Page 15

Flynn

“ S o, Dolly… how’s your morning going so far?”

The life-sized Victorian doll perched behind the reception desk fixed me with her painted-on smile.

“Oh, that bad, huh? Well, let me tell you, I bet it’s not as bad as mine.

” I slumped against the desk, chin propped in my hands.

“First off, I woke up in this bizarre hotel where I’m practically a fucking prisoner.

I mean, sure, there’s the whole ‘we’re protecting you from demons’ thing, but still. ”

Her porcelain face maintained that unnervingly cheerful expression.

“Then I spent ages wandering these empty corridors looking for any sign of life. You’d think in a place this size there’d be someone about, but no.

Just creepy noises coming from half the rooms.” I drummed my fingers on the worn wooden desk.

“And the cherry on top? I can’t even go down to the basement because I don’t have the code.

So I’m stuck up here on the first floor, talking to—”

I paused, giving her a slight smile.

“Well, at least I’ve got you, Dolly!”

The doll didn’t even blink. Rude.

“Flynn! Get down here!”

Priya’s voice screeched down a corridor, making me jump. I shot Dolly an apologetic look.

“We can see you talking to Dolly on camera. I’m glad the two of you are getting to know each other,” she shouted.

Heat crept up my neck. Brilliant. Not only had they caught me chatting with a bloody doll, but they’d been watching me do it. Still, after wandering these empty corridors like a lost ghost, even the prospect of mockery seemed better than more silence.

The basement door finally opened, and I bounded down the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping over my own feet in my eagerness for actual human contact.

The team lounged across the collection of mismatched sofas, all eyes fixed on me as I entered, which slowed my pace somewhat. The rich scent of coffee filled the air, and everyone except Kit clutched paper cups adorned with an orange tabby cat logo reading “Fat Cat’s.”

“Here.” Priya offered me a steaming cup. “We guessed latte, one sugar.”

I stared at the cup, oddly touched. Maybe using me as demon bait was firmly off the table after all.

Sebastián cleared his throat, and every head swivelled towards him like a well-oiled machine, mobile phones slipping into pockets.

Leather-bound notebook in hand, Sebastián began rattling off updates.

His voice had a smooth, commanding tone that washed over me like warm water, oddly soothing despite the formal setting.

My gaze drifted to his perfectly pressed button-down shirt, the way his skinny black tie lay flat against his chest, how the collar sat just so against his throat.

My attention scattered further as Sebastián mentioned places I’d never heard of, throwing around terms like “Class B entities” and “metaphysical anomalies.” I caught something about increased activity in Hackney, and Kit muttering some sort of moan, but it wasn’t until I heard my own name that my ears pricked up.

“Rory, you’re with Flynn today.”

Before I could even get a proper look at my newly assigned minder’s reaction to that, words tumbled out of my mouth. “Hold up. I need to lay down some ground rules.”

Felix let out a snort of laughter that died the moment Sebastián’s eyes flicked his way.

“First off, am I going to be locked in this creepy hotel all day, every day?” The coffee cup trembled slightly in my hand.

“Because that’s absolutely not happening.

And…” I set my jaw, determined to get this out.

I’d just started building a little life in London for myself, and I’d be damned if I’d let it all burn without a fight.

“I’m supposed to be at work tomorrow. Rising Dough. I have to go in.”

“Out of the question,” Sebastián said, fingers idly trailing down his tie as if straightening an already perfect line.

“No, you don’t understand. I need this job. Emma—” I swallowed hard. “I can’t just disappear on them. I won’t.”

The silence stretched as thin as spider silk. Sebastián’s dark eyes bored into mine, and I forced myself not to look away. This was my life they were mucking about with, demon or no demon.

Finally, Sebastián’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “Someone will accompany you to supervise.” He consulted his notebook one more time, then barked, “Right. Meeting adjourned.”

I took a half-hearted step towards Rory, pausing when Sebastián blocked my path, hand outstretched. “Give me your phone.”

“What? No.” I clutched it to my chest like a shield. “Why can’t I have it? I promise I won’t go posting about demons all over the internet. Who would believe me anyway?”

“Flynn—”

“Please.” My voice cracked. “There are people I need to stay in contact with.” Or, more accurately, people I should be staying in contact with, whom I’m merrily ignoring, but still.

Sebastián’s expression softened, and he held out his hand again. “I just want to put my number in it.”

“Oh.” Heat flooded my cheeks as I fumbled with my passcode. “Right. Sorry.”

Sebastián’s fingers brushed mine as he took the phone, and a shiver trilled up my arm.

He stood so very close, and his scent washed over me—a dark, spicy cologne.

Like the siren song of deep water at midnight, it pulled at something in my chest: beautiful, intoxicating, and carrying that same warning of danger.

I watched as he typed at a snail’s pace, trying to ignore how my heart had picked up speed, and the ridiculous side of my brain started thinking of something witty to say.

But this wasn’t flirting. This was purely professional—him making sure his demon bait didn’t wander off and get eaten.

“There.” He handed the phone back. “Call if anything feels wrong. Anything at all.”

I stared at the new contact: Sebastián Salazar. Had I been expecting anything else?

He checked his watch—a sleek vintage-looking piece with a leather strap—and I tried my very best not to get distracted by his forearms again.

“I’ve got my weekly call now,” Sebastián said, as if I had any idea what he meant. Then, with a final, lingering look my way, he walked towards the stairs, pausing to whisper something in Rory’s ear.

Judging by the way Rory rolled his eyes, it was about me. Brilliant.

“Right, let’s go!”

I scrambled after Rory. He reached up to a high shelf on a bookcase, and my jaw dropped as it swung away from the wall to reveal a safe door like this was some sort of bloody Scooby-Doo episode.

A burst of laughter escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“Tactically unsound, isn’t it?” Kit called across the basement. “Tell Seb that, would ya?”

Down more stairs, the tunnel stretched ahead, illuminated by strips of LED lights that cast everything in a clinical blue glow.

Our footsteps echoed off the damp walls as we wound through what felt like half of London’s underground.

We finally emerged into a small private car park tucked between two buildings.

Rory beeped his keys at an ancient Ford Cortina that looked like it had been salvaged from a scrapyard. The thing was more rust than car, its once white paint now a patchy mess of orange and brown.

“Your chariot awaits.” He yanked open the passenger door with a horrific screech of metal.

I slid in, trying not to think about the stains on the seats.

Rory might have noticed something on my face, because he said, “I’ve been telling Seb I need a company vehicle for ages, but he’s refusing to buy me a nice car until I go a whole month without a speeding ticket.” Rory shot me a scowl. “He’s rich as fuck, so he’s just doing this to be spiteful.”

“He’s rich?” I asked. I’m not sure why I was surprised, with all his fancy clothes. Maybe it was the whole “squatting in an abandoned hotel” thing.

“ Filthy, ” Rory replied. “I’d have him for my sugar daddy in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t cope with the brooding, you know? Can you pass me my water? It’s in the back.”

I twisted to find Rory’s back seat buried under clothes—jeans, T-shirts, and jackets strewn in chaotic piles. I located the bottle, my heart thumping a bit harder as I turned back around, very aware I was alone in a car with someone who could apparently sprout claws and rip me to shreds.

“Nice wardrobe back there.” My voice came out high--pitched.

He shrugged. “Well, never know when I might need spare clothes.”

“Because…” I swallowed, lowering my voice. “Because of the whole wolf thing?”

“No, for my five times a day outfit changes.” Rory rolled his eyes. “Yes, because of the wolf thing.”

“So you can change into a wolf?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

It wasn’t every day you got the opportunity to grill a supernatural entity on their existence.

“Does it hurt? Do you do it all the time? Oh, and what about the whole full moon thing? And the silver bullets? Oh, god, am I being offensive?”

Rory burst out laughing as he pulled out into traffic.

“Mate, you need to chill! Right, so yeah, it hurts like a bitch. Can’t do it as much as I want because London’s literally the worst for finding space.

Full moons are proper mental. And yeah, silver’s not the vibe.

But listen.” He shot me a sideways glance.

“If you’re asking whether we look anything like those janky CGI wolves from Twilight, I’m gonna have to throw you out of this car. ”

My cheeks burned. I’d definitely watched those films more times than I cared to admit, though I’d been more interested in the dudes without shirts on than the wolves they turned into.

I sank back into the worn leather seat, my mind whirling. Werewolves—or whatever they called themselves—were real. Actually real. And I was sitting next to one in a rusty Ford Cortina, driving through London like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Actually, we’re heading to see a whole pack right now. Lucky you!”

“ We are?! ”