"Sable is a...vampire?" The word feels wrong on my tongue like I'm talking about someone else, not my bubbly, pink-haired friend who wears unicorn slippers and cries at dog food commercials.
Lucian runs his hand through his golden hair, sticking it up in tufts. "Yeah, and she's not exactly embracing her new liquid diet. That's why Emily and Damon are AWOL—they're babysitting her through her emotional meltdown. Baby vamp emotions make PMS look like a day at Disney."
My mind reels, images of Sable flashing through my head—Sable curled up on the couch during our Netflix marathons, empty ice cream cartons scattered around us—Sable with dark circles under her eyes as we worked tirelessly for three days straight to cook up that potion to mask my angelic scent—Sable hunched over ancient tomes, her pink hair falling in her face as she researched anything that might help our cause.
My stomach twists. I've adjusted to a lot of crazy shit lately—finding out that Loki paraded around the mortal realm causing a thousand years of chaos, realm-hopping, new stone-wrangling, my brother being turned into a vampire—but this? This isSable—sweet, helpful Sable who never hesitated to throw herself into the fire for us.
And now she's... what? Immortal? Blood-dependent? Is she stillher?
"Where is she?" My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "I need to see her."
Rhyland's hand finds my shoulder, his touch grounding me even as my thoughts spin out of control. "Baby..."
"Don't 'baby' me right now." I shrug him off, eyes locked on Lucian. "Where. Is. She?"
Lucian winces, holding his hands like he's trying to slow a charging bull. "Whoa there, Princess. As much as I admire your friendship goals, maybe—and I'm just spitballing here—maybe waltzing up to Baby Fang with your angelic blood pumping through your veins isn't the smartest move? To a new vamp, you're basically a walking cotton candy stand at a kindergarten birthday party."
"I don't care. She's my friend." I go to leave, but Rhyland's arm blocks my path, a wall of immovable Viking muscle.
"She tried to take a bite out of Emily," Lucian adds. "And that's her witchy BFF."
Seraphina clears her throat delicately. "To be fair, you used the Maker's command. She can't attack Dani now even if she wanted to."
"Not helpful, Cupcake." Lucian shoots her a betrayed look.
My eyes widen, "Youmind-controlled,Sable?" My voice rises an octave.
"I prefer 'temporarily adjusted her dietary preferences,'" Lucian shrugs. "It was either that or let her snack on the local populace. Trust me, nothing ruins property values faster than a vampire buffet in the neighborhood."
"This isn't funny, Lucian." I put my hands on my hips, done with his shit. Erik's silver eyes track the tension like he's mapping out escape routes.
"She's new." Lucian's voicedrops, that razor-edge of seriousness that always makes me pause because it means shit has truly hit the fan. "I did what I had to do to keep her from hurting anyone or herself."
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—Damon got lucky. If Azrael had stuck around after turning my brother... I shudder at the thought of that psychotic bastard having a Maker's command over him, turning him into some mind-controlled attack dog.
But Lucian? He's seen firsthand what that kind of control does to someone. Hell, he spent decades being Lilith's plaything. The disgust in his eyes whenever we talk about it tells me everything I need to know. He'd rather stake himself than become that kind of monster.
No, Sable might be a vampire now, but at least her Maker—Lucian—gives a damn about her free will. Small comfort, maybe, but in our fucked-up world? I'll take what I can get.
Seraphina shifts closer to him. Even Rhyland's stance changes, that predatory stillness settling over him as he watches his brother.
"Can I see her? Please?" I ask, softer now.
Itap lightly on Sable's door, feeling Rhyland and Lucian's presence behind me like twin shadows. The wood is cool against my knuckles.
"Come in." Sable's voice wavers through the door.
The scene inside hits me like a snapshot—Sable perched on the edge of her bed, fingers intertwined with Damon's, Emily sprawled in the window seat with her rainbow hair catching the afternoon light.
"Well, if it isn't our realm-hopping disaster magnet!" Emily launches herself at me, nearly knocking me over. "When did you crawl back from Viking wonderland?"
I squeeze her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of her coconut shampoo and whatever explosive spell she's been working on. "We just got back—missed you too, you pain in my ass."
"I'm the pain in the ass?" She pulls back, eyes sparkling. "Finally get my note?"
A blur of movement catchesmy eye—Sable pressing herself against the far wall, her pink hair wild around her face. "Please," she whispers, eyes wide. "Don't come closer. I can't... your scent..."
My heart cracks. This isn't my confident friend who faced down a clan of witches with nothing but determination and a spell book. This is someone afraid of herself.
