"Don't even think about it," Darian said, eyes locked on the house.
Too late.
I was already halfway across the street, boots silent on cracked pavement.
Behind me, Sylas muttered something about bad decisions and popcorn. I didn't care.
Luciano's house sat quiet and ordinary, light spilling out the windows like everything was normal. But my gut told me otherwise. And I'd learned by now—never ignore the gut.
I slipped around the side, found a window cracked open, and slid through like a shadow. No sound. No hesitation. Just instinct.
The living room was clean. Too clean. Like no one actually lived here. There were textbooks stacked neatly on the coffee table, a hoodie folded over the arm of the couch, and a single photo on the wall of Luciano smiling with someone who looked like a younger sibling.
I moved to the kitchen—silent, searching. Cabinets full. Nothing enchanted. No residue of magic, no symbols, no—
A scream shattered the silence.
High. Female. Fear-stricken.
I bolted.
Up the stairs. Two at a time. My boots barely touched the floor. The hallway smelled like cheap soap and printer ink—but beneath it, something else. Salt. Blood. Magic.
I didn't hesitate. I kicked open the door at the end of the hall—
And chaos exploded.
Luciano was on his knees, a glimmering blade at his throat. His eyes were wide with horror, hands trembling like he wasn't sure whether to fight or pray. The redhead—his friend—was sprawled on the floor behind him, her arm bleeding, her eyes wet and panicked.
And standing above them was a woman.
Long hair spilled down her back like ink spilled across midnight. Her skin gleamed with unnatural beauty, not like makeup or light—but like wet stone just pulled from the sea. And her eyes—those ocean-blue eyes—weren't just blue. They moved, like waves under moonlight. Cold. Endless. Drowning.
Siren.
I didn't think.
I threw.
The knife spun through the air, fast and clean—aimed for her head.
She moved at the last second.
The blade missed her skull by inches, slicing through a lock of midnight hair as it embedded into the wall with a brutal thunk. But it was enough. She turned, just slightly.
Luciano didn't wait. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the redhead, and dragged her out of the room, both of them stumbling down the hall with wide, terrified eyes.
The siren growled low in her throat. Not human. Not even close. Her head turned slowly until those drowning eyes landed on me.
"You must be the wolf," she hissed.
I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me.
"Try again," I said, voice low. "I'm the storm."
She lunged.
I dodged left—barely—as her nails slashed the air like claws. They weren't glamour. They were real. Sharp as bone, dripping with sea-magic. I grabbed the second knife from my thigh and slashed upward—she twisted, spinning with inhuman grace, her hair like dark water whipping around her face.
We circled.
Her voice dropped into something melodic, unnatural. The words weren't in any mortal tongue.
She was trying to sing.
I lunged forward and slashed, forcing her to dodge again. "Nice try, fishwitch."
She snarled, her glamour flickering for a second—just long enough for me to see the creature underneath. Blackened veins. Translucent skin. Sharp, needle-like teeth where a human smile should be.
I grinned. "There she is."
She screamed—high and piercing—then launched herself at me.
This time, we collided.
I slammed into her midair. We crashed to the floor, rolling hard. Her nails scraped down my arm—burning like acid. I kneed her in the gut and flipped us, pinning her with my forearm across her neck. She bucked, twisted, kicked me off.
I hit the dresser hard, knocking over a stack of textbooks and a water bottle that burst open across the floor. Cold water splashed my boots. She stalked toward me, slow and elegant, like a predator with nowhere to be.
"You're strong," she said, eyes gleaming. "But not invincible."
I rose to my feet, teeth bared.
"I don't need to be invincible," I said. "Just faster than you."
She lunged again.
This time, I was ready.
We clashed in the center of the room—steel, claws, blood, instinct. Her magic pulsed like the ocean in a storm. Mine? Mine burned. Wild. Unholy. Wolf and vampire tangled like fire wrapped in thorns.
I could feel it rising in my veins.
And I let it.
I caught her wrist mid-strike and twisted hard.
The siren hissed in pain, but I didn't let go. I slammed her into the wall, using all my strength, then drove my knee into her stomach. Her body folded, breath bursting out in a wheeze. Before she could recover, I grabbed the edge of the desk and flipped it—hard—into her side.
She crashed to the floor, eyes fluttering, blood smearing across her temple from where her head hit the corner. Her magic flickered once… then went still.
Unconscious.
I stood over her, chest heaving, heart pounding like war drums in my throat.
The door creaked behind me.
I didn't turn. "How long were you standing there?"
A familiar voice, low and calm, answered.
"Long enough. In case you needed me."
I turned slowly.
Darian stepped into the room, the soft glow of the hallway light painting his face in shadows and gold. His green eyes were sharp as ever, but softer now—watchful. He stepped closer, just a few feet. Just enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
His face was infuriating.
Strong jaw, perfect cheekbones, a mouth made for sins and silence, and those lashes—damn those lashes. Too long for a man. Too unfair for a universe.
He looked straight into my soul and said, quietly, "But clearly you didn't."
Then he stepped back.
The moment shattered.
He scanned the room like a commander on the battlefield. "The humans tried to escape," he said, voice steady again. "But they're downstairs with Sylas now."
I nodded, still catching my breath. "Good."
My gaze dropped to the unconscious siren. Her hair was a mess of dark strands, her lip cut open from the fight. I could still feel her blood on my knuckles.
I wiped my hands on my thigh and looked at Darian.
"We need to interrogate her."
We dragged her downstairs and tied her to a wooden chair in the middle of the living room.
Well—technically Darian and I tied her.
Luciano just stood there with his arms full of the only rope-like thing he could find in the entire house.
A tangled strand of blinking red-and-green Christmas lights.
I stared at him.
He shrugged helplessly. "It was either this or jump rope."
So now the siren sat glowing like a haunted holiday display—half her body lit up in flickering LED cheer, the other half covered in glittery rage and dried blood. If she wasn't so deadly, it might've been funny.
She started to stir, groaning softly.
Luciano flinched. "Okay, okay, I need answers right now because WHAT was that upstairs?! And WHO are you people?! And WHAT is she?!" He pointed to the siren. "And WHAT KIND OF FBI HAS FANGS?!"
"Shut up," I said without looking at him.
The redhead didn't say a word. She sat curled into the corner of the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, one arm still bleeding from a shallow cut. Her hands were shaking. Her lips were pressed together. But her eyes—those honey-warm eyes—were soaked with silent fear.
Trying not to cry.
I hated how familiar it looked.
The siren groaned again.
Darian folded his arms and stared her down. "She's waking."
A moment passed. Then her eyes fluttered open—stormy, ocean-blue, furious. She tested her bindings, and the Christmas lights buzzed back in protest.
I stepped forward, arms crossed. "You're not going anywhere, so let's skip the theatrics."
She blinked slowly. "You tied me up… with mortal holiday lights."
Sylas leaned against the kitchen wall, sipping from a juice box he definitely didn't ask for. "It's called improvisation, sweetie."
I didn't smile.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
She looked at me with dripping disdain. "I don't know. I never met them."
I tilted my head. "Try again."
"It's the truth," she said, too calmly. "I got a message. Magic-burned paper. No name. Just payment. Instructions."
"And those instructions were to kill Luciano?"
Her gaze slid to the boy, who was hovering near the hallway like he was ready to bolt.
She smiled—slow and venomous. "He knows why."
Every eye in the room turned to him.
Luciano's face drained of color. "What?! No—I—I don't! She's lying! I swear, I have no idea what she's talking about!"
No one spoke.
The lights blinked.
Red.
Green.
Red.
The siren leaned back in the chair and rested her head against the wood.
"Of course you don't," she said sweetly. "That's the whole point."
Her eyes flicked to Darian.
She squinted, studying him like a puzzle she was almost done solving. "You look familiar."
Darian didn't move.
She squinted. "I've seen those eyes before."
Darian's voice came low. "You haven't."
Her smile widened.
And me?
My mind was already spiraling.
Why did she recognize him?
From where?
From who?
What had he done—what had he not told me?
I stepped closer without realizing. Just a step. Just close enough to remind her that if she moved wrong again, I'd end her. Christmas lights or not.
The siren noticed.
She laughed, quiet and dangerous. "Protective little wolf."
My jaw clenched so hard I felt it in my teeth.
But I didn't speak.
Because in that moment, I wasn't sure who I was more furious with—the siren.
Or Darian.
"If you've seen someone who looks like me," he said evenly, "I'd suggest getting your eyes checked."
"I think we're done with the dramatics," he added. "Let's get back to why you're here."
I stepped in close to him, close enough only he could hear me.
"We'll talk about this later."
He tensed.
And I didn't know if it was because I was too close…
Or because he was hiding something worse than I thought.
"Okay," Sylas said. "Are you two gonna kiss or stab each other? Either way, I'm getting popcorn."
I turned back to the siren, ignoring him completely.
"Let's try this again. You tried to kill a mortal under magical contract. That's already punishable by death. So if you want to live, start talking."
The siren resisted.
So I crouched, drew a knife, and smiled cold.
"I don't need magic to make you talk. I've got ten fingers worth of time. Yours, not mine."
The siren flinched.
And then she broke.
"I was sent to kill him because he saw the person holding the dagger," she spat. "They knew you three would use him to trace it. So they sent me to erase the trail."
Luciano panicked. "I—what?! I didn't ask to see anything, alright?! I thought it was cosplay! I'm just trying to pass Intro to Psych!"
He looked at me, desperate. "Do I need a lawyer?!"
I ignored him.
"Who sent you?" I asked. "Who's 'they'?"
The siren smiled cruelly. "Isn't it obvious?"
Darian's voice cut in like frost:
"The ruling bloodlines, Aurora."
I turned to him.
His eyes were hard.
"They know we're here. They know we're getting closer. And now, they're trying to stop us."
He looked at the siren. Then at me.
"They're trying to kill us. Just like they killed your parents."