average human’s Reviews > Control My Night > Status Update

Last year, I’d woken to a room full of balloons and presents and worn an obnoxious tiara all day. This year, I’d mark the occasion surrounded by heavy artillery.
Zeina’s phone pushed against my chest, secure under my sports bra, a reminder that this would all be over soon. I just had to keep myself safe and find Isobelle.
My gut twisted as the team milled around us. I let out a sigh at the trash-filled street illuminated in amber from the lamps overhead. It wasn’t only the tang from the dumpsters filling my senses. Something was off. Anticipation we might corner Johan tonight? Fear we wouldn’t? Whatever it was, my beast reacted with similar discomfort.
For the first time ever, I asked her a question: Do you think this is a mistake?
My beast didn’t hesitate. Absolutely.
Steadman communicated at intervals with the other team. I’d overheard Arwood being relegated to the second location with Anika as protection.
I took the opportunity to make my thoughts known.
“What was that?” Steadman’s breath steamed in the frigid air.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” I repeated.
I watched him assess my posture, the grimace on my face. Once, he would have met my words with derision. Instead, he gave something strangely akin to … respect. “Now?” he asked, fingers tightening around his phone. “Or where we’re going?”
“The warehouse.” His shoulders relaxed. “I could have been wrong about where he is.”
“And you could have been right,” Steadman replied, gesturing to the team to get their attention. “Back yourself.”
It was the kindest thing he’d ever said to me.
Silas quirked his lips. I’m here.
His presence made me all the more nervous. If this went badly, he’d be caught in the crossfire.
“Let’s go,” Steadman said.
Ahead, the warehouse stood like a slumbering giant, its metal roof like cut glass tearing the night sky. The last of the car doors slammed, vehicles peeling away as we sank into the shadows. A prickling sensation rolled across my skin.
Something wasn’t right. But the problem was, I couldn’t pinpoint what. A cloying metallic sweetness laced my tongue and filled my nose.
People were going to die tonight.
Matej, who’d downloaded the blueprints that evening, had talked over the entrances in the north and south of the warehouse on our way in. The south led into a storage area with materials and machinery, the north to the offices. Half would enter on one side, while the other half would take any potential heat from security.
A peaty combination of smoke and gas mixed with roasted meat from a nearby restaurant as we filed down the alley. Empty milk crates and broken wooden pallets rested against the exposed brick. Footfalls scraped across cobblestones. Ahead in the darkness, a single red light was suspended from the side of the warehouse.
“Security systems?” I asked Matej.
“Almost certainly,” he responded, his accent cushioning his words into one long hiss. “Be careful tonight, little lamb. Anika needs her training friend.”
I stumbled at the unexpected nickname from my kidnapper.
Steadman already had a phone to his ear, conversing with the person overriding the security systems. The camera light went dark.
I didn’t match their confidence, but I matched their strides. My beast sat watchful like a meerkat. I reached for her, placing figurative hands against her cage. Talons closed around my fingers.
Silas and I hung back as the team blasted open the small entrance beside the industrial metal roller door. Like a swarm of insects, helmet-wearing guards funneled inside.
Steadman nodded to us. “Watch yourselves.” We followed him.
The interior of the warehouse contained a series of wide, industrial shelves. They towered at intervals between concrete pillars, holding rows of plastic-wrapped pallets. The rusty tang of metal strengthened as we followed the assault of guards around forklifts and toward the wall separating the shipping area from the offices beyond. A long, dark rectangular window overlooked the ground floor. I kept my eyes on it as we approached the doorway, expecting movement. There was none, but I couldn’t get past the feeling we were being watched anyway.
Ahead, light arched through a series of open doors. The shouts of those responding to the first half of the team led us like a beacon.
We entered a large, square room. The bare, white walls and generic furniture reeked of temporary intentions. Plastic chairs surrounded a long metal table, and along the perimeter of the room stood filing cabinets and cupboards. At the table lounged three men, dressed in jackets and jeans. Half-drunk coffee sat in front of them, newspapers and phones scattered under their forearms.
The man on the end started at our entrance. The other two observed us with the calculating look of a snake before it attacked. None moved as our team circled them.
Guards searched the other rooms in the building, their shouts of ‘clear!’ echoing down the hall. Steadman pushed to the front, meeting my eyes. I gave a subtle nod toward one of the seated men, my heart rate increasing.
Johan was here.
“Matousek?” Steadman addressed the trio.
“You’re talking to him,” said the man on the end, taking a sip of his drink with forced casualness.
“Bullshit. Silas, Matej.” Steadman gestured around the room. “Start searching. Take anything that looks useful.”
Silas brushed past me, his fingers squeezing mine. He and Matej began rifling through the cabinets.
The younger man on the opposite end sighed, sipping his coffee. His thick bronze hair curled at the ends, framing his wide nose and thin lips. Like at the casino, thick, bolt-like earrings took up both pale earlobes. “This is how Arwood Sayer says hello, huh?”
“Be glad that’s all we’re doing at this point,” Steadman replied. He kicked one of the chairs to the side and sat.
Johan shuffled, getting comfortable, his movements laced with a level of confidence I paid close attention to. I hoped Steadman had taken notice. Something definitely wasn’t right.
“Who’s your boss?” Steadman asked.
“Don’t need one.” Johan’s finger ran over the edge of his cup. An American accent dueled with an unplaceable European one as he said, “I’m entrepreneurial as fuck.”
“Your connections are too broad to come from just being a client of the Kohnstamms,” Steadman said. “Who are you working for?”
Behind Johan, Silas kicked aside a box with his foot, shaking his head at Matej, and tugged open another filing cabinet. The nervous man on the end twitched at the movement.
Johan raised an eyebrow. “You can quit stomping around my office, dude. You’re scaring my men.”
The opening of the next drawer scraped louder than the last.
“We’ll stop when we get what we’re looking for.” Steadman showed a photo on his phone. “Isobelle Sayer. Where is she?”
Johan eyeballed Steadman and proceeded to knock back the rest of his coffee. “Don’t know her.”
“I wouldn’t expect a man of your ilk to remember all the women you traffic, but I doubt she would have passed your notice—given who her father is.”
“They look the same to me. The price they fetch on the other end is the differentiation.”
Steadman’s response was the hollow echo of a gun discharging. I jumped as the nervous man to Johan’s far right slumped lifelessly in his chair, his expression one of shock.
Johan didn’t even flinch. He could have been painting his nails. “That changes nothing. I don’t know what I don’t know.”
“You’ve been interfering with Arwood,” Steadman said.
“I’ve been paid to interfere with Arwood.” Johan studied us. Though I was partially concealed by the guards, his beady eyes landed on my collar. I bet if I asked him after tonight, he’d be able to relay every detail of the room and the people within it. Someone that meticulous wouldn’t be here alone with only two men—sorry, one man—and no backup. What were we missing? “I’m not lying when I say: I don’t know who or where she is. And,” he said, his thick accent lingering in the air, “you and your Arwood can go fuck yourselves.”
Steadman grabbed his gun, pointing to the man beside Johan.
Tattoos lined the man’s throat, diamonds stamped under his ear. He stood, chair squealing against the concrete floor, his eager expression the opposite of what you’d expect from someone staring down a weapon.
Steadman fired.
The man’s eyes flashed gold. The bullet paused, turned in trajectory—
—and Matej dropped, clutching his neck.
“Ferox!” Silas yelled.
Panicked shouts filled the office as Silas’s roar of “Don’t shoot!” quickly drowned under gunfire. Shields erupted—but Silas wasn’t quick enough. Guards fell, their own bullets shot straight back at them, the rest fleeing down the hallway. Two seized me. I was submerged into a wave of padded vests.
Leaving Silas behind.
“Silas!” I screamed, unable to see past the panicked guards. We emerged into the warehouse.
“Outside!” The command came over thumping footsteps and shouts—then I stopped thinking, because a ball of fire shot straight for the pallet I stood next to.
I dived to the side, slamming into a metal aisle beam and the dirty, uncompromising concrete floor.
Searing heat flashed across my face as the pallet erupted into flames. I coughed, scrambling backwards down the aisle. The tattooed ferox came into view, his gaze sweeping the stacks. A gun discharged. He waved a hand, diverting the bullets away from his head and sending it straight back into the shooting guard.
I wheezed, chemicals cloaking my lungs. The ferox clicked a lighter, cradling the single flame. It grew into a shivering, shifting globe of molten heat. Golden eyes locked onto my collar, then my face. My breath caught. This is it.
I’d die, alone and cowering in a warehouse I had no business being in, on the eve of my twenty-first birthday. Zeina wouldn’t find me. I’d never see my father again.
My life—over before it had really begun.
These spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the impossible: the ferox fired in the opposite direction.
I didn’t wait to find out why he hadn’t pulverized me on the spot. I heaved a cough to clear my lungs, scrambled up, and fled down the aisle. A suffocating cloud of smoke had formed like a fog throughout the warehouse, bringing with it the scent of melting plastic. My beast keened, wanting to wail, but I suppressed her, trying to block out the screaming ringing my ears. Who had succumbed to the fire? Was one of the pained, panicked cries Silas? Had he even made it out of the hallway?
Fear propelled me faster. I reached the end of the aisle and turned left for the entrance, searching the flickering orange for Silas. The temperature ratcheted as the smoke increased, sweat beading at my temples. It scorched my nose. Everything was a mess of flame, of fireballs …
… fireballs flying from the outstretched hands of not just the tattooed ferox who had left me alone, but Johan, too.
Johan’s confidence now made sense. He’d been assured of his safety the whole time. It had been us in danger—an ambush we’d walked right into. In our haste for Isobelle, we’d missed the critical consideration that we might not be the only supernaturals in Prague.
A fireball hit the pallet to my left. I skidded, diving behind the metal shelving.
Johan approached, his wavy hair backlit by flames. “Stay where you are, girl!”
Mere steps separated me from the next aisle. If I could stop him from throwing fire, I had a shot of making it.
I raised my palms in exaggerated surrender, calling his bluff. Johan nodded. “Yes, co—”
I ran, ignoring his holler for me to stay still. Another fireball hit the aisle I hid behind. The metal shelves groaned, rattling.
A hand jerked me backwards as the plastic wrapping on one of the pallets split. Bricks poured through the gap, smashing onto the concrete floor where I’d stood moments before.

gaped, stunned, as fingers dug into my arm and tugged me behind the next aisle. Fingers attached to a man smeared with blood, sweat, and soot. Blue eyes shone with adrenalin. Steadman. He’d escaped the room. Had Silas? Wordlessly he assessed me, then, satisfied I wasn’t physically hurt—mentally was a whole other story—guided me toward the exit with trained precision.
“Where’s Silas?” I yelled, then coughed. Steadman either didn’t hear me, didn’t know, or chose not to respond, because he said nothing.
His grip tightened on my upper arm as we dove for the next aisle.
My face warmed as another fireball shot in front of us. Arms went around my waist. Steadman hauled me behind the shelves. Fire pillowed against the concrete wall to our right, disintegrating into black singe marks and smoke. Sweat dripped down my forehead as Steadman peered around the corner. My chest tightened as our eyes met. His throat bobbed before he grabbed my arm again, nodding at the exit. It was fifty feet away. Three aisles.
Behind us, Johan and the other ferox appeared, fireballs forming. Steadman swore, pulling me with him. We weren’t going to make it. Cornered against a cement wall and within range, we shared a heartbeat of solidarity. He could have left me and saved himself, but he hadn’t.
Steadman was human, powerless against supernatural creatures like Johan. I wasn’t.
I sucked in a breath and screamed.
My beast tensed, ready for my go-ahead, and something inside clicked as I released her. My wail swept upwards in pitch. Pressure exploded from my body.
A shield folded around Steadman. In the distance, through the fire and darkness, more shields erupted. Some guards were still alive! Two lay on the ground, injured. Johan and the other ferox rolled behind a concrete pillar, avoiding my outburst. The two fireballs they’d thrown soared toward us, combined into a single incoming inferno, but with my scream it deflected upwards—
—and straight into the ceiling of the warehouse.