It’s not the hair, swept up into loose, romantic curls, or the smoky eye makeup I’ve carefully perfected. It’s not even the dress or the blood that runs through my veins now — rich, potent, supernatural.
It’s my whole damn aura.
I feel like I’ve been reborn. Like all the bad that happened in my life is a totally different existence. I’m not traumatized by my mother and sister’s murder. I didn’t lose my dad when I needed him. I wasn’t betrayed by my best friend. I wasn’t trafficked by a vampire. I didn’t watch my husband die right in front of me.
No. I’m just Lana Hunt. The happiest, most confident, most rooted woman on planet fucking Earth.
Our townhouse in Old Town still smells like fresh paint and wood polish from the light remodel we gave it. The floors creak softly beneath my heels as I move through the bedroom, past the bay window with its view of the icy street below. I can hear fireworks being tested somewhere off in the distance—the early sparks of a city about to celebrate.
Chicago.
I never thought I’d live anywhere but New York. And now… I can’t imagine being anywhere but here.
A door clicks softly behind me, followed by the sound of dress shoes across wood. I don’t need to turn. I feel him before I see him.
Ares’ gaze travels up my body like a caress, and when I turn to face him, his expression is so full of heat and reverence, it makes my stomach flutter.
“You’re going to kill me tonight, Vengeance,” he says, voice low, playful. “Literally kill me. They’ll find me in a corner of that party, heart stopped, cause of death: wife in a satin dress.”
I smirk and cross to him. “Well, that’s no good. Juliet can only bring you back once. Maybe I should change into some sweatpants and one of your t-shirts?”
He wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me in. “Doesn’t really matter what you wear. You always kill me with that body.”
My smile softens. I press my forehead to his. “Ready to ring in a new year with our not-so-normal family?”
He grins. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The Nocturne is nestled between much taller buildings. It’s terracotta-clad and dark. It’s only eleven stories tall, and every single window is arched. Gorgeous columns stretch up each corner of the building. There are detailed carvings tucked into all the hidden corners. It looks old and like something that should exist in Gotham City.
Inside, we walk into a big entryway. Great walls stretch above us, and a massive chandelier hangs overhead. Straight ahead, there is a set of massive double doors. And right inside, there is a beautiful ballroom. Massive columns line the perimeter. The floor is aged and chipped marble. The ceiling is crisscrossed with intricate beams. It’s been decorated brilliantly. Candles flicker. Music thrums low and elegant. Velvet and crystal catch the light.
And there are so many people.
Vampires. Gifted. Immortals and supernaturals. And yet, the energy here is warm. Welcoming. It still floors me just how many of them live in Chicago—how alive this city is beneath its surface.
“How do they keep this place secret?” I whisper to Ares as we make our way through the grand room.
“Goes to show how hard the Night Council works at what they do,” Ares says. We’ve learned so much about this city since we arrived. Like the fact that there is a Chicago Night Council. Roman and Juliet are both members, as are some vampire twins—Mason and Elena, as well as a gifted woman named Sigrid. “And Roman is terrifying enough, no one wants to deal with his wrath by talking about Chicago.”
It's true. The man is intense when it comes to Chicago’s security.
That was another surprise about moving to the city. Within twenty-four hours of our arrival, Roman informed us that we had to get a tattoo. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but every vampire in Chicago has a rose tattoo, and it has to be somewhere visible. Roman’s is on his neck. Juliet’s is on her wrist, rising up her forearm. It means you’ve been vetted and cleared to reside here, that you’re a vampire who can be trusted. The ink is also mixed with blood, the magical blood of Sigrid’s son, enabling her to track every vampire in the city.
Roman takes security very, very seriously.
I now have a rose tattooed on the back of my neck. It matches Ares’ exactly.
Sysco finds us first. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit, tie undone like he’s already had too much champagne—and there’s a woman on his arm. She’s all smiles, wearing a hot pink dress, her hair curled, her heels still not bringing her to Sysco’s chin.
“Lana, Ares!” he calls. “Meet Holly.”
“I think we met once when you came by the hospital,” she says, and she’s wildly upbeat. It would seem annoying if she didn’t sound so genuine.
“Right, you’re Juliet’s assistant!” I put it together. I’ve met so many people since coming to Chicago, it’s hard to keep everyone straight sometimes.
“Best job ever,” she says, and her grin says she means it. “You’re the newlyweds.”
Ares raises an eyebrow. “What exactly has he been telling you?”
