Charlize froze at the highway's seam, her boots planted in the center of the empty asphalt strip that had gone eerily still in a matter of seconds.
One moment the lanes hissed with late-night traffic; the next the whole stretch of Westview's outbound artery lay gutted of motion, dark and deserted, humming with a silence that didn't belong. Red taillights vanished ahead, and even the city glow distant beyond the hedges seemed to retreat, leaving raw darkness stitched with a thin haze.
Ethan pressed his palm against the window, unable to unglue his eyes from the sway of her hips beneath that charcoal pencil skirt. The fabric clung to her, sculpting every curve, every flex of muscle, an obsession he never wanted cured. Her hands slid behind her back with slow deliberation, fingers lacing as if she commanded the night itself.
Faint tremors rolled through the air. At first it was nothing—just a whisper at the edge of nerves—then it thickened, a calloused pressure that tightened against his skin. The pang of a pulse he didn't understand beat higher in his chest. His breath hitched. Something was sliding through the silence, spilling ice down the center of his spine. Charlize didn't flinch. She tilted her head like she could hear music he couldn't, and for a second the dusk flared around her like a crown, a soft shimmer he'd noticed earlier at the skyscraper retreat, when those predatory men in tailored suits watched her with reverent fear. That same prickling aura drifted closer now, streaming off her in faint yellow tongues, the color of summer lightning hidden behind clouds.
Figures bled out of the dark ahead. No footsteps, no warning, just sudden silhouettes, lean shadows stitched together from pallid cloth and ruthless intent. There were six, their forms armed with slender hooked implements strapped to belts and wrists, their faces shrouded by matte black masks that swallowed any human expression. Dark grey coats swept around them, each hem weighted with sigils that pulsed cold blue. Every line of them screamed religion twisted into intimidation, demonologists drenched in mysticism and self-righteous spite. Ethan's fingers clawed tighter into the leather seat, heart battering a brutal rhythm. The air went colder in one breath. The smell of ozone and incense filled his nose.
Charlize turned slightly, eyes finding his through the windshield, the midnight of her irises holding him captive. The silk of her voice cut through the thick silence.
"Stay in the car," she murmured, more order than request.
"Do not get out."
Ethan's answer died before it reached his tongue.
He nodded, throat choking around nerves. Her gaze lingered, and the suggestion of a smirk tugged at her mouth. Then she pivoted back to the intruders, hands still folded behind her spine. She looked bored, almost annoyed, as if they had interrupted a conversation she was savoring. The highway lights snapped off above them in synchronized pops, plunging the whole scene in the sick glow of the moon. A breeze swept by, and even that seemed unnatural, turning leaves with a hiss.
One of the masked figures stepped forward. He had an extra layer of parchment-bound amulets crossing his chest, and a heavy iron medallion that throbbed with purple sigils. When he spoke, the voice sounded like gravel strained through a reverb machine, soulless and mocking. "Charlize Embray. We have been waiting." He lifted a gloved hand, jerking it toward her as if pointing made him more important. "We have been tracking you, waiting."
The expression on her face could have split granite. "You must be bored out of your tiny minds if this is how you spend a Friday night," she said, voice dripping with amused disdain.
"You carry the blood of the oldest line," another demonologist hissed from the back, words laced with hatred. "You flaunt it in mortal lanes. Did you think we wouldn't feel you trespass?"
"I'm not trespassing," she replied calmly. Something dark rippled through her tone, heavy enough that Ethan felt it slam into his sternum. "Westview is mine. Everything in it answers when I call. It's cute that you think stalking me will end differently than it did last time."
"You are a blight," the leader drew out the word with pious venom. "Your line must end. That… thing in the car—that scent has been detected in old prophecies. A whelp you hide in plain sight. He's unclaimed. We will take him."
Ethan's pulse hammered. Heat shot up his neck, the anger cutting through his fear. Charlize's shoulders rolled, a lazy stretch like she was waking up from a nap. "If you lay a single fingertip on him," she said, each syllable slicing, "I will end every one of you by inches. Don't test me tonight."
The masked man tilted his head. "You cannot protect him forever. We will bring him to judgment. Your arrogance will be your ruin."
Charlize laughed low and rich, a velvet sound that danced with lethal promise. "Boys, you've caught me on a generous night. Leave quietly, and I will forget the insult. Stay, and you'll learn why your little order hides behind sigils and prayers. Decide."
A hiss flickered through their ranks. Then the leader snapped a command, and everything detonated.
They lunged as one.
Charlize moved faster. Her folded hands vanished, arms sweeping out, fingers slicing air. The first demonologist to reach her fired a bolt from a wand etched in ash-white bone. The spell slammed into her sternum with a concussive boom, a swirling beam of violet chains crackling with binding energy. She took it full force, the light engulfing her, sparking sparks that splattered across the pavement. For a fraction of a second she disappeared inside a strobe of purple. Ethan sucked in breath, heart trapped in his throat.
The chains shattered soundlessly. Charlize stepped through the white-hot fog, steam curling off her shoulders, hair tousled but unburned. The demonologist stumbled back. She crossed the distance in a heartbeat, fingers curling around his throat. The crack echoed down the highway as she lifted him off the ground with one hand. His boots flailed above the asphalt, and she slammed him down hard enough to leave a cratered dent. He convulsed once. Purplish smoke billowed from the sigils etched on his coat.
Three others threw spells in quick succession. Glimmering runes streaked toward her like comets. She ducked the first, twisted aside from the second, and the third soaked her back with a net of steel threads glowing white-hot. It latched onto her, blades slicing through fabric, sizzling kisses into skin. She hissed between her teeth, grabbed the wires, and ripped them apart like flimsy ribbon. Her eyes blazed molten gold for a flash as she vanished and reappeared behind the caster, foot hooking his ankle. She spun him around his own axis and flung him into the guardrail. His body slammed through the metal, twisting it into a pretzel.
Ethan pressed harder against the seat, shock iced with awe. Every strike she threw looked effortless, each movement a lover's waltz with violence. She kept her heels on the entire time, digging grooves into asphalt with each pivot. The aura around her surged, luminous yellow drifting like wildfire licking just above her skin. Sparks popped in the air, raining down the scent of toasted ozone. The demonologists started chanting, voices merging into harsh syllables. Their spells formed geometric cages in the air, bright cobalt lines locking together like glowing ribs. Charlize whirled, snapped her fingers, and the center of their construct exploded, a vortex of wind ripping outward. Two of them flew backward, limbs pinwheeling as they crashed fifty feet away.
Ethan's breath fogged the windshield. He realized he was leaning forward, wanting to be closer even though every survival instinct screamed to crawl under the seat. His aunt kept fighting, shrugging off everything they hurled at her. Their talismans sparked, weapons flickered, their discipline crumbling. She thrived on the chaos. He'd seen her seductive power earlier in the skyscraper's shaded courtyard, seen how men in perfect suits bowed with trembling smiles, but now it blazed unmasked. This was a god unleashed. She was relentless, vicious, radiant.
Then one of the demonologists snapped his head toward the car.
Ethan's stomach turned. The man was slender, shorter than the others, but his aura spiked like jagged glass. He lifted a talon-like instrument and traced a symbol in midair. The air split with a crack, and the next heartbeat he was sprinting straight for the Mercedes. Charlize caught a kick, twisted a limb, shattered a wrist with a wet crunch, then realized. Her head jerked up, eyes widening with something feral.
"No!" she roared, but the warning came half a second too late.
The demonologist reached the side door. He slammed something against the glass. The spell curved, shimmering like oil on water, narrowing to a needle point. The window burst inward with a spray of glittering fragments. Ethan recoiled, shielding his face. Hands shot through, gloved fingers clutching his shirt. Another set of hands grabbed from the passenger side, the window there disintegrating with a pop. Ethan thrashed. Panic roared. He tried to plant his boots against the floor, but they dragged him across the seats, hauling him out like he weighed nothing. Cold air hit his skin, the night searing his senses.
He hit the pavement on his back, breath knocked from his lungs. The demonologists loomed over him, their grips relentless. They dragged him toward the median, moving with terrifying coordination. One held a heavy cross-shaped device, a crux carved from obsidian and smeared with red sigils that pulsed like embers. Ethan's mind blazed with terror. They muttered a prayer, voices grinding through words meant for the damned.
"Hold him," the leader barked from somewhere behind. "Pin him. The prophecy will be nullified when his heart no longer beats in mortal range."
They slammed him down, bodies pinning his limbs. Even through the panic, Ethan felt it, that other thing. The pressure that had been building all night reached a peak, a vibration that made his teeth ache. His skin tingled, heat pooling in his spine. A scream burned in his throat but came out as a growl. Something primal unfurled inside him like molten wings.
The demonologist with the crux forced the cross against Ethan's chest. It stung like acid, the sigils trying to burrow beneath his skin. Ethan's vision blurred, colors bleeding into each other. His muscles responded before his brain caught up. Instinct shoved aside fear. He tightened his fist and swung. Flesh met bone. His knuckles collided with the side of the man's mask, shattering ceramic. The demonologist reeled, stumbling back, clutching his jaw. The crux dropped, clattering against asphalt.
The two holding Ethan's arms swore. He twisted his torso, snapped a shoulder into one, hearing a grunt. A surge of raw heat flowed through his veins, blistering, unstoppable. He hooked a leg around the waist of the demonologist on his right, yanked hard, and sent the man flying into the highway barrier. The other tried to clamp down harder. Ethan seized his wrist, fingers digging bruises through the glove, and hurled him with a force that felt impossible. The demonologist skidded across the shoulder, rolling through gravel.
Ethan stumbled to his feet, heart roaring. His breath came in wild bursts. He looked down at his hands. Pale yellow flickers danced around his knuckles, curling up his forearms like hazy flame. The world around him sharpened. Every color deepened. The night air tasted electric. For a moment, fear vanished entirely, replaced by a clarity that felt more natural than air. He could feel the energy stretching around him like a skin he'd just grown. He looked up, and Charlize stood frozen mid-punch, fist wrapped around a demonologist's forearm. She had caught his blow with effortless precision, her eyes locked on him.
She grinned, ferocious and brilliant. "Well. Hello there, nephew."
Her gaze roamed over the aura around him, the flickers of yellow that licked over his shoulders like the start of a protective blaze. Ethan blinked, the heat surging higher. He felt the buzz of it across his neck, tingling against sweat. Charlize let go of the demonologist she'd caught, shoving him aside as if he were insignificant. "You have awakened?!" she exclaimed, voice colored with shock and pride, a laugh threading through the words. "I felt something all night, but this…" Her smile widened. "Look at you."
The remaining demonologists hesitated. Fear spidered through their formation. The leader tried to rally them, but even his voice faltered. Ethan stood straighter, adrenaline and newfound energy blending into something lethal. The burning halo around him flared brighter, casting long, wild shadows across the asphalt.
Charlize rolled her shoulders, delighted. She gestured for him to stay back, but her eyes promised they would be talking about this afterward. Then she lunged again, a storm of fists and kicks that reduced the remaining demonologists to broken heaps. She tore spells apart with her bare hands, crushed bones with casual brutality, and let out a low whistle every time she glanced at Ethan absorbing the reality of his own untapped power. One by one, the demonologists fell, their chants strangled by fear. One tried to crawl away. She snapped his spine with a twist of her heel. Another begged, but she yanked his mask off, stared into his eyes, and made him swallow his talisman. His throat burned neon, and he collapsed.
Ethan stood near the car, chest heaving, watching the carnage unfold. His aura pulsed, and he felt it answering hers, a subtle resonance that hummed between them like a shared chord finally struck. The silence of the highway started to crack. Distant sounds returned in trickles—a horn far off, the rustle of leaves. The world resumed breathing.
Charlize wiped her hands on a fragment of tattered cloak. Her knuckles were split but already healing, the skin knitting back together with a faint amber glow. She prowled over to him, eyes drinking in every detail—the halo, the tremor in his hands, the fierce confusion mixing with adrenaline. She smirked, still dripping blood from one elbow. "We should get moving," she said sharply, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. "Highway patrol will be slow, but I prefer not to explain this mess."
Ethan nodded, words thickening in his throat. He opened his mouth, but instead of asking anything, he exhaled hard and glanced back down at his hands. The glow had almost faded. The cracks in the car windows glistened.
Charlize grabbed his jaw, made him look at her. Her thumb brushed his cheek, a rare tenderness. "We'll talk when we're safe," she said. Her tone held no room for argument, but beneath it existed something softer, almost proud. "Get in the passenger seat."
He did, body moving on autopilot. By the time he sank into the seat, she was already behind the wheel, reversing with a practiced jerk. Tire tracks smeared through dark streaks where demonologists had bled out. She floored it. The Mercedes shot forward, slicing down the emptied highway. Charlize drove like she owned the road, knuckles tight on the steering wheel. She kept checking on him from the corner of her eye, the glow in her pupils flickering each time she saw the faint light still clinging to him.
The night swallowed the scene behind them. Sirens never appeared. For miles the car hummed at a brutal speed. Ethan leaned back, trying to regulate his breathing. Every nerve still buzzed, a live wire dancing under his skin. He swallowed the metallic taste at the back of his throat, replaying the moment he'd yanked the demonologists off him, the way his body had responded without thought. It felt like stepping into someone else's life, a prophecy he never knew existed. Charlize's words from earlier, about the tower full of rich men and their fetishes, echoed. Then this. Her aura. His.
She flicked her fingers, adjusting the rearview mirror. "You did well," she said, casual but honest. "Instinct takes most of our kind years to master. You followed yours."
He turned to look at her. She kept her eyes on the road, jaw clenched. "What did they want with me?" he asked, voice rough.
"They want control and they like to think they can leash anything they don't understand," she replied smoothly. "You were a surprise. They hate surprises. And you smell like something ancient."
He stared out the window. Westview's city lights crept back into view, fuzzy in the distance. The silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid truths. Charlize hesitated, then added, "You felt it, didn't you? All night. The hum in your bones. That wasn't the building. That was you. I suspected. Now I know."
He nodded once, trying to swallow the fear that still fluttered like moths in his chest. The memory of the demonologist's voice saying prophecies and whelps made bile rise. "So I'm like you?" he rasped.
Charlize gave him a sideways glance, lips curving in a dangerous smile. "Not like me," she said. "You're you. And that means more trouble than you can begin to guess."
The highway stretched ahead, glittering with the glow of streetlights the city had reclaimed. She slowed from eighty to something mortal. The windshield reflected her eyes—gleaming gold. He saw that same faint yellow around her hairline, mirroring his own halo from moments before. She noticed his stare and smirked again. "We'll discuss everything when we get home," she whispered, voice low and certain. "But remember this, Ethan: tonight you didn't need me to save you. That means everything changes."
She pressed harder on the gas. The Mercedes climbed the gentle rise toward Westview. Distant neon painted the sky in streaks of purple and blue. The night no longer felt empty. It throbbed with untamed potential. Ethan swallowed hard, hand curling in his lap. The glow had faded from his skin, but he could still feel it coiled inside, waiting.
Charlize kept her attention on the road. The silence wasn't comfortable. It was loaded, brimming with questions and revelations that could fracture their reality. Yet she wore the tension like a cloak, settling into its weight. Every motion she made screamed possession, authority, fierce pride. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, nails clicking in a melodic pattern. Eventually, she pulled off the highway, tires murmuring as they took the slope toward their neighborhood. Streetlamps flickered on in orderly rows. The world appeared normal again.
When she finally parked in front of their house, the engine hummed down. She killed the lights. The night laid itself around them softly, crickets singing in shrubs, the air thick with honeysuckle. Charlize