Colson

Same Song, Different Beat

Colson POV

I had already lived this night once.

That was the problem.

Knowing how a night ended didn’t mean knowing how to survive walking through it again—especially when every instinct screamed that even the smallest change could ripple outward and drown everything I cared about later.

Ezra’s nightclub greeted me like an old sin that never bothered apologizing.

The bass still pounded through the floor hard enough to blur thought. The lights still cut the room into shards of red and violet, designed to flatter predators and hide the aftermath of their indulgences. The air tasted like alcohol, sweat, and power pretending it wasn’t afraid of being taken.

I’d been here earlier in the night already—long enough to remind Ezra I existed, long enough to establish routine.

But this?

This was different.

This was the moment I changed something.

I didn’t linger in the crowd. I headed straight for the VIP section this time, letting the guards see me, letting the whispers move ahead of me. Ezra liked efficiency. He liked knowing when something—or someone—important was approaching.

He was sprawled in the curved booth when I arrived, drink untouched. He looked bored.

That changed the moment he saw what I placed on the table.

The artifact sat there quietly, unimpressive to anyone without the senses to know better. Old. Heavy with restrained magic. Convincing enough to spark obsession.

Ezra leaned forward slowly.

“Well,” he murmured. “You’ve been busy.”

“I don’t like wasting your time,” I said easily, sliding into the seat across from him. “Or mine.”

He picked it up, turning it in his hand, letting his magic brush against it. I watched the exact moment greed took hold—pupils dilating, jaw tightening just slightly.

Ancient. Incomplete. Promising.

“You didn’t tell me you’d move this fast,” he said.

I shrugged. “You didn’t tell me you wanted excuses.”

That earned a soft laugh.

“This isn’t the prize,” Ezra said. Not a question.

“No,” I agreed. “But it points to one. Or at least… a direction.”

His smile widened. “Good. Then you’ll leave again.”

“Later,” I said casually. “I’ve already made one trip tonight. Figured I’d enjoy the city before I disappear again.”

Ezra waved a hand dismissively, already lost in the possibilities spinning behind his eyes. “Bring me more. And Colson?”

I met his gaze.

“Don’t disappoint me.”

I smiled the old smile—the one that had kept me alive for centuries.

“When have I ever?”

He waved me off, satisfied for now.

I stood and turned away before staying long enough for suspicion to grow.

The moment I reentered the main floor, the weight hit me.

Because now the real test began.

I let myself drift through the crowd, shoulders loosening, posture settling into the familiar shape of arrogance and indifference. f**k, it was easy. Too easy. Like muscle memory had never forgiven me for leaving.

And then I saw her.

Sage.

She sat alone in a VIP booth, bottle in hand, posture sharp and guarded like the world itself had personally offended her. The lights caught her hair and fractured it into impossible colors—greens, blues, threads of violet shimmering like the northern lights had gotten lost and decided to haunt this place.

This was the first time she would really notice me tonight.

The first time she would remember.

I stopped walking.

I remembered how this went.

I remembered being careless. Cruel. I remembered pushing because I could, because provoking people felt better than admitting how hollow I’d been back then.

And I remembered how that cruelty had somehow been the spark.

This night mattered.

This was the night Sage met Zane.

The night the slow, reluctant chain toward trust began.

The night I earned her hatred—and her memory.

If I didn’t play my role…

Would the future unravel?

I exhaled slowly.

“Same night,” I muttered. “Different stakes.”

Then I stepped forward.

I made sure she noticed me.

Not with silence. Not with hunger. Just enough presence to be irritating. Confidence sharpened into something punchable.

She glanced up, unimpressed.

“Out,” she said flatly, like she was dismissing furniture.

I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Friendly place.”

“Mind your place, vampire,” she snapped.

“Currently?” I replied. “Standing. Breathing. Existing. All subject to renegotiation.”

I stepped closer—not touching, not crowding. Just close enough to be a problem.

“You will regret moving any closer,” she warned.

“Possibly,” I said. Then, tilting my head just enough to be infuriating, I added,

“I wonder what you taste like.”

Her eyes flashed. “Currently like whiskey.”

She laughed—sharp, humorless—clearly unimpressed and only more irritated by my lack of fear.

Perfect.

I reached for the bottle.

She smashed it against the table.

Glass shattered.

“Good going, i***t,” she snapped.

A low growl rose behind her.

I didn’t turn immediately.

I remembered this part too.

When I did, I found myself staring at a werewolf I hadn’t officially met yet—tall, broad-shouldered, eyes electric locked on me with immediate suspicion.

Zane.

Not king yet.

Not to me.

“I think she said leave,” he said, hand gripping my collar.

I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “Easy, furball. We were just talking.”

His brows snapped together. “Did you just—”

He didn’t finish.

He tossed me from the booth like I weighed nothing.

I hit the floor hard, rolled, and came up on one knee, laughing as blood coated my tongue.

“Oh, I like you,” I said. “Strong. Decisive. No hesitation.”

Sage stood now, glaring at both of us. “I had this handled.”

“The shattered bottle suggests otherwise,” Zane replied, eyes never leaving me. “What’s a human doing in a place like this alone?”

“None of your damn business,” she shot back.

He hesitated, then sighed and turned to her. “You look like you’ve had a rough night. Want to join our table so this creep doesn’t bother you again?”

She studied him, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Haven’t partied with werewolves in a while.”

later that night

She left.

I followed.

Then she paused at the exit.

Turned.

Our eyes locked.

She crossed the distance and slammed her fist into my stomach.

Hard.

“Umph,” I groaned. “f**k. You pack a hell of a punch.”

She leaned in, voice low and lethal. “Stay away from me.”

Then she was gone.

Zane followed, casting one last wary glance over his shoulder.

Not yet.

I straightened slowly, ribs aching, laughter slipping out despite myself.

“Artifact delivered,” I muttered. “History preserved.”

But as the club swallowed me whole again, the truth settled heavy in my chest.

I had lied to Ezra.

I had baited fate.

And now I had to live long enough to see which one noticed first.