1. Crypt Keeper #2
“Sixty minutes,” I agreed with a mocking salute.
Mako’s gaze pinned me as I walked past the couch. His eyes were red-rimmed. He’d been dealing with too much too fast—mate bond, war, blood, Lyra’s change. He looked like a man balancing on the edge of a knife blade.
He stood up and followed me toward the door, where we paused.
“We need to keep an eye on him,” he murmured quietly, like the words were casual. Like they weren’t an order. “Something feels off.”
I let my gaze slide to Dexter, where he hovered near Lily.
“Oh, I see him,” I answered.
Mako’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like mysteries. Especially not when they lived in our house.
None of us did.
I zipped up my cut and headed out into the humid evening.
The air hit me heavily the second I stepped outside—warm, wet, full of cypress and mud and the slow breath of the swamp itself. The sky was cloudy, but every so often, the moon still found ways to press through, pale and insistent.
My bike sat where I’d left it, black metal gleaming under the security lights. I swung a leg over and started it.
The engine’s roar vibrated in my bones, drowning out the voices in my head for the moment.
Good.
I was thankful for it, because I needed the noise.
Slowly, I rolled out past the gate, past the fence line that we’d hastily reinforced after our little visit, and onto the road that led away from the clubhouse and into the dark.
Louisiana swallowed you quickly if you let it.
The lights of the compound faded behind me. The road narrowed. Trees leaned in as if they were listening to whispers no one else heard. Spanish moss hung in curtains, swaying like ghosts.
The wolf within eased as the familiar territory wrapped around us. This was mine. This was where the curse felt less like a cage and more like a skin I could live in. My wolf was clawing to get out and stretch its legs.
Soon, my friend, soon.
I turned off onto a gravel path that led deeper into the bayou, tires spitting stones. The air grew thicker, richer—decay and life tangled together.
But beneath it, something else.
A scent that didn’t belong.
I slowed. Let my senses stretch.
What the fuck is that? Not vampire. Not a shifter. Not a witch.
Older.
My grip tightened on the handlebars as my eyes narrowed into the dark. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck lifted like little warning flags. My wolf stirred, ears pricking, attention sharpening.
Someone had been there. Not long ago.
I cut the engine and let silence drop like a curtain.
No crickets. No frogs.
Like the swamp, I stayed still, listening to my own heartbeat, to the distant slosh of water, to the whisper of moss hanging heavy from the tree branches.
Then—barely—a shift in the tree line. Not a movement made by an animal. Nope, this was something different.
My lips curled, not quite a smile.
“Come on then,” I murmured to the dark, voice low and calm. This was exactly what I needed. A way to burn off this nervous energy. “Show yourself.”
Nothing answered. But I could feel it. Eyes in the shadows… watching.
It was so heavy, I could practically smell it—old hatred, just waiting.
My wolf growled softly from deep within my chest. A cold clarity settled over me. One that sank straight to my bones. Boomslang was right. Thane might be dead. But he hadn’t acted alone, and the thing that I’d sensed lurking around us?
That was still very much alive and watching from the shadows.
“Well? I’m waiting…” I murmured. My wolf practically howled to get out, but I knew there wouldn't be time if whatever was out there showed itself. I couldn’t risk getting caught mid-shift by it.
Though I’d sat quietly for a time, the swamp still didn’t make a sound. That was how I knew for a fact I wasn’t alone.
I remained unmoving, boots sunk half an inch into the damp earth, senses flaring… reaching outward. The bayou at night had a certain rhythm—frogs croaking, insects whirring and buzzing, water shifting against the earth and various roots. When that rhythm went silent, it meant something.
What a lot of people didn’t understand was that the swamp would give you away when you thought you were being sneaky. And at that moment, the swamp seemed to be holding its very breath.
Though I wasn’t sure how I knew, whatever was out there knew how to hunt. In one smooth movement, I cautiously got off my bike.
My wolf pressed forward, alert but contained, muscles coiling beneath skin that suddenly felt too tight. I didn’t shift. Not yet. Whoever this was had worked hard to stay hidden. I wanted to see who—or what—they thought they were hunting.
A whisper of movement slid across my right flank, shocking me.
Faster than humanly possible, I pivoted.
Silver flashed.
The blade bit deep into my shoulder before I could fully turn, burning like hellfire as it tore through my shirt sleeve and muscle. More out of reflex than pain, I snarled, spinning into the strike as the attacker flowed back out of reach in a wisp of gray smoke.
My nostrils flared. Yeah… obviously not human. Supernatural beings each had their own individual scent, but some could briefly disguise theirs enough that it was difficult to determine exactly what they were.
Yet it was female. That I could tell immediately.
And fast as fuck.
Too damn precise to be a lucky hit.
That was when I caught her scent again—cold iron, ash, and something much darker underneath. Not fae but just as ancient.
Yeah, definitely not human.
The smoke swirled and shifted. She moved again, low and fluid, boots barely disturbing the muck as she circled just out of my reach. Moonlight cut through the cypress just enough for me to see her clearly.
Long dark hair, nearly black, braided over one shoulder like it was part of her armor, not simply for decoration.
Pale blue eyes locked on me without hesitation, without fear.
Her face was sharp and refined in a way that transcended simple beauty—it was almost ethereal.
Except that stunning beauty was tempered by ruthless lines, a calm mouth, and a hunter’s stillness.
She smiled.
It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t pleased.
It was… satisfied.
“Found you,” she practically purred, her accent faint but still there. Eastern European. Romanian, if I had to guess. “I must say, you’re bigger than I thought you’d be… Gideon.”
“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” I ground out through gritted teeth as I rolled my shoulder once. The wound knit, slow but sure, heat radiating as flesh pulled back together. Her gaze flicked to it, eyes narrowing.
Good. She noticed.
“Rumors have it that you’re a werewolf,” she continued, her voice smooth as silk. “I’ve been watching you and waiting for this moment.”
I didn’t answer. I lunged.
Without hesitation, she met me head-on, blades appearing in both hands as if they were extensions of her arms. We collided hard, our bodies slamming together with bone-jarring force. She twisted, using my momentum against me, dragging one blade across my ribs while the other went for my throat.
I caught her leather-clad wrist inches from my neck, the metal barely kissing my skin.
We froze there, our faces mere inches apart, breath mingling in the night air between us. She was strong, but so was I.
Her eyes flared—not fear. Excitement.
She wanted to fight like a man? Fine. I wasn’t going to hesitate just because she was a woman. Fuck her. I slammed my forehead into her, head-butting her. Hard.
With a sharp curse, she staggered back, dark blood streaking from her brow that quickly stopped. Before I could follow, she threw something at my feet. The ground erupted in a cloud of what seemed like ash and pure powdered silver.
Pain flared through my senses as it hit me like a shockwave. I hissed as I tried to make sense of it. My vision blurred just enough for her to vanish into the trees.
She thought she was smart.
The cloud finally dispersed. I shook it off and went after her.
The chase was brutal. Vines and branches grabbed at my clothing and skin like talons.
It was almost like she knew the terrain, but that wasn’t possible. Unless she’d been out here watching us longer than I’d realized. That thought didn’t sit well with me.
Yet, she used the roots, water, and deep shadows as if she’d been born here. She ducked and darted between trees, and I nearly lost her. Until a soft splash from her boots hitting the soggy marsh gave her away.
The difference between us was that I actually had spent a good majority of my life in this swamp—in human and wolf form. These thickets were like home to me. When I sensed her turn south, I cut through the scrub shrubs and launched forward.
Our bodies collided like a wrecking ball against a brick wall, and I tackled her to the ground. She arched her back and twisted, breaking my hold.
Too late, I realized I’d played right into her hands. She wasn’t running from me. She was toying with me. Luring me after her. Cunning little minx.
We traded blows in violent flashes. Knife seeking bone, fist against flesh, as blood splashed and splattered dark into equally black water.
Then she fucking got me again. This time the blade slid between my ribs and twisted.
I roared, grabbing her and slamming her back into a cypress trunk hard enough to rattle the moss loose—maybe even her teeth. Yet her knife stayed buried in me. Burning like a motherfucker.
It distracted me long enough for her to swing with the other blade. Thankfully, I blocked it with my forearm, but she managed to slice me open anyway. I still roared with the burning bite that lingered in the wound.
And in a split second, that’s when it happened. My blood spilled over the runes carved into the hilt of her blade.
The symbols ignited.
Not light—more of a glowing heat. Dark, hungry magic rippled across the metal and up her arm like it had been waiting for this moment. Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened as the reaction snapped through her body.