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Two figures crawled from the driver’s side window.

Their movements were disturbing—joints bending at impossible angles, heads lolling on broken necks that should have killed them.

The first one’s jaw hung loose, connected by strips of grey flesh, while maggots writhed in the cavities where its eyes should have been.

The second’s ribcage was exposed, yellowed bone gleaming wet in the Mercedes’s harsh lights.

Their smiles stretched impossibly wide, lips peeled back to reveal blackened teeth.

The stench of decay rolled off them in waves—sweet rot and grave soil.

I forced down my revulsion. No matter how many times I’d encountered the risen dead, that first moment of wrongness never quite faded .

They charged at me with that unnatural, jerky gait.

I ducked the first one’s swinging arm, feeling the wind of its passing.

The second grabbed my jacket with fingers like steel cables.

I twisted free, fabric tearing, and drove my elbow into its face.

Bone crunched, but it didn’t slow—these things felt no pain.

My vision blurred from hunger as I fought.

Every movement drained what little strength I had left.

I managed to snap the first one’s neck completely, but it kept coming, head flopping grotesquely.

Who was controlling these puppets? Necromancers were a rare breed, and only the most powerful could animate corpses with such precision.

The second deadwalker slammed me into the van’s side, light exploding behind my eyes.

Its hands found my throat, squeezing. I clawed at rotting flesh, but my weakened muscles betrayed me.

The weight of my ancient dagger at my hip burned, begging to be used, but my arms were pinned.

Darkness flickered at the edges of my vision.

Something sharp—a broken rib from its exposed cage—tore through my side.

White-hot agony ripped through me as the jagged bone carved deep into my flesh.

When was the last time I’d felt this level of pain? Too long ago to remember.

A muffled cry came from inside the van. “Help!”

Flynn’s voice shot through me like lightning.

With the last dregs of my energy, I ripped my right arm free, fingers finding the familiar carved handle of my dagger.

I wrenched the deadwalker’s head back while drawing my blade across its throat—the ancient silver parting flesh and sinew until vertebrae cracked like wet chalk.

It dropped, twitching. I spun to face the other one, letting instinct take over.

Dropping my blade, my hands plunged into its chest cavity, ripping through bone and gristle until I found what remained of its heart.

Putrid blood coated my fingers as I crushed the organ to pulp—viscous and jellied, squishing between my fingers like rotting fruit—and the creature collapsed, finally still.

Cool blood—my own—soaked through my shirt, the wound in my side burning like holy water .

I wiped my gore-covered hands on my coat. Fourth time this month I’d ruined it. The brass buttons were tarnished with blood, the wool matted with fluids.

Flynn.

I stumbled towards the van, my side screaming in protest. The back doors had buckled inward from the impact, metal twisted and warped. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I hauled myself up onto the vehicle’s side, fingers finding purchase in the dented panels.

The interior was pitch black. “Flynn?”

“Here!” His voice was shaky but strong.

I crawled through the wreckage, feeling my way forward. The van’s cargo space was empty except for a huddled shape against the far wall—now the floor. My hands found Flynn’s shoulders, and relief flooded through me so intensely I nearly collapsed.

“Are you hurt?” I ran my fingers over his arms, his face, checking for injuries. “Did they—”

“I’m okay.” Flynn’s breath was warm against my palm. “Just slightly bruised. What happened? Fuck , I thought that was the end.” He shuddered out a sigh.

“I’m sorry.” The words felt hollow, inadequate. My hands trembled against his skin. “Flynn, I’m so sorry. I should have known, should have protected—”

“Don’t.” Flynn’s pulse thrummed against my fingertips, alive, here . “This wasn’t your fault.”

“But I—”

“No.” His grip tightened. “Stop. Not everything bad that happens is because of you, Seb. I’m the one who insisted I go to work, remember?” He tipped his head back, resting it on the metal. “Who even were they? Vampires?”

I shook my head. “We call them deadwalkers. They’re products of necromancy. Thralls under the control of another. They tend to be pretty mindless, but these two managed to drive this van well enough. They were also surprisingly well coordinated.” I had the wound to prove it.

He shuffled about. “These zip ties are cutting off my circulation. Can you get them off?”

My hands found his wrists, bound tight with plastic restraints. Without thinking, I extended my fangs and bent down. The sharp points sliced through easily.

Flynn flexed his freed hands. “That’s… actually quite useful.”

“First time anyone’s called them useful.” I cut through the ties around his ankles. “Usually it’s more along the lines of ‘horrifying.’”

“Well, I’m grateful for them.” His fingers brushed my cheek, coming dangerously close to my fangs.

I froze, caught between wanting to pull away and lean into his touch. No one had touched me like this since James.

“Can I…” His hand hovered, uncertain. “Can I see them properly? Please?”

Slowly, I parted my lips. My fangs extended fully—sharp, deadly things designed for tearing flesh. I waited for the horror to cross his face, for him to recoil like any sane person would.

Instead, his fingertip traced the curve of one fang with careful precision. The touch sent electricity down my spine.

“There we are,” he whispered, wonder in his voice.

My hands trembled. I wanted to tell him this wasn’t me , that I was more than just teeth and hunger, but the gentle acceptance in his eyes stole my words.

His finger followed the line of the other fang. “They’re beautiful.”

I made a choked sound. Beautiful? These weapons that had torn so many throats, spilled so much innocent blood?

“They are,” Flynn insisted. “Like every piece of you.” Then his gaze dropped—he’d caught sight of my shirt, soaked through. I should have buttoned up my coat.

“You’re bleeding. ”

“One of them managed to take a chunk out of me. But it’s nothing.” The wound in my side throbbed, reminding me it was very much something. “Can you stand?”

I pushed myself up, ready to help Flynn to his feet. The world tilted sharply, and my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the van’s metal floor with a dull thud, clutching my side.

“ ?Joder !” The curse echoed in the confined space. Blood seeped between my fingers, chilled and sticky. How dare my body betray me like this? Not here, not now, not when I just got him back, safe again.

Flynn scrambled towards me. “Seb?”

“I’ll heal.” The words caught in my throat. Would I, though? The bone had torn deep—I could feel air assaulting the ragged edges of the wound, the way it gaped wider with each breath. And the hunger… Lord , the hunger. I felt my grip on reality slipping through my fingertips.

“You’re lying.” Flynn’s voice shook.

I didn’t answer. What could I say? The truth was written in every drop of blood pooling beneath me, in the way my limbs felt heavier with each passing second.

“You’re safe now,” I managed to croak. “And even if I go, one of the others will be here soon.”

“ Go? What do you mean, go ? Die ?!”

In the cramped space, Flynn shuffled closer. His hands found my shoulders, and he pulled me onto his lap with surprising gentleness. The movement sent fresh agony through my side, but I bit back another curse. His warmth seeped into me, a stark contrast to my own skin, now even cooler than usual.

I tried to offer Flynn a smile. “Don’t be sad. I’ve had over five hundred years of life.” Most of them spent in shadows, watching the world pass by me. Strange, how a few weeks with you made me feel more alive than I could have imagined. So many sunrises wasted…

“That’s not funny.” His hands trembled against my shoulders.

“Listen to me. Earlier, in the bakery…” I drew in a shaky breath, needing to get the words out. “You asked what I wanted from you. ”

Flynn stilled, his heartbeat quickening. The sound called to me, whispering dark promises.

“The truth is, I want everything.” The confession scraped raw in my throat. “ Everything. And that terrifies me.”

His fingers tightened in my ruined shirt.

“And you’re not convenient .” I reached up, cupping both cheeks with trembling fingers. “God help me, Flynn, you’re the most inconvenient thing that’s happened to me in two decades. And I still can’t stay away.”

The van’s metal walls seemed to close in around us, the darkness pressing closer. Or perhaps that was just my fading consciousness. I fought to keep my eyes open, to memorise every detail of his face above me.

“You deserve someone whole, someone unmarked by centuries of darkness. But I’m selfish enough to want you anyway.”

I could picture him finding someone steady as the shore, someone who’d give him roots instead of a storm-tossed existence.

They’d build a life together, far from the darkness of my corner of the world, and Flynn’s smile would shine as bright as sunlight.

He deserved that peace, that certainty—not the tumultuous depths I offered.

Flynn’s arms encircled me, pulling me closer into his lap, clinging tightly. If I die here, at least it’ll be while being held like something precious. Something worthy.

One of his hands loosened. The zipper of his hoodie tingled as he tugged it down. His head tipped back against the van’s metal wall, exposing the pale column of his throat.

The realisation hit me like the toll of cathedral bells. He was offering himself to me with devastating simplicity, with complete trust.

Yes! Yes! Take what he offers.

“No!” The word tore from my throat. “I’ll drain you dry.” His blood was the sweetest drug, and I’d tasted enough to know one hit would never be enough. I was an addict staring at his poison of choice, knowing it would destroy us both .

“No you won’t.” Flynn’s fingers threaded through my hair, gentle yet firm. “And if you don’t behave, I’ll pin you down and force feed you.”

I shook my head, fighting against the overwhelming urge to sink my fangs into his flesh. “I can’t. You know that.” Why was he doing this to me?

“Shhh.” His hand stroked through my curls, each soft touch weakening my resolve like water wearing away stone. “It’s okay, Sebastián. Let me help you.”

Feed. Feed. Feed.

My fangs fully extended, drawn to his pulse point like a compass finding true north. Retracting them was futile. The steady thrum of his heartbeat called to me, begging me to claim him.

Delicious, delicious Flynn. Lovely Flynn.

My Flynn.

“No,” I tried again, the word a whisper.

“Yes,” he said simply.

My world narrowed to the blood coursing through his veins, to the sweet scent of his skin, to the gentle strength in his touch as Flynn’s hand cupped the back of my head, guiding me to the crook of his neck.

Finally mine.