79. Danica

Danica

79

W ith a growl that's more about haste than anger, I manage a quick rinse and drag myself out of the shower. Really, what's my game plan here? How did Lucian morph into a player in this Xavier-esque mind powwow? It's not our usual routine—just Rhyland and me. Something's off.

Could the new stone amplify my mental connections, casting a wider net to ensnare the thoughts of vampires near and far? Honestly, I'm clueless—a novice at a summit of sages. Whatever's happening, it feels like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that don't fit, a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, and it's gnawing at my patience.

Storming out, towel-clad, I hotfoot it after him. Planting my hands on my hips, I snap, feigning ignorance. "Come clean about what?"

Why am I dancing around the truth instead of laying it out?

He stares at me, ignoring my question.

Frustrated, I slap my hands on my thighs and whirl around, ready to bolt and throw on some clothes.

With vampire swiftness, Rhyland closes the distance in a heartbeat. He grabs my hair, spins me, and tugs just enough to lock my gaze with his.

"I want the fucking truth. Do you hear me?" Rhyland's eyes blaze with rage. "Where did your mind wander off to? I could sense your confusion—your fear." Rhyland growls.

My body stiffens, but I stay cool despite my pounding heart. "I…" Damn it, why is this so difficult? Just spit it out, Dani! "I don't know," I say, trying to sound casual, but the effort flops.

Rhyland's eyes narrow, sensing my fear despite my flimsy act. He knows me too well. Nothing gets past him.

"Don't lie to me, Dani. I can smell a lie on you. Now spill it; who were you talking to when I was," he grabs my pussy, "feeling you here?" His tone is menacing, and jealousy sparks in his eyes.

He's nailed the one thing that bugs me—spinning tall tales. And here I am, tangoing with untruths. But can I spill the beans? Is this dance all to shield Lucian?

"It was nothing, I promise! Just a random brainwave hit me out of nowhere." A half-truth—my words tumble out, a silent plea for him to let it go. But Rhyland, being the shrewd Viking vamp he is, isn't buying what I'm selling.

DAMN IT! What's tying my tongue in knots?

"Don't fuck with me, Dani," Rhyland growls, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath hot on my face. "I know when something's off with you, so don't try and feed me any lies. Tell me the goddamn truth right now, or I'll get it out of you myself."

I inhale a lungful of resolve, weighing my next move. Confession might win me some mercy points, or I could keep up the charade and pray Rhyland's detective skills fail. With a resigned exhale, I settle for the truth.

"It was Lucian," I concede, staring at the wall as if it were the most fascinating sight. "Somehow, his thoughts and voice just... popped into my head. He was watching us, jealous—or so I gathered—before I shut that door in his mental face. I swear, it wasn't me inviting him."

The silence that follows feels like walking a plank blindfolded. I shuffle awkwardly under his looming presence until he breaks the quiet.

"Fuck, I knew it!" Rhyland explodes, letting go and storming across the room.

My eyebrow arches and my arms wrap around my chest. He's so ticked he's practically drilling a path into the ground. "You knew what, exactly?" I toss back, frustrated.

"Nothing," he dismisses me, raking a hand through his locks.

This is where I draw the line. He can't just unload this and zip it like it's top secret. If I'm expected to lay it all on the table, he better be ready to join the sharing circle.

"So you're pissed because Lucian chatted telepathically with me—as if I dialed him into my headspace on purpose?" I cry out, my patience frayed.

"Yes," he bites out.

My mouth hangs open. "Seriously? Look, it's not like I summoned him to—"

In a flash, Rhyland's right in my face again. "You should've told me immediately, Dani," he growls. "Why am I always pulling info out of you? What Lucian did is screwed up, and you're covering for him?"

He's got a point. Maybe I should've clued him in, but come on, talk about bad timing. It's not exactly sexy to hit pause and say, 'Hold up, your bro's hitching a ride in my thoughts.' Total mood killer.

"I'm not his damn keeper, Rhyland. It caught me off guard—and considering you're bouncing around with a fuse shorter than a matchstick, that moment didn't feel like prime sharing time," I snap back.

"Oh? Would you have mentioned it if I hadn't cornered you?" Rhyland tosses back, full of accusation, giving me pause.

Would I have let him in on it or gone full lone-wolf detective as usual, letting my obsession with cracking the code get in the way of simple couple transparency?

"Exactly," Rhyland remarks, turning his back. "How can there be trust, any real depth between us, if you're holding back bullshit bombshells? It's supposed to be us against the world, Dani. How do we navigate this crazy if you're unwilling to share with me?"

Crap. He's right. Before I can stop them, the tears start falling. I've hurt him without intending to. Lucian is more than a friend; he's practically family. After his last little circus act, Rhyland almost went full Viking slaughterhouse on him. I feared Rhyland would go off the deep end over this latest psychic party crash.

Rhyland exhales heavily, looking beaten down. "I'm partly to blame here," he admits.

Surprised, I dab the tears. "How's this on you? How is his telepathic eavesdropping your fault?"

Rhyland wraps his arms around me, jerking my chin up to meet his gaze. "Because I should've been straight with you about how our blood plays out in humans. How we forge those mind links."

I lock eyes with him, seeking answers. That's when it clicks—the memory of that day in the woods, Lucian's blood, his plea for forgiveness. Apparently, they didn't cleanse me as thoroughly as they thought.

"Are you telling me any vamp's blood can do that mind-meld thing?" I connect the dots out loud.

Rhyland lays out the facts—it's not just about blood, but the relationship with the drinker. And it's more than psychic chitchat. The vampire gets it all, every quiver, every desire.

He spells it out: it's not just fear. It entwines with desire, too.

"Don't spin this the wrong way, Dani. Our connection is etched in the cosmos. You're my mate, and that's a bond nobody can break," Rhyland declares. "That's why, once we claim our mate, we keep our blood to ourselves and—"

"And not become their personal snack bar." I exhale deeply. "So, why keep me in the dark?"

"I was banking on his blood being a bust, and I didn't want to even entertain the thought that he could mess with you." Rhyland's forehead thumps to mine, emotion in his eyes. "I prayed it didn't stick."

His distress twists my stomach into knots. The last thing I need is Rhyland fretting over Lucian and his invasive trick. I've gotten a crash course in psychic self-defense—I'll have to maintain my mental fortifications.

"We need better communication. Seriously, what's our next step? How long does Lucian's blood grant him access?" I prod for clarity.

Rhyland shakes his head, uncertain. "I don't know—it's uncharted territory. It takes a single drop."

He's got enough on his plate. And Lucian? He's not my type. I get that he acted to save me from the Grim Reaper, but knowing we've got a psychic peeper isn't sweetening the bitter aftertaste.

"This doesn't change anything between us," I assert. "I'm good at shutting him out, and I'll keep it that way until his vampire hotline fizzles. Maybe more of your blood could drown out his echo. It's been a while since I had…" Halting, I rack my brain to pinpoint the last time I had his blood.

Rhyland freezes, considering. "Maybe. Just swear you won't chat with him in your head. I get you have a soft spot for Lucian, but I don't like it. I know he's sorry for what he did. We've just been waiting to see if it kicked in." His hands sweep through my hair, his voice fervent. "Just swear, Dani."

Firm and resolved, I nod. "Yes, I swear. Now, can you please give me your blood so we can move on?" The words roll off my tongue, demanding and laced with impatience.

Rhyland's signature smile breaks through; his dimple is deep and charming. "Ask, and you shall receive. Just remember what this does to you." That message rings with a reminder and a warning.

His blood? It's sin, distilled to its essence. Facing what's to come, I'm either about to practice self-restraint or succumb like an overcharged hormone machine.

T rust Lucian to be the ultimate nightclub-owning vampire with a touch of thoughtful host. Lo and behold, what do I find when I rummage through the bathroom drawer? A stash neatly packed with all the essentials, including period underwear.

Who knew Lucian was so up with the times?

Once Rhyland and I swapped our getups for something less 'Fae cosplay extravaganza' and more 'mortal chic,' we reached Lucian's office. The moment we stepped in, there was Lucian, arms raised in mock surrender.

"Whoa there, trigger! Before you go all 'pew pew' on my ass, let me say this mind-meld thing? Totally unintentional. Our brain signals got scrambled, capiche?"

I hold up a hand, cutting off his excuse. "Zip it, Lucian. Look, I appreciate you having my back in the spooky forest, but this 'sharing is caring' with our gray matter? One-time deal. My skull's in lockdown. That's how it stays."

Glancing at Rhyland, it's clear he's a second from going full Viking on Lucian. His knuckles are white, his fists like granite, and there is a storm inside him—the clash between brotherly affection and Lucian crossing another line.

Lucian holds up his hands placatingly. "All right, no harm done. But let me make one thing clear: this whole mishap? Not on my bucket list. Never was, never will be. Understand that."

I study him, searching for deception. Lucian seems sincere. I nod. "Fine. But from now on, keep your vampire mojo to yourself. My head's off-limits."

"Hey, no arguments here. Trust me, the last thing I want is a front-row seat to the Rhyland and Dani show."

I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile. Even in a crisis, Lucian can't resist being a smartass.

Moving to practical matters, I look at Lucian. "Give me a phone, please. I need to connect with Emily and Damon—they're probably climbing the walls by now. I'm itching to talk to my bestie." My life hit pause, and for all I know, my apartment's a spider haven, Emily's a cat lady, and my brother… well, who knows? Time's a weird beast.

Lucian, ever the dramatic benefactor, sends a phone spinning my way. "Catch," he calls. Reflexes don't fail me, and I grasp the device.

The phone is an enigma, cold and sleek—past meets future. It's like Apple's finest, given steroids and sorcery.

Realization shivers down my spine as I turn it in my hands. Time has been a trickster, warping and stretching. Now, this gizmo makes me realize just how far reality has pitched forward.

"Thanks," I say, thumbing through to dial Emily's number, praying to the gods of unchanged contact info. The line trills, "Come on, come on, pick up," I mutter, heart hammering. Another ring, "Please..."

Two more rings—then, a familiar voice, "Hello?"

"Emily!"