Page 35 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

The hallway felt colder now. Heavy. The next steps of our mission waited for us outside this club, in the uncertainty of encrypted networks and hidden sellers.

But one truth was clear and unyielding⁠—

Rene was dying.

Time was vanishing.

And the only way forward was through this heartbreak.

The walk down the stairs was fraught with tension.

Raven stayed quiet at my side, her jaw tight, eyes turned inward as if she were listening to something far away. Con led the way, broad shoulders cutting a path toward the stairwell, boots making dull thuds against the worn carpet.

When we reached the top of the stairs, the muffled thump of bass rose up to meet us. The glow from below pulsed against the walls, pink and blue and gold. Club Spice was alive, oblivious, while Isra’s world was cracking.

Raven paused at the threshold.

“I need a minute with Jana,” she murmured. “She’s behind the bar. Will you wait by the doors?”

“Of course,” I said.

Con gave a short nod. “We’ll stay here.”

Raven touched my wrist briefly, gratitude and strain flickering through our bond, then started down the stairs. The sequins scattered across her dark top caught the light as she descended, tiny reflections dancing over the stairwell walls.

We followed her down at a slower pace, hanging back as she pushed through the door that led to the main floor.

The club greeted us with a rush of sound and color. Music pounded through the speakers, lights spun in slow patterns over the crowd, and the air smelled of perfume, spilled drinks, and a hint of stage makeup. Ginger was off the stage now; a different queen performed in a sleek silver gown, leading the crowd in a sing-along. Laughter and applause drowned out the ache upstairs.

Raven threaded through the crowd toward the long polished bar along the far wall, where Jana stood in a fitted black vest and white shirt, hair pulled into a loose knot at the back of her head. She was pouring a drink while chatting with a pair of regulars, but the moment she caught sight of her mother, her smile faltered.

Raven slipped behind the side panel of the bar with Jana, vanishing into the dimmer light near the shelves of liquor and glass racks.

Con and I stopped near the entrance where the security podium sat. The bouncer, a wide-shouldered man with a shaved head and a warm smile for the patrons, gave us a nod and then went back to checking IDs.

The music wrapped around us, too bright for the conversation I needed to have.

I stepped closer to Con and tilted my head toward him. “Come here,” I murmured.

He leaned down until I could speak against his ear without anyone else hearing. His scent of leather, soap, and the copper tang of blood, was grounding.

“I can feel Raven weakening through the bond,” I whispered. “It’s fading around the edges. That means Rene is getting worse.”

Con’s gaze sharpened. He glanced toward the bar, where Raven now stood with both hands on Jana’s shoulders, talking low and serious.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

I could sense it clearly. Where Raven’s presence usually felt like steady warmth pressed against the back of my mind, now it flickered. Not gone, not yet, but thinning, like fabric stretched too far.

“Her connection to him used to feel like iron,” I murmured. “Tonight it feels… frayed. If it breaks⁠—”

I didn’t finish. I didn’t have to.

Con’s hand brushed the small of my back, a brief touch meant to anchor. “He’s strong,” he said. “He’s fought worse odds.”

“Not like this.” I swallowed, my throat dry. “Valerian’s mark is still draining him.”