Chapter Twenty-Five
Athens
We’re knee deep in New Moon , and I haven’t stopped laughing since the opening credits. Not because the movie’s a comedy. Because Ryan won’t shut the hell up.
“These aren’t vampires,” she growls, tossing popcorn at the screen like it personally offended her. “They’re glitter-drenched fairies on a bender. You expect me to take that shit seriously?”
I snort. “Unicorns are always naked, too, but no one questions their existence.”
She turns to me, deadpan. “Unicorns don’t stare into the sun and announce, ‘This is what I am.’ My god, Edward. You sparkle like a fucking disco ball and sulk like someone stole your eyeliner.”
“You sound jealous.” I grin. “Would you rather he came out with blood dripping from his mouth and a ‘welcome to the show’ bow?”
“Hell yes. At least then I’d respect the fangs.”
“You’re just mad you couldn’t play him better.”
She scoffs. “I would play him better.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. And I’d be a billionaire if sarcasm paid rent.”
She goes quiet after that.
Too quiet.
I glance over. Her eyes are locked on the floor, shadows deep in her stare. “You’re right,” she murmurs. “If I’d gotten out sooner, maybe I would be living a better life.”
“Ryan-”
She cuts me off with a bitter laugh. “Instead, I’ve got a stepfather who watches me like prey, and a mother who’s too busy sucking him dry for painkillers to care.”
The air thickens. Every muscle in me coils, ready to hunt.
“I’ll kill him,” I whisper. “Say the word, and I’ll-”
“No.” Her voice is sharp. “Don’t you dare pity me, chica. We’re both drowning in the same blood, you’re just lucky your monster’s already in the ground.”
She’s not wrong.
“I’m not pitying you,” I say, serious now. “I’m offering you a way out. Move in here. With us. You’ll be protected. You’ll be free.”
The war behind her eyes flickers. “I don’t run, Athens. I fight.”
“How long’s this been happening?”
She shrugs. “Long enough to stop counting. But this isn’t about me. We came here for you , remember?” She smirks. “Let’s not turn this into a therapy session for the damned. Oh shit!”
“What?”
“Is this what we are now? The Pity Party Posse?” Her eyes go wide in fake horror before she bursts out laughing, a loud, ugly snort echoing off the walls.
“You’re such a bitch,” I groan.
“I know.” She flops onto the couch, giggling. “But I’m your bitch.”
“Speaking of bitches…” Her gaze sharpens like a predator spotting blood. “What’s that on your neck?”
Shit.
“N-nothing.”
“Oh no, you little slut,” she growls, leaping toward me like I just betrayed the pack.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie. Badly.
“The bite marks, Athens. You’ve been claimed. ”
“Yeah, so?”
“I’m so proud of you, you dirty little whore!” She tackles me in a hug, laughing so hard she nearly rolls off the couch.
“Thanks?” I blink. This might be the weirdest love language I’ve ever experienced.
Fred’s voice slices through the chaos, low and distracted. “I wonder how the party’s going.”
Ryan freezes. The laughter dies.
“What? I can’t want some dick and danger after all this?” Fred mutters. “Just a little post-torture reward.”
“We’re here for Athens,” Ryan snaps, straightening. “Not your libido.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Fred mumbles, waving her off.
Ryan grabs her phone. “Let’s liven things up.” She calls Maeve, puts it on speaker.
“Yes?” Maeve’s thick Irish accent crackles through the line.
“Hey, old girl,” Ryan purrs. “Send up some snacks. Drinks. Maybe a little herbal persuasion.”
Maeve snorts. “Ye’re not gettin’ none of the green tonight. Wyck’ll have my throat if yer all floatin’ by sunrise.”
“Oh come on. Athens is journaling into her repressed trauma. The girl needs a little lift.” Ryan giggles, and I eye her.
“Are you already high?”
“What? No!”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would I need that stuff just to read a few journals?”
Ryan’s expression sharpens. “Because you don’t know what’s waiting in those pages. You think you’ve seen hell? You don’t remember everything , do you?”
I swallow hard.
“No,” I whisper. “I’ve… I’ve lost pieces.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Something, someone , has been keeping you blind. The dreams. The gaps. The fog in your head? That’s not normal.”
My arms wrap around my waist. The ache returns.
“What’s worse than remembering your own father molested you?” I whisper. “What’s worse than knowing your guardians helped him erase it?”
The silence after that is brutal.
And loud.
Fred speaks first. “Athens… is that true?”
“Yes.” My voice is barely there. “The journals confirmed it. The dreams tried to warn me, but I didn’t know what they meant.”
Ryan leans in. Her eyes, usually lit with venom, are full of steel now. “Who else knows about the dreams?”
Everything inside me trembles.
But I answer.
“Wyck.”
And for the first time since this night began, the air turns dangerous again.
Like something wicked just woke up beneath our skin.
And it’s not going back to sleep.
“Wyck, Karter, Josie, and Gaia,” I say, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it holds the rest of my fractured answers. “But Wyck and Karter don’t know what happens in the dreams, just that they get worse when the weather turns to shit.”
Ryan raises a brow. “Okay, first of all, who the fuck are Josie and Gaia? And second… what’s the deal with dream demons and thunderstorms? You got some kind of psychic barometer shoved up your spine?”
Before I can answer, the door creaks open.
Maeve enters first, flanked by two of the masked staff, moving like shadows, each carrying silver trays and dark-glassed bottles. Another figure rolls in a black table, slick and glinting under the low amber lights like it was built to hold bodies, not snacks.
Maeve’s eyes find Ryan first. She slides her a small velvet pouch. “This is a limited stash,” she says, voice low and thick with that gravelly Irish rasp. “Enough to get you where you need to go. No more.”
Then she turns to me.
Pulls me into her arms without asking.
Her breath brushes my ear, warm and aching. “I’m so sorry that happened to you… Tell me he’s dead.”
I nod, a cold fire in my gut. “Josie killed him.”
Her eyes spark. “Good. Tell her I said thank you.”
One final squeeze, and Maeve vanishes like smoke, taking the staff with her.
The room shifts instantly.
“Oh, fuck yes ! Now we’re talking.” Ryan’s already tearing into the pouch like it’s sacred loot from a dead king’s tomb.
When she opens it, the scent hits, damp moss, pine sap, and smoke laced with something ancient. It smells like sin. Like secrets buried in blood-soaked soil. Like Wyck.
I want to hate how comforting it is.
Ryan holds up a joint like it’s Excalibur. “Ladies, ready to get higher than the Elder Prime’s ego?”
I hesitate. “I’ve never smoked before.”
Fred shrugs. “You won’t die. Probably.”
“Yeah, this is Devil-grade shit,” Ryan chimes, expertly rolling a second joint. “Infused, blessed, and hexed by our local heathens. Better than church. Better than therapy.”
I eye the bag with suspicion. “Why do I feel like this is the start of my villain origin story?”
Ryan grins like she’s already lit the match. “Because it is.”
I blow out a breath. “I promised Wyck I’d read more if I could skip the party, as long as you two stayed.”
“Aww,” Ryan coos, lunging to throw her arms around me again. “You do love us, sis.”
“Back off, creeper,” Fred grunts, dragging herself into the circle.
Ryan spins and points. “Shut up and get in here. Group hug or I sacrifice you to Onyx.”
“Fine,” Fred grumbles, hugging like she’s allergic to emotion. “But only because I don’t want to die.”
Wrapped in their chaos, I feel it, that tiny flicker of calm in the middle of the madness.
Then I ruin it.
“I don’t think I want to smoke this.”
Ryan freezes mid-roll.
Fred blinks at me like I just pissed in the punch.
“Did she just say… she doesn’t want to?” Ryan deadpans.
Fred crosses her arms. “That’s not how this works. We don’t ask permission. We do what needs to be done.”
“I thought we were a girl gang,” I protest.
“We are. And our girl is about to read shit that’ll skin her from the inside out.” Ryan passes me the finished joint. “So yeah, smoke the damn thing.”
“What will Wyck say when he finds out?”
Ryan cackles. “He’ll drop to his knees and thank us. High sex is a spiritual experience. Trust me.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re both unhinged.”
“Whores,” Ryan corrects. “Say it right.”
“You’re raggedy little bitches,” I counter.
Fred pretends to be offended. “Why am I a whore? I wasn’t even laughing that hard.”
“Because you didn’t defend me.”
“Oh boo-fucking-hoo.”
I groan. “Fine. Whatever. Light it up, let’s see what all the damn hype’s about.”
“ Fuckin’ A! ” Ryan shouts, punching the air.
“Let’s goooo!” Fred sounds like she’s about to storm a frat house.
“You guys are insufferable,” I mumble, moving toward the closet. “I’m grabbing the journals.”
“We’re coming with you,” they chime, already on my heels.
“You do realize we’re in the same room, right? The closet’s literally five feet away.”
“When you move, we move,” Ryan belts out.
“Just like that!” Fred sings back.
I sigh, but I don’t stop them. There’s no stopping them.
Five minutes later, we’ve got food, cursed herbs, and years of trauma bundled into worn leather notebooks spread across the floor. I’ve never been more terrified of a journal in my life.
Ryan lights the joint, inhales deep like she’s about to levitate, then hands it to me. “Okay, Athens. Before you crack open that first scar, you hit this.”
I stare at the joint like it’s sentient. My fingers wrap around it, hesitant. I bring it to my lips. My heart kicks. My breath holds.
Now or never.
I inhale.
The smoke claws down my throat like a demon’s touch. I cough, wheeze, blink through the sting, eyes watering as Ryan and Fred cheer like I just got baptized in Devil fire.
And maybe I have.
Because whatever happens next, it won’t be sober.
It’ll be real. Raw.
And hell-bent.
The second the smoke claws down my throat, I’m choking like it’s trying to take me out from the inside.
“Easy, sis,” Ryan drawls, exhaling slow like the shit doesn’t even touch her lungs. “This ain’t a dick, you don’t need to take it long and deep.”
I cough harder, but I manage a grin. “Could’ve fooled me. You sounded real professional just now.”
Fred tries to stifle her laugh and fails. Miserably.
Ryan smirks. “Bitch, after what you did to Karter, you might as well get your crown now. Queen of Throat-Fucking 101.”
The old me would’ve corrected her, would’ve reminded them I was supposed to be the teacher, not the demonstration. But that version of me died somewhere between the last journal entry and the first time I said yes to Wyck’s mouth on my sins.
So I lean into it.
“I do take pride in my work,” I say, smug. “Especially when I’ve got an audience.”
Fred whistles low. “You’re fucking unholy.”
“Thanks,” I say sweetly, taking another puff, smaller this time. Slower. Letting it curl in my lungs before I breathe it out in a ribbon of smoke. I pass it to Fred, then drop back on the pillow like my bones finally gave up pretending they weren’t broken.
“Is it supposed to feel like this?” I ask, my body weightless and my brain molasses.
Ryan leans over, studying me like she’s waiting for the drugs to unlock something ancient. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m floating on cloud nine while horny little fairies lick my toes.”
She snorts. “Yup. You’re high, Princess. Welcome to the fuck-it phase of self-discovery.”
“Let it ride,” Fred adds, eyes hooded as she lights the next joint. “Then we’ll grub and let you bleed out into the pages.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble in a terrible British accent. “That sounds positively smashing.”
Both of them grimace like I just insulted their ancestors.
Ryan groans. “Jesus Christ. What the hell was that?”
Fred throws a chip at me. “You sound like a drunk chimney sweep trying to get laid.”
I shrug, grinning like a gremlin. “You bitches are no fun.”
“Shut up and get serious. I’m starting to feel…” I trail off, licking my lips. “Kinda turned on. Is that normal?”
Ryan lifts a brow. “It happens. Devil-grade high hits different. Makes some of us wanna cry, some of us wanna fuck. You’re obviously the latter.”
“Wyck’s dick is gonna be ruined by morning,” Fred says flatly.
“Shattered,” Ryan confirms. “Snapped clean in half.”
I sit up and just stare at them, and then we all break. Loud, ugly laughter echoes through the room, shaking the walls like even the ghosts can’t believe this is real.
“You bitches are what the doctor ordered,” I murmur, pressing a hand to my chest to slow the heartbeat thudding beneath the ache. “God, I hope this high lasts. I don’t want to feel anything real for a while.”
That kills the laughter.
Not immediately. But you can feel it shift, like something cold just slithered under the door and wrapped around our ankles.
Fred looks away.
Ryan’s smile tightens.
I try to claw it back with a shaky laugh. “I mean… is it bad to want one night where the past doesn’t own me?”
Ryan doesn’t blink. “Not bad. Just human. But you’re not human anymore, remember?”
“Yeah,” Fred adds. “You’re a Devil’s girl now. You don’t get breaks. You get burned.”
Ryan tosses a grape at my face. “Now eat, bitch. And start reading. We’re on a timer. If the boys come back and find us giggling like we haven’t cracked one trauma open, we’re getting booted to the curb.”
I catch the grape like a reflex. “You know, I really don’t have a problem with things flying at my face.”
Ryan wheezes. “That explains everything.”
Fred clutches her stomach. “I swear, I’m gonna piss myself.”
“Alright, alright, shut up,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Let’s do this before I start humping a pillow or something.”
Ryan grabs a journal and tosses it into my lap. “Pick your poison, Little Fox.”
I stare at it like it’s alive. Like it might bite me. Maybe it will.
I drag it open, fingers trembling despite the warmth buzzing under my skin.
The laughter dies. The air gets still.
The room forgets how to breathe.
And I begin.