81. Danica

Danica

81

P erched at Club Karma's bar, my foot's rhythmic tapping broadcasts my impatience. The phone call's barely over, and the anticipation of reuniting with Emily has me practically vibrating in my seat.

Dressed in a sultry little black ensemble found in Lucian's secret stash, I feel both sexy and like I'm in my own skin—a familiar echo of my style. Knee-high boots complete the look.

Concealing my crown with a thought, I sit engulfed in emotions—a whirlwind of chaos clashing within me, unseen yet overwhelming.

Adrian's loss weighs on me like a stone in my chest, and now dealing with Lucian's blood and our telepathic link is a headache I didn't sign up for. Every thought of the night sharpens the sting of guilt and regret. Combine that with the anticipation of reuniting with my best friend, and I'm teetering on a razor's edge of raw nerves.

Oh, and let's not forget about Rhyland and the delectable revenge I served up. The look on his face? Priceless. I've got that memory filed away for safekeeping. And I just know he's plotting his retaliation for when Aunt Flow packs her bags. The thought of what he might have in store sends a tingle of excitement through me, and I can't help but grin like the Cheshire Cat.

Can you blame me for feeling triumphant? After all the times he teased and edged me, it was about time I gave him a dose of his own medicine.

But I'm not naive. I know there will be consequences for my stunt. And you know what? Bring it on. The anticipation of his revenge is almost as delicious as the act itself.

So, Rhyland, my love, my mate, my partner in all things naughty and nice... Game on.

I catch the bartender's eye, signaling for another drink. The alcohol burns a fiery path down my throat, but it's nothing compared to the inferno raging inside me, an all-consuming need threatening to devour me whole.

Damn, Rhyland and his sexy vampire blood. It's like liquid Viagra, igniting every nerve ending in my body with an insatiable hunger. Indeed, there was a distinct zing, an added kick to his taste this time around. It's like his blood had an extra spicy kick, leaving a tantalizing warmth on my tongue. I can feel it coursing through my veins, a pulsing, throbbing ache that settles deep in my core, making me squirm on the barstool—anything to counter Lucian's blood, which seems set on sticking around like an unwanted parasite.

I cross my legs, trying to find some semblance of relief, but it's like trying to put out a wildfire with a water pistol. Every brush of fabric against my skin is torture.

After months in Luminara's magical embrace, the contrast hits—I've missed the mortal world, its pulsing music, and its vivid chaos more than I would have guessed.

As my eyes sweep across the club, it's impossible not to notice security has ramped up since my last visit. Shadowy figures indulging in illicit sips from donors are absent tonight. In fact, I don't see one vampire.

I wonder if it's just an off night for Karma or if something else is at play beneath the veneer of tranquility.

Slamming back the last of my drink, I scan the crowd. Suddenly, like a gust of fresh air, Emily whirls into the scene. She hones in on me with precision. I'd pick her out of a lineup with my eyes closed. Time's etched its story a little deeper into her features, casting her in the light of a seasoned thirty-something—still gorgeous, but now with an added layer of fierceness.

The moment we're within arm's reach, it's all-systems-go for the most epic of bear hugs. We clutch each other with a ferocity that spells ‘soul sisters' in a language only we understand.

"Oh my god, Emily!" I sigh, steeped in raw emotion, joy, and relief. "I have missed you so much!" We stay entwined until we need to truly see each other. I slacken my grip and step back to drink in her changes.

Emily's vibrant presence is undeniable. Her blonde hair is streaked in pastel rainbows, and her fire-engine red lipstick makes her electric blue eyes stand out. She's a burst of color and life.

"Holy shit, babe—did you hire John Cena as your personal trainer or something?" Emily marvels, her eyes popping with a mock look of astonishment. "Go on, flex those muscles a bit! You're strutting around here all buff like you own the damn place!"

I chuckle, "Guess I owe it to a diet of twigs and berries and my own smokin' personal trainer—a total Matrix makeover." Clasping her hands, excitement bubbles over. "Oh my god, it's insanely good to see you!"

"Honey, you better spill the tea," Emily demands, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You vanish into Narnia or some crap for five years—start dishing every dirty detail. And don't you dare skip the good stuff—like, is your muscle-making Yoda smoking hot?"

The whole temporal leapfrogging thing dazzles with its cosmic brainteasers. According to my wristwatch, it's barely been a month—suggesting my portal jumping is tied to my personal timeline.

I visualize Erik and nearly laugh—good old Mr. Stoic. There's no denying his looks, but he's not my type. But Emily and Erik? Now, that's a thought. My inner cupid does cartwheels. "He's a solid ten," I comment with a playful wink. "Six-one, chiseled like he's from an ancient myth, and rocking silver hair with a serious vibe. But trust me, he's strictly no-nonsense."

Emily rolls her eyes. "Ugh, cut the cautionary bullshit, will you? I'm dying for a hit of that supernaturally spicy romance action in my life."

Laughter bubbles out, a reminder of the good old days with Emily. God, how I've missed her sharp wit and risqué humor.

"You've met him, Em. Remember? And Erik's not the only eye candy in the eternal aisle," I hint mischievously. "Not sure about his stance on casual hookups, though—you've got Lucian to consider..."

Emily's grin spreads like wildfire. "Oh, right. He's the guy that took me home that night. Hold on, Lucian—The night king that used to run this joint? He reeks of fuckboy vibes. Screw the bed-hopping escapades—I'm talking about nail-me-to-the-wall, legendary love, like the total sweep-you-off-your-feet saga you've got with Rhyland."

A warm smile graces my face as I gaze at Emily. Being in love with Rhyland is a miracle, a legendary story—I'd want nothing less for my closest friend. Rewinding to Lucian's silent wish echoes in my thoughts. He longs for his own companion. But the mechanics of vampire mateship are a mystery to me. How do Rhyland and I fit into such a cosmic puzzle?

"Honestly, girl, if only I had the recipe to give you this fiery passion and deep connection. It's like a thunderbolt to the soul—you know it when you feel it vibrate through every part of you."

Emily waves her hand dismissively. "Alright, enough with the romance crapola—I want the nitty-gritty, the down and dirty. Spill it, girl. What the hell went down in that otherworldly neck of the woods?"

I let the story unravel, spilling every last detail to Emily. Five drinks and a slew of astonished exclamations later, she's fully briefed, her mind swirling with 'oh my gods' and 'holy shits.'

"Now that we're back, Azrael's slipped the leash again. I had to bring him back." I explain the gravity of the situation. "Next on the agenda? Aquaria seems like the logical stepping stone."

Emily's jaw drops wide-eyed as a kid at a magic show. "Damn," she breathes out. "That's a metric ton of crazy-ass shenanigans." The excitement buzzes off her like electricity. "Girl, Azrael isn't anyone to mess with."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

The conversation shifts, focusing on my brother. "How's Damon doing? I've tried his number, but it's a dead end."

Emily knocks back her shot with finesse, then slams the glass down. "Oh, girl, he's good—real good. After you left, he flipped your folks' house and jetted off on some ‘Eat, Pray, Love' bullshit to find himself. Last I heard, his soul-searching ass was chillin' in Bora Bora, probably getting sunburned. And, believe it or not, he's hooked up with some beach babe. Look." She flashes the pics at me with a gossipy grin.

Peering down at her phone, there's Damon—grinning, looking every bit the embodiment of joy beside a stunning girl against a picturesque backdrop. A smile pulls at my mouth, and I feel a sting of tears at the happiness in his eyes. I'm relieved and thrilled to see Damon content.

Emily leans in, emphasizing every word. "He thinks you're out kicking ass on some job venture—that's the line I've been feeding him." She gives a conspiratorial wink. "He knows how much of a workaholic you are, so he's not sweating it. He's living it up."

The tears spill, tracing warm paths down my cheeks. The knowledge that Damon is chasing happiness tugs at something deep within, unlocking a wellspring of emotion. It's a mix of joy for him and an acute sense of the distances life creates.

Noticing the tears, Emily quickly nips them in the bud with her mix of soft heart and sharp tongue. "And hey, no waterworks, okay?" She dabs my eyes gently. "Keep your Angel-freakish eyes dry for me, alright? And just for the record, I moved into your place. I've been keeping up with the rent and everything. Why shell out for a second pad when yours is top-tier?" She punctuates with a playful wink.

With a teasing grin, I laugh. "Absolutely. My pad—galaxy away from your joint in comforts." My affection for Emily swells—her thoughtfulness and her ability to lift my spirits are irreplaceable.

Emily's savvy to bank on my return by keeping her number on lockdown? That's some bestie ESP. She probably went to the phone company and said, 'Keep the line hot, folks; she'll dial me from another dimension.'

"So, what's the latest in Emily's world?" I inquire, shifting gears to catch up.

Emily signals the bartender for a refill, her enthusiasm undimmed. "Oh girl, you won't believe the circus town this place has turned into," she muses, leaning closer. "Freakin' werewolves are strutting their stuff out in the open now! Just popped up like daisies right after you took your little sabbatical. Claiming territories like it's 1862—Homestead Act! Oh, and witches, too—they're not just for Halloween anymore!

I swallow hard at the mention of werewolves—a stark reminder of the heartache—the brutal loss of my parents. I push past the discomfort, the memory hovers.

"Witches?" The word hangs, charged with electricity, sending my thoughts into a frenzy.

"It's a whole new level of batshit here," Emily whispers. "And they've slapped stringent new laws on us, targeting this place. No more open feedings at Karma, hence the beefed-up security." Her eyes gleam as she nods to the bouncers.

That ‘aha' moment dawns with a grin. "So that's why I'm not swatting vamps away—my blood being their crack deal." My voice drips with amusement.

"Yup. The world's done a full 180 since you took your jaunt through the Twilight Zone," Emily declares. "It's like Seattle turned into Diagon Alley—witch shops sprouting up faster than Starbucks, covens rolling deep like the new neighborhood watch. Werewolf clans are staking territories—the new law, sheriffs with shaggy coats and howls instead of badges. The scene's a supernatural telenovela. Meanwhile, the powers that be are churning out new laws in the name of 'equality.'" Emily rolls her eyes but is thrilled by the drama.

"Shit." The word slips out, laced with wonder and incredulity. Everything's shifted, transformed into an unrecognizable tableau. I'm left pondering my role in this evolving tapestry.

"Come to the table in the back. Bring Emily with you." Rhyland's rich voice booms within my skull, nearly startling me.

"Get a move on, girl. Looks like the high court has summoned us." With playful sarcasm, I toss the words over my shoulder.

Emily scoops up our cocktails with an eye-roll. Together, we make our way through the club. In a dimly lit corner, like Norse gods, sits my man—all dominance and allure—flanked by the equally imposing figures of Lucian and Erik.