Chapter 4: The Bayou Pact
1367 Words
They worked for two hours.
By the end, Selene’s arms felt like lead, her head was pounding, and the gold light came when she called it more often than not. It was still wild, still unpredictable, but it was hers.
“Stop,” Draven said finally. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Selene dropped her hands, sagging against the wall. Sweat dripped down her temple.
“I hate you,” she said, breathless.
“I know,” Draven said. He tossed her a towel. “Drink water. You’re dehydrated.”
Selene caught the bottle he threw and drank half of it in one go.
Kaia pushed off the wall and approached. “You did well,” she said to Selene.
Selene blinked. “Thanks, I think.”
“You have control,” Kaia said. “Most witches take weeks to get that far. You did it in two hours.”
Selene looked at Draven. “Is that good?”
“It’s dangerous,” Draven said. “Power without control kills. Control without power is useless. You have both now. That makes you a target.”
Selene’s stomach twisted. “Malachai?”
“Malachai,” Draven confirmed. “He felt that. He knows you’re awake now.”
Selene set the water bottle down carefully. “So what do we do?”
“We move,” Draven said. “Staying here is too risky. We go to the bayou.”
“The bayou?” Selene said. “Why?”
“Because the wards there are older,” Draven said. “And because Marcel owes me a favor.”
“Marcel the werewolf?” Selene said.
Draven nodded. “He runs the pack in the bayou. If anyone can hide you, it’s him.”
Selene hesitated. “You trust him?”
“No,” Draven said. “But he trusts you. And right now, that’s enough.”
Selene sighed. “Fine. But I’m not leaving without my bag. I have herbs and tools I need.”
“Kaia will get it,” Draven said.
Kaia nodded and left without a word.
Selene looked at Draven. “Why are you doing this?”
Draven met her gaze. “Because if you die, the Gate opens. And if the Gate opens, I lose.”
“Just that?” Selene said.
Draven’s jaw tightened. “Just that.”
Selene didn’t believe him. But she didn’t argue. Not yet.
Kaia returned with Selene’s bag. Draven checked his phone—if you could call the ancient-looking device that—and nodded.
“Car’s ready,” he said. “We leave now.”
Selene slung her bag over her shoulder and followed him out of the training room.
As they reached the stairs, the lights flickered again.
Not from her this time.
Draven stopped dead, his head snapping toward the front of the house.
“Kaia,” he said, voice low and dangerous.
Kaia was already moving, sword drawn.
Selene felt it then—a cold presence, seeping through the wards like smoke.
Malachai had found them.
“Run,” Draven said to Selene.
Selene didn’t run.
She stepped forward, her hands already glowing.
“If he wants me,” she said, “he’ll have to go through me first.”
Draven looked at her, and for the first time, something like pride flickered in his eyes.
“Stubborn witch,” he muttered.
Then he stepped in front of her, and the air ignited.
********
The front door exploded inward in a shower of splinters and flame.
Malachai stepped through the smoke, wings spread wide, eyes like dying embers fixed on Selene. The wards etched into the safehouse walls flared red and died, unable to hold against a fallen angel’s will.
“Well,” Malachai said, his voice a double note of silk and rot. “There you are.”
Selene’s hands were already glowing. The gold light pooled in her palms, unsteady but real. Her heart hammered, but the fear from earlier was gone, burned away by two hours of Draven forcing her to focus, to breathe, to hold.
“Stay back,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake.
Malachai laughed. “Cute. The fledgling bares her teeth.”
Draven moved before the word finished leaving Malachai’s mouth.
Hellfire erupted down his arms, black-blue and roaring, and he met the fallen angel in the middle of the room with a force that cracked the concrete floor. The impact threw Selene back against the wall. Kaia was already moving, sword drawn, pulling Selene to her feet and shoving her toward the back exit.
“Go!” Kaia shouted over the roar. “Now!”
Selene didn’t argue. She ran.
Behind her, the safehouse became a warzone. Draven and Malachai clashed with the sound of thunder and shattering glass. Hellfire met holy fire, and the air smelled like ozone and scorched metal. Kaia took the rear, guarding Selene as they burst out into the alley.
The SUV was waiting, engine running. Kaia shoved Selene inside.
“Drive,” Kaia told the driver. “Bayou route. Now.”
The car peeled away as the safehouse behind them erupted in a blast of blue fire.
Selene twisted in her seat, watching the building disappear in the rearview mirror. Draven wasn’t with them.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“Holding Malachai off,” Kaia said grimly. “He told me to get you out. He’ll meet us at the bayou if he can.”
Selene’s hands clenched in her lap. The gold light flickered once, then died. “He said ‘if’.”
Kaia didn’t answer.
************
The drive to the bayou took forty minutes. Forty minutes of silence, of Selene staring out the window as the city gave way to swamp and Spanish moss. The air got heavier, wetter, thick with the smell of stagnant water and old magic.
The bayou was neutral ground. No vampire coven, no angel choir, no demon court claimed it outright. The werewolf pack did, and Marcel Duquesne ran the pack.
Marcel owed Draven a favor. A big one.
The SUV stopped at the edge of a clearing where a dozen weathered cabins stood on stilts over the water. Torches burned in iron sconces despite the late hour. Figures moved in the shadows—tall, broad-shouldered, eyes that gleamed gold in the dark.
Werewolves.
Kaia got out first, hands open to show she wasn’t a threat. Selene followed, clutching her bag to her chest.
Marcel stepped out of the largest cabin. He was in human form, but his presence was all wolf—predatory, territorial, assessing. He looked Selene up and down, then his gaze shifted past her to the road.
“Where’s Draven?” he asked.
“Holding off Malachai,” Kaia said. “He sent us here.”
Marcel’s jaw tightened. “He’s fighting a fallen angel alone? That’s suicide.”
“He said you owed him,” Kaia said.
Marcel’s lips curled. “I do. But I don’t owe his ward.” His eyes fixed on Selene. “What are you?”
Selene stepped forward before Kaia could stop her. “I’m the reason he’s fighting alone,” she said. “I’m a Solis witch. Malachai wants my blood to open a Gate.”
A murmur ran through the gathered wolves.
Marcel’s expression didn’t change, but his scent shifted—curiosity, suspicion, and something like recognition.
“Solis,” he said quietly. “My grandmother told stories about the Solis witches. Said they could bind demons and angels alike.” He studied her. “You don’t look like much.”
Selene straightened. “I don’t have to look like much. I just have to work.”
Marcel barked a laugh. “Spunk. I’ll give you that.” He gestured to the cabin. “You’re under my protection while you’re here. But if you bring that angel down on my pack, I’ll feed you to the gators myself. Understood?”
“Understood,” Selene said.
Kaia exhaled, like she’d been holding her breath.
“Get her inside,” Marcel ordered. “She needs rest. And when Draven shows up, I want to hear what the hell is going on.”
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