Page 10 of BeWolfed

Elowen's hand found mine instinctively in the disorientation. The contact created an unexpected connection—our energies aligning, steadying each other against the strange power.

"What was that?" she asked, eyes wide behind her glasses.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But it affected the wards."

"The barriers between worlds grow thin," Daisy's voice echoed. "The ritual circle seeks to make them thinner still." Her cryptic warning followed us back to the bookstore.

As we headed out of the caves to the bookstore, I caught Elowen watching me with that perceptive gaze.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" she asked quietly. "In the cave. When our magic connected."

"Yes," I admitted. "Never experienced anything like it before."

She nodded, something like relief crossing her features. "Good. I thought I might be going crazy."

"If you are, we both are," I replied.

Her smile was brief but genuine—a moment of connection amid the growing danger. "Shared delusions. How comforting."

Elowen

Shadow Valley existed in perpetual twilight. As we crossed the boundary from Midnight Creek, the world shifted around us. The crisp clarity of my hometown's wards gave way to a hazy purple-tinged reality where shadows stretched impossibly long. The degraded magical barriers created a liminal space where supernatural elements bled through even to human perception.

I shivered as the strange pressure pressed against my witch senses. "The ward degradation is worse than I remembered."

Rudy walked close beside me, his presence solid and reassuring. "Shadow Valley's always operated on different principles. The supernatural community here prefers the ambiguity."

"You mean they prefer not having to follow rules." I scanned the neon-lit establishments with their gaudy displays promising supernatural pleasures—so different from Midnight Creek's quaint storefronts.

My mind kept circling back to Rose. Was she here somewhere in this perpetual dusk? Being held against her will? The longer she remained missing, the more desperate I felt. Three days until the full moon ritual. Time was running out.

The strange energy of this town seemed to loosen thoughts I'd normally keep contained. "Have you ever heard of cross-species mate bonds?" I asked.

Rudy's stride faltered slightly. "Rare but powerful. My father spoke of them once—connections that transcend species barriers, merging magical signatures into something stronger than either alone."

"Rose mentioned them in her research," I added. "Said they were once revered as sacred bridges between supernatural communities before the divisions grew so rigid."

"Now they're mostly seen as political liabilities," he finished. "Dating is fine, well used to be, but mates – that’s a complication in a world that prefers clear boundaries."

Something unspoken passed between us — an awareness I wasn't ready to acknowledge. My magic responded to his proximity differently than with any other werewolf, reaching outward rather than drawing in.

The Glitter & Stone loomed ahead, its purple neon sign casting eerie light across the dusk. The building seemed to absorb shadows, its stone facade embedded with crystals pulsing with faint magical energy. Two imposing bouncers flanked the front entrance.

The bouncers recognized Rudy, exchanging knowing glances when he mentioned tracking Rose. "Mr. Cash might know something," one offered. "He remembers everyone."

Inside, the strip club was a contradiction of luxury and decay—plush velvet booths, enchanted poles stretching impossibly high, supernatural dancers performing with magically enhancedmovements. The air carried a faint metallic tang beneath the expensive liquor and cheap perfume—blood magic.

"Mr. Cash sees everything that happens in Shadow Valley," Rudy murmured, guiding me through the crowd. His body subtly shielded me from predatory gazes.

"Who exactly is Mr. Cash?" I asked, acutely aware of the enhanced senses surrounding us.

"Some kind of crossbreed with connections everywhere. His only loyalty is to profit."

Verne, the gargoyle bartender, nodded us toward a door behind the bar. "He's expecting you," he said, concern flickering in his eyes as they lingered on me. "Be careful what you ask for."

The warning settled uneasily as we followed a fairy hostess to a door marked simply "Management."

Mr. Cash sat behind an ornate desk that dominated the small office. He was unlike any supernatural being I'd ever encountered—impossibly short and wide, with multiple chins, too many teeth, and golden eyes that blinked rapidly in quick succession.

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