The winding tunnel before Rayne and Jarrah was creepily dark, even for wolf's eyes. There weren't any candles or torches to light their way, but their senses kept them from tumbling down the stairs, leading them down into a black abyss below. The stench of mildew flooded Rayne's sensitive nose and almost gagged a few times. She didn't know how Jarrah was doing it, but she swore she was going to pass out soon from the overwhelming stench and lack of direction.

"I don't like this," Rayne murmured, her grip still tight around Jarrah's hand as he led them down. "Maybe I should be in front. You still need to get your strength back, and I might be stronger right now."

"I'm fine," Jarrah dismissed. "We don't know what's down there."

"Exactly," she hissed, almost screaming when her leg brushed against a web. "I can protect us!"

Jarrah squeezed her hand and drew her closer to his back. "I know you can," he reassured her. There was a warm smile in his voice when he spoke again. "Probably much better than I can. But I don't want you walking straight into danger, Rayne. I can't have anything happening to you."

Rayne breathed out a shaky breath. "My dad wouldn't—"

"I don't say that for your dad," he interrupted. "I don't give a shit what he thinks, quite frankly. I'm saying that for me and my own peace of mind."

The fingers of her free hand bunched up the back of his shirt. Protective oaf. "And what of my peace of mind? I don't want to see you hurt, either."

"I won't be. As long as you're safe, I'm fine."

Rayne grumbled under her breath, despite the flutter in the pit of her stomach. Though she was still worried about him leading the way, she couldn't deny the breathlessness his words caused. There weren't many times Rayne felt . . . feminine, per se. She was raised to be an alpha and always associated that with dominance and seriousness. Instead of doing her nails or focusing on doing her make-up, she was putting in endless hours of training. She didn't need to feel dainty. She couldn't afford delicacy; not when her pack's future depended on her fierceness.

So when Jarrah said things like that, she didn't know how to react. She'd never been one who had heart flutters, who believed in the butterflies crap. And now here she was, feeling all the things she had missed out on with other guys who showed an interest in her pack. She'd turn down more guys than she could count, having never been interested enough. Ronan and training were all she focused on.

And there was a reason why. So feelings like that didn't happen. Feelings were a distraction, and she couldn't afford to be distracted. But when it came to Jarrah, she went back on it all.

Jarrah made her feel like a woman with a crush. He made her feel beautiful and protected. And fuck . . . did she love it.

He drew her closer to him after they both got a glimpse of a light down below. It could have been the fires of hell for all they knew and she would have believed it. She was practically glued to his back and his arm twisted backwards so his hand could go around her back, holding her to him.

The sound of people talking and drinks clattering met Rayne's ears right away.

"Please tell me you saw a photograph of her somewhere," Rayne hissed. If they asked for her, the witches would know they were outsiders and they'd be doomed at the start. Hopefully, he gathered something!

"Roughly," he admitted. "The photograph was almost fifty years old, so who knows what she looks like now?"

Her mood soured. "Great."

"Not every witch is an old hag, Rayne. Just look for an old lady and we'll narrow it down from there."

"You're gonna get us killed," she groaned, but hushed up as soon as they touched down on the floor. Candles were lit along a dark hallway leading up to a big black door where the voices slowly grew louder and laughs reached their ears. She swallowed back any lick of fear and pushed on behind Jarrah until they got to the front of the door.

"Okay, relax. Everything's gonna work out," Jarrah breathed, rolling his broad shoulders back. Rayne almost sighed out as the muscles rippled against her but tried to focus on the task at hand.

"I am relaxed," she lied.

He scoffed. "I don't care what you are. I was talking to myself."

"What the fu—"

Jarrah pushed open the door and Rayne snapped her mouth closed, shutting up. He moved his other arm from around her, but gripped her hand tightly in his instead. "Stay close to me," he murmured lowly, before moving forward.

The speakeasy looked relatively exactly like what one would picture a speakeasy to look like, except with more candles, crystal ball tables, and witches of all different ages and skin colors littered about in all black attire. There was an old bar that had at least eight people wrapped around it on stools. There was a decent crowd of people around and only a few of them glanced their way. After finding nothing significant, they turned away, disinterested.

Rayne searched through the people, and though some looked middle-aged, none of them looked old enough to be the woman they were looking for. There was two rooms in the speakeasy as far as they could tell, and Marguerite definitely wasn't in the first one. So they moved onto the second one. Thankfully, there was a lot fewer people in that room than the other one.

Rayne didn't know how she knew, but she knew the woman was there before she even saw her. Her hairs stood up on the back of her neck and her heart raced in her chest as she zeroed in on an older, small brown-skinned woman with silver locs and clear blue eyes that watched her. Rayne shivered, knowing that the woman could see all somehow, even if she didn't know her personally.

The woman's fingers moved, beckoning them over. Jarrah stiffened.

Rayne nudged him forward, noticing when the woman kissed her teeth in annoyance at having been ignored. Fuck, if his ass didn't get a move on.

He quickly got himself into gear and led them over to Marguerite's table. Despite possibly being in her seventies, she looked like she couldn't have been older than fifty. But the wiseness in her eyes said otherwise. She looked at them like she their past, present, and future and then some. And it lowkey freaked Rayne the hell out.

Once they got to their table, Marguerite motioned towards the two empty chairs across from her. Two empty chairs like she was . . . waiting for them. But she couldn't have known. How could she?

Rayne didn't know, but she sat down, her body rigid. Jarrah went to take his hand back, but she kept a firm grip on it and placed their clasped hands on her lap. He didn't take it away again and instead squeezed her fingers. None of which was missed by Marguerite's sharp, watchful gaze.

"You know why we're here," Rayne stated. It wasn't a question, but more of an observation. A statement that probably didn't even need confirmation.

An observation Marguerite didn't deny, as she nodded her head. Her emotionless expression was almost chilling, but not in a bad way. It was more so she was watching the two of them closely to get a better understanding of who they were.

"Can . . . can you help us?" she asked, hesitating.

She nodded again.

"You can translate the riddle?" Jarrah asked that time, hopefulness coloring his voice. "Does that mean . . . the Elixir? It's real?"

Marguerite's withered voice coasted over her shoulders in a sort of chill. "I can," she murmured. "And the Elixir is very much real."

Rayne's eyes nearly bulged out of her head, and went to open her mouth, but Marguerite's sharp gaze made her bite her lip. The woman was obviously not done talking, but there were so many questions she had. And why the woman was helping them at all.

"We don't have much time," Marguerite continued, her voice full of seriousness. "The Great War is approaching and will soon be upon us if you don't get what you've come to retrieve."

"But . . . but if you know it exists, why haven't you or anyone else grabbed it?" Rayne blurted. She tried not to accuse, but it was hard not too. The elixir's existed for centuries and not one damn person thought to go after it?

Marguerite rose a thin brown. "Child, you should let me explain the riddle first before you ask questions."

Rayne bit her tongue, and Marguerite used her silence to continue. Jarrah squeezed her hand again reassuringly.

"Recite the legend for me sentence for sentence, King of Fae," Marguerite demanded.

Jarrah blanched, though they really shouldn't be surprised. An all powerful witch came with the name.

"Um--" Jarrah coughed, shaking his head to regain his composure. "In a place of enchantment."

"New Orleans, naturally," she said dryly. "Go on."

"Where the howler sings."

"Wolf's blood. Alpha, this is you."

Jarrah looked up, startled. He threw Rayne an alarmed glance, but Rayne was just as confused as he was. "A fairy's flight is set to take wing."

"This is you, King of Fae. You will fly to get to where you need to go."

He screwed his nose up at the term fairy, but moved along. "Inhabited by lurking vrykolakas."

"Vampires guard the journey to the elixir. Next," Marguerite sighed, almost seeming bored.

"You must be utterly silent, for in this dire situation, anything could turn it violent."

"Another given. You will have to be quiet and not alert the vrykolakas to your presence if you wish to succeed."

Rayne shivered.

"To move forward in this request, an embrace between two halves must take place."

"You will figure this part of the legend out on your own when you arrive. I cannot interfere with this, and it is up to you two to achieve this step without force."

"What the hell does that mean?" Jarrah spat, his annoyance bleeding through. "That's not helpful at all and you're supposed to be helping us!"

Marguerite only waved her hand. "Next?"

He clicked his teeth, but reluctantly continued. "Only then will you find what you seek. An shhh--you must be careful, for one must always stay discreet."

"Shut your mouths and you'll both be fine," she smirked. "You awaken the dead, you won't make it out alive. Then witches, wolves, fae, anyone who isn't a vampire is doomed. We cannot win without that elixir."

Rayne huffed. "Great. Where do we even find this thing? And why are you helping us?" she asked, suspiciously.

"You'll find it by going underground, somewhere in Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. It's an old building that may look abandoned, but I assure you, this is where it is located. As for your second question, witches are enslaved under the vampire, so that is why I'm helping. Not because I care what happens to the wolf or the Fae. Quite frankly, that does not concern me."

Rude, Rayne thought, bitterly.

"But why hasn't anyone else been able to achieve this task? It seems tough to complete, but relatively simple."

Marguerite rose both eyebrows at that one. She scoffed under her breath like the answer should be obvious, but Rayne and Jarrah were dumbfounded. "Everyone who has come before has failed for many reasons. 1. Only a Fae knows the legend. 2. You both are rulers of your people, making you two the strongest of any pair of one kind of creature. A werewolf and a fae is needed to make this mission successful, and never has there been a union between the two before.

"Call it fate, call it the legend, call it whatever you want. But arguing about why it hasn't been done before won't bring you any closer to the elixir."

She had a point. It was annoying, but she had a fair point.

"I have one more question," Rayne confessed.

The old woman tilted her head impatiently. "Yes?"

"How—how did you know we were coming?"

Marguerite grinned wickedly at that one, her ego easily bursting through the seams. Fuck, why did she even have to ask? "I know all, baby. Now leave. You don't have much time left before night falls upon us, and you'll really not stand a chance."

Well, shit.