Page 24

Flynn

I closed the door behind me, sagging against it with an exhalation of visceral relief. My Killigrew Street room would finally offer a sanctuary from the absolute madness outside. My hands still trembled as I crossed to the bed, sinking into the plush duvet.

My few possessions lay scattered about—a duffle bag of clothes spilling onto the floor, my laptop perched precariously on the bedside table, and the worn photo of Mum, Katie and me at Giant’s Causeway propped against the lamp. The familiar items did little to ground me to reality.

Blood. There’d been so much blood.

And those fangs. That woman’s—no, that vampire’s —fangs, sharp as razors, an inch away from my neck.

Vampire.

The word ricocheted through my mind like a stone skipping across water.

Seconds before the attack, I’d been drunk on my own daring—fingers trailing down Seb’s tie, mind racing with thoughts of pulling him closer. What else could a nighttime trip to a romantic moonlit marina mean, right?

Then boom. The fragile moment between us had exploded like a storm surge, dragging everything I thought I knew into its depths.

I couldn’t stop seeing it—that moment Seb’s eyes had locked with mine, his lips curling back to reveal fangs just as lethal as his attacker’s.

How had I not known he was a fucking vampire this whole time?

My lungs constricted. The walls of my room pressed in, suddenly claustrophobic. I needed air, needed to run, needed to hear something normal . Needed to hear a voice that didn’t belong to this world of monsters and blood and death.

My phone felt heavy in my hand as I pulled it from my pocket. Before I could overthink it, I pressed Mum’s number and held my breath.

“Flynn?”

Her voice, soft and lilting with that familiar accent of home, hit me like a punch to the gut. One syllable carrying years of shared history, worry, and love.

“Hi,” I choked out.

“What’s wrong?”

A laugh bubbled up, hysteric and raw. “How did you know?”

“What’s happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I am. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Well, it’s about time! Are you… missing us?

” The hope in her voice mixed with confusion, cutting deep.

After all, I’d left nothing but a hastily scrawled note on the table before disappearing.

That night, every second had felt like drowning, and I was too much of a coward to face the horror in my mother’s eyes when I told her I was abandoning her. “Are you coming home?”

“No, Mum. I live here now.”

Her sigh crackled through the phone. “I didn’t know you hated it here quite so much, you know. You hid it so well.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then explain it to me!” Her voice rose sharply, and I tensed, waiting for the explosion.

“Your messages have been so short and vague. You never once mentioned to me that you wanted to leave, never complained about the boats—and now you’re suddenly in London working at some random bakery?

You don’t know how worried we’ve all been, Flynn!

It’s all your sister can focus on, and Tom keeps ringing her every other day. ”

The mention of Tom and Katie made my teeth grind together. This was a mistake, ringing home. I couldn’t deal with talking about it, especially not after everything that had just happened.

“And you told Barbara to rent out your room to someone else? What if you change your mind? You’ll never find another room here. You’ll have to move back in with me!”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” Demon marks and vampire attacks aside, London was slowly becoming home in its own way. Sure, the loneliness gnawed at me most nights, but at least here I could breathe.

She heaved her great heavy sigh—the one that meant she was deeply disappointed in me. “You could have just told us you didn’t want to do it, you know. It didn’t need to become… this massive deal. Not worth you leaving home over! Moving to another country, for Christ’s sake!”

It was no mystery what she was referring to—taking over Seabreeze Sailing. The company my dead grandfather founded when he was just sixteen, with only a single penny in his pocket. If the tale was to be believed.

After he’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer earlier this year, he’d spent months trying to hand everything over to me. It made sense to him—I’d worked there under him since we moved to Braymore.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me.” Raw hurt trembled in her words, another twist of the knife in my gut. “We all thought you loved Seabreeze. That you loved the boats. The water.”

“I did. I do . It wasn’t that, Mum.” A small sigh slipped out.

“It wasn’t just that. I’m sorry. I can’t explain it, but I just…

needed to leave.” To escape. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

The weight of expectation had been like a rope around my neck, drawing tighter with each sympathetic look at my grandfather’s funeral.

“Is Katie helping you with the company at least? I thought Mack might step up to run it?”

A pause. “We’ve decided to sell it.”

“ What? ”

“Flynn, you know it’s impractical for me to take it over.” The metallic click of her wheelchair brake being set made me picture her exactly: probably by the kitchen window, looking out at the dark garden I usually tended for her. “And Katie’s got her own life. Her own career.”

Did you not stop to think that I might have wanted that too?

“But you can’t sell it,” I whispered, remembering Grandad teaching me my first bowline knot. Katie had been rubbish at knots, preferring her flowers to the sea, but she’d still kept me company during quiet mornings.

The sea was in my blood—I loved the gentle rock of waves, the salt spray, those quiet moments before dawn.

But taking over Seabreeze felt like watching my life stretch out on unchanging tracks, leading nowhere new.

I’d be trapped by duty and expectation, watching others live while I stayed frozen in place.

I needed more than that. Needed to know what lay beyond our coast.

Needed a chance to find someone who’d understand all the parts of me I’d kept hidden in Braymore’s shadows.

“It’s already decided, Flynn. Connor is helping us with the sale.”

At the mention of my sister’s husband, my stomach lurched. The room spun, and I gripped the edge of the bed.

What happened with Tom—the mess I’d made of our friendship that night—the taste of whiskey on his lips, the way his hands had pushed me away… That would have healed. Time smooths most wounds.

But Connor.

The memory hit with the force of a breaking wave, pressing against the edges of my mind like a dark tide threatening to drown me.

Me, huddled alone on the beach, shoulders shaking, the kind of crying that leaves you hollow.

Connor’s shadow had stretched across the sand towards me, and I think I’d known somehow, even before he’d reached me, that whatever came next would destroy what little I had left.

And it did. He lit the fuse that would blow my whole life apart, sending me running for the last bus to Dublin.

My throat closed up. The room felt too small, too warm.

“Flynn?” Mum’s voice crackled through the phone. “Are you still there? ”

Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard. “I… I have to go.”

“Will you come back for the festival at least?”

“Maybe,” I said. If I wasn’t dead already by then, I supposed I could attempt to make it.

We said our goodbyes, with me promising to call weekly from now on, then I stared at my phone.

Connor. Just the name made my skin crawl, made me want to scrub myself raw until the memory of his touch disappeared.

Him, finding me that night on the empty beach, salt-streaked tears mixing with the sea spray as I sobbed into my knees.

The rough scratch of his wool jumper as he wrapped his arm around me, Katie’s husband playing the role of concerned brother-in-law.

His calloused thumb catching my tears, a gesture that should have been comforting but felt wrong, so wrong.

I’d frozen, stone still, like a rabbit caught in a snare, unable to even breathe.

And that’s when he’d kissed me. The taste of beer on his breath.

The scratch of his stubble. The nauseating realisation that this was my sister’s husband, that he’d destroyed what little stability I had left in one selfish moment.

The urge to scream built within me.

Sleep. Sleep would help. Or at least, lying in the dark would give me space to process everything without anyone watching me fall apart. I yanked off my clothes, letting them fall where they landed, and pulled on my soft chequered pyjamas.

My phone lit up on the bedside table.

Sebastián

Come to the kitchen.

Please.

If you want to talk.

I’m here alone.

My thumb hovered over the screen. I touched my graze absently, remembering the gentle press of his thumb, the hunger in his eyes as he’d lifted it towards his mouth. The intimate tension of that moment made my cheeks flame even now. Facing him after that felt impossibly awkward.

Another message appeared.

But I could call someone else here as well, if you’d feel safer.

Something in my chest tightened at those words. I didn’t want him down there thinking I was up here terrified of him.

Because I wasn’t, truly.

I’m coming.

My feet dragged against the floorboards, each step feeling heavier than the last. Then I hesitated at the doorway, my hand gripping the frame.

Through the gap, I spotted Seb standing by the counter, arms folded across his chest. He was wearing fresh clothes—another tight shirt, rolled up to reveal those magnetising forearms of his, though no tie for once.

He’d showered, and his dark curls were damp, clinging to his face in a way that made him look younger, softer somehow.

When I finally pushed through the door, Seb’s eyes widened before he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you to be in those pyjamas again.”