Chapter 7

ALLISON

A week had passed since my run-in with the Royal, and I’d spent that entire purgatory trapped in the Association’s clinic, acting the part of the recovering victim.

But I wasn't recovering. I was changing.

The blade wound that had narrowly missed my heart, a jagged tear that should have taken months to mend, was now no more than a faint, silvery line on my midsection. A ghost of an injury, no bigger than a paper cut. The flesh had knit together with a speed that was nothing short of blasphemous. There was almost no trace that I’d nearly bled out on that cold warehouse floor.

It had taken every ounce of my cunning to hide the unnatural healing from Dr. Miyuki, but somehow, I’d managed. If she’d seen the truth, if she’d witnessed how my body stitched itself back together like a monster, there was no doubt in my mind she would put two and two together. She would realize I was becoming the very thing we hunted.

My fingers tightened on the handlebars of my motorcycle until the leather groaned.

An image of my future flashed before my eyes, vivid and terrifying. I saw Damien’s face, not warm and teasing, but cold as ice. I felt the steel of his gun barrel pressed against my skull. I saw the others standing around us, silent judges urging him to pull the trigger. I saw the Leader’s gaze, stripped of paternal affection, staring me down like I was vermin to be exterminated.

I sucked in a harsh breath, a tremor of pure fear resonating in my chest.

I had to find a way to reverse this. I had to.

The wheels of my motorcycle gave a sharp screech as I drifted to a halt in front of my target for the night.

Club Eternal.

It was a fortress of hedonism in the center of town, a neon-lit sanctuary frequented by the worst of the abominations. And somewhere inside, I hoped to find the one person who could stop this transition and make me human again.

Melissa Morange.

Supposedly the strongest Wiccan currently inhabiting our mortal realm. A witch of unmatched prowess, and my last, desperate hope.

Ever since the changes started, I’d been chasing ghosts. I had scoured ancient texts, hunted down relics, and sought audiences with low-level warlocks, but all my efforts had been for naught. No matter how deep I dug, no one knew of a way to turn a vampire back into a human.

I’d almost surrendered to despair until the last witch I’d interrogated whispered Melissa’s name. A witch over two millennia old.

Surely a creature that ancient, who had walked the earth since before empires rose and fell, would know a way to fix me.

Finding her, however, had been a nightmare. Melissa Morange was a phantom. There were no records of her in the Association’s archives. But rumors were a powerful currency, and I’d bought enough of them to learn she was a frequent visitor of Club Eternal.

As the name suggested, it was a playground for the immortals. Humans were allowed in, of course, but only as cattle, prey to be seduced, fed upon, and discarded.

Yet, massive as the club was, it wasn’t on the Association's hit list for two reasons; it was run by a notorious Royal vampire, and the humans who entered usually walked out alive, if a little anemic. Since the body count was zero, the Leader had decided that shutting down the place wasn’t worth the risk of antagonizing a Royal.

It seemed cowardly on paper, but it was a calculated survival strategy. The Association was still bleeding from our last war with a Royal, the encounter with HIM on the day I was rescued. We had lost so many good souls that day, including Damien’s mother.

We were too weak to pick a fight with another apex predator. So, for the sake of the few we could protect, we looked the other way.

I pulled off my helmet, shaking out my overgrown hair as I examined the imposing structure. Melissa was just inside. All I had to do was find her and somehow convince a two-thousand-year-old witch to help a Hunter. How I intended to do the latter was a mystery, but that was a bridge I’d burn when I got to it.

I hopped off my bike, hung my helmet on the handlebar, and approached the entrance.

To my surprise, the queue was short for such an exclusive venue. I reached the bouncers in seconds. There were two of them, colossal males clad in black suits that strained against their bulk. At first glance, I knew they weren’t human. They stood too still, their eyes too sharp. Shifters, maybe? Or low-level ghouls.

One of them paused as I approached, his nostrils flaring. He gave me a strange, searching look, and for a heart-stopping second, I feared he smelled the change in my blood. I feared he smelled the Hunter on me.

But then he stepped aside, unhooking the velvet rope.

I was in.

Everything was going smoothly.

The moment I stepped across the threshold, however, I realized finding Melissa would be like finding a needle in a haystack made of needles.

The atmosphere hit me like a physical blow.

Music blared from every corner, a bass-heavy assault that vibrated in my teeth. To my overly sensitive ears, it was agony. A cacophony of synth and screaming vocals that made me want to cover my head and run.

Don't run. Find the witch.

The need to save my humanity kept my feet rooted. I forced myself to breathe through the sensory assault.

Strobing lights cut through the darkness, bathing the cavernous space in a chaotic sea of neon violet and blood red. The flashes were disorienting, illuminating everything in jagged bursts but revealing nothing clearly.

The place was packed. A writhing ocean of bodies filled the dance floor, grinding against each other in a sweaty, primal rhythm. The air smelled of expensive perfume, alcohol, and underneath it all... the copper tang of blood.

How on earth was I supposed to find anyone in this madness?

My eyes scanned the expanse, filtering through the flashing lights until they landed on the private VIP booths on the mezzanine floor, overlooking the chaos.

A lightbulb went off. Finding the witch would be impossible from down here in the pit. I needed higher ground.

I spotted a staircase on the far side of the room, cut off by the sea of dancing bodies.

I let out a curse under my breath and dove in.

I wound through the crowd, twisting and turning, trying to avoid skin contact. The heat of so many bodies was suffocating. I was halfway to the stairs when the crowd shifted.

Suddenly, a pair of iron hands clamped onto my waist.

Before I could react, I was yanked backward, pulled flush against a hard, unyielding chest.