Fangs & Fire

Chapter 6: Friends of War

Amara’s eyes fluttered open to a world bathed in dim light, the soft glow barely cutting through the thick blackout curtains that shrouded the room. The air smelled faintly of something unfamiliar—wood, leather, and a hint of something earthy, like the lingering scent of a distant storm. As her vision adjusted, she realized just how enormous the space was. The ceiling felt impossibly high, the walls obscured in shadow, and the floor beneath her was soft, like an unfamiliar, plush carpet that didn’t match anything she knew.

A sudden movement to her left jerked her out of her haze, and Amara sat up quickly, her heart pounding in her chest. She instinctively covered her mouth with both hands, stifling a sharp gasp.

The man lying beside her in the bed was huge, his massive frame stretched across the expanse of the bed, taking up more space than she was comfortable with. His breathing, deep and steady, was the only sound in the room, until he shifted—snorting loudly before turning over to face her.

Amara’s heart skipped a beat, and she froze.

It was Arthur.

She stared at him in disbelief, her eyes wide with confusion and panic. The rough edges of his face were softened in sleep, his features relaxed as he lay there completely unaware of her shock. She had to blink, trying to clear the fog from her mind—Arthur, the mechanic... what was he doing here? And why was she in his bed?

She looked at him again, but this time, her eyes lingered on his bare chest. He had no shirt on, just a pair of boxer briefs—clinging to his muscular frame in a way that made her stomach churn. Her gaze wandered against her will for a moment, before she snapped her eyes shut tightly, her breath hitching.

Her mind screamed at her to move, to get out of there, but she was paralyzed for a moment, unsure of what to do. How had she ended up here? Why couldn’t she remember anything from the night before?

With a soft gasp, Amara finally pushed herself to the edge of the bed, sliding out as quietly as possible. She felt the weight of the situation bearing down on her as she glanced down at herself. She was dressed in a large white T-shirt—far too big for her—and nothing else. Her own underwear was the only thing she recognized.

Amara’s thoughts were a tangle of confusion and rising panic. The events of the previous night—the attack with the creature, Dominic’s cryptic warnings, and her own terror—were slipping from her grasp like sand. She had no memory of how she ended up here, and that feeling, that sinking void of the unknown, was gnawing at her insides.

The room was still, and for a moment, she let herself breathe, trying to ground herself. She had to think, figure out what had happened, but everything felt like a blur. The sharp thudding of her heart was the only thing real in this strange new world.

Amara slowly made her way across the room, the soft carpet beneath her feet feeling strangely comforting against her bare legs. She approached what appeared to be a bathroom at the far end of the room, the door slightly ajar. Tentatively, she pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it behind her for a semblance of privacy.

Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar space, still foggy from her confusion. She reached out to the wall, fingers brushing lightly against the cool surface, searching for a light switch. When her hand finally found it, she flipped it on.

The room suddenly came alive with a soft, golden glow. The light revealed the most luxurious bathroom she had ever seen—polished marble floors, gleaming chrome fixtures, and an enormous soaking tub that looked like something out of a high-end spa. The mirror above the sink was framed with intricate, silver detailing, reflecting her stunned expression.

Everything about the room felt lavish, pristine, and out of place in a way that made her stomach turn uneasily. Amara couldn’t help but feel the contrast between this and the simple life she had known—the hard years spent in foster care, the struggles that had shaped her.

Amara stared at herself in the mirror, her face flushed, probably from the shock of being so close to Arthur while he slept. She shook her head, trying to push the image of him out of her mind. The tension in her chest was rising, so she splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would calm the rapid heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She leaned against the sink, looking at her reflection, her thoughts spinning. What now? She couldn’t leave without clothes, but she didn’t want to get back into that bed with Arthur, either. The thought alone made her skin crawl. The anxiety was building in her, every breath a little harder to take. Her skin was clammy, her heart rate accelerating as she felt the weight of panic creeping in.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she tried to focus, to ground herself in the quiet of the bathroom. But just as the pressure in her chest seemed to swell beyond control, a soft tap came at the door. A voice called her name—gentle, reassuring.

“Amara?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She recognized it immediately. It was Dominic.

Reluctantly, she turned toward the door, swallowing hard before she opened it. There stood Dominic, still in the same clothes from the night before, his expression soft yet watchful, as if he could sense the tension radiating from her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and steady, concern lacing his words as his eyes searched hers.

Amara couldn’t help it—she burst into a quiet flare of sarcasm, her voice tight with the emotions she was struggling to contain. She barely kept her volume low, careful not to wake Arthur as he slept nearby.

“What the hell is happening? How did I end up here? Was last night even real? You just come in, rescue me, and now I wake up like I’m in some strange dream… with Arthur no less?” Amara was shaking, every word a small burst of pent-up frustration.

She paused, then asked, still trying to keep her composure, “Why is Arthur here, Dominic? What the hell is going on?”

Dominic’s expression softened as he listened, his eyes never leaving hers. There was a strange understanding in his gaze, but there was also something more—something she couldn’t quite read.

Without a word, he extended his hand to her. “Come, why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable for you to sit, rather than a cold bathroom? I can get you something warm to drink.”

Amara hesitated, her gaze flicking down to his outstretched hand. Part of her wanted to retreat, to pull away from everything that had been happening. But she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and Dominic’s calm presence was a contrast to the chaos in her mind.

Finally, she reached out, taking his hand.

Immediately, she noticed how cold his hand was, like ice against her skin. Her heart skipped a beat, but his grip was firm, reassuring. Dominic squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb gently against hers, and something in the small gesture made her chest unclench just a little. The icy coldness of his hand felt strangely grounding, as though it was pulling her into the present, making her feel safe in this moment.

She let out a shaky breath, and for the first time since waking up, she allowed herself to relax, even if just for a moment.

Dominic led Amara into a large, open-concept living room that was both sleek and inviting. The white marble island at the center of the spacious kitchen seemed to glimmer in the soft, morning light as the dawn began to break. The modern aesthetic of the room felt surreal, like something out of a magazine, but there was a warmth in its design, a comfort that slowly began to sink in as Amara took in the space.

Without a word, Dominic guided her to one of the white, plush lovesac sofas that looked as if they were designed specifically for comfort. He gently draped a fluffy throw blanket over her lap, his actions smooth and purposeful, as though he were accustomed to caring for others in moments like these. Then, without a glance back, he turned and stalked off toward the kitchen.

The soft lights in the living room flickered on, and Dominic opened the blinds, letting the soft dawn light pour in, slowly illuminating the room. As the light filled the space, the atmosphere shifted—calming, soft, and almost serene.

“Hot cocoa okay?” Dominic called from the kitchen, his voice relaxed, as if this were just a normal moment.

Amara, still processing the whirlwind of events, gave a small nod. “Yes, please,” she responded, her voice quieter now, the tension from earlier starting to ease.

Dominic returned from the kitchen, carrying a large mug of hot cocoa, the fluffy marshmallows bobbing on the surface as he placed it gently in front of her. Amara took it gratefully, the warmth of the drink soothing her in ways she didn’t fully understand. She wrapped both hands around the mug, seeking some comfort in its embrace.

As the initial shock of everything settled in, she finally found her voice. “What happened with Rick?” Her question hung in the air, a mix of curiosity and lingering fear.

Dominic’s face hardened, his expression shifting from the calm, almost detached demeanor he had carried since she met him to something far more serious. He took a breath before speaking.

“I’ll start by introducing myself properly,” he said, his voice quieter, more deliberate. “My name is Dominic Crowley, and I am not human.”

Amara’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t interrupt, her attention fully on him now.

“I’ve spent the last century believing I was the last of my kind.” He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to continue. His gaze flickered toward her, and when she raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue, he sighed.

“I’m a vampire. A Dugo.” He said the words quickly, as if saying them would lessen the weight they carried. But Amara could tell it hadn’t.

Her eyebrows knitted together as she processed what he had just admitted. “A vampire?” she repeated, almost incredulously.

Dominic met her gaze, unwavering. “Yes. But I’m not like my family. I don’t carry the same beliefs they did. I don’t want to be what they were.”

He paused, taking a slow breath as he steeled himself for what came next.

“I was orphaned at a young age. My parents were killed by third-generation Lykes.” He let that sit for a moment, watching Amara’s face shift as she absorbed the revelation.

The words felt like a punch to her gut. She blinked at him in disbelief, her heart skipping. “Third-generation Lykes?” she whispered, almost as if the words didn’t quite make sense in her head.

“Yes.” Dominic nodded, his gaze steady. “They were killed by Arthur’s parents. Arthur is the last of the Lyke bloodline.”

Amara’s gaze drifted out the window, her thoughts racing back to the horrific scene she had witnessed only hours before. The image of Rick—his terrified expression, the creature that had torn him apart—flashed in her mind. She swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. That thing, that beast, had been a werewolf. And it had been Arthur.

Arthur had killed Rick. Or, whatever was left of him after the monster’s attack.

Amara turned back to Dominic, her eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. “What happened to Rick?” she asked, her voice low, almost hollow. “Why was he behaving like that?”

Dominic’s face darkened, his eyes hardening as he shifted his gaze to meet hers. He leaned back slightly, his voice steady but grave. “The moment I set foot into the hotel, into the bar, I smelled it.” His eyes narrowed as he continued. “The scent of a newborn. A freshly turned vampire.”

Amara froze, her mind struggling to comprehend what Dominic was saying. “A newborn vampire?” she repeated, almost incredulously.

Dominic nodded slowly, his expression grim. “Yes. That’s what Rick was. He was turned, and his transformation was unstable, violent. That’s why he attacked you, why he was so… different. When a vampire is turned in a hurry, their instincts are unpredictable. They lose control.”

Amara felt a chill run down her spine. Rick, the man she had once trusted, had become something monstrous, and there was nothing she could have done to stop it.

“And Arthur?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “What happened to him after… after he killed Rick?”

Dominic’s expression softened, but his answer was heavy. “Arthur did what he had to do. He didn’t have a choice. Rick was a threat, and his condition was only going to get worse. Arthur didn’t want it to end that way, but there wasn’t any other option.”

Dominic leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving Amara’s as he spoke. “Arthur is in full control of his wolf,” he reassured her, his tone firm and calm. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.” His gaze softened just slightly. “It’s been centuries since the war. We’ve learned to live with what we are.”

Amara sat back into her seat, the warmth of the hot cocoa comforting her as she held the mug between her hands. She stared down into the liquid, lost in thought for a long moment. The weight of everything—the violence, the prophecy, the strange pull she felt toward both Arthur and Dominic—felt heavy in her chest.

“That must’ve been hard for you both,” she finally said, her voice quiet. “To be the last of your kind.”

Dominic’s eyes flickered with something unreadable as he regarded her. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, the silence stretching between them. When he did, his voice was low, touched with something close to regret. “It was. But we’ve had to move past it. For survival. For the future. We do what we must.”

Amara looked at him, feeling the weight of his words. For a moment, she wondered just how much they both had been through, how much they had lost. The room seemed to grow quieter, the only sound the steady hum of the city outside.

Dominic watched Amara closely as she took another sip of her cocoa, the warmth seeming to help settle her after everything that had happened. He paused for a moment before speaking, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

“Are you familiar with the history of the war?” he asked, his eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of recognition.

Amara nodded slowly, the frown on her face deepening as she tried to remember what she had learned over the years. “Yeah,” she began, her words hesitant but clear. “One of the Dugo leader’s sons turned against him. He joined forces with the Lykes, and together, they wiped out the whole Dugo army.”

Dominic’s gaze never wavered as he watched her face closely, as though waiting for her to make the connection. Amara continued, unaware of what she was about to realize, her eyes narrowing slightly as the pieces began to fall into place.

And then, it hit her.

Her eyes widened in shock as the realization dawned on her. She stared at Dominic, her voice barely above a whisper as she gasped, “That was you.”

Dominic didn’t answer right away. He simply nodded, a flicker of something in his gaze as he let the weight of her words settle in. Amara’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted the mug to her lips, taking a slow sip of the hot cocoa to steady herself.

Dominic took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he continued, the weight of his words heavy in the room.

“I always had my doubts about my family’s ways,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “Then I met Arthur.”

Amara tilted her head, intrigued but still processing everything Dominic had shared. He continued, his eyes momentarily distant as if recalling a distant memory.

“We had a standoff in the valleys of Romania.” Dominic’s voice grew a little more serious. “It was supposed to be a battle. Both sides lined up, ready to fight. But when it came down to it, we ended up calling a parley.”

He paused, letting the weight of that moment sink in. “Arthur and I talked, and it turned out we had the same ideals.” Dominic’s lips curled slightly, the faintest hint of a smile. “We both realized the fight was heading toward complete annihilation. Neither of us wanted that.”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his expression turning more somber. “My men were loyal to me, and Arthur and I rallied our battalions together.” His voice lowered, the recollection of that moment clearly still carrying an emotional weight. “We turned our forces against the Dugo, and together we fought. But… it was too late. The damage had already been done.”

Amara listened intently, the heaviness of Dominic’s words settling into her mind. She took a slow sip of her cocoa, the warmth grounding her as she processed the weight of his story.

Finally, after a moment of silence, she looked up at him, her voice soft but clear. “There are no winners in war.”

Dominic met her gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment before a slight nod of agreement. “You’re right,” he murmured, his voice tinged with quiet regret. “We both lost too much for it to ever truly feel like a victory.” Dominic’s gaze shifted, his expression turning darker as he continued.

“After the war, Arthur and I roamed the Earth for years, searching.” His voice grew heavier, almost distant, as if the memories were still vivid. “We hunted down every last Dugo that crawled into hiding, those ‘roaches’ that ran under the rocks, pretending to survive.” He shook his head slightly, a bitter edge to his words. “We found very few. Most of them had already been hunted or wiped out by their own.”

Amara sat quietly, her eyes focused on Dominic as she tried to absorb the enormity of what he was saying.

“We tried to find survivors, anyone who could rebuild, but…” He paused, his voice thick with a mix of regret and weariness. “There’s hardly anyone left.” He sighed softly, almost to himself. “They’re probably all dead by now.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between them, the silence settling over the room as Amara let the gravity of it sink in.

Amara’s mind raced as she processed Dominic’s words, the weight of them sinking in. She stared down at her mug, the heat from the cocoa now fading as her thoughts drifted.

If Rick had turned… she realized, her heart sinking. It means not all the roaches were exterminated. That gnawing thought was enough to make her stomach twist.

She glanced up at Dominic and caught a fleeting look of pain cross his face. His gaze grew distant, as if he were lost in the weight of the truth he had just shared. The sadness was palpable, and Amara’s chest tightened.

Not wanting to dwell on the heaviness of the moment, she suddenly stood up, a new energy rising within her. She needed to do something, anything, to break the tension.

“You know what?” she said brightly. “How about I cook breakfast for everyone?”

She met Dominic’s gaze, a smile creeping onto her lips. “What do you like to eat?”

Dominic blinked, his expression shifting as her energy filled the space between them. He chuckled softly, a sound that almost surprised Amara.

“I don’t eat food,” he said with a half-smile. “But if you’re looking to feed Arthur, that’s a different story. He eats enough for a small town in one sitting.”

Amara’s laughter bubbled up, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds like a challenge,” she said with a wink before turning to head toward the kitchen.

As she moved, Dominic grabbed her hand. His fingers brushed hers gently, and Amara felt a small shock of warmth run through her. His thumb rubbed against her skin, just as it had earlier, the gesture strangely intimate. She looked down at their joined hands with a soft smile, her confusion evident in the way her brow furrowed slightly.

Dominic met her gaze, his expression softening. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For your positive reaction to the truth I just revealed. It’s been centuries since anyone has known who I truly am.”

Amara’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice, and she squeezed his hand before pulling away to head toward the kitchen, her mind swirling with everything that had just been revealed.

Dominic moved toward the fridge with a quiet efficiency, the low hum of the appliance filling the moment of silence between them. He pulled out something from one of the drawers—a blood bag—and tucked it away discreetly before turning back to Amara.

“I’ll be working up until the afternoon,” he said, his tone calm and neutral, as if the moment before hadn’t been so charged. “You’re free to make yourself at home for now. There are clothes in the room you were in. They’re sized for you.”

Amara glanced toward the room he’d mentioned, still processing everything. As she did, Dominic stood still for a moment, his gaze focused on her. It was as if he was measuring something in the air between them, something unspoken.

Then, without a word, he walked closer. Amara’s breath caught slightly as he reached out, touching a strand of her hair gently, his fingers brushing against her skin. It was a fleeting moment, but the contact sent a shiver through her, making her pulse quicken.

Dominic didn’t say anything else. He simply turned, his expression unreadable as he disappeared around the corner, leaving Amara standing there with a mix of emotions swirling inside her—confusion, curiosity, and something she couldn’t quite place.