantage point. Damien produced a pair of compact binoculars from his pack, and I scanned the territory we’d traversed.
“Uh-huh,” I said, adjusting the focus. “About two kilometers back.”
Marcel was instantly recognizable—tall and rail-thin with a shock of silver hair despite his relatively young age.
He gestured imperiously to his team as they examined something on the ground.
I counted six mercenaries, all heavily armed.
Most concerning was the device one of them carried—something that resembled a handheld sensor with an antenna that glowed faintly blue even in daylight.
“That’s new,” I murmured, passing the binoculars to Damien. “Some kind of magical tracker?”
He said for several moments, his expression hardening. “A thaumic resonator. Experimental technology that detects concentrated magical energy.”
“Like the energy surrounding the Shadow Fang?” I threw back my head and shook it at the sky. “Why does Marcel get to have toys like that? I would kill for one of those. Or at least maim.”
The muscles in Damien’s jaw worked as he continued to watch.
“That’s the kind of technology that shouldn’t be in the hands of mercenaries.
” He lowered the binoculars, his bright-blue eyes still trained on our pursuers.
“Whoever hired him has both resources and connections. This isn’t just about the artifact anymore.
It’s about who wants it badly enough to outfit a team with military-grade supernatural detection equipment. ”
“I would sell a couple livers for that thing,” I said with a wistful sigh.
His head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing. “You will do no such thing.” The command in his voice was immediate and absolute. “We need your…livers. No selling of your organs. Ever.”
“I would sell a couple livers, not mine,“ I corrected with a chuckle. “Don’t w—“
A distant shout echoed through the jungle, followed by a string of multilingual curses.
“That would be the stinging nettle snare,” I said with entirely too much enthusiasm. “Not lethal, but definitely memorable.”
Damien caught my eye and smiled. “You’re having way too much fun, Luna.”
“Well, someone’s got to,” I said, not realizing how closely we stood until now.
So close that I could see the golden flecks in his blue eyes, illuminated with his smile as he gazed at me.
The sliver of air between us stretched taut like a livewire of electric pulses, each spark ricocheting underneath my skin.
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe even though my head spun like I’d breathed in too much at once.
“We should get going,” he said softly.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. Nodded. Acted as though that moment hadn’t just triggered a steady ache between my legs. “Let’s.”
We continued on, moving deeper into the Wolf Queen’s territory while periodically glancing back to ensure our pursuers remained delayed.
As we walked, I forced my brain to focus on my surroundings, not on Damien’s powerful strides, the sure way he held the machete to help clear our path, how his large hands might feel as they glide over my naked skin to my wet, needy—