Music by Sarah K. Jensen

Step back into the story—and this time, get pulled in deeper.

The night closes in around you, thicker than before. Shadows don’t just linger—they move, watching, waiting, pressing closer than they should. Every instinct tells you something is off, something is near… and you’re no longer standing at a distance from it. You’re inside it now. Close enough to feel the shift in the air, close enough to wonder if the next step you take will lead you toward safety—or straight into what’s hunting in the dark.

And still… you don’t turn away.

Because not everything here is fear.

Somewhere in the quiet, a choice is being made. A line is crossed that can’t be uncrossed. You can almost imagine the moment it happens—the hesitation, the breath held too long, the weight of everything at stake pressing in. And then, suddenly, the decision lands. Final. Unshakable.

And in the middle of it all… a voice.

Low. Steady. Meant for one person, but it reaches you anyway. A promise that doesn’t break when the world does. Protection that doesn’t falter when the danger is real. Love that stands its ground, even here—especially here. It catches you off guard, the way it always does, and for just a moment, even with everything closing in, you feel it… enough to make you smile.

This is where the story continues.

Not on the page—but in the spaces between it. In the moments that couldn’t stay contained in words alone. In the tension, the connection, the things felt but never fully spoken.

This is where the music begins.

The Legend Weaver

Step into the worlds where myth breathes, shadows move, and love is tested in the dark.

Legend of the Protectors

Voices whisper. Monsters hunt. And the truth doesn’t set you free—it demands a choice you may not survive.

A Moment from Legend of the Protectors

SAMANTHA SANDERS SAT ACROSS from her grandfather at the breakfast table. For the last ten minutes, he’d stared out the window and hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

His head shot around, eyes smoldering. A smile broke the corner of her mouth.

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.” Sam watched shadows twist and turn in his eyes, causing his scowl to turn into a frown. “What were you looking at so intently?”

He shrugged. “Thinkin’ about the girl killed yesterday.”

Sam sat back, shaking her head. “Pawpaw, you’re supposed to be retired.”

Pawpaw’s silence was enough. He knew something.

“Just say it.”

Pawpaw rubbed the back of his neck before looking back out the window. “Can’t. Not yet.”

Skin prickling, Sam picked up the newspaper he’d been reading and began to fold it to give her hands something to do other than strangle him. With a calmness she didn’t feel, she asked, “What do you mean you can’t say anything yet? Do you have information about my case?”

“Not for me to tell.”

“Not for you….” Tossing the paper aside, Sam pushed back her chair, stood, and placed both hands on the table, knowing how to interrogate suspects. “Sheriff McKenzie, if you have information about Beth Ryan’s murder, tell me.”

Pawpaw leaned back, folded his hands over his chest, and looked her square in the eyes. “The Council has to decide what you can know. You might be the one, but we’re waiting for the signs.”

“The council? Signs? What are you talking about?” Sam stared, hard. There was no flinching. He sat statue-still.

“Whatever,” she mumbled under her breath as she strode to the kitchen door. Stopping just before opening it, Sam spun around. “Does Andrew know?”

Her heart tightened at the thought. It wasn’t just the secrets; it was him. The way he always seemed to distance himself from her, like they weren’t standing on the same ground anymore.

When Pawpaw didn’t answer right away, her frustration mixed with a pang of something deeper.

“He does, doesn’t he?” she whispered, more hurt than she wanted to admit.

The barely masked nod was all she needed.

If Andrew Clearwater had evidence and hadn’t told her… her pulse quickened. This wasn’t just about the job anymore. It never had been. She’d been watching him slip away for years, ever since they stopped being friends—stopped being whatever they almost were. Now… she was just… left behind. Her chest tightened with a mix of resentment and hurt. They used to tell each other everything. But that had been years ago.

Hear the Song Behind Sam's Silence

In the Dark

The night isn’t empty. It watches. It waits. And stepping into it means facing what most never come back from.

A Moment from In the Dark

THE DARKNESS HELD NO SIGN OF LIFE. At least not human life. Memphis’s muscles tensed as an icy breeze flew past her.

Her lips twitched into an almost smile as twinges of electrical current slithered from the nape of her neck down her spine. They caught fire at the clawed fist of the griffin on her hip—her Mark of the Guardian, which had begun to appear after her first kill.

Laughter from the Shadows erupted off the walls of the alleyway surrounding her, and she braced for battle, her hand on the hilt of the fae-made dagger sheathed on her thigh. Just as the first shadow shifted into a crouch, a strong, lightly calloused hand grasped hers and pulled her out from between the dark buildings.

Instinct alone kept Memphis from fighting this idiot-wannabe-hero. Usually, someone around this many Scáthanna Oíche was possessed, but this man was not.

So why was he here?

And why was he able to move her so effortlessly?

She tried planting her feet, but the body attached to the hand must have been solid muscle, outweighing her by at least fifty pounds.

“Let go!” She yanked her hand, which only resulted in a tightened grip. Memphis knew not to pull against the hand but push into it, but the angle made that impossible.

“Don’t be stupid,” the deep, masculine voice said, sending a shiver through her body. He stopped long enough to glance back at her and asked, “Are you crazy?” before tugging her along again.

“Are you?”

If he heard the response, he ignored it.

This man had just blown her opportunity to rid the world of six Scáthanna Oíche.

This man….

This man caused her mark to go cold, then burn. Something that only happened when it grew. Her griffin had started as what she’d believed was a birthmark in the shape of an eye, but over the years had spread, and with each kill, another element of the beast appeared.

For a good fifteen minutes, she raced with him through the streets of Austin, skating through alleys and avoiding any lit streets.

Where was he taking her?

The better question was, why was she following?

Maybe it was the way his touch sparked something old and unspoken inside her, not just the fire and ice burn of death.

Finally, coming to a stop, he fumbled in his pocket, withdrew a key fob, and with the push of a button, a dark car just ahead of them roared to life, dispelling the silent night. He opened the car’s passenger door, all but pushing her inside.

“Stay,” he said in a clipped voice.

She did.

Walk the Night with Memphis

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Beyond the Breaking Point

Where survival is personal, trust is fragile, and love is tested under pressure.

Passing Through Sorrow

Running is only the beginning. The truth is worse. And trusting the wrong person could cost everything.

A moment from Passing Through Sorrow

BAILEY HEARD A CAR PULL INTO THE DRIVEWAY. Her heart seized.

The makeup sponge slipped from her fingers as she bolted for the stairs. If she could make it to the dining room before Roy stepped inside—

The table was set perfectly. Wedding China. Crystal glasses. Two white candles, unlit but waiting. The roast sat covered; the salad bowls chilled.

Not a single thing out of place. Not one second late.

The garage door rumbled open. Bailey grabbed the platter, forced a steady breath, and willed herself to stay calm. Calling over her shoulder, she asked, “How was your day?”

A heavy thud. A moan.

Bailey turned. Her blood turned to ice.

Listen to the song inspired by this moment: “Through This Closed Door.”

Go on the Run with Bailey