I’ve been away from Vegas for three weeks.
Three weeks of wishing I could come back. Three weeks wondering where I stand with Celine and Luca. And three weeks of flashbacks to the backroom at the Fang where Sheena performed a fucking miracle.
While there’s some suspicion surrounding the deal I brokered between Sheena and Alistair, almost everyone is optimistic. They don’t dare say anything else—at least not loudly—because Sheena is done with their shit.
My best friend has started throwing her weight around, taking her own future in her hands, and flashing those angry purple eyes at anyone who crosses her. I’m proud of her, but the seed of worry I’ve had since we met has grown into a colossal redwood tree.
It feels a lot like fear, and I’m not the only one caught in it.
Fear is contagious. It’s panic in a herd of wildebeests or a flock of plump, napping quail—all it needs is one inciting spark to ignite a frenzy. My magic reserves are charged to the max because of it. Knowing why makes my strength bittersweet, as if I won a race after someone I care for tripped on the final lap.
Parking my car, I grab my bag and unlock my apartment. After a few weeks away, the unit smells even mustier than usual.
I’m not supposed to be here. Dad doesn’t want me on the front lines of the enclave’s war with Lysander’s gang, and he doesn’t want me in Vegas either.
I took a play out of Sheena’s book and came anyway.
This is my life, and what Dad doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
The winged roach has been busy adding to its herd... flock? I don’t give a shit what they call their family unit; I just want them out. I kick the bed and jump back when three of the monsters scurry out from under it.
Skin crawling, I retreat to rinse off in the shower before heading to the club.
As I open the door and pass through the tickle of the ward, I smile at the familiarity. It’s good to be—what the fuck?I freeze.
I’ve spent more than enough time at the Naked Fang by now to know its quirks. From the cracked vinyl in the corner booth to the symphony of drums, catcalls, and clinking ice—the Fang usually feels like wearing a cozy sweatshirt at the end of a long day.
But someone replaced it with fishnets and leather and didn’t bother to warn me.
Cages hang from the ceiling, with a handful of dancersperforming inside them. Brandy, I recognize. The other twowomen aren’t familiar. Questions flood my head, like: who hung these cages? And do they have an up-to-date construction license? If they aren’t hooked to load-bearing beams, Celine could get hurt.
Fuck me, I want to speak to the manager about this.
I turn to the bar for answers, but the woman behind it is definitely not Luca. She doesn’t even have a lip ring. I hiss, wondering for a second if I wandered into the wrong supernatural strip club by accident.
“Lost, demon?” Celine’s voice is beautifully familiar.
I face her, pointing first at the cages, then at the strange bartender. “What the fuck?”
Celine shrugs. “Sal decided to make some changes.”
“Did Luca get fired?”
Celine adjusts the sheer green slip she’s wearing and scoffs. “Hardly, Sal’s cheap ass finally broke down and agreed to hire some help. I think he was worried we were both going to jump ship and start working at the Mouth of Hell or something. Lyss is cool.”
I narrow my eyes at the woman behind the bar. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her, and it’s driving me crazy. “What the fuck is she?”
“Keep your voice down!”
“Sorry,” I mutter. It’s still early, and the club isn’t crowded. We won’t be overheard unless someone is deliberately snooping. “At least the hottest woman alive still works here or I would have thought I was lost.”
Celine shakes her head at me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the corner booth. I slide in next to her. The tear in the vinyl is still there, and I relax. Celine, on the other hand, is squirming against the seat like the roaches followed me in. “I-I wanted to...”
“Spit it out, hot wings,” I say. Her lack of confidence is worse than the other changes at the Fang. “I’m the same guy I always was.”
“Thank you,” she says. “For handling, you know...” Her lips curl into a wry smile, and I shake my head. This awkwardness between us sucks. I prefer her pissed.
“There’s no need to thank me,” I say. “The enclave is supposed to stand for justice. I’m sorry we’ve failed so often around here that no one believes that.”
