Club Eden and More From the Archives

ayawinterromances
3 days ago
28 min read

Part of my writing journey has always been about confidence.

I’ve been dreaming up worlds and love stories for as long as I can remember, but for a long time, I didn’t believe I was good enough to truly call myself a writer. So I studied. I took courses. I wrote in the margins of busy days and day jobs. I did everything I could to learn the craft.

It took years to build the courage to join writing groups, read my work out loud, let others see it, and even consider publishing. But after a long personal journey, and walking through my husband’s battle with cancer, something shifted in me.

I realized tomorrow is never promised. And I don’t want to leave this world with stories sitting unseen in an archive somewhere.

So I chose a new path: sharing my work, my ideas, and my voice with the world.

This is another excerpt from my Veilfire Accords archives, originally called the Blackwoods Saga.

Merrick’s name was changed to Eryx, and Nate became Aeris. Both were reimagined as Veilborn, descendants of godlike beings known as the Daeviryn.

This excerpt also follows the Blackwood mages, Callie and Robyn, teaming up with a pair of werewolf brothers to hunt an incubus. It’s very urban fantasy, and yes, heavily inspired by Supernatural. Honestly, it borders on fanfic energy… but that’s part of the journey.

You start by writing what you love, what excites you, what sparks your imagination, and over time, those influences evolve into something uniquely your own.

Club Eden

Reader Advisory:

The Club Eden excerpts contain explicit sexual content, hedonistic environments, graphic violence, sexual threat, coercion, and mature themes involving power and domination.

These scenes are intense and may be distressing to some readers.

********

Callie and Merrick pulled up outside the back entrance of Club Eden fifteen minutes after leaving their room at the Blue Moon Motel. It was half past midnight, and Robyn and Nate were positioned on the other side of the club, scouting the arrival of their suspect monster of the week. Callie stared hard at the alley entrance, trying to spot a way in.

A short bouncer with the build of a sumo wrestler guarded the metal doorway leading inside. She watched as he let three girls slip past his brick-wall presence with ease. Callie noted they were all a certain size and shape. She exhaled sharply and bit her thumbnail, eyes narrowing at the bouncer.

Merrick killed the engine and turned to her with a grin. It faded when he saw her tense expression. Callie rearranged her face into a tight smile. Merrick shook his head and turned back toward the door.

A young man approached the entrance. The bouncer shoved him onto the asphalt and tossed a few curses his way. The guy scrambled up, spat in the bouncer’s direction, and stormed off. The guard resumed his post and admitted another short, dark-haired girl in a barely-there dress. He took a long, unapologetic look as she passed. Callie rolled her eyes.

“Looks like Arigato over there is only letting in the ladies,” Merrick said.

She didn’t respond, too busy trying to rein in her spiralling thoughts.

“You’re up, Blackwood,” Merrick said, smacking her thigh. She jolted and immediately pulled her leg away. He frowned, confused.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” She stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his eyes.

He waited.

“Mmm-hmm,” he muttered. “You doing the girl thing?”

“What?”

“You know, when you say you’re fine but you’re actually going full bat-shit crazy in that head of yours.”

Callie shot him a glare.

“Alright, fine,” he sighed. “But whatever’s eating you, shelve it. We need inside.”

Another group of women approached. The bouncer eyed them and waved them through, smacking one playfully. She laughed and swatted his arm. Callie clenched her jaw.

“You planning on moving anytime soon,” Merrick asked, “or should I order takeout?”

“Why do you think I’m the one getting us in?” she said, pointing at the door.

“Because out of the two of us, you're the best chance we have,” he replied, deadpan.

“So…?”

“So…” he gestured to her.

She looked down at herself. “No. Just...no. We need a better plan.”

“Oh, come on, Callie. He’s only letting in good-looking girls. If this were a gay strip club, I’d be first up.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Really,” he said. “Use what you’ve got. Robyn and Nate are waiting.”

He smacked her back like she was heading onto a football field.

“Come up with a better plan,” she muttered.

He dragged a hand down his face. “There isn’t one. You go in, we follow. Easy.”

Something inside her snapped.

“I am not some twenty-five-year-old stripper you toss at a monster minions,” she bit out.

“What’s wrong with strippers?” he shot back.

She groaned. “Oh, for Christ’s sake…”

“How many times do we have to do this?” she snapped. “I am not bait.”

“Then give me another option,” he said. “One that doesn’t involve peeling off your usual armour plating.”

She inhaled slowly, wrestling with the frustration, then nodded once.

“Why is everything so hard with you?” Merrick muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Callie stepped out of the car.

“Finally,” he said, following.

She fixed him with a glare, shrugged off her leather jacket, and pulled off her button-up, revealing a black lace camisole. Merrick leaned against the hood, watching carefully as a smug grin crept across his face.

She ignored him, slid her jacket back on, checked her Glock, and tucked it into the back of her jeans. Her blade went into her boot. She straightened, squared her shoulders, and started walking.

Merrick gestured for her to lead. He followed close enough that she caught the scent of his aftershave and felt his gaze. She shoved the distraction aside and approached the bouncer with slow, deliberate steps.

He looked her up and down. Once. Twice. A third time.

She gave him a sultry look and tossed her copper hair. He stroked his goatee, lips curling. Anger sparked hot in her chest, but she held the mask.

The bouncer nodded approvingly, then stuck out an arm to stop her. She halted.

His gaze slid to Merrick.

Callie followed it and waited.

“Who’s the sausage?” Sumo jerked his large, round head toward Merrick.

Merrick let out an amused scoff, hands casually tucked into his pockets. He didn’t answer. Callie smiled at the bouncer and fluttered her eyelashes.

On a normal night, she would’ve spun a detailed lie, something about being hired entertainment, the expensive kind, specially ordered by the boss. Merrick would’ve been her “protection,” because she was just a helpless girl in a room full of grabby men. It would’ve worked.

But tonight wasn’t normal. And she didn’t feel like lying. She didn’t feel like being practical.

She took a slow, steady breath.

“Oh, him? He’s—”

She gestured toward Merrick. While Sumo’s attention shifted, she tightened every muscle and drove the hardest punch she could straight into his throat.

Her knuckles hit pay dirt.

His windpipe collapsed under the blow. He dropped like a stone, clutching his neck and gasping. Satisfaction surged through her, dark and electric. She wondered, briefly, if this was what monsters felt after the kill.

“What the f—”

Merrick snapped into a defensive stance, eyes wide with shock and anger. Callie ignored him and pushed through the door.

Another bouncer waited inside, a guy who looked like a discount Steven Seagal stunt double. A second guard barrelled past her just as Merrick charged in behind her and football-tackled him back into the alley.

Callie ducked a right hook. Merrick grunted somewhere behind her.

She blocked the next swing and fired back, her fist cracking across the bouncer’s chin. Before he could recover, she drove an uppercut into his jaw. His head snapped back. He stumbled into the wall.

She followed, slamming a knee into his gut. Whiskey-and-cigar breath burst out of him. She smashed his head against the wall and drove an elbow into his face. Twice. Three times.

His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed in a heap on the gaudy burgundy-and-gold carpet.

Callie turned. Merrick was finishing his opponent, slamming the guy into the wall, locking him in a headlock until he sagged unconscious. Winded, Merrick staggered over.

“What the hell, Blackwood?” he panted. “How is this the better plan? Girl-version Rambo?”

"It's not better," she said as she shrugged. "But it's a hell of a lot more satisfying."

Three more bouncers appeared at the far end of the hallway, red-and-gold wallpaper matching the carpet. Callie raised an eyebrow at Merrick.

Round two.

He shook his head but squared up anyway.

The corridor was narrow, only one could attack at a time. Merrick intercepted the first while another slammed Callie into the wall.

She drove her knee into his stomach. He held on. She planted her foot against his waist, shoved hard, and broke free. Close-range punches rattled his skull off the wall. He staggered.

She kneed his chest, elbowed the back of his head, and he face-planted into the carpet.

Another bouncer rushed her. She heard his footsteps before she saw him. She sprinted forward, kicked off the wall, and launched into a full-body punch.

Her fist crushed his nose.

He went down. She landed on top of him, rolled off, and rose, panting, anger still simmering.

The last bouncer was gone.

Merrick limped up beside her, blood streaking his cheek and lip. His opponent lay unconscious behind him.

“Next time,” he wheezed, pointing at himself, “we go with my plan.”

“Hey,” she shot back, “you said use what I’ve got, Grayson. This is me using it.”

“This—” he gestured at the wrecked hallway “—is not what I meant, and you know it.”

He jabbed a finger toward her face. She slapped it aside.

“Oh, I’m fully aware what you meant,” she snapped.

They were cut off by heavy footsteps.

More bouncers filled the hallway.

Callie drew her Glock on instinct. Merrick mirrored her.

Donovan Manners stepped forward, their monster of the week, draped in an expensive pinstriped suit, cigar clenched in a ring-heavy hand. His gray eyes locked onto Callie.

“Drop the weapon, sweetheart,” he said coolly. “Or I let my boys ventilate you.”

Her finger twitched on the trigger.

“That goes for you too, muffin,” he added, blowing Merrick a kiss.

They were completely outgunned.

“Cocksucker,” Callie muttered, lowering her weapon and letting it clatter to the floor.

***********

“Anything?” Robyn glanced at Nate from the driver’s seat of her Chevelle.

“No.” Nate’s eyebrows pulled together. He was worried. So was she. Callie and Merrick were supposed to check in once they got inside, and so far they’d heard bubkis. That wasn’t like Callie. Something was wrong. Robyn tapped her fingers against the steering wheel.

“Alright. Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Nate raised an eyebrow as she started peeling off layers.

“So… what? We’re just walking in the front door?” He eyed the long line skeptically. It stretched down the street and around the block. Robyn followed his gaze, inhaled slowly, and resigned herself to the plan.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got us covered.”

She pulled off her shirt.

“You mean uncovered,” Nate muttered, clearing his throat and staring hard at the pavement.

“Yeah. Uncovered.” Robyn chuckled and slipped her vest back on without the shirt. “You can look now.”

Nate’s posture eased a little. He cleared his throat again as she started toward the club. He followed.

“Just stick close and relax,” she said, grabbing his arm and giving him a quick shake to loosen him up. He rolled his shoulders and mentally braced himself.

They strode past the waiting crowd, drawing grumbles and curses as they approached the entrance. The bouncer, a Fabio-looking guy with long blond hair and a neck as thick as his bicep, gave Robyn an appreciative once-over, then frowned at Nate.

“You,” he said, pointing at Robyn. “Not him.”

Nate stiffened. Robyn didn’t miss a beat. She sauntered up, pressed close, and flashed a sultry smile.

“I really think you should reconsider,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

“Yeah?” he replied, condescending. “Why?”

Robyn turned to Nate, eyes suddenly heated. He looked down at her, confused. She planted her hands on his chest, then grabbed his button-up shirt and tore it open in one swift motion.

His toned torso was suddenly on full display.

Gasps, whistles, and catcalls rippled through the line. Nate shifted awkwardly but didn’t close his shirt. A tall blonde woman, clearly the final authority at the door, stepped up behind Fabio, took one look at Nate, and smiled wickedly.

“Let him in,” she said, eyes never leaving him.

Fabio released the rope and stepped aside. Robyn smirked and sashayed past. Nate squeezed through, forced to brush against the blonde female bouncer, and hurried after Robyn.

“You could’ve warned me your brilliant plan involved destroying my shirt,” Nate muttered, pulling it closed as they climbed the grand stone steps.

“If I had, you’d never have agreed,” Robyn said quietly. “We needed in. We’re in. What’s the problem?”

They passed through security and entered the club, a massive Victorian mansion converted into an opulent nightlife maze. The grand foyer had become a lounge filled with velvet booths arranged like decadent nests. Patrons of every type mingled, flirted, and lounged under warm lighting.

Robyn scanned the room like an apex predator, taking in every detail. Nate shook his head.

“Don’t be so judgy,” she teased. “We’re here. Might as well enjoy the atmosphere.”

She started down the curved staircase beneath a glittering chandelier.

“Not really my scene,” Nate admitted. “My brother would appreciate it. Kind of wish he were here instead of me.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short,” Robyn said, patting his chest. “I’m sure you’ve got hidden talents.”

Nate stared forward, processing, then shook it off and followed her.

They crossed the lounge into another expansive room layered with platforms, tables, and couches. A balcony ringed the upper level, lined with closed doors. Even over the music, unmistakable sounds filtered through.

“Let’s see what’s what,” Robyn said, heading for the stairs.

They moved through the club and up several levels, passing grinding, gyrating, humping, sucking, necking, kissing, dancing, stripping, threesomes, moresomes, and every variation in between. Pleasure unfolded in every direction: upside down, sideways, crooked, backward, on couches, beds, benches, tables, floors, even banisters.

Some people simply watched. Some actively participated. Others openly invited observation, and involvement, into their sex-capades. It didn’t seem to matter what was happening, as long as someone was getting off because of it.

Robyn had done some pretty freaky shit in her day, but Eden was an entirely new level of kink, even for her.

She glanced back at Nate.

He was at least three shades pinker than usual as he navigated the open parade of bodies. He kept his head down, determined not to look at anyone or anything. He walked into a wall once. Then again.

Robyn bit back a laugh and circled back for him each time.

“Nate,” she said, lowering her voice, “it’s a hedonist club. It’s full of exhibitionists. They want you to look. Hell, most of them probably can’t finish if you don’t. Think of it as doing a public service.”

She gave his bicep an encouraging slap. He jolted upright at her touch.

“You at least have to act like you want to be here,” she added. “Or you’ll blow our cover.”

“I’m trying,” he said tightly.

Robyn stepped closer and tugged his shirt open again. He didn’t stop her. He just inhaled sharply and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Try harder,” she murmured.

He exhaled through his teeth. “Fine. Let’s just find Callie and Merrick and get the hell out of here.”

He turned...and nearly collided with a large man wearing assless chaps, a whip coiled in his hand, and a leather mask zipped over the mouth. The man gave Nate a slow, appreciative once-over through the eyeholes.

Nate blanched and scrambled around him. “Sorry,” he muttered awkwardly as he hurried past.

Robyn rolled her eyes and followed, weaving through the maze of sex and spectacle that was Club Eden.

********

“Follow my lead, she says. It’ll be fine, she says.” Merrick shook his head at Callie.

Callie ignored him. They were chained to steel chairs in the basement of Club Eden, thoroughly screwed. Two bouncers stood guard at the doorway, arms crossed, posture rigid, listening silently while Merrick prattled on. Finally, Callie’s patience snapped.

“That’s not what I said,” she replied evenly.

“That’s exactly what you said.” His voice was sharp, edged with frustration. He seemed almost surprised she’d taken the bait.

“I said follow my lead. I never said it’d be fine or to trust me. Don’t put that on me, Grayson. No one forced you to follow me, or trust me.”

“Yeah, well. Won’t be making that mistake again.” He shook his head.

“Well, that goes for both of us.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Now confusion mixed with the anger.

She didn’t answer. The silence stretched.

“Thought we had a good thing going,” Merrick muttered, disappointment creeping in. “Guess I was wrong.”

Callie exhaled, annoyed. “So did I.”

“Alright, what did I do to piss you off so royally, Blackwood?” He gestured for her to talk. She relented.

“What did you do? That is such a guy thing to say.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Come on. Throw me a bone.” Merrick glanced at the bouncers. One shifted uncomfortably.

“Fine. I’m not a piece of meat, Merrick.”

“What?” He blinked. “Is this about asking you to show a little skin to Sumo?” He looked at the guards again. They both avoided eye contact. “No way this is about that.”

Callie stared at him, flat and unimpressed.

“Don’t put this on me,” he continued. “This is your unresolved—”

“My what?” she cut in, calm and cold. “Daddy issues? I'm pissed because you objectified me, and you think it's because of daddy issues? I thought we were partners, Merrick. Equals. Turns out I’m just bait. The distraction. The scrap you toss to monsters when you need an opening.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Merrick protested, glancing helplessly at the bouncers. They shook their heads.

He tried leaning forward, chains rattling, inching his chair closer. Callie eyed him warily.

“I meant you’re… you’re smoking hot and could get us through the door.”

“So my only value is how I look?”

“No!” He groaned in frustration. “Why are you so—”

“So what?” she pressed.

He hesitated. “Difficult. Self-righteous. Pick one.”

“Self-righteous? It’s called self-respect. I don’t use my body as bait. I use it to fight, to survive, to do my job. I'm not just some distraction during an op.”

“Well, you suck at it!"

“Excuse me?”

“That’s right. You’re distracting all the damn time. Working with you is its own kind of torture because I’m constantly trying not to stare. You’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. Period. Smart, capable, deadly. And yeah, hot as hell. So forgive me for thinking we could use one of your strengths to get inside. But you’ve gotta do everything the hard way, don’t you?”

He exhaled sharply. “Now we’re chained in a basement because you had to prove you’re not just a pretty face. Congratulations.”

Callie sighed and looked at the guards. “Stop.”

She scooted her chair back slightly.

“What are you doing?” Merrick asked.

“Using one of my many assets to get us out of here.” She turned to the bouncers. “Hey Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, you gonna bring in the bad guy, or should I start my exit strategy early?”

The guards exchanged amused looks.

“This better be good,” Merrick muttered. “Or I’m letting the gimp take you.”

“Pretty sure the gimp prefers dudes,” Callie said calmly. “But don’t worry... I’ll protect you.”

Merrick swallowed and shook his head.

**************

“Everybody needs some love...some human touch.” An underwear-clad girl trailed her fingers down Nate’s chest. He tensed when she stopped at his belt. “A good bang every now and again.” She smiled broadly.

Robyn cut in. “Sorry to break up happy fun time, Nate, but I think I found something.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. Nate cleared his throat, gently removed the girl’s hand, now hooked into his waistband, straightened up, and joined Robyn.

She led him a few steps down the hallway and pointed toward a doorway.

“Several very large, very muscled guys with guns in shoulder holsters gathered there for about thirty seconds,” she whispered. “They punched in a code on that keypad and went inside.”

Nate glanced over her shoulder. “Security’s tight. Multiple guards.” He nodded toward two men standing at attention on an upper balcony. Robyn followed his gaze.

“They look ex-military. Built like brick walls,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” Nate said, scanning the crowd. “This Manners guy runs a tight operation.” He gestured toward another guard farther down the hall.

“Yeah. Makes you wonder what he’s hiding, besides the monstrous alter ego,” Robyn smirked.

“One way to find out.”

Nate stepped in front of her, pressed her back against the wall beside the door, and kissed her hard. Robyn didn’t hesitate, she played along. One of the suited guards approached the keypad. Nate slowed the kiss just enough to peek over Robyn’s shoulder. She stayed locked into the act, eyes half-closed, watching the keypad from her peripheral vision as the guard entered four digits.

The door buzzed open. The guard stepped inside.

They waited.

“Go,” Nate murmured.

Robyn moved fast, punching in the code while Nate covered her. The lock buzzed again. She cracked the door, checked the corridor, then slipped inside. Nate followed.

They entered a dark hallway.

“I feel naked without a weapon,” Nate muttered.

“That might be because you are practically naked,” Robyn shot back, eyeing his torn shirt.

“Not what I meant.” Nate focused ahead. A faint light spilled from a door at the far end. “Stay sharp. We find Callie and Merrick.”

Robyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, corporal.”

They advanced like a two-person breach team. Nate peeked through the door, held up four fingers. Robyn swore under her breath as he counted down. Zero.

The door burst open.

They rushed into a sparse room, table, chairs, another exit. Four suited men sat mid-poker game, drinks in hand. They looked up, stunned.

“Well,” Robyn sighed, “this is not the red room of pleasureful pain I was promised.”

One guard reached for his gun.

Robyn moved first. She crossed the distance and smashed her fist into his nose. He dropped back into his chair. Another lunged from behind, locking her in a bear hug. She twisted free, drove an elbow back, missed, and countered with a brutal kick to his gut. His breath exploded out. She hammered the back of his head. He hit the floor.

Nate was grappling with the remaining two. One linebacker-sized brute tackled him low. Nate folded with a wheeze.

Robyn barely had time to react before thick arms snatched her from behind. The first guard? He recovered, hoisted her off the ground and squeezed. Her vision sparked.

She slammed her head backward into his broken nose. He cried out, but tightened his grip. She did it again. He staggered. Her boots hit the floor.

She launched backward into the wall, crushing him between drywall and muscle. The wall cracked. She stomped her heel into his gut. He folded and dropped her.

They both hit the floor. She surged upright first.

He wobbled toward her. She hammered his ribs twice. His punch came sloppy. She slipped it and delivered a tight one-two combo, muscle memory from training. He collapsed.

Panting, she looked over. Nate twisted the last guard’s arm into a break and knocked him out.

Robyn scooped two pistols off the floor, tucking one into her waistband, gripping the other. Nate checked his weapon.

They approached the next door. Robyn cracked it open carefully and slipped through, Nate close behind.

********

Callie watched as roughly ten bouncers filed into the room. They spread out and stood at attention, hands folded, mindless minions of Donovan Manners: entrepreneur, millionaire, esteemed club owner… enormous walking dick… and suspected incubus.

Manners entered with a swagger, descending the steps into the basement with a pistol in hand and a smug grin carved across his narrow face. He approached Callie, giving her a slow, deliberate once-over before flicking a sideways glance at Merrick. Both returned his stare with pure hostility.

Manners turned to the room.“Anyone else feel that seething sexual tension?”

No one answered. They weren’t meant to.

He crouched beside Callie and dragged his fingers down her arm. “You could carve it off with a knife,” he mused. “Pluck it right out of the air. It’s that thick.” He chuckled. “I could live off tension like this for a month.”

Correction...known incubus.

He continued stroking her arm. Merrick opened his mouth to speak, but Callie beat him to it.

“You keep touching me, you pretentious, blood-sucking fuck fiend,” she snarled, “and I swear on every unholy thing I’ve ever crossed paths with, I’ll string you up by your nuts and use you as a piñata.”

Donovan’s eyebrows lifted in amusement.

“Callie, Callie,” he said lightly. “Always skipping straight to the fun parts.”

He grabbed a fistful of her red hair and jerked her head back, leaning close to her ear. “I prefer a little foreplay before the rough stuff.”

He released her. Her head snapped forward.

“Boys!”

A bouncer stepped in behind her and forced a gag into her mouth. She thrashed against it, muffled curses spilling into the fabric as it tightened.

“You touch her, you son of a bitch, and I’ll kill you!” Merrick roared.

“Shut him up, too,” Donovan replied calmly.

That was the last Callie heard from Merrick, aside from muffled grunts, as several bouncers swarmed him in a blur of punches and kicks.

Two more grabbed her. They yanked her free of the chair, and she fought like hell, twisting and striking, desperate to break loose. An elbow connected. A kick landed solid. She felt flesh give both times.

Then a fist smashed into her jaw.

Her vision flared white. Blood filled her mouth. She staggered.

“Easy!” Donovan barked. “Let’s not take all the fight out of her.”

Callie shook it off and launched herself at the nearest bouncer, landing a flurry of blows to his face. Strong arms hooked her from behind while another seized her wrists. Cold metal cuffs snapped tight. Her arms were forced overhead and clipped to a hanging chain.

She kicked blindly and hit pay dirt. The bouncer handling the chain dropped hard.

A brutal right hook cracked against her face. Her head snapped back. Her weight sagged into the restraints, chains rattling as she hung there. The remaining guards stepped back, forming a loose semicircle behind Manners.

He studied her with tilted amusement.

Slowly, Callie lifted her head. Blood dripped from the gag. Her eyes burned with hatred.

Donovan chuckled. He slipped off his suit jacket, folded it neatly, and set it aside. One by one, he removed his diamond cuff links and rolled up his sleeves as he approached.

“You interrupted a very, very good girl from giving me a very, very good time,” he said calmly.

Rage burned white-hot in her chest.

He gripped the chain above her wrists, steadying her swinging. His cologne cut through the copper scent of blood. He leaned close, studying her bruised face.

She glared back.

“Let’s see if we can’t make up for that,” he murmured.

His hands slid down from the chains to her sides… to her hips.

Callie’s fury turned from fire to ice.

*********

“Nate,” Robyn whispered into the darkness. “What the fuck? Nate?”

She called again. He appeared from around the corner just as she disarmed the unconscious bouncer at her feet. Nate was breathing hard, sweat glistening across his exposed chest. She took in the sight for a second longer than necessary.

He noticed her expression and shot her a disapproving look.

“Sorry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I forget you’re the modest one sometimes.”

She stood and readied her weapon. “Did you see anything back there?”

“No. Just a bunch of empty rooms with chains.”

Robyn shook her head. “Freaking freaks. Guess we’re going the right way.”

She raised her weapon and moved forward. The deeper they went, the worse the atmosphere felt.

“They’ve gotta be down there,” Nate said, staring into the long, dim bunker-like corridor ahead. It felt like walking straight into a nightmare.

Robyn’s shoulders sagged.

“Nate… what if they’re not here?” she said quietly, keeping her eyes forward, afraid to see his reaction, but she felt it when he turned to her. She finally looked at him, lowering her weapon. “Maybe they backed out and didn’t tell us. Cal’s been off lately. Not herself. Maybe she freaked and Merrick followed her, and they’re already back at the hotel.”

She dragged a hand through her hair, closing her eyes against the rising anxiety. When she opened them, Nate’s concern mirrored her own.

“Really?” he said gently. “You think Callie would ditch you without a heads-up?”

Robyn exhaled sharply and shook her head.

“Neither would Merrick,” Nate added, his worry hardening into determination.

She was grateful he was there.

Robyn took a steady breath, squared her shoulders, and nodded. Nate moved first. She followed him into the corridor.

***********

“You know, you and your sister have built quite the reputation lately.” Manners pulled out a rolled black case, set it on the table, and unfurled it to reveal an array of knives and gleaming, pointed instruments.

Callie blanched.

“Sticking your pretty little noses where they don’t belong.” He lifted a curved, double-edged blade. “Getting those curvaceous backsides into all kinds of trouble.”

Callie drew a steady breath.

“People are talking,” he continued. “They’re getting tired of your do-gooding, your nomad-wolf-banging, your… misuse of talent. So that ends tonight. I’ve been instructed to handle it.”

He angled the blade toward the light. It flashed cold and angry. Callie clenched her muscles.

Manners turned to his entourage. “Leave us.”

No one moved.

“Leave!”

The guards shuffled toward the door.

“And take him with you.” He gestured to Merrick.

Two bouncers unchained Merrick and dragged him out. Manners watched them go, his back to her.

Callie rose slightly on her restraints and yanked downward with all her weight. The pipe groaned. She dropped a few centimetres.

Manners turned back. She went still.

“I’ve been instructed by my constituents to kill you, Callie.”

Her blood ran cold. Her heart pounded.

He stepped closer. “But you… You’re a fighter. Strong. Tough. Hard and soft in all the right places. That interests me.”

Callie winced.

Manners circled her. She tugged the chains again, barely a movement. The pipe shifted another fraction.

“I meet a lot of women in my line of work,” he said. “It’s difficult to find one who meets my expectations. I make a living giving people what they crave. Very few can return the favour at the level I require.”

Callie tried not to imagine what that meant.

“Most give in too easily,” he went on. “Desire overtakes them. Lust, impulse, appetite, they forget everything but themselves. It’s all become… predictable. Sex. Pleasure. Pain. Everything exposed. Nothing left to cherish. Nothing left to fight for.”

Callie resisted the urge to spit in his face.

“You can’t imagine how frustrating that is,” he murmured, his gaze roaming her body. She fought the instinct to recoil. “To find a woman who doesn’t surrender in seconds, one with strength, fire, anger enough to make the struggle worthwhile. You’re rare, Callie Blackwood.”

He grabbed her hips, steadying her.

She poured her fury into another careful pull on the chains. The pipe gave a little more. She kept her eyes level, refusing to betray what she was doing.

Manners studied her. She arched a brow.

A beat passed.

Then he backhanded her.

Her head snapped sideways. She inhaled sharply to blunt the sting and forced her expression flat. She would not give him the satisfaction.

He smiled, pleased.

“Oh, Callie,” he breathed, leaning close. “You’re exactly what I’ve been searching for.”

More fun snippets...

It was one of those humid, heavy city nights. Sirens wailed in the distance while darkness pooled into every corner of the loft Callie rented in the brewery district. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling as the sirens faded, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the rumble of trains.

A soft ping.

White light from her phone briefly illuminated the ceiling just as sleep began to pull at her.

Her eyes snapped open.

She rolled onto her side and grabbed the phone.

You up?

Robyn.

Raven-haired, reckless, brilliant Robyn. Not Callie’s biological sister, but her sister in blood. A text from Robyn at three in the morning could only mean one thing.

Trouble.

I am now! Callie typed and hit send.

Her phone pinged instantly.

Good! I’m here!

Callie blinked.

“What? Where?” she muttered, already typing.

Here! Outside! Outside your place!

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered...unsent.

She swung out of bed, yanked on a pair of jeans from the floor, and stalked through the loft.

The apartment was a converted brick warehouse, wide open studio space with exposed beams and one back room she’d turned into an art studio. Robyn had never visited in the four months Callie had lived there.

Why now?

Her thoughts spiralled toward worst-case scenarios. Someone dead. Someone dying. Some supernatural disaster she’d rather not deal with at three in the morning.

She reached the large sliding door that opened to the hallway and flipped back the metal latch. The heavy wood scraped open with a thud.

Robyn leaned against the wall, arms crossed, hip cocked. Her short, spiked hair was chaos, streaked pink...this month. Leather pants, leather jacket, leather boots. Always leather. A shredded rocker tee beneath. She smelled faintly of motor oil and grease.

And she was smiling.

Callie relaxed...slightly.

No one was dead if Robyn was smiling.

“What do you want?” Callie asked flatly.

“Well, nice to see you too, Cal.” Robyn pushed off the wall and sauntered inside, thumbs hooked in her belt loops.

She whistled low. “Nice place.”

She wandered to the antique desk Callie had picked up at a market, flipped through a book, dropped it with a clunk.

“Bet this set you back.”

She drifted to the bookshelf, running a finger along the spines.

“Lot of self-help books. You having a quarter-life crisis or something?”

“Robyn. Stop screwing around. What are you doing here?” Callie crossed her arms.

“Why are you being so freakin’ surly?”

“Because it’s three in the morning, Roby. Who shows up at three a.m. with no warning and a text that says ‘you up?’ when nothing’s wrong? So something’s wrong. What is it? What kind of crap are you in now?”

She stepped closer.

“Why do you assume I’m the one in trouble?” Robyn turned, throwing up her hands.

“Robyn.” Callie crossed her arms tighter and cocked a hip, fixing her with the hard stare she’d inherited from their mother.

“Goddamn. Don’t do that.” Robyn recoiled slightly. “Fine. Truth.”

“Truth.” Callie sat down at the desk chair, waiting.

“Evelyn wanted me to check on you.”

“You drove all the way here to check on me?”

“No. Yes. Look...whatever! I was instructed to come. I’m following orders.”

“Ooooh! bitch! Look who just whipped out a safety circle that you can’t get in!” Robyn did a little dance inside the five glowing circles etched into the ground around her. Saren reached for Robyn’s throat. The bright light of the circles seared her hand.

“Ahhhhh!” A grey smoke came from Saren’s cradled hand. She clenched her teeth, sucked in her breath and glared at Robyn as if she could sear into her head with her stare alone.

“Must be hard for you. I mean, growing up your whole life always being left out of things,” Robyn squished up her face and extended her lower lip out as far as it would go.

“You can’t stay in the there forever,” Saren said

Robyn chuckled to herself.

The circles ran deep so they couldn’t be broken by force or trick. She held them firm with her hands at her sides reaching for the ground. In her head she repeated the words to hold the link between her and the circles, her only means of protection.

“I can stay in here as long as I need to.”

“You’ll burn out eventually,” Saren paced the circle like a lioness awaiting its prey to scurry out from the bushes.

“Not before backup arrives sweetie!” Robyn smirked at her again.

Saren let out a frustrated groan, “This isn’t over, you Blackwood bitch”.

“It is for now -- Sorenson witch. Bye bye. Off you go. Scurry along,” Robyn said in a mocking tone.

Saren glowered and with a quick turn she was gone like a ghost disappearing in a faint black smoke.

Robyn waited five breaths and dropped her hold on her shield. The circles light fell and she in the darkness, winded she rested her hands on her knees and let out huge gasps of relief.

“Well, that was close,” She said to no one but herself, the trees and the wind.

“Shut up and do your homework,” Evelyn smirked.

“Which ones?!” Maddy snapped back as she riffled through a pile of books. “My chemistry, my language or my spells and curses homework,”

“You know damn well which one! Don’t be such a smart ass!” Evelyn walked out of the room, closing the door with a conversation-ending thud!

“This sucks ass,” Maddy said to herself.

“I heard that,” Evelyn retorted from so far down the hallway it should have been impossible for her to hear.

Maddy looked up, startled. Her eyes bulging out of her head, back straight as a board. She quickly opened a book.

It smelled of mould, mildew and what she could only describe as dried-up, old ass. “Dammit!” she said, tilting her head back.

“I heard that, too. Two more chapters by tomorrow morning for the bitching and moaning and a third for the cursing.” Evelyn said again, from what sounded like downstairs this time.

“How does she do that?” Maddy muttered.

She looked at the clock and made a face, buried her nose back in the writings of House Graye, her eyebrows knit tightly together in concentration.

“Bitch! I will end your shit!” Robyn bellowed.

Callie stopped mid-stride and turned slowly.

“Why do you always have to call women bitches?” she asked, calmly.

Robyn froze, hands still raised in a defensive, ready-to-pounce stance. She lowered them slowly and stared at Callie in disbelief.

“Callie. Not now. I am trying to be a badass here, and you are stomping all over it like some kind of witchy wet blanket.”

Callie shrugged. “I just think bitch is a pejorative term rooted in fem—”

“Cal!” Robyn threw her hands up again, exasperated.

“Sorry! Please continue your slandering of the bad guy — er — girl. Or whatever.” Callie gestured toward the vampire.

Robyn pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

Callie frowned slightly.

Robyn looked up.

The red-mouth was gone.

“Shit. She’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Callie replied evenly, “that’s what happens when you stop paying attention to your mark.”

“You were distracting me!”

“I wasn’t distracting you. I was buying time.”

“What? Why?”

“We needed to get farther from the highway. I figured I’d give her a head start. But just so you know, we’re pushing it with the bickering. Now she’s actually getting away.”

Robyn stared at her. “So your grand plan was to distract me with a lecture on gendered slurs so we could get deeper into the woods?”

Callie tilted her head. “We should probably go after her now.”

She motioned toward the trees.

Robyn crossed her arms. “Are you sure, Miss Politically Correct? I wouldn’t want to offend her with my chasing. It might be misconstrued as an unwanted advance.”

Callie rolled her eyes.

“Can we just—” She gestured again.

“Oh no,” Robyn said sweetly. “After you.”

Callie shook her head and took off into the woods.

Robyn followed close behind, muttering and shaking her head.

“What is it like?”

Maddy stared out at the glassy water below. The sun was setting, the dark surface tipped with brilliant oranges and gold. She clutched the grass on the hillside as if it were the only thing keeping her from sliding off the edge of the world.

Callie sat beside her, elbows resting on her knees. She twisted a few blades of grass between her fingers, tore them up, and let them fall.

“Trust me, kid,” Callie muttered. “The less you know, the better.”

“Evelyn said it was like being reborn. New. Better. She said it felt like being truly alive for the first time. She said everyone in this house had to go through it. That if I don’t, I can’t stay. If I don’t, I’m not a Blackwood. That if I don’t, I can’t be… like you.”

She swallowed.

“You went through it. What was it like? I need to know. The fear of not knowing has to be worse than what it actually is.”

Callie gave a short, humourless scoff. “You’d think that.”

“Honestly?” Maddy pressed.

Callie shot her a sideways glance.

“Yeah. Honestly. Please.” Maddy tightened her grip on the grass.

Callie sighed. “Fine. It hurts. It hurts like hell.”

“That’s not exactly descriptive.”

“Sorry. I’m not great with the words.” Callie tossed another handful of grass and looked at her properly.

Maddy held her gaze. For a moment, neither of them looked away. Callie saw it then, the fear sitting just beneath Maddy’s determination.

“It’s called an Ascension for a reason,” Callie said quietly. “Did Evelyn tell you what’s going to happen?”

“She said to ask you. Since you’re going to be my mentor.”

Callie closed her eyes at that and let out a sharp breath. “Right. Guess I’m the teacher now.”

She shifted to face Maddy fully. “Okay. An ascension. It’s how we came to be. The foundation of mage history.”

Maddy adjusted, sitting cross-legged, giving Callie her full attention.

“Magic is blood magic,” Callie continued. “It runs through the veins. It’s passed from a full mage to a pledge through ritual...through the Rite of Ascension. What we’re doing is carrying the magic forward, from one mage to the next, in an unbroken line that began with the elder mages.”

She glanced at Maddy before going on.

“They’re our lineage. We are the Blackwood line. Descended from Mage Istaran of Blackwood. And he came from…” She hesitated slightly. “I don’t know. The stars. The great beyond. The Veil.”

Maddy nodded slowly. “Evelyn told me some of that, but not much.”

“Good. Here’s the part she probably glossed over.”

Callie held up her forearm.

“I cut mine. You cut yours. The wounds have to mirror each other. When we grab a hold of each other, our blood touches…and it starts.”

She hesitated, jaw tightening.

“What starts?” Maddy whispered.

“The infusion.” Callie’s voice dropped. “The ascension. The magic becomes a part of you. It floods your body through your veins. And your whole being has to decide whether it can survive the change. Ascend...into a new form of life.”

Maddy’s fingers dug into her knees.

“You can’t be a mage without ascending,” Callie said. “The rite is what gives you your power. But it’s not a gentle process.”

She looked back toward the lake, remembering.

“It feels like a thousand knives plunging into your chest all at once. Like your blood is on fire, burning through every inch of you. Like there’s a ten-ton weight crushing your lungs while your heart tries to beat its way out of your ribcage.”

Maddy’s breathing quickened.

“It feels,” Callie finished quietly, “like dying.”

Silence settled between them, broken only by the wind skimming over the water.

“But,” Callie added, glancing back at her, “if you make it through… you have a power that can never be taken from you.”