Chapter 1

Chapter

One

GENEVA

G eneva Duvall's nights had a rhythm as predictable as the rise and fall of the tide. It was a rhythm she had come to rely on, even if it was far from ordinary.

Some nights, she spent hours in the cold, sterile morgue, the hum of the refrigeration units and the metallic scent of formaldehyde her only companions. Her role as assistant medical examiner kept her grounded in the world of humans, a role she clung to with a sense of duty and a desire for some kind of normalcy in her life. But there were other nights, like tonight, when she had to call upon the fae part of her heritage to fulfill her destiny. Destiny sounded so noble, but the truth was, demon-hunting was a dirty business—one someone had to do, but one that no one other than the Duvall sisters seemed willing to take on.

When her green wings unfurled under the cover of the moonlit sky, Geneva Duvall became more than just the city’s assistant medical examiner. She became a demon-hunter.

Perched atop a rooftop in downtown New Orleans, Geneva surveyed the city, her gaze sharp and searching. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of the Mississippi River mingling with the faint traces of jasmine from a nearby balcony garden. Her wings shimmered like liquid emeralds, their faint glow barely visible against the inky sky. She crouched low, her senses stretched thin, listening for the telltale hum of demonic activity.

New Orleans was alive in more ways than one. Tourists wandered down Bourbon Street, laughter and music filling the air, oblivious to the dark undercurrent that pulsed beneath the city's surface. For most, the world was simple. But for Geneva, it was layered. She could feel the threads of magic, the energy of otherworldly forces at play. Tonight, there was a disturbance, something subtle but insistent. It rippled through the air like a wave, invisible to human eyes but impossible for her to ignore.

Her wings twitched as the sensation sharpened, pulling her attention toward an alleyway below. She narrowed her eyes, the shift in the atmosphere unmistakable. It was a demonic presence.

"Not tonight," she muttered under her breath as she launched herself from the rooftop.

With a graceful leap, Geneva plummeted from her perch, her wings snapping open at the last moment to catch an updraft. She soared between buildings, reveling in the rare moment of freedom before tucking her wings away and dropping silently into the mouth of the alley. The acrid stench of fear and otherworldly malevolence assaulted her senses.

She landed in the narrow alley, her boots barely making a sound against the cracked pavement. The stench hit her first—the foul, acrid odor that only came from a demon in its true form. And there it was, lurking in the shadows, hunched over a figure slumped against the wall.

At the far end of the alley, a writhing mass of shadows loomed over a trembling figure huddled against a dumpster. The demon was small, a lower-level creature, but dangerous, nonetheless. It had taken on a twisted, almost animalistic form, all sharp angles and protruding bones, its red eyes glowing with malevolent hunger. Its target was a homeless man, a human so out of it, he barely knew what was going on, oblivious to the danger that loomed over him. Geneva stepped forward, her presence immediately drawing the demon's attention.

Not tonight, she repeated silently to herself. "Hey, ugly," she called out, her voice hard as steel. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The demon whirled, revealing a grotesque visage of twisted flesh and too many teeth. It hissed, baring its jagged teeth, but she was unfazed. This wasn't the first demon she'd faced, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Its latest victim, a disheveled man who'd clearly fallen on hard times, used the distraction to scramble away on all fours. Geneva spared him a glance to ensure he made it to the relative safety of the street before drawing her blade and refocusing on the snarling demon.

"Well, well," the creature rasped, its voice like gravel in a garbage disposal. "If it isn't one of the Duvall sisters. Slumming it in my territory, little faery?"

Geneva's eyes narrowed. "Your territory? Last I checked, this city was under the protection of my sisters and me. But I'd be happy to send you back to whatever hell you crawled out of, free of charge."

The demon lunged, claws extended and maw gaping. Geneva was ready. She pivoted, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp talons, and shoved her blade deep through the demon's mottled hide and straight into its heart. The contact point blazed with green light, transferring the fatal blow from her to the demon.

A bone-chilling shriek split the night as the eerie green light spread across the demon's body like wildfire. Geneva watched dispassionately as the creature thrashed and contorted, its form breaking down into wisps of foul-smelling smoke. In moments, all that remained was a small scorch mark on the grimy asphalt.

Geneva let out a long breath, the adrenaline of the fight already fading into a familiar weariness. Another night, another demon. Sometimes it felt like bailing out the ocean with a teacup. For every dark creature she and her sisters banished, two more seemed to take its place. And for what? A city full of humans who'd run screaming if they knew what really lurked in the shadows?

With the threat eliminated, Geneva turned her attention to the homeless man, finding him huddling behind another dumpster. He was alive, though barely. She knelt beside him, checking his pulse and ensuring he would survive the night. She imbued him with some energy and manifested a sandwich and a cup of coffee that he snatched away from her as soon as they appeared. He managed to get to his feet and then ran away.

Another close call, another life saved—though he would never know who or what had spared him. She reminded herself that it wasn’t because the man was ungrateful; he was just trying to survive. Shaking off the encroaching melancholy, Geneva spread her wings and took to the sky, landing once more on a rooftop where she could survey the city.

As she stood, brushing the dust from her hands, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

"Geneva, we need you to come in," said the voice on the other end. It was the night supervisor from the morgue. "Rachel's called in sick, and we’re backed up."

She sighed. Of course, someone had to be sick tonight. "I'll be there in fifteen," she replied, hanging up before she could hear any more complaints.

Gliding once more into the alley, she folded her wings back, disappearing into her body as if they'd never been there. For all the magic she possessed, the ability to switch between her fae and human forms was the one she used most. As she walked toward her car, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her dual life settling onto her shoulders again.

The city morgue was quiet when she arrived, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows down the empty corridors. Geneva slipped into the familiar routine with ease, donning her lab coat and gloves. The stark reality of the morgue had a way of grounding her after a night like this. Here, there were no demons, no magic—just bodies and the answers they held.

As she worked, Geneva couldn't help but reflect on the loneliness that had come to define her life. Her sisters had all found their paths, their fated mates who brought them power and purpose. Phoenix, Savannah, and Catalina—each of them had found a kind of completion Geneva couldn't understand. She had spent years telling herself she didn't need that, that her work was enough, that the fight against the darkness was her purpose.

But some nights, like tonight, the silence in the morgue was deafening. The absence of companionship gnawed at her, and she resented it. She resented that her sisters had found happiness while she was still here, slicing into bodies, hunting demons in the dark, and returning to an empty bed at the end of the night.

As she finished stitching up her latest autopsy, she glanced at the clock. It was late—later than she'd realized. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to her, and she was ready to close up shop. She pulled off her gloves, tossing them in the trash as she prepared to leave. But just as she was about to lock up, the sound of the door creaking open made her freeze.

Her hand instinctively went to the knife she kept strapped to her leg, but before she could draw it, a figure stumbled through the doorway. Her breath caught as the person collapsed onto the cold, tiled floor, their body limp and broken.

"Ash?" she whispered, recognizing the demon immediately.

Ash Shadowbane, a demon who had worked with her and her sisters in the past, lay crumpled at her feet. His dark hair was matted with blood, his once-proud form reduced to a shadow of what it had been. His chest heaved with labored breaths, his eyes barely open as he looked up at her.

"Help... me," he rasped before his body went still, unconscious but alive.

Geneva dropped to her knees, her hands hovering over him as she assessed the damage. His wounds were severe, worse than anything she'd seen in a long time. Blood soaked his clothes, and the deep gashes that ran across his torso and arms were like nothing a human would survive. But Ash was no human. He was a demon—one she’d never thought she’d see in this condition.

"Dammit, Ash," she muttered, her heart pounding as she scrambled to figure out what to do.

She couldn’t leave him here. She couldn’t let him die, no matter what danger he might bring with him. Something had hunted him, and if Ash Shadowbane was this desperate for help, then whatever was coming for him might be far worse than anything she'd faced before.

Geneva grabbed her phone, her fingers shaking as she called her sister, Phoenix. "We have a problem," she whispered, glancing down at Ash’s still form. "A big one."