Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

RIKER

R iker leaned back in his chair at the precinct, staring down at the file of the murdered politician. The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting long shadows across his desk. There was something gnawing at him, something he hadn't seen at first. This case wasn't just about dark magic or a supernatural power grab—it was bigger, more twisted.

The victim, Simon Daltry, hadn't just been a well-known public figure. He was connected to groups with a history of racial and religious rhetoric that leaned heavily toward being anti-magic if one was inclined to know of or believe in such things. And the deeper Riker dug into the politician's background, the more disturbing things became. Beneath the layers of campaign speeches and polished public appearances, Daltry had been linked to a powerful extremist group. They were vocal, dangerous, and had one goal: to rid New Orleans of anything or anyone they deemed to be "abominations."

Riker flipped through the files. Daltry's ties to these groups were buried deep, hidden behind layers of charity work and political maneuvering. But Riker had seen this kind of thing before. People like Daltry, never acted alone. Extremist groups didn't operate in a vacuum, and if he wasn't mistaken, there was a bigger, more organized threat lurking just beyond the shadows.

He leaned forward, tapping his pen against his desk. He needed to get out there—find the people who ran these groups. And the only way to do that was to go to the place no human had ever dared set foot in—the Undercity.

The Undercity was a hidden world beneath New Orleans, a labyrinth of tunnels, sewers, and forgotten places where magical beings who didn't fit in aboveground, scraped out a living. The fae, half-bloods, and creatures who didn't conform to the polished fa?ade of the supernatural world were often forced into the shadows. They lived in squalor, cut off from the wealth and privilege enjoyed by those who fit into human society's neat little boxes.

Riker grabbed his jacket and left the precinct, inhaling the faint traces of Catalina's scent that her magic left behind, his mind set on finding answers.

T he entrance to the Undercity was hidden in plain sight, concealed by a network of alleys and dilapidated buildings in the oldest part of New Orleans. Riker had only been down there once before, years ago, during a case that had left him with more questions than answers. He didn't relish the thought of returning, but he knew it was the only way to get the information he needed.

The descent into the Undercity was like stepping into another world. The sounds of the bustling city above faded into a distant hum, replaced by the steady drip of water and the quiet rustle of creatures moving in the dark. The tunnels were narrow and damp, the air heavy with the smell of mildew and decay. Flickering lights, powered by a combination of magic and scavenged technology, cast eerie shadows on the walls.

As Riker moved deeper into the maze of passageways, he began to see the harsh reality of life in the Undercity. Makeshift homes made from discarded materials lined the walls, and small groups of magical beings huddled together, their faces gaunt and hollow. It wasn't just poverty—it was neglect, discrimination, and fear that had driven these people underground.

He spotted a group of fae huddled around a fire, their wings tattered and dull from years of disuse. A vampire with sunken eyes and ragged clothes leaned against a wall, watching him with suspicion. Everywhere he looked, there was suffering.

Riker's stomach churned. This was the reality of magical beings who didn't fit into the neat categories that humans—or even other magical beings—had created. The divide was stark, and the more he saw, the more he realized how much he didn't understand about the world he was living in.

He was about to turn down another tunnel when he heard it—a soft, high-pitched cry. He stopped, listening closely. It was coming from just around the corner.

Riker approached cautiously, his instincts kicking in. As he rounded the corner, he saw it—a small group of kids surrounding a young boy. The boy had pointed ears and delicate wings that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Half-faerie. He couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old, but the terror on his face was all too real.

"Freak!" one of the kids spat, shoving the boy to the ground. "You don't belong here!"

The boy whimpered, his wings fluttering weakly as he tried to get up. Another kid kicked him in the side, sending him sprawling.

Riker felt a surge of anger rise in his chest. Before he even realized what he was doing, he stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "Hey! Leave him alone."

The kids froze, their eyes wide as they turned to face him. Riker's size alone was enough to intimidate most people, but his tone carried a weight that left no room for argument.

"We were just—" one of the kids started, but Riker cut him off.

"Get out of here," he said, his voice cold.

The kids didn't wait to be told twice. They scattered, disappearing into the tunnels like rats. Riker knelt down beside the boy, who was trembling, his eyes wide with fear.

"Hey, it's okay," Riker said, trying to soften his tone. "They're gone now."

The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears. "They hate me because I'm different."

Riker's chest tightened. He didn't know what to say. He had spent so much of his life distrusting magic, distrusting anyone who wasn't either fully human or some kind of shifter, and now here he was, faced with a child who had been rejected for the very things Riker had always feared.

"You're not alone," Riker said after a moment. "There are people out there who understand."

The boy sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Are you like me?"

Riker hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I am."

For the first time, the boy smiled, just a little. It was a small thing, but it hit Riker harder than he expected. This kid, like so many others down here, had been abandoned, left to fend for himself because the world above couldn't—or wouldn't—accept him.

Riker stood, offering the boy his hand. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe."

R iker returned to the surface hours later, his mind heavy with the things he'd seen. The cruelty, the neglect, the pain—it had opened his eyes in ways he hadn't anticipated. His entire worldview was shifting, and it was unsettling.

He'd found the boy a safe place to stay. A fae elder who'd been stripped of his magic had founded a small place where he took in those children who had no one to fend for them. Riker left him with all the cash he had on him and his burner cell phone. He promised the elder he would send money and supplies, and if they needed him, they were to use the phone to call him.

As he walked through the precinct, lost in thought, Captain Evelyn Moreau stepped into his path. He had to stop short, or he would have run over her. She looked at him, her sharp eyes assessing.

"Riker," she said, her tone serious. "We need to talk."

Meeting her gaze, he said, "What's this about?"

Moreau crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I've been watching you. I've noticed things, especially over the last few days."

Riker frowned. "What things?"

She sighed, glancing around before lowering her voice. "Your objectivity, for one. This case is getting personal for you, and that's dangerous."

Riker stiffened. "I'm doing my job."

"I'm not questioning your dedication," Moreau said. "But I know when a case hits too close to home. This isn't just about a murdered politician anymore, is it?"

Riker's jaw clenched, but he didn't answer. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, but the conversation was making him uneasy.

Moreau stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not the only one, Riker. There are others in the precinct—people who aren't entirely human."

Riker's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I know about the supernatural world," Moreau said quietly. "I've known for a long time. My first case revealed it to me, but I was kept safe by a powerful wolf-shifter—the Alpha of New Orleans. In exchange for my silence, he protected me."

Riker stared at her, stunned. This was not the conversation he had expected. There were plenty of guys who called themselves the alpha of this or of that and plenty more people who believed themselves to be an alpha of some form or another, himself included. But there was only one man who could claim the title of the Alpha of New Orleans. If his captain had met—not to mention been protected by—Jean-Michel Gautier, there was a lot more to Evelyn Moreau than any of them had ever thought.

"Why share this with me?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Because I believe you're one of them," Moreau said, her gaze steady. "You and several others in my precinct. I just want all of you to know—I'm on your side. And you can count on me."

She didn't wait for him to respond. Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Riker standing there, his mind spinning.

Captain Moreau knew. She had known all along. And now, she had made it clear that she was watching—and that she was offering her support.

Riker didn't know how he felt. Everything he had believed was being challenged. The world wasn't black and white, human and magical. It was shades of gray, filled with complexities he hadn't been prepared for.

As he stood there, the weight of the case pressing down on him, Riker realized that he wasn't just hunting a killer or a shapeshifter. He was confronting his own demons—and it was going to change everything.