Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions Chapter 69

I take a step forward. Then another.

Griffin mutters something behind me. A warning? A curse? I don’t catch it. But I don’t care.

The music fades into background noise as my vision narrows to one singular point across the room. I’m no longer aware of the glittering pinpricks of light strung from the rafters or the swell of string instruments rising around us like ceremonial smoke. I can’t even feel the floor beneath my shoes.

I only see *her*.

The crowd parts before me in slow motion, the way shadows recoil from flame, as if the universe itself knows better than to stand between a vampire king and the only woman who’s ever brought him to his knees.

When the song ends, her partner bows slightly, polished and grinning. She laughs softly—radiantly—and begins to step back.

But I intercept her before she can take even half a breath between movements.

“Mind if I cut in?” I ask, the words leaving my mouth like a low growl—less a request, more a claim.

The man beside her—tall, blond, annoyingly flawless—smiles politely. He reads the moment for what it is, nods once, and retreats without protest. *Smart man.*

She turns toward me, the smile still curving her lips—until she sees who stands in front of her.

It dies slowly. Carefully. Like something she’s trained herself to kill.

“Thane,” she says. My name doesn’t shake in her mouth, but her eyes…they flicker like candles tested by the wind.

“Harley.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence. Then I take her hand—gently, but firmly—and pull her into me before she can decide to refuse me.

She stiffens. And for half a second, I brace for the push. For the slap. For her to walk away and leave me standing in front of an audience who wouldn’t dare laugh at me.

But she doesn’t. And so I let out the first breath I’ve taken in what feels like a week.

The music shifts, and a new melody rises, slow and aching, the kind that sounds like confessions spun into chords.

We move. One step. Then another. Closer. Then closer still.

Her left hand rests lightly on my shoulder, the right cupped tenderly in my left, her tension laced through every finger that touches me. My right hand finds the small of her back and settles there like it belongs. Almost like it never left.

Her gaze finally lifts to mine, and it’s sharp and unreadable. “So what’s this?” she asks, each word honed like glass. “You saw me dancing and decided now was the time to remember I exist?”

“I never forgot you,” I say, low and sure. “Not for a single second.”

She huffs a short laugh that holds no humor. Just friction. “Funny. You ghosted me, as if it were an Olympic sport. Are you training for gold, or just allergic to basic communication?”

I could lie. But I won’t insult her like that. “I’m not good at this.”

“Oh, that clears it right up.” Her mouth twists, and her voice lowers into something bitter and burned. “Painfully mysterious and emotionally unavailable. Oh, be still, my beating heart.”

I feel the edges of myself unravel beneath her words. But I deserve worse. So much worse.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I say, and the weight of those words tastes like rust in my mouth.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I’m trying.” I swallow hard. “Hell, I came here tonight just to survive. To smile, nod, fake normalcy for half an hour, and then vanish. But then I saw you.”

“And what?” she shoots back, her eyes narrowed into slits. “You changed your mind? Thought I’d be here...waiting?”

“No.” I look her squarely in the eyes. “I hoped you wouldn’t be.”

That lands like a slap, and her expression falters. But before she can speak, I press on, my voice barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t think I’d be able to stay away if you were.”

Her breath catches. And even though it’s not loud, it’s just enough for me to notice.

We don’t speak for a stretch of time that bends oddly around us, filled only by the slow rhythm of our movements. The music swells and falls. Her breath brushes my collarbone in bursts. My fingers twitch where they rest on her back, and I fight the urge to pull her closer with every breath. To never let go, ever again.

“Well,” she murmurs eventually. “Here I am.”

I lean back enough to see the swirling shades of colors in her eyes. “I can’t fix this in one night. But if you let me...I’ll start. And I’ll try.”

Her throat works as she swallows, and her eyes gleam beneath the artificial starlight like storm-light, as she asks, “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll keep showing up anyway. One piece at a time. One moment at a time. Until you believe me. Or until you tell me to stop. Or leave.”

She studies me, and for the first time tonight, something in her armor slips. “I’ve told you to leave before,” she whispers. “You didn’t listen, remember?”

I take that hit willingly. “Not when it comes to you. Never when it comes to you.”

She’s quiet for a beat. Then her voice comes softer, but it cuts deeper, “You could’ve come to me.”

The accusation isn't sharp. It's worse than that. It’s weary and brutally honest.

I flinch—not visibly—but enough that it echoes in my chest, before I admit, “I know.”

“But you didn’t.”

She’s not yelling, not pushing. She’s just...stating facts. Facts I can’t refute. Facts I carry like broken glass in my lungs.

“You left me thinking I was crazy,” she continues, her gaze still steady on mine. “That I imagined all of it. That I made too much of a kiss and a moment and a man who couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye before he stepped out of my front door.”

Her words land with the precision of someone who’s replayed them alone to themselves mentally a thousand times before ever saying them out loud.

“I wanted to,” I admit, my jaw tight. “Every damn night, I told myself I would. But then I’d picture the look in your eyes when you realized what I really am...and I stayed away. Like a coward.”

Her bottom lip trembles slightly before she forces it still, then says with a twinge of hurt, “You didn’t even give me the choice.”

“I know.” I lower my head slightly, my forehead brushing hers for the briefest second before I pull back again. “And I’ll regret that for the rest of my existence.”

She doesn’t soften—not yet—but her breath catches. That same hurt flickers in her eyes, layered beneath all the strength and sarcasm she’s weaponized in my absence.

“You’re too late, Thane.”

I nod, but I don’t let her go, saying, “Maybe. But I’m here now. And I’m not running again.”

Her hands twitch. One squeezes mine, and the other presses just slightly harder into my shoulder. It’s barely enough for anyone else to notice. But I do. I feel it in every cell flowing through my bloodstream.

She doesn’t look away. Not this time.

And it’s the first breath of oxygen I’ve had in days.