Page 32 of Property of Mako (Kings of Anarchy MC: Louisiana #1)

Of Men and Monsters

Mako

Early morning light bled through the blinds, thin and pale, the kind of light that made the shadows in the room stretch long and sharp. I’d been awake for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of the shower running in the bathroom, trying to convince myself to relax.

But my instincts didn’t rest. They never did.

Obviously, Lyra couldn’t sleep either.

That was when I noticed it—something sitting on the edge of the dresser, half-covered by one of Lyra’s shirts. At first glance, it looked like a notebook, but the worn leather cover and the weight of it when I pulled it free told me different. A sketchbook.

My gut tightened.

I shouldn’t have opened it. I knew that. But I’ve built a life on knowing when to ignore the rules, when to follow my instincts instead. And something about this book called to me like a damn siren.

The first page stopped me cold.

Eyes. Except these were definitely not human eyes. The pupils were mere slits like a serpent’s, glowing with a predator’s hunger visible even in graphite. I knew those eyes. I’d seen them staring back at me across blood-soaked floors, across centuries of war in the shadows.

Half afraid of what else was on those pages, I turned to the next drawing. A wolf, massive and feral, its body warped into something caught between man and beast. Another page—horns, wings, a mouth full of razored teeth curved into a smile that was too familiar.

But the one that had me reeling was the last one of the man in dark robes.

This one was in color—the lines deep with force on the page.

I could feel the anger and emotion that poured through the colored lead onto the paper.

I could see the heaviness of the hand, the rawness in each line.

Sitting on his head was something I hadn’t seen in a lifetime. A deep red crown.

Thane.

Fuck.

My pulse spiked. These weren’t simple doodles. These were near-perfect renditions of the things most humans couldn’t even comprehend. Then I caught the briefest whisper of a familiar scent. Shock hit me that I didn’t notice it immediately. Lyra didn’t draw these—Lily did.

Which meant Lily had seen us. Seen them. For years.

And that?—

“Calix.”

Her voice cut through the storm in my head.

I turned, the sketchbook open in my hands.

Lyra stood in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped tight around her, water dripping from her hair and tracing a path down her bare shoulder.

For half a heartbeat, I was too distracted by the sight of her to speak.

Then her eyes found the sketchbook.

Every trace of color drained from her face.

“You shouldn’t be looking at that.” Her voice was soft, but it carried a weight that almost made me close the book. Almost.

Instead, I snapped it shut, but I didn’t put it down. “Where did these come from?” I demanded. “Because these aren’t nightmares. They’re real. And from the dates, Lily’s been seeing them long before we ever crossed paths.”

Her jaw tightened. “It’s just her art. She… she’s always drawn like that.”

“Bullshit.” My voice was low, dangerous.

I stepped toward her, unable to stop the growl in my chest. “You know damn well that’s not true because I know you’ve seen some of these creatures.

You’ve been keeping something from me. From all of us.

And you know I can’t protect either of you if I don’t know what the hell I’m dealing with. ”

Her eyes shimmered, but she held my stare, stubborn as ever. “You don’t get to demand every secret from me, Calix.”

The problem was, I already knew she was lying—or at least not giving me the full truth. I could feel it, thrumming in the bond between us like a second heartbeat.

Frustrated, I wanted to grab her, shake her, make her tell me. But I also wanted to pull her against me, bury my face in her wet hair, and forget for just a second that the world outside this room was on the verge of combusting.

Instead, I clenched the sketchbook in my fist and forced myself to breathe. “You’re playing with fire, Lyra. And if you don’t start trusting me…” I shook my head, swallowing the rest.

Her chin lifted, defiant even as water dripped from her hair onto her towel. “If I don’t start trusting you, what?”

I didn’t answer. Because the truth was, I didn’t know whether I meant I’d walk away… or burn the whole world down to get to her secrets.

My grip on the sketchbook tightened until the leather creaked. “Then I can’t keep you safe. Not you. Not Lily. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

Her lips parted, sharp retort ready, but I set the sketchbook down on the dresser with a hard slap. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot.

“I’m not your fucking enemy, Lyra.” My voice was low, with a biting edge. “But you’re acting like I am.”

“I’m protecting her,” she snapped back, her voice breaking on the last word. “The only way I know how.”

I closed the distance between us in two steps, crowding her back against the doorframe. The towel shifted, loosening at her chest, but neither of us looked away. Her pulse hammered in her throat, and mine matched it beat for beat.

“You don’t get to shut me out,” I growled, wanting to gnash my teeth. “Not when I’m all that’s standing between you and the monsters who want to tear your world apart.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, but her voice was trembling now, the fight bleeding out of it. “There are things you don’t know. Things I can’t?—”

“Then show me,” I cut in, my hand pressing flat to the wall beside her head. “Let me carry it. Whatever it is. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. Don’t you get that?”

Her breath hitched, her eyes flashing with something that wasn’t fear. Desire. Need. The bond between us hummed so loud I could feel it in my bones.

And then she moved.

Her hands fisted my shirt, dragging me down, her mouth colliding with mine in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. I caught her hips, pulling her flush against me, swallowing her soft moan as her towel slipped to the floor.

She was wildfire and fury, and I was already burning.

The sketchbook lay forgotten on the dresser as I lifted her, her legs locking around my waist. Not wasting a moment, I carried her to the bed, laying her down with more care than I felt, before joining her.

Her fingers reverently traced my jaw, softer now, like she was memorizing me. “Calix…” she breathed, the fight gone from her voice.

Needing something besides conversation, I kissed her again, slower this time, lingering, savoring. “You drive me insane,” I admitted against her lips, our breath mingling.

She stilled beneath me, eyes searching mine like she wanted to say something, confess something—but instead, she pulled me down to her pillowy lips, where she kissed me until the world outside ceased to exist.

For the rest of the morning, there were no secrets. No lies. No Covenant. Just her and me, tangled in sheets and heat, clinging to each other like we could outrun everything waiting beyond the walls.

But when she finally dozed, contentedly curled against my chest, I stared at the sketchbook on the dresser.

And I knew—whatever truth she was hiding, it was going to shatter everything.