Chapter 3 #2
Her eyes didn’t flinch or dart away. She looked at him as if weighing him against some silent measure, her posture still but not afraid.
There was a steadiness in her, an unspoken strength, and for a heartbeat, Nico felt laid bare, as if she could see past the spiked green hair, the silver piercings, the tattoos, and straight to the core of who he was.
He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of every inch of space between them. “It’s good to meet you, Akira,” he said, his voice softer than before, sincerity threading through the usual bravado. “I hope you’ll let us prove ourselves to you.”
Akira’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smile, the kind that was gone so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined it. “And if I don’t?”
Her question wasn’t a challenge, but an honest curiosity, and Nico found himself wanting—no, needing—to give her a reason to believe. He took a breath, steadying himself against the pull he felt toward her.
“Then we’ll still get you out of here,” he promised quietly. “Trust isn’t a requirement for rescue.”
For a moment, the room faded—the tension, the uncertainty, even Raphael’s subtle fidgeting beside him. It was just Nico and Akira, two souls on opposite sides of chaos, drawn together by something neither could name.
He realized then that he didn’t just want to save her. He wanted to know her story, to earn that steadiness she carried, to see if the way she’d looked at him just now could one day turn into something more.
And Akira, her gaze lingering on him a moment longer, seemed to see something she recognized in him. Maybe it was the chaos, or maybe it was the promise beneath it. Either way, Nico knew he was changed, and there was no going back.
He tore his eyes away, just long enough to glance at Raphael, who was watching Miryam with a rare, genuine softness.
“Your name isn’t one that’s heard often in this generation,” Raphael pointed out. There was an interest in his gaze that surprised Nico.
Freckles shrugged. “Guess my parents were old fashioned.”
“How is it spelled?” Raphael asked. Nico wondered why his friend was worried about how it was spelled.
Miryam looked as confused as Nico felt. “In the traditional Hebrew way.”
Raphael’s brow furrowed as his body tensed.
“Then it’s the Hebrew form of the name Mary.
The very name of the female who, according to the human Bible, was ‘favored by the Lord’, and brought the only sinless man to ever live, into this world.
” Raphael let out a huff of laughter that sounded more sarcastic than humorous.
Then muttered, “How ironic is that.” It wasn’t a question, and Nico knew his friend well enough that what Raphael had just said wasn’t just a history lesson.
“A demon who knows the Bible?” Morgan asked, her eyes skeptical.
Raphael looked at her, “Wouldn’t you think it was important to know what history said about your kind?”
Morgan pressed her lips together as she made a sound of agreement, then added, “Fair point.”
Nico cleared his throat and gestured for them to sit.
He forced himself not to stare at Akira, even though every cell in his body was attuned to her.
He and Raphael took the armchairs across from the trio, a low table between them littered with half-empty cups and the remains of what might have been a fruit tray—Las Vegas excess at its finest, gone stale around the edges.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and let his gaze land on each girl in turn.
“Based on your lack of a barrage of questions, I assume you’ve had some things explained to you—about what you are, about Damarians.
But there’s more to this world than what you’ve heard from the people who took you, the guards and whispers in the hallways.
And you deserve to hear the truth from someone who isn’t trying to use you. ”
Raphael’s voice slid in, velvet and steady, as if they’d rehearsed this exchange a hundred times. “You already know you’re animi. That you can see us for what we are. The glamour doesn’t work on you, because you’re meant to be part of this world—if you choose it.”
Nico nodded, picking up where Raphael left off.
“What you might not know is that recently, everything about the animus bond changed. Visata—the creator of all Damarians—made a new decree. Now, every animus female has a single destined mate. When you get your tattoo, it’ll be a perfect match to your mate’s, and it will tell you which kingdom you belong to. ”
Morgan scoffed. “So, fate is a tattoo artist now?”
Raphael grinned, the expression softening the severity of his features. “Visata has a sense of humor, even in all of his awesomeness.”
Akira’s gaze sharpened. “And if we don’t want this? If we don’t want a tattoo, a mate, a kingdom?”
Nico’s answer was immediate, honest. “Then you don’t have to choose it. That’s part of what we’re fighting for—your choice. Not every Damarian agrees, but here in Chaos, and a few other kingdoms, freedom, choice, matters.”
He saw the flicker of hope in Akira’s eyes, the subtle relaxing of her spine. “But what about the rest? Why are we really in danger?”
Raphael’s jaw tightened. “That’s where the story gets ugly.
The Kingdom of Venom—snakes and scorpions—used to be ruled by Azure.
He started kidnapping animi and selling them, not to mention kidnapping human females and attempting to turn them into animi, breaking every law set by Visata.
And . . .” He looked to Nico, who finished the sentence without missing a beat.
“And Wolfgang and Talulla helped Azure. They let him use Chaos as a hunting ground, were purchasing females from him, and hid what he was doing from the shaman council. Then turned a blind eye to the suffering of women like you.” Nico’s tone was bitter, frustration bleeding through the words.
“They betrayed all of us—Damarians and animi alike.”
Morgan’s glare softened just a fraction. “So why are you helping?”
Raphael answered before Nico could. “Because I know what it’s like to be trapped by what you are.
I’m not a Damarian. I wasn’t created by Visata.
I’m a demon. The kind most people run from, or try to use.
I chose to be here because I don’t want to be what I was made to be.
I don’t want to hurt people, or manipulate them.
Kingdom of Chaos is a safe place for those who don’t fit anywhere else. That’s what I’m fighting for.”
Miryam’s eyes widened, surprise scurrying across her features. “You chose this?”
Raphael nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Every day.”
Nico leaned back, letting the weight of their words settle. For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the casino, the muffled pulse of music and life just outside the door.
“That’s a lot,” Akira finally said, her tone measured but not unkind. “But words are easy.”
Nico smiled, a spark of admiration filling him. “Agreed. Which is why I want you to talk to someone who’s been through it—someone who was human, just like you.” He pulled out his phone, thumbed in a number, and waited as the screen blinked to life.