Page 5 of Wolf Queen Ruin
Around us, the café hummed with lazy afternoon energy.A few tourists clutched beignet bags, two locals typed on laptops, and soft jazz drifted in from a street performer outside.Nobody paid attention to the strange pair in the corner—the too-perfect man and the woman with an earpiece who kept one hand near the concealed knife in her boot.
Damien leaned back, studying me with those unnervingly blue eyes.“What do you know about the Shadow Fang?”
I kept my expression blank to avoid revealing all my cards.The Shadow Fang belonged more to legend than history—a supernatural artifact mentioned in ancient texts but never confirmed to exist.
“I know it’s a bedtime story shifter parents tell their cubs,” I replied, watching him for reactions.“A magical artifact supposedly created by the first Alpha Queen that could allegedly cure any supernatural ailment or curse.About as real as unicorns or honest politicians if you ask me.”
“And if I told you it was real?”
I set my coffee down, giving him my full attention now.“I’d say you’re either lying, delusional, or about to ask me to retrieve something dangerous that’s probably guarded by ancient curses and supernatural booby traps.”
“The latter,” he said without a hint of humor.“Though I’ll be accompanying you.”
“Of course you will,” I muttered.“Look, I appreciate dramatic reveals as much as the next tomb raider, but could we skip ahead to the part where you tell me why you need this make-believe artifact and what’s in it for me?My hour is ticking away, and unlike some people at this table, I actually look like I’ve had a long day.”
One of the waitstaff approached, but Damien dismissed him with a barely perceptible gesture that somehow communicated “leave now” without seeming rude.He nodded and backed away without a word.
Interesting.That kind of subtle command usually came with significant supernatural status, like dukes and kings and people much more important than me.
Damien reached into an expensive leather bag, removed a slim folder, and slid it across the table.Inside were photographs of ancient tablets covered in a language I recognized instantly—proto-Lycan, the oldest known written language of werewolves.
My heartbeat quickened.Proto-Lycan texts were rare.Most had been destroyed during the Great Purge centuries ago when vampires declared war on wolf shifters.These looked authentic.
“These tablets describe the creation of the Shadow Fang by the Wolf Queen,” Damien explained.“According to the text, she created the Shadow Fang to heal her mate from a mysterious illness that no healer could cure.”
I traced the symbols with my finger, translating mentally.My dad had insisted I learn our ancestral language, one of the few useful things he’d ever done.
“It says the Fang was forged from...’moonlight captured in shadow’?”I frowned.“That’s poetic, but not exactly a crafting manual.”
“Continue reading,” Damien encouraged, his eyes never leaving my face.
I scanned the next section, my fingers tingling where they touched the photographs, as if some remnant of the tablets’ power had transferred to the images.
“The Wolf Queen and her mate infused it with their own life forces, creating a weapon that could ‘draw illness from flesh and spirit alike,’” I translated aloud.“The final lines claim the Fang could ‘restore what was lost’ and ‘awaken what sleeps.’”
My throat tightened.Could it really—?
I shut that whole thought process down.I’d allowed myself to hope too many times, and every single time I’d ended up disappointed.
When I looked up, Damien was watching me with unsettling intensity, those electric-blue eyes seeming to catalog my every micro-expression.
“Even if this artifact exists,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, “why come to me?There are other tomb raiders with more resources, better connections.”
“None with your specific expertise in shifter artifacts,” he replied.“And none with your…motivation.”
“You’ve been investigating me?”My voice cooled several degrees.
His gaze was direct, almost challenging.“I prefer to know who I’m working with.And before you ask, no, Theo didn’t tell me the details of your personal situation.”
“Then how—“
“The supernatural medical community is small,” Damien interrupted.“Rumors circulate about unusual cases.”
“So you know an awful lot about me.”I shrugged, but his digging into my past scraped underneath my skin.“But who exactly are you, Mr.Cross?”
A slight smile curved his lips.“A collector with resources and connections.Beyond that, does it matter?”
“It matters when I’m considering spending significant time with someone in potentially deadly situations.”I studied him—the unnatural stillness, the way he hadn’t touched the tea in front of him, not even for show.“I prefer to know what might be trying to kill me.Or who.”
