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"I know, I know, you told me so," I reply, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, just reminding you for next time you're droolin' over some dark-dweller, don't forget who's the one callin' you out on it," Emily sneers in her signature smart-ass tone.

"It was so stupid of me!" I sputter. "To think someone actually cared about me, saw the real me. I'm such an idiot."

Emily grabs my shoulders firmly. "Hey, look at me. You are NOT an idiot, you hear me? For believing the best in someone? That makes you brave, Danica. Don't beat yourself up."

I wipe my eyes, her words soothing my soul. "You're right. I thought I was stronger now and wouldn't fall for lies again. But the second he kept secrets, it gutted me."

Emily nods. "Because it resurfaced old pain. But you survived this before and can do it again. You have so much power within you!" And I don't mean your weird ass sparkly hands, either,” she snickered sarcastically.

My inner spark reignites. "You're absolutely right. I won't make excuses for him or rationalize it away. I deserve honesty, and if Rhyland can't give me that, I'm done."

Emily smiles. "There's my badass girl. Now, you just need some self-care tonight—wine, movies, trash-talking men."

I laugh through my tears. "God, I love you. Thank you for always having my back."

"That's what besties are for! I'll tear apart anyone who messes with you." We clink wine glasses and settle in for a night of healing. My heart still aches from Rhyland's betrayal, but I know I'll get through this with Emily's support. She's right—I reclaimed my power before and can do it again.

Emily leaves for the night, and my phone buzzes—a message from 'Agent Stalker.' I scoff and send him the middle finger emoji.

Despite feeling tipsy, I check the locks and even shut my bedroom door, doubting it will really keep Rhyland out. “Ha! Get past that, jackass!” I yell, the alcohol hitting. Of course, he can get in, damn vampire tricks.

I collapse into bed, wondering if Rhyland will visit tonight. A part of me wants to confront him, while another part wants to tell him to piss off. I don't need this drama...yet he's irresistible, and we have undeniable chemistry.

But can I trust him after this betrayal? The secrets dredged up painful memories I’ve tried to forget. What else could he be hiding if he lied about something like this?

Rhyland

34

We arrive back at the hotel—rage and disgust still boil inside me. Erik and Lucian fill my head with more disturbing details from the tunnels—It's just as we feared. Mortals are being treated like cattle, used, and sold like blood bags.

I brandish the documents I snatched from Azrael's desk, the damning proof laid bare before us. I quickly memorized the details about a secret room marked on Lucian's maps, deciding to investigate it myself later at the ball.

These papers confirm Azrael is neck-deep in illegal trading. Fury bubbles up inside me; a part of me wants to end him, have his sorry ass rotting in hell. The pages reek of corruption—shady offshore accounts and transactions designed to peddle dark blood and innocent lives. His depraved indifference to laws and human life screams from each page, highlighting the vast reach of his twisted empire.

Of course, my urgent texts to Danica will likely be ignored. Her lewd emoji reply is fresh in my mind.

"I fucking knew that bastard was into some shady shit," Lucian snarls as I knock back a swig of scotch, the liquid burning on the way down.

Lucian explains he saw people huddled together in rusty cages lining the hollow chamber's walls. They were chained and gagged with fear etched on their faces.

"Why is Azrael locking up random humans like animals?" I ask, baffled.

"Maybe they're for Moretemis," Erik speculates after pouring himself a drink. Lucian's eyes go stark at the mention of our ancient enemy.

Damn right, it all falls into place with a grim sort of inevitability. Moretemis thrives on the fear of victims, paralyzing them in dread. Azrael has to be his collaborator, trafficking the terrified to feed Moretemis' insatiable hunger in return for dark favors. That's the chilling essence of the prophecy—the encroaching darkness that Moretemis will unleash.

My mind immediately recalls vividly that fateful day—the Battle of York in 867. I was a brash Viking warrior seeking glory amidst the fury of combat. Ominous darkness hung over the lands. The air was thick with doomsday gloom. We could all taste it—the stench of fear, like the gods, were about to throw down, but we were clueless to the real nightmare waiting in the wings.

In the end, we were overwhelmed as tides of darkness descended. I lay broken and dying on the bloody ground as an unnatural night fell. Yet strangely, just before the shadows could claim me, they retreated like a tide, leaving an eerie stillness. I felt a great seal had barred the dark forces, though I knew not how or why.

In my delirium, a figure approached and offered me a second chance at life—a chance to keep fighting. With my last ounce of strength, I accepted and felt my flesh penetrated as my destiny was forever altered.

After that day, nothing was the same. I arose anew—preternaturally powerful, transcending mortality. Only over time did I comprehend what I had become...and the twilight world I now inhabited.

Centuries passed, but memories of that fateful battle stirred my soul. It was only much later that I discovered the truth—the source of the malevolent darkness that nearly claimed my life and soul that day was none other than the archfiend Moretemis himself.