Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Luna
Damien’s shirt was in tatters, and damn if that wasn’t turning into the most inconvenient distraction of this whole tomb-raiding adventure yet.
I didn’t think I’d ever been so turned on by a man’s clavicles. His clavicles.
It didn’t help that every time he moved ahead of me on the stairs, the remnants of fabric shifted to reveal more of his back—all sculpted muscle and artwork.
Intricate tattoos in midnight-blue ink spilled across his shoulder blades and down his spine, ancient symbols intertwining with what looked like suns.
All shapes and sizes of them. An odd choice for a vampire, but he’d gotten them when he was a fae, before he was turned.
The designs seemed to move with each flex of his shoulders, like they were alive on his skin.
I forced my gaze away for the hundredth time.
Focus on staying alive, Luna, not on Vampire Ken’s surprisingly ripped physique.
The stairway opened into a broader chamber with a vaulted ceiling supported by columns carved to resemble tree trunks.
Murals covered every available surface, telling a continuous story that wrapped around the entire room—hunting scenes featuring wolves of impossible size, ceremonies conducted beneath full moons, battles against pale, elongated figures that could only be vampires.
“The Wolf Queen’s history,” Damien said, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper.
As he studied a vivid depiction of a giant silver wolf standing triumphant over seven humanoid forms, his fingers twitched at his sides, as though fighting the urge to touch the ancient artwork.
“Or at least, her preferred version of it.”
For a vampire, he showed surprising respect for werewolf history. Or maybe it was just respect for history in general. The way he studied the murals reminded me of how a lit nerd might analyze a first-edition book or how a tomb raider might look at an ancient tomb.
I was sure my face showed that I was definitely in my happy place.
“It’s depicting her transformation,” I said, studying the sequence. “See? Here she begins as a human woman—a shaman or a priestess of some kind. Then she communes with wolf spirits…drinks something from this bowl…and emerges as something new.”
Damien moved closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned in to follow where I was pointing.
“Not just a shifter, but something more powerful, according to some legends,” he said.
“The stories say she found a way to harness the essence of all werewolf bloodlines, becoming a sort of nexus for shifter magic.”
The next chamber was smaller but more elaborately decorated.
At its center stood a stone altar, its surface stained dark with what I suspected was ancient blood.
Around the altar, the floor had been inlaid with a mosaic depicting spiral patterns similar to the one on the entrance stone, but more complex.
“This was a worship space,” I said, keeping my voice low. The air here felt charged, as if the stones themselves retained memory of the rituals once performed. “Where her followers would offer sacrifices.”
I took a step, and my boot crunched down onto a smooth, bare stone without a spiral.
A sharp click echoed through the chamber.
A hiss of air sliced the silence. Something flashed toward me.
“Shit!” I flung myself backward instinctively, my breath catching in my throat.
Pain stung just above my eye.
“Luna!”
Before I could even register what had happened, Damien was there, his body suddenly between me and the rest of the chamber as if he could shield me from harm that had already occurred. His hands cradled my face with such careful tenderness that my heart skipped.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice rough. His thumb brushed near the cut, his touch impossibly gentle. “Let me see.”
Sure enough, blood trickled down the side of my face.
I touched my fingertips to the cut. “It’s just my eyebrow, but I have another one. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip. Those blue eyes blazed with something fierce and protective. “If that arrow had been a centimeter closer—“
“It wasn’t. Damien, I’m okay. Really.” I grasped his wrists and squeezed as if to prove it. The cool skin beneath my fingers seemed to warm at my touch. “The spirals. Only step on the spiral stones, okay?”
He nodded and slowly, reluctantly, released me, but not before his thumb grazed my cheek in what could only be described as a caress. He stepped back, but his eyes remained fixed on me as if he expected me to collapse at any moment.
His fierce concern and protectiveness warmed my chest from the inside out, but I needed to focus, and I couldn’t do that with an arrow through my head or an insanely hot vampire hovering too close.
While Damien drifted away, turning every few seconds to make sure I hadn’t dropped dead, I slapped a bandage from my pack on what was left of my eyebrow. Unfortunately, this wasn’t my first rodeo with lost eyebrows, but they did grow back. Of that, I was positive.
While I finished patching myself up, Damien moved around the chamber’s perimeter, sticking to the spiral stones and examining the walls. His movements reminded me of a jungle cat—each step deliberate, balanced, aware.
“These appear to be records of her campaign against the vampire lords,” he said. “Dates, locations, names of the fallen.”
His fingers hovered over the carvings with a strange mix of respect and sorrow, as if mourning souls long forgotten by everyone but him.
I followed the narrative depicted in the carvings—a systematic elimination of vampire strongholds across what would now be Central and South America.
The Wolf Queen had been methodical in her vengeance, working from south to north until reaching what appeared to be her final triumph in this very region.
“She hunted them to near extinction in this hemisphere,” Damien said, his tone neutral but something like reluctant respect in his expression. “The vampires who survived fled across the ocean, taking centuries to recover their numbers and influence.”
I moved to the chamber’s far side, where the narrative shifted to something less martial and more…scientific? The carvings here showed detailed anatomical studies of both werewolves and vampires, alongside images of plants, crystals, and what seemed to be magical implements.
“This is different,” I called to Damien. “Come look at this.”
He joined me, keeping to the spiral stones.
His shoulder pressed against mine as he leaned in to study the images, and I caught a whiff of his scent, like cedar and wintry mountain air.
It was totally unfair how good he smelled after days in the jungle.
I could only imagine what my stank-ass smelled like because I would not be taking a whiff anytime soon.
“She was experimenting,” he said, his voice dropping to a tone of fascinated horror. “Seeking to understand vampire physiology in order to better exploit our weaknesses.”
“Not just that,” I said, noticing a recurring pattern in the carvings. “See this symbol? It appears repeatedly.”
“The Shadow Fang.” His voice took on an almost reverent quality. “She was documenting its creation.”
The final wall showed the completed artifact—a curved tooth mounted in an elaborate casing adorned with crystals and runes. In the carving, the object emitted rays that struck both vampire and werewolf figures, transforming them in different ways.
“A weapon and a tool,” I mused. “Capable of breaking down the fundamental essence of supernatural beings and reshaping them?”
Damien nodded slowly. “The ultimate expression of her power over both species. The ability to unmake vampires or enhance werewolves as she saw fit.” His eyes met mine, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. “Or perhaps to heal what’s broken in both.”
A faint sound from the passage behind us broke our concentration—a subtle displacement of air, barely perceptible but enough to trigger my human instincts.
We weren’t alone anymore.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Marcel?”
Before I could blink, Damien had shifted to position himself between me and the passage entrance, one arm extending protectively across my body.
“Stay behind me,” he murmured, the command in his voice unmistakable.
For once, I didn’t argue. We listened together, his body tense as a drawn bow.
After a moment, he inclined his head toward a side passage. “This way. Quickly.”
His hand slid to the small of my back, guiding rather than pushing. The warmth of that small contact contrasted with the coolness of his skin, chasing a pulsing shiver up my shoulder blades.
We slipped into the narrower corridor just as voices became audible in the chamber we’d vacated—Marcel’s distinctive French-accented English giving rapid instructions to his team. The passage we’d entered curved sharply, descending deeper into the earth on a steeper grade.
“Where do you think this leads?” Damien whispered, his voice close to my ear as he stayed right behind me, ready to pull me back at the first sign of danger.
“If the crypt follows the standard pattern, this would be the path to the inner sanctum—where the Queen herself would be interred. And hopefully where the Shadow Fang piece is hidden.”
The passage opened into a massive natural cavern that had been modified and enhanced by ancient builders.
Stalactites hung from the distant ceiling like stone teeth, while carved steps led down to a central platform dominated by a monumental structure that resembled a temple.
An eerie blue luminescence bathed the entire cavern, emanating from bioluminescent fungi growing along the walls.
“The Queen’s resting place,” I whispered in awe.
Damien stepped up beside me, his expression shifting from vigilant to something almost reverential. “In all my centuries,” he murmured, “I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”
In the center of the platform stood an enormous sarcophagus carved from a single piece of black stone.
Its surface depicted a woman transforming into a wolf, the carving so detailed I could make out individual fur strands and the fierce expression on the hybrid face.
Around the sarcophagus, smaller stone pedestals formed a protective circle, each bearing objects that glinted dully in the phosphorescent light.
“The Shadow Fang piece will be among her burial treasures,” I said, already moving toward the central platform, my senses alert for traps.
Damien caught my elbow. “Let me go first this time.” When I started to protest, he added, “Please, Luna. I heal faster than you do even with all the wards draining my energy.”
The earnestness in his eyes disarmed me. That wasn’t a flex. It wasn’t about control or dominance; he was genuinely concerned for my safety. And after the eyebrow incident, maybe he had a tiny point.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But at the first sign of a wooden stake with your name on it, I’m taking the lead again.”
He snorted a laugh, a very un-Damien-like thing to do. “Deal.”
The air seemed to thicken as we approached the sarcophagus, carrying a charge like the atmosphere before a lightning strike. The light from my headlamp reflected strangely off the polished stone, creating disorienting patterns that made depth perception difficult.
We had just reached the first step of the platform when a low, musical tone rang out—a single pure note that seemed to vibrate through bone rather than air. The blue glow intensified, pulsing in rhythm with the sustained sound.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Something’s happening.”
He moved in front of me, his body a shield between me and whatever was manifesting, but I stepped up beside him. Despite his wishes, we were partners, not protector and protected.
The air above the sarcophagus began to shimmer and condense, forming a translucent figure that grew more substantial with each pulse of light.
The shape resolved into the form of a woman—tall and regal, with flowing silver hair and eyes that gleamed with the same phosphorescent blue as the fungi on the walls.
She wore elaborate ceremonial attire that combined elements of ancient indigenous design with symbols I recognized from shifter tradition.
The specter regarded us, her translucent form rippling like water disturbed by a passing breeze. When she spoke, her voice seemed to emanate from the stones themselves, resonating through the chamber with haunting clarity.
“After centuries of silence, my sanctuary is breached by the unlikeliest of pairs,” she said, her gaze moving between us. “Wolf-daughter with broken bonds and night-son with borrowed time. You seek my treasure, as all intruders do. But first…”
A round stone door rolled over our only exit with an earth-shaking rumble.
“You must be judged.”