Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

GRIFF

G riff tossed and turned, his sheets a tangle of frustration as the night dragged on. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Phoenix. Her face, the way her eyes burned with a ferocity that never seemed to dim—simmer, maybe, but never extinguished. The way her lips had felt against his. The kiss—God, that kiss—had ignited something in him that he wasn't ready to deal with. And now, alone in the dark, his thoughts spiraled toward what could've happened if Maeve hadn't interrupted.

He could still feel her body against his, the way her curves had fit perfectly against him, the pulse of her magic thrumming beneath her skin. His dragon stirred restlessly, a heat building inside him that refused to be ignored. His fated mate. That's what she had to be. The signs were all there—her scent, the way his dragon responded to her, the way he couldn't stop thinking about her. But that was crazy, right? He'd known her for years, and now, all of a sudden, this?

His dreams, when they came, were a heady mixture of heat and longing. Phoenix, back in his arms, her lips on his, her body pressing into him with an urgency that matched his own. Her wings unfurled, the golden light of the fae surrounding them as they flew through the night, intertwined in a primal dance.

But as the dream reached its crescendo, back close to the earth with Phoenix's hands threading through his hair, her breath hot against his neck, it twisted into something darker. Her eyes flashed with painful understanding, her wings wilting as an iron pike broke through the ground beneath her, driving through her heart, pinning her to the earth. Griff tried to scream, tried to run to her, but his feet were frozen in place. He watched helplessly as her body crumpled, the light fading from her eyes.

Griff bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving. His heart thundered, sweat dripping down his back as the remnants of the nightmare clung to him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake the image of her lifeless body from his mind. It was just a dream, he told himself, but the dread clung to him like a second skin.

The night was still thick around him, but sleep was impossible now. Phoenix was in danger—that much he knew—and he needed to do something about it. His hands itched to act, to tear through the city and eliminate every last threat that lingered in the shadows. But for now, the best he could do was focus on the task ahead. Fontaine. The Councilman was involved, and Griff needed to find out just how deep his ties ran to the cult.

The morning light filtered through the blinds by the time Griff pulled himself together. He downed a cup of black coffee, the bitter liquid doing little to clear the fog of restlessness that hung over him. His phone buzzed, the notification alerting him that his appointment with Councilman Victor Fontaine had been confirmed for mid-morning. Perfect.

As he shrugged into his leather jacket and headed out the door, Griff pushed the unsettling images from the night behind him. He couldn't afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment, especially not today. This was his chance to dig deeper into the cult, and Fontaine was the key.

T he office of Councilman Victor Fontaine was as pristine and polished as one would expect from a man of his status. The walls were lined with tasteful artwork, and the scent of leather and rich wood hung in the air. Griff waited in the plush, high-backed chair, his senses on high alert as his eyes scanned every detail of the room.

Fontaine's secretary, a petite woman with sharp eyes, ushered him in with a practiced smile. "The councilman will see you now, Detective Broussard."

Griff nodded, standing and stepping into Fontaine's office. The councilman himself sat behind an enormous oak desk, his tailored suit impeccable, every inch of him the picture of a seasoned politician. But Griff wasn't fooled. He could feel the undercurrent of unease, the slight tension in Fontaine's shoulders that belied his calm exterior.

"Detective," Fontaine greeted, extending a hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Griff accepted the handshake, his grip firm as he locked eyes with the councilman. "I appreciate you making the time, Councilman. Just following up on a few leads concerning the recent uptick in... strange activity around the city."

Fontaine's smile wavered, just for a fraction of a second. "Strange activity? I'm not sure I follow, Detective."

Griff settled into the chair opposite Fontaine's desk, his dragon instincts humming just beneath the surface. He could sense the shift in Fontaine's energy, the way his pulse quickened slightly. "I'm sure you've heard about a string of seemingly random murders recently. Word on the street is that there are some... unusual alliances forming. People dabbling in things they shouldn't—things that are best left alone—dangerous things."

Fontaine's face remained impassive, but Griff noticed the slight twitch of his fingers as they tapped the desk. "I can assure you, Detective, the city council is doing everything in its power to ensure the safety of New Orleans—coordinating with the police and other authorities. I don't see how you could think I would be involved in any... unsavory dealings."

Griff leaned forward, his gaze never leaving Fontaine's face. "I'm not saying you are, Councilman. But I've learned that these things often have a way of creeping into places we least expect. Sometimes, people get involved without fully understanding what they're getting into."

Fontaine's jaw tightened, and that's when Griff saw it—a glimpse of something beneath the cuff of the councilman's sleeve. A symbol, etched into his skin, faint but unmistakable. It was the same symbol Phoenix had described to him from the cult meeting.

Griff's blood ran cold, but he kept his expression neutral. He couldn't afford to tip his hand yet. Instead, he smiled and stood, offering a casual nod. "Well, I appreciate your time, Councilman. If you hear about anything unusual, don't hesitate to reach out. We're all trying to keep the city safe."

Fontaine stood as well; his smile tight. "Of course, Detective. If I come across anything, I'll be in touch."

That symbol was all the confirmation he needed. Fontaine was involved, and he wasn't just a pawn—he was in deep.

He was just leaving Fontaine's office when his cell phone buzzed with a text.

Meet me at Café du Monde. You can buy me a coffee and beignets.

G riff had just locked up his Harley outside of Café du Monde, one of New Orleans' most famous landmarks, when he spotted Geneva waiting for him at the entrance. Her hair, much darker than Phoenix's but with the same telltale wave, caught in the breeze coming in from the water as she leaned against the wrought iron railing. She waved him over, a casual smile on her face, but Griff could sense the tension lurking beneath her easy demeanor.

He walked up, nodding in greeting. "Geneva."

"Griff," she responded, pushing herself off the railing. "I heard you had a meeting with Fontaine. I figured you could use a break."

Griff followed her into the café, the scent of fresh beignets and powdered sugar mingling with the thick aroma of chicory coffee. It was one of those perfect New Orleans mornings where the humidity was just shy of suffocating, but the promise of a storm in the distance kept the air charged.

Geneva found them a small table near the back, away from the crush of tourists. She wasted no time ordering a round of beignets and coffee, leaning back in her chair once the server left. "You look like you haven't slept."

Griff rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, feeling the weight of the past few nights pressing in. Between the investigation, the demon cult, and the increasingly complicated feelings he had for Phoenix, sleep had become a rare commodity. "Busy week."

Geneva nodded, her expression softening for a moment. "I know. It's been crazy for me, too. The morgue's been overflowing with bodies I can't explain." She paused, her gaze sharpening as she leaned in a little. "Which brings me to why I wanted to talk to you."

Griff tensed, already suspecting what she was going to say. "It's about the residue I had you test, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she sighed, sitting back as the server brought their order. She took a slow sip of her coffee, as if gathering her thoughts. "I've confirmed your suspicions—there's definitely dark magic at play. No doubt about that. The energy signature was off the charts, nothing like anything I've seen before."

Griff leaned forward, his fingers tightening around his own cup. "But?"

Geneva bit her lower lip, brushing powdered sugar from her fingers before meeting his eyes. "But… I haven't been able to get anything conclusive. It's like the residue is too degraded or mixed with something else. Whatever spell was used, it's ancient and powerful. It left a trace, but nothing I can properly analyze in the lab."

Frustration simmered in Griff's chest. He had been counting on Geneva's expertise to break open this case. "So, we're at a dead end?"

"Not necessarily." She hesitated for a second, looking unsure of how to proceed. "There's someone who might be able to help, but... I need your permission first."

"Who?" Griff's curiosity piqued, though a slight unease stirred in his gut.

"My aunt," Geneva replied, her voice dropping a notch. "You remember Aunt Maeve?"

Griff nodded slowly. "Yes, we spoke briefly last night."

Geneva chuckled. For someone who spent a lot of time with dead bodies, she had a wicked sense of humor and a mischievous grin.

Of course, he knew Maeve. Everybody who knew anything about the supernatural underbelly knew Maeve; she was infamous in New Orleans—a powerful fae whose knowledge of old magic rivaled even the most seasoned of the supernatural community. She lived with her nieces in the Garden District and few dared to visit unless they received an invitation or had no other options. Griff had met her once or twice but had never gotten involved with her directly. Phoenix's side-eye reactions whenever the aunt came up weren't exactly a ringing endorsement, either.

"She's... unconventional," Geneva continued, tapping her fingers against the rim of her cup. "But she knows things—old magic, ancient symbols, rituals most of us have never even heard of. If anyone can tell you what that residue really is, it's her."

Griff stared into his coffee for a moment, weighing the options. "Can we trust her? She isn't overly fond of cops."

"Oh, she likes cops well enough; it's you she has issues with," Geneva teased.

Griff groaned. "The last thing I need is more chaos thrown into the mix."

Geneva smirked, though there was a glint of something in her eyes—an old family history too deep to explain over beignets. "Maeve walks a fine line, but she gave up her place in the fae realm to follow my mother and then to raise me and my sisters. I not only love her, but I also believe her knowledge of this city and its supernatural past is second to none. She's every bit a guardian of this city as you, me, or my sisters. She won't cause trouble. Besides, if this residue is as dangerous as I think it is, we can't afford to leave any stone unturned."

Griff exhaled slowly, considering the risks. Bringing in Maeve would likely stir up things they weren't ready for, but they were already neck-deep in dark magic. Waiting and hoping for a clean solution wasn't going to cut it.

"All right," he finally said. "Go ahead and show it to her. But be careful. I don't want to make this mess worse."

Geneva's shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile tugging at her lips. "You've got it. I'll let you know what she says as soon as I have something."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of conversation and the occasional clink of dishes. Griff's mind was already moving a mile a minute, thinking about the next steps, about how deep this conspiracy went.

"So," Geneva said after a while, breaking the quiet. "How's Phoenix?"

Griff stiffened at the mention of her name. He didn't want to think about the mess of feelings tangled up in that question. Not here. Not now. "As far as I know, she's fine. She's your sister; you live in the same house; I would think you know better than me."

Geneva raised an eyebrow, but didn't push. "You know, I've never seen her like this before. She doesn't let many people get close, but it seems like…"

"Geneva," Griff interrupted, his voice firm. "Not now."

She shrugged, clearly unimpressed with his attempt to dodge the topic, but let it drop. "Fine. For now."

Their conversation drifted back to lighter topics, but Griff's mind remained distracted. He was inching closer to the truth, but with every step forward, the shadows around him grew deeper, more dangerous. He just hoped that whatever Maeve uncovered would be worth the risk.

As they finished their coffee and Griff prepared to head out, Geneva placed a hand on his arm. "Griff, be careful. The deeper you go into this, the more dangerous it's going to get."

He gave her a half-smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm already in. Not much I can do about it now."

She laughed, but it was soft, almost bittersweet. "Fair point. Just… watch your back, okay?"

"I always do," Griff said, nodding to her as he left the café and stepped back into the bustling streets. But as he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that the real storm was still on the horizon. And when it hit, nothing would be the same.

L ater that evening, Griff found himself parked outside The Thorny Rose, his eyes scanning the darkened streets as he waited. He hadn't been surprised when Fontaine's car had pulled up outside the bar, the councilman slipping inside under the cover of night. What did surprise him, however, were the other figures that followed—men and women dressed in odd, ceremonial garb, their faces hidden beneath hoods.

Griff's dragon instincts flared, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Something was going down inside that bar, and he needed to find out what. He pushed open the door to The Thorny Rose, the familiar scent of smoke and whiskey filling the air as he stepped into the dimly lit space. Neutral ground for supernatural beings, the tavern was a hotbed of magical activity, and tonight was no different.

His eyes swept the room, searching for Fontaine and the others, but his gaze snagged on something else—someone else.

Phoenix.

She stood near the bar, her eyes scanning the crowd with the same intensity that burned in him.

Griff's heart skipped a beat as he took her in—the way her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, the sharp curve of her jaw, and the lethal grace in the way she held herself. The memory of their kiss flashed through his mind, and the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface all day threatened to boil over.

She spotted him almost immediately, her eyes narrowing as she crossed the room toward him. "Griff. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he shot back, his voice low.

"Following up on a lead," she said, her tone clipped. "You?"

"Same."

They stood there for a moment, the tension between them palpable, before Phoenix glanced toward the back of the bar. "Fontaine?"

Griff nodded. "He's here, and he's not alone. Whatever's going down, it's happening sooner rather than later."

Phoenix's lips pressed into a thin line. "This isn't good. If Fontaine's involved, we're in deeper than we thought."

Griff's eyes darkened as he stepped closer, the heat between them reigniting. "And what if he's not just involved? What if he's the one pulling the strings?"

Phoenix's breath hitched, her gaze locking with his. For a moment, the weight of the danger they were facing faded, and all Griff could focus on was her—the way her magic hummed in the air around her, the way his dragon responded to her presence.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, and a spark shot through him. "Phoenix, this—whatever this is between us—it's more than just a distraction."

Her eyes softened, just for a second, before the walls came back up. "We don't have time for this right now, Griff."

But as much as she tried to brush it off, Griff could see the truth in her eyes. She felt it, too. Whatever was happening between them was real, and it was only a matter of time before they couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Better we make time than have it overwhelm us at the most inopportune moment," Griff murmured, his voice rough.

Before she could respond, the sound of movement from the back of the bar drew their attention. The oddly dressed figures were gathering, and Fontaine was at the center of it all.

Phoenix's eyes narrowed, her body tensing as she prepared to move. "We'll finish this later," she said, her voice tight. They both knew they were playing with fire—both with the situation in the bar and with whatever was brewing between them—but now wasn't the moment to delve deeper into either.

Griff nodded, his expression hardening as he focused on the task at hand. "Agreed. But keep close. I don't trust what's about to happen."

Together, they moved through the crowded bar, sticking to the shadows as they neared the back room where Fontaine and his cloaked associates had gathered. The Thorny Rose had always been a den of secrets, a place where deals were struck in the dark, and tonight felt no different—except the stakes seemed significantly higher.

They paused, wanting to give the group a chance to get down the stairs. They then followed down a set of stairs at the back that led to a labyrinth beneath not only The Thorny Rose but the city itself. As they descended the stairs, trailing down a long hall behind Fontaine, they came to a closed door. Griff could hear murmured voices. A low chant, almost melodic, drifted from behind it, sending a chill down his spine. He exchanged a glance with Phoenix; she could feel the shift in the air, too—something dark was building inside.

What was the old saying? Something wicked this way comes.

With a quick motion, Phoenix reached for the handle, pausing just long enough to whisper, "On three."

Griff gave a sharp nod. "One... two..."

On three, they burst through the door, and the scene before them made Griff's blood run cold. Fontaine stood at the center of a dimly lit, cavernous room, surrounded by a circle of hooded figures, all of them chanting in unison. On the floor, etched in glowing red, was the same demonic symbol Griff had glimpsed on Fontaine's wrist earlier. The symbol pulsed with dark energy, and Griff's dragon stirred in response, his instincts roaring in warning.

Fontaine's eyes snapped toward them, his face twisting with fury. "You!" he spat, stepping away from the circle. "You have no idea what you've just walked into."

Phoenix's hand crackled with magic, her fingers twitching as she prepared to unleash her power. "I know exactly what I've walked into, Fontaine. And it ends tonight."

But Fontaine's confidence didn't waver. He smiled, a cold, cruel twist of his lips. "You think you can stop this? You're too late. The ritual has already begun."

Griff's muscles tensed as he stepped forward, positioning himself between Phoenix and the group. "We'll see about that."

The room erupted into chaos as the hooded figures moved toward them, their voices growing louder, more urgent, as the dark energy in the room intensified. Griff's dragon surged to the surface, his skin prickling with the need to shift, to tear through the enemy standing between them and the truth. Even though the room was enormous, it wouldn't handle the size of his dragon form. Shifting might well pull the whole thing down around them.

He called on the strength of his dragon as Phoenix's magic flared beside him, a wave of golden light shooting from her hands and colliding with the first of the attackers. Griff wasted no time, launching himself into the fray, his dragon strength amplifying every punch, every movement. He moved with lethal precision, his focus locked on Fontaine, who was retreating further into the shadows.

But as the room descended into a blur of magic and violence, Griff's mind kept slipping back to Phoenix—the way she moved, the raw power that flowed through her, the undeniable connection that sizzled between them. She was fierce, beautiful, and utterly untouchable, and yet here they were, side by side in the heat of battle, their lives intertwined in ways neither of them fully understood.

As the last of the hooded figures crumbled to the ground, Griff turned toward Fontaine, his chest heaving with exertion. The councilman was cornered now, his back pressed against the far wall, desperation flickering in his eyes.

"You don't know what you're doing!" Fontaine hissed, his voice shaking as he reached for something beneath his cloak. "You can't stop this. The cult?—"

Griff cut him off with a snarl, advancing on the man with predatory grace. "The cult is finished, Fontaine. And so are you."

But before he could close the distance, Fontaine's hand emerged, clutching a dark, glowing crystal. He muttered something under his breath, and the air around them seemed to ripple, a sudden wave of energy knocking Griff and Phoenix back.

Griff hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs as the world tilted around him. Dazed, he pushed himself up just in time to see Fontaine vanish in a flash of red light, the crystal shattering in his wake.

"Dammit!" Griff growled, slamming his fist into the floor. He'd been so close. Fontaine had slipped through his fingers, but the fight wasn't over. Not yet.

Phoenix groaned beside him, pulling herself up and dusting off her clothes. "He got away."

Griff's jaw tightened as he rose to his feet, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Yeah, but he won't get far. We know he's involved, but we still don't know exactly what they're after."

Phoenix's gaze softened; her anger tempered by something else as she looked at him. "We'll get him, Griff. But right now, we need to regroup. Figure out what the hell that ritual was about."

Griff nodded, his frustration still simmering just beneath the surface. But as his eyes met Phoenix's, something else stirred—a deeper, more primal desire that had nothing to do with the cult or the councilman. It had everything to do with the woman standing in front of him, her magic still crackling in the air, her chest rising and falling with every breath.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of their earlier conversation pressing down on them.

Then, without warning, Phoenix closed the distance between them, her hand reaching up to cup the back of Griff's neck. Her eyes searched his, her voice barely a whisper. "We're not done, you and I."

Griff's heart thundered in his chest as he lowered his forehead to hers, his voice rough with need. "No, we're not."

And with that, the last of Griff's restraint shattered, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was as fierce and consuming as the fire that burned inside them both.