"You're delusional if you think I'm going in there."
Val's voice cracked like a whip behind me, but I didn't flinch. I just turned slowly, one brow cocked, letting her see the fire simmering beneath my smirk. "Then call me delusional," I said coolly, reaching for her arm. "Because I'm going."
Tomorrow night, I'd be paraded around like a prize mare at the Choosing Ball. Tomorrow night, I'd have to play nice for a kingdom that helped slaughter my mother. But tonight?
Tonight was mine.
The bass from inside the club pounded like war drums against the brick, rattling through the ground and straight up my spine. Strobe lights split the sky above the one-story building like lightning. I'd heard stories—whispers of seizures, broken noses, back-alley brawls, and disappearances.
Good. Maybe it'd help me forget. Maybe I'd even start a few of them.
The bouncers barely glanced at me. I flashed my stolen ID and walked through like I owned the damn place. Walk with purpose, and people assume you belong.
Behind me, Val hissed, wrenching her arm away. "Scarlett," she snapped. "Absolutely not. If Zak or Blayze find out I came here—"
I snorted, not bothering to hide my grin. "Find out?" I pointed through the haze of sweat and neon to the back corner of the dance floor, where her brothers stood like twin reapers in leather jackets, arms crossed and scowling at the world. "Babe, they beat us here."
Val's jaw dropped. "Oh, I hate you."
I leaned in close, the club swallowing my voice, and whispered against her ear, "You'll live. Probably."
She let out an indignant scoff as I dragged her toward the bar, stilettos clicking against the concrete like the countdown to midnight. The bass made our ribs rattle. The energy here wasn't just electric—it was feral. Dangerous. Perfect.
I needed this.
I needed to forget the smell of blood. The sound of my mother's last breath. The way Axel's eyes looked at me like I was still soft enough to hold.
No. Tonight, I wasn't soft. I was wildfire wrapped in lipstick and leather.
Val muttered something under her breath, shaking her head as her honey-blonde hair swished over one shoulder. Her usual pout barely masked the nervous twitch in her fingers.
I kissed her cheek sweetly, my lips curling into a wicked smile. "Love you."
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But when Zak loses his shit, I'm blaming you."
"You always do," I shot back, winking as we reached the edge of the bar. "But I'm the only one who makes sure you have a life worth ruining."
She scoffed again, but this time, she didn't argue.
Because she knew I was right.
And tomorrow night, I'd walk into a palace full of monsters. But tonight? Tonight, I was going to dance like I hadn't already started planning how to burn their world to the ground.
"Two Bloody Marys," I called to the bartender without missing a beat, resting my elbows on the counter and flashing a wicked grin. "Extra dose of your finest O-positive."
Daniel, the bartender, raised an amused brow but didn't question it. He knew better. Within seconds, two shot glasses were set down in front of us, crimson swirling with something richer than tomato juice.
If he was surprised by the order, he didn't show it. Instead, a slow smirk curled across his lips as he slid the drinks forward. I eyed the motion greedily, like I was seconds away from devouring everything in front of me.
Val eyed the blood-spiked shot like it might bite her. Fair. It might.
My pulse pounded behind my ears. I'd been planning this night for months.
Demonix wasn't just a club—it was the club. A place where rules came to die and inhibitions got buried six feet under. It existed on the razor's edge of lawlessness and luxury, the kind of place whispered about in corners, where pleasure and danger danced with teeth. Getting in was almost impossible—unless you had a name, a body, or a forged ID. I had all three.
Being underage just made it sweeter.
I picked up the shot glass and turned in my seat to face Val, my lips already pulled into a devilish grin. She stared at her drink like it was a loaded weapon, but the second her eyes met mine—saw the heat, the thrill—she relented.
She mumbled something, probably about how this would kill us both, but the music swallowed her words whole.
We clinked our glasses, tapped them once on the counter, and downed them in unison. The blood and vodka scorched their way down my throat like molten steel. It was sharp, heady, addicting.
Perfect.
I tapped the glass twice more, then set it down with purpose. Val followed, gagging dramatically, her nose scrunched. She adjusted her royal blue dress with a few swipes of her hands, then gestured toward the dance floor.
I leaned forward so she could hear me. "I thought you'd never ask."
She scoffed, of course she did—but her hand slipped into mine all the same. I dragged her toward the swarm of bodies on the dance floor, the bass vibrating up my spine until it rattled my skull. I was drunk on it—on the sound, the bodies, the blood, the defiance.
Her brothers spotted us and made their way over. Blayze looked like sex on legs in his half-buttoned shirt and dark jeans, women already eyeing him like prey. Zak walked beside him, dressed in black ripped jeans and an unbuttoned white shirt, sleeves rolled and hair tousled like he'd just walked out of a fight or a dream—or both. His brown eyes locked onto mine across the floor, unreadable but focused.
I exhaled slowly, still smiling.
Despite everything—despite Axel still burning in the back of my mind—I walked through the crowd like I owned it. Val at my side, fire in my veins. We reached the center of the dance floor. Zak held out his hand, saying nothing.
And for just one second, I hesitated.
Because when our fingers brushed, guilt clawed at my ribs. Not because Zak wasn't Axel.
But because I wanted him to be.
Still, I took Zak's hand.
And let him pull me deeper into the dark.
I raised my arms above my head, letting the pulse of the music drown out everything else. For a single breath, I allowed myself to forget. Forget the blood. Forget the screaming. Forget that tomorrow night, I'd be paraded in front of nobles like some prize pig in heels.
Tonight, I was just a girl on a dance floor.
Zak didn't hesitate. His hand slid around my waist, syncing his steps with mine like we'd been doing this for years. His body moved in perfect rhythm with mine—calculated but relaxed, like he understood the rules of this space, and more importantly, how to bend them.
His touch steadied me. Didn't ignite wildfire—but it calmed the tremor in my hands.
We danced like that for a while. Eyes closed. Minds open. Letting the bass decide what kind of people we were tonight. When it hit harder, we hit back—fast, frantic movements, hips crashing, pulses racing. When it slowed, we curved with it. Melting into each beat like it was something sacred.
His hands glided from my waist to my hips, then back again. My skin hummed under the pressure, but it didn't sear. Not like his used to. Not like Axel's.
But maybe that was a good thing.
After a few songs, sweat gathered in the dip of my collarbone and along my temples. My chest rose and fell with each breath, heavy but unbroken. I cracked my eyes open and found Val next to me, face flushed and glowing. Her expression was pure joy—a rare, beautiful thing that life didn't often let her wear.
I smiled at her.
And then everything changed.
New hands—larger, stronger—snapped onto my hips, dragging me back with a force that felt more like a claim than a touch. My body stiffened immediately, a snarl curling on my tongue as I twisted to punch whoever thought that was a good idea.
But I didn't get the chance.
Hot breath feathered against the shell of my ear.
Lips brushed too close.
"Guess who," the male voice teased, a velvet chuckle pouring against my ear.
My eyes shot open, and a grin pulled across my face before I even turned. I spun, throwing my arms around his neck. "Dorien!"
Dorien Leopold—future Duke of Crimson, nephew to the King, cousin to the royal monsters I once called friends... and one of the only people from that life who didn't feel like poison. With tousled brown hair, warm hazel eyes, and a constellation of freckles that could make a nun blush, Dorien was every girl's fantasy. Just... not mine.
Still, I hugged him tight. He was familiar. Comfortable. Safe, or so I used to think.
"Hey, sweetheart," he purred, leaning in to press his forehead to mine. My stomach twisted—not with butterflies, but warning bells. I didn't pull away.
But I felt the heat on my back before I even turned.
Zak.
And that look in his eyes could burn holes through obsidian.
Dorien followed my stare and lifted his chin. One hand stayed planted on my hip, the other extended toward Zak in greeting. "Hey, man, I'm Dorien."
Zak didn't even glance at the hand. His eyes dropped to the point of contact—Dorien's fingers on my body—and narrowed like a predator deciding whether to bite or break bones.
I swallowed.
"What are you doing here?" Zak's voice was low, flat, and laced with venom.
Dorien's fingers tightened on my hip as his eyes bled red. "Dancing with a close friend," he said slowly. "That a problem?"
Double shit.
Zak's gaze snapped to mine, and his eyebrow arched. "Care to explain?"
I winced, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "The Royal Family used to visit my house monthly," I began carefully. "While the King and Prince Vance met with my parents, His—Axel—and Dorien would hang outside with me. Talk. Mess around. We were kids." The last word hung in the air like a confession.
Zak's jaw ticked. "And he's... just a friend?"
The question threw me.
Was that jealousy in his voice?
I blinked, stunned for half a second, then nodded. "Yes. Just a friend."
Zak's stance softened slightly, but Dorien wasn't done.
"And who the hell are you to ask her that?" he snapped.
"Dorien," I said sharply, pressing a hand to his chest.
He slapped it away.
I stumbled a step back, more from shock than pain. What the hell? He'd never done that before.
Before I could say anything, Zak's hand shot to my waist, dragging me flush against him. His voice was a snarl against my ear. "You don't touch her."
It should've annoyed me—I didn't need a damn knight in bloody armor—but Dorien's slap... that was new. That was off.
Something had changed.
Dorien took a step forward, chest puffed, eyes blazing. "You don't get to tell me what to do."
Then he grabbed my wrist.
I flinched.
And that was all it took.
Zak's hand dropped from my hip only long enough to snatch Dorien's wrist, yanking it off me with brute force. "Let. Her. Go," he hissed.
I stood frozen—caught between two forces that couldn't stand the sight of each other, but for entirely different reasons.
The club noise blurred into static as the heat between them intensified. I looked at Dorien—really looked at him. His jaw clenched, his eyes swimming in crimson, his entire body coiled like a viper waiting to strike.
He used to be kind.
I remember a boy who brought me flowers just because I looked sad. Who always shared his dessert, who shielded me from the cold with his jacket, even if it meant shivering himself. A boy who spoke softly, laughed often, and never once looked at me like I was a possession to be claimed.
But this man?
This wasn't him.
Something dark had wormed its way into Dorien—something bitter and sharp and cruel. The sweet, loving kid I once knew was buried under years of palace poison and royal rot. I didn't know this version of him... and maybe I never would.
And that terrified me more than his rage ever could.
"Dorien," I hiss. "Dorien, stop."
My voice is stern, but I soften the edges—trying to reach through whatever hellfire has hollowed him out. The boy I once knew is buried somewhere beneath that anger. Somewhere.
Zak doesn't wait. He reaches around me and seizes Dorien's wrist with a twist so sharp it makes Dorien yelp and recoil, his hand snapping back like he touched flame. But he doesn't back away. His red-streaked eyes are locked on mine, hungry and wild.
I inhale slowly and press a hand to his chest, gently. His heart thuds beneath my palm, frantic. The moment his eyes snap down to mine, something in him flickers—briefly human again. I don't flinch. I don't fear him. Not yet.
"I'm okay," I say softly, my smile small but steady. "Dorien... you can go. I'm safe."
He doesn't answer right away. His eyes flicker back and forth, scanning my face, then darting to Zak behind me. I can feel Zak's presence like a wall of heat at my back, his rage still pulsing. Dorien must've followed my scent here—he's done that before, though he always called it checking up on me.
Eventually, I watch the crimson drain from Dorien's eyes until they settle back into that familiar, warm brown. I let out a slow breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"You sure?" he asks, voice low.
I widen my smile just a little. "Have I ever lied to you?" I tease, nudging him with a tone that tastes like old memories.
He huffs a laugh, softening. "No, you haven't."
"Good," I say, pointing at him with mock sternness. "Don't start now."
Dorien chuckles, then—without asking—plants a kiss on the top of my head. "Will do, Princess," he mocks, stepping back.
I snort, scrunching my nose. "You know I hate that name."
But I don't stop him. And he doesn't stay. Dorien turns and walks toward the exit, disappearing into the crowd with one final glance over his shoulder.
Only when I see the door shut behind him do I pivot toward Zak.
"You good?" I ask.
He raises a brow. "I should be asking you that."
I shrug. "Eh, I'm fine. He's nothing I can't handle."
Zak doesn't look convinced. His jaw tightens, and a shadow crawls behind his eyes.
"Yeah, I saw that," he mutters.
I cross my arms, suddenly defensive. "Zak, relax. He's a childhood friend. He wouldn't betray me." I pause. "He doesn't even know who you are."
Zak's gaze lingers on the exit Dorien walked through. His voice is quiet, almost too soft to catch.
"It's not him I'm worried about," he says, his eyes finally meeting mine—but whatever he's searching for in my face, he clearly doesn't find it.
The music shifts—slower, darker, almost sinful. A deep, seductive beat ripples through the floor, and before I can exhale, I'm back in Zak's arms. His hands claim my waist, his chest flush against my back, and I gasp, startled. But I don't pull away.
I lean into him.
His breath ghosts across my ear, followed by a low growl that rumbles through his chest and into me. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, falling into rhythm with his as we move—fluid, unfiltered, like two shadows melting into the music. I let my head rest against his shoulder and glance up at him.
His eyes are already on me. No smirk. No humor. Just something dark and molten and hungry staring back.
My stomach flips.
Half lust. Half guilt.
Because I know whose name still echoes in my chest when everything else is quiet. I know who I truly want—and who I can never have. But tonight? Tonight I just want to feel something that doesn't hurt.
Fuck it.
Zak tightens his hold around me, like he's felt the shift too. His gaze never leaves mine as I bite my lower lip. His eyes drop, fixated on the movement like prey watching a pulse. Then he leans in, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear, and I inhale sharply, a tremor skimming my spine.
I turn to face him. He lets me.
I grip the front of his shirt in both fists, tugging him closer. I feel the laughter low in his chest before he even speaks.
"Just a friend, huh?" he whispers.
The heat in his voice makes me shiver.
I skim one hand over the planes of his chest, up around the back of his neck, fingers sliding into the messy strands of his hair. Then I tug—hard. His growl is instant.
Our eyes lock. His drop to my mouth. Then back up.
I nod once.
Not for love.
Not for healing.
But for something primal and broken and necessary.
His head dips, lips brushing mine—fire and temptation on the edge of a kiss neither of us will be able to take back.
Our mouths hover—barely touching, but charged like lightning before the strike. My breath catches, chest rising and falling with a desperation I don't recognize until now. His lips ghost against mine again. The hesitation makes it worse, not better. It's not gentleness—it's restraint. Zak is waiting... giving me a chance to pull back.
I don't.
Instead, I lean in.
And when our lips finally meet, it's not soft. It's bruising.
His hands grip my hips like he's afraid I'll vanish. My fingers twist in his shirt, pulling him even closer, mouths moving together like this was always going to happen, like it had been inevitable from the start. There's no rhythm to it. It's raw. Messy. Want, laced with the bitter tang of grief and vengeance.
His tongue traces my lower lip, and I open for him, let him deepen the kiss until I'm drunk off it. Off him. Off the idea that maybe—just maybe—I can pretend I'm someone else. That this night doesn't end in a crown and a curse.
But the fantasy only lasts a second.
Because even as Zak devours me, all I can feel is the echo of another touch. Another kiss. Another boy whose blood is stained by the monster who stole my mother.
I rip away from Zak like I've been burned.
His chest heaves. His eyes are wild. "Scarlett..."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, voice hoarse.
He blinks, stunned. "Did I—?"
"No," I shake my head. "It's not you. It's me. It's..." I trail off, swallowing hard. "It's him."
Zak's jaw ticks. I can see the understanding behind his eyes, but also the pain. He backs up one step, then another, hands falling to his sides like he's letting go of something he shouldn't have touched in the first place.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing.
And I hate how badly I want to kiss him again just to feel warm.
But I won't. Not tonight. Not with this firestorm still in my chest.
Tomorrow is the Choosing Ball.
And if I'm going to step into the lion's den, I need to remember exactly who I am.
And exactly who I'm not.