The motel parking lot smelled of gasoline and wet asphalt. Neon from the liquor store across the street seeped into the puddles, coloring them red, then blue, then red again.
Special Agent Dana Keene shifted uncomfortably in her unmarked sedan, her eyes trained on the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Their suspect—a gunrunner with cartel ties—was supposedly within, waiting for his contact. It was supposed to be a straightforward surveillance op. Except her pulse hadn’t been straightforward since her partner arrived.
Special Agent Marcus Hale sat in the passenger seat, leaning forward with predatory stillness, the kind of man who never fidgeted. He’d been her partner for six months. Her lover for six weeks. Neither detail made her feel safer.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Marcus said without looking at her. His voice was low, smooth, like a blade sliding from a sheath.
Dana worked up a smirk. “Trying to listen. You oughta try it sometime.”
He laughed. The sound vibrated in her bones.
Minutes ticked by. At 10:07 p.m., the suspect appeared, duffel bag in tow. Dana adjusted her earpiece, ready to call it in, when everything went wrong.
Two masked men burst from the night, weapons drawn. They had the suspect pressed against the hood of his own car. A shot rang into the night—warning shot or signal flare, Dana didn’t know.
“Shit.” Dana reached for her gun.
There was an empty passenger seat before she’d even gotten the door open. One blink, and Marcus was gone.
She froze. Then she saw him—already halfway across the street, a blur in the rain. He moved unlike any human she’d ever seen. Too fast for her eyes to track. He tore the gun from one attacker’s hand, twisted his wrist back at an angle that made Dana’s stomach twist, then tossed him to the sidewalk like garbage. The second one fired twice. Both shots missed. Marcus closed the distance, and suddenly the man wasn’t standing anymore.
Dana couldn’t even process what she’d seen. By the time she stumbled out of the car, Marcus was dragging the suspect to his feet, clapping a hand over his mouth. The two assailants were moaning in the gutter.
“Wait with the car,” Marcus ordered, his voice even like everything was fine. He dragged the suspect into the house and went in.
Dana obeyed, not completely. She skulked along the wall, peering in a window. Inside, Marcus interrogated the man. No backup. No warrant. Just him, towering, shoulders squared.
And something else.
His sleeves had ridden up. His forearms—were they scaled? For a moment, she could have sworn she saw mottled green skin, ridged like the skin of a lizard, shining under the room’s one lightbulb. She blinked. Human again. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her.
Still, her stomach churned. She backed up, forcing herself not to look.
By the time Marcus returned, the suspect was handcuffed and ready to go, the area clean and professional.
“Clean work,” Dana said.
He glanced at her, expressionless. “Always.”
She shoved her unease into a box and slammed the lid shut. That was her job. That was her life.
Two nights after that, Marcus showed up at her apartment with wine and takeout.
They ate on the couch. Talked shop. Talked about anything but what had happened in the rain. Dana laughed too much, trying to strangle her nerves. He smiled too easily, as if nothing had changed.
By midnight, the food was forgotten, and she was tangled with him in her sheets. He kissed like a storm—hungry, consuming. His hands roamed over her body, strong enough to bruise, but careful. Almost too careful.
The lights were off. Always off. He liked the dark.
But Dana had left a candle lit on the dresser, a stub of wax burning just enough to create shadows around the room.
That’s when she saw it.
His arm, braced above her, wasn’t entirely his. The skin rippled as if it were alive, flowing like sand dunes under moonlight. Scales flashed in the candlelight, green-black, iridescent. Fingers elongated, nails growing into claws that pierced the mattress inches from her head.
Dana froze, heart racing.
Marcus’s face was inches from her own, lovely and terrible in equal measure. His pupils had narrowed to vertical slits. He kissed her again, more insistently now, and when his tongue made contact with hers she could have sworn it was forked.
The candle guttered down, its fire reducing to a pool of liquid wax. Dana’s heart hadn’t slowed since she’d seen it—the gleam of scales, the clawed fingers digging into her mattress. She lay still, her body rigid beneath the covers, her flesh damp with a sheen of sweat.
Marcus was beside the bed, at ease, spent, his breathing regular. He didn’t know. He hadn’t noticed the opening of her eyes when they ought to have been closed, hadn’t felt her stiffen when his skin flashed reptile in the light. He thought she hadn’t seen.
She forced her face into a mask of sleepy satisfaction, eyelids lowering, lips parting in a soft sigh. Pretend everything’s okay. Pretend it was a trick of the candle light, a hallucination, a dream.
He came closer, slinging an arm across her waist, warm and solid. Human, she told herself. He feels human. But her belly clenched anyway.
Don’t let him know. Don’t let it show.
She kept her breaths slow and steady, listening to his heartbeat against her back. Minutes passed, tacky and unforgiving.
Finally, when the silence grew too much, she made herself speak. Her voice was low, almost casual, but her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
“Marcus?”
“Mhm.”
“What… what are we doing, exactly?” she said. “I mean… us. Is this just… fun, or—do you want more?”
She wasn’t curious about the response. Not really. The inquiry was a disguise, a shield for her fear. But it did matter—because if she knew what he wanted, she’d be in a position to place herself, what to say to him, how to survive it.
There was quiet for some time. Too long. She fought not to turn and scrutinize his face.
Finally, he spoke. “I don’t bother with what I don’t want.”
Her throat parched.
“That’s not an answer,” she whispered, attempting to push a teasing lilt into her tone. “Are you saying I’m just… convenient?”
He shifted, pulling her nearer, his mouth near her ear. “I’m saying I don’t play games, Dana. If I wasn’t interested, I wouldn’t be here. And I am interested.”
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
She dredged up a smile he couldn’t see. “Okay. I just… needed to know. You know me, I overthink.”
He laughed, low and rough, the sound resonating through her bones. “You do.”
The candle guttered and died, plunging the room into darkness.
Dana was stiff and silent in the dark, her nerves on edge, her mind racing. She’d stall for time. Take it slow. Edge out without making him suspicious. Slowly, quietly, carefully.
For whatever Marcus Hale was, man or not, she couldn’t let him suspect that she knew.
And in the dark hollow, with his breath warm even against her neck, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself anymore. Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe she hadn’t.
But the tightness of his arm around her waist felt less comfort and more a chain.