Chapter Thirty-Three
Sage
And just like that, I'm a resident of Briar Hollow, Maine. Sharing a house with two vampires. Holding down a job. Almost like a normal person.
The same evening, Asher drives me to Cole's for my shift. The moment we step through the door, Donna descends on us like a glitter bomb in motion. Dressed in a pink halter top that catches every light in the room, she glows like an off-brand jewel in this wood-and-brick tavern.
"Is it true?" she demands, eyes wide. "Because the cryptic Morse code message from the Colonel—" she shoots Asher a pointed look—"was about as clear as mud. Not everyone here speaks Special Ops shorthand, you know."
She turns back to me, anticipation buzzing off her like static.
"Are you staying?"
I smile, soft but certain. "Yeah. That's the plan."
Donna squeals and claps her hands like a kid at a birthday party. "Oh, hell yes. We have to celebrate!"
"That's really not nec—"
"Too late," she cuts in. "New townie, new chaos crew member? That calls for drinks, snacks, and bad decisions. You're being celebrated whether you like it or not."
"I have to work," I say, though I can't help the grin spreading across my face.
She waves that off like it's a minor technicality. "Not a problem." Then she turns to Winston, who's leaning on the bar in that calm, watchful way he always does.
"Winston, can we host a get-together after closing?"
He shrugs. "Sure can."
"See?" she says brightly, already grabbing her purple coat. "Told you. Now I'm off to gather the crew."
She whirls out the door in a trail of lavender and glitter, disappearing into the night like some manic fairy godmother.
"Well," I say, blinking after her. "That was… something."
Asher's smile is small but real. "She's right, though. We don't get a lot of new people. And we get even fewer reasons to celebrate."
I feel something tighten in my chest—a warning pulse of vulnerability. It's dangerous how good this feels.
"I'll run a few errands," Asher says, leaning in to brush a kiss to my cheek. "Be good."
I watch Asher disappear into the quiet street, then turn back and get to work. The rhythm of bartending takes over—pouring drinks, sliding witty comments across the counter, dodging the occasional spilled shot glass. It's easy and familiar by now.
By the time the bar closes, the whole crew has trickled in like clockwork.
Kayden arrives first, claiming the center stool as his throne, radiating his usual blend of smug mischief and simmering threat.
Astrid and Donna come in next, loud and glowing, claiming a corner table.
Asher returns with Tomas in tow, his energy calm and quiet, but eyes always watchful.
Eira shows up last, ethereal and unbothered as ever.
Winston and Jace close the bar for the night and serve everyone their usuals. The mood shifts easily into something warm and loose. Laughter bubbles, and someone turns the music up a notch.
They ask about the crystal on my neck, and I recount the ritual. Maeve's circle, the herbs, the way the stone changed color with my blood.
"She's not joining us?" I ask, turning to Eira.
"I invited her," Eira says, sipping her elderflower tonic. "However, she's deep into some data from her research team. She was still on a conference call when I left."
"A pity," Tomas says in that low, deliberate voice of his, the kind that cuts through noise without raising volume. "Meeting a druid would've been a rare privilege."
"Her loss," Donna declares, holding up her bottle of cider. "Let's toast instead—to our girl Sage, who finally joined the chaos. Welcome to the fold!"
"Welcome to the fold!" everyone echoes, glasses clinking.
For a moment, I just sit there, full of strange gratitude and awkward pride, warm under the attention but trying not to show how much it means.
Then Astrid bashes the moment in the most valkyrie way possible. "So, you three banging now, or what?"
I choke on my drink.
Kayden snorts, clearly enjoying this. "And here I thought I was the crude one."
Astrid shrugs, unbothered. "Better to ask than eavesdrop."
"Yes, we are, in fact, banging," Kayden says far too casually. "She's always in the middle. No banging between me and Asher—brothers, after all."
"Thanks for the poetic delivery," Asher says dryly, though I catch the twitch of a smile on his lips.
Winston raises a brow. "As long as you're managing to share."
Kayden grins. "Some things are worth sharing. Sage happens to be one of them."
"Thanks for totally not objectifying me," I mutter, lifting my glass.
"Happy for the three of you," Donna chimes in. "The whole will-they-won't-they tension was exhausting. Nice to see it resolved."
"For the romance or other reasons?" Jace asks, eyes narrowing.
Donna grins, unrepentant. "For the romance and the bet. You two thought it'd be one or the other. I said both."
"What bet?" I ask, warily.
"Tomas voted Asher. Jace voted Kayden. I bet both. So, they owe me fifty bucks each." She holds out her hand like a smug little gremlin.
Tomas sighs and passes the bill over. Jace groans, pulling out his wallet like it physically pains him.
I shake my head, somewhere between mortified and entertained, which, apparently, is the theme of the night.
"Thanks for the confidence, Jacey," Kayden says, raising his beer.
Jace levels him with a flat look. "Wasn't confidence. I just thought you were equally unhinged. Crazy meets chaos." Then he turns to me and adds, sheepish, "No offense."
"Almost none taken," I reply, grinning into my glass. "Did everyone bet on this?" I ask.
"I do not engage in gambling," Eira says primly.
"And I don't care," Astrid adds, reaching for another drink.
The laughter rolls on, sharp and soft and full of color. And somehow, despite the absurdity, I feel it again—that thrum in my chest like something is slotting into place.
"Then let's drink to the throuple," Donna declares, raising her glass like a queen anointing her court.
Everyone lifts theirs in response, the room echoing with cheers and clinks.
"A nymph and two vampires," Eira murmurs with a faint, amused smile. "And I thought I'd seen it all in this life."
Astrid, lounging with her arms crossed, gives Kayden a pointed look. "Since I assume you're staying now too," she says, her voice all icicles and judgment, "are you enrolling in Asher's vampire reform program?"
Kayden snorts. "Got the girl without it, so… no thanks."
Astrid doesn't blink. "Have you considered the possibility that she likes you despite the whole unstable, bloodlust-driven killer thing, and not because of it?"
Kayden's jaw tightens like he's about to throw his drink. Before the tension snaps like a cable, I step in.
"I've come to realize that what I was taught about vampires is incomplete. It's not just instinct and hunger. Sure, many are dangerous, but I think some of them, maybe more than I expected, have a choice."
Tomas nods, slow and thoughtful. "Many cultures have cautionary tales about nightwalkers. They speak of the turning as a loss of soul, or essence—whatever the culture calls the core of being human. I believed that too, once. But… the truth is rarely simple."
"There's a theory," Asher says, glancing at Donna, "that Donna's been refining for years. I think it's worth hearing."
Donna raises both palms in mock surrender. "I don't know… do we really want to get into my thesis right now? It's supposed to be a party, not a symposium."
"It's my party," I say with a smile and a shrug. "And I vote for the thesis. So, go on. I'm all ears."
Donna chuckles softly. "All right," she says, then her posture shifts, shoulders back, expression more focused. The party atmosphere dulls for a moment as something weightier enters the room.
"What Tomas said is true," she begins. "Most cultures see vampires as the damned, the cursed, the outsiders.
Stripped of something essential. The stories paint us as animated husks wearing the faces of loved ones, but with no heart left inside.
And those stories… they're not entirely wrong.
Especially for newly turned vampires. Many do kill, even their own families, without a flicker of remorse. "
"Charming," Astrid mutters, tossing back another drink.
Donna's eyes flick toward her, sharp. "Not saying it's excusable.
But it's not always their fault, either.
Imagine waking up from the dead, starving and disoriented.
That thirst, that bloodlust, is all-consuming.
And if you're turned by another killer, or cast out without guidance, you become what they say you are—a monster.
You never get a chance to be anything else. "
The group falls quiet, and I lean forward without realizing it, drawn in. I've never heard this perspective before.
"At some point," she continues, "I think the possibility of change does disappear, especially for those who've committed atrocities for centuries.
Not because it's impossible, but because their subconscious knows the weight of what they've done.
That kind of guilt would shatter them. You'd lose the person beneath it.
Insanity becomes easier than redemption, so they wouldn't even attempt to change. "
Donna's whole energy shifts—less the glittering club queen, more scholar at a symposium. "My theory isn't gospel, just how I make sense of it. Psychology, not mysticism. I was a psych major, back when I was human."
She glances around, checking if we're still with her. We are.
"When a vampire turns, they retain memory, fragments of personality, so the idea that we're just hollow, soulless shells doesn't quite track. My theory is this: the transformation suppresses a part of the personality structure—specifically the superego. You remember Freud's theory of the psyche?"
"Ego, superego, and id," I say quietly, the words returning from a long-forgotten psych class I took back in college.
Donna beams at me. "Gold star."