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"Damn it!" I cursed, slamming my fist against the nearest wall. Plaster crumbled beneath my knuckles, a pathetic casualty of my fury. My head snapped toward Celeste, expecting fear, maybe even regret. But no, she stood there, her eyes ablaze with a fire that matched my own.
"Let's deal with this," she said, her voice steady, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. She was strong, fierce—she would not cower.
"Whatever these hunters are planning," I started, my voice cold as steel, "We end it. We end them. And we do it fast."
Chapter 37
Celeste
The roar of the jet's engines was a growl promising escape as Nash and I stepped onto the private plane, the Italian sun casting long shadows that mirrored our own tangled emotions. I couldn’t help but think it ironic, leaving one bloodstained paradise for the cold, unforgiving embrace of another—Chicago.
"Ready to trade pasta for deep-dish pizza?" Nash smirked, his voice laced with that dark charm that had first drawn me in.
"Fuck yeah," I muttered, my attempt at humor coming out more like a snarl. "And maybe some peace and quiet." But who was I kidding? Quiet was for the dead, and I was anything but.
We settled into the absurdly plush seats, the kind you sink into and forget your own name for a second. I glanced at him, his profile sharp against the luxury surrounding us. There was something about Nash—a crackling energy that said he was just as ready to break as to bend. It was fucking magnetic.
I flicked my attention away from him, staring at the swirling grains of the wood-paneled cabin. Questions about the supernatural hunters on our tail buzzed in my head like annoying flies. Who the hell were they? What kind of fucked-up Van Helsing shit were we walking into back in the Windy City?
"Thinking about our welcoming committee?" Nash's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.
"Trying not to," I shot back, pressing my fingers to my temples as if I could physically shove the questions out of my mind. "Let's just enjoy the goddamn flight."
"Spoken like a true artist," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Focus on the beauty, ignore the beast."
"Isn't that your job?" I retorted, leaning back with a huff. "The beast part, I mean."
Nash conceded, raising an eyebrow. His laughter was a low rumble, and I caught myself smiling despite the mess we were in. Eventually, Nash's laughter faded as his expression grew serious again. "The Order of the Blood Moon has haunted my kind for centuries. They see themselves as warriors of the light, sworn to purge the world of darkness." His lips curled in a bitter sneer. "To them, the supernatural are abominations to be exterminated without mercy. Vampires, werewolves, witches - anyone with a hint of power is a threat. They train from childhood to hunt and kill, indoctrinated into believing it's a sacred duty."
He stared out the jet's window, his jaw tight. "Most humans are oblivious, but the Order has wormed its way into positions of influence. Judges, politicians, police...no corner is safe from their reach."
I suppressed a shiver, imagining unseen puppet masters pulling strings from the shadows.
Nash placed a steadying hand on my knee. "For decades, an uneasy truce held the hunters at bay. But the new High Priest has no interest in peace. He's been gathering allies, bolstering their arsenal with new weapons and poisons." His eyes flashed with anger. "They want war."
My pulse quickened as the danger crystallized in my mind. This was no ordinary turf war. It was a brewing genocide, ready to explode at any moment.
I met Nash's gaze, my voice low. "Why haven't you left the city? Gone somewhere they can't find you?"
His expression softened, just for a moment, before the mask slammed back down. "I have unfinished business."
The engines roared to life, and I felt the subtle shift beneath me as the world prepared to drop away. Nash's hand enveloped mine, a gentle giant's caress against my skin. I glanced at him, his smile like a beacon in the murky sea of my thoughts. It was ridiculous, how that grin could unravel the knots in my chest, but it did. Every damn time.
"Ready for this?" he asked, his voice steady as the ground started slipping away.
"Fuck no," I admitted with a smirk, "But since when has that stopped us?"
The jet tilted, the nose pointing towards the heavens as we ascended, leaving Italy behind. The landscape below morphed into a painting, all its details blurring into strokes of green and brown. My breath caught as the vast expanse of sky swallowed us whole, the clouds whispering secrets in a language only the wind knew.
"Hey," Nash nudged me gently, pulling my attention back from the view. "You're with me, okay? No matter what's waiting for us."
"Promise you'll keep the bloodsucking to a minimum?" I half-joked, but my grip on his hand tightened.
"Only if they ask nicely," he joked back, his eyes alight with that dark humor I'd come to find so endearing.
A laugh escaped me, but it was cut short by a surge of memories - vivid flashes of laughter and late-night confessions. My best friend, whose face was now just a ghost in my mind. The pain of her absence clawed at me, raw and relentless. And there was Nash, holding on, the embodiment of every fucked up fairy tale I never knew I'd be part of.
"God, I miss her," I whispered, the words barely audible over the hum of the jet. My heart clenched, the sorrow mingling with the fear of what lay ahead.
