Page 26 of Their Reckless Thief (The Below #1)

DORIAN

I strode through the underground hallways of the lab, the low roar of the machinery filling the space as I passed rows of sterile, gleaming surfaces and glass-walled rooms. This was the heart of our kingdom, the unseen force behind the most sought-after substances in The Below.

The place smelled faintly of chemicals and magic, a strange but potent mix that somehow always brought a smirk to my lips, but not tonight.

Tonight, my mood was as dark as the shitstorm brewing around the fake Phantomine.

Around Celeste.

The lab was massive, a sprawling, state-of-the-art facility hidden under the streets of The Below. On the surface, we played nice—clubs, nightlife, fulfilling sexual fantasies. But down here? This was where the real work happened. Where we manufactured power in liquid form.

I glanced at the different research stations as I walked by. Hundreds of chemicals, spells, and advanced alchemy swirling together in a delicate balance. It was mesmerizing, if you were into that kind of thing.

I wasn’t, but Adriano sure as hell was.

I found him at the back of the lab, hunched over a workbench like a mad scientist. It looked like he hadn’t combed his dark, curly hair in days, and there were the telltale signs of sleepless nights under his eyes.

For all his disheveled appearance, though, the man was a fucking genius.

He could brew anything in that lab of his.

Hell, he could probably mix up a potion to give someone wings if they asked nicely enough.

“Adriano, my man,” I called, my voice snapping him out of whatever trance he was in.

He blinked at me through his round glasses, adjusting them slightly before standing. “Dorian,” he greeted, his voice a low rasp, always that quiet focus in his tone. He flicked a glance at the case in my hand. “Is that the shit you called me about?”

I nodded and set the case on the table. “Yeah. Came across it in the river, in our territory. I need you to break it down. Tell me anything you can about its chemical properties. Vincenzo wants to know what the drugs are laced with. Ultimately, he wants to trace the substances back to the supplier. We have our suspicions, but we need hardcore proof.”

Adriano picked up a vial, his fingers nimble and careful as always. He was meticulous, almost obsessive, when it came to his work. He opened the vial and took a deep whiff. “Smells off. Like they’ve tampered with the base formula.”

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why I’m here.”

He gave me a dry look before walking over to the main area of the lab. The setup was a chemist’s wet dream. Shelves lined with vials, powders, potions, and ingredients both mundane and supernatural. Each station was equipped with the best technology money—and a little dark magic—could buy.

Adriano slid the vial into a sleek device, a hybrid between a microscope and a magical analyzer, which blinked to life as he keyed in a few commands. Intricate chemical breakdowns and arcane symbols appeared on the screen. He leaned forward, studying the data as it streamed in.

“It’s not altered. It’s corrupted,” Adriano muttered, mostly to himself.

“Someone’s added a contamination spell. Look…

” He pointed to an ominous red pulse in the chemical structure.

“This right here. It’s designed to cause some pretty awful adverse reactions.

Could be immediate or somewhat slower depending on user sensitivity. ”

I clenched my fists. “Who the fuck would want to do that?” I knew exactly who, but I wanted to hear his theory.

Adriano shrugged, his fingers flying across the control pad as he ran a deeper analysis.

“Could be anyone who wants to take over the market. I’ve never encountered this particular contamination spell before.

It’s not something you just pick up on the street.

Whoever’s behind this is a pro. A very dangerous one. ”

“Can you trace it? Find out where it originated?”

Adriano’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I can try, but it’ll take time.”

“Time’s not something we have a lot of, Adriano,” I snapped, but he knew the sharp tone wasn’t directed at him. I needed answers. Vincenzo needed answers.

His lips twitched into a rare, humorless smile. “You’re lucky I like challenges.”

I pulled up a chair and settled in to watch him work. “Just get it done.”

A few moments passed in silence, the only sound the buzz of the machines and the soft clicks of Adriano’s tools. Then, as if remembering something, I reached into my jacket and pulled out a sealed vial of Phantomine. The good stuff. Untouched by whatever shit was floating around now.

I stared at the label for a moment, my thoughts drifting to Celeste. I hated that she used Phantomine, but if she was going to use it, she damn well wasn’t getting the poisoned crap. My chest ached at the thought of her accidentally ingesting the fake shit. She’d been through enough.

“Give me a full report as soon as you know anything.”

Adriano barely glanced up from the screen. “You’ll have it.”

“I need a case of verified pure before I leave.”

“Sure thing.” Adriano took a sealed case from a shelf and handed it to me.

I couldn’t stand the idea of Celeste getting hurt because of her addiction. She’d already been through hell, and now that I knew this contaminated stuff was out on the streets, I couldn’t risk it.

As I strode through the underground tunnels, only one thought played through my mind. When it came to Celeste, I’d make sure she had the best. Whether she liked it or not.

I sent Vincenzo a quick update—short and to the point. He didn’t need a detailed analysis right now, just a heads-up. I should’ve gone straight back to Vincenzo’s estate to regroup and discuss our next steps, but there was only one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t more talk of tainted drugs.

Fuck, I knew it was stupid and reckless, but I couldn’t help myself.

The Phantomine in my bag was the perfect excuse, but if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t need one.

Celeste had burrowed under my skin. Every inch of her was burned into my mind, especially the way she looked at me with that fire in her eyes. There was no walking away from that.

I ducked into a side alley, where I pulled off my jacket and shirt.

My fingers slipped into the hidden pocket of reality where I stored my clothes while I was in wolf form.

It was a handy little trick that kept me from tearing through my outfits every time I shifted.

I tucked my clothes and the case of pure Phantomine into the pocket.

Taking a deep breath, I let the change wash over me. Bones snapped, muscles stretched, and fur sprouted along my body. The familiar burn of power surged through me as I dropped to all fours, my senses sharpening. The scent of The Below filled my nose—earth, sweat, and a faint trace of magic.

I took off in a flash, a blur of fur and muscle streaking through the narrow alleyways, dodging clusters of people.

Hidden deep in the underbelly of the city was a tear in the Veil that only shifters knew about, and it wasn’t guarded.

I tore through it, the faint shimmer of magic rippling over my fur as I passed into the human realm.

The air turned cooler, more muted as I shifted back into my human form, slipping on the clothes I had tucked into the pocket of reality.

It was dark in the human world, the streets eerily quiet.

Newark’s pulse thrummed under the hum of streetlights and the occasional rumble of a passing car.

The sharp and distinctly urban smells of gasoline, old brick, and the faint tang of the nearby Passaic River filled the air.

This was the kind of place where people minded their own business, and the shadows kept their secrets.

The neighborhood wasn’t the worst—certainly not compared to some of the dens I frequented—but Celeste deserved so much better than faded graffiti, cracked sidewalks, and dumpsters that reeked of last week’s garbage.

Sirens wailed in the distance—a reminder that even here, danger wasn’t far off.

My wolf growled at the thought of her walking these streets alone.

I found her building easily enough. It wasn’t completely dilapidated, but a few more years without maintenance and it would be condemned.

Paint peeled around the windowsills, the flickering overhead light buzzed like a swarm of insects, the fire escape groaned under its own weight, and the metal railings were dotted with rust.

I worked my jaw from side to side as I stared up at the fifth floor, my gaze inexplicably drawn to the second window from the fire escape. My every instinct said it was hers.

Soft, warm light spilled through the window. I could see her now, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hair loose around her shoulders, silhouetted against the light like a painting.

I sighed. This place didn’t suit her. Celeste belonged in sleek apartments with rooftop terraces and views of the Manhattan skyline, not a cramped space on a block where the stench of rot clung stubbornly to the alleys.

Then again, perhaps that was why she stayed here—some stubborn piece of her that wouldn’t let go of the grit and fight that defined her.

I approached the side of the building. The fire escape practically urged me to climb it.

The brick was old, worn smooth in some places by time and weather, and the iron steps rattled faintly under my boots as I moved.

If anyone spotted me, they’d probably write me off as either a thief or a boyfriend trying to sneak in without waking a roommate.

In this city, people didn’t look too hard at the shadows.