Chapter 17 Danica #2
I can't help but cringe at Emily's verbal evisceration.
I mean, she's not wrong—the whole 'murder all the witches' plan doesn't exactly scream 'well-adjusted decision-making.
' But at the same time, I'm trying to wrap my head around the level of desperation that must have driven them to such extremes.
When your choices are 'commit magical genocide' or 'eternal enslavement to a psycho vampire dominatrix,'.
.. well, let's just say I can understand why they chose the nuclear option.
"Dial down the righteous indignation, Rainbow Brite!" Lucian snaps, his usual snark laced with defensive anger. "Was their solution ideal? Was it the most ethical move? Hell no. But it's done, and we can't exactly send a 'sorry we murdered your entire family' fruit basket."
My brain feels like it's running a high-speed obstacle course in the middle of a battlefield. Let's review our current shit show, shall we?
One ancient death stone playing split personality—with the evil twin probably tucked away in Lilith's favorite Coach purse.
Throw in one seriously pissed-off witch channeling eons of family revenge, armed with enough magical firepower to make Hogwarts look like amateur hour, and holding one hell of a grudge over my guys' little witch-massacre adventure.
My brooding man isn't just packing vampire powers—turns out he's basically supernatural nobility on steroids.
Grandson of Thor and son of some ancient goddess of darkness?
Talk about your complicated family dynamics.
I mean, the whole lightning-throwing thing should've been a dead giveaway, but hearing it confirmed takes it to a whole new level of 'are you shitting me? '
And because the universe loves to pile on the crazy, we're still running around collecting magical rocks like some deadly Pokemon game. Two and a half stones to go, and now we're racing against my man's psycho maker.
I need a drink.
"I think it's time for that drink. Or several." I announce, my brain still spinning from the onslaught of revelations.
Emily stomps off to the kitchen, muttering under her breath about idiot vampires and their half-baked plans.
She returns with a shot glass and a bottle of something that could probably strip paint.
I toss it back without hesitation, welcoming the burn as it scorches a path down my throat.
I run my tongue across my lips, savoring the lingering taste of liquid courage.
Emily's already pouring a refill before I can even ask.
"Keep 'em coming, babe. I'm gonna need a lot more alcohol to process this."
After negotiations (and some serious pouting on my part), I'm finally cleared to visit Damon in what Lucian dramatically dubbed "The Dungeon.
" Real original there, buddy. As I descend into the basement, emotions churn in my gut like a bad cocktail—anger at having to treat my brother like a convict, frustration at the whole situation, and a sadness so deep it makes my chest ache.
The sight of his 'cell' makes my blood boil.
Sure, Rhyland keeps insisting this is for everyone's protection—including Damon's—but seeing my baby brother locked up like some dangerous criminal feels wrong on every level.
I get it, I do. New vampires are about as stable as a nuclear reactor having a meltdown.
But understanding the logic doesn't make this any easier to stomach.
I'm trying hard to be mature about this and see it from their perspective. But watching the security cameras flicker and seeing the reinforced steel door? Yeah, that's a reality check I wasn't quite ready for.
After much-needed food and another day of rest, my powers are back online. That witchy roofie Morgan slipped me has finally worked its way out of my system, and I'm feeling more like myself.
I approach the door cautiously, taking in the bars and small window set into the reinforced steel. Peering inside, I spot Damon lying on a cot, his back to me.
"Go away!" he shouts, and I can't help but flinch at the pain in his voice.
Rhyland's arm bands around my waist, trying to guide me back, but I plant my feet and shrug him off. "Not happening, Damon. We need to talk."
Damon squirms on the bed, his voice cracking. "Please…I can't—not after what I did. I don't want to hurt you again."
Rhyland mentioned this door could withstand a nuclear blast, so I stand my ground, confident in its strength.
"Damon, listen to me. I'm okay. See? You can't hurt me.
What's happened to you..." The words stick in my throat.
How do you apologize for a fate he never asked for?
"It wasn't fair—but we can fix it. We can help you. "
Damon sighs, the sound heavy with despair, as he finally rolls over to face me.
The anguish etched into his features hits me hard.
"The hunger—it's constant, overwhelming.
That bastard turned me into the very thing I hate most. I feel sick!
" He spits the words like they're poison on his tongue. "Leave. Please!"
I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to reassure him. "Damon, this isn't going to be easy, but we're here for you. We'll help you learn to control it, to—"
Before I can finish, Damon lunges at the door with preternatural speed; his fangs bared in a snarl of pure hunger.
A yelp tears from my throat as I stumble back, heart pounding against my ribs.
In an instant, Rhyland's powerful arms are around me, yanking me against his solid frame.
He positions himself between me and the door, every muscle coiled and ready to defend me if Damon somehow breaks through.
Fear claws at my insides as I stare at my brother—or the creature that used to be my brother.
Those once-familiar hazel eyes now blaze with an inhuman hunger that sends ice through my veins.
Is this what he felt when he attacked me in the woods?
This overwhelming terror, this sense that the person you love has been replaced by something… else?
Rhyland's growl rumbles through his chest, warning and promising protection. But even as I lean into his strength, I can't tear my gaze away from Damon's snarling face, from the reality of what he's become.
"Why do you smell so fucking delicious?" Damon growls, his words distorted by the fangs crowding his mouth.
And there it is—the question I've been dreading. The one that leads down a rabbit hole of prophecies, celestial destinies, and the whole 'surprise, your sister's not quite human' revelation.
I close my eyes, taking a steadying breath. This conversation was inevitable, but that doesn't make it any easier. How do I explain to my brother that his big sister is some sort of chosen one tasked with saving the world from an ancient evil? That my very blood is vampire catnip?
Rhyland's arms tighten around me, his solid presence a reminder that I'm not alone in this. But even his strength can't chase away the knot of dread in my stomach.
Time to rip off the proverbial Band-Aid and dive headfirst into the shitstorm that is my life. Yay me.