Emily sighs like she's explaining something to a particularly dense child. "Because... you're important to Danica, to your brothers. You sacrificed yourself for her, you dumbass. That's why we couldn't just leave you to rot with those sadistic assholes."
I raise an eyebrow, trying to place this 'Danica' chick in my mind, but it comes up empty. It's like remembering a dream after you've woken up—the harder you try to grasp the details, the more they slip away. "So, out of the kindness of your heart for yourfriend,you risked your neck to rescue me? Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but that seems like a lot of trouble for someone you barely know."
Emily's expression softens just a fraction. "Look, Lucian... I know this is all really confusing for you right now. But trust me when I say that you're important. Not just to Danica, but to the fate of the whole fucking world. I know that sounds like some cheesy fantasy novel bullshit, but it's true. Whether you remember it or not, you're a key player in this prophecy."
I nod, feeling a strange sense of determination welling up inside me. "Alright, Rainbow Brite. You've convinced me. I may not know who the fuck I am or what the hell is going on, but if you say I'm important, then I guess I'll just have to take your word for it. But if I end up saving the world and not getting laid as a reward, I'm gonna be pissed."
Emily rolls her eyes again. "God, you're such a fucking horndog. Is that all you think about? Getting laid?"
I grin, waggling my eyebrows suggestively. "Hey, a man's gotta have his priorities straight. And right now, my priorities are remembering who I am, saving the world, and getting some sweet, sweet vampire lovin'. Not necessarily in that order."
Bless her heart, Sable tries to play peacemaker. "Guys, come on. We've got bigger problems to worry about than Lucian's need to get laid. Azrael is still out there and may find another powerful vampire to complete their freaky ritual."
I nod, taking another sip of blood. "Right, right. The prophecy, the stones, the crown, yadda yadda yadda. It's all starting to come back to me now. Oh wait, no, it's not. Because that bitch Paige went all 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' on my ass and erased my entire fucking life story."
Emily sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in. But we don't have time for a pity party. We need to find a way to get your memories back—and fast. Because if Azrael manages to get the witch covens on his side, we're all screwed. And not in a fun way."
I raise an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across my face. "Witch covens, huh? Tell me more, tell me more. Like, do they wear pointy hats and ride broomsticks? Or is that just a stereotype perpetuated by the patriarchy to keep powerful women down?"
Sable shakes her head. "No, Lucian, it's not like that. Covens are just groups of witches who work together to amplify their power. They're all over the world, and some are incredibly strong. If Azrael can convince them to join him, it could tip the scales in his favor."
Emily nods grimly. "Sable's right. If Azrael can get the witch covens on his side, we're fucked. Like, royally fucked. We're talking end-of-the-world, fire-and-brimstone, dogs-and-cats-living-together kind of fucked."
I lean back and prop my feet on the coffee table, "Alright, let me see if I've got this straight. We're facing off against a shadow demon who probably has a severe case of 'I'm the baddest motherfucker in the room' syndrome, his psycho boyfriend Azrael, who I'm guessing is the brains behind this whole operation and potentially covens of super-powered witches who may or may not be on their side in this whole 'end of the world' scenario. Oh, and apparently, I'm somehow part of this entire shitshow, even though I can't remember a goddamn thing about it.
"And to top it all off, we've got our supposed savior, this Dani girl; who's the key to stopping all of this, but she's nowhere to be found? Sounds like a typical soap opera to me."
Emily throws a pillow at my head, which I deftly dodge. "This isn't a joke, asshole. We need a plan, and we need it now. Because if we don't stop Azrael, there won't be a world left to save."
I hold up my hands in surrender, the empty blood bag dangling from my fingers. "Alright, alright, I get it. Serious business, end of the world, blah blah blah. But can we at least order a pizza first? All this talk of prophecies and covens is making me hungry. And not for blood, for once."
After devouring an entire pizza like a ravenous beast and enduring hours of witchy woo-woo bullshit, I finally threw in the towel. Seriously, if I had to listen to one more incantation or drink another foul-tasting potion, I was going to lose my goddamn mind. I mean, I appreciate Emily and Sable trying to help me recover my memories, but there's only so much magical mumbo-jumbo a guy can take before he starts to question his sanity.
Emily and Sable tried their best. They threw everything but the kitchen sink at me—I half-expected them to start sacrificing small animals and dancing naked under the moonlight. But despite all their valiant efforts and hours of chanting until I thought my ears would bleed, we got nowhere. Nada. Zilch.
So, I finally called it quits before they could suggest something really crazy, like a magical enema or a lobotomy. I may be desperate to remember who I am, but I draw the line at anything involving my ass or my brain matter.
Or do I draw the line at anything near my ass?
I quickly shake the thought from my mind and continue watching episode after episode of this cooking show. I'm totally invested at this point. I'm twenty episodes deep and rooting for the underdog chef who keeps getting yelled at by that angry British dude. I guess I relate to the whole "trying to prove yourself against impossible odds" thing.
Suddenly, I sense a disturbance in the force. And no, I'm not talking about that weird noise your aunt makes after eating too many bean burritos. I'm talking about the kind of disturbance that makes your nether regions stand at attention, and your eyes pop out of your head like a cartoon character on Viagra.
That's right, folks. I'm talking about moaning. Sweet, sweet, passionate moaning. The kind of moaning that could make even the most celibate monk consider breaking his vows and joining the dark side.
I spring into action like a horny gazelle. My reflexes fine-tuned from years of... well, I don't really know, do I? Amnesia's a bitch like that. But who cares about the past when the present serves up such a delectable auditory feast?
I mute the TV faster than you can say, "Bow chicka, wow, wow," because no one needs the dulcet tones of Gordon Ramsay screaming about undercooked scallops when there's real-life porn happening just a few feet away.
The unmistakable sounds of moaning and a gasp could make even the most jaded porn star stand up and take notice. Oh, it's on like Donkey Kong, my friends.
My mind races with possibilities. Could it be? Are Emily and Sable getting their lesbian freak on right under my nose? Or is this some elaborate prank designed to test the limits of my vampiric hearing and my ability to resist temptation?
I may be an amnesiac, but I'm still a red-blooded male. And the thought of two smoking hot witches going at it like rabbits in heat is enough to make even the most disciplined vampire lose his cool.
But I'm a gentleman, damn it. And a gentleman doesn't go barging into other people's sexy times uninvited... Who the fuck am I kidding? I'm no gentleman. I'm a horny, amnesiac vampire with the impulse control of a toddler on a sugar high.
But I can't just barge in there, no matter how much my dick is begging me to. Emily would have my fucking balls on a silver platter if I snooped. So, I do what any civilized, sexually frustrated male would do in this situation—I run to the door.
