“Or who,” she mutters.
Our shoulders brush.
My Wolf settles.
Not calm.
But focused.
Because no matter what’s hiding in this hellhole—she’s with me.
Still, that knot in my chest won’t go away.
It’s not fear of the monsters.
It’s the fear I already let one in.
Her.
And the terrifying thought that once this is over, once the dust clears—she might leave.
“Preacher and Esmerelda are en route,” Megan says, scanning her phone as she pulls her service pistol.“They said to hold the line until sundown.Something about ley lines aligning during the full moon?”
“Yup,” I grunt.“That’s tonight.”
She slides a fresh mag into the gun, checking the chamber.
“What are you gonna do with that?”I tease, even though I already know.
She smirks.
“I say it’s time to raise a little hell, Cowboy.”
Then she takes off—boots crunching dead grass, hair flying, confidence blazing like a war banner—and I’m right behind her.
She fires into the treeline, scaring off a pack of low-level shades.Her aim is solid, her stance perfect.The ghosts scatter like they remember her from somewhere worse.The air crackles as she hits one of the wards Preacher set earlier, and it flares gold before fizzling out.
They’re definitely looking for something.
“Focus fire on the Crypt Mausoleum!”I shout, motioning Delilah down.“That prick Arnold Gregory Bartholomew Ferdinand Crypt left more than bones buried here!”
As if on cue, a massive shadow lumbers toward the broken fountain.Too big for a ghoul.Too solid to be smoke.Megan doesn’t hesitate—she switches mags and lets off three rounds of salt-infused iron.The creature screeches and vanishes in a burst of ash.
Damn.
She’s good.
The fog thickens.More figures appear.
But my blood is hot, my Wolf is ready, and my mate is at my side.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel cursed.
I feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in Texas.
Even if I still don’t know where she stands.
Even if I’m afraid that once the battle is over—I’ll be left fighting for her.
