Chapter 13 #2
Music rolled through the floors, bass so deep it vibrated in my bones. Lights cut through the darkness in thin, golden beams, catching on the glass, the dancers, the flash of teeth and movement.
We’d cleared the place earlier with our men, every corner, every exit. Still, my hand never strayed far from the knife hidden under my jacket.
Runa moved beside me, her laughter lost in the sound but her presence a tether that kept me sane. Every now and then, her hand brushed mine, light and teasing.
Roman and Layla sat in a booth overlooking the dance floor, his arm tight around her, his eyes scanning the room even as she smiled up at him. Lucien and Sorcha were near the bar, arguing about something that made her laugh, bright and clear.
And Viking… well, Viking was already halfway through his third drink, dragging Draugr toward the crowd, muttering something about “remembering how to have fun.”
I leaned against the bar, watching my brothers do something we hadn’t done in years, exist without a war breathing down our necks.
Runa tugged on my sleeve. “See?” she said softly. “They’re laughing.”
I turned to look at her, the soft glow of the lights catching the gold in her eyes. For the first time in weeks, the tension in my chest eased.
Maybe she was right. Maybe one night could make a difference.
But as I looked out over the crowded room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that calm never lasted long in our world. Not for the Dragic bloodline.
The bass thrummed like a heartbeat through the floorboards of Havoc.
Music pulsed through the air, it was low, hypnotic, the kind that crawled into your veins and took control.
Neon lights flashed like lightning in a storm, slicing through the dark in quick, dizzy bursts of gold and violet.
The crowd moved like one living creature, a tide of shadows and heat and laughter.
For a fleeting moment, I almost believed this peace could hold.
The women had left to go and dance, Runa was standing near the dance floor with Sorcha and Layla, the three of them laughing like the world hadn’t been on fire for years.
Layla’s hand brushed through her dark hair as she leaned toward Sorcha, saying something that made them both laugh louder, carefree in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.
Runa turned, her honey-coloured hair catching the lights, liquid fire, soft against the curve of her neck.
She moved when the music did, hips swaying just enough to make my chest tighten.
She wasn’t trying to draw attention, but she couldn’t help it, she pulled it like gravity.
Every man within ten feet had turned to look, and every one of us, me, Lucien, Roman, Viking, Draugr noticed.
Viking muttered something sharp under his breath, his eyes tracking a man who lingered too long on Layla. Roman’s expression didn’t change, but I saw his hand slide from the table to his lap and fist.
Lucien’s knuckles flexed once as Sorcha laughed, her hand brushing her hair back, oblivious to the bartender’s appreciative stare. It lasted two seconds before Lucien’s glare cut the man’s courage clean in half. The bartender vanished into the crowd, wisely not looking back.
And me? I was hanging on by a thread.
Runa twirled lightly as Sorcha grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the edge of the dance floor. She laughed, a sound I’d kill to hear every day for the rest of my life. But the moment a man passed too close, his shoulder brushing hers, my instincts went feral. She didn’t even notice. But I did.
“Relax, brother,” Viking said from beside me, swirling his drink lazily, the smirk barely hiding the warning in his tone. “They’re safe. You’ve got eyes on them, and so do I. No one’s stupid enough to try something in our club.”
“That’s not the point,” I muttered. My fingers drummed against the edge of the table one, two, three beats, the same rhythm as the bass. My eyes never left her.
Roman leaned back, watching the women with a mixture of pride and vigilance that mirrored my own. “We wanted them to have this,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone. “They’ve earned it. Let them breathe, Volken.”
“I am letting her breathe,” I said tightly. “Just not anyone else near her.”
That earned me a dark chuckle from Lucien. “Mate instincts,” he grunted, taking a sip from his whiskey. “You’ll learn to manage it eventually.”
“Manage it?” I shot him a look. “You didn’t look particularly managed when someone brushed past Sorcha last month.”
He grinned, all teeth. “And I broke his wrist for it. Your point?”
Roman smirked. “The point is, Volken, that you’re no better than us. We’ve all been there. It’ll drive you insane.”
“Already there,” I muttered.
Out on the floor, the women moved together, Layla between them, Sorcha laughing as Runa whispered something in her ear.
Their joy was almost foreign. It didn’t belong in a world of blood and shadows, but they carved it anyway.
And for a few precious minutes, the club didn’t feel like a trap or a battlefield.
It felt… normal.
Then Runa looked over her shoulder at me, one quick glance through the haze of lights and smoke. Our bond pulsed, sharp and immediate, as her lips curved in that quiet smile that said I see you watching me.
She knew exactly what she was doing. And she knew exactly what it did to me.
I swore softly under my breath, leaning back just enough to look casual. Across from me, Viking was shaking with silent laughter.
“Careful,” he said, smirking. “She’s starting to enjoy torturing you.”
“She already does,” I growled.
“She’s good for you,” Roman said simply, sipping his drink without looking up. “And she’s safe. We’re all here.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe, this was what safety looked like…music, laughter, a fleeting moment of light before the dark returned.
But as I looked out over the crowded room, the shifting bodies, the flicker of light, the too-slow heartbeat of the night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that calm never lasted long in our world.
Not for the Dragic bloodline. I had just decided to start relaxing when the air changed.
It was subtle at first a faint static, the kind that crawled along your skin and whispered that something was wrong.
My senses sharpened instinctively, eyes narrowing as I scanned the crowd.
The laughter, the clinking glasses, the scent of perfume and alcohol…
all of it twisted, tainted by something metallic and foul just beneath the surface.
Demon. My muscles locked, the predator inside me waking all at once, every instinct flaring.
Across the club, Draugr’s head lifted, his nostrils flaring once. Lucien’s posture shifted just slightly, his casual lean becoming a coiled readiness. Roman’s fingers tightened around his glass, subtle, but enough to make Layla look up in question from where she was dancing.
We all felt it. That electric stillness right before bloodshed. As if the girls sensed the underlying current, they make their way towards us.
Runa comes to stand beside me, her laughter soft against the thunder of the room. I felt the hum of our bond tighten, the magic between us drawing taut, instinct warning me before she even noticed the shift.
“Volken?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she caught the hard edge in my expression.
I leaned close, my lips brushing her ear. “Stay beside me,” I murmured, my tone too low, too even. “Don’t move. No matter what you see.”
Her heartbeat kicked, fast. She nodded once, though confusion and fear flickered across her honey-coloured eyes.
Viking’s laugh cut off mid-sentence as his gaze followed mine toward the far edge of the dance floor. The crowd was moving normally, but my eyes caught it, that one shadow that didn’t belong. Too still. Too calm in a sea of motion.
He stood near the far wall…tall, broad, dressed like the rest, but wrong in every way that mattered. His face was human enough to fool the crowd, but the stench beneath his skin gave him away. Sulphur and blood. His aura pulsed faintly, red-black energy leaking through the glamour.
Demon spawn. Halfbreed. And he wasn’t alone.
“Six,” Draugr said under his breath, his voice carrying easily to the brothers despite the noise. “Maybe seven.”
Roman’s gaze slid toward the exits, calculating angles, exits, possible collateral. He moved like a commander readying his troops, his tone low and precise. “We clear the civilians first. Quietly.”
Lucien’s eyes were already scanning the balconies. “Gideon’s team is in the wings. He’s seen them too.”
The bass dropped, the crowd erupting in cheers that masked the movement of our guards closing in.
Runa stiffened beside me. “They’re…”
“I know,” I cut in softly, eyes never leaving the demons. “They’re not after anyone here.” A pause. “They’re after us.”
Her hand trembled, brushing against mine. “Why…”
“Because they remember what Dragic blood tastes like,” I said grimly. “And because someone sent them.”
The nearest demon moved first, a twitch of his jaw, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He whispered something into the air, and I saw the ripple of his command spread through the others.
Everything inside me snapped to focus.
“Roman,” I called, my voice a low growl beneath the music. “Permission to make this quick.”
Roman didn’t even look back. “No survivors.”
The crowd screamed a second later, not from fear, but from the sudden crash of light as the demon’s glamour shattered, revealing the thing beneath. Its skin flickered like charred flesh, eyes burning with molten gold.
Runa gasped, stumbling back, but I caught her arm before she fell. “Run to the wall,” I ordered, already stepping in front of her.
The demon lunged.
Time fractured, flashes of teeth, claws, the smell of smoke and iron. I was already moving before thought could catch up, knife flashing from its sheath, my body a blur between Runa and the threat. The blade met flesh with a wet, satisfying sound.