Fated in New Orleans

2

The low growl of a black Jeep echoed down the gravel drive, kicking up cypress leaves as it pulled to a stop in front of the Crescent Moon compound.

Beau, River, and Miles waited outside — three figures framed in the amber haze of late afternoon. The twins’ bikes gleamed off to the side, chrome and matte black, perfect reflections of their contrasting personalities.

“Guess that’s her,” Beau muttered, watching the driver’s door swing open.

Salem Boudreaux stepped out like she owned the place — dark hair pulled back, sunglasses on her head, phone pressed to her ear, and a glare sharp enough to cut steel. Rhea climbed out after her, coffee in hand and an expression that said not our first rodeo.

“I don’t care what your tracker says, André,” Salem snapped, pacing. “You charged me fifteen percent for expedited shipping, and now you’re tellin’ me the parts are sittin’ in Baton Rouge because someone forgot to change the warehouse code?”

Her accent thickened with irritation, Cajun vowels rolling sharp and fast. “Non, cher, you listen to me — you’ve got one hour to get those parts on a truck headed south, or I’ll find a new supplier before lunch. And if I do, your company name’s goin’ on my blacklist so fast it’ll smoke.”

She hung up and exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “People wonder why I don’t trust anyone with logistics.”

Rhea sipped her coffee. “Because you like control, not chaos.”

“Damn right,” Salem muttered, sliding her phone into her back pocket — and finally realizing they had an audience.

Beau tried not to grin. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, chère.”

Her sharp gaze cut to him. “That’s easy. Don’t lie, don’t waste my time, and don’t screw up.”

Miles let out a low whistle, arms crossed. “You weren’t kidding, Beau. She’s got more bite than half our pack.”

Salem gave him a once-over. “You must be the loud one.”

Rhea choked back a laugh. “Told you,” she muttered.

Miles grinned. “Depends on the day. You must be Salem Boudreaux.”

She extended a firm, businesslike hand. “IronWard Security.”

River stepped forward, taking it. His grip was steady, assessing — like he could read a person through their pulse.

“River Fontenot,” he said. “We appreciate you coming on short notice.”

“Appreciation’s nice,” she replied, pulling back. “Payment’s better.”

Beau chuckled. “You’re gonna fit right in.”

Rhea set down her cup. “So, where’s your control room? The faster we see what you’ve got, the faster we can stop the bleeding.”

Miles gestured toward the main building. “Follow us. Fair warning — it ain’t pretty. Whoever hit us knew what they were doin’.”

“Then you hired the right people,” Salem said simply, walking ahead without waiting for permission.

River exchanged a look with Beau — part amusement, part intrigue.

“Told y’all she’d come in like a hurricane,” Beau muttered.

River’s lips curved faintly. “Maybe that’s what we need.”

Miles hung back just long enough to watch Salem’s stride — steady, unapologetic, fearless.

“She’s somethin’ else,” he murmured.

River didn’t disagree. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And she just walked straight into the storm.”

⸻

The control room looked more like a repurposed garage than a tech hub. Wires snaked across the walls, monitors flickered, and an aging tower hummed like it was running on prayer.

Salem surveyed the mess and exhaled. “This,” she said flatly, “is tragic.”

Rhea smirked, unpacking her laptop. “You mean it’s a mess.”

“I mean tragic,” Salem repeated. “Like someone built it with spare parts and faith.”

Miles frowned. “We built it ourselves.”

“That explains a lot.” Salem crouched by a server, popping the panel with surgical precision. “Your cabling’s five years outdated. Routing software’s patched like Frankenstein, and—” she squinted “—your internal security protocol hasn’t been updated since a couple presidents ago.”

Rhea tried not to laugh. Miles didn’t bother hiding his scowl.

Beau whistled. “Well, damn.”

River’s voice stayed calm. “What kind of risk?”

Salem connected her console. Within seconds, a web of red marks lit up the screen. “Blind spots,” she said, spinning the monitor. “All along your perimeter — and a few inside the main hub. Whoever hacked you didn’t break in. They walked through your weak zones.”

Miles leaned closer. “We’ve got motion sensors everywhere.”

“Yeah,” Salem said, pointing. “Except here, here, and here. Three dead angles. Any half-decent hacker could crawl right through.”

Rhea scanned the data. “And they did — more than once, judging by your logs.”

River’s jaw flexed. “You’re saying someone’s been inside.”

“I’m saying someone had access,” Salem corrected. “Could’ve been remote, could’ve been local. But they knew exactly what to hit and what to leave. That’s not random — that’s surgical.”

Silence fell.

Miles bristled. “You’re implying one of ours sold us out.”

“I’m not implying anything,” she said coolly. “I’m telling you your system’s Swiss cheese, and somebody’s been eating.”

Rhea coughed into her hand, hiding a grin.

Beau leaned back, amused. “I think I like her.”

River ignored them, eyes on the display. “Can you trace it?”

“Maybe,” Salem said, fingers flying. “But it’s not gonna be pretty. Whoever covered their tracks knew how to ghost metadata. That takes time, skill — and nerve.”

Her tone sharpened as she worked. “And before you ask — no, it’s not human tech. I’ve seen human signatures. This is cleaner. Faster. Feels like someone who understands both worlds.”

Miles frowned. “Both worlds?”

“Human and wolf,” she said simply. “You’ve got a hybrid hacker — or a very clever traitor.”

River’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened — thoughtful. “And you can fix it?”

Salem looked up, mouth twitching between confidence and warning. “I can rebuild your whole network from the ground up. But I don’t patch holes for free, and I don’t work around pride. If I find something ugly, I drag it into the light — no matter who it embarrasses.”

Miles opened his mouth, but River cut him off with a raised hand.

“Understood. You’ll have full cooperation.”

She nodded once, already turning back to her screen. “Good. Then let’s get started before whoever’s behind this gets clever again.”

Rhea handed her a tablet and leaned toward Beau. “You should’ve seen her last job,” she whispered. “Made an Alpha cry.”

Beau chuckled. “Not surprised. She’s got the bite of a copperhead and the calm of a preacher.”

Across the room, River’s gaze lingered on Salem longer than necessary — not with challenge, but with quiet curiosity.

Miles noticed. “You’re staring,” he muttered.

“I’m observing,” River said softly. “There’s a difference.”

Salem didn’t look up, but the faintest flicker of a smirk crossed her lips.

She’d noticed too.