Page 19

“And?” It had made the most sense to me, after witnessing how little regard he spared for his own safety, to place him at the hotel.

“You’re showing concern for the lad, that’s all. Checked your mobile twenty times during transport, and you typically despise the device.”

He wasn’t wrong. My mobile phone confounded me with all of its silly features.

“And last night, in the kitchen—”

“It’s my job to protect him. To save him.” I fought to keep my voice level. “And yours, for that matter. ”

“You’re normally unfond of random humans, but you’re different around him. And the way he regards you…” Kit’s lips twitched. “Have you noticed?”

“What do you mean?” I asked cooly.

“Most civilians fear you initially. Or at minimum show proper caution. He… well, he doesn’t. Even after the firearms discharge and that failed extraction outside his residence.”

“What’s your point?”

“Just watching your six, that’s all.” Kit’s expression shifted into something I couldn’t quite read. Something knowing, tinged with concern. “We might not be able to save him, you know.”

The thought speared ice through my own chest.

“That’s hardly a helpful attitude,” I snapped, before storming ahead. Which wasn’t childish at all.

Kit jogged to catch up. “Aye, understood,” he conceded. “I apologise for raising the matter. Don’t mistake me—he seems a decent lad. Sweet, even.”

He was sweet. Cinnamon-sugar sweet. As well as disarmingly earnest and rather attractive.

I banished the thought immediately. Flynn was under my protection, and I was more than capable of maintaining professionalism.

Even if he was the most exquisite temptation.

Even if every fibre of my being ached to taste him.

The scratch of my fountain pen against paper was the only sound in my blissfully quiet office. Well, that and the soft hum of the laptop that Felix had foisted on me—the laptop that now displayed nothing but a frozen screen mid-sentence.

Annoyance swirled inside me .

“Felix,” I barked into the intercom system, holding the button for his tiny room. “Your stupid machine has frozen again.”

It crackled back, and for a moment all I heard was laughter.

“What?”

I could barely hear Felix’s voice over the raucousness.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, it’s just Rory and Flynn.”

“What?”

More distorted laughter.

“Huh? What was that?”

My annoyance curdled into anger.

“Felix, have you considered telling them to be quiet so that you can listen to the instructions of your superior?” Before he could attempt to reply, I said, “I give up. I’m just going to bring it down to you.”

I disconnected the machine, gathered my possessions, and stomped down to the basement.

By the time I’d gotten down there, Felix must have tipped Rory off to my mood, because he was sitting on the sofa, blond hair chaotically disheveled, typing away on his own machine, face perfectly straight.

Flynn sat opposite him, eyes darting between Rory and me, biting down on his bottom lip.

Rory didn’t glance up, not even when I moved to stand right in front of him.

I glared at Rory, who continued typing with exaggerated focus, his fingers tap-tap-tapping away at his keyboard. The sound instantly grated against my nerves.

I coughed.

Tap-tap-tap.

I coughed again.

Tap-tap-tap.

Flynn shifted in his seat, his gaze bouncing between us in time with his hands twisting in his lap.

“Rory. ”

Tap-tap-tap.

That was it. I tolerated a lot from my Killigrew Street team, but outright insubordination was too much.

“Rory, go and wait in my office. Now!”

“Wait!” Flynn burst out. “It’s not his fault!”

I turned to him, brows drawing together. “What?”

“The dead body thing.” Flynn’s voice wavered. “He didn’t want me to see it.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“It’s true!” Flynn leaned forward. “I insisted that I go in. I felt like… like I deserved to know what might happen to me.” He touched his chest, and I couldn’t help but soften slightly.

“Even if that’s true,” I said. “Rory shouldn’t have allowed it.”

Our younger wolf finally turned his head towards me. “You’re right. I was out of line. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

I paused, awaiting some sort of punch line.

“I promise. And Flynn’s totally lying to cover my ass.”

Flynn groaned softly, hiding his face with his hand.

“I’m aware,” I snapped. “I’m not a complete fool.”

Behind me, Felix coughed, holding out his hands for the laptop stowed under my arm. I wordlessly passed it to him.

“You’ve tried turning it on and off again, yeah?”

Oops.

I held out my hand to take it back.

A snort of laughter from the sofa—I pivoted to find Flynn with his hand over his mouth. “I can probably help him, Felix, if you have work to do.”

Felix appeared relieved and scurried away, and Flynn shuffled across the sofa, patting the space beside him.

My throat tightened—I hadn’t drunk yet today, and the proximity would be…

challenging. But his expectant look made refusing impossible, so I lowered myself onto the cushion, maintaining a careful di stance.

I passed him the laptop, and Flynn reached for it, his fingers—soft, impossibly soft—grazing mine in a way that I could have sworn seemed deliberate. He kept his hand still for just a fraction of a second, and the warm touch sent an electric current through my cold skin.

Then it was over, and he swiftly opened the laptop, staring intently at the screen. I tried to watch what he was doing, but the warmth radiating from his body was incredibly distracting. As was his scent. And his soft fingers dancing across the keyboard.

I clasped my hands together, focusing on anything else—the tap of keys, the whir of computer fans, Rory’s continued presence on the other sofa.

A few clicks later, and the screen flickered back to life.

“There we go.” Flynn’s smile lit up his whole face. “Just needed a restart.”

“But why can’t they make them so they don’t freeze? We’ve sent men to the moon, for Christ’s sake!”

His laugh burst forth—rich and genuine, starting deep in his chest before bubbling up into something lighter, more musical. It transformed his features, softening the subtle lines adorning his forehead. His knee shifted, pressing against mine, and the contact sent tingles shooting through my leg.

“You remind me of my grandfather.”

The insult shouldn’t have sounded flirtatious, but paired with the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the slight bite of his lower lip, and that deliberate press of his knee against mine…

“Ha!” Rory’s voice made me flinch. “Flynn, make sure you don’t use text speak if you ever message Seb. He refuses to learn even the most basic of acronyms.”

“I do not refuse to learn ,” I seethed. “I simply refuse to give in to the ridiculous notion that we can’t type in full sentences!”

Flynn’s leg still remained glued to mine, his whole body shaking with suppressed laughter. The warmth of his thigh burned through the fabric of my trousers, each tiny movement raising every hair on my body. His scent—sweet, alive, intoxicating—filled my lungs with every breath.

I couldn’t focus. My thoughts scattered like leaves in a strong wind, replaced by base instincts I fought to suppress. The hunger clawed at my insides as my gums tingled.

“I can make you a little chart, like I made my grandpa,” Flynn said, shoulder bumping mine as he closed the laptop.

The casual touch threatened my control. I gripped the edge of the sofa, wood creaking beneath my fingers.

“As delightful as that sounds,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady.

“I’ve witnessed the evolution of countless languages, so deciphering whether LOL means laugh out loud or lots of love is, quite frankly, beneath my level of intelligence. ”

Flynn laughed then—louder this time, a booming sound that lit up his whole face, his head tipping back in ecstatic joy.

The sight struck something in me. My eyes fixed on the vulnerable curve of his throat, that delicate patch of skin where his pulse fluttered like a trapped bird.

The urge to taste him there, to feel his laughter vibrate against my lips, crashed through me with devastating force.

To press my mouth to that spot and drink in the sound, the life, the warmth of him…

I forced my gaze away, my fangs threatening to extend. “How’s your chest?” I asked, mostly to remind myself of why he was here, in my hotel.

Flynn’s hand went straight to his heart, fingers playing with the material of his oversized green jumper. “It’s… alright now. There was another episode, though, back in the morgue.”

“Was it the same severity?” I shifted to face him properly, ignoring how the movement brought us closer together. “The same length?”

Flynn’s fingers twisted further in his jumper. “I… I don’t know. Maybe? It’s hard to think about all that when it’s happening.”

“You need to start logging these episodes.” I patted my coat for a notepad, but found none. “Time, duration, severity. Text it to me every time, and I’ll write it all down. Every detail matters.”

“Right.” Flynn’s voice trembled. “Because if they get worse, that means… ”

“Don’t think about that.” The words came out sharp.

His blue eyes met mine, wide and vulnerable. “But there’s no point—”

“We’re not letting it get that far.” I fisted my hands into balls, lest they reach out to comfort him. “I need you to record everything. Even the smallest twinge. Can you do that for me?”

Flynn nodded, but his face had fallen further into a frown.

Thump thump thump

My eyes fell straight to Flynn’s chest. His heart rate had quickened, along with his breathing, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand pressed harder against his sternum.

“Is it happening now?”

Another nod, more frantic this time.

“Look at me.” I caught his chin, tilting his face up. “Focus on my voice. You’re safe here.”

His pulse raced beneath my fingers, but his eyes locked onto mine with startling intensity. The fear in them slowly gave way to something else—trust, perhaps. Or hope. The change was subtle but profound, like watching dawn break over dark waters.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” The words were barely a whisper.

“No.” I kept my voice firm, certain. “I won’t let that happen.”

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His breathing steadied, syncing with my performative exhalations. That look remained in his Delft-blue eyes—complete faith that I could, would , save him.

“Okay,” he whispered.

It hit me like a freight train. The weight of his trust. The responsibility of it. The way he looked at me like I was his salvation.

Saving lives was my job, the very purpose of Killigrew Street—my penance for all the lives I’d taken. So why did this feel different?

Something about his trust cut deeper than duty, past my carefully constructed walls.

I’d saved countless lives, yet none of them had ever looked at me quite like this .

This beautiful, fragile human who was looking at me like I could protect him from each and every darkness this cruel world might throw at him.

It made me want to be worthy of that look, more than anything.