Chapter 5
5
Amir
Thirst Trap—After Saving Jacob if anything, he’s more at ease, his grin widening every time I grimace. Hazel? She doesn’t notice any of it. She’s too focused on scraping the plate clean.
I fold my arms behind my back, out of sight, scowling as she digs in again. My hands itch to grab that monstrosity of a meal and dump it in the trash. But I don’t. I’m tired, and the last thing I want is another argument. It’s bad enough being stuck here for months; I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
Anora is all I can think about, and it’s driving me insane. Every detail of her haunts my thoughts—the soft curve of her face, her deep brown skin glowing like warm mahogany even under harsh fluorescent lights. Her full lips tilt upward slightly, as if she’s holding back a secret smile, and her eyes—they’re hypnotizing, dark and deep enough to drown in.
Her thick, unruly hair had been pinned up into some sort of messy bun that night, strands falling free like her hair had its own mind. She was wearing that plain, dull waitress uniform, but it didn’t matter. She still looked like a goddess standing there in the middle of a snowstorm. A vision so pure, so perfect, it made forgetting how to breathe seem trivial.
And then there was him : Mike. Watching him take her home made my blood boil in a way I can’t explain without sounding unhinged. Of course she’d have suitors. She’s more than beautiful—she’s perfection . How could anyone not pursue her? But seeing him with her, laughing, standing too close, touching her shoulder like it was his right… That almost undid me.
I stayed in the shadows, watching through the thick, swirling snow outside the diner. I hated every second of it. Hated that it was him driving her home. Hated the way she let him. The only thing that kept me from snapping and tearing him in half right then and there was the fact that the idiot actually behaved himself. He kept his filthy hands off her. For that, I’m grateful. But it doesn’t change the fact that Mike needs to be removed . He’s competition, and competition isn’t something I tolerate.
Now I stand here in this dingy bar, far beneath my status, stewing in irritation. Hazel is a few feet away from me, busy drowning her misery in a disgusting mountain of nachos, but I can hardly focus on anything besides the image of Mike leaning into Anora, that smug little grin on his face. I imagine ripping his head clean off his shoulders, his blood staining the snow, his bones cracking in my hands as I feast on his flesh. Anora would sit at the throne of my conquest, watching with those spellbinding eyes as I kill in her honor. I’d gladly bathe the entire street in blood to keep her safe—my Anora. My fated mate.
Wars have been waged over women like her. Kings have burned cities to ashes for less. And me? I’d go to war with the entire world if it meant she’d be mine.
I groan, frustrated. Is stalking Anora really my idea of courtship? I haven’t even spoken two words to her. Most of my days are spent watching her from a distance, unable to tear my eyes away. At night, I sit close, offering warmth and whatever comfort I can without crossing her boundaries. Ridiculous. I’m a warrior, a warlock, a beast—yet here I am, pathetic and restless over my fated mate.
I lift my hand and stare at the key wrapped around my wrist. It’s the key to Aya, my sister’s spell book. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” I mutter to myself. She’ll come for it eventually. I know she’s near.
I can feel her presence just as Hazel can. But for now, I’ve shoved worrying about Aya to the side. First, I need to figure out how to obliterate dark magic entirely. Kade warned me that Damon is hunting down the book we need for this mission. I let out another groan, letting my hand drop to my side.
Then there’s Hazel—it’s impossible not to notice the stain of horrors on her. I want the scent of the men who hurt her. I can smell them on her—at least ten. But she won’t let me close enough to catch their scent, close enough to imprint it. And why would she?
Why should she trust me or any other man? It infuriates me, but I understand. Still, I’d give anything to avenge her. Just the thought of what I’d do to them is intoxicating—a sweet, satisfying gift to Fate. I don’t want their deaths to be quick. No. I want slow, deliberate torture. The kind that burns into their souls before I finally rip them apart. My lion stirs at the thought, the beast within pacing irritably, starving for their blood.
Hazel glances at me briefly. Her blue eyes hold a sadness that cuts deeper than any blade. It’s unbearable. It twists something inside me and fills me with a helpless rage. I loathe seeing those eyes like that. She looks away quickly, ducking her head and focusing on the food in front of her.
“I can smell them too,” Andrew murmurs, breaking into my thoughts. I turn my head to him, frowning. Of course, he can smell it.
“Please let me help you when you find them,” Andrew says casually, his lips curling into a sharp grin. “No way in hell am I missing out on that kind of revenge. ”
His grin almost makes me laugh. A companion for slaughter. That’s a first. I flash a smile of my own and nod. “She won’t let me get close enough to imprint their scent, so I can’t track them yet,” I explain, irritated by the fact.
Andrew shrugs like it’s nothing. “You’re, like, a gazillion years old, yeah? Prehistoric. Use that persuasion thing you’re supposedly good at.” He leans forward, elbows on the counter. “Look, she doesn’t trust us right now. Men. And she’s right not to. But if anyone’s going to change that for her, it’s you. Wake up, Amir. Your niece doesn’t need a vengeful beast—she needs an uncle who can show her not all men are like the monsters who hurt her. Just them. And we take care of them.”
I let his words sink in for a moment as I glance back at Hazel. She sits quietly, chewing her food, but I can see the burden she carries on her thin shoulders. Andrew’s right. I can’t force this; I can’t invade what agency she has left by pushing for proximity. I need her trust. That will come first. And once I have it, I’ll give the beasts who hurt her the painful, gruesome end they deserve. She can sit and watch if she wants. She deserves to see justice done.
Andrew pulls out a smartphone, and I frown instantly. Modern tech. I despise it. But even I can admit its usefulness. This isn’t my first time waking after a long slumber, though in the past, I caught up on the world through books and journals. This time, I’m relying on what they call the internet. My magic lets me process the data rapidly, though I’m still a good twenty years behind. I flick my fingers toward Andrew’s hand, and the device floats out of his grip to hover in front of me.
“Still weird how you do that,” Andrew mutters, grabbing a towel from his shoulder.
“I was born a warlock first,” I remind him flatly .
He rolls his eyes, waving me off. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Go ahead and catch up on whatever history you missed with your magic tricks. I’m going to check on Hazel.”
Andrew moves behind the bar, grabbing a tall mixing glass and a spoon. He works efficiently, combining fresh lemon juice, sugar, and ice water. The clinking of glass and ice echoes softly in the quiet room as he stirs. After straining the mix into a glass with precision, he sets the finished lemonade down in front of Hazel with a small smile.
It’s such a simple, thoughtful gesture, but it speaks volumes. I watch as Hazel hesitates, then reaches for the glass with a slight, barely noticeable smile. It’s a tiny crack in her carefully built walls, but one I can work with.
I reach out slowly, touching a finger to the floating device in front of me. The moment my skin meets the screen, my magic ties into the wireless data system. My mind clouds, filling with an onslaught of images and information. I take a sharp breath, bracing myself as everything from the last twenty-five years floods into me.
The world has shifted in ways I didn’t anticipate. Climate change has grown worse—far worse. The ice caps are melting faster than ever, oceans are rising, wildfires rage out of control yearly, and storms are more violent and frequent. And yet, humans still argue about whether it’s real, even as their cities crumble beneath them.
Women’s rights, which seemed to be making progress the last time I studied to catch up on the times, are now backsliding. It’s alarming—countries stripping women of autonomy over their bodies, rights disappearing in ways that make me wonder if the world has moved backward instead of forward.
Fascism isn’t just creeping into the United States; it’s stomping in with open arms. Politicians spew hatred under the guise of patriotism, and people cheer them on. Rights that humans fought so hard to achieve are being stripped away, and the world seems dangerously close to collapsing in on itself.
I see images from the pandemic—masked faces, isolated homes, overcrowded hospitals. Millions of lives lost in just a few years. Whole families destroyed by a virus that paralyzed the world. I feel the lingering grief of those years, raw and unresolved, running like a stain through everything that followed.
There are some moments of progress—breakthroughs in medicine, technology, economic climbs for certain communities, though unevenly spread. But even the brighter notes are clouded by shadows of division. Racism still infects this world deeply, shamelessly. Headlines flash before my eyes—murders, protests, systemic oppression that defies understanding. I see videos of people marching for justice, constant fights for basic respect that humans shouldn’t still need to demand.
A swirl of chaos fills my head—contradictions of hope and despair, triumphs and failures, love and hate. My thoughts churn as I process it all, trying to make sense of a world more divided than ever before.
It all settles heavy in my chest. Centuries of existence, and humans still haven’t learned. The pandemic particularly disturbs me—I’ve seen plagues before, watched them devastate populations, but this was different. The isolation, the fear, the way it exposed every crack in society’s foundation. And yet, even in the face of a common enemy, humans couldn’t unite.
The racism that still pervades every aspect of society doesn’t surprise me—I’ve watched that poison flow through generations—but it infuriates me nonetheless. Especially knowing Anora lives in this world, facing these battles every day. My claws itch to emerge, ready to tear apart anyone who dares judge her by her skin rather than her soul.
I’ve awakened to madness, and my fated mate was born in the thick of it.
Interesting…