Page 31

THIRTY-ONE

M orning light filtered through the east-facing windows of Purrfect Oasis Spa, casting long shadows across what should have been a tranquil reception area. Zina Parker stood frozen in the doorway, her breath trapped in her lungs.

The waterfall wall gurgled pathetically, water spilling over cracked stone instead of flowing in the soothing patterns her mother had designed. Shattered glass from display cases sparkled across the floor like cruel diamonds. The plush reception chairs lay overturned, stuffing spilling from slashed cushions. But what seized Zina’s heart with icy talons wasn’t the obvious destruction—it was the deliberate desecration of what mattered most.

On the far wall, three elegant flames had once danced across a hand-painted mural. Each flame represented one of Enchanted Falls’s founding families—a centerpiece her mother had commissioned five years ago and personally overseen to completion. Now, two flames lay ruined, their artistry obliterated by savage claw marks. Only the purple flame remained pristine, its indigo tendrils almost seeming to glow in triumph against the surrounding devastation.

Zina pressed her palm against the doorframe to steady herself. The stitches along her side pulled as she inhaled sharply, a physical reminder of her narrow escape from Severin Madrigal’s enforcers days earlier. Her lioness stirred inside her, hackles raised at the territorial invasion.

The scent hit her next—multiple male lion shifters had stormed through her sanctuary, their aggression still lingering in the air like a toxic cloud. Beneath that, she detected the acrid smell of something burned.

Zina stepped carefully across the threshold, mindful of broken glass that crunched beneath her boots. The damage was meticulous—targeted. They’d destroyed the computer systems, the appointment books, the phone lines. Someone had poured something caustic into the central relaxation pool, eating away at the custom tiles her mother had imported from Italy. Not random vandalism, but a calculated strike at the spa’s ability to function.

She moved toward the staff room, half-hoping it had been spared, but the destruction continued. Lockers stood with doors wrenched off their hinges. Personal items lay scattered and trampled. Jamie’s framed certification in aromatherapy had been smashed, glass grinding into the canvas. Petra’s collection of healing crystals was missing entirely.

When her phone chimed in her pocket, Zina nearly jumped out of her skin. Xai’s name flashed on the screen with a simple message:

Sensed disturbance near you. Are you safe?

Her thumb hovered over the reply field. How had he known? The memory of his arms around her two nights ago bloomed in her mind—the unexpected gentleness of his embrace despite the heat that radiated from his skin, the way his golden eyes had darkened to amber just before their lips met.

Their kiss had awakened something primal in her lioness—a recognition that transcended conscious thought. His lips had been surprisingly soft, contrasting with the firm pressure of his hands at her waist. When she’d pulled away, breathless and tingling from head to toe, he’d looked as stunned as she felt. That single kiss had shifted something fundamental between them, left her thinking about him at odd moments throughout her days.

Now, staring at his message, conflicting emotions battled within her. Gratitude for his concern. Warmth at the memory of his touch. Frustration at the implication she needed protection. Pride that demanded she handle this herself.

With a sigh, she typed: Spa vandalized. Handling it. Will call later.

His response came instantly: On council business until noon. Text if you need me before then.

The lack of hovering surprised her. She’d expected immediate dragon intervention, not respectful space. Her lioness made a sound suspiciously like approval.

She dialed Bryn.

“Good morn?—”

“Bryn, it’s me. The spa’s been trashed. I need you here.”

A beat of silence followed. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that we may not open tomorrow.”

“On my way. Calling in reinforcements.”

Zina hung up and continued her assessment, this time following her nose more than her eyes. Her enhanced senses had always been her secret advantage in crafting perfect spa experiences—knowing exactly which essential oil would balance a client’s energy, detecting subtle shifts in body chemistry that indicated where tension gathered. Now she applied those same skills to track the intruders’ path.

The strongest scent trail led toward the central pool room—her mother’s masterpiece of design, where natural hot springs fed a series of graduated thermal pools. Here, the vandals had drained the water completely. The custom-painted tiles depicting underwater scenes lay cracked and discolored, corrupted by whatever chemical had been poured over them.

Near the empty main basin, something caught Zina’s eye—a slip of parchment, its edges blackened as though someone had attempted to burn it after dropping it. She knelt to examine it, her nostrils flaring at the unfamiliar scent clinging to the paper.

The elegant handwriting contrasted starkly with the violent message:

...restoration of the rightful flame to Madrigal hands will rebalance what was stolen. The thief’s blood must be ? —

The rest had burned away, leaving Zina with a chilling fragment of what appeared to be a much larger threat. She tucked the parchment carefully into her pocket, then continued her investigation.

In the northeast corner of the pool room, where decorative flooring had been ripped up, she noticed something peculiar. Beneath the modern tiles lay far older stonework carved with symbols she didn’t recognize but which stirred something in her memory. Her mother had been adamant about building in this exact location, overriding the architect’s concerns about foundation costs.

“The energy converges here,” she’d insisted. “The water wants to flow through this spot.”

Zina traced the strange markings with her fingertips, a sense of connection to her mother washing over her. Whatever secret lay beneath the spa, Severin Madrigal wanted it badly enough to declare open war.

The chime of the front door interrupted her thoughts. Bryn marched in carrying three color-coded plastic bins stacked on top of each other, a leather-bound binder tucked under one arm, and somehow balancing two coffee cups. Her eyes widened as she took in the destruction.

“Sweet mercy,” she breathed, setting everything down on a miraculously intact bench. “When you said trashed, I thought maybe graffiti or broken windows. This is...”

“A message,” Zina finished, accepting the coffee Bryn handed her. The first sip scalded her tongue, but she welcomed the bitter strength. “A very clear one.”

Bryn opened the binder—”Supernatural Disaster Response” written in her meticulous handwriting across the cover—and began flipping through tabbed sections.

“Flood damage, fire damage, magical backlash, territorial marking... ah, here we go. ‘Intentional Vandalism by Rival Faction.’“ She looked up at Zina with determined brown eyes. “I made this binder after you hired me. My brother says I’m paranoid, but...”

“But apparently not paranoid enough.” Zina squeezed Bryn’s shoulder, grateful beyond words for her assistant’s thoroughness. “You’re amazing.”

“I know.” Bryn smiled, some tension leaving her shoulders. “The green bin has cleaning supplies, blue is for temporary security measures, and red contains emergency marketing materials to keep clients from panicking.”

“But what I don’t understand is how I didn’t hear when all of this was happening. I live upstairs.”

“That’s easy,” Bryn answered. “Magical noise suppression. No one on the other side of the glass would hear a thing if the spell was strong enough.”

“Never thought of that.” Even though Severin was a shifter, he could find a way to cast spells. “You think of everything.”

“Not everything.” Bryn’s expression turned sly as she leaned closer. “So... how exactly does dragon kissing work? Do you need fireproof lip balm? Because those scorch marks on our reception desk look suspicious.”