Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

SAVANNAH

T he Obsidian Lounge pulsed with energy, a living, breathing entity that matched the beat of Savannah’s racing heart as she stepped across the threshold. The deep, seductive bass of the music thrummed through the speakers—loud enough to be heard from outside the door but not nearly as loud as it would be on opening night. She suspected then that the walls and floors would actually vibrate. The low lighting cast the entire room in a haze of shadows and filtered sunlight, flickering against the polished surfaces of the bar, the high-gloss tables, and the sultry red velvet booths. The place was designed to impress, and it did.

Yet, Savannah felt more than just the ambiance of the room. Beneath the glamour, the Obsidian Lounge thrummed with an undercurrent of supernatural energy—dark, primal, and electric. It called to her senses, prickling along her skin in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.

She paused at the entrance, eyes adjusting to the dim light, her hand instinctively flexing at her side. And then she saw him.

The bartender.

Her breath caught in her throat as recognition hit her with the force of a freight train. His dark hair was tousled in that careless way, falling just into his intense, piercing eyes. Eyes she had only ever seen in her dreams.

Him.

The man from her sketches. The one who haunted her every thought, his face creeping into every drawing, every restless night. Savannah’s heart skipped a beat as their gazes locked, a jolt of shock and something darker, more dangerous, rushing through her. She wasn’t sure what unnerved her more—the fact that he was real or the way her body reacted to the sight of him.

Leave. Get out while you can. Her instincts screamed at her, but she didn’t move. Despite the warning bells blaring in her head, the pull to stay was stronger. Something about this place, about him , was too compelling. She couldn’t turn her back on either.

No. Going undercover here was too good of an opportunity. She needed to figure out what was happening at The Obsidian Lounge, and this was her chance to do it, even if it meant dealing with the strange, intoxicating allure of the man behind the bar. Besides, her sisters and Aunt Maeve would definitely have told her not to get involved, which was all the more reason to stay.

Steeling herself, Savannah forced her legs to move, making her way across the room. The bartender’s eyes stayed on her, following her every move with the same intensity she had seen in her dreams. By the time she reached the bar, the air between them practically hummed with tension.

“Can I help you?” His voice was deep, smooth, with an edge of something darker, almost predatory. He leaned against the bar, his arms crossed, watching her with those unnerving eyes.

Savannah lifted her chin, ignoring how her pulse quickened under his gaze. “I’m here about the job. I heard you were hiring.”

The man raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re looking for a server position?”

“Yeah. I need work.” She kept her voice steady, though the energy between them buzzed with an intensity that left her off balance. She was used to facing demons and supernatural creatures, but whatever this man was, he set her on edge in a way she didn’t quite understand. It was dark, dangerous, and seductive as hell.

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze lingering a bit too long on her face as if he were searching for something. “You don’t look like you’re from around here,” he said, his tone both curious and cautious.

“Not at all. I was born here, up in the Garden District,” Savannah replied, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on. She wasn’t about to let him intimidate her. “I put myself through college waitressing and working in bars. The pay wasn’t great, but the tips more than made up for it.”

He held her gaze, and for a moment, the tension between them thickened, crackling like a live wire. Then he nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

“Fine,” he said, straightening up. “You can start now.”

Savannah blinked in surprise. “Now?”

The bartender shrugged. “We open tomorrow night. We’ve got a lot to do. If you’re serious, you can help me get ready today and work the floor tomorrow. We’ll see how you handle the crowd.” He gave her another assessing look. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Savannah bit back the retort on her lips. This wasn’t the time to push buttons—she had her own agenda to focus on. “Deal,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll get started.”

As she moved behind the bar to grab an apron, she felt the weight of his gaze follow her, and something told her this was going to be more complicated than she had anticipated.

A s the afternoon wore on, Savannah quickly fell into the rhythm of working alongside Gage. He moved with an effortless grace, his hands deftly unpacking booze and setting up the back bar area, all the while directing her to get things polished or to play fetch for him. He kept his eye on her, his sharp eyes missing nothing. The more she watched him, the more she could feel the supernatural energy that clung to him, dark and wild, barely contained beneath the surface. She couldn’t place exactly what he was, but there was no denying the danger that radiated from him. He wasn’t fully human. Not by a long shot.

And yet…she was drawn to him. More than that, she was intrigued by him, even though every logical part of her brain screamed at her to stay far, far away.

Their interactions throughout the afternoon were brief, filled with quick exchanges and passing glances that sent sparks of tension between them. Savannah could sense that Gage was just as wary of her as she was of him. They were both holding something back, each trying to figure out what the other was without revealing too much.

At one point, as they double checked the inventory of the bar together, Gage broke the silence. “You’re not like any of the others they hired before I got here.”

Savannah smirked, glancing up at him. “Neither are you.”

He chuckled softly, though the sound didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re right. I’m not sure either of us really belongs.”

For a moment, the guardedness between them eased, replaced by a sense of shared understanding. As they continued talking, they touched on fragments of their pasts, though both remained vague, careful not to reveal too much. They discovered they had more in common than either of them had expected.

“Our mothers,” Savannah said quietly, as she wiped down the counter, “they both had to leave their homes—although mine was because of choices she made.”

Gage’s expression darkened, and she could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “My mother,” he said after a pause, “was forced out, too. Different reasons, but...the result was the same.”

Savannah studied him for a moment, sensing the weight of his words. He wasn’t telling her the full story, but then again, neither was she. Still, the connection between them deepened, their shared understanding of exile and loss hanging in the air between them.

They were both hiding something. But they were both trying to find out more about the other without tipping their hands too soon.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted them, coming from the entrance to the bar.

“Savannah Duvall. What are you doing here?”

Savannah spun around, her eyes narrowing as Detective Griff Broussard approached, his sharp gaze locking onto her. Griff was her sister Phoenix’s mate, and while she liked him well enough, his overprotective nature was starting to get on her nerves.

“I just wanted to say hello and let you know we’ll have an increased police presence on opening night—just in case things get out of hand.” He glanced at Savannah. “I didn’t know you were working here now,” Griff said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at her apron.

Savannah rolled her eyes. “It’s temporary. And I don’t need you checking in on me, Griff. I’m not your little sister.”

Griff gave her a pointed look. “Maybe not, but you’re Phoenix’s. Same difference.”

“Excuse me?” Savannah shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’m not a child.”

Griff smirked and, without warning, leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Like I said, same difference,” he repeated, before turning to leave.

Savannah watched him go, her blood boiling with frustration. I’m going to make him regret that.

T he following night, The Obsidian Lounge opened with great fanfare and was a hive of activity, packed with humans and supernaturals alike, their energy mixing and swirling in the air like a storm waiting to break. The clientele ranged from well-dressed elites to shadowy figures who lingered in the darker corners, their eyes gleaming with something more dangerous than alcohol.

But throughout it all, her attention kept drifting back to the bartender—Gage.

As the night progressed, the lounge became even more packed, the crowd growing rowdier, and Savannah kept a watchful eye on the people moving through the dimly lit space. She wasn’t just working anymore—she was hunting. Searching for the smallest signs of demonic activity, her senses tingled with the possibility of danger.

But her attention kept straying back to Gage. The pull between them was growing stronger, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching her. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, something dark and alluring, and despite her best instincts, she was drawn to it.

They exchanged flirtatious glances and banter throughout the night, their words laced with double meanings and unspoken tension. Savannah was playing with fire, and she knew it. Fire was really her sister Phoenix’s element, but hers was water. If things got too hot, she’d simply quench the flames.

That’s when she saw her—Madame Vesper.

The vampire moved through the crowd with an ethereal grace, her dark eyes scanning the room with a calculated intensity. She was accompanied by a group of elite clientele, all of them dressed to the nines, their auras practically crackling with power. As Savannah watched, Madame Vesper led them to a private room at the back of the lounge, where the shadows seemed to swallow them whole.

Savannah’s supernatural senses went on high alert, danger prickling at the edges of her awareness. Something was off about that group. Something dangerous.

Without thinking, she followed, slipping through the crowd and toward the private room. She kept her distance, trying to blend in with the guests as she approached, but she couldn’t ignore the growing sense of dread that coiled in her gut.

She pressed herself against the wall near the room, straining to catch snippets of the conversation through the thick door. She could hear voices, low and hushed but too muffled for her to make out clearly. She needed to get closer.

Just as she edged forward, a voice stopped her cold.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Savannah froze, her heart leaping into her throat as she turned to see Lyrion Thornheart standing just behind her, his arms crossed and his expression severe. The fae enforcer was tall, with dark, elegant features, and his eyes burned with the cold, merciless fire of the Fae Council’s justice.

“Thornheart,” Savannah hissed, her hand instinctively moving toward the dagger hidden beneath the apron she wore while waitressing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous. “The Council sent me to bring you in. You’ve been avoiding your duties, and they’re not happy about it.”

Savannah glared at him. “You and your council lost the right to give orders to my family before I was born. Our duties are what we decide they are. If the Council doesn’t like it, they can kiss my ass.”

Thornheart’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer. “Don’t make this difficult, Savannah. They simply want to talk. If you don’t play nice, you know how this could end.”

Savannah snorted. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she growled, turning away from him and back toward the private room.

Before she could take another step, Thornheart grabbed her arm, his grip iron-tight. “You don’t have a choice.”

Savannah’s blood boiled, and without thinking, she spun around, slamming Thornheart against the wall. Her dagger was in her hand in an instant, the cold silver pressed up under his chin.

“I said, I’m not going anywhere with you,” she growled, her eyes blazing with fury.

Thornheart stared back at her, his expression hardening. “You think you can defy the Council forever? You’re a fool, Savannah.”

Before Savannah could respond, a voice interrupted them.

“Need any help?”

Savannah glanced over her shoulder to see Gage standing in the doorway, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity and something darker. He took in the scene—Savannah pinning Thornheart to the wall, her dagger pressed against his throat—with an arched brow.

Savannah quickly sheathed her dagger, stepping back and releasing Thornheart. “No,” she said, her voice calm, though her heart was still pounding. “I’ve got this.”

Gage nodded slowly, though the suspicion in his eyes told her he wasn’t convinced. “If you say so.”

With that, Gage turned and headed back toward the bar, leaving Savannah alone with Thornheart once more.

Thornheart glared at her as he straightened his jacket, the tension between them crackling like lightning. “This isn’t over, Savannah.”

“Damn right, it’s not,” she shot back, her voice cold. “But right now, I’ve got other things to deal with. So, get out of my city and out of my way.”

Thornheart hesitated for a moment, then finally stepped aside, his expression unreadable. “Be careful, Savannah. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Savannah didn’t bother responding. She had enough to worry about without dealing with the Fae Council’s bullshit. And right now, her instincts were screaming that something was very, very wrong at The Obsidian Lounge.

As she made her way back to the main floor of the lounge, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking straight into the heart of the storm. And Gage Tremblay—dark, mysterious, and all too tempting—was right in the center of it.