Page 11 of Vicious and Volatile (Vengeance and Venom #2)

T he morning light filters through the penthouse windows, painting the living room in muted gold. I’m sitting at the kitchen island, a glass of water growing warm between my hands. I’ve been awake for over an hour. I feel like I’m in this weird limbo of waiting. I don’t know what to do with my life right now. Like Ophelia said, what is normal now? How do I find it again?

I don’t know what the hell this day is going to bring. But there’s a heavy sense of unease in the pit of my stomach.

When a door finally opens, it’s like a crack of thunder in the silence. Ophelia steps out, her frame still too thin, her skin still too pale, but her eyes... her eyes are sharper today, clearer. She’s coming back to herself. She’s dressed, her hair brushed.

"Morning," she says, her voice raspier than usual as she shuffles to the coffee pot that’s never been used until today.

"Morning," I reply, trying to sound casual. My stomach twists as I watch her pour herself a cup and take that first sip. She leans against the counter, studying me over the rim of her mug.

"You’ve been up a while," she observes.

I shrug. “You know me, I’m always an early riser."

She hums noncommittally, her gaze flicking around the penthouse. Her eyes linger on the modern art hanging on the walls, the polished marble floors, and the ridiculous chandelier above the dining table. I can see the gears turning in her head, the cracks forming in the fragile peace we’ve managed to hold onto since yesterday. It feels like she’s finally taking the surroundings in. She’s finally processing that this is really not where I used to live.

"This place..." she starts, her tone almost offhand. “You… You live here?”

I swallow once. Here it comes. “I do.”

“It’s a little different from your old apartment." That almost sounds like an accusation. And I note that her eyes scrape over my clothes. They’re an obvious upgrade from my old wardrobe. And then her eyes flick to the shopping bags still on the dining table.

There’s no way I would have been able to afford all of that before.

I force a smile, taking a sip of my now room temperature water to buy myself a second to think. "Yeah, it’s... an upgrade."

Her eyebrows lift slightly. "An upgrade? Lana, this isn’t an upgrade. This is... I don’t even know what this is. How are you affording it? Did you win the lottery or something?”

The question hangs in the air, heavier than the silence that follows. I set my glass down, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

"I’ve had some help," I say carefully.

"Help?" she echoes, her voice sharpening .

I nod, but force my eyes to rise to meet hers. "Yeah. It’s complicated."

She sets her mug down with a soft clink, and the sound makes me flinch. "Lana," she says slowly, her voice firm. "What the hell is going on?"

I open my mouth, but no words come out. My mind races for something to say. I feel something large gaining momentum and I don’t like how dark it feels.

But before I can respond, the front door swings open.

The moment I hear the door, my heart leaps into my throat. Ares steps inside, his presence commanding the room as always. He’s dressed casually—black jeans, a black t-shirt—but there’s nothing casual about the wary tension that follows him in like a shadow.

And oh, shit, this isn’t going to go well, I just know it. Because he’s wearing those custom sunglasses when he walks in, and it’s really not all that bright. Immediately, I grab the remote on the counter and press the button. The shades close automatically, leaving us in dim light.

My eyes flick over to Ophelia as Ares removes his sunglasses. She’s watching him like a hawk.

Ares’ eyes land on me first, softening slightly before flicking to Ophelia. He hesitates, sensing the unease hanging in the air, but he recovers quickly, offering her a polite nod.

"Good morning," he says, his voice smooth but cautious.

Ophelia straightens, her posture rigid as she crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrow at him, as if questioning why he’s here and why he just walked in. "Morning," she replies, her tone clipped.

Ares rounds the island, though he stays a few steps away from me. He places his hands on the smooth surface of the counter. "I hope you’re feeling a little better today," he says, addressing Ophelia directly.

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she watches him with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Her eyes flick between the two of us, narrowing slightly as if she’s just noticed something she missed before.

"Ares, right?” she asks finally, her voice steady but laced with suspicion.

“Yes, Ares Hunt. Sorry we didn’t get a very official introduction before," he confirms, his tone polite but guarded.

“You just walked in,” she observes, a sharp, accusatory edge to her tone. “Do you live here?"

I open my mouth to answer, but Ares beats me to it. "I was giving you and Lana some space yesterday. I stayed with my sister last night. But, yes."

Ophelia’s eyes snap to me, and I see the moment everything starts to click for her. Her gaze darts to the way Ares is standing in proximity to me, the way his body shifts slightly in my direction, protective even now. Then she looks at me—really looks—and I can see the questions burning behind her eyes.

"Lana," she says slowly, her voice low and disbelieving. "What’s fucking going on here?"

My throat tightens, and I can feel Ares’ gaze on me, steady and supportive. But it doesn’t make this any easier.

"Ophelia," I start, my voice barely above a whisper, “A lot has happened in the past two months."

Her face hardens, and she takes a step back, shaking her head. “What are you saying?"

And just like that, the fragile peace has shattered.

Ophelia stares at me like she’s seeing a stranger. The air between us feels heavy, thick with unspoken accusations .

"You’re with him," she says, her voice a raw whisper.

I flinch, but before I can respond, she keeps going, her words tumbling out in disbelief. “This is his place. You’ve never had this kind of money your whole life. But the private jet when you brought me home. The personal driver. Shit, your new clothes. Fuck.” She’s breathing hard, her eyes a little panicked. “It’s all him. Lana, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this isn’t what it looks like. Tell me you didn’t give up your apartment to move in with this guy.”

I glance at Ares, who’s standing a few feet away, silent but tense. He’s watching me, waiting for me to take the lead. I’m the one who knows Ophelia. His presence steadies me, but it doesn’t make this any less difficult.

"You’re not wrong," I admit, my voice low but firm.

Ophelia’s jaw drops slightly, her eyes going wide. "You’re serious? You’re... with him?" She spits the words out like they’re poison.

“It started out as a business arrangement,” I say, feeling my defenses rising. “To find you. I needed help. He needed my help. But things evolved, O. This is real, me and Ares.” I look over at him, and I can see it on his face, he knows how fucking hard this is. He takes a step closer to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I cross an arm over my body, putting my hand over his.

Ophelia’s expression twists, a storm of emotions I can’t fully untangle—shock, anger, hurt. "Real?" she repeats, her voice rising. "Lana, do you hear yourself? He’s a vampire!"

"I know what he is," I snap, heat flaring in my chest. “I’ve known from the first moment we met."

"Then how—" She cuts herself off, her hand raking through her hair as she turns away from us. She takes in a shaky breath, her whole body trembling slightly with her agitation. When she turns back to me, her eyes are blazing. "How can you love him after what happened to us? After what his kind did to me? To you?"

“ Ares didn’t do this," I say. My hands are trembling, but my voice comes out steady. "He’s the one who helped me save you."

"Oh, right. A knight in shining armor," she snaps, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you even hear yourself, Lana? A week ago, you were locked in a basement by a vampire who paid money for you. I was—" Her voice breaks, and she shakes her head violently like she can’t even bring herself to say it.

I rise from the barstool and step toward her, my hands outstretched. "Ophelia, I know what you went through. I know?—"

"No, you fucking don’t!" she yells, stepping back. Her voice cracks, raw and jagged. "You have no idea what it was like. You were fed. You had water. You had a damn shower. You weren’t locked up in a graveyard, in the dark, for months. You didn’t see how that woman treated me like... like nothing more than food."

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. “I know our experiences weren’t the same. Christina was just plain and simply evil.”

“So how can you stand there and tell me you’re in love with one of them?" she demands, her voice trembling with fury. "How, Lana? How can you look at him and not see what they are? What they do?"

We all have our limits. There’s only so much we can take before we snap. And Ophelia calling Ares into question is one of my breaking points. My voice rises, matching hers. "Because he’s not them, Ophelia! He’s not the monster who hurt you. He’s not Augustus!”

Something shifts in her eyes again. “How do you know the name of the man in charge, huh? Who the hell is this ‘Augustus,’ and how do you know him?”

Fuck. It just gets worse.

“Augustus was my father,” Ares says darkly. There’s a look in his eyes. One that screams protectiveness. Ophelia is pissed at me, and Ares does not like it. “He’s the one who ran the trafficking operation. I knew something was up with him. That’s why I needed Lana’s help. When we discovered his warehouse, what the Red parties were really for, that’s when he took Lana. And that’s why I killed the bastard.”

Ophelia makes a sound of disgust, shaking her head. “Your father. Your blood. Lana, how can you be in such denial?”

"That’s enough," Ares says, his voice calm but laced with steel.

Ophelia whirls on him, her anger flaring even hotter. "Don’t you dare tell me what’s enough," she snaps. "You don’t get to play the hero here. You think you’re different? Bet there’s still fangs in that pretty mouth of yours."

Ares doesn’t flinch. He steps closer, his gaze steady. "You’re angry, and you have every right to be. What happened to you was horrific, and I won’t pretend to understand that kind of pain. But don’t put me in the same category as Augustus."

"Why not?" she spits, her voice trembling with emotion. "Because Lana says you’re different? Because you say you’re different?"

"Because I am," he replies, his voice firm. “Do you know what it feels like to end your own blood? Because I know exactly what it feels like to tear that man to shreds. And I’d do it again, a thousand times over, to keep you safe. To keep Lana safe.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with truth. Ares will not be bullied, and he won’t stand by while someone who should care about me tries to crush me to dust.

Ophelia lets out a bitter laugh, even as a stream of tears races down her face. "Safe? Do you even hear yourself? You’re the reason she’s not safe. Just being with you puts her in danger every second of every day. You survive off what runs through her veins.”

Ares glances at me, pain flickering in his eyes. "I would die before I let anything happen to her."

"Something already did happen to her,” she spits out with a disgusted smile. “You’re doing a great job.” The sarcasm is acidic gas filling the room.

"Stop," I say, my voice shaking. "Ophelia, please?—"

"No, Lana," she says, her voice breaking. "I can’t. I can’t watch you do this to yourself. I can’t watch you throw your life away for... for him."

"Ophelia, open your damn eyes!” I practically scream. This has all gone so fucking sideways. “Do I look like someone who’s been tricked? Do I look like I’m out of my mind? You can’t judge someone you don’t know, and I’m trying to help you see?—"

"Help me see what?" she asks calmly, coldly, stepping closer, her fury radiating off her in waves. "That you’re not the person I thought you were? Because I don’t know who the hell this person standing in front of me is. You know exactly what they did to me. What they did to you. And you’re going to stand there and tell me you have feelings for one of them?” She shakes her head, disgust on her lips. “I just see someone who’s betrayed me in the worst possible way. You’re a hypocrite."

Her words are a dagger straight to the chest, and I stagger under their weight.

"Don’t," I warn her.

"Do you even care?" she spits, her voice shaking. "Do you even care what this means? What it says about you? About me—" She breaks off, her face crumpling, and tears streak down her cheeks.

"Ophelia," I start, taking a step forward, but she holds up a hand to stop me.

"Don’t," she snaps. "Don’t you dare. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want your excuses. You’re not the same person who swore she was my best friend."

Her words sink into me like barbs, and I feel myself unraveling, piece by piece.

“I know you’re hurting,” I say, my voice going colder. “I know you’ve been through hell. I know life hasn’t been fair to you. But you’re suddenly acting like you don’t know me. Like I haven’t dedicated the past two months of my life to finding you. You’re being a self-centered bitch.”

I’ve never hated words more. For a moment, I remember the woman I’ve always known—the one who stood by my side through every storm, the one I would have done anything for— did everything for.

But anger hardens her features, and I know. I’ve lost her.

"You disgust me," she says, her voice low and cold. "I don’t even know who you are anymore."

Her words knock the air out of my lungs, and I stand frozen as she storms out .

The front door slams shut, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“Fuck,” the curse fires from my mouth, emotional, angry, bitter, shocked, hurt.

Ares’ arms are suddenly around me. My vision blurs as tears sting my eyes. I look up at Ares’ face, barely registering the angry anguish there.

"Lana," he whispers, his voice thick with guilt. "I’m sorry. I never wanted?—"

"This isn’t your fault," I cut him off as my own anger tightens my chest. “How… how did that go so sideways? How the hell did we get here? How…”

“She was surprised,” Ares tries to reason, tries to make it better. “Just give her some time to process it. She’s raw. Who could blame her after everything she’s been through?”

I want to believe him. I really do.

But I know Ophelia.

She doesn’t forgive. She doesn’t forget. And I can’t see how she will ever let something like this go.