Chapter 24 Megan
Megan
The second the dust settles after hours of chasing ghouls across the cursed grounds of Crypt Mansion, I feel a vision coming on.
Fast. Vicious. Slamming into me like a punch to the chest.
“Owen!” I call out and hear him shout my name in turn.
Then everything goes black.
I don’t hit the ground.
I land in his arms. But I’m not really here.
I’m moving through fog. Drifting deep, underground.
And he’s there.
Arnold Gregory Bartholomew Ferdinand Crypt.
The bastard warlock floats above a pit of shivering spirits, madness etched into every line of his translucent form. He’s weaving something vile—drawing power from the dead, their souls sucked into the gaping maw of his cursed, not-quite-dead essence.
He isn’t human anymore.
He wasn’t even alive to start with.
And when he died, his evil stayed behind.
I snap back with a gasp, clinging to Owen’s shirt, my breath ragged.
“He’s been feeding on the dead,” I whisper. “He’s never been gone. And because of this rift, he’s trying to come back.”
Preacher’s soot-streaked face turns grim.
“He’s making a vessel. Trying to manifest.”
“To life?” I breathe.
Esmerelda steps beside him, her hands glowing as she begins casting.
“Not life. Something worse. A revenant. A corpse that steals essence to stay tethered here. Abhorrent. Twisted.”
I nod, pushing to stand. Owen helps me, hands gentle but tight with concern. The sky’s already too dark, the air thick with pressure—like the whole world is bracing.
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight,” Owen mutters, golden eyes flicking upward.
And I feel it.
Wrong. Ancient. Hungry.
The land holds its breath. Shadows stretch unnaturally long. Ghosts swirl in a perimeter like they’re waiting for orders.
“You feel that?”
He nods once. His body is taut beside mine, barely human. His voice is a growl.
“Something’s coming.”
A scream rips the silence open like a knife.
Guttural. Panicked. Real.
We move fast.
Through the gates.
Past the broken fountain.
Up the creaking mansion steps—and that’s when I see him.
A boy. Sixteen at most.
Floating inches above the cracked lawn.
Pale skin. Veins glowing with black light. His eyes rolled white.
Ghostlight twists down from shattered second-story windows, snaking into his chest like cursed IVs.
And behind him?
Crypt. Arnold. The ghost. The revenant.
Wreathed in black mist, flickering like static. Somehow freed.
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “He’s using the kid—feeding on him.”
“Possessing him,” Owen growls, teeth lengthening. His voice is no longer fully human.
Delilah skids up, breathless. “That’s Albie Rourke. Grandma was a Crypt. Illegitimate line. Never claimed—but enough blood to make him the perfect host.”
I step forward instinctively.
“We have to pull him out—”
Owen grabs my arm. Claws out. Fur blooming along his forearm.
“No. It’s too dangerous.”
“He’s a child, Owen!” I shout. “I’m not leaving him!”
But then—Crypt sees me.
He turns his flickering gaze right on me.
Albie’s body convulses. Blood drips from his nose. His spine arches back at an impossible angle as more tendrils lash into his chest.
“I feel her,” Crypt hisses, voice layered like overlapping screams. “The anchor. The girl who sees.”
A scream tears from my throat, psychic power flaring.
And that’s when Owen snaps.
He doesn’t shift into just a Wolf.
He becomes something more.
His body rips apart, bones cracking, sinew stretching.
Thick, dark fur explodes from his skin as muscle triples in size.
Clothes shred and fall away.
His face contorts—elongating into a massive, snarling half-muzzle.
His jaw splits wide, gleaming with fangs.
His arms double in length, ending in claws longer than butcher knives.
Eight feet of snarling, snarled rage.
His golden eyes glow with monstrous power.
Drool drips from his jaws.
A terrifying apex predator—a bipedal Monster Wolf.
And somehow, I’m not afraid.
Because I know what’s inside that beast.
Him.
My Owen.
His heart. His love. His need to protect.
He doesn’t speak.
He roars.
Then charges.
Ghouls swarm the lawn, erupting from tombs and flower beds. Clawed and shrieking, they surge toward me.
But they don’t stand a chance.
Owen tears through them, unstoppable.
Flesh, bone, shadow—it’s all the same to him.
He shreds them like tissue paper.
Blood and ash rain down in his wake.
I don’t waste time.
I run toward Albie—toward the storm of power threatening to break his mind.
The darkness sees me coming. It screams, flooding my head with fear.
You’re nothing.
You’re weak.
You don’t belong.
I scream back.
“LET HIM GO!”
And for one heartbeat—the darkness hesitates.
Because I’m not just human.
Not just psychic.
I’m an anchor.
And anchors don’t break.
I grab Albie’s shoulders. “You hear me? You’re not his. You’re YOURS. You’re not alone!”
His eyes flutter. A spark returns.
The ghost howls—then Owen hits him like a wrecking ball.
Claws first.
Fangs second.
A blur of fur and rage and love.
He rips through the spirit form, shattering the tether in a burst of light and unholy shrieks.
The sky screams.
The mansion cracks.
Ghosts scatter like dust in a hurricane.
Then—silence.
Albie collapses.
The fog clears.
The night breathes again.
Owen—still massive, still monstrous—staggers toward me, chest heaving.
Blood stains his claws.
One eye is swollen shut.
But he’s alive. Still standing. Still mine.
“You okay?” I rasp, my voice barely a whisper.
“Mate?” he growls.
I nod, trembling. “I’m okay.”
The sound of bones cracking fills the air, sharp and brutal. A moment later, he’s back in his human form—naked but for some tattered remnants of his clothes, golden eyes still glowing.
He pauses, watching me. Question in his gaze. Waiting.
I don’t hesitate.
I launch myself into his arms. Owen catches me like he was made to, pulling me in for a kiss—hard, desperate, real. A kiss that sears away every last shadow still clinging to my soul.
“We did it,” I breathe. “You did it.”
“Nah, you did it, Baby.”
“We did it together,” I say, laughing through tears.
His voice drops. “You staying then?”
I grin. “Just try getting rid of me, Sheriff.”
He growls into my mouth, and I kiss him again.
Because we survived.
Because we fought.
Because he’s my monster.
And I’m not going anywhere.