Chapter 2
NIGHTMARE CHRISTMAS SONG
Blood // Water - Grandson
Nightshade
The words keep looping, like a nightmare Christmas song with broken bells.
Too loud. Daughter. Too bright. Son. Too constant. Pregnant.
It drills into my skull until I want to shove needles into my eardrums just to make it stop. But it won’t stop. It just keeps circling back, chewing at the frayed edges of my control.
I’m aware she’s our daughter. I’m aware she’s pregnant. I’m aware she’s priceless. I’m aware she was taken. I’m aware our daughter is out there with God knows who. Probably at the mercy of our vermin son.
Then the cycle begins again.
Daughter. Son. Pregnant. Daughter. Son. Pregnant.
Because I am insane. They thought I was before, but they have no idea what I’m capable of now. They have no idea of the lengths I’ll go to – what I’ll burn – especially to get back what’s mine.
Kayla. Pregnant. Gone. Mine.
I refuse to even consider anyone else might be the father. She is mine. Therefore that baby is mine. And worlds will burn until they’re back in my arms.
The rage bubbles beneath my skin, a venomous storm waiting to erupt. Kayla. Pregnant. The words gnaw at my mind, scraping at the thin thread holding me together. The idea of someone else putting a claim on her makes me want to rip the world apart. She’s mine. Always has been.
Seytan’s voice won’t leave my head. Her pitiful whine about their daughter’s disappearance.
She’s practically trembling in her pearls, wringing her hands over the mess she’s made letting Kayla get away with Doctor Callaway.
Weak-minded fool. She let Kayla slip through her fingers and now Kayla’s out there, pregnant and vulnerable.
Except the longer I stand in this office, the clearer it becomes: Kayla didn’t “slip” away. Kayla doesn’t slip anywhere. Someone took her.
I won’t wallow. I won’t hesitate. I’m deadly fucking Nightshade. The mere mention of my name strikes fear into men’s hearts. I’ve destroyed empires, torn apart families, watched societies topple and burn while I stood in the ashes, breathing smoke like incense.
They think they know what I’m capable of? They have no idea.
Because they took what’s mine.
The desk under my hands splinters as my nails dig deeper. The room blurs; only Kayla stays in focus. Her face when she defied me. Her lips twisting into a smirk when I pushed too far. The fire in her eyes.
She’s always been mine. Always.
I can’t stop picturing her belly swollen with my child. The image sends a sick, twisted pulse of satisfaction through me. I’ll find her. I’ll protect what’s mine. Whoever took her…they’ll beg for mercy long before I’m through with them.
I see her in flashes now – hallucinations. Her hair brushing my arm. Her laughter echoing down a corridor that isn’t there. Her scent – warm, wild, defiant – ghosting across the sterile air. Each flicker is another blade twisting in my gut.
“Where the fuck is she?” I snarl. My voice cuts the room, low and dangerous.
Seytan’s shoulders twitch at the sound – tiny, human, involuntary – before she straightens so fast it looks rehearsed. Forced. False. Right now, she’s only alive because she’s my only link to Kayla.
“I don’t know,” she snaps, voice sharp and unapologetic. “Doctor Callaway is gone. Start there.”
The wrong answer.
I close the distance deliberately; my shadow falls over her. She remains unmoved, chin lifted, eyes cool and steady. But steady isn’t calm. Steady is calculation. Steady is someone who knows far more than she’s telling me.
Valentine stands in the corner, tense, phone half raised – alert, efficient, already preparing contingencies.
“You’re going to find out,” I say, voice cold as a blade. “And when you do, you’ll tell me exactly where she is. Because if you don’t—” I lean close, lips brushing her ear, “—I’ll make what happens next feel like heaven compared to the hell I’ll rain down on you.”
The words hang there, sharp enough to bleed on. Her gaze locks on mine – cool, unblinking. No one stands toe-to-toe with Seytan without backing down. Except Kayla.
And now me.
“Don’t test me,” I hiss, venom dripping.
She tilts her head, lips curving into that knowing, poisonous smirk that always sets my teeth on edge. The harsh fluorescent lights crown her with a false halo.
She raises one hand lazily. “Careful, Mr Night,” she murmurs, voice like silk hiding a garrote. “This is my kingdom. You’re just a guest.”
Guest.
The word digs under my skin like a hooked blade.
Valentine speaks suddenly into his phone – clipped, tense. “We need an aerial search. No, I said need. Get me a pilot cleared for emergency lift.”
He’s already following the orders I haven’t voiced.
My jaw tightens.
We need to get off this island.
We need to get to her.
We need time, resources, movement.
But Seytan has turned her body subtly toward the door.
Blocking.
Her eyes flick toward Valentine as he ends the call. “There are protocols. Approvals. You don’t get to commandeer a helicopter because you’re—”
“Desperate?” I snap. “Because she’s pregnant with my—”
“Enough.” Her voice cracks like a whip. “Your delusions of ownership don’t entitle you to tear apart my facility.”
Heat roars through me. “She carries my child—”
“And that child,” she says, stepping forward, “belongs to the asylum. Just like you. Just like her.”
It is a deliberate cruelty. A deliberate provocation. A claim meant to cut.
And it does.
For one heartbeat, everything inside me goes utterly still.
Then lightning forks through my vision.
“You think you can keep me from her?” My voice is a quiet, murderous thing.
“I know I can,” she breathes. “Until I decide otherwise.”
Valentine stiffens. Even he recognises the stupidity of antagonising me now. But Seytan is not stupid; she is strategic. She wants me off balance. She wants the power dynamic claimed early.
She wants to slow me down.
“Valentine,” she says, gaze not leaving mine, “secure the facility. Full lockdown. No departures until I say so.”
A rupture of silence follows.
Lockdown.
No departures.
Deliberate obstruction.
And that – more than anything – tells me she knows far more than she’s admitting.
“I’m leaving this island,” I say softly.
Seytan smiles. “No, Nightshade. You’re not.”
My vision edges with white. “Move. Or I’ll remove you.”
But she’s already turning her back – dismissal sharp as a slap. “You are an asset. Assets don’t leave the premises during a security breach.”
Asset.
Property.
Like Kayla.
Like our child.
Valentine finally finds his voice. “Nightshade—”
“You got us thirty minutes?” I ask.
He hesitates – a fraction, barely a breath.
“There’s a request in,” he says carefully. “But…authorisation is pending.”
Meaning: Not cleared. Not guaranteed. Blocked.
Seytan is sandbagging the entire operation.
Good.
It will give me something to destroy later.
The rage reignites, hot and all-consuming. My chest heaves with barely restrained fury. The cold, sterile nature of this room only feeds the flames.
They think they can control me?
I explode.
My fist slams into the nearest equipment – glass shatters, metal folds. A chair shrieks across the floor before splintering against the wall. Shelves topple. Supplies scatter. The destruction is instantaneous, violent, insufficient.
Kayla. Pregnant. Kayla. Taken.
I pace like a storm trapped in human skin. Her face in the window reflection. Her laugh in the buzz of fluorescents. Her body under my hands, round with our child. Every memory another coal tossed into the furnace.
Should I tell the others? Should they know Kayla is Seytan and Valentine’s daughter? That she carries my child? Would they follow me harder – or turn against me? The uncertainty slithers under my ribs.
The hum of the lights grows sharper. The room compresses around me. My vision tunnels again, heat rushing behind my eyes.
Thirty minutes. Helicopter. Escape. Find Kayla.
Whether Seytan signs the authorisation or not, I’m getting off this island.
I storm out of the ruined room, leaving chaos in my wake. The corridors stretch ahead – long, empty, humming with distant alarms. Staff scatter. Guards step aside. My boots hammer out a vow on the tile.
Kayla is out there. She’s carrying my child.
So no matter what it takes, I’ll get them both back.
And worlds will burn.