Ibarely make it through the front door before a golden-haired missile slams into me. My angel's arms around my neck, her celestial warmth chasing away the last of Lilith's icy memories. "Lucian, thank god! Are you all okay?"
I crush her against me, breathing in her heavenly scent like it's the only thing that can wash away the stench of tonight's family reunion. "Yeah. I am now." The memory of Lilith's voice still crawls under my skin, but my angel's touch burns it away like holy water.
Rhyland shoulders past us, Dani limp in his arms as he makes a beeline for the stairs. The flight home was like watching the world's most fucked up medical drama—my brother trying to force-feed Dani his blood while she barely clung to life—so much blood loss.
My brother claimed the entire back of the jet like some possessive Viking gargoyle, snarling at anyone who got too close to Dani. Can't blame him—watching Dani try to choke down his blood while dealing with the unholy trinity of trauma, blood loss, and our maker's unique brand of psycho? That's enough to turn anyone into an overprotective asshole.
Our firecracker has a long road ahead between Lilith's twisted games, those bite marks, and whatever other hell she endured. Returning to her usual sass-slinging self will take more than just vampire blood and willpower.
"Dani..." Seraphina's voice cracks and her delicate hand flies to cover her mouth. Her honey-colored eyes fill with tears as her angelic empathy kicks into overdrive. "Is she—?"
"She'll pull through, baby girl." I pull her close, trying to soften the blow of what we both know happened tonight. "Our feisty savior is tougher than she looks. Besides," I attempt a smile that probably looks more like a grimace, "you really think Rhyland will let anything take her from him now?"
On our way home, I gave my angel the cliff notes version—what little we knew about Dani's nightmare. But the real horror show? Whatever happened behind that bedroom door with that sick fuck who "bought" her. That's a darkness only Rhyland will ever know if Dani can even bring herself to tell him.
Erik, our resident master of stealth, finally decided to rejoin the land of the conscious mid-flight. Looked around like someone had replaced his tactical manual with a Dr. Seuss book. He gave me one of his patented "thank you, but I'll never actually say it" nods. Obviously, I had to give him shit about getting his neck snapped during his super-secret spy mission. Can't let The Gloomy Gladiator think I'm going soft.
Meanwhile, Emily ransacks the liquor cabinet as if she were auditioning for "World's Thirstiest Witch." Can't blame her—after spending the entire flight passed out and turning Lilith's mansion into a pile of ash, she's earned a drink. Or ten.
"Come on, Cupcake." I tug Seraphina toward the vault, my pocket feeling heavier than all my of sins combined. Each step closer to that reinforced door adds another layer of 'we're so fucked' to this spectacular disaster of a night.
"Sparky, where are we going?" Her voice carries that perfect blend of heavenly concern and 'what stupid thing did you do now' that only she can manage.
I punch in the vault code with shaking hands—when did I turn into such a bitch? The ring feels like it's burning through my pocket as I pull it out.
"Oh my goodness, where did you find that?" Seraphina's excitement dies faster than my attempt at sobriety when she sees my face. Her golden eyes narrow with that celestial perception that makes lying impossible. "Lucian... what's wrong?"
Somewhere between cloud-hopping and trying not to think about the shit show we'd left behind, I finally checked our apocalyptic party favor. That's when I noticed it—must've been when that witchy bitch Morgan went all magical IED on my ass, and that demonic vulture.
I hold up the ring under the vault's fluorescent buzz—the cosmic equivalent of a broken condom—the broken edge of the stone catches like a guilty secret.
"Our little nuclear bomb just went half-sies. Ten bucks says Hells Favorite Hooker has the other half tucked away in her Gucci handbag by now."
Danica
15
Ourbedroom door nearly flies off its hinges as Rhyland carries me across the threshold like precious cargo. My Viking, ever the dramatic. He lays me on our bed with a tenderness that contradicts the lethal rage still emanating from his powerful frame.
My body trembles—a lovely cocktail of adrenaline crash, vampire blood, and fresh trauma. Tonight wasn't content being a regular nightmare; it had to shoot for the 'worst night ever' championship.
The memories blur together in a kaleidoscope of horror. That monster's fingers forced their way inside me, each brutal thrust tearing through my most intimate places. His uncut nails raked my inner walls as he violated me, drawing blood and screams in equal measure. His fangs marked my breasts, my neck, and my thighs—treating me like his personal chew toy. But then Rhyland appeared—my avenging dark angel.
Strange how a vampire's bite can be both sacred and sacrilege—the most intimate expression of love or the darkest violation imaginable.
"I'm going to start your bath, baby." Rhyland cradles my face in his hands like I'm spun from crystal. I manage a weak nod as he disappears into the bathroom.
His blood may have erased the physical evidence—healing every mark and tear—but it can't wash away the memories that cling to my skin like a shadow. My man tries to piece me together, but some fractures run deeper than flesh.
My strength returns gradually, pain fading to echoes, but my mind keeps replaying tonight's horror show on an endless loop. Beneath the trauma, worry for Damon gnaws at my core. My brother's out there somewhere, lost in his newfound bloodlust, probably drowning in self-loathing for what his hunger made him do.
Perfect. One flavor of PTSD wasn't enough for tonight.
Rhyland returns and lifts me with impossible gentleness. I could probably run a marathon thanks to his blood, but my man needs this. Our bond pulses with his guilt and desperate need to protect and make things right. I feel how tonight's events consume him, how he shoulders blame that isn't his to carry.
Note to self: add "convince stubborn Viking he's not responsible for psychotic vampire drama" to my already overflowing plate.
But we've got some serious conversations ahead, starting with his mysterious vanishing act. Someone powerful enough to yank my mountain of a man through a vortex? And Lilith's apparent obsession with my beefcake?
