Page 7 of Property of Crypt Keeper

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.