Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Here is the remarkable thing about being unique—everyone gets to be. Because there is no one just like you. There is only one me, which I am sure most of my fellow shamans are thankful for. Some of us might wear our idiosyncratic qualities like our favorite shirt, for the whole world to see. While others might be more subtle, and only letting certain people see those qualities. Whatever the case may be, our Creator made us exactly who we are supposed to be, in the exact time that we are supposed to be, with all of the exact talents, qualities, and abilities we need to do what we were created to do. See? Special.” ~Nico
There was an art to chaos, and Nico had always considered himself a connoisseur.
He lounged with deliberate ease in a threadbare velvet chair, one ankle balanced on the opposite knee, in a private high-roller lounge above the shimmering madness of the Las Vegas Strip.
The lights below blinked and pulsed—false stars for a city that fed on illusion.
Everything about the Kingdom of Chaos was like that, really: dazzling, distracting, and dangerous if you didn’t know how to play the angles.
Wolfgang and his mate hadn’t truly made it a safe haven so much as a place for the “others” of the Damarian race to hide in–as if they should be ashamed and as if any of them had some sort of control over what they’d been born as.
Raphael paced the length of the room, agitation rolling off him in waves.
The demon’s sharp, angular face was set in a tight scowl, purple eyes flicking restlessly to the window, the door, then back to Nico.
The power that he kept tightly under control seemed to pulse off of him, as if his agitated state made it harder to keep it locked down.
“All of your pacing is stressing me out,” Nico drawled.
“Quit your fretting.” He rose, stretching his arms overhead, vertebrae cracking in a satisfying chorus.
He felt the city’s energy—wild, unpredictable, a hundred different hungers humming through the walls.
The Kingdom of Chaos was unlike any other Damarian territory.
It was a kingdom for those who didn’t fit: hybrids, misfits, the broken, and the strange.
It was his home, and he’d be damned if he let Wolfgang and Talulla’s betrayal bring it down from the inside.
He strode to the window on the farthest side of the suite that gave the best view and took a deep breath, letting the familiarity of this territory settle over him.
There were others they claimed– Los Angeles, D.C.
, and Austin–but this was his favorite. Raphael joined him at the glass, his reflection a shadow at Nico’s side—tall, lean, every movement elegant and restless.
He had stuck to Chaos because, even though he could pass for human when he wanted, there was no hiding the inhuman beauty that radiated from him, the violet eyes and the way his very presence seemed to fill the room.
His energy permeated every space he entered and, without even trying, people stared.
“You spoke of finding the next in line to the throne. What if there’s not one?” Raphael asked, folding his arms as if he could keep his worries contained by sheer force of will.
Nico’s gaze sharpened. “Then I’ll make one.
That’s the beauty of chaos; it’s unpredictable.
Strange things happen all the time in our world.
Just look at this new turn of events with the animus.
It’s no longer about them only falling in love, but they also have to be destined for one another by Visata. ”
Raphael arched an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I believe you could talk yourself into just about anything.”
Nico shrugged, running a hand through his spiked, naturally green hair—his body’s own personalized rebellion. “I believe in possibilities, and if I don’t see one, then I will make a way for one.”
A knock at the door broke the moment. Nico’s hand slid to the knife at his belt—a habit more than a necessity. Raphael’s posture shifted, lethal and ready, even as he kept his expression bored.
The door swung open, admitting a young man who could only belong in the Kingdom of Chaos.
His hair—if you could call it that—was an unruly tumble of dark and white feathers, sticking out in tufts from his scalp and trailing down the sides of his face, woven through with strands of brown and gold.
His features were sharp, eyes a clear, cool grey, and his skin was dusted with a soft, downy layer of feathers like the fuzz on a baby chick.
Even in the smoky light, he looked as if he was halfway between human and something that had just fallen from the nest.
“News,” he said, voice a little breathless, a little musical—the kind of voice that always sounded like it might break into birdsong.
“The women you asked about, I got them. There’s only three.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that he didn’t have more and somehow got rid of them before anyone realized they were here.
I managed to move them through the freight elevators of the casino to the room you told me to.
They asked a lot of questions, but when I told them their other option was to trust the Chaos king, they came without argument.
Wolfgang’s men are sniffing around the casino floor, as if they know something is up. ”
Nico nodded, every line of his body shifting from languid to lethal.
“News of Azure’s demise is no doubt making the king and queen of Chaos nervous.
Though, he’s cocky enough to think he still won’t get caught.
Which is why we might actually get away with this entire mission.
Thank you, Corin.” He met the young man’s gaze, and Corin nodded back, his eyes bright with the hope of belonging.
“Keep your eyes on the exits. If anyone attempts to get near the room we have them in, let me know.”
Corin’s feathers rustled as he straightened. “You got it. I’ll keep to the shadows.” He flashed Raphael a quick, nervous smile—one that didn’t linger, as if he was used to people looking through him. Then he slipped out, silent as a breeze, leaving the faintest trace of down drifting in his wake.
Raphael sighed. “I’ve been a member of this kingdom long enough to be desensitized to those who call it home, but sometimes I see the ones who can’t accept themselves the way they are, and I pity them.”
“For a demon, you're uncharacteristically kind,” Nico replied, grabbing his coat. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think it was a ruse.”
Raphael chuckled. “As you’ve pointed out ad nauseam, it’s Kingdom of Chaos. It would actually be stranger for me to be a ‘normal’ demon.”
Nico shrugged. “Fair.”
They moved as a unit through the dim corridors, the roar of the casino swelling and fading as they passed.
There was tension in the air—a kind of electric anticipation that made Nico’s skin prickle.
Las Vegas was always wound tight, but tonight felt different.
Tonight, the city was holding its breath.
They found the women in a private parlor—a trio of them, each looking lost and wary in a room meant for high-stakes deals and dangerous men.
Nico felt their uniqueness: human, but Damarian by fate, not by birth.
Animi. Not shifters, not shamans, not yet anything at all except potential.
He didn’t yet know if their skin was bare of ink to reveal what they might become.
Their eyes held the haunted look of those who’d been promised something grand but given only fear.
He offered them a smile that was all reassurance and none of the wildness lurking underneath. “Welcome, ladies. I’m Nico. This is Raphael. We’re here to help you get home—be it the kingdom you will find your mate in, or if you so choose, back to the life you were taken from.”
The youngest, just entering adulthood at maybe twenty or twenty-one, a slim, freckled girl with a stubborn chin and the kind of wariness that came from learning too young that the world was not safe, looked at him with wide, desperate eyes.
“You’re not . . . with him? With King Wolfgang?
” she asked, her voice slightly accusatory.
“While I am a member of this kingdom, I am not in agreement with the way Wolfgang and his mate run it,” Nico said, his tone gentle. “I am attempting to fix that. As the Kingdom of Chaos shaman, you’re under my protection now. No one will touch you—not with me around.”
One of the others—a tall woman with a streak of blue in her hair and a glare that could cut glass—crossed her arms. “How do we know we can trust you?”
Nico lifted one shoulder. “You don’t.” He made eye contact with each of the three women before he continued.
“But we will do our best to earn your trust. First,” he held up a finger, “by telling you all that has taken place in regard to our people, and how it affects you. Then, I’ll allow you to speak with some other human females via video chat that will hopefully convince you that we are telling the truth. ”
He waited to see how they’d respond to his declaration. After at least a minute, the blue streak nodded.
“I’m Morgan,” she said, then pointed to Freckles, “that’s Miryam,” then she pointed to the third female–an Asian woman with long, straight, shiny, black hair, beautiful alabaster skin, deep brown eyes, and a delicate frame. Her gaze was shrewd as she met his eyes. “That’s Akira.”
Nico’s eyes collided with Akira’s, and he froze.
As if her stare somehow held him in her orbit, he was captivated not only by her beauty, but by the intelligence he saw in the depths of her brown orbs.
He’d always prided himself on reading people quickly, on finding their edges and shadows, but with Akira it was as if he’d stumbled upon something rare—something that refused to be defined or contained.