Chapter 12
Kaze
“Take care of the bike,” she orders me, like I could actually do something if it came down to it.
Right.
So, of course, I ignore her and float after her.
We pulled up to Patrick’s house, and, unsurprisingly, the music was already pounding, the sounds vibrating through the walls like an irregular pulse. The party energy was precisely what it’s always been: too much, too fast, too fucking wrong.
It’s not even 8 p.m. yet, I think. Not that it matters.
I didn’t haunt this house every day of my ghostly existence, but I’ve been here enough to know one thing: Mada’s so-called friends don’t throw these parties just because they refuse to grow up.
Their addictions run deeper than alcohol and drugs. They’re addicted to attention.
To power.
And to get what they want, no matter the cost.
I never bothered checking what happens upstairs because I don’t need to.
I know.
I’ve seen the way their guests, drunk, high, out of their minds, are dragged into Patrick’s rooms.
I’ve seen the way it ends.
Patrick and his friends? They’re not just rich assholes throwing parties.
They’re predators. And Khalee? She’s charging right into the fucking lion’s den.
She jumped off her bike and rushed toward the house.
“Stop,” I say, finally catching up and stepping in front of her. I don’t want her inside that house. Not now. Not ever. “Let me go first. I’ll check for Mada. If she’s inside, I’ll tell you.”
“No way I’m waiting here.” Of course, she doesn’t listen.
I prepare to cut her off, to impose my will, to do whatever the fuck I have to do to keep her out of there, when a voice rips through the night.
“SISTER!” The word is slurred. Loud. Too loud.
We both snap toward the sound.
Mada. Stumbling down the porch steps. Drunk and alone.
Khalee bolts toward her sister, and I follow, unease clawing at my insides.
And the second I get close enough to really see her, I notice the glazed eyes. The sluggish sway of her body, like she doesn’t fully own it anymore, and my stomach drops. The moment we approach Mada, I feel it, that pull. That dark, familiar hunger inside me.
It’s instinct, automatic, like a part of me waking up after being half-dead.
Her energy is thick, dense with alcohol, laced with drugs, tainted with something worse.
It’s sexualized. Heavy. Wrong.
And, with that, I know exactly what happened to her tonight.
The same way I’ve known with every other girl who’s stumbled out of this place in the same dazed, boneless state.
My hands clench into fists at my sides.
I force myself not to absorb the energy radiating off her, even though my instincts scream for it. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol or drugs in years, but I don’t need to consume them physically; energy works differently for me.
Right now, her body is humming with the aftershocks of whatever they gave her, and if I wanted to, I could absorb it, let it course through me, let it fuel me.
But not here. Not now. Not her.
Not without Khalee knowing. Because the last thing I want to do is take something from her sister when I can sense how much more has happened beyond what meets the eye.
How she truly is, beyond what she chooses to show.
Khalee grips her sister’s shoulders, steadying her before she face-plants into the pavement.
“Mada!” she calls, her voice tight with panic, but Mada just laughs, the sound high and empty. It’s the laugh of someone who’s not here. Not fully.
She mumbles something incoherent, her head lolling, her body sagging under its own weight.
Khalee tightens her grip, pure terror flashing across her face, but I see something else, too: Relief.
Like a piece of her expected this, like she knew, deep down, this was coming.
Like she’s used to it.
Fuck.
I watch as the panic shifts, melting into something softer. Something gentler.
She’s worried about Mada. Still. Even now. Even when I can see what Khalee refuses to let herself acknowledge, that, year after year, those have been her sister’s choices.
“Sister,” Mada slurs, her head dipping as she almost collapses into Khalee’s arms.
She giggles, sloppy and slow.
“You finally decided to have some fun.”
Unbelievable.
Khalee stiffens, her panic evident as she struggles to keep Mada upright. But when she looks at me, eyes wide, searching, there’s something else there too.
Fear.
Not just for her sister.
But of her sister.
It’s brief, just a flicker, but I see it. And maybe I’m wrong, but…
She’s also ashamed.
She doesn’t say it, doesn’t let it slip past her lips, but I know that look. I’ve felt that look. The mortification of being tied to someone who constantly spirals, someone who drags you down with them, someone who you love but who makes loving them a fucking burden.
I move closer, my stomach twisting. “She’s on drugs, Khalee,” I say, my voice tense, leaving the rest unsaid.
Khalee nods, her hands gripping Mada’s arms as she tries to keep her from slipping to the ground. “Mada, we need to get you help. I’m calling an ambulance, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”
The second the words leave Khalee’s mouth, Mada’s reaction is instant.
“No. No,” Mada starts mumbling, shaking her head, her body growing rigid. “No hospital. No.”
Then, she snaps.
One second, she’s barely standing, a mess of slurred words and dead weight in Khalee’s arms. Next, she’s fighting her sister. Violently.
Khalee stumbles back, struggling to hold onto her as Mada thrashes, her arms clawing, pushing, shoving her sister with a strength she shouldn’t have. Her screams tear through the night, the kind of raw, unhinged panic that makes my gut clench.
“No hospital!” Mada shrieks, her voice hoarse from desperation. “He made me promise… no hospital! You can’t… You can’t take me!”
Who?
Khalee’s face twists in confusion, in fear. “Mada, please! It’s for your own good. You’re not well. We need to get you help.”
But my fear is different.
I don’t give a shit about Mada’s pride.
I care about Khalee’s safety.
Because Mada is spiraling fast, her panic turning dangerous, and the way she’s shoving at her sister with reckless force,
Khalee’s going to get hurt.
I hover close, instinct screaming at me to do something, but I can’t.
And fuck, I hate it.
The energy radiating off Mada is chaotic, a toxic storm of fear, confusion, and something darker. The pull to feed from her is unbearable, the drugs and alcohol in her bloodstream calling to me like a fucking siren song.
But if I take that from her, if I absorb it,
Khalee will know.
And the look in her eyes, the trust I’m barely holding onto,
It’ll be gone.
Forever.
“Khalee,” I say, trying to sound calm, trying to cut through the mess. “We need to get her to stop fighting before anything else. She’s too far gone right now to understand.”
But Khalee’s slipping too.
She’s trying to hold onto Mada, trying so fucking hard, but I can see it,
The cracks in her composure. Her lips quiver. Her hands shake.
Tears brim in her eyes, and when she looks at me, I see something I can’t handle.
Desperation.
“Do…” she stammers, her voice cracking. “Do something, Kaze. Please.”
Something in me shatters.
Because she’s never looked at me like that before. Like I’m her only option.
Like she’s begging me. And I can’t do a goddamn thing.
“Please, Kaze. I’ll do anything. Just help her.”
Mada laughs, this wild, empty sound, like she’s in a completely different universe.
Khalee tightens her grip, fighting to keep her grounded, and then,
“Please.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, raw and wrecked. “I’ll do anything. Just help her.” She implores me, again.
And something more cracks in my chest.
Not just from her words.
From the way she sounds.
The way she’s pleading.
Because this isn’t the first time someone has begged me to cooperate.
It’s a memory just out of reach, a phantom sensation clawing at my subconscious,
Someone is gripping me the way Khalee is gripping Mada.
Someone whispering, Please, Kaze. Just hold on a little longer.
Someone is trying to save me.
“I’ll try,” I murmur, more to myself than to Khalee, as I lean in closer.
Mada’s laughter is manic, hollow, and detached from reality. It scrapes against my nerves, making my nonexistent skin crawl.
There’s no thought, no hesitation anymore. I reach for the energy thrumming around her, thick with panic, fear, and whatever the hell they pumped into her system tonight.
The pull is instant.
Tempting.
Addictive.
I focus, careful to take only what’s necessary—just enough to calm her.
Just enough to stop her from hurting Khalee.
The effect is immediate.
The tension in her body begins to unravel, her frantic, clawing grip weakening. Her laughter fades into soft, incoherent murmurs, then into nothing at all.
Khalee’s hands tremble as she holds her sister, her wide, tear-streaked eyes locked on mine, watching.
Hopeful.
Thankful.
The emotions flicker across her face, but she doesn’t say a word.
Mada sagged in her arms, the fight completely draining out of her. Her breath evens out, her lashes fluttering closed as sleep claims her.
Khalee exhales shakily, brushing a strand of hair from Mada’s face with a tenderness that twists something inside me. Even now, even after this, she still holds her like something precious.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely holding together. “Thank you, Kaze.”
And fuck, something about the way she says my name feels like it’s tearing me apart and putting me back together at the same time.
I nod, stepping back, giving her space.
The rush from the energy is still there, coiling under my skin, hot and sharp, but something’s different.
For the first time since becoming… this, I feel something shift.
A faint, buzzing hum, like static electricity along my arms.
And when I look down, the ground beneath me feels solid.
Real.
Like for just a second, I’m tethered again.
I don’t say anything.
Not now.
Not with Khalee still cradling the sister who would never do the same for her.
Not when she’s still scared.
Not when this isn’t over.