Page 178 of Dark Fate

Emily’s jaw drops wide-eyed as a kid at a magic show. "Damn," she breathes out. "That’s a metric ton of crazy-ass shenanigans." The excitement buzzes off her like electricity. "Girl, Azrael isn’t anyone to mess with."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

The conversation shifts, focusing on my brother. "How’s Damon doing? I’ve tried his number, but it’s a dead end."

Emily knocks back her shot with finesse, then slams the glass down. "Oh, girl, he’s good—real good. After you left, he flipped your folks' house and jetted off on some ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ bullshit to find himself. Last I heard, his soul-searching ass was chillin' in Bora Bora, probably getting sunburned. And, believe it or not, he's hooked up with some beach babe. Look." She flashes the pics at me with a gossipy grin.

Peering down at her phone, there’s Damon—grinning, looking every bit the embodiment of joy beside a stunning girl against a picturesque backdrop. A smile pulls at my mouth, and I feel a sting of tears at the happiness in his eyes. I'm relieved and thrilled to see Damon content.

Emily leans in, emphasizing every word. "He thinks you're out kicking ass on some job venture—that’s the line I’ve been feeding him." She gives a conspiratorial wink. "He knows how much of a workaholic you are, so he’s not sweating it. He’s living it up."

The tears spill, tracing warm paths down my cheeks. The knowledge that Damon is chasing happiness tugs at something deep within, unlocking a wellspring of emotion. It’s a mix of joy for him and an acute sense of the distances life creates.

Noticing the tears, Emily quickly nips them in the bud with her mix of soft heart and sharp tongue. "And hey, no waterworks, okay?" She dabs my eyes gently. "Keep your Angel-freakish eyes dry for me, alright? And just for the record, I moved into your place. I've been keeping up with the rent and everything. Why shell out for a second pad when yours is top-tier?" She punctuates with a playful wink.

With a teasing grin, I laugh. "Absolutely. My pad—galaxy away from your joint in comforts." My affection for Emily swells—her thoughtfulness and her ability to lift my spirits are irreplaceable.

Emily’s savvy to bank on my return by keeping her number on lockdown? That’s some bestie ESP. She probably went to the phone company and said, 'Keep the line hot, folks; she’ll dial me from another dimension.'

"So, what's the latest in Emily's world?" I inquire, shifting gears to catch up.

Emily signals the bartender for a refill, her enthusiasm undimmed. "Oh girl, you won't believe the circus town this place has turned into," she muses, leaning closer. "Freakin' werewolves are strutting their stuff out in the open now! Just popped up like daisies right after you took your little sabbatical. Claiming territories like it's 1862—Homestead Act! Oh, and witches, too—they're not just for Halloween anymore!

I swallow hard at the mention of werewolves—a stark reminder of the heartache—the brutal loss of my parents. I push past the discomfort, the memory hovers.

"Witches?" The word hangs, charged with electricity, sending my thoughts into a frenzy.

"It’s a whole new level of batshit here," Emily whispers. "And they've slapped stringent new laws on us, targeting this place. No more open feedings at Karma, hence the beefed-up security." Her eyes gleam as she nods to the bouncers.

That ‘aha’ moment dawns with a grin. "So that’s why I’m not swatting vamps away—my blood being their crack deal." My voice drips with amusement.

"Yup. The world’s done a full 180 since you took your jaunt through the Twilight Zone," Emily declares. "It's like Seattle turned into Diagon Alley—witch shops sprouting up faster than Starbucks, covens rolling deep like the new neighborhood watch. Werewolf clans are staking territories—the new law, sheriffs with shaggy coats and howls instead of badges. The scene’s a supernatural telenovela. Meanwhile, the powers that be are churning out new laws in the name of 'equality.'" Emily rolls her eyes but is thrilled by the drama.

"Shit." The word slips out, laced with wonder and incredulity. Everything’s shifted, transformed into an unrecognizable tableau. I'm left pondering my role in this evolving tapestry.

"Come to the table in the back. Bring Emily with you." Rhyland’s rich voice booms within my skull, nearly startling me.

"Get a move on, girl. Looks like the high court has summoned us." With playful sarcasm, I toss the words over my shoulder.

Emily scoops up our cocktails with an eye-roll. Together, we make our way through the club. In a dimly lit corner, like Norse gods, sits my man—all dominance and allure—flanked by the equally imposing figures of Lucian and Erik.

Rhyland

82

We've claimed a booth in the darkest corner of the club, and I watch like a predator as Dani and Emily sashay their way over. Dani's got that tipsy swagger, her steps all out of sync, and giggles spilling out of her—it's hot as hell. She’s lit just right for the dirty shit I’ve got planned. The girls reach our table, and Dani slams her drink down like she owns the place.

"Gentlemen," she nods, her eyes finding mine, that sassy grin on her lips. "You summoned, Viking Lord?"

Fuck me. The way she purrs 'Viking Lord,' with that seductive edge and those 'come fuck me' eyes pulling me in—it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to throw her over my shoulder caveman-style and claim what’s mine.

After the stunt in the shower, it’s only fair I play back. Dani's always pushing my buttons, and I'll be damned if I’m not gonna push right back. "Oh, I summoned, alright," I growl, my voice dripping with dark promise, eyes locked on hers. "Please take a seat." I pat the space beside me, a silent command more than a request.

Lucian rolls his eyes, scanning their inebriated faces with annoyance and amusement. "For crying out loud, if it isn't the Boozy Bunch! You two look like you've been hitting the sauce harder than a frat boy at a keg party. Come on, give it to me straight—how many rounds have you lovely ladies put away? And I’m not talking about the kind you use in the bedroom."

Emily raises her voice, words slurring together like a drunk text, "Seriously? Who’s keeping score at this point? What do we look like, mathematicians?"

Lucian lifts his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, offering a knowing smirk. "Well, that answers that. You two are drunker than a skunk at a wine tasting."

---