Chapter 73 Danica
Danica
Another blanket of snow has fallen overnight—the third this week. Washington rarely sees this much white, but I guess the universe decided we needed a taste of the North Pole this December.
I press my fingertips against the cold glass, watching my breath create fleeting ghosts of condensation.
The irony isn't lost on me—Christmas is just a week away, and Seattle's channeling its inner Hallmark movie. Perfect timing for everyone except the woman with phantom frostbite from realm-hopping through a magical ice kingdom.
My absolute favorite holiday is approaching, and despite begging both Lucian and Rhyland to let me decorate this place, we've got nothing but the perfect white Christmas outside. Though honestly, after Zephyria, I'm thinking Santa needs to stuff my stocking with tickets to Tahiti.
Things have been... suspiciously normal lately. Lilith's gone radio silent—either plotting something nasty, or she's finally learned how to use airplane mode. In my experience, when evil vampire queens go quiet, they're usually just reloading.
But if I don't escape this fortress soon, I'll lose what's left of my sanity. This is my life now—hop realms, collect magical stones like some twisted rock collector, then return to Hogwarts House Arrest.
Yes, we have our angel-scent-be-gone potion, but after Seraphina's kidnapping fiasco (thanks for that brilliant solo mission, Lucian), my overprotective mate has gone full Maximum Security Prison Warden. His eyebrows practically form a unibrow of disapproval every time I mention leaving.
But damn it! Mama needs a me-day! Just us girls pretending to be normal humans with normal problems—mani-pedis, gossip, and, for the love of everything sacred, a professional wax!
My legs have reached Wookie status, and my lady garden is approaching "lost civilization" territory.
Sure, I could shave, but nothing beats the smooth perfection of a proper Brazilian.
And let's be real—with all this realm-hopping madness, who knows where I'll end up next?
Not every magical dimension comes equipped with "Ye Olde Brazilian Waxing Shoppe.
" I lucked out in Luminara with their fairy beautification tools, but I'm not about to save the universe while rocking a full-on 70's-style situation down there.
Last thing I need is to be facing down Moretemis looking like I've got Chewbacca in a headlock between my thighs.
Executive decision made—Rhyland can flex those magnificent biceps all he wants—I'm taking my girl gang out. Lilith's stuck doing her vampire zombie walk after sundown anyway, and I refuse to go full cavewoman.
Last week's plot twist—Lucian discovered Kyle—his right-hand enabler—was Lilith's puppet.
One Jedi mind trick later (compulsion inception, anyone?), mystery solved on how Psycho Queen knew when to crash Karma with her wolf pack.
Nothing says trust issues like finding out your business partner's brain got vampire-hacked.
In a move that screams "questionable life choices," Lucian insisted I sign the deed to his precious nightclub—claiming I'm the only one he trusts.
So now I'm the proud owner of both his properties, which sounds fancy until you realize I'm basically the magical doorman deciding which fanged party-goers get access.
But it's become a 24/7 headache. My phone blows up at all hours with texts like "Princess, Kyle says there's a 400-year-old Romanian countess at the door who claims she once shared a victim with Vlad the Impaler. Be a dear and verbally invite her in?"
So I guess I'm Karma's bouncer with the ultimate "You're Not On The List" power. Suck it, Lilith.
We still need that other half of the Soul Stone from the hag, plus whatever she fished-hooked out of that rift. That's a migraine for another day.
At least Bryn's settled into our dysfunctional family perfectly—living in the gym with Erik, training with me and Seraphina. It's nice having another woman who can kick ass in heels.
She's also discovered the joys of mortal fashion. Erik made the rookie mistake of handing over his credit card and giving her an tutorial. Now we're drowning in packages—though unlike most women's shopping sprees, Bryn's primarily consist of weapons.
So. Many. Weapons.
The UPS guy is definitely filing reports somewhere. I'm half expecting a SWAT team to crash through our windows any day now because who the hell orders seventeen different types of throwing stars and a medieval mace in a single week?
On an entirely different note, my monthly curse appeared, and Rhyland is losing his Viking mind over it. "Let me make you feel good, Angel. I can smell you," he keeps purring, all seductive and tempting. Like I need the extra distraction of my mate going full hormonal caveman.
Not that I'm innocent—I've been sending Rhyland mental images that have him grinding his teeth, testing how far I can push before he decides "monthly maintenance" isn't a dealbreaker. He's been surprisingly respectful... mostly. But that's our game—I push, he growls, we both enjoy the tension.
Look, I'm down for kinky stuff—hell, half the things we do would make Christian Grey clutch his pearls—but I'm not sure I'm ready for Rhyland to take that particular plunge. Though watching him process another month without a mini-Viking in my womb is its own special kind of heartache.
Emily, being the annoyingly perceptive bestie she is, clocks my mood instantly.
And yeah, I know the whole vampire-baby situation is about as likely as Lucian giving up his smart-ass mouth.
Trust me, I got the supernatural birth control memo.
Hell, I even had my IUD taken out last week—because really, what's the point of keeping that thing when my mate's swimmers have been dead for a millennium?
But that vision in the reflection pool? The one dangling the impossible family portrait in front of me?
Yeah, it's hitting different today. Like getting tagged in a vacation photo when you're stuck at work, except the vacation is "having kids" and my workplace is "mated to an incredibly hot but reproductively challenged Viking vampire. "
The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes.
Sera and I are tackling the Fire Realm book tonight, while Lucian's determined to convert Bryn to Marvel fandom.
The unexpected highlight? His full-blown bromance with Brax.
They're inseparable, debating Thor versus Hulk like it's doctoral thesis defense.
Yesterday's evidence—a detailed power-ranking bracket system covering our living room wall.
I jingle the car keys like a rain dance, bouncing by the door.
"Let's blow this prison, ladies! Operation Escape From Alcatraz is now or never!
" I glance nervously at the hallway, where Rhyland and Erik's workout sounds like a testosterone Olympics.
"We've got seven minutes before my Tattooed Temptations' sixth sense starts tingling.
"Jesus H. Christ," Emily emerges from the hallway, one boot on, the other dangling from her hand. "Hold your damn horses, woman. Some of us need actual time to put shoes on our feet."
In the kitchen, my girl gang is assembled like Charlie's Angels—if Charlie recruited from the supernatural unemployment line.
Seraphina's hiding her wings, Bryn's playing with a throwing star (seriously, where was she hiding that?), and Sable's practically glowing with escape-plan excitement, dabbing blood from her lips, my empty vial beside her.
She's adapted to vampire life amazingly well, rough patches and all. With Damon guiding her, they've become inseparable—his calm perfectly balancing her sweetness. My brother and my witchy-turned-vampire friend finding love? The universe has a weird sense of humor, but I'm here for it.
We bolt out the door—ninja-style quiet—and pile into Lucian's SUV. I smash the garage door opener with the enthusiasm of a prison escapee, all of us grinning as we've just pulled off the heist of the century—one glance in the rearview mirror and—well, shit.
"Did you think you could sneak off without us noticing?" Rhyland's deep voice rumbles, his tone of amusement and alpha male smugness. He's standing behind the car, arms crossed, with Lucian and Erik flanking him like security detail.
I let my forehead thunk against the steering wheel. "Damn it. I knew we should've done that cloaking spell."
"I fucking told you!" Emily snaps from the back seat. "But your impatient ass couldn't wait five goddamn minutes, could you?"
Yeah, no. Emily might be a magical powerhouse extraordinaire, but the girl treats every spell like brain surgery when we all need is magical duct tape and a quick getaway.
Rhyland appears at my window, opening the door with infuriating slowness. His smirk screams, 'I own this situation' as he leans down, filling the doorframe with his bulky shoulders. Jerk.
"I was hoping for more of an 'ask for forgiveness rather than permission' situation," I fire back, fluttering my eyelashes. "Since your overprotective caveman policy on leaving the property is getting a bit stifling."
Lucian pops his head into the backseat, grinning like an idiot.
"Well, well, well! Looks like we've got a bunch of naughty jailbirds trying to fly the coop!
" He waggles his eyebrows at Seraphina. "Baby girl, you know what happens to rule breakers around here.
Spanking time!" Seraphina's giggle is half scandalized, half intrigued.
Erik appears at the passenger door, his face an emotionless mask save for one slightly raised eyebrow. "Attempting to flee the premises without proper notification or security protocols in place. Most unwise, little bird."