Page 5 of Dark Awakening

Inside, doubts are like termites, gnawing away. Mortals saving our asses sounds like a damn fairy tale. But you know what? Screw it—sometimes you've gotta roll with the punches, no matter how crazy they sound.

We're diving in deep, ready for whatever clusterfuck comes our way. Because when it's go-time, we're the ones who set the rules. Mysterious prophecies and all that jazz—bring it on.

Danica

6

Curled on my couch, I grin as Emily's voice bursts through the phone. "Let's shake things up tonight!" she enthuses. "I'm jonesing to hit this new club, Karma!"

Saturday swings around, and I can finally kiss the grind of the 9 to 5 goodbye. Karma is like entering a den where the supernatural and the mundane mingle—a risqué romp that beckons vampires and mortals alike. The thrill of offering up a vein to one of those nocturnal creatures sends my heart into overdrive, a delicious terror that toys with the very fabric of our realities.

But the question itches at my brain—why would humans line up to play pincushion? What siren call lures them to the vampires' bite? There's a scholarly itch that this whole enigma scratches, even if it does tie my gut into knots.

I'm your classic introvert—Netflix and chill over a wild night out any day. So, this little escapade with Emily has my adrenaline doing cartwheels. But then there's that nagging voice, throwing cold water over my fiery anticipation. Am I really cut out to tango with bloodsuckers in their element? What if it proves too much for Miss Homebody here?

Emily reads my trepidation like a billboard and cranks up her persuasive charms. "Don't flake on me now! I need my wingwoman, so get your ass in gear for a night to remember!"

I chuckle anxiously. "Are you sure we should go there?" But her infectious enthusiasm awakened my rebellious side.

Screw it, I need some fresh madness in my life!

"Alright, you've twisted my arm—count me in!" My voice vaults into a pitch of mock exasperation, tinged with a real buzz of excitement. Emily's victory holler crackles through the speaker, and I can't help but let out a snicker as I hang up, though my thundering pulse is a dead giveaway—I'm actually kind of stoked for tonight.

I toss the phone aside, the butterflies in my stomach doing the cha-cha as I psych myself up to ditch the routine for a night. Who knows what kind of weird will jump out at me from behind the velvet curtains?

Lately, I've become the ultimate lab cave-dweller, all buried in test tubes and data sheets. Love? That's just a data set of too many variables and not enough constants. Work first, play... whenever.

With a mischievous glint, I shimmy into a sinfully snug black number that makes the mirror do a double-take. Enter Emily and her seal of approval. "Sex on Legs," she proclaims, and her word is gospel. I shoot back a sly grin and a playful wink, soaking up the hype.

"You’re going to have them drooling, hun," she laughs, a gleam of thrill in her voice, and that's all I need to switch from maybe to game-on. The drive to Karma is an electric current of gossip and guesses.

But then we hit the brakes—there's the vamp doorman, looking like he chewed on a lemon while bench-pressing gravestones. Swallowing hard, Emily and I exchange glances steeped in, 'What are we getting into?'

"Ready for this?" she half chortles, teetering between eagerness and a smidge of fear.

With a deep, bolstering breath, I nod like I'm agreeing to jump out of a plane. Because, at this point, there's no chickening out.

Rhyland

7

Igun the engine of my slick black Audi, weaving expertly through late-night Seattle traffic. Beside me, Erik fiddles with the GPS, ensuring it keeps us locked on course for Lucian's club downtown. Around us, the city's chaotic energy swirls palpably, both enticing and oppressive.

Lucian has always had a knack for ingratiating himself wherever he goes, even among wary mortals. And he hit the damn jackpot with Seattle—a cosmopolitan haven tailor-made for go-getters chasing forbidden thrills and pushing boundaries.

This city is a walking contradiction, a place where every street feels like a scene out of some legendary fight between the forces of light and dark. And here's Lucian, cutting through it like he owns the damn place, a wicked grin practically stapled to his face. He's a force unto himself, strutting around like he's got the golden touch — never found a mess he can't charm his way out of or a person he can't twist around his finger. I'd choke on the words before I'd cough up the truth to him, but damn, the way he throws himself headfirst into the Seattle scene? It's something else. Ballsy as hell, if not a bit on the wild side.

Weaving through the crowded streets, I take in the sheer variety of people and cultures, listening to the cacophony of languages and music. Mortals from every walk of life enjoy the city's nocturnal offerings. I can't resist sneering at the oblivious revelers.

"Seattle really comes alive at night, doesn't it?" I remark to Erik, unable to mask the scorn in my tone. "It's a goddamn symphony of wasted idiots, all throwing their morals to the wind after enough drinks."

Erik eyes me warily. "Is something troubling you, Rhyland? You seem quick to condemn these mortals seeking only pleasure."

I bristle at the implied criticism. "I simply call it as I see it, brother."

"Indeed," Erik replies carefully. "Though perhaps you speak from a place of deeper unease..."

He lets that shit hang in the air. My fingers coil around the steering wheel, squeezing the life out of it as I catch his drift.

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