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“Then perhaps we start there. Find their vantage points.” Isabel’s fingers drummed against the diary in her lap. “It might help us make this deception more convincing.”

“Speaking of which,” Tom leaned forward. “If we’re going to fake a falling out, it needs to look real. These wankers notice everything.”

“Then we give them something to notice,” I grinned. “I can punch you. You’d look great with a broken nose.”

Tom gave me the finger in response.

As we fleshed out the details, I could feel Nicholas watching me. He said little, but I worried what he really thought about this plan – and about me, for suggesting it.

Nicholas lingered in the doorway after the others left, the streetlight casting shadows across his cheekbones. Adam tapped his foot impatiently at the bottom of the steps.

“How would ye feel if I came back in a few hours?” Nicholasmurmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my chest. He leaned closer, his lips barely brushing my ear. “I have an idea that could be of use.”

My pulse quickened. “I’ll be awake,” I managed. “I’m sure you can let yourself in.”

His answering smile held a hint of something that both thrilled and unnerved me. “Aye.”

The kiss, when it came, was swift but deliberate – a brush of cool lips against my cheek that left me more breathless than a real kiss would have. Then he was gone, leaving only the ghost of his touch and the lingering scent of pine in his wake.

The house felt cold and empty in the quiet afterwards. I tried to make conversation with Tom as he tapped away at his laptop – hacking into some CCTV footage from the look of it – but he seemed nervous and unwilling to indulge my need todosomething. Isabel and Adam were working to get in touch with any others from the club – which wasn’t a job I wanted any part of. Tom was going to contact Bradley and my parents… and I was left in limbo, with nothing to do but ponder how we could find these fuckers before they figured out our ruse.

After twenty minutes of staring blankly at the closed curtains, I gave up and went upstairs, pulled on my painting jeans, and climbed the ladder to the attic. My mind kept circling back to Nicholas – to the pain in his eyes last night. Everything I’d read today. How it felt to sit beside him, close but never together. In the three days I’d been gone, something fundamental had shifted between us. All pretence of simple attraction had burned away, leavingbehind a raw longing that was undeniable.

As was always the case in the winter months, the topmost part of the house was chilly enough that my breath gathered in clouds, before dissipating like smoke. I pulled out the old electric heater I kept in the corner and plugged it in, checking the temperature wasn’t high enough to dry out my supplies.

The mural was still spread out on the bare floorboards. Unfinished, like everything these days. Art used to be the normal, human thing that I did – something that wasn’t hunting or the coffee shop. Now it was just a reminder of the life I’d pretended to lead.

I knelt down to gather up the paints – there was no point in convincing myself I’d ever finish the damn thing. Throwing them haphazardly into a drawer, I stared around the room, full of impatient energy. There must be something better I could be doing.

I closed my eyes for a moment, casting my senses out on low. Tom was still in the living room two floors below, his heat a pulsing presence in my mind despite the wood and brick and mortar between us.

Without a doubt, he still didn’t trust our new friends – and given what we were planning, it had never been more important that he did. At the very least, he needed to believe they’d had nothing to do with Maggie’s death – something I wasn’t sure he did yet.

At least he’ll be convincing tomorrow.

Still, everything about this situation felt wrong – the planning, the waiting, the forced inaction. I craved the simpleclarity of my old hunts: spot vampire, kill vampire, go home. Not… whatever this was.

Closing my eyes again, I massaged my temples, waiting for the laptop to boot up. The sound of something heavy landing on the roof jerked me from my thoughts, the impact reverberating through the old timbers overhead. I froze, throwing my senses as far as I could manage. Beyond the closed blinds, a shadow moved across the moonlit glass. Something scraped against the tiles overhead, the sound skating down my spine like ice.

In four long strides, I was across the room. I threw open the window, fighting with the stubborn latch as I strained to hear any further movement. The night air bit at my exposed skin, carrying the clean scent of impending snow. There was nothing there.

I pulled the window to. “Tom?” I called down through the trapdoor, proud of how steady my voice sounded. “Tom!”

A moment later, he appeared in the bedroom doorway.

“What’s up?” he asked, and I leaned forward to see him better from my precarious position at the top of the ladder.

“Did you hear something down there?” I asked, my words jumbling together. “There was a noise on the roof outside…” I trailed off.

Seeing the bemused expression on his face shattered the fear of a moment before, even as he shook his head.

“I had my headphones in, sorry. You want me to go out into the garden and check?”

I pursed my lips, thinking. “No, it’s alright. It was probablya bird or something. I must be getting paranoid,” I sighed, falling back onto the sofa again as Tom stood waiting.

“After the last few days… and someone watching our every move… we could both do with being a bit more paranoid.” He frowned.

“I suppose.” I made a conscious effort to slow my breathing. “Someone could have been here before, without us noticing. We might even have been home at the time.”