Chapter 9
Owen
My Wolf is driving me insane.
He’s pacing, snarling, panting like a dog in heat, and I swear to every ancient being above and below, if he says “Mount the female” one more time, I’m going to bite myself.
Take her. Now. Claim. Bite. Mate.
Shut. The hell. Up.
I press my thumb and forefinger to my temple and keep pacing. Twenty minutes.
That’s how long I’ve been wearing a groove into the floor of this tiny-ass office while she sits there, unbothered, typing away on my computer like she’s not the most distracting damn thing in the entire known universe.
Every time she brushes her hair behind her ear?
My Wolf howls.
Every time she shifts in her seat and those jeans creak just a little?
I break into a full-body sweat.
She’s muttering under her breath, clicking keys, scrolling through old digital files, oblivious—or pretending to be—to the fact that I’m a second away from throwing her over the desk and letting instinct take over.
Do it. Take her. Smell her desire. She is ready. She—
SHUT. UP.
I shove my Wolf’s voice down and check my phone again, texting back and forth with Guy.
He’s a Dragon Shifter, and the Warden assigned to help me and a few select others to keep this town in one piece.
Unfortunately, seems like we all fucked up.
Turns out, someone has cracked open a Hellmouth, and yeah, it’s what’s affecting the Crypt property, and the whole damn town.
Which explains the sudden spike in ghost traffic and the heavy, ancient presence Megan felt earlier.
It’s bad.
Like seal-it-shut-before-it-births-an-army-of-shadow-hellspawn bad.
But none of that registers—none of it—because then I hear her.
Soft. Low. Like she meant to think it, not say it.
“Focus, DiNapoli. Save the town first. Then maybe you can daydream about Sheriff Tall-Dark-and-Wolfy.”
I freeze mid-step.
Maybe I misheard her.
Maybe my horny, half-feral brain is playing tricks on me.
But then I look at her.
And she’s not typing.
She’s frozen, eyes wide like she just realized she said it out loud.
Her cheeks are turning that soft, delicious pink that makes me want to taste every inch of her.
My Wolf is now fully erect in my head, metaphorically and probably literally—just like other parts of my anatomy.
SHE WANTS US. CLAIM HER. PUT HER ON THE DESK. MATE. NOW.
I slip my phone into my pocket without taking my eyes off her.
And then I move.
Slow. Controlled. Stalking toward the desk like the damn predator I am.
She straightens in the chair, trying to act casual, but I can hear her heartbeat speed up. Smell the spike in her arousal.
That’s right, sweetheart. I smell everything.
I slap my palms down on either side of her laptop, leaning in until we’re eye to eye, until she has to tilt her head just a little to look up at me.
“Just so we’re clear, Agent,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be, “you ain’t gotta daydream about me.”
Her eyes go wide.
“Truth is, I’m already yours. So, if you want something?” I murmur, dipping my head an inch closer, so close I can feel the heat of her breath. “Just ask.”
She swallows.
My Wolf grins.
And for one heartbeat, one razor-thin second, the air between us crackles with potential.
The kind that can end in clothes on the floor, teeth in skin, and the kind of mating that sets off magical shockwaves strong enough to make even a Hellhound blink.
But then she licks her lips and says, quiet but firm, “I didn’t come here to start something I can’t finish.”
I nod. Once. Slow.
“Understood,” I rasp. “But the moment you realize this thing between us isn’t some flash of the pan affair?”
I push off the desk and head for the door.
“I’ll be right here.”
Waiting.
Wanting.
Barely holding it together.
Because this thing between us?
It’s not just attraction.
It’s inevitable. Fate. Destiny. Whatever label you want to slap on it.
My Wolf howls for her and her alone—and that, in and of itself, is noteworthy.
I’ve lived a long time in this body. I’ve felt lust. Had needs. Cravings.
But this? This bone-deep awareness of her? The instinct that she belongs here—with me—in this broken, haunted town?
This is new.
And it’s dangerous.
Because even though my Wolf sees her as his, I’ve still got a job to do. And the town I’ve sworn to protect is fraying at the edges.
So, yeah. I need some air.
I step out of the office and let the door swing shut behind me, sucking in a lungful of dry Texas air and trying to get my damn head on straight.
My phone is vibrating in my pocket like it’s possessed, and I’m just about to check it when I hear Delilah behind me.
“Sheriff? You’ve got another call. This time over at Graves’ Mark.”
I nod, tucking the phone away without looking. “Got it.”
And that’s when Megan walks out, holding a few sheets of printer paper. Her hair’s a little messy from running her hands through it, and her expression is focused—serious—but her eyes meet mine like she’s still thinking about what I said earlier.
Good.
Because I haven’t stopped thinking about it either.
“You find something?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, holding up the top sheet. “It’s an old blueprint of the Crypt Mansion—creepy as fuck name, by the way.”
She moves beside me, close enough for my shoulder to brush hers as she points to a faded section of the drawing.
“Look beneath the main ballroom.”
I frown, squinting. “Is that a-a crypt?”
“Oh yeah,” she says, tapping it with her nail. “Seems like ol’ Arnold Gregory Bartholomew Ferdinand Crypt—because apparently one name wasn’t enough—had big mausoleum dreams. Town records say the council denied his request, but according to this? He built it anyway.”
“Fuck,” I growl.
“Yeah, that’s weird—”
“Not weird. Illegal.” I tap the paper. “The Crypts were Warlocks. Bad ones. Warlocks who go dark don’t draw power from natural stores like Witches or Elementals. They pull it from the dead.”
Her brows lift. “Like Necromancers?”
“Worse. Necromancers talk to spirits. Warlocks like the Crypts consume them. Harvest their energy. Twist it.”
Her face goes a little pale. “And this Hellmouth?”
“Could cause a real serious side effect. Hell, it could be the source of all those shades on the property.” I shake my head. “Either way, it’s a damn problem, and I’ll explain more later. But first—we’ve got to check out Graves’ Mark.”
She follows me without argument, sliding into the cruiser beside me, those sharp eyes watching the road like she’s trying to piece it all together.
She finally asks, “What exactly is Graves’ Mark?”
We roll to a stop beside a twisted, ancient-looking cactus that overlooks a canyon. The wind picks up here, dry and sharp, howling low through the rocks.
I nod toward the edge. “This is where Wilton Graves—former Sheriff, and a Werewolf like me—took his last breath. He went over the edge chasing after the woman he loved.”
“Wow,” she says, voice soft. “That’s sad, and kind of romantic. But why?”
“She got bit by a scorpion,” I say quietly. “Was dying. Had minutes. Decided to jump and end it faster. She was human. His mate. And when she died, his Wolf went mad with the loss.”
I glance at her then.
“That’s how it happens sometimes,” I murmur. “The bond breaks, and so does the Shifter.”
She doesn’t speak for a beat. Just stands there, the canyon wind tugging gently at her hair.
Finally, she says softly, “That’s tragic.”
“It is,” I agree, keeping my eyes on the jagged drop ahead. “But it’s the truth. When a Shifter finds their mate, there’s no Plan B. No rebound. No move on and swipe right. It’s all or nothing. You bond, you breathe together. One dies? The other doesn’t know how to keep going.”
“Oh,” she murmurs again, quieter now.
But there’s something behind it. Hope? Or curiosity.
But I wonder if maybe she’s starting to understand me. Or what she means to me.
Is that even possible? And if so, then hell, I don’t blame her for staying quiet.
It’s kind of a lot.
I crouch down near the base of the old cactus. Noticed something strange on the wind a moment ago.
Something wrong.
I reach down and scoop up a handful of soil.
It’s damp. Rich. Too rich.
I hold it closer to my face, frowning hard.
“What is it?” Megan asks behind me.
“See the color?”
She leans in slightly. “It’s red.”
I sniff it.
Copper. Metallic. Familiar in the worst way.
A low growl rumbles up from my chest before I can stop it. My Wolf stirs, teeth bared.
“It’s blood,” I tell her, voice low and hard. “Mixed with the dirt.”
Her eyes go wide. She doesn’t say anything for a second. I can feel her watching me. Waiting.
I don’t look back.
Can’t.
Because if I do—if I see even the tiniest flicker of fear in her expression—I’m not sure I can keep pretending this thing between us is something I can ignore.
If she looks at me like this place is too much or worse, like I’m a monster, then it’s all over.
And even worse?
If she looks at me like maybe she wants me too. Like maybe she knows I’m hers. Then I know I won’t be able to hold back anymore.
And that would be dangerous.
Move too fast and I might pass her by.
Fuck. Didn’t I learn that lesson already back when I was barely more than a pup?
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“Come on, Agent.”
“Where are we going now?” she asks, falling into step beside me.
“I’m hungry.”
She blinks. “Hungry? You’re gonna eat at a time like this?”
“No good to anyone if we can’t focus,” I grunt, giving her a sidelong look as her stomach lets out a very well-timed growl.
She folds her arms over it, cheeks flushing.
“Traitor,” she mutters, glaring down at her belly like it betrayed national security.
I frown, not because of the noise, but because she looks embarrassed.
She shouldn’t. Not around me.
Not ever.
“Hey,” I say, softer this time. “We’ll eat, put our heads together, figure out what’s coming out of that crypt, and stop it before it makes a bigger mess. Deal?”
She hesitates, eyes searching mine.
Like she’s trying to figure out if I’m just saying what she wants to hear or if I actually mean it.
I mean it.
Every damn word.
Because this isn’t just a Hellmouth or a haunted house or another supernatural freak show brewing under the surface of Arrhythmia.
This is her.
And just maybe? This is us.
She doesn’t move right away.
Doesn’t speak.
And neither does my Wolf.
He’s still. Focused. Entirely locked on her.
For once, not snarling or howling or screaming to claim.
Just watching.
Because he knows.
Whatever this is—it’s real.
And whatever’s waking beneath the Crypt Mansion?
It’s not just threatening my town.
It’s threatening the one thing I never thought I’d have.
A mate.
A chance at something real.
Something mine.
And fuck me if I’m about to let anything—anything—take that away.