Page 39

Flynn

I ce crackled beneath my feet as I trudged through the inky blackness, each step more laboured than the last. An impossibly deep chill seeped into my bones, and I shivered violently.

The darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating and oppressive, broken only by eerie flashes of blue light.

I clutched my arms tightly, trying to stave off the bitter cold, fear creeping up my spine as something malevolent stirred in the shadows…

I woke with a start to a pitch-black room, my hand flying to my chest. Another weird dream.

And now, since yesterday’s most recent attack, there was a permanent cold spot across my ribs.

I hadn’t told Seb about the attack. I hadn’t wanted to worry him when we’d been rather… occupied with other activities.

Speaking of Seb…

I reached across the mattress, finding empty space where his solid form should have been. I prepared for the punch to the gut that would follow.

“I’m right here.” Amusement coloured Seb’s voice.

Lamplight flooded the room, and I squinted to find him perched on the arm of the chair that held my pile of clothes, already dressed in a pristine navy waistcoat, curls perfectly styled. How did he look so put together at—I glanced at my phone—6:47 a.m.?

“What are you doing over there?”

“Your pyjama bottoms magically wiggled themselves off in the night.” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze sliding meaningfully to where they lay crumpled on the floor .

Heat assaulted my cheeks as I became acutely aware of my nudity. Thank god for the thick bedding—at least it hid my morning predicament, still present despite the nightmare.

“Come back to bed.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, rough with sleep and something more. I still couldn’t believe he’d actually come to my room, spent the night in my bed. Let me cuddle him like a teddy bear.

Even if I died a virgin—how many people could say they’d had hot-as-fuck phone sex with a devastatingly gorgeous Spanish vampire?

“I need to start work. I was just waiting until you woke up so you couldn’t accuse me of ‘ghosting’ you.”

A small smile played across his lips, and I wanted nothing more than to jump up and kiss him. Like that same wild freedom of jumping off the pier. No hesitation, just the breathless rush of taking the plunge.

Seb shot to his feet. His gaze darted between me and the door as if caught in some invisible tug of war. The air crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on. His fingers twitched at his sides.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Was this it? Would he leave and then we’d pretend none of last night had happened?

But then he moved. One step. Two. Three deliberate strides towards the bed.

I forgot how to breathe.

He leaned down, and his lips pressed against my hair—soft, careful, reverent. The touch lasted barely a heartbeat, yet I felt it down to my bones. His breath stirred my messy bed head, and the familiar scent of him wrapped around me like a blanket.

Without a word, without meeting my eyes, he straightened and crossed to the door. His footsteps were silent on the carpet. The door opened, then clicked shut with finality.

I released the breath I’d been holding with a great whoosh .

“Holy fucking shit.” The words came out as a whisper. I flopped back onto the pillows, pressing my hands to my burning cheeks. “Holy fucking shit. ”

A giddy laugh bubbled up from my chest. Sebastián Salazar—ancient vampire, feared leader of Killigrew Street—had just kissed me.

Okay, on the head. But still.

I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing my phone, desperate to tell someone. I automatically scrolled to Katie’s number—but the sister I hadn’t spoken to didn’t know who Sebastián was. And Emma still thought he was a crazy gun-wielding stalker.

So I opened Seb’s message thread, my eyes widening at the daring photos I’d taken yesterday before I typed:

I just wanted to say thanks for last night. LOL x

The message became marked as read instantly. He must have had our chat open. Doing what? Looking at the photographs again? The thought left me feeling dizzy.

He began to type, and I held very still as those three little dots tormented me.

Sebastián

LOL.

Even if he was laughing at me, I’d take that as a win.

“Am I going crazy, or does this guy look exactly like me?”

The sofa springs creaked as Rory bounced down next to me, phone thrust into my face. I squinted at the selfie of two blokes grinning at the camera. “What?”

“Look at him—he’s literally my clone, right?” Rory’s leg jiggled against mine.

“Which one?”

“Oh, very funny.” Rory rolled his eyes. “Obviously not the ridiculously gorgeous Indian guy who belongs on a runway.”

I studied the pale guy more closely. Blond, but his hair was straighter than Rory’s chaotic mess. “I mean… not really? He’s blond but—”

“What? Are you actually blind? We’re practically identical!”

“Sorry, mate. Also, this guy looks way taller than you.”

Rory snatched his phone back with a huff. “I’m a perfectly normal height, thank you very much. But that’s not the point—the point is that my ex is clearly dating my actual twin.”

“Oh.” I blinked at the photo again. “That’s your ex?”

“Yeah, Dev.” Rory’s mouth twisted. “We were together for eight months. He runs with one of the South London packs.”

“I didn’t know you were gay. Or bi, or…?”

Rory glanced at me. “Gay. And seriously?” He barked out a laugh. “It’s literally our running joke that Seb only hires queer people. Well, except maybe Felix—we’ve got a bet going on that one.”

I blinked. I’d been too fixated on Seb’s sexuality to give the rest of them any thought. “Everyone? Even Priya?”

“Don’t believe me? Next time you’re at the bakery, sneak a peek at her sketchbook. It’s full of your scary friend with the spiky hair—the one who keeps threatening to ban me.”

“Emma?” My stomach clenched. An urge to shield her from all of Killigrew Street’s madness surged through me.

“That’s the one. She’s planning this whole thing with reading her tea leaves next time. Proper smooth, right?”

I shifted on the sofa. “I’m gay too,” I said, testing how it felt to just… say it. Back in Braymore, each confession had been a weight in my chest, knowing how the town’s Catholic population would react. But Rory’s eyes never left his phone.

“Yeah, cool. Now, do you want to see more photos of my ex’s replacement me? I swear he went looking for my upgrade.”

A flash of grey darted across my vision.

Before I could react, that weird ferret from the third floor scaled Rory’s leg and arm in one fluid motion.

It crept along Rory’s shoulders like some grotesque scarf, its matted fur patchy enough to reveal bone beneath.

Despite its supposedly dead state, those eerie yellow eyes tracked my every movement with unnerving intelligence.

“Is that thing actually…”

“Dead?” Rory grinned. “Freddy, are you dead? What do you think, friend?”

I watched as Freddy’s head swivelled one hundred and eighty degrees to look behind him.

I felt oddly compelled to touch its fur, wondering if it would feel as cold as it looked.

Quick as a striking snake, Freddy lunged for my fingers, yellowed teeth snapping viciously where my hand had been a split second before.

“He only likes me.” Rory shrugged apologetically. “And food. He likes food.”

Loud footsteps thundered down the basement stairs as Kit joined us. Perching on the armrest like some sort of brooding gargoyle, he coughed, then asked, “Is Felix hiding in his cupboard again?” while scowling in that general direction.

“If he wants to do extra work, what’s the problem?” Rory said, eyes back on his phone.

Kit turned his scowl on his brother, but before he could respond, Priya bustled in through the bookcase carrying a Fat Cat’s Coffee carrier.

“Morning, boys. Got your usual orders.” She started distributing cups.

Kit’s scowl deepened as he accepted his, eyes sliding to the broken coffee machine. Then he marched off to Felix’s lair. Moments later, he returned, dragging a bleary-eyed Felix by his hoodie.

“I was just coming,” Felix protested weakly.

“Well, now you’re here,” Kit answered, depositing him onto an armchair before hovering just behind it.

I checked my phone. 9:02 a.m. Strange. Usually, Seb would have started the briefing by now, pacing around the room, reeling off instructions while the others took notes. Or pretended to .

“Seb’s never late,” Kit said, frowning at the doorway.

Voices drifted from the basement. The bookcase swung open to reveal Seb with DI Maxwell, the detective from the morgue.

Beside me, Rory tensed. His face hardened as he glared at the man who’d arrested him years ago, coffee cup crumpling in his grip. Mental note: never get on Rory’s bad side.

DI Maxwell’s gaze swept the room, landing on Rory. Their eyes locked—Maxwell’s jaw clenched, muscle twitching beneath his stubbled skin. Was Rory shouting abuse at Maxwell in his head again? Honestly, telepathy seemed like a raw deal.

Seb cleared his throat. “Detective Maxwell will be joining us periodically as we collaborate on several cases.” He paused, his expression tightening. “Or rather, one case, as it turns out.”

Everyone sat up straighter. Priya’s coffee cup froze halfway to her mouth.

Seb pulled down a projection screen and connected his laptop. After several failed attempts to get it working, Felix sighed dramatically, shuffled over, and pressed one button. An image appeared—a disturbingly mangled body I didn’t recognise.

Maxwell fiddled slightly with his glasses, then held up a hand at Seb—though he hadn’t even opened his mouth to talk.

He stepped forward, shoulders squared, every inch the authoritative detective addressing his team.

“The victim is Dr Alistair Greaves, forty-five, pathologist at St. Etheldreda’s Hospital. ”

“ Was a pathologist,” Seb cut in smoothly. “I found the body at approximately ten oh five last night in the underground car park.”