The motel alarm clock glowed a demonic 2:17 a.m., casting just enough light for me to regret every life decision that led me to this specific brand of hell: scratchy sheets, flickering lights, and a stale burrito smell wafting from the bathroom.
Lena was out cold in the other bed, one arm hanging off the side like she was trying to high-five the carpet. Her stone heart—the one that replaced her real one after she fused with the shard—glowed faintly in the dark, pulsing with a slow rhythm. Like a twisted nightlight powered by cosmic horror.
I pulled on my boots with practiced silence and grabbed my machete. Paused at the door.
Part of me wanted to wake her. She was capable, fast, and growing stronger every day. But another part—the hunter part—remembered her dropping her badge earlier, hands still shaking from our first real morgue visit. She wasn't ready.
Not for this.
Not yet.
Outside, the Iowa night hit me like a slap—cold and dry, with that subtle static in the air that usually meant something supernatural was nearby. Or maybe that was just the anxiety talking.
Time to scout.
I stepped into the shadows and vanished.
Shadow Jump.
The world folded inward, collapsing into void and ink. When I reappeared, I was crouched on the roof of a diner two blocks down, neon lights buzzing underfoot. The trees beyond the parking lot loomed like jagged teeth against the moonlight. According to Marla, Razor had found the artifact near the old quarry. Which meant caves.
Because of course it had to be caves.
Three jumps later, I was perched above the mouth of the largest one—narrow, deep, and reeking like a barbecue hosted by Satan. I dropped down, vampiric vision flaring to life, cutting through the darkness like high-def night vision goggles.
The air changed as I entered. The usual scent of dirt and moisture was replaced by sulfur, scorched bones, and something worse. Something old. Like the weight of centuries pressed into stone and silence.
The cave opened into a massive underground chamber, walls glittering with quartz and something that looked suspiciously like dried blood. And in the center, beneath a jagged natural dome…
Dragons.
No, not the fairytale kind. These weren't Smaug knockoffs or CGI rejects. These were Drakons—ancient, humanoid, reptilian creatures covered in obsidian scales. Eight of them knelt before a monolithic statue carved from pure black stone.
I didn't need the glowing eyes or fang-lined smile to recognize him.
Kharon.
His hollow gaze met mine from across the chamber like he knew. Like he'd been waiting.
I pressed against the cave wall, trying to slow my breathing. Activated Enhanced Hearing.
"—the key is prepared," the lead Drakon hissed. His voice was liquid gravel, harsh and ceremonial. He held up the Ouroboros Armlet—gold, writhing like it was alive. The serpent engravings shimmered, shifting under the torchlight in ways that broke physics.
"Tonight, we awaken the vessel. Tonight, our lord rises."
The others began chanting in a guttural tongue. The sounds weren't made for human ears—each word felt like it was being scraped across my brain with rusted knives.
My grip tightened on the machete. I could take four, maybe five. Maybe. But eight? Armed with magic and fire and a god's blessing?
That was called suicide.
Then the lead Drakon raised the armlet higher. "The vessel is ready. The blood of the hollow one will—"
Snap.
A rock clattered behind me. I didn't move. Didn't breathe.
But they heard it.
Every scaled head turned.
Shit.
A jet of blue-white flame erupted, scorching the wall inches from where I'd been standing.
Shadow Jump.
I reappeared in the motel parking lot, stumbling slightly. My heart slammed in my chest like it was trying to evacuate. The scent of burnt ozone clung to my jacket.
Too close. Way too close.
I burst into the motel room. Lena hadn't moved, still curled on her side. Peaceful. It made me hesitate. Hunters didn't get to look like that very often.
But there wasn't time for hesitation.
"Lena." I crossed the room and shook her shoulder.
She bolted upright, fists raised. "Wha—who—?!"
"It's me. Marcus."
She blinked, then frowned. "You went without me?"
"Scouting," I said, tossing her a spare machete from my duffel. "But now we go together. Because I just found a cave full of Drakons—and they've got the armlet."
She was on her feet before I finished. "And?"
"They're trying to use it to wake up Kharon. Tonight."
That got her attention.
She was dressed and armed in under a minute, jaw set in that determined way that reminded me why I didn't go it alone anymore.
I pulled out Bobby's burner and dialed.
He picked up instantly. "Tell me you ain't dead yet."
"Drakons. Ritual. They're waking Kharon. We need a crash course in how to kill 'em. Now."
I could hear papers flying, drawers opening.
"Silver won't work," he said, voice strained. "You need blades bathed in dragon's blood. Gotta stab through the base of the neck, just under the scales. Otherwise they regenerate—fast."
"Dragon's blood. Right. Because that's just lying around."
"Only thing worse than a Drakon," he muttered, "is what they serve."
Static overtook the line.
"Bobby?"
"—tell Lena—not to use the sto—"
The phone died.
Lena looked at me. "Tell me that wasn't ominous."
I stared at the phone like it had just bit me. "More like terrifying. He said dragon's blood. We don't have that."
"Then what do we have?"
I flexed my right hand, focusing on the power I'd stolen from the Flesh Weaver. Bone claws slid from my fingertips, ivory sharp and wicked. My Fleshweaver Morph. Dangerous and painful if I pushed it too far—but in this case?
Perfect.
"They'll come to us."
Lena narrowed her eyes. "How?"
I dragged the claws across my palm. Blood welled instantly and dripped to the motel carpet. The scent of copper filled the room.
"First lesson in monster hunting," I said, wrapping my hand in a rag. "Nothing draws predators like fresh blood."
A moment later, a sound split the night—an unholy, screeching roar that rattled the windows and made the floor vibrate.
Lena swallowed. "That them?"
I nodded, retracting the claws and grabbing my machete.
"Let's go say hi."
And pray we live long enough to regret it.