Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

RONAN

R onan prowled the streets of New Orleans, his stride long and purposeful, last night's battle still weighing heavily. The taste of it—the blood, the ash, the chaos—clung to him like a bitter poison. He couldn't shake the restless energy coursing through his veins. His tiger stirred beneath the surface, agitated and ready for action, eager to sink claws and fangs into the next threat. But it wasn't just the battle that had him on edge.

It was her.

Lilith Silverwing. The fae warrior who had somehow crawled under his skin, her presence like a lingering shadow in his mind. The way she had fought, her violet eyes fierce, had set something alight in him, something primal. She had saved his ass, and that pissed him off almost as much as the attraction burning between them.

Attraction to a fae. A fucking fae. Worse than that, though—everything inside him said she was his fated mate. Ronan snorted and shook his head, flexing his hands as he walked, trying to push away the thought. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. That intensity in her gaze. The way she'd fought beside him. The way she had haunted his dreams, much like he suspected he had haunted hers.

Shaking his head, Ronan focused on the hunt instead. He was tracking Geneva Duvall. She should have been the easiest of the sisters to track. After all, she was the assistant medical examiner of New Orleans, and the scent he had caught in the air was unmistakable. Rich and earthy like the dark soil that predominated the Louisiana delta, mixed with crepe jasmine. It cut through the humid air of New Orleans, sharp against the otherwise familiar smells of the city. It was faint but there, pulling him like a beacon through the winding streets and alleys.

His senses heightened as he moved toward the scent, his tiger sharpening every instinct. He had lost her once, but this time, there would be no mistakes. The Duvall sisters were dangerous, each with powers that made them a threat not only to the fae but to every other supernatural in the city. They weren't always as careful to hide their magic as many believed they should be. Ronan couldn't argue with that. Geneva, and the rest of her sisters, had more enemies than Ronan could count, and that made them dangerous to them all..

As he rounded a corner, the scent grew stronger, mingling with the rich aromas of fresh produce and spices. He found himself at the edge of a bustling farmer's market, where locals and tourists alike moved through the stalls, their laughter and chatter filling the warm air. Despite the noise and movement, Ronan's senses locked onto the signature of magic threading through the crowd.

There she was.

Geneva stood at one of the stalls, her back turned to him. Her long, dark hair curling down around her shoulders made her easy to spot. She was speaking softly to a vendor, her hands outstretched over a withered plant. Ronan narrowed his eyes, watching as a soft, blue glow emanated from her palms. A trickle of magic, subtle but potent, spread over the plant's leaves, and within moments, they sprang to life, green and vibrant.

Earth magic.

Ronan frowned. He hadn't expected to see her using her powers so openly, especially with so many humans around. It was risky, reckless even. But there she was, healing a withered plant like it was nothing.

Interesting.

His eyes scanned the market, checking for any threats. Geneva might play the part of a healer, but Ronan knew better. She was far more dangerous than she looked, and if she was here, her sisters might not be far behind. His muscles tensed, ready for anything.

But before he could make his move, something else prickled at the back of his mind. A shift in the air. The sensation of eyes on him, watching, waiting.

Then he smelled it—something dark and sweet, like night-blooming jasmine, but tainted with a hint of decay. Fae magic, and not the clean, ordered kind. No, this was something twisted and dangerous.

Damn it.

Before he could react, a figure materialized out of the shadows, moving with the speed and grace of a killer. Morrigan Deathwing. Ronan didn't need to see her to know who it was. The air around her always carried that sickly-sweet stench, a reminder of her deadly reputation.

He was no expert on the fae, but you didn't have to be to know there was no love lost between Morrigan and Lilith. Inside his mind his tiger prowled, growling low, his protective instincts coming to the fore. He glanced around the market as he sniffed the air to see if Lilith was present; she wasn't.

The ambush came fast—so fast that it almost cost him everything. Morrigan was on him in an instant, her dark hair whipping around her like a storm, her pale blue eyes gleaming with malice. She moved like a wraith, silent and deadly, her blade flashing in the sunlight as she struck.

Ronan barely managed to twist out of the way, her blade slicing through the air where his chest had been moments before. He growled, his sabretooth instincts roaring to life, but he forced himself to stay in control. Shifting in the middle of a crowded market would draw way too much attention.

"Morrigan," Ronan snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You're making a mistake."

She smirked, circling him like a wolf stalking its prey. "The only mistake here, shifter, is you thinking you can stand in my way."

Ronan's fists clenched, but he didn't take the bait. "What do you want?"

"I want what I'm owed," Morrigan hissed, her voice as cold as the magic radiating from her. "And I want you gone."

Her blade slashed out again, quicker this time, and Ronan barely managed to block it, the force of the blow sending a shockwave through his body. She was faster than most fae, more lethal too, but he had fought her kind before. His tiger paced beneath his skin, urging him to shift, to rip her apart, but Ronan held it back. He couldn't afford to lose control—not here.

Morrigan's eyes flashed, and suddenly the air around them thickened with dark magic. Vines erupted from the ground, twisting toward him like snakes, their thorns glinting with poison. Those who saw it started to panic. Chaos erupted as people ran screeching from the market. Ronan's heart pounded as he dodged the first strike, but the second vine caught him around the ankle, yanking him off balance. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him.

"Geneva!" Ronan shouted, hoping the Duvall sister would hear him, but the crowd was too thick, the noise too loud.

Morrigan loomed over him, her blade raised, her smile wicked. "I always knew you'd fall, shifter. You should've stayed out of fae business."

But as Morrigan moved to strike, a surge of raw energy tore through Ronan, his beast rising with a fury too powerful to suppress. A contained storm of thunder, lightning, and swirling color erupted around him, his skin tingling with the force of the shift. Muscles rippled and stretched as his human form began to give way to the primal power of the tiger within.

Suppressing his sabretooth, he nonetheless let out a guttural roar, lashing out and catching Morrigan by surprise, knocking her back. The vines around his ankle loosened, and Ronan scrambled to his feet, ready to finish this fight.

But then he caught sight of Geneva through the crowd. She was gone.

Damn it.

Morrigan smirked, brushing herself off as she stood. "Looks like you're too late, shifter. Geneva's long gone. You're just in my way; stay out of fae business. The Duvalls are a threat…" She raised her hands as if to unleash some new magical trick.

But before she could do so a tray of rotting tomatoes came flying through the air.

Splat!

Where had they come from or rather, who had thrown them?

The tomatoes hit Morrigan in the face, destroying her smirk with a burst of red juice and seeds. The arrogant and deadly fae assassin was now dripping with the sticky remnants of rotten tomatoes, her expression one of absolute shock.

Morrigan let out a shriek of rage, furiously wiping the mess from her face. When she heard police sirens headed their way, she vanished into the shadows, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of nightshade behind.

Ronan stood in the center of the market, heart pounding and blood boiling. Geneva had slipped through his fingers again, and Morrigan Deathwing had made it clear that this game was far from over. He was in the middle of fae business now, and if there was one thing he knew, it was that fae didn't fight fair.

And Lilith was one of them. Where the hell was she, anyway? What the hell was her role? How did she fit in, if she fit in at all?

Ronan barely had time to catch his breath before Morrigan's laughter echoed through the air, a sharp, taunting sound that sent a shiver down his spine. She wasn't done yet. The vines dissipated freeing him completely, but the dark magic lingered, thick in the air like a storm about to break.

Before he could even think about his next move, a sound pierced the chaos—the unmistakable wail of police sirens cutting through the air, growing louder by the second. The sirens grew closer, and in the distance, Ronan could see the flashing red and blue lights as Detective Gus Thibodeaux's car screeched to a stop at the edge of the market. The detective stepped out, his hand resting on his holstered gun as he surveyed the destruction with narrowed eyes.

Ronan's heart sank as he spotted Thibodeaux running into the fray. He'd known Thibodeaux for years. The detective had been sniffing around the supernatural underworld of New Orleans for almost as long, trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle he didn't even know existed. He was human, but he was persistent.

Gritting his teeth, Ronan weighed his options in the split second he had to decide. But the flashing lights, the approaching footsteps of Thibodeaux, and the panicked crowd of humans left him with no real choice.

As the detective's footsteps grew closer, Ronan pushed his sabretooth down, forcing himself to remain calm. Thibodeaux rounded the corner, his eyes widening at the sight of the destroyed stalls, the crushed fruits and vegetables littering the ground like battlefield debris. His gaze flicked to Ronan, suspicion darkening his features.

"Ronan," Thibodeaux said, his voice wary. "What the hell happened here?"

Ronan let out a slow breath, his body still vibrating with the remnants of the fight. "Looks like the market had a rough day."

Thibodeaux frowned, his hand still hovering near his gun. "That so? 'Cause it looks more like someone tore through here like a damn tornado."

Ronan forced a tight smile, shrugging his shoulders. "You know how it is. Things get... out of hand sometimes."

The detective's gaze lingered on Ronan for a long moment, his suspicion clear. "I want to know what happened here, and I think you know."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Thibodeaux."

"Do I need to arrest you and haul you in to get straight answers to my questions?"

"Arrest me? On what charges? See that's the thing about the American jurisprudence system, you can't arrest me for what you know , only for what you can prove ."

After a tense silence, Thibodeaux finally nodded, letting out a sigh as he turned his attention to the ruined market. "You got lucky this time, Rousseau," Thibodeaux muttered. "But one day, you're gonna have to answer my questions."

Ronan said nothing, watching as the detective started to inspect the scene. His jaw tightened, frustration gnawing at his insides. He had let Morrigan escape, and it burned him to his core. But as he glanced around at the scattered humans and the destruction, he knew he'd made the right call. Next time, he would be ready, and Morrigan would not be so lucky.