A fresh wave of reports greeted Indigo, each bearing the Council's insignia and promising a new headache. The Queen's erratic behaviour sent ripples of unease through the supernatural community. Werewolves howled for vengeance, the fragile peace between species as taut as a spiderweb. How much longer could he contain this storm brewing within the Queen?
"Your stress vibrates like a tuning fork, Indigo," Callista murmured, her nose buried in another of her bizarre romance novels, a peculiar habit fostered by her equally peculiar roommate.
"Wouldn't you be on edge too? The Queen has thrown the Council into disarray," Indigo replied, a sliver of unease creeping into his normally calming Hojicha eyes.
Callista shrugged, nonchalantly popping a cookie into her mouth. "Politics are your territory. But why would she wreak havoc like this?"
Indigo sighed deeply. "Perhaps sadism, perhaps madness. I need you to patrol Club Onyx tonight. Council intel suggests a werewolf gathering, and I fear they may be the Queen's next target." His voice trailed off, heavy with worry.
Callista nodded. The prospect of escaping the blood-drenched dorm was tempting enough to accept the mission. But with a caveat.
"Didn't expect you here," Callista grumbled, the bassline of the club pulsing through her chest. Damien's imposing figure materialised beside her, his cologne a mix of spice and leather, a stark contrast to the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume and spilled beer. The unwanted gazes melted away under his shadow, a fact Callista couldn't help but appreciate.
He offered a curt nod, his voice barely rising above the rhythmic thrum of the music. "Indigo's call. Seems risky for you to go alone, doesn't it?" Damien spoke, a subtle edge of concern lacing his low tone.
Damien's ashen hair seemed to absorb the dim light, while his silver eyes occasionally caught the strobe's flash. In this setting, he could almost blend into the werewolf pack below, sharing similar striking features with Athena's pet, albeit with a sharper jawline.
They split their paths, Callista scaling the higher ground for a strategic vantage point, while Damien attempted to blend in with the throng of intoxicated dancers. A smirk played on her lips as she observed him politely decline another blatant attempt at intimacy from a nearby reveler.
Callista scanned the dance floor, a swirling vortex of bodies moving in sync with the pounding bass. A flash of silver momentarily pierced the kaleidoscope of movement, catching her eye. The werewolves.
And then, her!
Tall and captivating, a vision in skin-tight leather and a flowing designer blazer, she moved with an air of regal grace that commanded attention. Callista saw only her back, but every instinct flared. This was her target.
With the elegance of a panther, Callista slinked down the stairs, weaving through the sweaty throng like a ghost through smoke. The air hung heavy with the mingled scent of spilled cocktails and frustrated desire. Every twitch of a muscle, every fleeting glance, was scrutinised as a potential clue. Her hand dipped under her leather jacket, diamonds shimmering briefly before coalescing into a single, lethal blade.
Would Eydis, the Queen of the Damned, truly risk such audacity? To move in a public space, surrounded by potential witnesses, seemed uncharacteristically reckless.
Probably.
Callista's internal debate was cut short as she entered the heart of the pulsating crowd. The scene before her shattered her expectations. The pack of werewolves, anticipated as snarling and aggressive, were sharing drinks and laughter with the enigmatic brunette. Arms draped casually over her shoulders, they exuded an undeniable sense of camaraderie.
A prickle of doubt ran through Callista. Was this woman even Eydis?
As if summoned, the brunette turned. Callista, caught off guard, instinctively retreated behind the hulking form of Damien, who had materialised like a wraith amidst the thrumming crowd. A silent grumble escaped her as she reluctantly wrapped her arm around his neck, her blade dissolving back into a shimmering mist with a soft sigh.
"Caught a glimpse of those golden eyes," Damien murmured, his voice a low rumble close to her ear. "Has to be her."
Callista's heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs. This was their shot. No more charades as a student in that academy filled primarily with...tolerable vampires. An unexpected pang of guilt flickered within her, an unwelcome companion. Leaning in, she whispered, "They seemed strangely...friendly."
Damien's response was cut short as the entire group, Eydis and the werewolves alike, vanished from sight in an instant.
"Gone," Callista cursed, scanning the club. Her gaze landed on a metal door near the bar. "Let's move," she commanded, her voice sharp with urgency. Damien, ever the silent shadow, moved in unison, their risky but necessary plan already forming. They would split up, flanking Eydis on the other side of the alleyway, hoping to corner her before she melted into the city's labyrinthine streets.
Callista reached the entrance first. The air hung heavy with the tang of spilled beer and the abrasive bite of cleaning products. She donned her disguise – a gas mask and a hood – disappearing into anonymity. Failure meant returning to the academy, and anonymity was crucial.
She pressed herself against the grimy wall, blending into the shadows. From her vantage point, she could see the brunette and the wolves gathering outside the club's rear entrance. Laughter filtered in, the sound of the wolves revelling in their false sense of security. Callista, adrenaline pulsing through her veins, waited with bated breath.
Suddenly, a discordant note pierced the air - the wail of police sirens. The wolves froze, surprise flickering across their faces. This wasn't part of the plan. One, the alpha perhaps, let out a low growl, his gaze scanning the street for the source of the sound.
In that split second of distraction, Callista's cover was blown. A shard of a broken beer bottle, glinting in the dim light, reflected an image of her hidden form. The alpha's gaze snapped towards her, recognition flaring in his silver eyes.
"Found a rat!" he roared, his voice echoing in the cramped corridor. The other wolves shifted, their playful demeanour vanishing, replaced by a primal snarl. Claws tore through the air as they leaped, transforming into hulking beasts with snarling jaws.
Callista cursed, the diamond blades materialising in her hands with a blinding flash that momentarily illuminated the faces of the wolves. She sliced through the alpha with ease, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. A larger wolf, fury blazing in his eyes like molten lava, lunged next. His claws, the size of daggers, clashed with her blades, sparks erupting in a shower of incandescent rain.
The behemoth, surprisingly fast for his size, swiped at her legs with lightning speed. Callista, relying on years of honed reflexes, used his momentum to launch herself into a graceful pirouette, her blades flashing in a deadly arc as they plunged into his back. He let out a bloodcurdling howl that echoed through the alley, then crumpled in a heap of fur and pain.
Crimson eyes glinted in the dim light as another wolf lunged, its fangs bared in a feral snarl. Callista spun on her heel, the blades blurring into a whirlwind of lethal steel. With a flick of her wrist, she deflected the snapping jaws, then aimed a precise strike at the wolf's forepaw, severing its claws with a sickening snap.
She wasted no time, driving the hilt of one blade into the base of the wolf's skull with a swift, brutal efficiency. Killing might have been the easy part, but Callista knew the aftermath – the mountains of paperwork, the endless inquiries – would be a bureaucratic nightmare.
Across the alley, Damien, a whirlwind of black hair and leather post-disguise, was a frantic blur against the Queen's overwhelming power. His blades, shimmering like desperate tears in the dim light, struck against hers in a frenzied rhythm – a discordant clash against the lethal melody of their duel.
Then, with a gesture as effortless as brushing away a cobweb, Eydis unleashed a storm of unseen force. The air itself crackled with raw power, warping and distorting the narrow space. Damien, caught in the invisible maelstrom, was flung like a ragdoll. His body slammed against the brick wall with a sickening thud, a choked gasp escaping his lips before he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.
Rage surged through Callista, momentarily blotting out the flashing police lights and the suffocating confines of the gas mask. She spun, blades raised in a desperate snarl, but the Queen was gone. Only the iron scent of spilled blood filled the air, a chilling reminder and a terrifying premonition.
Panic clawed at her throat, but Callista forced it down. Her senses strained, searching for any sign of the vanished predator. In the blink of an eye, a presence materialised behind her, a cold whisper against the back of her neck. The mask offered no protection against the icy dread that snaked down her spine. Before she could react, a repugnant scent flooded her senses – blood.
Darkness. Swift. Sudden. Absolute.