Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
LILITH
E arlier in the day, Lilith had stalked through the winding alleys of New Orleans, frustration simmering just beneath her skin. She had spent the entire morning trying to track down Savannah Duvall, only to be met with dead ends and fading magical trails. It had felt like the Duvall sisters had become ghosts, slipping through her fingers every time she thought she was closing in. Savannah’s magic—so distinct, like the cool scent of ocean waves—had been tantalizingly close, yet somehow always just out of reach.
Now, as the sun had climbed higher into the midday sky, its warmth beating down on the city, Lilith had felt the familiar gnaw of impatience settle in her chest. She had been so close, but her lead had already slipped away. Her hand had twitched toward the hilt of her blade, fingers flexing against the cool metal. She had still sensed Savannah nearby, felt the faint pulse of her magic like a soft rhythm in the thick air.
Suddenly, the unmistakable scent of musk and wilderness had filled the air, the heady scent interrupting her focus. Lilith’s teeth had clenched.
Ronan. Shit. The last thing she needed was the sabretooth-shifter. The big sabretooth shifter just couldn’t seem to stay out of her business. She’d turned sharply, and he’d been right there, his tall frame cutting through the crowded street like he owned the place, his golden eyes sharp and hunting. He’d been closing in on Savannah too, his animal instincts clearly guiding him.
“Perfect,” Lilith had muttered to herself, exasperation tightening her voice. He always managed to show up at the worst possible time. His presence had sent her pulse into a frenzy—half from anger, half from the maddening attraction she couldn’t seem to get rid of. Damn shifter.
Before she could shout at him to back off, chaos had exploded all around them. In typical Ronan fashion, the shifter had charged into the fray without a second thought, his beast already roused.
Lilith had stood back, watching in disbelief as Ronan had almost shifted in a public marketplace. Why would he do that? Just as his body had begun to morph, his skin rippling as the sabretooth fought to break free, he’d stopped himself. His eyes had flared gold, the unmistakable sign that the beast was ready to take over. Damn it, Ronan!
But just as Ronan had begun to shift back, something else had caught Lilith’s eye. From the corner of the market, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. Morrigan.
Lilith’s heart had skipped a beat, shock momentarily freezing her in place. What the hell was Morrigan doing here? Her archrival, the fae who had been a thorn in her side for centuries, had stood just behind Ronan, her lips twisting into a cruel smile as she’d raised her blade, poised to strike him while he was vulnerable.
Lilith’s grip had tightened on her sword, ready to leap into action, when she’d spotted something else—a tray of over-ripe tomatoes, sitting atop a nearby market stall, their pungent, sickly-sweet scent heavy in the warm air. It might not have been lethal, but splattering Morrigan with rotten tomatoes had been incredibly satisfying. She’d tried to talk herself out of it, but the idea had already planted itself in her mind.
Without a second thought, Lilith had flicked her wrist, sending the tray of tomatoes flying through the air with a quick burst of magic.
Splat!
The tomatoes had hit Morrigan square in the face, bursting in an explosion of red juice and seeds. The once poised and deadly fae assassin had dripped with the sticky remnants of rotten tomatoes, her expression one of absolute shock.
For a brief, glorious moment, Lilith had allowed herself the tiniest smile of satisfaction. Closing in on Geneva might have been a bust, but seeing Morrigan covered in rotten tomatoes? That had almost made up for it.
Morrigan had shrieked in rage, furiously wiping the mess from her face. But before she had time to retaliate, the commotion had already drawn too much attention, and in a blink, Morrigan had disappeared into the crowd, slipping away like a shadow. A small grin had tugged at the corner of Lilith’s mouth and she had slipped away before Ronan could spot her.
L ater that evening, the opulent surroundings of the high-society gala couldn’t have been more different from the gritty streets Lilith had spent the day navigating. The grand ballroom of the historic mansion was filled with the city’s elite, dressed in sparkling gowns and sharp tuxedos, their laughter and conversation echoing off the gilded walls.
Lilith moved through the crowd with ease, her sharp eyes scanning every face, every detail. The Duvalls were connected to this world, and if she couldn’t find them in the streets, she would find them here, amidst the wealth and power that seemed to flow through the veins of New Orleans’ most influential families.
The air smelled of perfume and champagne, a far cry from the pungent scent of market stalls and overripe fruit. It was a world she was no stranger to—this level of luxury and grandeur. The fae court was elegant and beautiful, but this felt hollow to her, empty compared to the raw energy of the hunt.
Her gown, a deep shade of violet that matched her eyes, blended in perfectly with the other guests, her glamour ensuring that she went unnoticed by anyone who might recognize her. She moved like a shadow through the opulence, searching for any sign of the Duvall sisters, any whisper of their whereabouts.
As the night wore on, Lilith’s mind kept returning to the events of the day—Savannah’s narrow escape, Morrigan’s unexpected appearance, and the ever-irritating presence of Ronan. The shifter had a way of getting under her skin like no one else ever had, his arrogance and raw, untamed power both infuriating and… thrilling.
She hated how he made her feel. But as she moved through the gala’s guests, her thoughts lingered on the shifter’s golden eyes and muscular body. Tension crackled between them, and Lilith couldn’t deny that whatever this was—whatever they were—it was far from over.
The grand ballroom shimmered under the soft glow of chandeliers, the laughter of New Orleans’ elite mixing with the clink of champagne glasses. Lilith glided through the crowd, her senses sharp as she scanned the room. The opulence of the event was almost overwhelming—gilded ceilings, extravagant floral arrangements, the scent of expensive perfumes lingering in the air. But beneath all that, she could feel something darker—a ripple of magic just beneath the surface, crackling with an electrical energy.
Her heart pounded as her gaze locked onto a familiar figure near the center of the room.
Phoenix Duvall.
The eldest of the Duvall sisters, standing by a cluster of wealthy patrons, her ash blonde hair cascading down her back in waves. She wore a gown the color of embers, a deep red-gold that seemed to shimmer as she moved, her presence commanding and magnetic. But it wasn’t just her beauty or her power that sent a shiver down Lilith’s spine—it was the way Phoenix was using her magic, subtly weaving her empathic abilities into the very fabric of the gala.
Lilith could feel it—Phoenix’s power washing over the crowd, amplifying emotions, manipulating them with a deft touch. The laughter seemed too loud, the smiles too wide, as if the entire room had been enchanted, caught in the web of Phoenix’s magic. She was feeding off their energy, their emotions, and using them to strengthen her own.
Lilith’s breath quickened as she moved closer, her hand instinctively hovering near the hilt of her blade. She knew how dangerous Phoenix was, how her abilities could not only turn a strong mind to mush, but fire was her natural element and her command of it was second to none. She could bend people to her will and if that didn’t work, she could use fire to consume them in an instant. Lilith had seen it before—warriors brought to their knees, consumed by their own fear, rage, or desire. She had to be careful, had to keep her own emotions in check.
As she closed in, intent on confronting Phoenix, the sudden heat of a body pressed against her side.
Ronan.
Lilith stiffened, her senses overwhelmed by the earthy, musky scent of his skin. The warmth radiating from him was like a fire she hadn’t been prepared for, and for a moment, she faltered, her focus slipping as her body reacted to his proximity. The damn shifter always had a way of disarming her, and it infuriated her that he could do it so easily.
She turned to face him, her violet eyes narrowing as she tried to regain control of herself. “What the hell are you doing here, Ronan?” she hissed, her voice low but sharp. “I don’t need your interference.”
Ronan’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I’m not interfering,” he said smoothly, his voice a low rumble that sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. “I’m making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
Lilith bristled, anger flaring in her chest. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
“I didn’t say you did.” Ronan’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a heat that lingered between them. His gaze flicked briefly to Phoenix, then back to Lilith. “But you’re not going after her alone. I’m not convinced the Duvall sisters are your enemies.”
“I thought you were trying to bring them down,” Lilith said, confused.
“Not down. I want them to dial it back. They’ve become a bit too bold as they’ve come into their power.”
“What do you mean? They’ve always been a threat, and they belong back in the fae realm.”
“It’s your council that kicked their mother and aunt out, but the prophecy is that they wouldn’t come into their full strength until they were grown and had found their fated mates.”
“Fae don’t believe in fated mates.”
Ronan laughed. “Just because you’re raised not to believe in them, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
Lilith snorted and turned away. The heat of his body, the rich scent of the forest and wildness that clung to him, was intoxicating. Lilith hated how her pulse quickened just from standing near him. Every instinct screamed to push him away, to remind him that she didn’t need his help. But before she could respond, something else caught her attention—a familiar presence that made her blood run cold.
Oberon Whisperwind.
Lilith stiffened as she sensed the High Councilor’s presence at the far end of the room, his figure tall and regal, dressed in the silvery robes of his station. His silver eyes scanned the crowd, calculating and cold. The air around him seemed to shift, charged with power that made her skin prickle. He wasn’t supposed to be here. His appearance was sudden, and the cold malice in his gaze sent a wave of unease through Lilith.
Ronan’s expression shifted the moment he noticed Oberon, his posture tensing, his golden eyes darkening with suspicion. “What’s he doing here?” Ronan murmured, closing the distance between them, his voice barely above a growl.
Lilith shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know, but Oberon’s presence was never a good thing. His sudden appearance and the way his gaze swept across the room with predatory precision made her nervous. She could feel his attention even from across the ballroom, like a dark cloud hanging over her, suffocating her.
Before she could voice her thoughts, something shifted in the air—an emotion, sharp and sudden, that wasn’t her own. Lilith’s breath hitched as she felt it, a wave of anxiety and unease washing over her like a cold breeze. She wasn’t the only one who felt it. The entire room seemed to change, the laughter faltering, the smiles fading as a palpable tension rippled through the crowd.
Lilith’s eyes snapped back to Phoenix, her pulse racing.
Phoenix had felt Oberon’s arrival, too.
The eldest Duvall sister’s expression darkened, her fiery eyes narrowing as she picked up on the emotions swirling around her, the ripple of fear and uncertainty spreading through the room. And just like that, Phoenix acted, her power surging as she tapped into the collective unease, amplifying it until it was no longer just a ripple, but a wave.
A wave of panic.
It hit the crowd like a physical force, people gasping and stumbling back as fear and confusion swept through them. Voices rose in alarm, chairs toppled, and suddenly, the elegant gala descended into chaos. People pushed and shoved, trying to flee, their emotions manipulated by Phoenix’s magic.
“Damn it,” Lilith cursed under her breath, her hand gripping Ronan’s arm as the crowd surged around them. “She knows Oberon’s here. She’d never cause a panic like this if she wasn’t trying to throw him, not to mention me, off.”
Ronan’s eyes were sharp, scanning the room as the chaos unfolded around them. “We have to stop this before someone gets hurt,” he said, his voice tight.
Lilith nodded, her mind racing. She could feel the panic spreading like wildfire, threatening to consume the entire gala. Phoenix was out of control, her emotions twisting the room into a frenzy. If they didn’t act fast, it could turn deadly.
She glanced to where Oberon had been standing and saw that he was gone.
Ronan stepped closer, his hand brushing against her back as he guided her through the crowd. “We need to work together on this.”
The words sent a jolt through Lilith, but she didn’t argue. There wasn’t time. Her body hummed with the urgency of the moment, her heart pounding as she and Ronan moved as one through the panicked crowd, their steps quick and decisive.
As the chaos swirled around them, Lilith and Ronan closed in on Phoenix, only to discover she too had vanished. The energy between Lilith and Ronan had become a perfect blend of tension and purpose. Lilith could feel the heat of Ronan’s presence grounding her, and for once, she didn’t push it away.
The Duvall sisters had started a fire, and together, she and Ronan were going to put it out.