Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

LILITH

T he morning sun had barely risen, casting long, golden rays through the sheer curtains of Lilith's hotel room, but she was already restless. She had been up for hours, her mind churning with questions and frustration. Every lead she'd chased since she'd arrived in New Orleans had unraveled into nothing—just whispers of magic that slipped through her fingers. The Duvall sisters were elusive, their presence always just out of reach, like ghosts haunting the city without leaving a trace.

Lilith paced the room, her boots thudding softly on the wooden floor as she ran a hand through her hair, frustration gnawing at her. She hadn't expected this assignment to take down the Duvall sisters to be easy, but she hadn't counted on it being this difficult. Every time she thought she had a clear path, it twisted into another dead end. The Duvalls were more skilled at eluding their capture than she had anticipated.

She stopped in front of the window, staring out at the city below, her violet eyes narrowing. The vibrant energy of the French Quarter stretched out before her, its streets already buzzing with early morning activity. But Lilith barely saw it. Her thoughts were tangled, her focus slipping as the consequences of her failure settled over her like a storm cloud.

What are they up to?

She could still feel traces of their magic, faint but distinct, like the lingering scent of smoke after a fire. Phoenix's fiery energy and Savannah's cool, oceanic presence—they had been close last night, so close, but as always, they had slipped away. Lilith clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. This was supposed to be a straightforward assignment—track down the Duvall sisters, bring them back to the fae realm or eliminate them. But nothing about this assignment had been simple. Not the sisters, not Zephyr, and certainly not Morrigan, whose sudden reappearance only made everything more complicated.

Lilith's mind drifted back to Ronan. The damn sabretooth-shifter had gotten involved again, disrupting everything as usual. And worse, she couldn't stop thinking about him—about the heat that simmered between them every time they crossed paths, the way his golden eyes seemed to see right through her. She shook her head, trying to push those thoughts aside. Ronan was a distraction, nothing more. And right now, she couldn't afford distractions.

Not with so many questions hanging over her head.

She needed answers. And there was only one place where she might find them—the Duvalls' home in the Garden District—a home that was their stronghold and that would be protected by their magic.

T he Garden District was a world away from the noise and chaos of the French Quarter. Here, the streets were lined with ancient oaks and grand, historic mansions, their iron gates and sprawling gardens a testament to old wealth and power. The Duvall sisters had carved out their own territory in this opulent neighborhood, their home hidden behind layers of magic as thick as the walls that surrounded it.

Lilith approached the house with caution, her senses alert to every shift in the air. The house itself was an elegant mansion, its white columns gleaming in the sunlight, the lush garden spilling over with carefully tended flowers and ivy. But it was the magic that hung in the air, woven into every brick and vine, that caught her attention. The wards were strong, ancient, pulsing with a deep-rooted power that made Lilith's skin prickle.

She stopped just outside the iron gates, staring up at the house, her eyes narrowing as she reached out with her magic, testing the wards. The moment her power touched them, they flared to life, snapping and crackling hissing at her as if they were alive. Lilith growled in frustration, pulling her magic back before it could recoil against her.

Damn it. Lilith had expected defenses, but this? This was something else entirely. These wards were layered, intricate, and almost impossible to penetrate without setting off every alarm. Whoever had crafted them had done so with the intent of keeping out even the most skilled fae or other magical practitioner.

She stood there for a moment, her mind racing as she considered her options. She could break through—eventually—but not without alerting the sisters to her presence. And right now, stealth was her best option. If she could just find a weak point in their defenses, maybe?—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a flicker of movement in one of the upper windows.

Lilith's sharp eyes locked onto the figure, her heart skipping a beat. It was a woman, older, with sharp features and silver hair pulled into an elegant twist. She stood in the shadows, half- hidden behind the lace curtains, but there was no mistaking the regal, commanding presence that radiated from her.

Maeve Duvall, the sisters' aunt who had been exiled from the fae realm when the sisters' mother had fallen in love with a mortal man.

Lilith's stomach tightened. She had heard of Maeve Duvall—an ancient fae, older than the sisters themselves, and rumored to be the one who had trained them. Fae aged at the same rates as the realm in which they resided. Maeve's magic was powerful, older than even the fae council, and far more dangerous. She was no mere guardian—she was the foundation of the Duvall family's power. And from the look in her eyes, she was aware of Lilith's presence.

For a brief moment, their gazes locked, and Lilith could feel Maeve's scrutiny, like a cold hand gripping her throat. Then, without a word, the older fae stepped back, disappearing into the shadows of the house. What the proverbial hell?

Lilith stepped back from the gate, her mind racing. She needed to regroup, to think. There were too many moving pieces—Zephyr's cryptic warnings about the council, Morrigan's sudden presence in New Orleans, and now Maeve Duvall. What should have been a straightforward mission had become a tangled web of politics, magic, and danger. And Lilith hated feeling like she was playing catch-up.

As she turned to leave, questions swirled in her mind.

What were the Duvall sisters really involved in? What was Zephyr's role in all of this? And why was Morrigan—normally so secretive—operating out in the open?

Lilith's frustration boiled over as she stalked back through the Garden District. She was no closer to capturing the Duvall sisters than she had been when she first arrived in New Orleans, and every time she learned something new, it only added to the complexity of the situation. But one thing was certain— she couldn't let her guard down. Not now with so many eyes watching.

A s night fell, Lilith returned to her hotel, her thoughts still racing. She had failed to confront the Duvalls, and the presence of their aunt Maeve had only added more questions to the pile. What were they hiding?

The unknown weighed heavily on her, but Lilith knew one thing for sure: this was no longer just an assignment to capture or kill. It had become a game of survival, and every step forward brought her deeper into a world she barely understood.

But Lilith Silverwing was no stranger to complicated assignments.

And she wasn't about to let this one slip through her fingers.

T he streets of New Orleans were alive with energy, but Lilith barely noticed as she slipped through the narrow alleyways, her senses sharp, her magic simmering just beneath the surface. The atmosphere was thick with tension and danger, a mix of sweat, magic, and the faint metallic tang of blood. She was following a lead—a whisper she had caught earlier that night—about an underground supernatural fight club. At first it didn't seem like the kind of place one of the Duvall sisters might be, but when she'd heard talk of a plucky and skilled female fighter with spiky blue hair, it had seemed at least plausible. Given she had no other leads, it seemed worthwhile to check it out.

The closer she got, the more the city's pulse changed, the hum of life, giving way to something darker, more primal. Lilith could feel it like a current running under her skin, a deep vibration of barely contained energy. This place, wherever it was, wasn't just a haven for criminals—it was a powder keg waiting to explode.

The entrance was hidden in the shadows of an old, crumbling building, a narrow staircase leading down beneath the surface. Lilith descended quietly, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade, every sense on high alert. When she reached the bottom, a thick wooden door stood before her, its surface etched with ancient runes, barely visible in the dim light. She pressed her hand to the door, feeling the pulse of magic woven into the wood, a protective ward meant to keep out the uninvited.

But Lilith wasn't uninvited. She belonged here—at least for tonight.

The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, immediately hit by the heat of the room. The air was alive with the smell of sweat and blood, and the low hum of magic vibrated against her skin. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from flickering torches set high on the walls, casting long shadows over the crowd of supernatural beings that filled the space. Shifters, vampires, fae, and other creatures crowded around the center of the room, their faces alive with anticipation, eyes gleaming with the promise of money and violence.

At the heart of it all was a makeshift ring encircled by ropes. Inside, two fighters were locked in a brutal match, their fists and magic colliding with bone-crunching force. The crowd roared with every blow, feeding off the violence like it was a drug, their own magic crackling in the air around them. To one side stood some kind of troll, giving odds and collecting bets.

Lilith moved through the crowd, keeping to the shadows, her eyes scanning the faces around her. She wasn't here for the fights, although the atmosphere buzzed with a dangerous allure. She was here because of a tip—Morrigan had been seen here, using her illusion magic to cheat patrons and fighters out of their winnings. If Morrigan was involved, that meant she was up to something, and Lilith needed to find out what.

She and Morrigan had always been bitter rivals. At first Lilith had chalked up her presence as Oberon trying to rachet up the pressure by playing them one against the other. But while it seemed like the kind of thing that might amuse him, in terms of council business, it didn't seem to make sense, which brought her back to why was Morrigan here? Maybe that was the more pressing problem.

As she edged closer to the ring, her eyes caught a flicker of movement at the far side of the room. There, half-hidden in the shadows, stood Morrigan, her dark hair gleaming under the faint torchlight, her sharp eyes watching the fight with cold amusement.

Lilith's breath caught, her hand instinctively moving toward her blade. There you are. Morrigan was weaving her magic subtly, her fingers barely moving as she cast her illusions, making it look like one fighter was landing blows that weren't there, shifting reality just enough to tip the odds in her favor. The crowd, caught up in the spectacle, had no idea they were being conned.

Lilith's blood boiled. She was about to step forward to confront Morrigan when a voice rang out over the noise of the crowd.

"Next challenger!"

The shout echoed through the room, drawing the attention of everyone nearby, including Morrigan, who turned slightly, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd for the next participant. Lilith hesitated, her heart thudding in her chest as she weighed her options. If she moved now, she could confront Morrigan—but in front of this crowd, it could turn from a spectacle into a deadly disaster.

Before Lilith could make her decision, a masked figure stepped into the ring. Tall, broad-shouldered, his movements fluid and controlled. His entire body was cloaked in shadows, save for his eyes—golden, piercing, and all too familiar.

Ronan.

Lilith's heart skipped a beat as she realized who he was, her muscles tensing instinctively. Of all the places for him to show up, it had to be here. What the hell was he doing here? She had come here to track Savannah and then Morrigan to get answers, and now Ronan was about to complicate things.

As if sensing her frustration, the fight's announcer pointed in her direction. "You," he barked, his voice booming across the room. "You're next."

The crowd parted around her, eyes turning to Lilith, their gazes expectant. There was no easy way to extricate herself from this. She was pretty sure Morrigan was somehow manipulating the situation. A thrill of anticipation swept through the room, and Lilith felt the tension in the air spike as the crowd murmured in excitement. Perhaps, if she could best him, she could force him to stay out of fae business. Probably not, but it might be worth trying, even if only to burn off some of the stress she was experiencing.

She stepped forward, her boots barely making a sound as she crossed the floor and climbed into the ring. The moment her feet hit the ground inside the ropes, the world narrowed. It was just her and Ronan now, locked in a space that buzzed with magic and tension. The crowd roared, their voices blending into a dull hum as her focus sharpened.

Ronan's eyes met hers from behind his mask, the same golden intensity she had seen countless times before, but now, there was something more. An edge, a challenge. She could feel the pull between them, a dangerous attraction that simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

They circled each other, the tension thick in the air, neither of them making the first move. The crowd grew louder, their excitement feeding off the electricity that crackled between Lilith and Ronan.

"Fancy meeting you here," Ronan said, his voice low, teasing, as they continued to circle.

Lilith's lips twisted into a smirk, her heart pounding in her chest. "You always did have a way of showing up at the worst times."

Ronan's grin was hidden beneath his mask, but she could hear it in his voice. "I could say the same about you."

And then, without warning, he struck.

Ronan moved with the speed and power of a predator, his fist flying toward her with lethal precision. Lilith dodged, her body twisting out of the way as she countered with a quick jab of her own, aiming for his side. He blocked it easily, their movements smooth and fluid, like a dance they had practiced a thousand times before.

Every blow, every dodge was charged with the electricity of their growing attraction. Lilith could feel the heat radiating from Ronan's body, the smell of earth and wildness that clung to him, the way his muscles flexed with every strike. Her own heart raced, adrenaline flooding her system as she fought to stay focused, to keep her duty at the forefront of her mind.

But it was impossible. The chemistry between them was like a live wire, sparking with every touch, every glance. Each blow that landed felt more like a caress. Their fight became a dance of tension, the line between combat and something far more primal blurring with every move.

Lilith landed a solid hit to Ronan's ribs, but he barely flinched, his golden eyes gleaming with challenge. He caught her wrist in his hand, pulling her close, and for a brief, breathless moment, their faces were inches apart, the air between them crackling with unsaid words and unresolved tension.

"I've been looking for you," Ronan growled, his voice rough with frustration and something else—something deeper.

Lilith's pulse quickened, her breath hitching. "Well, you've found me," she shot back, trying to ignore the pull between them.

Before either of them could act, the door to the underground club slammed open, and the room erupted into chaos.

A raid. Shit!

Detective Thibodeaux stormed into the room, his badge flashing as officers poured in behind him, their voices shouting over the noise. "Everyone down! This is a police raid!"

The crowd scattered, panic spreading like wildfire as supernatural creatures scrambled to escape. Magic flared in the air, weapons were drawn, and the club became a battleground of humans and supernaturals.

Lilith's mind raced, torn between her duty and the chaos unfolding around her. If she stayed, she could capture Morrigan, but revealing herself to the authorities would expose the supernatural world she was sworn to protect. And what would she do with Morrigan? Drag her back to the fae realm? And then what? It was highly unlikely that Morrigan was here without orders of her own to follow.

Ronan's hand was still on her wrist, his eyes locked on hers, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Lilith, we need to move."

She hesitated, her heart pounding as she looked at Morrigan, then at the cops swarming the room. She could feel the importance of her choice pressing down on her, the line between duty and instinct blurring.

But in the end, she knew she couldn't risk it—not yet.

With a final glance at Morrigan, Lilith turned and followed Ronan, disappearing into the shadows before the police could see them, her mind already racing with the consequences of what had just unfolded.