As the clock struck midnight, Damien and Mimic set out for the brothel. Damien sat in a state-of-the-art wheelchair, with a sleek black frame and touch-sensitive controls. Despite the chair's elegance, Mimic couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for her master's weakened state.
They approached the brothel, its facade understated yet unmistakably exclusive. A soft red glow emanated from behind frosted windows, hinting at the sensual delights within. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of expensive perfume.
As they reached the entrance, a hulking bouncer stepped forward. He was a mountain of a man, easily 6'8" tall, with muscles straining against his tailored black suit. His shaved head gleamed under the subtle lighting, and a small earpiece betrayed the establishment's high-tech security measures.
The bouncer's eyes roved over Mimic appreciatively before settling on Damien with a mix of pity and amusement. "Welcome to The Red District," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Something for the lady tonight? And perhaps a gentle companion for the gentleman?" He winked, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. "We have some very understanding ladies who can accommodate your... condition."
Mimic felt a surge of rage at the bouncer's insinuation, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She glanced at Damien, seeing the barely contained fury in his eyes. Despite his weakened state, the air around him seemed to crackle with suppressed power.
"That won't be necessary," Damien said, his voice icy calm. "We're here on other business."
The bouncer's grin faltered slightly, but he held his ground. "I'm afraid I can't let you in without selecting a companion. House rules."
Damien's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I assure you, your 'house rules' do not apply to us. Now, step aside."
Mimic moved forward, ready to forcefully clear their path if necessary. The bouncer's hand moved to his earpiece, clearly about to call for backup.
"Hey, hey, hey! Stop right there!" The bouncer's voice rose, almost drawing attention from inside the brothel.
Suddenly, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. Drake, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that accentuated his athletic build, took in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His eyes widened as he recognized the visitors.
"Well, well," Drake drawled, his gaze settling on Mimic. "Look what the cat dragged in. Still playing lapdog, I see?"
Mimic's eyes flashed dangerously. "Drake. I'd say it's good to see you, but we both know that would be a lie."
Drake smirked, though there was no warmth in his eyes. "Aw, you haven't changed a bit, have you? Still as charming as ever."
"And you're still as insufferable," Mimic shot back. "I see Lady Elena's keeping you on a tight leash these days. How does it feel to be the pet instead of the master?"
Drake's jaw clenched, a flicker of genuine anger crossing his face. "Watch your tongue, shapeshifter. You're on our turf now."
The tension between them was palpable, years of resentment bubbling to the surface. They might have come to blows if not for Damien's intervention.
"How does he look?" Elena asked, her back still turned to Drake. "Apart from the wheelchair, I mean."
Drake hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "He seems... diminished, my lady. But his presence is still formidable."
Elena nodded, as if confirming something to herself. She turned back to face Drake, and he was struck by the intensity in her eyes. There was something there - Anticipation? Regret? He couldn't quite place it.
"Very well," Elena said, her voice steady despite the turmoil Drake could sense beneath the surface. "I suppose it's time to face the past. Bring him to my private lounge. And Drake?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"Make sure we're not disturbed. No matter what you hear."
Drake nodded, a chill running down his spine at her words. As he turned to leave, Elena's voice stopped him once more.
"Oh, and Drake? Be careful. Damien may be weakened, but he's still dangerous. And that... knight of his is not to be underestimated."
With a final nod, Drake left the office, his mind racing. The arrival of Damien Durello had shifted the very air in the brothel, and Drake knew that whatever happened next would send ripples through their carefully constructed world.
He found Damien and Mimic where he'd left them, an island of tension amidst the sensual atmosphere of the brothel. The bouncer looked relieved to see him return.
"Lady Elena will see you now," Drake announced, his voice carefully neutral. "If you'll follow me."
As he led them through the main room, Drake was acutely aware of the stares they attracted. Damien, even weakened and in a wheelchair, commanded attention. And Mimic, ever watchful, seemed to radiate a dangerous energy that set the other patrons on edge.
They reached a discreet door at the back of the main room. Drake paused, his hand on the handle. He looked at Damien, then at Mimic, his expression unreadable.
"She's waiting for you. Mimic, you can't go in, you'll have to wait outside for your lord." he said simply, and opened the door.
The private lounge beyond was a study in understated luxury. Soft lighting, plush furnishings, and the faint scent of jasmine created an intimate atmosphere. And there, standing by a window that overlooked the glittering city, was Elena.
She turned as Damien entered, her eyes immediately locking onto him. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a smile that could cut glass, Elena spoke.
"Lord Damien," she purred, her voice a mixture of silk and steel. "It's been far too long."