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The woman outside wasn't done talking.
"Rafe Calder." Her voice came through the shuttered window like she was reading a warrant. "You have ten seconds to open this door, or I burn the building and everything in it."
Nia's hand was still on the silver tooth. The recording had stopped. Jonah's voice was gone, but the static hum in her chest wasn't.
Rafe pushed himself up from the counter. Blood dripped off his knuckles onto her workbench. He didn't look at her. Just kept his eyes on the door.
"She means it," he said.
Nia pulled the tooth into her palm and shoved it into her jacket pocket. "Who the hell is she?"
"Celia Morn. Bureau director." He flexed his hand. The cuts were already closing, skin knitting over torn muscle. "She doesn't hunt. She cleans up."
"Cleans up what?"
"Loose ends."
The shutters rattled. Someone was testing the locks from outside. Nia heard boots on the fire escape, more voices in the alley. They weren't just at the front door anymore. They were surrounding the block.
Rafe turned to her. His eyes had gone full amber, no white left. "You have two options. Let me out, or let me stay."
"If I let you out, they kill you."
"Probably."
"If you stay, they burn my shop."
"Definitely."
Nia's mouth was dry. She could still hear Jonah's voice in her head. *Don't open the second lock. Don't let them find you.* But he'd left that recording eight years ago, and she'd opened the damn safe anyway. Rafe had heard it. Celia Morn knew she'd touched Fletcher's property. The hunters were already here.
She was in it now whether she wanted to be or not.
"There's a third option," Rafe said.
Nia looked at him. "Yeah?"
"You make a deal with me."
The shutters buckled. Metal screamed. Someone was prying the bolts loose with a crowbar.
Nia didn't move. "What kind of deal?"
Rafe stepped closer. Close enough that she could see the fever sweat on his neck, the way his pupils kept contracting and dilating like his body couldn't decide if she was prey or something else.
"Thirty days," he said. "I keep you alive. You keep me stable."
"Stable how?"
He didn't answer right away. Just tilted his head, nostrils flaring. Then he said, "Your blood."
Nia's stomach dropped. "No."
"You don't have to give me much. A drop. Maybe two. Enough to keep the fever down."
"Fever."
"Moon-fever. It's what happens when we're hunted too long without a territory. The body starts burning itself out. I can't think straight. Can't track. Can't tell friend from food." His voice was flat, like he was explaining how to change a tire. "Your blood will stop it."
"Why mine?"
"I don't know yet."
The front door splintered. The deadbolt held, but the frame was cracking. Thirty seconds, maybe less.
Nia's heart was slamming against her ribs. "And after thirty days?"
"You walk away. I don't follow. No claim, no bond, no debt."
"Except the part where you've been drinking my blood for a month."
"One drop a day. You won't even feel it."
The crowbar punched through the shutter. Nia saw a gloved hand reach inside, fingers groping for the latch.
She looked at Rafe. At the blood on his shirt, the fever in his eyes, the way he was standing between her and the door like he'd already decided she was worth protecting.
Jonah had said don't let them find you. He hadn't said don't make a deal.
"Thirty days," Nia said. "No questions."
Rafe's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "No promises either."
"Fine."
"Then we do it now."
He held out his hand. Palm up. The cuts were gone, but his fingers were shaking.
Nia pulled the pocket knife from her belt. The same one she used to pry open jammed tumblers and strip wire casings. She flipped it open and pressed the tip against her thumb.
"Wait." Rafe caught her wrist. His grip was careful, but she could feel the heat coming off his skin. "Not like that. If you cut yourself, the deal's void. It has to be willing."
"It is willing. I'm the one holding the knife."
"Willing means I take it. You don't give it."
Nia stared at him. "That's the same thing."
"It's not."
The door cracked. The deadbolt tore free. Celia Morn's voice came through, calm and cold. "Rafe. Last chance."
Nia shoved the knife back in her belt and held out her hand. "Then take it."
Rafe's fingers closed around her wrist. He pulled her hand up, slow, and pressed her palm against his mouth. She felt his breath first. Hot and uneven. Then his teeth. Not biting. Just resting against the base of her thumb, right over her pulse.
He bit down.
It didn't hurt. That was the worst part. She thought it would hurt, thought she'd feel the puncture and the pull, but all she felt was heat. A sharp bright flare that started in her hand and shot straight up her arm into her chest.
Rafe's eyes flicked up to hers. Still amber. Still burning. But the shaking stopped.
He pulled back. There were two small marks on her thumb, already closing. A single drop of blood welled up and ran down the side of her hand.
The air in the shop changed. It felt heavier. Thicker. Like the oxygen had been replaced with something that stuck in her lungs.
Rafe let go of her wrist. He straightened. The fever-sweat was gone. His eyes were still amber, but the edges were sharper now. Focused.
"Deal's done," he said.
The door exploded inward.
Celia Morn stepped through the wreckage. She was tall, pale, wearing a long black coat that didn't move when she walked. Behind her, three hunters filed in with rifles. They didn't point them at Rafe. They pointed them at Nia.
Celia looked at Rafe first. Then at Nia. Then at the blood on Nia's hand.
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or annoyance.
"Well," Celia said. "That complicates things."
Rafe stepped in front of Nia. Not touching her. Just blocking the line of fire.
"She's under protection now," he said. "Thirty-day deal. You can't touch her."
Celia tilted her head. "A blood deal. How traditional." She looked at Nia. "Do you know what you just agreed to?"
Nia's thumb was still bleeding. She wiped it on her jeans. "Thirty days. No questions."
"No questions." Celia's mouth curved. It wasn't a smile. "How convenient for him."
She turned and walked back toward the door. The hunters didn't lower their rifles.
"Rafe Calder," Celia said over her shoulder. "You have thirty days to settle your accounts. After that, the protection expires. If you're still in my city, I'll put you down myself."
She stepped through the broken door and disappeared into the street. The hunters followed. One of them glanced back at Nia, eyes cold, then turned and left.
The shop went quiet.
Nia's legs were shaking. She sat down hard on the stool behind the counter and pressed her hand against her chest. Her heart was still going too fast. The heat from Rafe's bite was still crawling up her arm.
"What the hell did I just do?" she said.
Rafe didn't answer. He was staring at the broken door, shoulders tight, like he was waiting for them to come back.
Nia looked down at her hand. The marks were already gone. Just two faint red dots, barely visible.
She closed her fist.
Then the shop lights went out.
Not a power failure. The streetlights outside were still on. Just her shop. Every bulb, every LED, every security monitor. Dark.
Nia stood up. "Rafe?"
He was still staring at the door. But his shoulders had gone rigid.
"What's wrong?" Nia said.
Rafe turned. His eyes weren't amber anymore. They were black. Fully black, edge to edge, like someone had filled them with ink.
"The deal didn't just bind me to you," he said.
Nia's throat closed. "What?"
"It opened something. A link." He took a step toward her. Then stopped. His hands were shaking again. "You need to see it."
"See what?"
Rafe reached out and touched her wrist. Just one finger. Barely any pressure.
The shop disappeared.
Nia was somewhere else. Somewhere cold. A concrete room with no windows. Blood on the floor. A circle drawn in red, symbols she didn't recognize, and in the center—
Jonah.
On his knees. Head down. Hands bound behind his back.
A woman stood over him. Not Celia. Someone older. Silver hair. Black gloves. Holding a knife.
Jonah looked up.
He looked right at Nia.
His mouth moved. She couldn't hear him, but she could read his lips.
*Run.*
The vision cut off.
Nia was back in her shop. Rafe was holding her wrist. The lights were still out.
She was shaking so hard she couldn't stand. Rafe caught her before she hit the floor.
"That's not possible," Nia said. Her voice didn't sound like hers. "He's dead. Jonah's dead."
Rafe didn't let go. "Then we need to find out who's using his face."