Chapter 72 Danica
Danica
After a few chaotic weeks, we've managed to find our rhythm again in this mansion full of vampires, witches, angels, and one shape-shifting demon with a Marvel obsession.
Rosa's Thanksgiving feast has left us in an epic food coma—the woman is a culinary sorceress, and I would literally fight anyone for the recipe to her pecan pie.
Now I'm sprawled on the couch next to Damon, wondering if I'll ever move again without rolling like Violet Beauregarde post-blueberry transformation.
"So, you and Sable, huh?" I nudge his shoulder, curling deeper into the overstuffed cushions.
The fireplace casts dancing shadows across my brother's face, his hazel eyes still holding that same gentle warmth they had when Dad first brought him home.
It's been too long since we've had a moment like this—just us, no apocalyptic drama, no supernatural crisis demanding immediate attention.
Even Lucian's constant commentary has been silenced, either by food coma or whatever he and Seraphina are doing behind closed doors.
Damon's cheeks flush with that telltale pink that somehow survived his vampire transition. "Yeah," he says, ruffling his hair in that nervous habit he's had since we were kids. "Just kind of happened, you know?"
I tuck my feet under me, feeling the heat from the fire warm my toes through my fuzzy socks.
"Hmm-mm," I agree, watching the flames dance.
"I sure do." One minute you're a normal human with normal problems, and the next, you're mated to a thousand-year-old vampire with anger management issues and a hero complex.
"Are you happy? You know, after everything?" The question hangs between us, heavy with unspoken weight. My brother—the scared little boy I once taught to tie his shoelaces—transformed into the very creature he once called a "walking blood bank with attitude problems."
Damon's laugh breaks the moment, his fangs flashing briefly before he retracts them with practiced ease.
"Happy? I'm dating a pink-haired witch-turned-vampire.
And my sister's banging Thor's grandson.
" He tugs at my hair like he used to when we were kids.
"We've come a long way from algebra homework, huh? "
"Excuse you," I sniff, swatting his hand away. "I believe the term is 'mated to,' not 'banging.' Have some class, Sasquatch." The childhood nickname—from when he shot up six inches one summer—slips out naturally.
His eyes crinkle. "Sasquatch? Wow, bringing out the vintage insults. Remember when you convinced me mosquitoes would explode if I ate enough garlic bread?"
"Your face at Olive Garden! Three baskets and a flyswatter!"
"I was ten!" he protests, laughing. "And you were supposed to be the smart one!"
"I was smart enough to get you to do my chores for a month by threatening to tell Jessica Miller you had a crush on her," I counter, poking him in the ribs.
He groans, covering his face. "God, Jessica Miller. With the braces and the—"
"—obsession with horses," we finish in unison, dissolving into giggles like we're kids again.
When our laughter fades, Damon's expression grows thoughtful. "You didn't answer my question," I remind him softly.
He takes an unnecessary breath—old habits die hard. "With Sable? Definitely. The rest... Some days I wake up and forget what happened, reach for my coffee, and then remember I don't need it anymore." He meets my eyes. "But when I'm with her, none of that matters. She makes me feel... alive."
I squeeze his hand. "I'm glad. She's good for you. And if she ever isn't, I'll kick her perky vampire ass myself."
The threat is empty and we both know it—Sable has become as much my family as he is. But it's the principle of the thing. Big sisters have to maintain their reputation, after all.
He squeezes back, his strength carefully measured. "Spoken like a true big sister." His smile turns mischievous. "Speaking of asses that need kicking, how's life with the Viking? Still leaving his wet towels on the bathroom floor?"
"Oh my god," I groan, flopping back. "How did you know? A thousand years on this earth, and the man can't figure out a hamper."
His smile fades into something more serious.
"How are you really doing with all this savior stuff?
The stones, the realms, the whole 'chosen one' gig?
" His voice softens. "You don't have to pretend with me, Dani.
I know that face—it's the same one you wore when you bombed that organic chemistry final. "
With everyone else, I maintain the brave face. But this is Damon. He's seen me ugly cry over rom-coms and stress-eat an entire box of Cap'n Crunch at 3 AM.
"It's... complicated," I admit. "Some days, I feel this incredible rush—like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Other days, I just want to wake up back in my lab, where the biggest crisis was contaminated cell cultures." I swallow hard.
The fire pops loudly, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
"The hardest part is the goodbyes," I continue, my voice growing quieter.
"Mom and Dad, John—all dying because they were connected to me.
" My fingers twist together in my lap. "Then there's the other kind of goodbyes, the ones that come after I've made these incredible connections across realms. Mirella with her bravery, Gideon and his fierce loyalty, Axilya's strength, Fadreyn's kindness, Nixie's wisdom. .."
My throat tightens as the last name forms on my lips. "Gullfax." It comes out as barely a whisper, the memory of the majestic stallion's constant protection still raw enough to steal my breath.
I blink hard, forcing back the tears. "And then there's the betrayals.
.." I swallow the lump in my throat. "I trusted him.
We all did. Adrian—" My voice breaks on the name.
"I'm so damn tired of people I care about either dying or turning out to be villains in disguise.
It's like emotional whiplash on a cosmic scale. "
Damon reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear like Dad used to do.
"Mom and Dad would be so proud of you," he says softly.
"Dad would be strutting around telling everyone his daughter is saving the world.
And Mom..." his voice catches, "Mom would be force-feeding everyone her terrible tuna casserole. "
"God, that casserole," I laugh through tears. "Remember when she tried to 'improve' it with kale?"
"And Dad ate three helpings just to make her happy—"
"Even though it tasted like hot garbage wrapped in cheese!" I laugh softly, memories flooding back. "Almost as bad as her infamous 'healthy' chicken pot pie, where she substituted cauliflower for literally everything."
"Oh god," Damon groans, covering his face. "That monstrosity! Dad called it 'cloud paste surprise' behind her back."
"And we all got food poisoning because she didn't cook the chicken long enough," I add, tears of laughter mixing with grief now. "But she was so proud of that recipe."
We share a watery laugh, memories of our parents filling the space between us. Two years apart in age, we've been inseparable since they brought him home—from playground bullies to broken hearts to Dark prophecies.
"I miss them so much," I whisper. "Every time something big happens, I reach for my phone to call Mom. And then I remember..."
"Me too," Damon admits. "Last week, I saved a meme to show Dad." He clears his throat. "But you know what? I'm ridiculously proud of you, sis. And not just for the savior stuff. You've always been my hero, even before you started collecting magic rocks and dating Norse gods."
"Please. I was the nerdy sister who made you watch documentaries instead of cartoons."
"You were the sister who beat up Tommy Larson when he stole my lunch money," he counters. "Who stayed up all night helping with college applications. Who convinced Dad to let me take that road trip—"
"The one where you tried to drive to Portland and ended up in Forks?"
"That was ONE time! The GPS was possessed!"
"Uh-huh. Blame the technology, typical millennial."
He flicks my arm. "Says the woman who asked Alexa to turn off the shower last week."
"I was distracted!"
"By what? Rhyland's abs? Again?"
I grab a pillow and whack him with it. "You're one to talk! I've seen you walking into walls because you're too busy staring at Sable."
He catches the pillow mid-swing, vampire reflexes on display. "No rules against supernatural advantages in sibling warfare."
"Just wait until I get all seven stones," I threaten. "Then we'll see who's laughing, Mr. Bloodsucker."
His expression softens. "You will, you know. Get all the stones. Save the realms. The whole shebang." His conviction is unwavering. "If anyone can do it, it's you, Dani."
"Even if I screw up sometimes?"
"Especially then. Because you never stay down. You get back up, make a sassy comment, and keep going." He reaches for my hand. "And you're not alone. Not ever."
I take his hand, feeling the familiar calluses that survived his transformation. "When did you get so wise, Sasquatch?"
He shrugs, a crooked smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "Must've been all those documentaries you made me watch."
The grandfather clock chimes midnight. "I should head up," I say reluctantly. "Rhyland will be wondering where I am."
"Go. Your Viking awaits." His eyes twinkle. "Just try to keep the supernatural gymnastics to a reasonable volume. Some of us have enhanced hearing now."
"Oh my god," I groan, shoving him. "That's it. I'm officially disowning you."
"Too late. You're stuck with me for eternity now."
Eternity. The word hangs between us, both promise and reminder.
I pause at the archway. "Hey, Damon?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're here. Through all of this."
His expression softens. "Wouldn't be anywhere else, sis. Someone's gotta keep you from getting too full of yourself with all this savior business."
I roll my eyes, but my heart feels lighter than it has in weeks. "Goodnight, brat."
"Night, nerd."
As I climb the stairs toward where Rhyland waits, I carry the warmth of our conversation with me.
Tomorrow will bring new challenges—Lilith's growing power, the next stone to find, whatever dangers lie ahead.
But tonight, for just a little while, I was simply Dani, big sister, reminiscing about bad casseroles and childhood pranks.
And sometimes, those quiet moments between the chaos are exactly what a savior needs to keep going.