22. The Witness
THE WITNESS
She was done.
Done waiting. Done crying. Done letting Reign Saint run from her like she didn't deserve answers after six years of this bullshit.
The parking lot was half-empty now—the club was still open but winding down, the crowd thinning as people stumbled toward their cars or called Ubers.
Bass still thumped from inside the building, muffled but persistent, vibrating through the asphalt.
The air smelled like cigarette smoke, spilled liquor, and expensive cologne mixed with the cold bite of November.
Soreya killed the engine and sat there for a moment, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles went white.
She was wearing the same clothes from earlier—black leggings, an oversized Howard hoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. No makeup. She hadn't bothered. This wasn't about looking good. This was about getting the truth.
Her phone sat in the cupholder, Reign's last message still glowing on the screen.
Reign (3:04 AM): Soreya don't come here. I'm leaving now. I'll come to you. Just wait.
She'd ignored it.
She was tired of waiting.
Soreya grabbed her phone, shoved it in her hoodie pocket, and climbed out of the car.
The cold air hit her immediately, sharp enough to make her breath visible. She pulled her hoodie tighter around herself and started walking toward the club entrance, her sneakers crunching against the gravel and broken glass scattered across the parking lot.
The front entrance was still lit up—red neon letters spelling out AFTER DARK above the door, a line of people still waiting to get in even at this hour.
Security was posted up at the door, checking IDs, turning people away.
She recognized one of them—Sevyn, Reign's younger brother.
He was tall, muscular, wearing all black with his locs twisted tight and his arms crossed over his chest.
He saw her immediately.
His expression shifted—surprise, then concern, then something that looked almost like fear.
Soreya kept walking.
"Soreya," Sevyn called out, stepping away from the door. "You shouldn't be here."
"Where's Reign?" she demanded, her voice sharp.
"He ain't?—"
"Don't lie to me, Sevyn. I know he here. His car right there." She pointed toward the back of the lot where Reign's Hellcat was parked in its usual spot, gleaming under the streetlights.
Sevyn's jaw tightened. He pulled out his phone, typing quickly. "Let me call him. Just—wait here, aight? Don't go inside."
"I'm not waiting anymore."
"Soreya—"
But she was already walking past him, heading toward the side of the building where she knew there was a back entrance. She'd been here before—plenty of times, back when things were good, back when Reign used to bring her to the club and show her off like she was his queen.
Back before everything went to shit.
"Soreya, stop!" Sevyn called after her, but she didn't turn around.
She rounded the corner of the building, her heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline flooding her system.
The back parking lot was darker, quieter—just a few cars scattered around, the dumpsters lined up against the brick wall, the faint glow of a single streetlight casting long shadows across the asphalt.
And then she saw him.
Reign.
He was standing near the back entrance, his phone pressed to his ear, his other hand running over his face in frustration.
He was wearing all black—black jeans, black hoodie, black leather jacket—and even from a distance, she could see the tension in his body, the way he was pacing like a caged animal.
He looked up and saw her.
His expression shattered.
"Soreya—" He lowered the phone, shoving it into his pocket, and started walking toward her. "Baby, you shouldn't be here. I told you I was coming to you?—"
"I'm tired of you telling me what to do!" Soreya's voice cracked, all the exhaustion and anger and heartbreak of the past six years pouring out at once. "I'm tired of waiting! I'm tired of you running! You said you'd tell me the truth, Reign, so tell me! Right now!"
Reign stopped a few feet away from her, his hands raised like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "Not here. Not like this. Just—let me take you home, aight? We can talk?—"
"No!" Soreya stepped closer, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "You don't get to do this anymore. You don't get to disappear and lie and cheat and then show up acting like everything's fine. I deserve to know what the fuck is going on with you!"
"Soreya, please?—"
"Are you a killer?" The question came out raw, desperate. "Are you hurting people? Are you?—"
She didn't get to finish.
A figure emerged from the shadows behind Reign—fast, silent, predatory.
Soreya's breath caught in her throat.
The figure was tall, dressed in all black, moving with a fluidity that didn't look human. She couldn't see their face clearly, but she could see the way they moved—too fast, too smooth, like they were gliding across the asphalt instead of walking.
Reign must have sensed it because he spun around just as the figure lunged.
The impact was brutal.
The figure slammed into Reign with enough force to send both of them crashing into the side of a parked car, the metal denting with a sickening crunch. Soreya screamed, stumbling backward, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Reign!"
But Reign was already moving.
He shoved the figure off him with inhuman strength, sending them flying backward across the parking lot. The figure landed on their feet—impossibly, effortlessly—and straightened up, their face finally visible under the streetlight.
It was a woman.
She was beautiful in a cold, predatory way—sharp cheekbones, dark skin, eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. She was wearing a black bodysuit and heels that should have made it impossible to move the way she was moving, but she looked completely unbothered.
She smiled, and Soreya saw her teeth.
Fangs.
Long, sharp, gleaming white in the darkness.
"Reign Saint," the woman said, her voice smooth and mocking. "Noctis sends her regards."
Reign didn't respond.
He just moved.
Soreya had never seen Reign move like this.
He was fast—faster than any human should be. One second he was standing near the car, the next he was on the woman, his fist connecting with her face with a crack that echoed across the parking lot.
The woman's head snapped back, but she didn't fall.
She laughed.
"That all you got, Saint?"
Reign snarled—an actual, inhuman snarl that made Soreya's blood run cold—and grabbed the woman by the throat, slamming her into the brick wall hard enough to crack the concrete.
The woman's eyes flashed—glowing red, bright and terrifying—and she brought her knee up into Reign's stomach with enough force to make him grunt and stumble back.
They circled each other like animals, both of them breathing hard, both of them moving with that same unnatural speed and grace.
Soreya stood frozen, her back pressed against her car, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might explode.
This wasn't real.
This couldn't be real.
The woman lunged again, her hands—no, her claws—extended, aiming for Reign's throat. Reign dodged, grabbed her wrist, and twisted with a sickening snap. The woman screamed, but it wasn't a human scream. It was something else—something primal and furious and wrong.
She spun, her other hand slashing across Reign's chest, her claws tearing through his jacket and hoodie like they were paper. Blood sprayed across the asphalt, dark and wet under the streetlight.
Reign staggered back, his hand going to his chest, his breathing ragged.
And then Soreya saw it.
His face.
It was changing.
His eyes—those warm brown eyes she'd looked into a thousand times—were darkening, the edges glowing faintly red. The veins around his eyes were spreading, dark lines crawling across his skin like cracks in porcelain. His mouth opened, and she saw his teeth extending—sharp, predatory, inhuman.
Fangs.
Reign had fangs.
Soreya's knees buckled.
She grabbed onto the side of her car to keep from falling, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
No.
No, no, no, no, no?—
Reign moved again, faster than before, and this time when he hit the woman, she went down hard. He was on top of her in an instant, his hands around her throat, his face inches from hers.
"You made a mistake coming here," Reign growled, and his voice—it wasn't his voice. It was deeper, rougher, something ancient and dangerous.
The woman laughed, blood dripping from her mouth. "You think you special, Saint? You think Noctis scared of you?"
"She should be."
Reign's hands tightened, and Soreya heard the crack of bones breaking.
The woman's eyes went wide, her body convulsing, her hands clawing at Reign's arms. But he didn't let go. He just kept squeezing, his face twisted into something that wasn't human anymore, something feral and monstrous.
And then he bit her.
Soreya watched in horror as Reign's mouth latched onto the woman's neck, his fangs sinking deep into her skin. The woman screamed—a high, piercing sound that cut through the night—and then the scream turned into a gurgle as blood poured from the wound.
Reign drank.
Soreya could see it—could see his throat working, could see the blood staining his mouth and chin, could see the way his body seemed to come alive, his muscles tensing, his breathing deepening.
He was feeding.
He was feeding on her.
The woman's struggles grew weaker, her body going limp, her eyes rolling back in her head.
And Reign didn't stop.
He kept drinking, kept draining her, his hands still locked around her throat, his body pressed against hers in a grotesque parody of intimacy.
Soreya's stomach lurched.
She turned away, pressing her hand to her mouth, trying not to vomit. Her whole body was shaking, her mind screaming at her to run, to get in her car and drive away and never look back.
But she couldn't move.
She was frozen, trapped in this nightmare, watching the man she loved turn into a monster right in front of her.
Finally—finally—Reign pulled back.