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My thumb drifted towards my mouth of its own accord. Flynn’s eyes tracked the movement, his pupils blown wide. The scent grew stronger as I brought it closer, making my head swim.

I dragged my tongue across the pad of my thumb.

Fuck.

Flavour exploded across my tongue—rich, complex notes I’d forgotten existed. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading through my limbs like wildfire. This wasn’t just blood. This was ambrosia.

There was something else too—a peculiar undercurrent that made my tongue tingle, like tasting lightning. Something… different . Though the thought dissolved as quickly as it came. After so long surviving on cold, lifeless sustenance, of course fresh blood would feel electric.

My fangs raged at me, demanding I pierce flesh rather than settle for this meagre taste. Every cell in my ancient body screamed at me to take more, to feast properly.

Why did he have to taste this extraordinary?

A hot rush of need surged through my lower half, and to my absolute horror, I felt myself… responding . No. Not here, not now, not while I was covered in Eliza’s blood and Flynn was on the verge of a panic attack.

But my body betrayed me, my length hardening against my will as Flynn lingered on my tongue.

Mortification crashed over me as I saw myself through his eyes—a monster with blood still coating my clothes, getting aroused from a mere taste of his essence. What must he think of me? How could I have let myself lose control like this?

I jerked my hand away from my mouth, shame burning through me. “I… apologise. That was… inappropriate. ”

Flynn stared at me, his expression unreadable. Something flickered in his eyes—not fear, exactly, but something deeper, more complex. For several long moments, he remained utterly still, as if trapped between conflicting impulses.

“Are you okay?” Flynn stepped towards me, deep crevices splitting across his forehead. “Are you… hungry? ”

“Yes,” I quietly admitted. Always. “But please believe I will not hurt you.”

He moved closer still, his movements slow and dreamlike. He reached for my thumb, still wet from my mouth, his hand trembling visibly.

“What are you doing?” Though I’d sooner throw myself into the water than harm him, his proximity was torture.

I watched, transfixed, as Flynn’s fingers traced over his graze with deliberate intent, pressing to draw more blood. My throat constricted at the sight, hunger clawing at my insides with renewed ferocity.

When he rubbed my thumb over his chin, bloodying it as much as possible, then pushed it towards my mouth, I should have resisted.

Should have shoved him away, explained that this was dangerous, reckless.

Instead, I remained frozen as he brought my hand to my parted lips, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of fear and fascination.

The second taste was even more intoxicating than the first. A soft moan escaped me before I could contain it, the flavour overwhelming my senses.

“Flynn, you need to stop.” The words came out rough, strained.

“Why?” he asked, with a clear hint of defiance.

His eyes held mine as he reached for my hand again, guiding it back to his face. Every fibre of my being screamed to let him, to take what he was so willingly offering. It took everything— everything I had to step away from him.

“You can have it,” he whispered, voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “You can have as much as you want.”

My head spun wildly, reality blurring at the edges. This couldn’t be happening. Flynn—lovely, lovely Flynn—offering himself to me like this, after witnessing the violence I was capable of mere minutes ago. It had to be shock, or trauma, or the product of adrenaline.

But the look in his eyes spoke of something else entirely. Something that made my heart attempt to stutter in my chest.

Flynn stepped closer, movements cautious yet determined, his fingers working at the zipper of his jacket.

The fabric parted to reveal the pale expanse of his throat, moonlight casting shadows in the hollow of his collarbone.

My gaze fixed on the spot where his pulse beat strongest, where the blood would flow hot and sweet across my tongue.

I inhaled sharply, catching the heady mix of his cinnamon sugar-sweet scent mingled with traces of fear and… something else. Something that made my hunger twist into an entirely different kind of desire.

“You don’t know how much I want that, Flynn,” I said. “But please, keep back from me. I’m begging you.”

The words felt like they were being torn from my throat.

But I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t break the vow I’d made to myself.

Understanding finally dawned in his eyes, and he took a step back, readjusting his jacket with unsteady hands. Relief and disappointment warred within me as he created distance between us.

“Who was she, exactly?” Flynn asked, jerking his head towards the railing.

I sighed, then tentatively filled him in on the circumstances that had led her to our path tonight—explaining that Marcus Vale had spent the last six months building a cult of desperate fledglings.

He’d been turning vulnerable humans and teaching them to hunt recklessly through Brixton’s nightlife.

His followers had already left multiple dead bodies in their wake.

Victims who survived were often left with fractured memories, their minds ravaged by amateur compulsion.

Throughout my explanation, Flynn listened with tense attention, nodding at intervals, his eyes flickering between me and the spot where Eliza’s body had fallen, clearly struggling to process everything .

By the time I’d finished, Kit and Rory had arrived, grim-faced. Kit took one look at Flynn, then my blood-drenched clothes, and then my face, twisted in self-loathing.

He pulled me into a rare crushing embrace, his familiar woodsmoke scent wrapping around me. Over his shoulder, I caught Flynn watching us intently.

“You okay, boss?”

I managed a nod against Kit’s shoulder, allowing myself a moment of comfort before pulling away. There was work to be done.

“One of Marcus Vale’s vampires attacked us. She had to be dispatched.”

Kit’s eyes flicked behind me. “Where is she now?”

“On one of them.” I jerked my thumb at the boats.

“I’ll help clean the yacht,” Flynn offered, his voice surprisingly strong.

“Absolutely not.” The words came out harsher than intended. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“It was part of my old job, remember?” Flynn’s chin lifted stubbornly, and his hands were clenched at his sides. “And I want to help.”

Rory was already hauling cleaning supplies out of a bag. “Don’t listen to him—course you can help. Otherwise I’ll be stuck doing it all myself. Here, I’ve got all the stuff we need.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but Flynn cut me off. “Please. I need to do something useful.” There was something almost desperate in his tone—he needed to regain some control after having it so violently taken from him.

“Fine. But be careful. Don’t fall in the water. It’s freezing.”

Flynn attempted a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He opened his mouth, perhaps to mock me for my concern, before snapping it shut.

It took a while, but Kit and I managed to get Eliza’s body into the bag while Rory and Flynn tackled the wobbly deck.

We loaded the body into the van, and I insisted Flynn sit up front with me.

The drive to the tunnel access point was silent save for the engine’s rumble and Flynn’s slightly elevated heartbeat, which I seemed permanently attuned to .

I kept sneaking glances at him, searching for signs of shock. He sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the passing lights outside the window. His fingers occasionally drummed against his knee. Once or twice, he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

We paused at a red light, and all of a sudden I couldn’t stand the silence. “Are you alright, Flynn?” I asked, the question feeling wholly inadequate.

Flynn turned to face me, and to my surprise, concern flickered across his features. His eyes searched my face with an intensity that made me want to look away. But I held his gaze, caught in the depths of those sea-blue eyes.

“No.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “But I will be, soon.”

The smile he offered me was small but genuine, a gesture of reassurance I didn’t deserve.

He hesitated for a moment, then reached across the space between us. His warm hand squeezed my arm briefly, the touch sending electricity through my cold flesh. The gesture was quick, almost shy, but it left me reeling.

We’d have to talk properly about everything that happened tonight. About what he’d offered me. Why I had to refuse, as kind as the offer had been.

Though I was under no illusions—I’d surely shattered Flynn’s trust this evening, and that caused a deep, profound ache to bloom in my chest. Would I see a flicker of fear in his eyes tomorrow, and each day after that?

Though perhaps that was for the best. The events of tonight had shown, in no uncertain terms, why emotional entanglements with humans were dangerous.

I was a monster. I was a creature of darkness, and I had no right to drag Flynn into my shadows.