She didn’t ask for any of this—didn’t ask to be dropped into a haunted, cursed, demon-riddled ghost town with a reputation.
Didn’t ask to fall into bed with a possessive, banished Werewolf who wears scars like armor and has a mother with the subtlety of a holy water hose in a vampire bar.
And if my mother said the wrong thing?
If she told Megan everything about me—what a monster I am?
Yeah, I wouldn’t blame her for running.
But I can’t think about that right now.
Can’t afford to.
Because we just pulled up to Crypt Mansion.
And the place looks like Halloween and Armageddon had an orgy.
Ghosts and ghouls and shadow-things crawl across the lawn like roaches under a blacklight.A thick, unnatural fog coils along the dead grass.I can smell sulfur, burnt ozone, and something worse—old magic, rotting and unclean.
The second I open my door, my Wolf goes feral.
Snarls behind my ribs.
Claws itch beneath my skin.
My jaw locks so tight my molars groan.
There’s something wrong here.
Something ancient.Foul.Twisted in a way that scrapes across my instincts like sandpaper over open wounds.
Delilah hops out of the backup truck, gagging as she covers her face with her sleeve.
“It smells like someone’s ass exploded and died again,” she barks.
Megan snorts beside me.
And I swear to every Wolf god in the sky—she laughs.
Actually laughs.Full, sharp, gorgeous.
Even in the middle of a goddamn hellstorm.
She’s standing there like she walked off the cover of a paranormal romance—hair wild, eyes burning, feet planted.
And I can’t stop staring.She’s so damn steady.
Mine.
I drag my gaze back to the mansion just as shadows flicker behind shattered windows.There’s movement.Big.Heavy.Something dragging chains or bones or both.
Delilah climbs onto the hood of the cruiser, squinting into the gloom.
“Ghouls are swarming the northern edge.They’re not attacking—yet.Looks like they’re digging.”
“For what?”I ask.
Megan’s eyes sharpen.
