Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:We need to talk.Meet me at the parking garage, level 3.Come alone.A friend
Ali stared at the message through the haze of alcohol and separation sickness.It could be a federal investigator wanting to debrief her.It could be a journalist looking for an exclusive interview.It could be Tim, trying to apologize without having to say the actual words.
Or it could be something much more dangerous.
Her magic, which had been flickering weakly all evening like a candle in the wind, suddenly flared with warning.The sensation was like ice water in her veins, a premonition her grandmother had taught her to never ignore.The same grandmother who'd taught her that mate bonds were sacred, that walking away from your other half was like cutting off your own arm and expecting to function normally afterward.
"I need to close out my tab," she told the bartender.
"Honey, maybe you should call someone to pick you up?You've had quite a bit to drink, and you don't look so good."
Ali wanted to laugh, but she was afraid it would come out as a sob.She'd had three drinks over the course of two hours, which normally wouldn't have affected her at all.But her body was rejecting everything that wasn't Tim's presence, turning against her for abandoning her mate.
She paid her tab and moved toward the parking garage.Every instinct she had screamed that this was the worst idea she'd had in a week full of terrible decisions.But if someone wanted to talk to her about the convoy, about Cottonmouth's corruption, about the federal investigation, she needed to know what they had to say.
The parking garage was dimly lit and mostly empty, the kind of place where bad things happened to stupid people who met mysterious contacts alone.Her hair lifted with static electricity and power rippled across her skin in visible waves.
Ali spun around, her coordination shot from the alcohol and separation sickness, and nearly fell over her own feet.Sheriff Cottonmouth stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, and he looked different than she remembered.Older, more desperate, with a haunted expression that came from watching your entire life crumble around you in real time.
"Hello, Alison."His voice was calm, conversational, but Ali could see the gun in his hand.Professional grip, steady aim, the bearing of someone who'd used firearms to solve problems before."I was hoping we could have a conversation about your recent photography work."
"Cottonmouth."The word came out steady, though shadows bent toward her as if seeking protection."I heard you were arrested."
"Released on bail pending investigation.Amazing what good lawyers and political connections can accomplish."Cottonmouth moved closer, and Ali realized with crystal clarity that he was positioning himself between her and the garage exit.Classic predator behavior, cutting off escape routes before moving in for the kill.
"But that's temporary," he continued, his voice carrying the same condescending tone she remembered from childhood lectures."Your photographs, your testimony, your bleeding heart documentation of criminal activity.They're going to destroy everything I've worked for."
"Everything you've stolen, you mean."
"Everything I've earned."Cottonmouth's facade of calm cracked slightly, revealing the rage beneath."Thirty years of keeping supernatural degenerates in line, of protecting human communities from monsters who think they deserve special treatment, and now I'm being investigated by federal bureaucrats who've never had to deal with the reality of supernatural crime."
"Supernatural crime like sick children needing insulin?"
"Don't be naive, Alison.Those medical supplies were just the beginning.That convoy was a cover for something bigger.Drug smuggling, weapons trafficking, terrorist cells.Who knows what else."The gun in Cottonmouth's hand was steady, professional, pointing directly at her center mass."I was the only thing standing between human communities and a full-scale supernatural insurgency."
Sparks dancing around her hands in patterns that made the shadows writhe like living things."You were profiteering from medical supplies while children died."
"I was maintaining order.Keeping the monsters in their place.And you've destroyed that order with your bleeding heart photography and your perverted alliance with that cryptid deviant you've been whoring yourself out to."
The casual cruelty of the words cut through Ali's alcohol haze like a slap to the face.But they also triggered something else, something deeper and more dangerous than her personal hurt.The protective rage that came from having someone attack her mate.
"Don't talk about Tim."
"Tim?"Cottonmouth laughed, but there was no humor in it, just the bitter amusement of someone watching the world burn."You're defending a creature who's manipulated you into becoming his propaganda tool?Alison, that thing isn't capable of love.He's using you to legitimize his criminal activities, just like every other man who's ever pretended to care about you."
"He's not a thing.He's not a criminal.And he's not using me."Ali's magic was building now.Her power turned sharp, casting knife-edged shadows."He's the best man I've ever known."
"The best man you've ever known is a supernatural predator who's convinced you that sacrificing your career for his criminal enterprise is some kind of grand romance."Cottonmouth raised the gun higher, the barrel now pointing directly at her heart."But don't worry, Alison.Once you're gone, the federal investigation will lose its star witness, and things can go back to the way they were meant to be.Humans in control, monsters in their place."
Ali realized with the crystal clarity that came from mortal terror that her stepfather intended to kill her.Not just threaten her, not just scare her into silence, but actually murder her in a parking garage to protect his corruption and his twisted worldview.
Her magic exploded outward in a desperate flare of golden light that shorted out every electrical system within a hundred feet and plunged the parking garage into darkness so complete, it was like being buried alive.
In the confusion that followed, as Cottonmouth cursed and fired blind shots that sparked off concrete and metal, Ali stumbled toward the sound of diesel engines approaching the parking garage at speeds that definitely violated several traffic laws and possibly the laws of physics.
Ali threw up a shield of pure magical force between herself and Cottonmouth, his bullets sparking harmlessly against the golden barrier.She sent tendrils of binding magic toward his ankles, but her concentration was shattered by another gunshot.The spell went wide, only managing to tangle his shoelaces.
Somewhere in the distance, getting closer with every heartbeat, she could hear the distinctive rumble of a custom Peterbilt.And she knew, with the bone-deep certainty that came from a mate bond stretched to its breaking point, that Big Timber was coming for her.
