"A doppelgänger is the shadow of our existence, a figure that looks like us but is not us."
{MICHAEL'S POV}
I hadn't been joking about what I said to Raven. I didn't trust anyone—least of all her. Sleeping with her didn't change that. If anything, it reinforced it. That had been her price for our first deal: my cock in her. It didn't seem like a bad trade at the time, so I went along with it. Maybe my words stung, but if they did, I couldn't bring myself to care.
She entered the room briskly, heading straight for the table. Without a word, she dragged the chair beside it and placed it in front of the bed where Roxanne and I sat. Roxanne's face twitched, maybe from the tension that clung to the room like smoke. She was a captive, after all—though you wouldn't know it from how she was treated.
"Did you procure the Rootless Flower, Raven?" I asked, the urgency sharp in my voice.
The slumbering Ashkedais within me stirred the moment the words left my mouth—their curiosity even greater than mine.
"What's your name? You can call me Raven."
Raven didn't spare me a glance, reaching out instead toward Roxanne, who had instinctively sat up the moment she entered the room.
I was mildly peeved. Even the Ashkedais would've rolled their eyes if they were here in the human world. Roxanne looked stunned—probably because, despite being a captive, nothing about this situation treated her like one. Almost as if compelled, she reached out and shook Raven's hand.
"Roxanne," she said.
"You're quite the beauty. Shame you ended up on Michael's radar," Raven said, clearly treating me like I wasn't even there. Her eyes were fixed solely on Roxanne as she finally settled into the chair she'd dragged over.
"What do you mean?" Roxanne's voice trembled.
Before Raven could answer, I cut in—my tone soft, but the urgency beneath it impossible to miss.
"You can have your little chat later, Raven. Just tell me—did you find it?"
"As you can see, he's far too impatient. Let's satisfy his curiosity before he starts crying like a baby," she said, turning to Roxanne with a smirk that forced a polite, uneasy smile from her.
Then she finally faced me. I could see the fury burning in her eyes—maybe it was because of what I'd said. Not that it mattered. I didn't care about her emotions.
"I found it," she said. "But don't forget—every ingredient we need for the ritual will come at a price."
"Not sex this time? A round per ingredient, or do you have some other task in mind?" I teased, throwing her taunt back at her, completely ignoring Roxanne's presence.
"Nah. A greater price," she shot back, her smirk widening. "Besides, you're not that good in bed, darling."
I raised an eyebrow. That had to be a lie. Wasn't she the one begging me to stop the other day?
"Pfft!" I couldn't hold back my laughter. When I finally caught my breath, I mimicked her voice, exaggerating every word.
"Mike. Hmm, stop, it hurt. You're going too deep. I can't handle it, please."
A deep frown twisted her face. And just like that, the room responded to her fury. The television on the wall trembled, the table and window shivered, even the empty flower vase gave a subtle shake.
Roxanne frowned too—maybe she wasn't fond of the lewd exchange, or maybe her mind was too wrapped in the anxiety of survival.
Eventually, Raven exhaled, regaining her composure. The objects stilled.
"Just shut up," she muttered. "No sex. You're going to pay the normal way—before you get the flower."
"We'll discuss the payment later, Raven. What's with the Ashkedais wanting her?" I asked, brushing aside the topic of compensation. Even Roxanne seemed curious about what she had to say.
"A different payment for that," she replied smoothly. "But first, let's settle the price for this ingredient. You'll need to help me kill someone."
She spoke slowly, like she was mentally flipping through a list of enemies.
I wasn't surprised. Warlocks were known for this—they rarely got their own hands dirty, preferring to eliminate enemies through others. It was one of many reasons no one liked to cross them. I couldn't help but wonder who had pissed this woman off.
Roxanne's face twitched again, clearly disturbed by Raven's cold tone—especially when it came to something as grim as murder.
I met her eyes. "Who are you trying to kill?"
"Garet," she answered without hesitation. "A warlock like me. He lives far from here. 27, Kepler Street. Find him and bring me his head tonight. Don't ask what he did. I wouldn't have sent you after him if you weren't an Alpha now."
I gave a nod of approval, signaling her to continue.
Reading the gesture, she added, "As for the information about the Ashkedais, that'll cost you seven hundred bucks."
I nodded again, and she went on. Even Roxanne leaned in slightly—her curiosity clearly piqued.
"This ritual you've mentioned—it must be a powerful one. I don't know exactly what it's meant for, but since you said it's tied to strength, there is only one possible outcome. But before I explain, let me do something quickly."
As soon as she said that, she rose to her feet and moved quickly toward the table, ignoring the curiosity in our eyes. From the pocket of her hooded cloak, she pulled out a flower. It resembled a rose, but it wasn't—its petals were pitch black, and its beauty was undeniable. She placed it gently into the empty vase on the table, then turned to face us.
Until now, she hadn't removed her hood. As if suddenly remembering, she gave a casual shrug and pulled it back. She was a sight to behold—soft brown locks fell to her shoulders, her eyes were striking, and her face was undeniably pretty. She had that hourglass figure, too—maybe that was part of why I hadn't resisted sleeping with her back then.
She returned to her seat and continued.
"Ancient rituals like this require a specific ingredient. A major one. If you're trying to do something big, you'll need a Daskai."
Normally, I wouldn't have known what that meant—I wasn't a warlock. But with the Ashkedais living in my head, I'd become something close. I didn't have their powers, but I had their knowledge. The knowledge of the Ashkedais.
Truth be told, I had already guessed this part thanks to what I'd inherited from them, but I still needed confirmation. Seven hundred bucks? I shouldn't have even asked.
I'd forgotten one thing—Roxanne wasn't familiar with the term. She quickly asked, "What's a Daskai?"
I answered, maybe just to show off a little. "A Daskai is a doppelgänger—someone with the same physical features as you. I already figured as much, but I needed to be sure."
Raven smiled, clearly not surprised I knew. Maybe she'd already figured out where my knowledge came from.
"Don't rely too much on the Ashkedais," she warned. "Some of their knowledge can corrode your mind. Be careful. Not that I care but you are still one of my customers."
Roxanne seemed to understand, but she said nothing more. The room was quiet for a moment before I responded.
"Corrode my brain? Isn't it already corroded?" I smirked. "In a way, they've been useful. I know things now—secrets I never had access to before. Anyway, do you know whose doppelgänger she is?"
"How would I know that? She could be the doppelgänger of someone who lived a thousand years ago," Raven said, her eyes fixed on Roxanne. "You should be asking the old vampires, not me."
"Old vampires?" I echoed. "It's hard to find any that ancient in this town."
Roxanne remained silent, simply listening.
"Yeah. The ones here aren't that old. The oldest is Dean—a vampire who managed to rule over the rest. He calls his faction The Clave. He's their master, and he's about four hundred years old. That's the oldest you'll find around here. You can ask him, if you've got the guts. Trust me, he's a monster. Or," she added with a shrug, "you could try the Prime Alpha. Word is, he knows a lot—despite werewolves not having immortality."
"Dean? Yeah, I've heard of him. Never mind, though—I don't need that information," I said, my tone shifting. My expression hardened. "And I need to be careful. Daskais are powerful ritual ingredients. No one can know Roxanne is a doppelgänger."
"What the heck are you saying? Can you at least try to sound polite? This is my life we're talking about," Roxanne snapped, clearly fed up with the whole conversation.
"Sorry, love. Michael's a man without manners—don't mind him," Raven said, turning to Roxanne with a smile. I couldn't tell if she meant it or was just poking fun. Then she turned back to me. "Be polite, will you? Also, how many more days are you planning to crash at my place? You've been hiding here ever since you ditched your pack."
"We already discussed this, didn't we?" I replied, smirking. "I'll stay as long as I want and pay a hundred bucks per day. Why are you bringing it up again? I'm not owing you—am I?"
"Oh, but you are," she said quickly, a glint of excitement in her eyes. "Seven hundred bucks for the information. A hundred for yesterday's stay—even if you didn't spend the whole day. And another hundred for today. That makes nine hundred bucks."
Typical Raven. A lover of money. Then again, most warlocks were—they needed it to sustain their magical pursuits.
"Fine. I'll pay up when I return tonight. See you later."
I rose to my feet, towering over the seated figures. My eyes lingered on Roxanne—she looked deep in thought—but I didn't say anything more. I turned and walked away without looking back.
As I approached the door, I paused. I could feel it—the Sheddai barrier surrounding the room.
"Roxanne," I called. She looked at me, eyes questioning.
Then, I clenched my right fist and struck the invisible barrier. I couldn't see it, but I felt it—the resistance, the magic. With the first punch, it weakened. I hit it again, and the pressure lessened. One more punch—and I felt nothing. The Sheddai was down.
To Roxanne's visible surprise, I'd broken through what she couldn't.
Without waiting for a response, I stepped out. The corridor was well-lit. Just as I was about to move on, I remembered—I'd forgotten my hat. I turned and pushed at the door, only to be met with another Sheddai. Raven had already put it back up.
"Raven, take it down," I called, a little louder than intended. Breaking it again felt like too much effort.
"Didn't you break it down before?" she snapped back. "Do it again. If not, piss off."
"C'mon, wait," I muttered under my breath, trying to think. Then it hit me—didn't my hat fall off during the chaos last night?
No use going back. I walked away instead, deciding I'd just pick up another fedora from a store. I also needed new clothes—last night's chaos had ruined my best outfit. Thankfully, I'd left a few spares at Raven's.
What I wore now didn't compare: a plain brown dress shirt and matching slacks—no tie, no jacket, no coat, no hat. No wonder the ladies weren't paying attention.
I always believed elegance came from the details. I pushed the thought from my mind and made my way downstairs.