Page 1 of Fallen (Designation #2)

LEVIATHAN

I’m sprawled on the oversized red lounge in my Basilisks’ condo, staring at the ceiling like it’s going to reveal the secrets of the universe.

Or at least tell me why I’m so damn restless.

The leather pillows under my head are doing jack shit to keep me warm and I’m half-tempted to raid Amand’s closet for one of his stupidly cozy hoodies.

It’s been a week since we took down the psycho witch, and I’m still getting used to this… domestic thing. Me, Leviathan Dubois, former lone wolf—well, lone something —now cohabitating with two Basilisk shifters who can’t seem to keep their hands off me. Not that I’m complaining. Much .

However, the mate bond is a sneaky bastard.

It’s like a constant rumble in my chest, tugging me toward Rowan and Amand whether I’m ready for it or not.

Right now, Amand’s in the kitchen, clattering around with what smells like coffee, and Rowan’s off somewhere, probably brooding in that sexy way of his.

I should be content, right? I’ve got a roof over my head, two gorgeous mates who’d rip apart anyone who looked at me funny, and a mentor who understands me. But I’m itching for something to do, something to sink my teeth into that isn’t Amand’s neck or Rowan’s…

Well, aren’t we a horny little chameleon?

I joke to myself and then immediately gag at how disgusting my own playful taunting sounds.

I shift around on the corner, grimacing as my cheek streaks against the leather.

Heat blooms in my chest, a tired sigh falling from my lips as I feel the familiar flickering of my magic.

It always seems to be working against me, my abilities glitching every time I think I’ve stabilized.

One minute, I’m solid; the next, I’m fading into the couch.

It’s embarrassing, especially when it happens mid-conversation.

Or mid-make out session. Nothing kills the mood like my mates groping the air where I used to be.

A few weeks ago, when I ‘disappeared’, I was still physically there. Now, it’s like I’m somehow transcending the plane of existence. Which is bullshit, to be honest.

“Lev, you gonna lie there all day, or are you actually gonna help unpack?” Amand’s voice cuts through my brooding, and I tilt my head to see him leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in one hand.

His sea-glass eyes glint with that mix of amusement and heat that makes my stomach flip out, heat pooling in the pit of my belly.

Stupid bonds. He’s wearing that fitted black tee that shows off every damn muscle, my sorry ass momentarily distracted by the way his biceps flex when he lifts the mug to his lips.

“Unpack?” I scoff, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. “I moved in officially, what, three days ago? Give me a break, snake boy. Besides, I’m strategizing.” I’m not. In fact, I’m enjoying doing all of nothing for the most part.

“Strategizing,” he questions, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you call staring at the ceiling for the past few hours?”

“Exactly.” I shoot him a grin, but it’s half-hearted. Truth is, I’m bored out of my skull. After the last case, I thought I’d be ready for a breather, but sitting still makes me twitchy. I need a case, a puzzle, something to keep my brain from spiraling into the what-ifs of this mate bond.

Like, what if I’m not cut out for this? What if fatal attraction kicks in and I’m dead in a year because I can’t handle the venom coursing through me? What if—

“Levi, you’re thinking too loud.” Amand sets his mug down and stalks over.

Before I can protest, he’s looming over me, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other tipping my chin up.

His thumb brushes my lower lip, my traitorous body lighting up beneath his touch. “What’s got you so wound up?”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling in my gut. “Nothing. Just… antsy. Need something to do.”

His lips curve into a wicked smile, and I know I’m in trouble. “Oh, I can think of plenty to do.” He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear, and I’m about two seconds from melting into a puddle when the front door swings open.

“Save it, Amand,” Rowan’s voice rumbles, laced with amusement. “We’ve got company.”

Amand pulls back with a dramatic sigh, and I scramble to sit up, my cheeks on fire.

Rowan strides in, carrying a stack of files, Gerald filtering in behind.

When I first met the guy, I was a little weirded out but it’s a strange comfort knowing someone else has and understands my quirks.

Kind of. He doesn’t understand the disappearing part anymore than I do.

“Leviathan,” Gerald muses. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Nope,” I say, a little too quickly, shooting Amand a glare as he chuckles. “Just, uh, strategizing.”

Rowan snorts, dropping the files on the coffee table. “Sure. Strategizing .”

I flip him off, but my attention’s already on Gerald. “What’s up? You didn’t come all the way out here to admire my interior decorating.”

He smirks, pulling a folder from the stack. “Got a case for you. Thought you’d want first crack at it, considering your… unique skills.”

My heart kicks up a notch. A case. Finally . I lean forward, trying to play it cool even though I’m practically vibrating. “Lay it on me.”

Gerald opens the folder and slides two photos across the table.

I pick one up, my stomach lurching into my throat, the desire from a few moments before disappearing.

The excessively bloody pictures are beyond gruesome, a young male shifter sprawled on the pavement.

He’s some kind of feline, well, was but beside that, I can’t tell much of anything.

The only thing I can understand is the large, gaping hole in his chest. It’s perfectly round, almost the shape of a drill but the pool of blood is making it hard to decipher anything else. The other two pictures are similar—different victims but the same MO. “What the hell did this? A javelin?”

The image of someone gallivanting on a horse past victims brings a morbid smile to my face before I wipe it off.

“Not quite,” Gerald groans. “Unicorn.”

I blink at him, waiting for the punchline. When none comes, a bitter laugh falls from my lips. “Unicorn? As in, sparkly horse with a murder stick? You’re kidding, right? They’re supposed to be prancing in meadows, not skewering people.”

My mates are on the verge of laughing but Gerald’s expression doesn’t change.

“Unicorns are shifters, Leviathan. Rare, powerful, and not nearly as cuddly as the myths make out. When they shift, their horn is a deadly weapon, something nearly untraceable since the DNA of their shifter is not the same as their human form.” He clears his throat, pointing to the victims. “There’s no tie between them that I can tell, which means that your unique set of skills may come in handy. ”

“Why me? I mean, I’m flattered, but I’m still figuring out this Chameleon thing. You’ve got a whole team of badasses at Essence. Not to mention that you have my unique set of skills.”

“You’re correct,” Gerald hums, tapping his nose. “We both can smell magic, track signatures no one else can. But there are a few traits you have that I never acquired. Besides, I can no longer go out in the field like I used to. If anyone’s got a shot at sniffing out a unicorn shifter, it’s you.”

I’m never going to say no . Anything is better than staying in this place a moment longer. “Okay. I’m in. But if I end up with glitter in my hair, I’m billing you for emotional distress.”

Gerald chuckles, but there’s an edge to it. “Deal. I’ll send the full case file in a little bit. Start tomorrow. And Leviathan? Be careful. Unicorns don’t play nice.” His smile twists a little bit, gaze darting to Rowan and then back to me.

I immediately frown and look back down at the pictures, finding something familiar about one of the victims. I’ve seen him before.

A client, maybe? Years ago, when I was still scraping by as a solo PI.

He’d hired me for something small—tracking a missing heirloom, I think.

My gut twists. This isn’t just a case. It’s personal. Well, fuck.

And yet, that doesn’t seem to be what's making Gerald uncomfortable. “Can someone tell me what’s going on so I don’t feel like the butt of a joke?”

Rowan sighs, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and dragging me into his side.

“Gerald couldn’t get this case to us fast enough.

He’s done his homework on all of us and apparently, you knew one of the victims. Not that that’s the connection, just that it’s more evidence,” he quickly adds when I start to protest. “The problem is the fact that it feels like you might be on this unicorn’s shit list.”

“Why?”

It’s a dumb question. I’m on a lot of people’s shit lists. For one reason or another—I’m not really nice and I play by my own rules.

“Because there’s a corpse in your fucking front seat, Lev.”

Dread curls in my chest as I pop to my feet, racing outside to where my beat-up beige Ford parked in the lot, looking as pathetic as ever.

My men are right behind me, Gerald a little farther off as I stare at the driver’s seat door flung wide open, a body slumped in the front seat.

My heart pounds as I approach, the metallic tang of blood hitting my nose before I even see it.

“I know him,” I whisper as I sink to my knees. How in the fuck did I piss off a motherfucking shifter unicorn? And why is he killing the very people I helped?