Chapter 2: The Wolf at the Door

Chapter 2: The Wolf at the Door

I slammed the door, the three deadbolts shooting home with satisfyingly loud clicks that echoed the hammering in my skull. The apartment was plunged into a dim intimacy, lit only by the garish neon signs bleeding through the grime on my window and a single flickering bulb above my kitchenette. The air, already thick with the scent of stale whiskey and gun oil, now had a new, sharp tang of ozone from Elara's magical outburst.

“Sit,” I ordered, pointing with the barrel of PEACEMAKER towards a worn armchair overflowing with books on arcane lore and discarded takeout containers.

She flinched but obeyed, sinking into the chair and cradling the obsidian cube like a newborn. Her glowing runes had dimmed, but they still cast an eerie blue light across her pale, terrified face.

My apartment was my sanctuary, my fortress. The floorboards near the door were etched with silver-inlaid warding sigils. Jars containing everything from powdered dragon's tooth to pickled pixie eyes lined a rickety shelf. The parts of a disassembled plasma rifle were spread across my coffee table, right next to a half-eaten plate of what might have been noodles last week. It was a chaotic mess, but it was a controlled chaos. Her presence, and the silent, reality-bending power of that damned cube, felt like a grenade with the pin pulled.

I dropped the spent casings from my revolver onto the counter with a clatter and began reloading from a box of custom-made silver-tipped rounds. The metallic clicks were the only sound for a long moment.

“Start talking,” I said, not looking at her. “Who were they? Why are they after you? And what, in all the hells, is that box?”

“They… they call themselves the Epoch Wardens,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “They’ve been hunting me for weeks. Across…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if the concept was too large to explain. “They want the Chronos Cube.”

She hugged the obsidian box tighter. “It is a key. A map. It holds… time. It can unmake what is made. They want to use it to purify this world.”

I stopped reloading and turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. My Slayer's Sight still saw the maelstrom of power coiling around her and the absolute void of the cube. “Purify? Lady, the only thing that could ‘purify’ Neo-Veridia is a biblical-grade flood, and even then, I’d bet on the sewer ghouls learning to swim. Be more specific.”

“They want to erase it,” she said, her blue eyes pleading with me to believe. “All of it. The magic. The creatures you live alongside. Everything that isn’t… baseline human. They see it as a corruption of the timeline.”

A cold laugh escaped my lips. “Join the club. There are a dozen cults with the same goal. What makes these dust-bunnies special?”

“They can do it.” The conviction in her voice was chilling. “The Cube is the final piece they need.”

I finished loading PEACEMAKER and spun the cylinder, the sound a final, heavy full stop. My desire to just throw her out was warring with the cold, hard fact that three assassins who disintegrated on death had just tried to kill me on my own porch. That was a tier above the usual street-level weirdness. This had the stink of serious, high-level trouble.

Before I could press her for more, a new sound cut through the steady drumming of the rain. A low, guttural rumble that grew steadily louder, vibrating through the floorboards and rattling the jars on my shelves. It wasn't thunder. It was the sound of a dozen high-powered engines, and I knew the sound of that lead bike better than I knew my own heartbeat.

“Shit.”

Elara looked up, her fear spiking. “What is it? Is it them?”

“No,” I said, moving to the window and peering through the grimy glass. “It’s worse.”

Down below, a fleet of custom motorcycles had surrounded the building. They were monstrous machines of chrome and steel, but it was the riders that commanded attention. The Asphalt Howlers. At the front of the pack, a rider swung a leg off a bike that looked like it was forged in a volcano, pulling off a helmet to shake free a mane of wild, silver hair.

Lyra. The Alpha.

Her amber eyes, sharp enough to see in the dark, scanned the street before locking directly onto my third-story window as if she could feel my gaze on her. A slow, predatory grin spread across her face, showing a hint of canine.

The magical flare from Elara’s defensive shield. It must have lit up the supernatural spectrum like a firework in a graveyard. A beacon for every predator in the city. And Lyra was the hungriest predator I knew.

Heavy, booted footsteps pounded up the fire escape. There was no attempt at stealth. They wanted me to know they were coming. I moved away from the window, placing myself between the door and Elara.

“Don’t move, don’t speak, and whatever you do, don’t use any more of that light-show magic,” I ordered her in a low voice.

A heavy fist hammered on the door, making the whole frame shudder. It wasn’t a request.

“Ryder!” Lyra’s voice was a throaty growl, easily carrying through the wood. “I know you’re in there. I felt that little power surge. Smells like you’re having a party. Open up before my boys decide to huff and puff and blow your door down.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. My quiet night was well and truly dead and buried. I stalked to the door and undid the locks. As I pulled it open, Lyra was already pushing her way inside, flanked by two of her biggest pack members. She filled the doorway, all black leather, silver hair, and raw, dominant energy. Her amber eyes swept the room, instantly dismissing the mess before landing on Elara, who shrank back in her chair. Lyra sniffed the air, her grin widening.

“Well, well,” she purred, her gaze flickering between Elara’s glowing runes and the cube in her lap. “You found a stray, Jax. This one smells… exotic. And powerful.”

“She was just leaving,” I said flatly, crossing my arms.

Lyra ignored me, her attention fixed on Elara. “The city is buzzing about grey-robed ghosts leaving piles of dust all over town. They paid a visit here, didn't they? I can smell the void on the air.”

So, she knew about the assassins. Which meant she was here for more than just a social call.

“What do you want, Lyra?”

She finally turned her predatory gaze back to me, stepping closer until she was invading my personal space. The scent of rain, leather, and wild musk filled my senses. “I want to know who’s bold enough to make a move this big in my city. I want to know what they’re after.” Her eyes flicked to the cube again. “And I want a piece of it. But for you, Jax, I’ll settle for information.”

This was the hook. She knew something. “And your price?”

“The usual,” she said with a shrug, but her eyes glittered with something that wasn’t casual at all. “My pack gives you intel. You owe us. A favour, a hunt… your loyalty when I call for it.”

Loyalty to the Howlers was a leash, and I didn’t wear one for anybody. “No deal.”

Lyra laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “Still the lone wolf. So proud. So stubborn.” She reached out, tracing a line down the worn leather of my jacket with a single clawed finger. “Fine. Let’s make it more interesting. I like a challenge. You like a fight. One-on-one. Me and you. The old way. No guns, no magic.”

I stared at her. A duel with a werewolf Alpha was tantamount to suicide for most. For me, it was just a really bad Tuesday.

“You win,” she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I tell you everything I know about these Epoch Wardens. My pack leaves you and your little stray alone. You lose…” Her grin became sharp, feral. “You owe me that loyalty. You fight for my pack when I tell you to. And maybe…” she leaned in, her warm breath ghosting across my ear, “…you fight a little less when I decide to claim my prize.”

The challenge hung in the air between us, heavy and smelling of blood and opportunity. Behind me, I could feel Elara’s terror radiating in waves. In front of me, Lyra stood like a force of nature, offering me the very answers I needed, but at a cost that might break me. My night had gone from bad to worse, and now it was teetering on the edge of a blade.