Chapter One

VERONICA

 

It was love at first bite.

That’s the lie that sent my life spiraling into hell. An insidious lie that led me down a path of near total destruction that’s not worth treading on ever again.

At least I tell myself that, in the dead of night, so I don’t run back into the arms of my greatest temptation, the beginning of my descent into darkness.

Dramatic, I know. But there’s no such thing as a normal reaction when dealing with the supernatural, especially when the ex I’m reminiscing about happens to be a vampire princess.

With a heavy heart, I cruise down the highway, watching the gas meter tick down, and the speedometer tick up as night overcomes Crescent City, the only home I’ve known for thirty-one years.

I’m late for an important date, and for once in my life, I want to be on time. So I floor the gas, ducking and weaving through traffic, knowing I’m pissing people and paranormals off. But I can’t help that most of the city’s inhabitants are nocturnal. And I need to get to the club sooner rather than later.

After all, I’m about to attend a meeting with my enemy, begging for a miracle. And I need it to come fast in a world where time crawls at a snail’s pace.

For humans like me, time flies when you live among immortal and damn near eternally young beings. We regular folk can barely coexist in this border town set up to prevent shifters, vampires, and other creatures of the night from crossing over onto Earth.

Yet somehow, I’ve been living among them for years, falling in love with the forbidden until it was too late to turn back.

“And there’s really no turning back now, that’s for damn sure, so cheer up and get this shit over with already. You got this, girl,” I whisper, trying to give myself a little pep talk before walking straight into a trap.

I park on the side of the road, careful to avoid a mange-ridden dog lounging in the alleyway.

Werewolf or not, killing animals without a license is an automatic jail sentence out here, seeing as it’s hard to tell which ones can transform and which can’t when you don’t belong to the Kindred, the collective term for paranormal beings.

After reapplying my makeup, I slip out of my beater and tug down my skirt, suddenly self-conscious like I’m a teen or in my early twenties or something.

Not that turning thirty magically changes you into a self-confident badass. But at the very least, I thought I would no longer feel threatened by mean girl antics. Unfortunately, I was dead wrong, shrinking into myself as I stare at the crowd of beautiful women on the other side of the road.

The skin-tight, purple, backless outfit I’m wearing is the most expensive piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. And the sequin silver purse, matching earrings, thick black-rimmed sunglasses, and black-heeled boots aren’t far behind with their ludicrous price tags.

But even dripping from head to toe in luxury, I feel like I’m wearing a dollar store plastic bag compared to the outfits the women waiting in line are wearing, most of them now sneering in my direction.

They’re literal royalty; I can tell that much from a glance. It’s never hard to notice, even for ordinary humans like me. The omegas wear expensive collars worth mortgage payments, and the alphas sport clan tattoos inked with ancient magic that glow in the dark.

It’s to show us they’re better than us—all of us, including non-royal paranormals. And as much as I want to deny it, they intimidate me. Shit, let’s get real; I’m literally quaking in my thigh-high boots!

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this, like a piece of chewed gum stuck on concrete getting stepped on. This feeling is what I’ve been running away from for five long years. Away from a world that will never accept me. Far away from a woman who can never be mine.

And yet, I think as I rub the back of my aching neck, grazing the old puncture wounds there, five years later, almost to the day, I’m back where I started as her plaything.

With a heavy sigh, I slam my door shut and waltz into Carmilla’s Coven, a local lesbian nightclub exclusively for the rich and famous.

I cut past the line wrapping around the door, ignoring even more glares and sneers, and especially the whispers of, “She’s just some beta human bitch! Who does she think she is? How did she get in?”

Their insults are exhausting but to be expected since they’re waiting outside while I slip in without any royal credentials to my name.

Everyone here is desperate to be chosen by their self-professed queen, so they’re willing to put up with being treated like peasants for a bit. To be selected by the future queen of the night is a one-way ticket to the tippy top of high society, after all.

Little do they know she’s already chosen me.

I weave through the crowd getting down on the dance floor, some listening to the latest underground sensation, Daughters of Dawn, while most try to look all prim and proper in VIP booths.

The omegas’ laughter sounds like nails on a chalkboard over the thudding bass and drums. They’re trying to be as cutesy as possible, little dainty ornaments hanging on their alphas’ arms.

Not that I can blame them. My torrid affair with vampire royalty was a lucrative one, too. If my ex and I were still a thing, I’d probably be giggling just like them, starry-eyed and dazed.

I turn my attention away from the guests in attendance to the club itself. The interior of Carmilla’s Coven is nothing short of lavish. Every piece of matching red and black furniture is designer, some imported from the human world, while most come from Kindred high fashion catalogs.

But I’ve never been into clubs like that, and even the uniqueness of the band’s witchy set doesn’t catch my eye, swiping away a smoke cloud flowing from a magical guitar.

Nothing about the opulence in the nightclub phases me at all. I’m unimpressed when I’ve seen grander venues than this—all thanks to her.

My eyes settle on my destination, blocked by a six-foot-tall woman in a black bunny mask acting as a bouncer, her matching ears flicking up and down, muscles bulging.

As I approach her, pulling my shoulders back, my resolve falters a bit. But I quickly reclaim my backbone and motion to my neck as she tenses.

The bouncer’s eyebrows lift sky high, the only indication she can show emotion, before stepping aside to let me in.

The thing about vampires is that they leave signatures with their fangs like humans do with pencils, stamps, and pens. So the bright blue and gold tendrils radiating from my wound allows everyone to know who bit who.

I’ve discovered that being bitten by a vampire crown princess has several perks over the years, like exclusive access to places where I’d otherwise be killed.

“Thanks,” I murmur as I walk away, catching the paw of a black rabbit sleeve tattoo on the bouncer’s left arm before disappearing down a long dark corridor.

Years ago, I used to study what all the symbols in the Kindred world meant. Most establishments in Crescent City were and are gang-run, and not knowing who runs what could get you killed. It still can, depending on who you have the misfortune of pissing off.

 If my memory is working correctly, Carmilla’s Coven is owned and operated by the Solar Rabbit Clan, a powerful shifter syndicate. Why black rabbits represent them or why they set up the club in the first place is beyond me.

I don’t know the inner workings of Kindred society that well. Remember, I’m a mere “beta human bitch.”

But I tend to introduce myself as Veronica Espinoza, shifter zoologist, working in the burgeoning field of shifter epidemiology as a researcher at Fontes Pharmaceuticals.

And don’t forget it, seeing as most need my help when they encounter a rare magical illness, as I specialize in the rarest of rare blood-borne pathogens.

In the slums of Crescent City, I’ve studied shifters, vampires, and magicians in the paranormal underworld to find the origins of TV3, a virus that turns humans into creatures of the night.

My goal was to eradicate it at first. We humans here in Crescent City are more or less trapped. Our ancestors were kidnapped or otherwise lured to the Otherside centuries ago, and most of us have never returned. So we usually try to find ways to protect ourselves from being turned.

Alas, tensions have cooled over the years, and most of us mate freely and no longer hold onto ancient grudges based on race. So now I study TV3 on a molecular level, so we non-Kindred know more about its means of transmission beyond its magical origins.

It’s been my life’s mission since I was little, understanding their kind, made even more critical by an incident that still makes me shudder to this day.

And as my hand lands on the brass doorknob to my final location, now more than ever, I feel out of place in a world built for the very same creatures I study. Creatures that, more often than not, want me dead.

“Come in,” a sultry voice calls out as I push the door open.

A wet dream greets me on the other side. The aftermath, anyway. And while I expected to talk in a private, intimate setting on her terms, I must admit even I’m shocked at my ex-girlfriend’s audacity.

I guess she really wants to drive home how much she’s moved on, I think, closing the door behind me with a ragged sigh.

Power surges through me. And it feels foreign, almost uncontrollable, like some force is possessing me. And then it’s gone in a flash, cowered by the brute force of my ex-alpha’s presence.

Jasmine von Alistar lounges on a large red sofa with a literal harem of women, primarily omegas, surrounding her. I can’t smell their pheromones as a beta, but I know there’s enough in the air to knock an elephant shifter out.

The women look to be a mix of royals and offspring of successful Kindred families just below noble rank. Almost all of them are vampires, though there’s a sprinkling of shifters. And even a tall orc woman, who I’m surprised is an omega, is in the mix, if her collar is any indication, a status symbol adopted from shifters and vampires.

Jasmine has always been open-minded like that. She doesn’t mind seeking pleasure from most women across the alpha, beta, omega, and racial lines.

I mean, as much as I don’t want to believe it, she fell in love with me. And I’m just some “useless peasant beta human bitch from off the streets,” according to her twin sister way back when.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, gulping as I bump into a petite woman curled on the floor with a sweet smile, doe-like eyes, reddish-brown skin, and long wavy brown hair speckled with white dots in the back.

A deer shifter, I guess, though it’s hard for me to tell. And while all the women here are just as gorgeous as the doe, it’s the vampire crown princess, Jasmine, the it-girl of the Kindred royal world, I hone in on. And damn it all, she still steals my breath away!

Jasmine’s dressed in a form-fitting, long sleeve, v-neck white blouse with loose black button-up pants that flare around her shapely legs. Her outfit is stunning. But it’s not just Jasmine’s good looks or fashion sense that makes the princess’ court of beautiful paranormals pale in comparison to her in every way.

Mainly because they are pretty pale compared to her hazelnut brown skin. But she’s always been beautiful, even more so than omegas, which is strange for an alpha female. They tend to be more rugged than most, bordering on handsome.

Jasmine’s skin is blemishless and radiant, shining with an otherworldly glow, the mole under her right eye giving the vampiress a feline appearance. That and the fact her eyes turn upward in the corners.

And her luscious lips… Ugh! I want to kiss her and lose myself in her taste but hold myself back as best as I can.

Overall, I’m shocked by my reaction and how feminine Jasmine seems to look suddenly. Not that she didn’t before. It’s just that she had a hard edge to her that all alphas have. A type of tough-as-nails tomboy flare that doesn’t quite match up with the regal elegance she oozes now.

I rip my gaze away from hers as she lifts her head, pushing aside a plus-sized vampire omega with corkscrew curly blonde hair to splay her legs.

The omega in question groans in return, eyes unfocused, her ornate choker encrusted in diamonds unhooked. Then, the sharp ends of Jasmine’s heels click against the floor, and I can only bring myself to look at her from the neck down to keep my sanity from slipping away.

On closer inspection, her blouse is more frilly than form-fitting, which would stand out underneath a blazer. And I spot said blazer draped over the naked body of a sleeping woman on the floor with electric blue hair and pointy elf ears.

Her outfit is the perfect mix of masc and femme, which Jasmine mastered long ago. And her hair, more than her clothing or demeanor, makes me think she’s changed.

Jasmine’s hair is much longer than I remember, flowing down to her mid back in dark waves. She said it used to be kinky when she was very young, but years of heat damage made it grow in bone straight. And apparently, even magic can’t save her burnt hair follicles now.

Yes, everything about Jasmine is magnificent, and despite my pep talk in the car, I feel so insignificant beside her.

I never meant to cross paths with Jasmine ever again. And I refuse to look into her eyes because I know I’ll fall into the trap of hate sex, making up, and running away like the first year we separated.

No, I have to be strong, ask for what I want, and not fall under her spell.

Because I need a cure, not her lips against mine or her fingers threading my pussy. Though I want that too. I’m wishing for it desperately. At some point. No, never!

Fuck, I’m already losing my mind.

As the first beta and human to graduate with a degree in shifter epidemiology, I’ve lived just fine without her.

I worked hard for my degree and meant to part ways for the rest of my life after our brief yet scorching hot college affair. And I’ve made good money as a clinical researcher, too. So it’s not like I need to rely on Jasmine for anything.

Anything but what I need tonight, an answer I can’t get to without her help.

Ever since graduation and gainful employment, I’ve enjoyed my job until I ran into a paranormal I couldn’t place into a neat box—Siku, a purebred werewolf pregnant with my best friend’s child.

A royal just like Jasmine, Siku carries himself like an alpha even though he’s an omega. An oddball in the best way. He’s from an isolated, remote pack of wolves located on the aptly named Den of Wolves, an island off the coast of Crescent City.

Prince Siku of the Qirniqtaq Lycan Pack is an anomaly for many reasons, making him valuable to our research. Eddie, a werewolf doctor and my oldest friend, has been studying Siku’s pack for a long time from a distance.

And then, he shared a nugget of information that piqued my interest. The Qirniqtaq Pack seemed resistant to almost all viruses prevalent in the shifter world, and we didn’t know why until recently when we decided to mount an expedition to their shores.

But, unfortunately, one thing led to another, and Eddie ended up sleeping with his subject.

That wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. Alphas have been known to do much worse to omegas like him. But that was until last week when we discovered all of the Qirniqtaq lycans are carriers of a mutated TV3 strain.

It made them resistant in some unique ways to common shifter sicknesses, but what they are susceptible to can lead to their extinction.

An attack at our lab caused cross-contamination, and an injured Siku came in contact with some blood and went berserk. We thought it was just an allergic reaction, not some rare blood-borne shifter disease.

But Siku’s suffering because he is infected with something rare, mutating his already mutant strain of TV3. And despite our best efforts, we can’t replicate it in the lab. It’s something ancient, something no mortal or paranormal doctor has encountered in over a millennium.

I knew there was only one being who could find the cure to save him—my ex, Jasmine, a powerful vampire heiress to the largest blood bank in town, to the Alistar fortune, and to the vampiric throne.

Now all I gotta do is convince her to hand over the keys to the castle. Easy enough? As if!

Tonight, I need to stay sober to fight against her allure, which most Kindred refer to as pheromones.

It doesn’t usually work on a beta like me. And when it does, coming from a powerful alpha, it usually makes me afraid and resistant, not turned on and willing to do what they say.

But vampires are different. Their allure can work even on betas, it’s just that potent. And supposedly, it’s irresistible between fated mates, no matter their caste or race.

Knowing this, I walk over to the mini-bar, grab the strongest drink I can find, and pour it into a champagne flute. It burns like battery acid in my stomach but gives me the courage to finally face Jasmine, who’s ordering her entourage out so we can finally have some long-awaited privacy.

I close my eyes, trying to center my mind and string together coherent thoughts so I don’t embarrass myself.

Jasmine has never tried to command me to do anything. Not with her allure, her alpha power. Well, that’s a lie. She tried briefly but ultimately never followed through.

Regardless of her failed attempt, I can’t honestly say I’ve ever been commanded to do Jasmine’s bidding. But spend enough time with her, and she’ll have your pussy dripping wet and panties off in no time.

And the last time I stopped thinking with my head around her, I surrendered my blood and my heart to the princess and her father’s corporation like a fool.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” she slurs, standing, obviously blood drunk. “That useless bouncer was supposed to inform me when you arrived. No matter. We can talk now, Veronica. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her husky voice sends a vault of peer electricity shooting down my spine as Jasmine’s gentle tone caresses my ears. It’s as if the tips of her fingertips are dancing against my skin, ready to wrap around my neck and make me submit.

Focus, bitch, focus!

I open my eyes slowly, clutching the base of my drink with both hands in a death grip to hide their trembling. I take her in for the first time in years. Fully, by looking into her eyes, what vampires and humans agree are windows into the soul.

And she looks even more amazing than she did before, up close and personal like this. Because suddenly, we’re nose to nose and chest to chest!

Jasmine must have walked as light as a feather across the room because I didn’t hear a thing. And Goddess above, it’s like she’s stealing my breath away with her overwhelming beauty.

Or, maybe she has cast a spell on me. You can never be too sure when you’re around Kindred.

And it’s all because of her eyes that I feel entranced. Her unwavering stare, blanketed by thick black eyelashes, is usually golden. The coloring sets her apart as nobility, as most alphas across all races have ruby-red eyes.

Like pools of liquid honey, I get sucked into them in a world where only Jasmine and I exist.

Usually, being key here. Because then Jasmine blinks, and her unfamiliar gaze finally registers in my mind.

Her eyes are charcoal black, eerily human, gazing at me curiously over the rim of a champagne flute filled with blood.

Who’s blood is anybody’s guess. But if I were a betting type of woman, I would put my money on the blissed-out blonde that had been lying beside her with the massive chest, heaving hard, deep puncture wounds at the base of her neck.

I clench my teeth, furious at myself for being jealous for even a second, as if I wanted to replace the blonde and be some brain-dead blood slave for Jasmine in her place.

Maybe I do. Fuck! Focus, Veronica, focus. Siku’s suffering, your best friend is about to lose his family, and you’re over here fantasizing about getting eaten out by your asshole ex.

A wicked grin spreads across her face as if Jasmine can read my mind, eyes flashing gold and then back to obsidian.

“Anything can be arranged,” she purrs ominously, “for a price. And you know mine. Now remember your pledge if you want me to arrange an audience with my brother. And be sure to dress the part.”

Jasmine leans against the bar, twirling her sharp black fingernail over the rim of a martini glass pre-filled with blue blood after downing her flute in one gulp. 

“You look hot as hell, but he doesn’t take kindly to your kind. So here, take my card and buy something even more exquisite. Something that will make me want to rip it off your body and take my fill.”

She slides a black credit card across the table, and I take it, ignoring her blatant flirtation.

I imagine buying an outfit that would make her brother receptive to my request would blow up my finances for a year. And seeing as I’m not too proud to beg for her help, it’s not like I can turn down Jasmine’s offer to buy me what I need for the meeting.

It’s all about status with Kindred, noble or not, and I’m low on the totem pole on all fronts.

But Jasmine is different. Respected. Some might even say worshiped. She’s the key I need to unlock the vault. If I can keep her focused long enough to get in.

While I’m deep in thought, a soft palm grabs a handful of my buttcheek, ripping me from my racing thoughts.

Jasmine drags me against her, her hard nipples digging into my chest, practically growling when she says, “I meant it when I said you look hot. Ravishing, sweetheart. I want more than a little bite.”

“Enough with the pet names and let go of me now,” I demand, pushing her away, aware Jasmine only moves because she allowed it.

I’m no match for her in a contest of strength. And I don’t trust myself to be in her arms for long without losing it. I told myself I’d never believe another word from her lying lips. But every time I hear her voice, I sink back down into an awful abyss I mistake for love.

But sorting out our messy relationship isn’t why I came here. I came for a cure! That’s why I stopped running after half a decade, only to crawl back into her den, on her turf, on her terms.

Because to save my best friend’s mate, and their child, I have no choice but to surrender to the queen of the night, what this apex predator has been after from the start—my unique blood.

Perfectly manicured nails sharpened to a point graze my chin. Nails I want to claw my thighs and sink between my legs until I’m driven to ecstasy. 

“Vodka, babe? Or maybe it’s tequila I smell on your breath. Nevertheless, you’ve lost your edge. You used to drink like a fish, but one glass has you dizzy. And I miss the pink pixie cut. It was cute. You should bring it back, sweetheart,” she says, masking her demands as suggestions. “Your lovely brown hue’s almost orange with the tint in your hair. It doesn’t suit you.”

While Jasmine has never commanded me to do shit, she sure can be domineering when she wants to be.

I brush her hand away, murmuring, “Day drinking is illegal at my job, and drinking at night is discouraged since we’re on call most of the time,” and leave it at that, ignoring the suggestion to cut and dye my hair.

I grew it out to defy her since most of my twenties were molded by her words from those tasty, skilled, lying lips down to my appearance. So denying her insistence I cut and color it means I’ve gained a bit of control. It’s pathetic to feel a morsel of power over Jasmine in this way. But it’s all the power I have in our lopsided dynamic, and I intend to wield it fully.

She frowns, and I grimace as Jasmine moves to grip the base of my neck to seal our pact.

Her first bite mark is still there, poorly covered with a tri-lunar tattoo. And it burns, as if knowing its mistress’ fangs are near.

“Fine, just relax. You know we vamps make pledges like this, sweetheart,” she whispers before biting down hard to ensure I uphold my end of the bargain.

There’s something downright diabolical about being called sweetheart by a vampire, seeing as they probably mean it in the most literal sense. But that’s the least of my worries as I finally sign the contract I’ve avoided for years.

And it’s a double-edged sword since vampire pledges cut both ways. If I flake, I die. And if she does, well, she says it’s a fate worse than death. Whatever the hell that means.

“Are you okay,” she asks, sincerity dripping from her voice, as well as my blood from her fangs and lips.

Jasmine cups my face with both hands and forces my eyes to meet hers and says, “That wasn’t a turning bite, and your body has already been inoculated against TV3. But sometimes… strange things can happen when mixing blood.”

Tell me about it, I think, seeing as that’s what happened to Siku, more or less, a rare reaction that turned deadly in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah. Still just… human,” I respond, trying to sound chirper.

My alpha smiles, “Well, you should. I wasn’t trying to turn you. Remember?”

I know she wants to add “not yet, anyway” to the end of her sentence.

Stepping backward, I try to put some distance between us as I fiddle with the heavy bun on top of my head.

My neck aches as I scratch the fresh bite mark she left. It’ll aggravate it more, but it’s itchy and annoying.

“So now you’ll help me meet your brother?” I ask, and she scoffs.

“Why would I not? I’ve been waiting for you to return to me for five years, beloved. I thought I’d have to wait an eternity,” she huffs, stepping closer, trying to box me against the wall.

I slip away and make a bee-line for the exit, but I’m trapped as she slams her hands over my shoulders. Finally, I let go of the handle and turn around, panting and squirming, as she’s way too fucking close for comfort.

“Just text me the meet-up spot,” I say, failing to resist melting into her arms for a while. “And I’ll be on my way.”

Her heart is hammering in her chest. It sets off alarm bells I try to silence until Jasmine opens her mouth and ruins the lovely atmosphere between us.

“Quantum Bank. No need to play coy. You know my blood… I mean, my bond brother is the only one who would have access to blood, as rare as that. Father would never let you have it, even if you could pay him. But Max might.”

I grumble, hoping that isn’t the case. That place is a fortress, and getting Jasmine’s brother to budge will be hard as hell as it is. The added detriment of being in his castle will only make it harder for us to demand the impossible. 

She twirls a strand of my hair, whispering, “You’ve grown it out a lot. But I still prefer your curly pink pixie cut. It felt so good to dig my nails into…”

…when we made love.

She doesn’t have to finish her sentence for me to catch her drift.

“I’m not trading pussy for answers, Jasmine. My blood is what you’ll get and nothing more,” I huff, panting.

“Oh! And when did I say that?” she says in a mockery of shock.

“Now you’re pretending to be coy. Naive,” I grunt out, rolling my eyes, snatching my face away, just registering that her hands felt…

Warm? She’s never warm. How strange.

“Do you think our relationship was just sex? I distinctly remember we were… partners well before that. Like you and that mangy mutt,” she says, then frowns. “And before you ask, I’m afraid I can’t let a lycan on the premises. A non-noble one. You know this. So Dr. Lobo isn’t coming. Don’t bring him along, or there will be consequences.”

“But he has to come! I can’t isolate the issue by myself. Not fast enough, anyway. And it’ll help your brother out, won’t it? His…” I drift off, choking on my words.

I stop myself from saying mate since the big scary feral wolf Jasmine’s brother keeps as a pet isn’t quite that. They have a more master, blood slave relationship I find rather creepy but don’t dare say.

Nevertheless, that feral lycan comes from across the border, closer to the magical Otherworld Kindred call Atheria.

And if the gossip reports I snooped through are correct, many of his symptoms align with Siku’s. It’s the only reason I thought I would have an in to the Alistar’s blood vault in the first place.

“His… personal blood bank is suffering from the same affliction, isn’t he? So maybe he’ll be lenient,” I offer, but I know she’ll shoot me down.

She twirls a loose strand of my hair again, ignoring me, the mole at the corner of her eye pinching as she smiles, revealing rows of gleaming white teeth with two large fangs sharpened to dangerous points.

“Your words are like thorns, but your scent is like the sweetest of roses. When will you learn that a gentle touch will go a long way? Ask me more nicely, and maybe I’ll be inclined to beg him on your behalf. I can beg on my knees right now, too, for your forgiveness if you’d offer me one of your gorgeous smiles, Veronica.”

Ugh…

Just hearing my name on her lips makes me want to come. It’s moments like this when she’s being insufferable and poetic all at the same damn time, to get into my panties, that I wish Jasmine would drag me back to her den and claim me so I can become perfectly hers.

Resist, got damn it. Resist! And get out now.

The voice of reason in my head has gotten older and wiser, but the rest of my body just doesn’t want to grow up, like putty in Jasmine’s arms.

I dig into my neck to snap out of it while nodding. That makes Jasmine growl, yanking my hand away along with my bloody fingernails. I can see her debating sucking them dry, the nastier side of a vampire’s blood drive. But then she presses a handkerchief into my hand instead.

“You’ll aggravate your wound. Take care of it. I’ll see you tonight, fated.”

I bristle at the mention of fate, yet she ignores it, closing my fist around the piece of cloth. Again with the pet names. Her endless pet names are exhausting.

Suddenly, Jasmine lips graze against the faint puncture marks embedded in the back of my neck, making the old wounds look brand new.

She pulls back and regards me with hooded eyes, drumming her nails against the door before pushing away.

“And don’t be late,” she says, this time her smile tight and fake.

“Deal,” I respond and run away like I did all those years ago.

Except this time, I intend to return.

Tonight, we’re both facing our demons and dragging them back down to hell.