Page 45 of Fangs & Freaks
“And you?” I demand, stepping closer, my voice low and dangerous. “You chose her over us?”
“It wasn’t a choice,” he says simply, his tone even, unwavering. “It was fate.”
“She’s not worthy of you,” I snarl. “She’s chaos and blood and death. She’ll destroy you.”
Varys
Warrick stands near the window, his dark eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles pale against the backdrop of his black jacket.He doesn’t say a word, but the turmoil is etched into every line of his face.
Blackwell sits on the desk still, his posture lazy, but his fingers drum against his thigh in a restless rhythm. He watches me with a mix of curiosity and frustration.
Bellonna stands beside the chair I’m in, the center of it all, as she always is. Her midnight hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders, her pale skin flawless except for the mark just above her heart. My mark. The claim I hadn’t expected to make, and yet, here it is—a radiant reminder of our bond, and of the chaos it’s stirred among us.
Warrick doesn’t have to speak for me to know what he’s thinking. It’s written in every taut muscle of his body, every barely restrained movement. He’s angry, yes, but there’s more to it. Hurt. Betrayal.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” I say finally, breaking the silence that has stretched too long. My voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it that I can’t quite hide. “But you need to hear me out.”
“Oh, I understand,” Warrick snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. He turns to face me, his dark eyes blazing. “You chose her.”
I don’t flinch, though his words hit harder than I expect. “Yes,” I say simply, meeting his gaze head-on. “I chose Bellonna.”
His lips curl into a bitter smile, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course, you did. Why wouldn’t you? She’s everything we’re not. Everything I’m not.” His voice drops, low and raw. “But what you don’t seem to realize is that we tried. We tried to make you ours.”
“And you think I didn’t feel that?” I snap back, my calm façade cracking. “You think I didn’t feel something for you? For Blackwell? I felt it, Warrick. I feel it still.”
Blackwell clears his throat, his usual bravado returning. “This is getting a bit too sentimental for my taste,” he drawls, though there’s tension in his voice. “Let’s not forget the bigger picture here.”
But Warrick isn’t ready to let it go. He steps closer, his presence a dark storm bearing down on me. “You chose her,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper now. “But did you ever think—did you ever even consider choosing us?”
The words cut deeper than they should. “You don’t understand,” I say, my voice quieter now, tinged with something close to regret. “It’s not just her. I chose you too. Both of you.”
Warrick freezes, his expression shifting from anger to confusion. “What?”
I take a step closer, my gaze flicking between him and Blackwell. “I chose her,” I say again, firmly. “But I also chose the two of you. Bellonna knows. She’s agreed.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Bellonna lets out a sharp laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Varys,” she says, her tone dripping with mockery. She steps forward, placing herself between me and the vampires. “I said I’d try. For you. But let’s make one thing clear—it’s on my terms.”
Warrick’s eyes narrow, and the tension in the room spikes again. “You are not his keeper,” he snaps, his voice cold and biting.
Bellonna smirks, slow and dangerous, her fingers brushing over the glowing mark on her chest. “I think this fucking mark says that I am,” she counters, her voice calm but laced with steel. “And if you don’t like it, too bad. Because when it comes to Varys, I have the final say.”
Warrick growls low in his throat, his fangs flashing in the candlelight. “You think you can just?—”
“Enough!” I snap, cutting him off. My voice reverberates through the room, silencing everyone. I take a deep breath,trying to steady myself. “We don’t have time for this. Vienna is out there, and every second we waste is a second she’s in danger.”
Bellonna crosses her arms, her gaze icy. “You’re right. We don’t have time for a dick-measuring contest,” she says, her tone scathing. “Mine’s bigger, anyway.”
Blackwell chokes on a laugh, but Warrick doesn’t find it funny. He glares at her, but she doesn’t back down. She never does.
“Fine,” Warrick grumbles, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. “We need a plan.”
“I’m already ahead of you,” Bellonna says, her tone dismissive as she turns to face the map spread out on the table. Her confidence is infuriating and awe-inspiring all at once. She’s always like this—unshakable, unrelenting. And as much as it drives me mad, it’s part of why I chose her.
“And what’s the plan?” Warrick asks, his voice laced with skepticism. “Just waltz in and hope for the best?”
Bellonna smirks, her gaze sharp. “Oh, Warrick,” she says, her voice dripping with mock pity. “Have a little faith.”
“It’s not about faith,” Warrick retorts, his tone cold. “It’s about survival. Something I don’t think you fully understand.”
