Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 105

Chapter 105

The elevator doors to the penthouse suite open, and we step into the cool, dimly lit, luxurious lobby. Thane’s hand is on my lower back again, warm and solid, as he guides me towards his big, imposing front door. The air is different here–heavier somehow and enriched with a quiet lavishness I’ve only ever read about in books or seen in magazines. But it’s not just the wealth of the place that catches my attention; it’s the subtle confidence in the way Thane moves, like he’s entirely at home in this world of his. And, right now, I feel like an intruder who’s standing on the precipice of something I can’t fully grasp.

The latch of the front door clicks open on its own as we near it, and Thane pushes it open with an ease I’m jealous of. When he sees my raised brow at him not having to use a key to unlock it, he gestures to a camera in the corner of the ceiling above the door, and matter–of–factly says.

Facial recognition,” which has my eyes almost rolling to the back of my head. Of course, he’s got something as fancy as facial recognition.

Following him over the threshold into his apartment, 1 hear the soft click of the door closing behind us, and I realize we’re alone now, with nothing but the spacious quiet surrounding us. My breath catches slightly as I look around, taking in the sharp angles and polished surfaces, the subtle play of light against dark furnishings, and the way the whole place feels like it was built to make a statement. And yet, it still feels lived in.

He steps ahead of me, motioning for me to follow, and I do, with my eyes inevitably drawn to the details everywhere: The few muted paintings on the walls, the abstract sculptures that are perched atop various glass tables, and the massive floor–to–ceiling windows that overlook the city. The view stretches out before me–endless, franted by shimmering glass and steel, with a skyline that’s distant and radiant.

I realize that my hand is gripping the strap of my sling bag so tightly that my fingers are starting to hurt, so I force myself to relax and focus on my breathing. I’m in Thane’s world now, and I’m trying desperately not to let my nerves get the best of me. I know this isn’t a dream, even though it feels like it.

He turns to look at me, and for the first time since we’ve stepped inside, I see something that almost feels like hesitation in his gaze. His eyes soften, and a rare vulnerability flickers in them before he quickly masks it with his signature unreadable composure.

“Do you want a tour?” he asks, his voice low, but it carries an underlying warmth I haven’t quite figured out yet.

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his offer “A tour of your vampire lair? Sure, why not?”

His lips curl slightly, as if he’s fighting a smile. But that’s it. There’s no laugh, no full–on grin. Just that little twitch of amusement before he turns to walk deeper into the apartment.

“You’re welcome to call it whatever you like,” he says, his voice smooth but with an edge of playfulness I didn’t expect from him.

I chuckle softly, my sarcasm acting as a shield. I need it right now to keep my heart from racing too fast and to keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control. “So, this is where the famous Thane Drieven hides from the sunlight and pretends to be normal?”

He doesn’t an

answer immediately; instead, he just walks ahead as I follow him. I’m still taking in the expansive spaces around me, trying to keep my composure, but it’s not easy. His place is beautiful, elegant, and sophisticated in a way that’s almost too perfect.

We step

into a large sunken living room area, its centerpiece a sleek black 1–shaped leather couch that could easily seat 10 people, with low- profile chairs placed at odd angles, creating a feeling of openness. Another wall of windows overlooks a different portion of the city, as the sun now sits lower in the sky, painting the skyline in cloudless, deep blue hues. The view is nothing short of breathtaking, but it doesn’t quite compare to the intensity of Thane’s gaze when it catches mine.

“The view’s nice, i murmur, trying to keep things casual, even as the back of my neck starts to tingle with the awareness of his presence. His silence is heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just…constant.

“I think you’ll like the kitchen more,” he replies, his voice lowering slightly, almost like he’s unsure of something.

“Really? I thought you’d have a live–in chef for that kind of thing.”

I almost expect in to laugh at my quip, but instead, he nods thoughtfully. “I do, but sometimes there’s something more satisfying about doing it yoursell. Even if it’s just throwing something simple together.”

I stop walking as a small laugh escapes me. “I get it. You enjoy the thrill of cooking for yourself sometimes, but it’s the fridge full of blood bags that trally makes it feel like home to you.”

to some semblance of To the way his presence always seems to pull at me, and the way my body reacts to him despite my mind trying to hold on to some control.

As we make our way to the kitchen, I immediately notice its sleek design. It’s modern with clean lines and dark marble countertops. It’s polished. and professional–everything a top–tier chef would need to create a five–star meal. I can imagine him in here, working silently with precision, his every motion deliberate and controlled. But I can’t imagine him cooking for fun. Cooking, to him, is probably a means to an end; something that requires skill, but little emotion.

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