Page 12 of Fevered Fury
“Riker, for the love of all that’s holy, stop!” My voice rocketed off the steel beams and concrete slabs of the construction site. I lurched forward. “He’s not the fire djinni!”
Riker hesitated, his lethal hand pausing mid-air.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, listen to me!” I prayed Riker’s affection for me would trump his trigger-happy instincts. “Stop!”
Riker shook his head, his hand drawing upward.
“Riker!” I screamed again, hoping to pierce through the thick skull of his that seemed impervious to common sense when he was in the zone. “Stand down!”
My pulse throbbed in my ears, a rhythmic reminder that the line between life and death was as fine as the edge on Riker’s favorite knife. I couldn’t let Cairo become collateral damage in a supernatural snafu.
“Trust me!” I added, throwing every ounce of sincerity I had into my plea. As Niko closed the distance, I felt a surge of hope that we might avoid disaster yet. But hope, much like my bank account, had a way of disappearing when I needed it most.
Niko, who had been lurking in the shadows like some broody, supernatural Batman, burst into motion. It was like watching a magic trick—now you see a man, now you don’t. His transformation wasn’t the painful, bone-cracking type you see in horror flicks. It was smooth, a ripple of power that flowed over him, turning businessman into beast in less time than it takes to say, ‘holy werewolf.’
Niko’s transformation ripped through the night, a sinuous dance of muscle and shadow that turned man to beast with a shuddering grace. Riker hadn’t expected it, his knife-hand pausing mid-air as he reevaluated the situation. The two men—no, one man and one mythic creature—stood locked in a silent standoff, tension crackling between them.
He moved with a grace that defied his size, a silent powerhouse barreling toward Riker.
“Riker, damn it, listen!” My voice cracked, trying to shout sense into him, but the words felt as effective as throwing pebbles at a tank.
Niko growled, a low and guttural sound that vibrated through the bones of the construction site. He crouched, massive paws splayed on the concrete, ears pinned back against his head. In this form, Niko exuded an uncontrollable power, something feral and raw that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Stand. Down.” I tried again, willing Riker to heed me. His eyes flicked to mine, a brief moment of hesitation flashing across his features before they hardened once again. But he didn’t know Niko like I did; he couldn’t see past the threat.
With a snarl, Niko lunged, not at Cairo but at Riker, barreling into him with the force of a wrecking ball. They collided with a thud that echoed off the steel beams, sending a flock of pigeons scattering into the night sky. It was a move meant to disarm, not injure, a clear indication that Niko was in control despite the primal instincts that must be gnawing at him.
“Guys! Enough with the testosterone throwdown!” I yelled.
Riker grappled with the werewolf, his training kicking in as he tried to subdue what he perceived as a threat. But Niko was relentless, a whirlwind of fur and fury, each swipe of his claws a calculated risk to avoid serious harm yet make his point.
In the chaos, Cairo had scrambled to safety, watching the scene with wide, bewildered eyes from behind a pile of bricks. He raised a shaky hand, murmuring something that sparked embers into the air—a defensive spell, maybe, or a plea for peace.
It was only when Niko pinned Riker against a half-erected wall, his heavy breaths hot and wild, that Riker stilled. There was a long moment where no one moved, not even me. My chest heaved, and there was a heat coiling in my stomach—fear, relief, and something far too warm for comfort.
“All right,” Riker finally grunted. “Okay.”
Niko eased back, the tension dissipating as he shifted forms once again, returning to the man I knew—dark hair tousled, blue eyes soft with concern. He reached out a hand to help Riker up, a gesture of truce. Riker accepted it, albeit begrudgingly, his gaze shifting between Niko and me.
In that moment, watching Niko’s transformation—the way he’d thrown himself into danger, not just for Cairo but for what was right—I felt my heart tilt dangerously in his direction. There was a fierce protectiveness in his actions, a bravery that went beyond physical strength.
“Thanks,” I murmured to Niko, the words barely audible over the pounding in my ears.
“Anytime,” he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting in a slight smile.
And there it was—that conflict, sharp and unbidden, as I realized I couldn’t discount Riker’s intentions either. He was here to help, to mentor, to protect in his own way. Yet, Niko’s actions had spoken volumes, and the fire burning within me wasn’t just from the adrenaline of the near-miss. It was something deeper, something that whispered of moonlit promises and the howl of the wild.
“Let’s just... let’s just make sure we’re all hunting the same monster next time, okay?” I said, attempting to lighten the mood while my heart continued its complicated dance.
“Agreed,” Riker said, dusting himself off, his voice holding a lesson learned.
“Good,” I nodded, feeling the beginning of a headache pressing at my temples. Because really, what’s a girl to do when caught between the rock-solid loyalty of a human tank and the moonstruck allure of a werewolf? Only in my crazy life would this be the kind of predicament I found myself in.
Cairo was still conjuring thin ribbons of light from his fingertips, their luminescence casting an ethereal glow on his face. I thought of fireflies caught in a mason jar, their freedom stifled yet still defiantly beautiful.
“Dammit, Cairo, you nearly got yourself killed,” I chided.
Riker, meanwhile, had that look—the one where he’s chewing over his mistake like it’s a piece of tough jerky. He stood rigid, his broad shoulders squared as if bracing against an invisible gale. “I don’t make apologies for doing my job,” he grumbled, but there was an undertone of something else, perhaps regret or the acknowledgment of a misstep.