Fangs Fate & Other Bad Desicions novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70

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I stare at the city like it owes me something. Like if I watch the cityscape long enough, maybe I’ll spot the moment everything started to slip madness.

The office is too quiet, even for a Saturday. I’ve cycled through every document on my desk. Three times. A have been returned. And various reports have been approved with red slashes, which I barely glanced at.

My emails have been answered. All calls

It doesn’t help, though. Nothing does.

The silence stretches around me like a second skin I didn’t ask for. I try to tell myself it’s just anticipation. That once the gala’s over, I’ll sleep again and think clearly again. And I’ll be able to function without checking security feeds like a goddamn stalker.

But I know better.

She’s still in my bloodstream, and I don’t anticipate a cure or antidote will be found anytime soon.

I push back from my desk and pace. Again. The clock says 1:47 p.m. Too early to leave, too late to pretend I care about whatever’s waiting on my calendar.

1 step up to my expansive office windows and grip the edge as I watch the clouds drift by, slow and indifferent. Across town, she’s probably brushing past bookshelves, laughing with customers, and touching someone’s elbow without realizing she’s branding their soul. I wonder if she’s thought about me at all today. And if she’s as angry as I am restless.

I’m wasting time, so I grab my coat and leave.

Home is worse

I open

the liquor cabinet and stare at it like it might explain something life–altering to me. I pour a glass of something aged and vicious, but then

don’t touch it.

I sit. I stand. Then sit again.

My skin itches with something that has nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with absence.

1 pull the curtains aside, and my reflection glares back at me, tired and impatient. I look like a man unraveling in silk thread–expensive, invisible, and lethal. I don’t recognize myself these days. I don’t remember the last time someone made me feel this off–center. Maybe I never have.

Eventually, I drag myself to my room to get ready for this godawful gala I loathe to attend.

My suit is black–always black. But tonight it feels like feigned armor. Tailored to fit every angle of a man who used to know what control felt like. I run a hand down the lapel and exhale. This was supposed to be simple–show up, make a speech, shake hands, vanish into the night. But nothing about tonight feels simple.

I add blood–red cufflinks, an onyx watch, my sigil–emblazoned ring, and my metaphorical mask.

All perfectly in place.

And yet I still feel like I’m bleeding out under it all.

1,descend the stairs in front of my high–rise building like I’m headed to a war.

My car is waiting out front, but it’s not Mike behind the wheel. It’s someone I vaguely recognize–one of the backup drivers. He’s young and nervous, and I’m immediately irritated.

I narrow my e

eyes at him through the rearview mirror and ask, “Where’s Mike?”

The man flinches almost imperceptibly before stuttering, “He had…something come up. Said it was urgent.”

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Chapter 70

“Define urgent.”

“I–I wasn’t told, sir,” he replies, and my hackles go up tenfold. The kid’s pulse is fluttering like a terrified bird.

Before I can press him for answers though, the back door on the other side of me clicks open, and Griffin folds himself inside like he owns the damn evening.

He’s in a navy–blue suit, and that stupid crooked smile that says ‘I’m about to make your life worse, but it’ll be fun for me.”

“Relax,” he says, waving a hand as if that’s ever worked on me. “I’m tagging along”

I arch a brow at him and ask suspiciously, “Since when do you attend events like this?”

“Since I started babysitting emotionally compromised vampire kings who might commit murder on a ballroom floor” He leans back in his seat, and smirkingly adds, “Besides, someone has to stop you from incinerating the bar with your thoughts alone.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying long. Thirty minutes is all they get.” 1 grumble.

“You say that now.” He tugs at his cuff, a picture of nonchalance. “But wait until you see who else RSVPed.”

pause at that. Something in his voice… It isn’t smug–not exactly–but there’s a glint in his eyes I don’t like.

“What did you do?” I ask, as my spine starts tingling with cancer.

He shrugs and answers plainly as he glances at his wristwatch, “Nothing that won’t become obvious in the next…say, hour?”

I glare at him before I growl his name,

-Griffin…

“Let it be a surprise. You could use one.”

My jaw locks instantly. I hate surprises. Especially the kind Griffin likes to orchestrate. They tend to end in emotional whiplash or collateral damage.

The car pulls away from the curb, and I stare out the window as the city’s skyscrapers blur past in streaks of steel and shadow. Each passing light reflects my face like a phantom I can’t outran.

Griffin hums something off–key and infuriating under his breath. I should say something. Demand answers. But I can’t shake the feeling that tonight is going to undo me in ways I can’t yet predict

So I just sit in silence while every muscle in my body is pulled taut.

Because something is coming, and for the first time in more than a century, I don’t know if I’m equipped for it.

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