Page 49 of Wings of Shadow
Despite my emotional exhaustion, a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “You know what?” I sniff, wiping away the last of my tears. “That sounds perfect.”
As we start making plans, a burden slowly lifts from my shoulders. I may not have answers about Kaisner, but for now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m not alone. With friends like Samara by my side, I can face anything.
24
CLARISSA
The doors of Éclipse glide open, revealing a world suspended between decadence and shadow. The muffled bass from the street erupts into full intensity, wrapping around me like a living thing, pulsing with the heartbeat of the club. The air is thick with perfume, cigars, sweat, and something older, darker—power dressed in velvet.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim illumination. Candles flicker in gilded sconces. Chandeliers drip with crystals, their glow casting fractured light across the crowd. Burgundy velvet drapes frame intimate alcoves, and black Chesterfield sofas sprawl like thrones for the elite. Ivy curls down marble columns, softening the opulence, giving the space a strange, dreamlike quality.
The dance floor pulses—bodies swaying in rhythm, lost in the music. But it’s the second tier that draws my eye. The VIP balconies perch above like watchtowers, each one a fortress for powerbrokers cloaked in shadow.
The bar glows at the far end, bottles of top-shelf liquor gleaming like stained glass. Bartenders move like clockwork, pouring more than just drinks—liquid masks, fuel for seduction and sabotage.
Even from here, I can sense them—supernaturals mingled among the horde of humans. Their energy hums beneath the surface, barely contained, a storm waiting to break. Predators in designer suits. Queens masked in silk. Eyes that gleam too brightly. Movements too smooth… This isn’t just a nightclub. It’s an open arena, and only the strong survive.
As we enter, a ripple cuts through the crowd. Heads turn. Whispers rise. The space parts instinctively, an unspoken acknowledgment of who we are.
Samara squeezes my hand. “Ready?” she says, her voice light, but I catch the sharpness beneath it. She knows exactly what kind of place this is.
I straighten my spine, lifting my chin. Whatever happens tonight, I am the Draken heiress. I belong here as much as anyone.
Our group forms around us as we move further inside. Samara falls into easy conversation with Alexei and his friends. Their laughter rises above the music, sharp and carefree, a contrast to the unease in my gut.
Alexei’s gaze finds mine, his smile razor-sharp. “First round’s on me,” he announces, gesturing grandly to the bar. His friends cheer, already drifting toward it like a pack on the prowl.
I hesitate. For a moment, I feel out of sync, disconnected from their easy revelry. But Samara loops her arm through mine, anchoring me to the moment. “Come on,” she urges, her eyes dancing. “Let’s have some fun!”
I nod, shoving my uncertainty aside. This is what people do, isn’t it? Drink. Dance. Forget.
Alexei orders a round of shots—a vibrant blue liquid that smells like tropical fruit and recklessness. He hands me one, his fingers lingering a beat too long.
“To new friends and unforgettable nights,” he toasts, his grin all charm and calculation.
Glasses clink, drinks disappear. I hesitate for a fraction of a second—then throw the shot back. The burn ignites a fire in my chest, spreading outward in a slow, curling heat.
Alexei’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he watches me. “????—?? ?????!” he laughs, his accent thickening. “One is never enough.”
Before I can react, he’s signaling the bartender, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “One more round!”
The glass is refilled almost before I can register his words. This time, I don’t pause. I throw it back, feeling the liquid scorch its way down my throat, sharp and raw.
Something shifts inside me—wilder, more vibrant. The alcohol spreads through my veins, dulling the edge of my thoughts, wrapping me in a warm, reckless buzz. I feel lighter. Bolder. Like the world just became a little more manageable.
Alexei leans closer. His voice reaches me again, but it’s distant now, like I’m underwater. “Let’s make this a night to remember.”
I nod, my smile a little too wide, a little too knowing. Countless stares fall on me—but suddenly, I don’t care anymore. And as the bass reverberates through my body, I let Samara lead me into the throng of dancers, our bodies moving with the beat, with the pulse of the night.
Gods! This is what it means to be alive, to be young and full of possibility. I’m ready to embrace it all, to let the night and the city sweep me off my feet and into a world of passion and adventure. I’m ready for this. Ready for everything.
Samara’s laugh rings out beside me. She pulls me close and we start singing along to the lyrics, our voices lost in the collective energy of the crowd. We sway together, our movements wild and carefree.
The night feels endless, a swirling blur of color and sound, and for the first time in ages, an overwhelming sense of freedom washes through me. I spin with the beat, laughing, the tension in my chest easing with each note. My gaze drifts upward to the second tier of Éclipse.
That’s when I see him.
Kaisner.
