Chapter 4
OLIVIA
Lark's heels clicked sharply against the concrete as we neared the entrance to the Track. Neon lights washed over the pavement in streaks of blue and red, directing people toward the entrance. Engines roared somewhere beyond the gates, the sound vibrating through the ground and up my spine.
The Track was no ordinary raceway. Supes came from all over the country to compete at one of the three magical circuits run by the Syndicate.
Every inch of the five-acre grounds was woven with roads, twisting lanes, sudden turns, and magical traps designed to make racing as unpredictable as possible.
Like most things supes touched, they had taken something normal and used magic to make it ten times harder, all in the name of “fun.” Still, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hella entertaining.
Watching it all unfold definitely got my creative juices flowing about what a machine and magic were capable of.
“Aren’t your feet going to hurt by the end of the night?” I asked, eyeing the thin straps and three-inch heels on her feet.
She grinned. “Beauty is pain, Via. Don’t you know that?”
Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice. “And if it gets too bad, I’ll just make Nathan carry me.”
A moment later, the air beside us rippled, and he appeared by her side.
I forced my shoulders not to jerk at his sudden entrance. It was bound to happen a lot tonight, so I better get used to it.
“Did you call my name, baby?” Nathan’s smile revealed the faint edge of his fangs, but his crystal blue eyes softened the second they landed on her.
He was a supe, but he was good to her, and that truth weighed heavily in my chest. Maybe it was because he’d only been turned recently. Maybe he still remembered what it felt like to be human.
“Nathan!” Lark threw herself into his arms and kissed him without hesitation.
I turned my head to give them a moment, though not before I caught the faint flush coloring his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around her.
Five years ago, she’d burst into the garage waving a blood contract, pride shining in her eyes.
I’d nearly strangled her.
In the supe district, a human without protection was prey. A contract meant you were claimed. Protected. Untouchable.
It also meant permanent. Forever.
No dissolving it when feelings faded. No walking away if it wasn't what you thought it would be. Death was the only exit clause.
I met Nathan, prepared to despise him. To hate him for convincing my young and beautiful friend into a life sentence, but by the end of that first night, I couldn’t.
That was when I learned he’d been turned, not born into it.
He didn’t carry that ancient superiority most born vampires wore so comfortably.
He told me he’d tasted her blood at a donation center.
One sip, and he was hooked. He’d tracked down the donor list and found out her name.
Curiosity became fascination. Fascination turned into following her just to learn who she was.
He thought she was the most beautiful being that he’d ever met.
He watched her day-to-day life and slowly fell in love with her.
He knew they were a part of different worlds, so he’d resigned to keep his feelings to himself and let her go, but that very same day someone tried to mug her and he couldn't help but intervene.
After he saved her, she offered to give him some of her blood as thanks. She took him to her apartment and fed him and spent the night with him.
She thought he’d disappear by morning, but when she woke up, he was still there holding her. He confessed everything to her and pulled out a folded up contract from his pocket, asking her to choose him.
And she did.
To his credit, he took care of her. Paid her bills. Made sure she ate. Never restricted where she went or what she was doing. The only condition he insisted on was simple, he would go wherever she did, even if it was in the shadows behind her.
She’d laughed, telling him that if he wanted to watch her twenty-four-seven, then he might as well be her boyfriend.
That seemed to please him even more than the signed paper.
To him, it meant she was open to his feelings.
In return, he promised he’d be the best boyfriend possible, never giving her a reason to look anywhere else but at him.
So far, he’d kept that promise, and my best friend was the happiest I’d seen her in years.
Nathan’s gaze flicked to mine, quickly sliding away again as he cleared his throat, gently setting Lark back on her feet.
“Hey, Olivia. Thanks for coming with her. I had to check in with my contact before they let us in.”
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral even as I swallowed a smile. He always looked faintly uncomfortable after public affection, as if he hadn’t quite adjusted to being the kind of man someone ran toward.
Lark squealed and grabbed our hands, tugging us forward.
“Come on! This is so exciting!”
Nathan squeezed her fingers. His attention never strayed far from her.
“This way, baby,” he said softly. “That entrance is for spectators for the race. The pre-party access is around back, under the stadium at the finish line.”
We moved away from the lights and noise, rounding the building into a quieter stretch of concrete and shadow. The roar of engines grew closer and more violent the deeper we went.
A single steel door waited at the end of the path, and my heartbeat picked up as we approached. The air in front of the door wavered for half a second, a subtle distortion that bent the darkness before smoothing out again.
A shimmer rolled across the surface, pale and clean.
Air magic.
I slowed slightly, studying the steady ripple of magic hypnotizing me. Just like all supe-related things, it was both beautiful but deadly.
Nathan rested his hand on the knob but didn’t turn, didn’t move.
The metal beneath his palm shimmered, a faint ripple spreading outward in thin, invisible waves. The air pressed inward, testing, tasting. A soft click followed, quiet but decisive, and the door swung open.
Music poured out first, loud with a fast beat. We stepped across the threshold.
Engines idled beneath the concrete floor, layered and steady, their vibrations crawling up through the soles of my boots.
The warehouse-like ceiling caught the noise and threw it back down in a low, metallic hum.
Every car inside seemed to breathe in sync, their hoods trembling faintly with contained power.
The air felt dense, charged. It clung to my skin and settled heavy in my lungs. Each inhale carried heat, oil, and something sharper that prickled along the back of my throat. The overhead lights flickered faintly as currents of magic drifted between steel beams and polished chassis.
Two clean rows of cars stretched out in front of us on a diagonal, positioned next to each other with a wide aisle between them.
They sat low to the ground, suspensions tight, spoilers angled aggressively.
Neon underglow washed the concrete in color—fluorescent purples, bright pinks, electric blues, and radioactive greens, turning the oil stains into shimmering specks on the concrete
Clusters of supes lingered near their vehicles. Some leaned against doors with arms crossed. Others crouched beside open hoods, fingers tracing over engraved runes embedded in engine blocks. Conversations revolved around top speed and wind drag, speaking my language.
Lark giggled beside me. “Oh no. I have a feeling we’re going to lose Via.”
Her voice barely carried over the steady chorus of idling engines. A few heads turned toward the entrance. My breath caught, but their eyes only swept over us before quickly drifting back to chrome and carbon fiber. I let out a sigh of relief.
Music pounded from the other side of the warehouse, bass vibrating through stacked speakers near a raised DJ booth. A tight circle of bodies moved in front of it—wings flashing, claws glinting, sharp teeth catching the strobe lights as they collided and spun.
“Let’s dance!” Lark tugged at Nathan’s arm, already stepping toward the shifting mass of bodies.
A sharp turbo whine cut through the music from somewhere along the left row, and all attention snapped sideways.
I watched as a small crowd formed around an open hood. Someone gestured animatedly at a polished Ramson 1058Z engine, its components gleaming under fluorescent lights. The turbo breathed again—short, eager bursts—drawing a few appreciative nods from those standing closest.
Lark’s hand waved through my line of sight.
“Dear god, just go. I can’t stand seeing you drool over a pile of metal and screws,” she said, shaking her head as I drifted half a step toward the sound.
Shifting to look at her, I shrugged. She wasn't wrong. If I had the choice between dancing and looking at these suped up cars, it was going to be the cars. Every. Damn. Time.
Nathan huffed, chewing on his lip as he looked at me with apprehensive eyes.
I knew exactly what he was worried about, but this wasn’t my first time being a human around supes.
I just had to keep my eyes down, avoid fighting or challenging anyone, and I’d be fine.
If I acted like I didn’t exist, they’d treat me the same way—and we’d all get what we wanted. Win-win.
“I’ve got this,” I told him.
He held my stare for a moment longer, then gave a single nod.
The music cut off mid-beat.
The sudden silence hit harder than the bass ever had.
Then a deep rumble rolled in from outside—slow, controlled, powerful enough to vibrate screws loose somewhere in the walls. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned toward the entrance, and a few bodies shifted instinctively out of the center aisle.
A matte-black McLaren glided in, a cherry-red stripe slicing down the center from hood to tail. The headlights washed over the concrete and reflected off polished rims and gun smoke accents as it moved forward without hesitation.