What the actual hell?
They stare at each other, and I notice the first signs of hyperventilation just as my surroundings begin to spin. I have to run. Solitude is my only escape, my safe space.
Without a word, I leave the area and rush to the door, making my way through the security guards, pushing through bodies tangled in the primal rhythm of the music.
I need air; I need to get away from all these people. If these two men have a problem, I’d rather let them sort it out without me.
The autumn night welcomes me with darkness and a fresh waft of cool air promising relief. The parking lot is full of cars, and groups of people hang out at the entrance, smoking in groups, chatting, or making out.
Reminding myself of my therapist’s instructions, I take several controlled breaths. The crescent of the moon lures me deeper into the parking lot, frowning upon my poor life choices.
What is happening with my well-controlled, dull, but safe life?
I walk away from the lights, the people, and those two strange men who threaten to destroy the fragile balance of my life, meandering between the rows of cars and sinking deeper into the shadows with no clear direction or plan.
Hasty steps echo behind my back, and I don’t need to turn around to see who it is.
“Celeste,” a dark, velvet voice calls to me, and I curse myself for leaving without my purse—my keys are inside, and I need my phone to get an Uber.
“Celeste, let’s talk,” the husky voice of his friend joins in from the open doorway.
I ignore them, taking a few swaying steps into the darkness at the far end of the parking lot, the cold night air biting my bare shoulders. Frantically considering my options, I’m about to turn around and head back to collect my things and Jasmin, who is clearly incapable of making rational choices, when it starts drizzling, my black dress quickly clinging to my body. It’s freezing. Better get some air and return to fetch my things, hopefully both men have cooled off already.
Then a slight movement catches my attention.
Away from the neon lights, in the hazy darkness of the alleys beyond the last row of parked cars, something stirs.
A stray cat, or worse—probably a giant rat exploring the piles of trash.
Yet I somehow know it’s something else. Dread squeezes my gut with an iron fist. The darkness thickens, the ink of the night becoming dense, and primal gloom pools at my feet, rippling around my ankles, rising to my waist like a black geyser. My jaw drops as it starts taking the shape of a blurry male figure.
Hasty footsteps clatter behind me, and Diaphonus protectively pulls me behind him, Tarcyll next to him, feet apart and firmly on the ground. A warrior’s stance. His black brows are knit together, and he pulls out a gun. They bark at each other in a language I hear for the first time.
Tarcyll turns to me. “The Dreadful One is here, Celeste! On my command, run back to the club!”
I watch in disbelief how the condensed darkness forms an imposing male silhouette with massive black wings. His eyes—two flames among the shadows—fix on me, and I stumble, walking backward.
Tarcyll fires at the entity without causing any visible damage, while sparks gather in Diaphonus’ palms and he throws a shimmering ball of energy toward the dark entity.
My jaw drops so low that I hear it click.
Am I in some dark and twisted version of Avengers?
There’s no time to wonder what exactly was in those shots or if someone has spiked our drinks with something hallucinogenic. Maybe I’m just dreaming, or my body has finally rebelled against the onslaught of medications and alcohol I’ve subjected it to for years.
I leave these questions for a more fitting time and bolt between the cars, dead-set on reaching the club, grabbing my purse and my intoxicated friend, and getting the hell out of here.
Yet fate has other plans for me. The sound of an accelerating motorbike makes me whip my head just in time to jump aside and avoid getting hit by a familiar rider. Before I realize what’s happening, he hops off the bike with superhuman agility, grabs me, and loads me onto the seat as he jumps back on.
“Hold on to me!” His voice thunders louder than the engine, and we speed off into the city night, followed by gunshots, muffled explosions, and shouts in that strange language.
The needles of the freezing wind and rain pierce my soaked skin, my hair glued to my face, and I hold on to my mysterious knight. It seems he is always there when things get rough. Is trouble following him, or is he by some miracle always around to save me, I wonder? Another question to ponder on later. For now, I’m grateful to be leaving that mess behind and for the warmth his broad back provides. Though the memory of the man I’m clinging to warning me “I am the Hunter who found you first,” whispers through my mind as he races us into the night.
Cyrell – The Warrior
A nother Hunter has used a spell on her, and the raw power in her veins responded; that is my guess. And her reaction was so powerful that it drew the attention of the Dreadful One. He is always there, lurking in the shadows, in the blurred contours of this world, waiting for the right moment to strike. And the other two Fae lit the beacon of magical light that drew his cold, restless eyes.
The magic within humans is rare, savage, and untamed. It clashes with their mortal nature like the surf crashing onto the steep rocks of the ocean shore. This collision echoes across the realm, and creatures, starved for magic, can hear it even from another continent.
