Nepenthe • Something that can make you forget grief or suffering.
Never feeling like they belonged was a feeling that Lissa Dragomir lived with, even with her family and life long best friend, although they aided in that feeling not being so strong...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The rescue convoy pulled up in front of The Den like the arrival of a silent storm.
Two black SUVs idled at the curb, engines humming low under the pulse of distant bass. The snow outside was already slushed from the night's traffic, reflecting streaks of red and blue neon from the club's garish sign. When the vehicles stopped, doors opened in swift, synchronized motion—fourteen Guardians stepping into the cold, faces grim beneath the streetlights.
Dimitri was the first out of the lead vehicle, his long coat brushing against his knees as he surveyed the entrance. His eyes—usually calm, composed—were sharp, scanning for any sign of movement. Janine Hathaway joined him a moment later, her expression carved from steel. Alberta was already issuing orders to the second SUV team.
"Two-man entry," Janine said, her voice low but absolute. "Everyone else, perimeter sweep. No civilians compromised unless necessary."
Dimitri gave a brief nod. "Understood."
They moved fast. Inside, the club was chaos—a pounding mess of lights, sweat, and oblivious humanity. The smell of blood was faint but there, threading through the air like smoke. It was old enough to blend, but fresh enough to raise every instinct in him.
"Something happened here," Janine murmured as they pushed through the crowd.
Dimitri didn't answer. He could already feel it. The trace of violence lingered in the energy of the place. Guardians learned to sense that—the disturbance of predatory energy that clung to every Strigoi attack like static.
It didn't take long to find the scene. Near a dark corner of the floor, where the light faltered, a patch of dust lay scattered across the tiles. A black smear of blood marked the ground nearby.
And beside it, gleaming dully under the shifting strobes, was a silver stake.
They looked like they had been kicked around the dance floor before ending up there. The blood looked stepped on and the body, despite already looking ashen looked like it had been trampled.
Janine crouched first, gloved fingers brushing over the weapon. "There's your confirmation. Strigoi dust. But this—" she lifted the stake slightly, examining the grip—"this belongs to one of ours."
Dimitri didn't move. His gaze had already locked on the weapon. He didn't need to see the faint engraving to recognize it. The shape, the balance, the mark where the silver had dulled slightly from constant use.
Kate's stake.
His throat tightened, but his expression didn't flicker. The lights around him pulsed red-blue-red again, painting his face in flashes of color, but he felt none of it. The noise faded into a distant thrum.
