Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Go,” Maman said, though her voice carried reluctance born of experience with forces beyond mortal control. “But remember—if she completes Charlotte's work, if she succeeds in anchoring supernatural consciousness evolution to that cemetery's power, she won't be the woman you've been protecting for twenty-five years.”
“What will she be?”
“Something new. Something unprecedented. A consciousness that exists independent of physical form, gathers knowledge across infinite lifetimes, manipulates fundamental forces governing life and death themselves.” Maman's ancient eyes met his. “She might remember loving you. Or she might remember love as limitation that prevented evolution.”
The warning followed him as he left the shop and hurried through Quarter streets that felt charged with approaching culmination. Dawn light painted familiar buildings in shades of gold and rose, but beneath the beauty, mystical currents were building toward release that could reshape reality itself.
The locket pulled steadily toward the cemetery while its recognition protocols locked onto their signal so strong that separation had become impossible. After two and a half centuries of faithful service, Charlotte's most sophisticated creation was finally guiding him toward whatever destiny she'd planned.
Whether that destiny included room for love remained to be seen.
But as he walked through winding streets where tourists and locals moved with unconscious purpose—all drawn by forces they couldn't identify toward areas where mystical energy concentrated most intensely—Bastien understood that choice was no longer his to make.
The network was active.
The tracking was complete.
The transformation was beginning.
All that remained was discovering whether the woman he'd loved across lifetimes would emerge from evolution as someone he could still recognize, or whether Charlotte's greatest experiment would preserve their connection by destroying everything that made it human.
The locket pulsed once more against his palm, then settled into steady rhythm matching his footsteps.
After centuries of separation and loss, he was finally going home.
Whether home would still exist when he arrived was the only question that mattered now.
Eleven
Roxy’s scream cut through static like a blade tearing silk.
“Gabriel’s burning from the inside out. Get here. Now.”
The line died before Bastien could respond, leaving him staring at his phone. He had been on his way to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, but the shrill screams in the background were a clear indication the pack was I trouble. His hands clutched his phone tightly as he pocketed the device and reached for his keys. The call had carried more than panic—it held the kind of raw terror that marked someone watching forces beyond human comprehension tear through everything they’d spent their lives protecting.
Crescent Moon territory stretched through bayou country twenty miles southeast of the Quarter, where ancient cypress groves provided cover for beings who needed space to run without observation. The pack had maintained those boundaries for over a century, their territorial markers serving as buffers between human settlements and creatures whose nature demanded freedom most mortals couldn’t understand.
If the contamination had jumped species barriers, if it was marking werewolves now, then every assumption about the soul-binding magic’s limitations needed revision. The territorial boundaries of Crescent Moon pack had never once failed in over a century.
The keepsake locket burned against Bastien’s chest as he descended to street level, metal heating like it was being forged in active flame. Each step toward his car intensified the sensation until he had to grip the steering wheel with both hands to keep from tearing the artifact from around his neck.
The drive took him through parishes where civilization gave way to wild spaces that remembered Louisiana before European settlement. Spanish moss hung from live oaks like tattered shrouds, and the very air grew thick with humidity that carried scents of growing things and decay in equal measure. Here, where modern development hadn’t yet conquered ancient rhythms, the boundary between mundane and otherworldly wore thin enough that even ordinary humans sometimes glimpsed truths their minds weren’t equipped to process.
But tonight felt different. The moonlight reflected against the water in patterns that created a cognitive overload. Road signs that seemed to shift position when viewed peripherally. Even the radio gave only static, as if something was interfering with electromagnetic transmission across the entire region.
Territory markers began appearing along the highway—massive live oaks whose trunks bore symbols carved by werewolf claws, warnings that told intruders they were entering lands where pack law superseded human authority. The carvings should have hummed with protective power, ancient wards maintaining boundaries that had kept peace between species for generations.
Tonight they flickered like dying candles.
Tib Thibodeaux waited beside the largest boundary stone, his usual confidence cracked like poorly set concrete. Midforties with the build of someone who’d spent decades working with his hands, he carried authority that came from leading creatures whose nature demanded respect rather than requesting it. But tonight he looked like a man watching his world collapse in ways he couldn’t prevent or understand.
“Started three hours ago,” Tib said without preamble, leading Bastien along paths worn by generations of pack members. “Young Gabriel—Marie’s nephew—collapsed during evening patrol. Same fever we’ve been hearing about from Quarter victims, but worse. Much worse.”