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Wrecked. That was the only word she could think to use to describe how utterly chaotic the past few nights had been for her and Victor.

On one hand, even though business at the bar wasn’t quite ‘booming’, they had a steady flow of new customers. A good chunk of those newcomers were becoming regular patrons. And that had been all they ever wanted and asked for. If they were in it for fame -- well, they wouldn’t be who they were, would they? More simply, the establishment was meant to provide a fun, welcoming atmosphere for people that didn’t quite fit in anywhere else. And that was exactly what it had become in just a month of being officially open.

It had also become Kenlie’s home. Victor’s home. Their home. And the club, along with the bar staff and their small handful of regulars, had become an extension of their family.

Including Nik.

Attempting to form some sort of bond with Victor’s childe had proven itself to be one of the most difficult things she had done in her entire life. And considering she had gone through gang initiation, as well as getting jumped out, that said… a lot. What she hadn’t admitted to Kaelyn in their apologies the night before, was that Kenlie’s frustrations weren’t entirely on her. She had become increasingly worried each day Nik didn’t show up at the bar, and the fact that he was human only made her concern that much worse.

In truth, the man probably had no idea how much Kenlie cared. She wasn’t exactly the type of person to show affection regularly, unless you happened to be one of four people: Victor, Dominique, Charles (Doc), or an odd little albino by the name of Meluiwen. The way she generally showed her love for other people was through booze-fueled antics and a more ‘brotherly’ type of love that wasn’t expected from a woman of her stature. And, for a man that had inspired her in ways she hadn’t even realized herself, the occasional punch in the shoulder didn’t quite cut it.

Maybe her vouching for him to be a prospect would, though.

In short, all of that brought her to where she was now: pacing about the back storage and break room of The Handle Bar, with her phone clutched in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The iPhone’s screen was set on a text thread between her and Nik, in which there was simply a string of green messages sent from her. All of them were sent throughout the past seven days. An entire week, and she hadn’t heard a single ******* peep from the ******* Russian.

“Damn it, Nik. If you’re stashed up in your apartment with a hot chick, the least you could do is say you’re just getting your ******* dick wet,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She’d love to believe that’s all that was going on, but a large knot in her gut told her that there was something more sinister behind his sudden disappearance.

Kenlie’s thumb swept across the ‘details’ button near the top right of the messages, and then again over the phone icon that would connect her to Nik’s voicemail for the fifth time in the past two days. Yekaterina had only confirmed her concerns the night before, when she told Kenlie and Victor that Nik hadn’t been in to work at the Kit Kat in the same amount of time. The woman knew, at this point, she really only had one option. It was something she’d done for him in the past, and it was something she’d have to resort to again, if only to set her mind at ease.

“That’s it,” she muttered, flicking her phone onto the round table that was littered with a few empty beer bottles and dirty ashtrays. The brunette placed the filter of her cigarette between dark red lips and took one more drag, long and hard. As the smoke seeped from her nostrils, she stubbed the cherry out against the top of an old beer can and flicked the remains into the half-drained contents. A spin on her heel had her facing two sets of stairs, and in a hurry she chose the ones that would take her up to the second floor.

Heavy double doors were thrown open to greet her with the familiar sight of their chapel. Very few people were allowed up there, given what the space was generally used for. A large table stood at the center of the room, its wood heavily worn and hand-carved to display a fanged skull that seemed to be peering up at the ceiling. At one end of it, there was a cherry wood gavel and a pile of papers that looked to be sums of money scribbled with various notes. At the other sat a laptop computer, pretty unused and in good shape. Between those two points sat a variety of other items which included a few handguns, an ashtray, and a prospect’s cut. The latter was folded up neatly at Kenlie’s seat, which sat a few chairs down from the head of the table.

The club had been holding onto it for a week, now. Ven and the rest of the club hadn’t seen much of a reason to deny Kenlie her suggestion -- and at this point, why would they? Nik had all but become a hang around the first day he stepped foot into the bar. Christ, he was a mess. She remembered that night well as she took the patched leather in her hands, fingers kneading the material. Her eyes traced the PROSPECT rocker she’d worn herself not very long ago and, though she hid it well, pride began to swell in her chest until she felt it should burst. Her, Victor and Dom had actually done it. Now it was Nik’s turn, if he chose to accept their lifestyle as his own. She damn sure hoped he did.

With a shake of her head, Kenlie laid the cut across the seat of her chair and then started a walk around the table, giving her neck a few good cracks. “Alright, Nik,” she said, as if he were standing in the room with her. “Please don’t be naked.”

Once she’d given the table a once-around, Kenlie came to stand at her seat once again. She gave her arms a good shake and closed her eyes while breathing deeply through her nose. To an onlooker, it’d seem like she was preparing herself for meditation (and, to be fair, that wasn’t too far of a stretch).

Some people were great at this magic thing. Then there were others, like her, who had to use every bit of focus and energy that they could muster in order to do the simplest of tasks. After a year of being exposed to all the **** she’d been “gifted” as a sorcerer, it still didn’t come naturally to her, even as a vampire. It wasn’t like having a third arm, or knowing another language. It was like calculus. Simple for smart people to do, but too much like trying to comprehend Greek when it came to poor Kenlie.

For her, one thing did seem to work. Kenlie would picture a small ball of soft, blue light at the base of her skull. Using sheer will, she would move the light through her body; down the back of her neck, over the curves of her spine, down her legs, and then back up into her core. The further it traveled towards her center, the more energy it collected into itself and the brighter it became. When it was finally at its biggest and brightest, that light spread out to the tips of her fingers. She swore that at that precise moment, she could feel the energy tickling her senses like static electricity fluttering across her skin.

And then, it happened. With her eyes still closed so, so tight, the Shadow lifted her arms and watched as, in her mind’s eye, all of that light came flashing to life from her fingertips in a beautiful, storm-like display. It was like lightning; gone as soon as it had appeared, and just as breath-taking.

Her vision went blindingly white behind the veils of her eyelids, and for the brief moments she had left Kenlie focused the rest of her thoughts on one thing. Him. The smile that was almost arrogant and how he never managed to go without a five o’clock shadow. The way he could never fully disguise his thick accent and how painstaking it was to resist the lure of his pulse. Drawing him near. Keeping him safe.

Summon Ally, she’d learned, never worked precisely the way that she intended. There was always Victor ending up in strange nearby places, like the bathroom closet, or Clover being dragged directly into her lap. This once, Kenlie would be thankful for that delightful little quirk in her ability. Without a ‘thud’, or any sound to indicate that he had suddenly dropped onto the table in front of her, Nik’s existence had bled into her reality. What made her aware of his presence was the unmistakable, unusually slow beat of his heart. It wasn’t so much beating as it was pounding, fierce and unwilling to let go.

With a gasp, Kenlie’s eyes flashed open to a scene that she instantly hoped was her vivid imagination. The sound of something gurgling each time Nik took a breath had her hopelessly releasing that thought. Frantic hands shoved chairs and other things out of her way so she could get closer to him. Papers went flying and fluttering towards the ground in her haste.

“Nik!?” The sound of her voice wasn’t strong like you would normally expect. This bloody, tortured sight of her dear friend had her heart trembling in her chest, undead or not. Her voice wavered just like her hands, which were unsure what to do or where to touch. They hovered over his body as her fingers shook in the most uncontrollable way.

It tormented her, but she had no clue what move to make next. She should have planned for this, but it wasn’t any time to let guilt sink in. In a panic that was not only fueled by her concern, but also by how hard all that human blood was slamming into her senses -- much like an alcoholic getting a good whiff of whiskey after five years of drought -- she screamed at the top of her lungs for the person she knew was always nearby.

“VEN!”