Chapter 3 Whispers of Draven.(Celia's POV)

I haul the dying thug into the shadowed alcove of the crumbling tenement stairwell, his booted feet scraping wet concrete. Rainwater drips through broken boards above, each drop echoing between the walls like a ticking clock. I press the flat of my blade to the side of his neck, the metal cold against his warm skin. His eyes bulge, sweat and fear mingling in his gaze.

"Tell me his name," I demand, voice low and even.

He clutches at my wrist, pain twisting his face into a mask of agony. "L-Lucian-" he rasps, chest heaving. He gurgles on his own blood. I lean closer. "And Ash," he croaks. His knife hand spasms, loosening on the railing. He sputters, "Ash Draven..." then falls silent, eyes rolling back.

I hold my breath a moment, listening to the blood pulse in my ears. The world tilts sideways until I'm sure he's gone. I drag my blade free and shove the body into the open hallway. Rainwater seeps in from the broken window above, pooling red at the man's shoe. My fingers tremble as I wipe the blade clean on his coat.

My side still aches, but there's no time to think about that. I slip down the stairs, boots echoing on concrete, and push through the front door into the drizzle. The night smells of diesel and mildew. I pull my jacket tighter and head toward the subway underpass where I promised Marisol I'd meet her.

---

Marisol's office is tucked behind a shuttered bakery on 12th Street, two floors above a tattoo parlor. I press the buzzer and wait while her light flickers on. Seconds later, the door buzzes open. She stands framed in the doorway, eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses.

"You look like hell," she says, stepping aside. Her voice has that familiar pitch of both concern and exasperation.

"Thanks," I manage. I drop into the lone chair in her cramped apartment. She busies herself loading a syringe of silver tracer into her portable spectrometer-a device she cobbled together to detect supernatural residue. "What do you have?"

I unfold the bloodstained rag I wrapped around my side. "Got a name. Ash Draven." I hiss as I unwrap it against her protests. She winces at the sight of fresh wound.

"Wolves' blood," she says, examining the fabric under her lamp. "Plus human-this isn't just lycanthrope damage. There's something ritualistic about it." Her finger hovers over a pattern of dark scratches threaded through my flesh.

"Ash Draven," I repeat. "Sound familiar?"

She taps at her laptop. "There was a Draven Pack fifty years ago, disbanded after a massacre no one talks about. Rumor says their alpha-Sebastian Draven-fell in with vampires. Became some kind of occult puppeteer." She snaps the laptop shut. "But I can't confirm much. Pack records have vanished."

I close my eyes, jaw clenched. "So he's back. Using wolves as pawns."

Marisol sets her spectrometer on the desk and leans forward. "You need backup. You can't keep doing this solo." She gestures at my phone. "I sent coded message to Lucian. He'll get it soon."

I grit my teeth. "I don't want him anywhere near this."

She frowns. "He saved you twice. Admit it-he knows something you don't."

"I don't owe him anything." I stand, bending to slip my knife back into its sheath. "I just need information."

Marisol holds my gaze. "You'll get yourself killed." She reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a small, engraved talisman. "This belonged to your sister. It bears the same runes as Ash's ritual marks. I want you to carry it-until we know what it really does."

I wrap the talisman around my neck and close my fingers around it. Marisol's worry seeps into my bones. "Fine," I say. "But if Lucian shows up, I'm leading." Without waiting for her answer, I duck out into the night.

---

The dive bar pulses with bass so heavy it rumbles the floorboards. I slip through the crowd, keeping low. Neon signs flare through smoke: "THE IRON JAR" beckons in flickering red. Patrons lean close to hear each other, tattoos and scars glinting under strobe lights. This place bustles with the city's restless-information for sale, favors for the right price.

I perch on a vinyl stool at the far corner, eyeing the bartender. His face is a roadmap of faded scars. I slide a bill across the counter. "Looking for a man named Renzo," I say.

He shrugs without looking up, polishing a glass. "Name's not in my book. Try the back booth."

I nod and make my way through tables of couples whispering bonuses, lone figures trading stacks of cash. At the rear, a curtained alcove invites curiosity. I slip inside.

A single lamp casts a pool of light over a ring of mismatched chairs. Renzo sits in one, muscular arms folded. He's got a wolf crest tattooed on his neck. I take the seat opposite him.

"Word is you know who's behind the recent pack murders," I say, leaning forward. "Name's Celia Blake."

He snorts. "Bit of a lady in the wolf business, aren't ya?" His voice is oily, amused. "Ash Draven's been back for months. Hit three minor packs, left no survivors. He's gathering blood debts-ancient magic, they say. Nobody's sure why."

I lean so far my elbow scrapes the table. "What's he after?"

Renzo shrugs again, flicking ash from his cigarette. "Someone with a latent bloodline. A broken prophecy, old curses. If you're wearing your sister's talisman, you might be on his radar."

My pulse thunders. "Tell me more."

He chuckles, a dry rasp. "You should have chosen a safer life, missy. But since you're here-Draven's hunting the "silver key." He believes it unlocks power lost to his family. Some say it's a person. Someone tied to the Kane line."

I press my fingers around the talisman beneath my jacket. "So Lucian Kane-"

Renzo's eyes widen. "Exactly." He leans back, voice dropping. "He's Draven's greatest fear-and greatest prey. But Kane's no pushover. That alpha plays a long game."

I swallow. A knot twists in my gut. "Where can I find Draven?"

Renzo leans forward, exhaling smoke in my face. "Tonight, he's at the Marquis Club. Only his inner circle knows. But I've got a friend on the inside." He slides a slender card across the table. "Show this to Rita. She'll get you in."

I slip the card into my pocket. "Thanks." I rise to leave, but Renzo's hand clamps my wrist, voice low. "Be careful, Celia. He isn't human anymore. His power-"

I yank free and step back. "I can handle what's not human."

He watches me go, eyes dark with warning.

---

Thunder rattles overhead as I step back into the wet street. The talisman pulses against my chest, a subtle warmth that hums with possibility-or danger. I lift my head, rain dripping into my eyes. Somewhere, neon lights beckon me toward my next move.

A broken sidewalk glistens red in the distance: the Marquis Club's sign, half-burned letters spelling "MARQUIS" above a line of blackened skull motifs. I tuck my knife at my waist and push through the heavy doors.

Inside, mirrored walls reflect dancing lights. A quartet plays dark jazz in the corner. Men in tailored suits and women in sequins move like predators in silk. I spot Rita-short platinum hair, silver hoop earrings-talking low to a bouncer. I catch her eye and lift an eyebrow.

She nods once and slips away. Moments later, she leads me past velvet rope and PAs into a private room lit by candelabras. The air smells of expensive incense. Plush chairs circle a low table strewn with crystal glasses.

My pulse drums as I step inside. The door clicks shut behind me. I scan the faces gathered-none know me, none care. But in the dim glow, a silhouette leans forward in a silk suit: long legs crossed, fingers drumming the arm of the chair. Red hair spills over one shoulder, eyes hidden in shadow.

I clear my throat. "I'm here to see Sebastian Draven."

A slow smile curves on those red lips. "Welcome, Celia Blake." The woman stands, stepping into candlelight. Her emerald eyes flick to my talisman. "I wondered when you'd arrive."

My heart knocks against my ribs. Betrayal tastes like ash on my tongue.

She flicks her wrist and the nearest mirror shatters outward, shards spraying like fireworks. In that splintered reflection behind her, I see Ash Draven-tall, pallid-faced, smile edged with razor teeth-and my blood turns to ice.