Page 31 of Forging Darkness

We reach the end of the half-block-long line. Nova keeps walking when Ash and I stop. Without breaking stride, she glances over her shoulder and shouts back to us, “I don’t wait in lines.”

Oh, geez.

A group of girls in front of us shoot death glares as Ash and I scurry after Nova. We don’t catch up to her until she reaches the front entrance. A muscled bald bouncer who bears a striking resemblance to Mr. Clean takes one long look at Nova—starting at her feet and moving up—before unclipping the cherry red velvet rope in front of us and letting her pass through.

“They’re with me,” she purrs at the gatekeeper. He frowns but moves aside, jerking his chin to indicate we can pass as well.

I feel the eyes of the angry partiers waiting in line and do my best not to glance up as I shuffle along behind my friends. The bass from the music inside the club thumps inside my chest, and we haven’t even pushed through the doors yet.

A sliver of trepidation slides up my spine. I don’t have to have been to a club before to already know this so isn’t my scene. Nova, on the other hand, sways her shoulders and hips to the music. Ash appears a bit more reserved, her eyes wide and observant, but her head bobs along with the beat as well.

The best I could do is clap along, but even I know that would be awkward.

Ash and I follow Nova when she pushes through the front doors. Bright light strobes in my eyes, and I blink rapidly. It’s a moment before I’m able to regain my bearings. When I do, it’s as if I’ve stepped through a portal into another world.

We are in a tunnel. The ground below us as well as the ceiling and walls to our right and left are black, but all twinkle with built-in lights. The effect is disorienting. As soon as I catch view of a light it blinks off and another grabs my attention.

Beyond the opening, laser beams of lights swirl and pulse to the rhythm of the music. Every few moments the lights in the tunnel strobe, making me blink rapidly.

How can people stand this? My stomach roils, a touch nauseated from the pounding noise and flickering lights. And some people find this entertaining?

Not just some people, but Nova in particular. Once we break free of the tunnel, Nova throws her hands in the air and heads right into the crowd. The mass of bodies in the small warehouse-like space swallows her immediately.

“Should we follow her?” I ask Ash. I have to yell to be heard.

Ash’s face is tipped back. I follow her gaze until it settles on a woman hanging from the ceiling. Clad in what looks to be a sequined bikini, she is performing some sort of acrobatics while hanging on to red silk curtains. The ends of the draperies float only a few feet above the dancing crowd.

Shaking her head, Ash refocuses on me. “Naw, I think she’s pretty comfortable out there. Let’s move around the perimeter.”

Grabbing my hand, she leads me around the sea of people congregated on the dance floor.

How are we going to find anything useful in this mess? A u-shaped bar rings three sides of the dance floor. Bodies press up against the counter three people deep, leaving only a very narrow path to navigate between them and the gyrating dancers. I’m thankful for my height or I wouldn’t be able to see anything beyond the people crushing me on either side.

I struggle to stay alert. The longer we snake through the drunken horde, the more discombobulated I become. My angel-born senses go haywire.

The music is so loud it rattles my insides and attacks my eardrums. A headache pulses along with the beat. My eyelids flutter against the strobe lights and lasers flashing and flickering around the room, making it impossible for me to focus on the faces of the people around us.

I’m hit with a surge of body odor poorly masked by Axe body spray, and my stomach flips. The stench is so strong I can taste it on my tongue. The contents of my stomach start to mutiny, and I have to cup my free hand over my mouth and nose to keep from blowing chunks.

It’s all too much.

Someone falls into me, and I lose my hold on Ash and stumble to the side, clumsily walking my way onto the dance floor. I’m jostled back and forth, not able to get my bearings.

I search for Ash’s curly head of hair only to register flashes of people in between strobes. An elbow, a chin, a logo on the front of some dude’s t-shirt.

I want to crouch into a ball with my hands on my ears, but fear I’ll be trampled.

Some amazing angel-born warrior I am, conquered by a bit of loud music and a drunken crowd.

I’m bumped from behind and fall against a stranger. My hands land on his shoulder and left peck. The material beneath my palms is moist with sweat.

Yuck.

I snatch my hands away and rear back a step, but I haven’t gone unnoticed. The guy I just accidentally felt up turns fully toward me. After giving me a once-over, which leaves me wanting to tug my skirt down to my ankles, a lecherous smile grows on his face. His eyes light with interest even though it looks like he can’t lift his lids past half-mast.

He’s definitely drunk or high . . . or both. Humans’ natural aversion to Nephilim is dulled along with their other senses when they are inebriated. I learned that the hard way with one of my foster dads. I was shipped off to a new foster home after embedding a fork in his leg when he tried to corner me in the kitchen one night.

I shake my head as beefy hands reach for my biceps. Taking another step backward, a barrier of bodies thwarts my retreat. I turn to push through the crowd, but a pair of sweaty arms wrap around my middle, jerking me back against a wall of clammy flesh. Before I even fully register what is happening, a face presses to my neck and overheated breath wets the side of my face.

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