Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

GRIFF

G riff couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off tonight. His instincts, honed from years of working the streets of New Orleans, were prickling at the back of his mind, warning him of trouble. The problem was, trouble in this city came in all forms—most of them magical and most of them deadly.

He pushed away from his desk at the precinct, his dragon half stirring restlessly inside him. The heat that always simmered beneath his skin intensified, the familiar pull of shifting tugging at him. He grabbed his leather jacket, throwing it on before heading out into the cool night air. The Crescent City was alive with its usual energy—music drifting from the bars, tourists laughing on the streets, unaware of the dangers that lurked just out of sight. But Griff knew better. The city's pulse was different tonight, charged with something darker.

As he made his way through the French Quarter and down toward the deserted warehouse district, the feeling of unease grew stronger. The air felt thick, heavy with an energy that wasn't quite right. The warehouses were long abandoned, their windows shattered, metal doors rusting from disuse. The perfect hiding place for anyone—or anything—looking to avoid the law.

Griff glanced around, checking to make sure no one was watching, then let the shift take over. A kind of swirling fog or mist swirled up around him, surrounding him in a cataclysmic maelstrom that crackled with thunder, lightning, and color. His body stretched and expanded, his skin hardened into scales, and his vision sharpened as his dragon form took hold. He unfolded his wings, and beating them powerfully, Griff launched into the air, soaring over the city; the wind whipping past him as he climbed higher.

From the starry sky above, New Orleans looked peaceful, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and the distant hum of nightlife. But Griff's sharp eyes scanned the streets below, searching for any sign of what had triggered his instincts. It didn't take long to spot something—a flash of movement in a nearby alley, followed by the unmistakable shimmer of magic.

His keen vision zeroed in, and his heart skipped a beat when he recognized the figure in the alley. Phoenix Duvall. The city's resident faery demon hunter and, much to his annoyance, one of the most stubborn, headstrong women he'd ever met.

He hovered above the clouds, watching as she faced off against a demon, her blades flashing in the dim light. Her movements were swift, precise, and deadly. She fought like a warrior, a blur of steel and grace. Griff couldn't help but admire the way she handled herself—completely in control, fearless, and determined.

The demon roared, lunging at her with claws outstretched, but Phoenix was faster. She ducked beneath its attack, cutting its wing, then its leg before driving both of her knives deep into its back. Black blood sprayed, sizzling as it hit the ground, and the demon let out a screeching wail before disintegrating into ash.

Griff remained hidden among the clouds, watching as Phoenix stood over the remnants of the battle, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. She was covered in soot and blood, but there was a fierce determination in the way she moved as she crouched down to inspect the ground. He watched closely as she examined something in the dirt—a summoning circle, from the look of it.

Something about the way she studied the circle set his own instincts on edge. This wasn't just a random demon attack; there was something more going on here. Griff debated swooping down to confront her, but something held him back. Phoenix was smart—she wouldn't leave the scene until she had the answers she needed. And if she didn't, Griff knew exactly where she would go.

The Thorny Rose.

It was a seedy little tavern on the edge of the French Quarter, the kind of place where magical creatures and locals gathered to drink and share information. Phoenix frequented it often, her ties to the fae world stronger than most realized. Griff had spent plenty of time in the place himself, though his reasons were usually work-related. If Phoenix was looking for answers, that's where she'd be heading next.

Satisfied that she could handle herself, Griff banked toward the tavern, his wings cutting through the night air. As he descended toward the rooftops, he landed smoothly in the alley behind the warehouse before shifting back to his human form, pulling on the clothing he'd left behind. Griff straightened, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering tension of the shift.

Getting on his Harley, he headed for The Thorny Rose; he parked and headed inside. The place was packed tonight, as expected. Taking up residence in his usual spot at the end of the bar with his back to the wall, Griff scanned the room for any sign of Phoenix. He didn't have to wait long. The door swung open, and Phoenix strode in, her expression set in a determined scowl. She hadn't noticed him yet, but that would change soon enough.

Griff leaned against the bar, waiting, a small smile playing on his lips. This was going to be interesting.

He watched as Phoenix made her way through the crowd, her presence commanding attention despite her curvy frame. Her long, ash blonde hair was pulled back into a fishtail braid, and the fire in her emerald eyes told him she was still riding the adrenaline high from her fight. She was covered in soot and blood, but that didn't seem to faze her in the slightest.

Finn O'Riley, the owner of The Thorny Rose, greeted her with a nod as she reached the bar, but Griff could see the way his eyes flickered over her, noticing the wear of the battle she'd just been through.

"Rough night?" Finn asked, his tone casual, but Griff knew the fae was always gathering information, even when he seemed laid-back.

Phoenix let out a breath, leaning against the counter as she ran a hand through her hair. "You could say that."

Before Finn could reply, Griff stepped up beside her, his smirk widening. "Couldn't stay out of trouble for even one night, could you?"

"I'm not the one causing trouble, Broussard," she turned and said, her voice seemingly devoid of emotion. "I'm the one cleaning it up."

He grinned. Phoenix wasn't nearly as unrattled as she wanted people to think. "That's not what I hear. Word on the street is you've been stirring up quite a bit of action tonight."

"Word on the street should mind its own damn business," Phoenix shot back, crossing her arms. "What are you doing here?"

Griff shrugged. "Same as you, I imagine. Looking for answers. You're not the only one who's noticed the demon activity picking up."

"And have you found anything?"

"Not yet," he admitted. He stepped closer and leaned into her. "But I've got a feeling we're on the same trail."

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. He wondered if she could feel the heat sizzling between them. "Then stay out of my way. I don't need your help."

Griff's grin widened. "That's funny, because I think you might."

Phoenix glared at him. "I work alone."

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear as he spoke. "Not tonight, you don't."

Before she could respond, the sound of breaking glass shattered the tension between them. They turned in tandem as a figure in the shadows by the door darted through the door and out into the street.

With no warning whatsoever, Phoenix bolted after it—whatever it was. She might be some badass faery enforcer, but he wasn't about to let her go alone. Griff flung a handful of bills at Finn and bolted out the door behind her.

The muggy night smacked him in the face like a slap as he emerged, keeping one eye on the retreating figure and the other on Phoenix. Whoever or whatever it was, was fast, but Phoenix was faster. She seemed to levitate just above the ground—even without her wings—as she closed the distance.

"Phoenix!" Griff called, but to no avail. Phoenix didn't break stride, turn around, or even slow down. The figure ducked into an alley, and Phoenix followed, the darkness swallowing her up.

Griff raced to catch up with her, rounding the corner just in time to see the figure disappear through a door at the end of the alley. Griff saw Phoenix skid to a halt. He could feel the presence of magic in the alley. Many parts of the city felt as if magic had been mixed into the mortar that held the buildings together.

Griff caught up to her, breathing heavily as he glanced at the door. "Looks like we found our lead."

Phoenix nodded, her grip tightening on her knives. "And it's not going to wait for us."

With one last glance at Griff, she pushed the door open, stepping into the unknown.

Griff Broussard wasn't a stranger to darkness. It lingered at the edges of his life, always threatening to swallow him whole. But tonight, as he stood at the threshold of the old door, staring at the door Phoenix had just disappeared through, that familiar darkness felt different. It was alive, pulsating with magic and danger, pulling him into its depths like a predator sizing up its prey.

The metallic tang of the night air filled his lungs as he pushed through the door behind Phoenix, muscles tense and instincts flaring. His senses sharpened. Even in human form, his dragon nature simmered beneath his skin, the beast pacing impatiently, ready to be unleashed at the first hint of a threat. He couldn't help it—not here, not now, not with the echoes of his father's unsolved murder still whispering at the edges of his mind.

Phoenix was already a few steps ahead, her movements fluid and silent as she navigated the narrow hallway beyond the door. Griff's gaze swept the space, noting every detail—the cracked tiles on the floor, the flickering overhead light, and the faint trace of something old, something ancient lingering in the air. Magic. He could smell it, thick and oppressive, curling around him like smoke.

"Phoenix, wait," he hissed, his voice low but urgent.

She glanced back at him, her eyes sharp and alert, but there was a flicker of impatience in her expression. Phoenix always charged headfirst into danger, relying on her instincts and speed. Griff had always been the opposite—calculated, methodical. He needed to understand what they were walking into before they stepped too deep. But there was no time for planning now. The person they'd been chasing—their only lead—was somewhere ahead, and they couldn't afford to lose it.

Without another word, Phoenix continued forward, her hand brushing the wall as she moved. Griff followed, the tension between them thickening with each step. He knew she could handle herself—hell, she was probably better suited for this than he was—but that didn't stop the protective instinct that flared in his chest whenever they were in a situation like this. He hated that about himself. Hated how being around her always made him feel more… vulnerable. More aware of the fact that she was a storm he could never quite tame.

They rounded another corner, and the hallway opened into a larger space, a dimly lit room with shelves lining the walls, filled with strange artifacts and dusty tomes. At the far end of the room, a figure was moving, rummaging through a pile of papers on a desk. Griff's muscles tensed as he recognized it—the same person they had been chasing.

"Stop!" Phoenix's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

The figure froze, then spun around, its face partially obscured by a hood. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Griff caught a glimpse of the person's eyes—glowing faintly, unnaturally—before they raised their hand, and a wave of energy pulsed outward. The magic hit them like a shockwave, sending Griff staggering back, his vision blurring for a split second.

Phoenix was quicker. She darted forward, dodging the brunt of the attack, her knives flashing in the dim light as she moved to close the distance between her and the assailant. Griff growled low in his throat, shaking off the disorienting effects of the magic. His dragon stirred beneath his skin, its power surging as he regained his footing. His vision sharpened, and his muscles tightened as he lunged forward, determined to back Phoenix up.

The fight was fast and brutal. Phoenix was relentless, her blades moving with deadly precision as she slashed at the figure. But their opponent was skilled—too skilled. Every time Phoenix got close, the figure countered with another burst of magic, forcing her back. Griff joined the fray, his dragon's strength giving him an edge as he threw a punch at the hooded figure, but it twisted away, moving with an unnatural grace.

Griff's frustration boiled over. He hated fighting magic users. It always felt like they had an advantage he couldn't quite predict, no matter how many battles he'd been in. The figure shot another pulse of energy, this time aiming it directly at Griff. He raised his arms to shield himself, bracing for impact, but the force of the blow sent him crashing into a nearby shelf, toppling books and artifacts in a cascade of dust and chaos.

"Griff!" Phoenix's voice was sharp with concern, but she didn't have time to check on him. Their opponent took advantage of the momentary distraction, hurling another spell in her direction. Phoenix barely dodged it, but the blast caught her arm, sending her spinning to the ground with a hiss of pain.

A growl rumbled deep in Griff's chest. Enough. His dragon roared inside him, and he let it rise, feeling the familiar burn of transformation ripple through his body. His skin prickled, his muscles expanded, and his vision turned molten gold as his dragon began to emerge. But just as the shift began to take hold, the hooded figure threw one last desperate spell—something dark and twisted that clawed at Griff's senses.

A black mist filled the room, choking and suffocating. Griff struggled to breathe, his transformation halting midway as the magic wrapped around him like chains. He could feel it, tendrils of shadow snaking into his mind, trying to pull him under. But his dragon fought back, pushing against the intrusion with raw, primal power. Griff gritted his teeth, focusing on Phoenix, who was already back on her feet, charging at the figure with renewed determination.

Phoenix's blade found its mark, slicing through the figure's arm with a sickening hiss. The hooded figure screamed—a high-pitched, inhuman sound—and staggered back, clutching its wound. For a moment, it looked like it might fall, but then it raised its hand one last time, and a portal of shimmering darkness opened behind it.

"No!" Phoenix lunged forward, but it was too late. The figure stepped into the portal, disappearing into the void as it closed behind it with a final snap, leaving only silence in its wake.

Griff collapsed to one knee, gasping for air as the last of the dark magic dissipated. His head was pounding, his body aching from the strain of the half-finished transformation. He could still feel the lingering traces of the spell, like poison in his veins, but it was fading—slowly, too slowly.

Phoenix was already moving, checking the room for any signs of their enemy. She was breathing heavily, her eyes blazing with frustration as she searched for any clue, any scrap of evidence that could lead them to the person who had just escaped. But the room was silent now, still, as if the fight had never happened.

"Damn it," she muttered, kicking over a chair in frustration.

Griff forced himself to stand, his body protesting with every movement. "It got away," he said, his voice rough.

Phoenix shot him a glare, her eyes still filled with that stormy intensity. "No shit. I was hoping for a clean catch."

Griff winced, rubbing the back of his neck. His dragon was still simmering beneath the surface, restless and unsatisfied. "I don't think that was just some random magic user. There was something off about him."

Phoenix's expression softened slightly as she turned back to him. "Yeah, I felt it too. That was dark magic. The kind that's not supposed to exist anymore."

Griff nodded, his thoughts racing. Dark magic. It was a term he'd only heard in whispers, in the kind of stories that most people dismissed as faery tales. But the residue in the air, the unnatural power he'd felt—that had been real. Too real. And it stirred something deep within him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. A memory. His father's murder.

The parallels were too strong to ignore. The unsolved crime that had haunted Griff for years had been steeped in mystery, in strange injuries and magical residue that no one could explain. And now, here he was again, facing the same kind of darkness.

Phoenix noticed the shift in his expression. "What is it?"

Griff hesitated, unsure of how to explain the storm brewing inside him. "This feels… familiar. Too familiar."

She frowned, crossing her arms. "What do you mean?"

Griff's jaw tightened. He hadn't talked about his father's death in years, not since the investigation had gone cold. But now, standing in this room, surrounded by the remnants of dark magic, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was connected.

"My father," he said quietly, his voice strained. "He was killed years ago. The case was never solved. But the scene—it was just like this. Magic, strange injuries, no answers."

Phoenix's eyes widened, and for a moment, the tension between them shifted into something more. Understanding. She stepped closer, her voice softer now. "Griff… I didn't know."

He shrugged, trying to push down the flood of emotions that threatened to rise. "I don't talk about it much. But this—this is the closest I've come to finding any kind of lead. If this is the same kind of magic, then maybe—just maybe—it's connected."

Phoenix studied him, her gaze piercing but compassionate. "Then we're not giving up. We'll track them down, whoever they are. And we'll get answers."

Griff wanted to believe her. He wanted to think that this would be the moment when everything finally clicked into place. But deep down, he knew the road ahead wouldn't be that simple.

Dark magic had a way of twisting things, of hiding the truth in shadows and lies. And the closer they got to uncovering it, the more dangerous it would become.

But he wasn't about to back down. Not now. Not with Phoenix at his side and the weight of his father's memory driving him forward.

"Yeah," he said, his voice firm. "We're not stopping until we find out the truth."

And as they stood there, in the aftermath of the battle, Griff couldn't help but feel that they had just crossed a threshold—one that would take them deeper into the heart of the darkness than they had ever gone before.

Griff's cell phone buzzed, and he answered. "I'm needed across town at a murder scene. Can you get home safely?"

Phoenix snorted. Griff shook his head and headed back to The Thorny Rose to get his Harley and head for his day job—homicide detective. But whatever was going on, Griff was convinced he and Phoenix needed to work together, even if it meant unraveling the secrets of his past, one painful thread at a time.