My eyes are violet. That’s standard. That’s the Duval mark.
But they aren't just violet anymore.
Swimming in the purple iris, fracturing the color like veins of gold in amethyst, are flecks of amber. Bright, glowing, predatory amber.
I blink. The gold doesn't vanish.
"That’s... that’s not possible," I whisper. "Eyes don't just change color. That’s not how biology works."
"It is if you're a Wolf," he says roughly. "Or half of one."
He sits back on his heels, running a hand through his messy hair. He looks wrecked. Beautiful, but wrecked.
"What the hell is going on?" I demand, tightening my grip on the blanket. "Stop looking at me like I’m a bomb and explain it. What is a Chimera?"
"A bridge," he says. "An impossibility. Vampires are dead magic. Cold. Wolves are living magic. Hot. They don't mix. If a wolf bites a vampire, the vampire rots. If a vampire bites a wolf, the venom burns us out. We can't breed."
He gestures to me. "But you exist. You bleed red, but you smell like the Pack. Your eyes shift. You carry the cold of the Leech and the fire of the Wolf."
"My parents," I say, the connection snapping into place. "You asked about my parents."
"You said you were left at a fire station," Jax says. "December. Twenty-six years ago."
"Yes. Wrapped in a blanket with no note. Just the birthmark." I touch the starburst at my throat.
Jax looks at the mark. His expression darkens, a shadow passing over his eyes.
"There was a story," he says, his voice dropping into a storytelling cadence, the kind of tone you use for ghosts and legends. "My father used to tell it when he got deep into the whiskey. About the Fall of the Enforcer."
"Enforcer?"
"Silver," Jax says. "That’s what they called him. Not his birth name—I don't think anyone remembered that after a while. They called him Silver because he was the only Wolf in history who could take a silver round and keep standing."
I watch him, the tension in my chest winding tight. "Go on."
"He was massive," Jax continues, staring past me at the dark wall of the cabin. "Grey fur. Eyes like polished coins. He was the Enforcer for the Parish Pack. The executioner. He kept the peace by tearing out the throats of anything that broke the law."
He looks at me. "He was supposed to be Alpha. He was the strongest thing in the swamp. But he gave it up."
"Why?"
"Because he smelled something he shouldn't have," Jax says softly. "He found a Mate. But she wasn't Pack. She was a Duval."
The silence in the room is heavy. The rain hammers the roof, a dull roar that underlines the tension.
"Matilde’s sister," Jax says. "The younger one. Céleste. She was the heir. By Duval law, the power passes to the strongest bloodline, and Céleste... She was powerful. But she fell in love with the enemy."
My breath catches. "A vampire and a werewolf."
"Romeo and Juliet with fangs," Jax agrees, though his tone is bitter. "Only, in the bayou, we don't do poetry. We do hunts. When the families found out... it broke everything. The Wolves exiled Silver. Called him a traitor to the skin. The Duvals?They declared Céleste dead to the family. Erased from memory. Marked for execution."
He leans forward, his eyes searching my face.
"They ran," he says. "Silver took her deep into the marsh. They disappeared for a year. Maybe two. Rumors flew that they died. Rumors flew that they were building an army."
He points a calloused finger at my chest.
"But they weren't building an army, Miranda. They were making you—the culmination of their love."
