Chapter 4 Ezra
Ezra
The night won’t end. I pace like a caged animal, my teeth bared, choking on feelings I shouldn’t fucking have.
I roll my neck, dropping my shoulders, but the tension still lingers, strung tight since I saw her on my fucking street.
I need to get out of here and burn off some energy before I do something stupid.
Even though my clothes can shift with me, I remove the sweatpants hanging low on my hips. No matter what I transform into, I can feel the fabric of my human clothes under my animal skin, which is uncomfortable and restrictive.
I stand naked on my porch, exhale, and shiver as my body twists into something wild.
My tattoos tingle, shimmering with pops of color, as my gaze snags on the white-tailed deer grazing in a field of wildflowers, inked just above my knee.
And for some goddamn reason, it makes me think of the little human.
The shadows fold around me, bleeding beneath my skin like ink on old parchment.
My frustration dulls, slipping into something quieter.
The shadows know me.
They are me.
My body dissolves, the weight of my L?kkda peeling away until all that remains is sleek power, heightened instincts, and a hunger I don’t have to restrain.
The night is mine.
It always has been.
Thick, dark fur pierces through my skin. There’s no sting. No clumsy adjustment. It’s just … right.
My senses sharpen, breath dragging into lungs that aren’t human anymore.
I taste the air. I feel the bitter, biting wind as it tears through my fur.
The shadows don’t just conceal me. They fuel me, shape me—until I’m the wild thing whispered about in nightmares.
Seconds later, I stand on four massive, jet-black paws. I stretch, and my body answers, muscles rippling beneath thick fur as I surge forward, faster than I’ve been in years. As if my body remembers what my mind can’t quite name.
The world blurs, shadows streaking past, while that jarring scent cuts through the noise. It carves through my blood, brands itself into bone, and calls to me with the certainty of something that’s always been mine.
I have no bloody clue what I’m doing.
Typically, I reserve the Tesem for hunting. But here I am, breaking every rule that’s kept me safe for thousands of years … all because of those dark green eyes.
My chest tightens as I fly through the forest, trees vanishing into a blur.
I know where I’m going. I know where she is.
Of course I do.
I’ve known since I caught her scent.
But I don’t know if the thing inside me knows the difference between devotion and destruction.
Snorting in frustration, my paws sink into damp earth as I race forward. When I reach the edge of town, my fur is soaked from running in between dew-covered vegetation, and my wet, black nose twitches as it reads the air.
If I stick to the shadows, I should be able to wander through the darkened streets. Although it wouldn’t be the first time someone caught a glimpse of the Tesem and added another ghost story to the town’s collection.
Since I left my house naked, I need to make a quick stop first.
I shake the dew from my fur, then pad through town, moving silently on four long legs, heading for my shop.
The streets are empty, the town tucked away as if it isn’t perched on something ancient, something the old souls here have learned not to speak of.
Above, the dark strings of lights hanging over Main Street sway in the breeze, their bulbs clinking softly in the wind. The only other sounds are the wind rushing up the hill and the muffled thud of music from the shitty bar a few blocks away.
I cut behind a row of shops and weave my way to the back of mine, where I’ve stashed clothes for occasions like this.
Well, maybe not exactly like this.
Because whatever the hell is happening to me is new and very fucking strange.
The shift rips through me, breath ragged, rage blooming hot from the pit of my stomach.
I’ve stayed hidden for eons. And now I’m unraveling for one small, radiant—fuck … no—ridiculous human.
“She’s not even that beautiful,” I mutter, fumbling the buttons because my hands won’t fucking stop shaking.
She’s probably one of those humans who waste their lives chasing small joys like cake-scented candles or blankets that feel like soft, whispered lies. The kind of woman who doesn’t carry the weight of a billion years behind her eyes.
I wouldn’t know what that feels like. I’ve never had the luxury.
I’ve seen men tear each other apart for gods they barely believed in.
I’ve watched empires burn.
Oceans boil.
And I kept going.
Because I had to.
And now here she is, waltzing through town like she owns the light. Like her joy isn’t a goddamn insult to the shadows I was born from.
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
So why does being near her make something inside me ache?
I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help.
I’m clinging to the idea that this woman—this captivating woman—is just another boring idiot. Another meaningless blip in a long line of forgettable things.
Except … I’m not fully convinced.
Something’s scratching at the back of my mind, whispering otherwise. And that’s what pisses me off. I would never be interested in someone so pointless.
But if I convinced her to come home with me—if I convinced her to let me touch her, to let me worship her—would I even care afterward?
Maybe I just need to fuck her and be done with it. Get her out of my system. So I can go back to my dreadfully boring, but blissfully safe life.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the little human who’s already rooted herself deep inside my brain.
Following the path the two women took earlier, I savor the sensation of shifting between my L?kkda and my Umbraeth. It’s been ages since I’ve found my Umbraeth useful.
But earlier, when I came so hard I literally came apart, it felt … freeing.
It felt fucking incredible.
There was probably a reason I stopped using it, but I’ve forgotten it now. Maybe that’s a sign it’s time to test the boundaries of what I am again.
Things feel quiet. But it’s the kind of quiet that comes before something breaks.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned across eons, it’s that safety is a story we tell ourselves to keep from going mad. And when someone like Thane shows up bleeding on your doorstep? That’s no accident.
He may not be a threat, but he’s certainly a symptom.
Whatever magic they’ve twisted, it’s still out there. The Disciples didn’t die. They just evolved.
The infuriating little human smirks from the depths of my mind, grinning like she owns me—and fuck, maybe she does.
My cock pulses, hard enough to hurt.
No one’s around, so I grip myself through my pants, chasing just enough friction to make me groan. But it’s not enough. Not for my soul. Not for my sanity. Not for the wildfire raging under my skin.
All that I am fucking aches for her.
As I charge down Main Street, my body is pulled in every direction, yet somehow in the same direction all at once.
Everything has been so blisteringly clear … until now.
When I reach the building on the corner of Main and Vine, the bass from some shitty dance music rips through the air, trying to reset my heartbeat, while the buzz of human voices assaults my eardrums.
The Cardinal, I’ve been told, is a dive bar. Having a fully stocked bar at home, I’ve never had the urge to come here. And clearly, my instincts were correct. It’s disgusting in ways language can’t quite capture.
In the shadows of a nearby alley, I shift into my Umbraeth and float toward the rundown building, pulled by some unknown force.
I know she’s in there, and I need to see her again. Although I’m still unsure if I want to fuck her, kill her, or worship her.
A dark, frustrated growl rumbles from the shadows, answering the ache twisting through me as I defy every ancient instinct screaming at me to turn back.
I float to the front door, her presence tugging at something buried inside me, something that makes my Umbraeth shimmer and shudder with need.
Sure, I could make a grand entrance in my well-recognized L?kkda, get the whole town talking, but the only attention I want is hers.
I slip between humans smoking and laughing, hanging off each other like they know how little time they have, and pass unseen through the door.
Maybe the little goddess would like my L?kkda. Eve implied earlier that I’m handsome. “Sexy as fuck” were her exact words, and I’ve seen humans react to my face—and my body. I know I’m not ugly.
Would the little human like the sharp features of the face I modeled after a Celtic warrior I fought alongside thousands of years ago?
Would she be drawn in, or undone, by the stormy grey eyes I modeled after the tempestuous Irminger Sea?
Would she like the jet-black hair I borrowed from an Egyptian goddess who tried to trick me into killing her son?
As I wonder what the little lupine might think of my appearance, the full effect of the bar hits me.
It’s hot, loud, and reeks of alcohol and sweat. If I were fully flesh, I’d be salivating.
Jesus Christ.
I need to focus.
As I float deeper into the chaos, I observe humanity not at its finest, but at its most primal. They rut and stumble and consume like they’ve forgotten they’re prey.
But I haven’t.
I slide beneath the tables, careful to avoid the bar’s back corner. The owners are camped there—Boone Lovelace, Lorewood’s patron saint of combat-related PTSD and barely repressed rage, and his golden-eyed god-husband, Vael, who could end the world but mostly just wants to cuddle.
Vael spots me and gives me that little fingers-only wave, like we’re old friends.
Boone drags a hand down his face, clearly rethinking every choice that led him here.
Which, honestly, only improves my mood.
Drifting toward the back of the bar, I find exactly what I’m looking for. Silky, coppery hair sitting next to a vibrant shock of electric blue, with Thane’s familiar mop of brown curls thrown into the mix.