Wolfs bane, p.13
Wolf's Bane, page 13
"Where's your car?" she said.
"I left it at the townhouse. Chris is meeting me here shortly."
She raised one brow but didn't question him about the meeting. Rylan had to come up with a plausible explanation for the battle with Monzule's followers that she was sure wouldn't include angels and demons. The FBI agency he worked for already struggled with the concept of shifters existing. She didn't envy his predicament.
"You look exhausted," he commented softly, reaching out to tuck a stray wisp of purple behind her ear.
She offered a tired smile. "Running with the pack takes its toll. But it’s nothing compared to the weight of wings I never knew I had."
Rylan's gaze lingered on her, a blend of awe and worry flickering in his eyes. He sat back in his chair, his posture relaxed but the weight of deep thoughts visible in the creases forming at the corners of his eyes. "Seeing you transform…Kylie, it was beyond anything I could have imagined. You weren't just an angel—you were majestic, ethereal. Like a creature out of a legend," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of reverence and disbelief.
He paused as if searching for the right words. "When you battled Monzule, it was like watching a dance between light and darkness. Your wings weren't just appendages, they were expressions of your strength and grace. Every movement was precise, powerful. It was terrifying and beautiful all at once. But I also saw the vulnerability of someone new to their powers."
She listened, her heart beating a little faster. She had felt powerful when she'd shifted, but hearing Rylan describe it brought a new perspective. It wasn't just about the physical transformation—it was about embracing a part of her she never knew existed.
Rylan continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "But it wasn't just your appearance that changed. There was something in your eyes—a fierceness, a determination that I've never seen before. It was as if you were tapping into a deep, ancient power. And when you faced Monzule, even he seemed taken aback by your presence."
She shifted uncomfortably. The memory of the fight was still vivid in her mind—the rush of air under her wings, the surge of power coursing through her veins, the sharp contrast of Monzule's dark energy against her own.
"And yet," Rylan added softly, "there was a moment, just a brief one, where I saw you falter. It was when Monzule mentioned something about your past, about your parents. I saw the pain and confusion in your eyes. It reminded me that underneath those wings, you're still Kylie—the woman who's trying to piece together her past and her identity."
She nodded, a lump forming in her throat. Rylan's words resonated with her. The shift and the battle were not just physical trials for her. They were symbolic of the inner struggle to understand who she was and what her place in this world should be. Aziel had been right. She had a lot to learn.
Rylan reached across, his hand gently squeezing hers. "Whatever comes next, whatever truths you find about yourself and your past, know that I'm here for you. As an FBI agent, as your protector, and more than anything, as someone who cares deeply about you. I love you, Kylie Quinn."
In that moment, surrounded by the relics of the past and the shadows of the unknown, she found a sliver of comfort in Rylan's words. She realized that no matter how far her wings could take her, she would always have a tether to the world she knew, in the form of the connections she cherished—especially Rylan.
"Did you know demons were real?" she said.
"I'd heard stories. The old folklore passed down through the pack speaks of demons—of monsters that suck out your soul. Last night simply confirmed the tales."
"My grandfather didn't mention those legends, but he must have known." She pursed her lips, resolving to discuss it with her grandfather as soon as possible, praying he would be having one of his more coherent days.
Rylan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He excused himself, stepping away to answer the call. She overheard snippets of the conversation—hushed tones speaking of undercover operations and hidden dangers in the heart of NYC. Chris's voice, though muffled, carried a sense of urgency, talking about infiltrating Monzule's network and the risks involved.
Returning to his seat, Rylan's expression was grave. "I need to go to New York," he said, the words heavy with unspoken apprehension. "Monzule's influence is spreading, and Chris and I might have a lead."
She felt a pang of worry, mixed with the bitterness of past betrayals. "And where does that leave us?" she asked, her voice filled with anxiety and more than a hint of defiance.
Rylan reached for her hand, his grip firm yet gentle. "I’m not leaving you to face this alone. But we need to understand what we’re up against. Monzule is more than just a demon—he’s a strategist, and we need to be one step ahead."
As they delved deeper into the obstacles of Rylan's assignment, her mind raced with the possibilities of what lay ahead. She didn't like the idea of what he was about to do. Monzule had seen him and knew how important he was to her. They had to come up with some type of disguise to keep Rylan safe, or as safe as she could hope.
She glanced at him, taking in his strong appearance. "You're too good looking," she said.
He grinned. "Thank you."
"No. I mean you're too good looking for this job of infiltrating the mob. We should dye your hair and maybe add glasses. You know, give you the Clark Kent makeover."
He laughed. "I'm certainly not Superman."
She rolled her eyes at him. "You know what I mean. You have to appear weaker than you really are and be the geeky accountant type."
He shrugged. "I am an accountant. But, okay. I see the validity of what you're saying. I'll talk to Chris about it when he gets here."
She relaxed a tad. "Good. When are you leaving for the city?"
"Sometime today. Chris and I have to fill out our reports and figured it would be better if we did it together. He will head back to the office once we're done, and I'll have some time to spend with you at your place."
His flirtatious grin made the butterflies in her belly flutter. Damn. He knew exactly how to make her swoon, and she loved it.
Chris pulled up in his nondescript, dark sedan, blending seamlessly into the backdrop of Unity Falls. Nothing flashy. Nothing to draw attention to him. She could see why Rylan chose to leave his SUV at the townhouse.
He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "I'll let you know when we're done. It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours."
"I'll meet you back at the house." She stood and stretched to relieve some of the soreness leftover from last night's activities. "I should get to work anyway."
Rylan hopped into the front passenger seat while Chris put a hand out his window to wave to her.
She waved back and forced the unease gathering inside her down. She watched as they drove away, leaving her alone with her turbulent thoughts, and let out a heavy sigh. The salvage yard, once a place of solitude and reflection, now felt like the epicenter of a storm about to break. The raven perched on the hood took flight, its wings cutting through the crisp morning air, a reminder of the freedom and burdens that now lay on her shoulders.
The idea of delving into the unknown about Monzule and his followers was daunting, but necessary. She knew she couldn't sit idly by, especially with Rylan venturing into the heart of danger in New York City. She needed answers, and she had to start somewhere.
First on her list was a visit to the nursing facility where her grandfather lived. His dementia made their conversations a hit-or-miss affair, but he was her only living link to her mother's past and, possibly, to Monzule. She remembered the tales he used to tell about angels that she had dismissed as fanciful ramblings. Now, they held a potential truth she couldn’t ignore. Oddly, he'd never mentioned demons.
Pete came outside, wiping grease from his hands with an old rag. His weather-beaten face creased into a smile as he approached me. "Kylie, I need a second pair of eyes on some invoices." He held out a wad of papers. "I can't make heads or tails out of these. Can you give me a hand and match them up to the stock?"
He took her transformation into an angel in stride and continued to treat her just as he always had, which meant Grandpa Chester was on hold until she'd pulled her weight at the shop. She stood, stretching her legs. The yard around them was a testament to Pete's lifetime of work—rows of cars ranging from vintage classics to modern wrecks, each with its own story. The ground was littered with bits of metal and rubber, the detritus of countless repair jobs and part salvages.
She rolled her shoulders to ease the stiffness after her first transformation. "I'll help, but can we get some coffee? I’m running on fumes here." She stifled a yawn.
Pete chuckled, leading the way to the small office that doubled as a break room. The space was cluttered but cozy, with worn-out furniture and walls covered in automotive memorabilia. A coffee pot sat on a small table, surrounded by a hodgepodge of mugs.
As they sorted through the paperwork, Pete glanced at her curiously. "So, angel-shifter, huh? That’s something you don’t see every day. How’s that working out for you?"
She shrugged, her mind still grappling with the reality of it all. "It's a lot to take in. I'm still figuring out what it means."
"Yeah. I imagine it is." He turned his attention back to their task quietly watching what she did, and frowning now and then. It took twenty or so minutes to go through all the papers.
He scratched his chin several times. "I don't know how I'll manage when you're not here."
She paused. "Why wouldn't I be here? You firing me?"
He chuckled. "As if I could. Nah. You know what I mean. You'll be off somewhere learning to do whatever it is those angel-shifter folk do. I'll be left to muddle through papers and parts without a clue how you did all this." He stare at her with sad eyes. "Just remember, no matter what kind of wings you got, you'll always have a place here. This yard needs someone who can handle the chaos."
She smiled, grateful for his acceptance and support. "Thanks, Pete. That means a lot." Her thoughts drifted until he called her back to the present.
"You look like you have something on your mind. Can I help?"
She patted his arm. "I don't know. Maybe. I was going to talk to Grandpa about Monzule and my parents. What can you tell me about demons?"
He sighed. "Sorry, kiddo. I've met some bad people in my time, but demons? I couldn't say. It seems to me that demons must be able to hide in plain sight. They look like your average person. They'd be stupid to let the world know of their existence, especially a world like ours. There's magic in these parts. We just don't always see it." He gave her a quick hug. "Try Chester. You might get lucky and catch him on a good day."
"Thanks." She put away the last of the invoices. "I'll head over to see him now. I shouldn't be too long. I'll be back to help close up."
"No rush. It might be a good idea if you took the rest of the day off and got some rest. You're looking a tad ragged around the edges." He swept his arm in a slow arc. "In case you hadn't noticed, things are slow today. The delivery fellow dropped off the parts and took off. I'd say the news has already spread that you shifted."
"I'm sorry. The last thing you need is to lose business."
He waved off the apology. "I'm not fussed over it. We're the only salvage yard around for miles. Once the dust settles in Unity Falls, they'll be back. Until then, I look forward to a break. Now, off you get. Give Chester my best."
Pete poured piping hot black-as-tar coffee into a to-go cup and handed it to her. She gave him a peck on the cheek. "You're the best."
"Darn tootin'." He stood in the front doorway, drinking his coffee, watching as she jogged across the gravel drive.
It only took a few minutes to get home and grab her truck key. Rylan's scent lingered in the entryway from earlier. She inhaled and closed her eyes, holding the image of him in her mind. She might be tired, but it was so worth it to have stayed up last night making love with him. The memory sent a tingle of desire to stir inside her. She pushed it away for later.
As she drove to the retirement home, the familiar route settled around her with a sense of peace. The facility was a white building with well-kept gardens, a stark contrast to the chaotic world she now found herself in. She signed in at the front desk where the attendant offered a sympathetic smile, familiar with her frequent, often fruitless, visits.
Finding Chester in the common area, she noticed how the years had weathered him. His once sharp gaze was now clouded, his moments of lucidity fading like the last rays of sunset. She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. "Grandpa, it's Kylie," she said gently, hoping to spark a moment of recognition.
His eyes flickered towards her, a glint of recognition passing briefly. "Kylie, my little wolf," he murmured, a term of endearment from her childhood when he let her know it didn't matter about shifting. She would always be his little wolf.
She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Grandpa, do you remember anything about Mom's past? About angels or," she paused, "demons?"
His expression clouded, his gaze turning towards the window. "Demons. The dark creatures—shadows in the night," he mumbled, his voice trailing off. It wasn't much, but it was a start. She didn't have the heart to push him further.
After the visit, she felt a mix of sadness and determination. She needed more than just the fragmented pieces Chester could provide. It was time to do some research of her own.
Back at her apartment, she opened her laptop and began searching for anything she could find about Monzule. Folklore, myths, ancient texts—anything that could give her a clue about what they were up against. Hours passed as she sifted through websites, forums, and online archives. The information was scarce, but a pattern began to emerge—tales of a demon who traded in souls, a manipulator who thrived in the shadows of human history.
One account, in particular, caught her attention. It spoke of an ancient battle between a band of angel shifters and a demon named Monzule. The details were vague, but it mentioned a hidden artifact, something Monzule sought desperately. Could this be the key to his defeat?
She bookmarked the page, her mind racing with possibilities. If they were lucky, this could lead to a way to stop Monzule before more lives were lost. She jotted down more notes to share with Rylan upon his return.
The clock's hand slid closer to midnight, and Rylan still hadn't come back. She was tired, but sleep was the last thing on her mind. Monzule, his band of followers, the hidden artifact—it was all starting to form a larger, more ominous picture. And she knew, deep down, that her journey was just beginning. For everyone's sake, she had to be ready to face the demon haunting them—for Rylan, for her grandfather, and for whatever lay ahead threatening Unity Falls.
As the moon cast its pale light through her window, she felt a resolve settling in her heart. She was no longer just Kylie Quinn, the unshiftable salvage yard clerk. She was an angel shifter, a protector of Unity Falls, and she would do whatever it took to keep her town and its secrets safe from the darkness coming their way.
Chapter 22
Meeting of Fates
She paced while the clock on the mantel tapped away the minutes, its soft ticking a steady reminder of the passing time in Kylie's dimly lit townhouse as she waited for Rylan. The clock sat amidst a scattering of various knick-knacks she'd collected over the years. Far from a traditional timepiece, this clock was a vibrant splash of pop-culture artistry. Its frame, sleek and minimalist in design, was jet black, providing a striking contrast to the vivid, almost neon, numerals that seemed to dance around the dial in a haphazard yet charming fashion. She'd picked it up at a yard sale last summer, thrilled about her quirky little clock that reminded her of something that would appear in one of the Alice stories.
Each number on the clock was styled differently, drawing inspiration from iconic fonts seen in famous movie titles and comic books. The '12' at the top was a bold, scarlet scrawl reminiscent of a superhero's logo, while the '6' at the bottom had the whimsical, curling edges of a fantasy epic's script. The hands of the clock were slender and modern, with a glossy finish that caught the light, adding to its charm.
But what truly set the clock apart and tied it to the rest of Kylie's decor was the small, digital display at the bottom. Instead of showing the date or temperature, this display cycled through a series of snarky quotes that Kylie had programmed into it. At any given moment, the clock might showcase a witty remark or a sarcastic comment, bringing many an eye-roll to those who glanced its way. It suited her perfectly—a mix of modern fantasy and a healthy dose of irreverent humor.
She took a sip of black coffee from her quote mug that said, "Life's too short for bad vibes and decaf coffee." She may regret the added caffeine this late at night, but it was a necessary evil if she was going to stay awake. Damn. She was so freaking tired.
Her living room, a blend of rustic charm and modern comfort, was bathed in the warm glow of table lamps, casting soft shadows across the well-worn, plush sofa and the collection of mismatched throw pillows with printed quotes on them. A side table held an eclectic mix of books and trinkets. She picked up one of the books she was almost finished reading and crossed the large woven rug at the center of the room.
She curled up on her favorite armchair and pulled a thick knitted blanket over her lap. Her eyes occasionally drifted to the small window, where the moonlight filtered through translucent curtains, casting a serene, silver light into the room. The townhouse, usually a sanctuary of solitude and reflection, felt unusually quiet and expectant.
The sound of a key turning in the lock broke the silence. Rylan stepped in, his presence immediately filling the entryway with a different energy. Kylie put her mug on an end table and waited. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him close the door behind him, shaking off the chill of the night. He looked weary yet determined, his eyes searching for hers in the dimness.
