13. LEVIATHAN

Chapter 13

LEVIATHAN

I'm fucked.

Thoroughly and utterly fucked.

With Amand and Rowan's scent now clogging my personal space, I'm uncomfortably hard and not so subtly waiting for them to show again. Thank fuck I don't have their contact because I would undoubtedly be calling them up to hear their voice and ask them to come back, neither of which is conducive to the case.

I'm on my last leg without more caffeine but there's too much to do and not enough time. That missing Omega is holding out hope that someone will save her, which means there is no time for naps. Unfortunately, I'm now hooked on this fatal attraction bullshit and what it means for my designation.

Generally, it means that prey and predator have fallen together, biologically incompatible until one designation kills the other. I sift through the papers on the coffee table and unearth my phone, ignoring a text from Vince. Searching up ‘fatal attraction' gives me a list of symptoms, all of which match whatever the fuck went down last night and early this morning.

What I don't expect is the additional paragraph at the bottom of the research paper I've stumbled upon.

Fatally attracted mates consist of a prey and a predator. Few designations fall into this category as certain criteria must be met. The predator's instincts will shift between violence and nurture. The prey will feel safest in the predator's presence and will begin to feel physical pain when parted for too long.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I mumble. I understand the pain part as I rub at my chest, hating that I want both of those Basilisks in my home. I don't even hate that they fucked with my thermostat, enjoying Amand's jacket wrapped around my shoulders.

The prey will find the predator's magic safe until it ultimately kills them.

None of this makes any sense until I skim through the rest and read the last line.

What the predator usually uses as a deterrent for most designations, the prey will consume until it takes over their rational thought and causes their biological faculties to fail.

A mixture of terror and rage take over me as I immediately pull up another web page and start searching for incompatible designations with a Basilisk. Most of them are reptilian in nature, a few avian types, and most shifters. Most of them are incompatible due to temperament and only the avian types are 100% incompatible due to a Basilisk's venom.

I keep scrolling, flipping through webpages as I type in keywords including my quirks and my magic. Every time, though, it comes up as ‘results not found' or points me to some frog type that I'm pretty sure is just a combination of nightmares and someone's really active imagination. Thirty minutes later and I try one last time, inputting a few keywords that I'm sure nothing will come up again this time either.

Fatal Attraction. Mates. Basilisk. Smell Magic.

The last one is just for shits and giggles but I nearly fall off my chair when exactly one option pops up. I've seen this designation in a few pieces of literature, always listed as legend or so rare that stumbling across one is Mother Nature's gift.

I don't feel like a fucking gift.

Designation: Chameleon

There's no fucking way I shift into the size of a bug. Realistically, I know they aren't that small but it feels so anticlimactic. I refuse to believe that. Unfortunately, all the other magical tricks when put together are everything that a chameleon is. I speed through the article, skipping over words that I don't understand, written in a language that is no longer spoken. Someone called it the language of Mother Nature if I'm not mistaken but no one is old enough to still speak it and few historians have been able to decipher older books.

"Oh good. I only have one form." Knowing that I don't sprout a tale and beady eyes makes me feel marginally better but not much. I'm supposedly a gift to this world and a designation that most people love to pick apart. If half of these magic tricks are true, I haven't even scratched the surface of my abilities. Blending into my surroundings is quite the perk but apparently my magic really can render me completely invisible.

The night vision and smelling magic are only the tip of the iceberg if this shit is correct and suddenly I'm torn between being excited about my designation and utterly terrified that it's going to be the thing that kills me. Apparently, a Basilisk's venom is a drug to a Chameleon. One that lures them in and then slowly kills them until they go mad with lust.

The article ends abruptly, leaving me with no explanation of how long I have or if that's just part of the legend. Vince isn't a viable source and the Petrovs don't know anymore than I do. Being in their presence will only exacerbate the situation and every touch they offer will only draw me further into madness.

Do I have a year left of sanity? Or is it more like a week? Days?

Regardless, I vow to stop the witch and whoever is working with her before my primal desires overtake me. Mind racing, I try to direct my attention back to the missing Omega. As I spread the file out on the coffee table, there's a lingering scent I don't recognize. Like a fingerprint of oils that I have to bend down to truly inspect.

An Omega wolf.

My brows furrow. This file came from Vince's office. I've never scented any kind of magic from his files outside of the officers he works with directly. Vince is human so there wouldn't be any residual magic lingering on his items.

I frown and sniff at the print again, confused when there is a second, much fainter scent accompanied by the Omega's. It's not a witch's magic but something else entirely. Darker, more deviant. It reeks of a human doing dark dealings, using latent magic to assist with their daily lives. Many humans are born with the ability to wield magic but never learn how. Regardless, the scent shouldn't be anywhere near Vince's files. I also don't recognize the Omega's scent. It's not Gloria's or any of the other Omegas that were taken, not even the one currently missing.

Which means that there's a new Omega in trouble.

And that Vince has some explaining to do.

My first instinct is to call Amand but without a number, the only option is to show up at their apartment. I'll need my car. It's still sitting in that poor parking lot and I'll be surprised if it hasn't been towed already.

At some point, I'll mention my suspicions regarding my designation but that's after we figure out what the fuck is going on.