Page 12 of Magic Unmasked

“Perfect,” Lilith had muttered to herself, exasperation tightening her voice. He always managed to show up at the worst possible time. His presence had sent her pulse into a frenzy—half from anger, half from the maddening attraction she couldn’t seem to get rid of. Damn shifter.

Before she could shout at him to back off, chaos had exploded all around them. In typical Ronan fashion, the shifter had charged into the fray without a second thought, his beast already roused.

Lilith had stood back, watching in disbelief as Ronan had almost shifted in a public marketplace. Why would he do that? Just as his body had begun to morph, his skin rippling as the sabretooth fought to break free, he’d stopped himself. His eyes had flared gold, the unmistakable sign that the beast was ready to take over. Damn it, Ronan!

But just as Ronan had begun to shift back, something else had caught Lilith’s eye. From the corner of the market, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. Morrigan.

Lilith’s heart had skipped a beat, shock momentarily freezing her in place. What the hell was Morrigan doing here? Her archrival, the fae who had been a thorn in her side for centuries, had stood just behind Ronan, her lips twisting into a cruel smile as she’d raised her blade, poised to strike him while he was vulnerable.

Lilith’s grip had tightened on her sword, ready to leap into action, when she’d spotted something else—a tray of over-ripe tomatoes, sitting atop a nearby market stall, their pungent, sickly-sweet scent heavy in the warm air. It might not have been lethal, but splattering Morrigan with rotten tomatoes hadbeen incredibly satisfying. She’d tried to talk herself out of it, but the idea had already planted itself in her mind.

Without a second thought, Lilith had flicked her wrist, sending the tray of tomatoes flying through the air with a quick burst of magic.

Splat!

The tomatoes had hit Morrigan square in the face, bursting in an explosion of red juice and seeds. The once poised and deadly fae assassin had dripped with the sticky remnants of rotten tomatoes, her expression one of absolute shock.

For a brief, glorious moment, Lilith had allowed herself the tiniest smile of satisfaction. Closing in on Geneva might have been a bust, but seeing Morrigan covered in rotten tomatoes? That had almost made up for it.

Morrigan had shrieked in rage, furiously wiping the mess from her face. But before she had time to retaliate, the commotion had already drawn too much attention, and in a blink, Morrigan had disappeared into the crowd, slipping away like a shadow. A small grin had tugged at the corner of Lilith’s mouth and she had slipped away before Ronan could spot her.

Later that evening, the opulent surroundings of the high-society gala couldn’t have been more different from the gritty streets Lilith had spent the day navigating. The grand ballroom of the historic mansion was filled with the city’s elite, dressed in sparkling gowns and sharp tuxedos, their laughter and conversation echoing off the gilded walls.

Lilith moved through the crowd with ease, her sharp eyes scanning every face, every detail. The Duvalls were connected tothis world, and if she couldn’t find them in the streets, she would find them here, amidst the wealth and power that seemed to flow through the veins of New Orleans’ most influential families.

The air smelled of perfume and champagne, a far cry from the pungent scent of market stalls and overripe fruit. It was a world she was no stranger to—this level of luxury and grandeur. The fae court was elegant and beautiful, but this felt hollow to her, empty compared to the raw energy of the hunt.

Her gown, a deep shade of violet that matched her eyes, blended in perfectly with the other guests, her glamour ensuring that she went unnoticed by anyone who might recognize her. She moved like a shadow through the opulence, searching for any sign of the Duvall sisters, any whisper of their whereabouts.

As the night wore on, Lilith’s mind kept returning to the events of the day—Savannah’s narrow escape, Morrigan’s unexpected appearance, and the ever-irritating presence of Ronan. The shifter had a way of getting under her skin like no one else ever had, his arrogance and raw, untamed power both infuriating and… thrilling.

She hated how he made her feel. But as she moved through the gala’s guests, her thoughts lingered on the shifter’s golden eyes and muscular body. Tension crackled between them, and Lilith couldn’t deny that whatever this was—whatever they were—it was far from over.

The grand ballroom shimmered under the soft glow of chandeliers, the laughter of New Orleans’ elite mixing with the clink of champagne glasses. Lilith glided through the crowd, her senses sharp as she scanned the room. The opulence of the event was almost overwhelming—gilded ceilings, extravagant floral arrangements, the scent of expensive perfumes lingering in the air. But beneath all that, she could feel something darker—a ripple of magic just beneath the surface, crackling with an electrical energy.

Her heart pounded as her gaze locked onto a familiar figure near the center of the room.

Phoenix Duvall.

The eldest of the Duvall sisters, standing by a cluster of wealthy patrons, her ash blonde hair cascading down her back in waves. She wore a gown the color of embers, a deep red-gold that seemed to shimmer as she moved, her presence commanding and magnetic. But it wasn’t just her beauty or her power that sent a shiver down Lilith’s spine—it was the way Phoenix was using her magic, subtly weaving her empathic abilities into the very fabric of the gala.

Lilith could feel it—Phoenix’s power washing over the crowd, amplifying emotions, manipulating them with a deft touch. The laughter seemed too loud, the smiles too wide, as if the entire room had been enchanted, caught in the web of Phoenix’s magic. She was feeding off their energy, their emotions, and using them to strengthen her own.

Lilith’s breath quickened as she moved closer, her hand instinctively hovering near the hilt of her blade. She knew how dangerous Phoenix was, how her abilities could not only turn a strong mind to mush, but fire was her natural element and her command of it was second to none. She could bend people to her will and if that didn’t work, she could use fire to consume them in an instant. Lilith had seen it before—warriors brought to their knees, consumed by their own fear, rage, or desire. She had to be careful, had to keep her own emotions in check.

As she closed in, intent on confronting Phoenix, the sudden heat of a body pressed against her side.

Ronan.

Lilith stiffened, her senses overwhelmed by the earthy, musky scent of his skin. The warmth radiating from him was like a fire she hadn’t been prepared for, and for a moment, she faltered, her focus slipping as her body reacted to his proximity.The damn shifter always had a way of disarming her, and it infuriated her that he could do it so easily.

She turned to face him, her violet eyes narrowing as she tried to regain control of herself. “What the hell are you doing here, Ronan?” she hissed, her voice low but sharp. “I don’t need your interference.”

Ronan’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I’m not interfering,” he said smoothly, his voice a low rumble that sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. “I’m making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Lilith bristled, anger flaring in her chest. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I didn’t say you did.” Ronan’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a heat that lingered between them. His gaze flicked briefly to Phoenix, then back to Lilith. “But you’re not going after her alone. I’m not convinced the Duvall sisters are your enemies.”

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