Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions Chapter 77

I sit in the corner of the couch, my fingers still trembling from the storm of realization that’s just hit me like a freight train. I’m trying—really trying—to rationalize what I’ve just learned, but it's like trying to plug a hole in a sinking boat with paper towels.

Thane’s still kneeling on the ground on the far side of the couch, his presence a heavy weight in the air between us. The silence isn’t comforting anymore—it's suffocating. Griffin and Mike are still standing in front of the bay windows, with their eyes fixed on me, as they wait for the storm to pass.

But I don’t know how to make the storm stop.

I feel my signature sarcasm creeping back into my voice, my only defense mechanism, the thing that’s always kept me safe till now. “You guys are really good at this, you know? If this is some sick joke, it’s a shitty one.”

It’s Griffin who steps forward, tilting his head slightly, as he somberly says, "It’s not a joke, Harley."

I scoff, rolling my eyes, trying to push the absurdity of everything that’s been said and everything that I’ve just discovered to the back of my mind. “Of course, it isn’t,” I say, throwing my hands up in mock surrender. “Why would I think it was? It's all perfectly normal. Vampires, right? Why not!”

Then, suddenly, it hits me. A thought so ridiculous I almost want to laugh, but I can't. What if... What if Griffin and Mike are vampires too? The thought sparks in my brain like a match striking, and I blurt it out before I can stop myself.

"Wait," I say, my voice a little too high-pitched, "Are you...” I start as I wag my pointer finger between them, “vampires too? Because if you are, then that’ll be one hell of a plot twist."

Griffin stares at me for a beat, and then, as if it’s a typical Saturday night, he confirms it, with a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. You caught us.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

The first real laugh I’ve had in what feels like *forever* bursts out of me, shaky and completely inappropriate. It’s also hysterical—the kind of laugh that borders on madness. Because how *else* am I supposed to make sense of this?

I laugh more, and harder, clutching my stomach like the weight of it might topple me over. “This is insane!” I say, gasping between laughs. “I mean, really. Vampires? In real life? What is this, some twisted horror show?”

Griffin’s voice cuts through my laughing fit, and it’s sharp and direct, totally unlike the guy I’ve come to like in the past week, “Harley. You’re laughing, but you’re still not getting it.”

I try to rein myself in, wiping away a tear that escaped, as I take in a breath, but the laughter’s still there, bubbling up in snickers. “Oh, please,” I sputter, trying to make sense of the words that are coming out of my mouth. “Vampires don’t exist! They’re in books. They’re in movies. They’re not in real life. This is...this is fucking nuts!”

Griffin raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest, clearly waiting for my second bout of laughter to end. When it doesn’t, his voice turns serious. “Harley, it’s real. And you’ve known it for longer than you’re willing to admit.”

I can’t help myself. I just shake my head, looking between the men scattered around my living room. “No. No, no, no. You’re trying to tell me that vampires exist, and I...I’ve just...missed it? No! Vampires are...fantasy, fiction, an escape from reality!”

Griffin, his voice now carrying a threat of impatience, doesn’t give me much time to linger in that moment, though. “Have you noticed his inhuman strength?” he asks, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to see through me.

I try to brush it off with a ridiculous answer, hoping it'll make sense. “Well, maybe he’s just been hitting the gym a lot... He probably benches like 400 pounds on an off day,” I reply as I laugh nervously, but the hollow sound of it doesn’t make me feel better. I’m grasping at straws, trying to patch the holes in my rationality with humor.

Griffin doesn’t miss a beat. “Ever notice he moves real fast sometimes?”

“Oh, come on, Griffin, he’s just got that long-legged stride going for him, combine that with extra caffeine he’s probably been drinking, and he could probably give the Road Runner a run for his money.” I offer a nervous smile, but I know it doesn’t convince anyone, least of all me.

Griffin presses on, his tone softer, but there’s a quiet urgency now, as he takes another step towards me. “What about how quickly he healed after getting stabbed last Friday?”

I freeze. I try to come up with something that makes sense. *Anything*. But all that comes out is, “Well...he’s a really fast healer. It must be some miracle cream or something. Aloe? I hear that stuff works wonders.” I laugh, but this time it comes out high-pitched and strained. My attempt at deflection is weak, at best.

I feel my internal struggle rising to the surface, quick and vicious in its intensity. The more Griffin speaks, the more the ground slips away from beneath me. I’m not buying my own ridiculous excuses anymore. I know it. And they know it, too.

Thane’s *still* kneeling, and his gaze on me is unwavering. His eyes, which are dark and impossible to read right now, are locked onto me, waiting for me to admit what I’ve already started to process since his admission. He isn’t the man I thought he was. He’s something...*more*.

I swallow hard, my breath shallow as I confess, “I...I don’t know what I thought this was. But *this*...this isn’t just some bad dream. This is real, isn’t it?”

Griffin’s gaze softens, but he doesn’t sugarcoat it when he says, “Yeah. It’s real.”

And that’s the moment I realize that I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way back from this, not after everything that’s been said.

Griffin’s voice is the last thing I hear before everything goes dark in my mind: “I’m not sure we can undo this, Harley. But we won’t leave you alone in this.”

I try to breathe through the pressure, but it’s like trying to hold the ocean in my lungs. The ground beneath me keeps on slipping with each of their affirmations, and all I can do is hope that I don’t fall apart in front of them.

And then, in a move that makes my breath catch, Thane’s voice slides in between my darkening thoughts—deep, low, and unyielding.“Do you need proof?” he asks, as though he’s offering a lifeline, even though all I feel is the weight of inevitability crowding my chest.

The room grows unnaturally quiet at his question, and I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something so big and so terrifying that I can’t even process it. But deep down, I know I’ve *already* crossed the line, and there’s no turning back now.

I meet Thane’s eyes, my mouth dry, and my voice barely above a whisper as I say, “I... I think I do.”

At my words, everything in the room freezes, and the air thickens between us.

And now? There's nothing left to do except face the fact that the monster in front of me is more than just a man in a suit. He’s more than the asshole who ghosted me. And he’s something I’ve only read about and only fantasized about in fiction.

He’s actually real.

And maybe so is the hell I’ve stepped into.