The drone's whir sharpened to a predatory drone, its underbelly splitting open like a mechanical maw. A net of suppression silk—shimmering threads laced with anti-magic runes—hurtled toward us, fast and unerring, the red scanner eye locking on my chest where the bond thread pulsed faintly blue. Jax cursed, shadows lashing out in a desperate whip, but they dissolved against the silk's weave, fizzling like wet fireworks.
Time slowed, the system's hum roaring in my ears: [Threat Detected: Suppression Net (Tier 2). Counter: Siren Lash Optimal. Depth Cost: 8%. Activate?]
"Yes—now!" I snarled, the word twisting into a lash of compulsion. My voice cracked the air like a whip, invisible tendrils snaring the net mid-flight. The threads quivered, runes flickering as the Bind took hold—halt, unravel, obey. The drone jerked violently, rotors sputtering, the net coiling back on itself like a snake eating its tail. It plummeted, crashing into a prop facade with a shower of sparks and twisted metal, the eye-lens shattering in a final, accusatory glare.
We didn't wait for the echo. Jax yanked me into a crouch, shadows folding around us like a cloak, muffling our steps as we darted between soundstage relics—faded backdrops of palm trees and starry skies mocking our flight. The trailer's door hung ajar behind us, coffee steam still curling from abandoned mugs, a domestic scene aborted by violence.
"Got a lock on that thing?" I panted, leaping a coil of forgotten cable, the grimoire thumping against my back.
Jax's jaw was granite, eyes scanning the treeline where the drone's wreckage smoked. "Hacked its freq—Veil standard, nothing fancy. But they know we're here. That net was bait." He halted abruptly, fingers flying to his neck, parting the collar of his shirt. There, etched into his skin just below the jawline: A faint, glowing tattoo— not one of his serpentine inks, but a barcode-like sigil, pulsing red in sync with the crashed drone's remnants.
My stomach dropped. "They own you?"
He traced it, shadows recoiling from the mark like oil on water. "Branded. Exile clause—Veil's 'probation.' Lets me freelance, but they track. Feed me scraps of jobs, yank the chain if I stray." His voice was bitter ash, the bond bleeding his frustration into mine—a sharp, helpless rage that made my fists clench. "Thought I scrubbed it last month. Guess not."
The sync deepened the sting; I felt the phantom itch of the brand, like invisible fingers around my throat. "Can you... remove it?"
"Working on it. Needs a counter-rune—deep web shit, black-market witch." He dropped his hand, meeting my eyes with that raw intensity, the almost-kiss from the trailer hanging like smoke. "Won't let it drag you down, Lena. Bond's two-way; your voice could jam it."
Before I could press, his burner buzzed—insistent, overriding the silence. He glanced at the screen, smirk ghosting back despite the tension. "Our little leak's live. Check it."
I pulled out my own device—still the old one, for now—and thumbed open X. The sock account post had exploded: 500k impressions in under an hour, the edited club pic trending under #LenaMysteryMan. Comments cascaded: Is that her BF? Hot damn, power couple alert! 🔥From hypno queen to rom-com lead? Spill the tea! #LenaWhisper Reposts from influencers, even a gossip rag picking it up: Influencer Lena Reyes Goes Viral... Again. Who's the Inked Hottie?
Viral. Again. A double-edged high—exhilaration spiked with dread. "This'll buy us cover," I murmured, "but if they trace the edit..."
"Already bounced through proxies. Mundanes see fluff; Veil sees a distraction." Jax's gaze lingered on the screen, then flicked to me, darkening. "You look good in that shot. Almost real."
Heat crept up my neck, the Allure Echo amplifying the confined space between us—his hoodie still draped over my frame, carrying his scent like a claim. "Fake it till we make it, right? But we need a public play. Date. Something splashy to sell the story."
His laugh was low, edged with hunger—the bond's bleed making it echo in my chest. "Date? Bold, siren. Where—Rodeo Drive, paparazzi bait?"
"Echo Park Lake. Low-key, but photogenic. Sunset stroll, 'candid' shots. Keeps it LA, not too desperate." I was rambling, mapping it out to ignore the pull, the way his proximity made the air hum. The system chimed softly:
[Social Quest Unlocked: Fabricate Facade. Objective: Public Appearance (2+ Witnesses). Reward: +50 Charm, Veil Deception Buff (24hrs). Failure: Exposure Risk +20%.]
Jax nodded, pocketing the burner. "Sunset's in three hours. Gear up—I've got spares." He led me to a duffel in the trailer's corner, unzipping it to reveal a curated chaos: Leather jackets, designer jeans that screamed "stolen from a stylist's rack," and a choker necklace etched with protective wards. "Wear this. Dampens signatures—won't hide you from a full scan, but blurs the edges."
I slipped into the jeans—snug, but empowering—and the jacket, the leather cool against my skin. The choker settled like a collar, humming faintly against my throat. Jax watched, arms crossed, that incubus appraisal turning appreciative. "Fits. Like it was waiting for you."
"Stalker much?" I teased, but the words came out breathier than intended, the sync weaving our pulses closer.
He stepped in, close enough to trace the choker's edge with a knuckle—light, testing. "Guardian. Remember?" His touch lingered, thumb brushing my pulse, sending sparks skittering south. The bond thrummed approval, desires bleeding: His, a slow burn of restraint fraying; mine, curiosity tipping toward craving. "We should practice. The date—Veil'll watch. Need to sell the heat."
"Practice?" My voice was a whisper-challenge, the system's Lash tempting at the edges.
He didn't back down, hand sliding to cup my jaw, tilting my face up. Amber eyes held mine, pupils dilating with shared hunger. "Like this." His lips hovered a whisper from mine, breath mingling—bourbon and storm. The world narrowed: No hunters, no trackers, just the magnetic drag, Allure coiling with his aura into something incendiary. I leaned in, testing, lips brushing his in a feather-light graze—electric, promising.
A groan rumbled from him, low and wrecked, fingers threading into my hair. The kiss deepened on instinct, not practice—soft at first, then demanding, his fangs grazing my lower lip in a sting that bloomed hot. The bond ignited, sensations doubling: His taste flooding mine, my hum vibrating through him. Hands roamed—mine fisting his shirt, his spanning my waist, pulling flush. Heat pooled, the trailer fading to irrelevance; we were tide and flame, crashing inevitable.
[Sync Overload Warning: Hunger Bleed 40%. Pull back or risk... Entanglement.]
The alert shattered it. I broke away, gasping, foreheads pressed, both of us ragged. "Shit. That was—"
"Convincing," he finished, voice gravel, but his eyes screamed more. He stepped back, adjusting his shirt with a curse, shadows flickering erratically. "Too convincing. Bond's amplifying. We dial it back on the date—no repeats. Or we'll burn out before the Veil even bites."
I nodded, cheeks aflame, straightening the jacket like armor. Entanglement. The word lingered, tempting and terrifying. But the quest pinged: [Facade Prep Complete. Charm +5 Temp. Proceed to Rendezvous?]
We slipped out as dusk bled purple over the lot, Jax's shadows cloaking our exit onto the trails. The hike to Echo Park was a tense interlude—his hand brushing mine occasionally, the sync a low hum of unresolved tension. LA sprawled below us, lights winking like conspirators, the lake a glassy mirror reflecting the fading sun.
The park buzzed with evening joggers and picnickers, oblivious to the undercurrents. We emerged near the lotus blooms, Jax's arm sliding casual around my waist—cameras would catch it, the sock account ready to "leak." "Smile, siren. You're trending."
It felt natural, too natural—strolling the path, his thumb tracing idle circles on my hip, conversation light but laced: Him teasing my barista burns, me prying at his pre-exile hacks. Laughter bubbled, real amid the fake, the choker warming as if approving. Photogs lurked—a duo with long lenses, tipped off anonymously (Jax's doing). Snaps clicked, but we ignored them, pausing by the water for the money shot: Him dipping me in a mock twirl, lips brushing my temple in that almost-kiss redux—PG for the 'gram, but the spark? Atomic.
"Perfect," he murmured, holding the pose a beat longer, breath hot against my ear. "They bought it."
My heart didn't. The bond thrummed, whispering mine, and for a reckless second, I wanted to believe it.
Then, the system's alert screamed: [Anomaly: Hostile Signature Approaching. 50m, Vector South. Hunter Sighting Confirmed.]
I stiffened in his arms, scanning the crowd. There—blending with a group of tourists, a man in a nondescript hoodie, eyes hidden behind aviators but fixed on us. Not mundane; the air warped around him, a subtle glamour fraying at the edges. Fae? Enforcer. His hand dipped into his pocket—dart gun?
"Jax," I breathed, the twirl ending abrupt. "Three o'clock. He's clocking us."
Jax's easy smile didn't falter, but his grip tightened, shadows stirring at his feet. "Play it cool. Draw him out." He steered us toward a food cart cluster, voice low. "Bind him—subtle. Make him trip, spill. Buys us distance."
The hunter tailed, closing to 30m, the crowd thinning as dusk deepened. My throat tightened, the Lash coiling like a spring. Intent focused: Not harm—disrupt. "Stumble," I whispered, the words a silken thread snaking through the air, latching unseen.
He faltered—step hitching, aviators slipping as he windmilled, crashing into a cart with a clatter of falafel trays. Screams, laughter; a perfect diversion. But as he scrambled up, glamour shredding, his face twisted—not anger, but recognition. "Reyes! The Scroll's not yours to wield!"
Jax pulled me into a run now, no pretense, weaving through panicked picnickers toward the lot's edge. "He's calling backup—feel the ping?"
The choker burned hot, wards straining. My phone—his burner—exploded with alerts: The date pics viral, but threaded with warnings. #LenaDate trending... alongside #VeilLeak? A anon post: Mystery man = Jax Black, wanted Veil operative. Siren bait?
Betrayal? Or plant? The hunter's shout chased us: "The brand burns true—incubus falls!"
We vaulted a fence into an adjacent alley, shadows cloaking, but the damage lingered. Jax's neck glowed faintly red under his collar—the tracker activating?
"Talk to me," I demanded, spinning him against the brick. "That post—who leaked?"
His eyes met mine, shadowed with something fractured. "Not me. But if it's internal... the bond's compromised."
Compromised. The word chilled, the sync flickering like a bad signal. Trust, so newly forged, cracking at the seams.
As sirens—real ones—wailed closer, a new DM slid in: From Vesper. Den's hot. Head to the Spire. The chorus awaits. But watch your guardian—brands lie.
Ally or ambush? The night pressed in, whispers rising from the dark.
[Chapter End. Cliffhanger Tease: Jax's brand flares, forcing a shadow surge that engulfs you both—but in the blackout, a hand grabs your wrist. Not his. "Come to the depths, sister. Leave the chained one."]