Page 42

Flynn

T he morning rush at Rising Dough filled the bakery with fresh bread and coffee scents. After days of supernatural chaos, the normalcy of arranging the display case was a relief.

Emma cursed at the sink’s spray nozzle.

“This bloody thing’s been attacking me all morning,” she grumbled, holding up her soaked apron. “Your turn to deal with it.”

I took over the washing up, but the spray behaved perfectly—almost seemed to curve away from my hands. Emma stopped mid-pastry-fold to stare.

“How are you—? It was literally trying to drown me a minute ago.”

I shrugged. “Must be your technique.”

She muttered something unflattering and turned back to the pastries. I lost myself watching the water flow, oddly mesmerised by its movement until Emma’s voice snapped me back.

“Oi.” She poked me. “You’ve got that faraway look again.” She dabbed flour on my nose. “The cinnamon buns need checking.”

At a corner table, one of Maxwell’s officers sat reading, watching me discreetly. The arrangement had taken some arguing—Seb hadn’t wanted me working at all, but I’d refused to hide in that dusty hotel.

“They wouldn’t attack in broad daylight,” I’d insisted. He’d agreed reluctantly, his clenched jaw speaking volumes.

I felt guilty about the extra security, knowing the team had Damien to hunt for, and Greaves’s murder to investigate. At least Maxwell’s solution had worked out—his officer looked like any other suited professional enjoying coffee .

As sunset approached, Seb arrived in his signature black coat. The officer left without acknowledging him, just smiled at Emma and me before departing.

“Ah, one cinnamon bun left. I’ll take it, please.” Seb’s eyes sparkled.

I wrapped the pastry, though I wasn’t sure why he wanted it. “You don’t have to pay. It’ll only go to waste otherwise.”

“How generous.” His fingers brushed mine as he accepted the bag.

Emma’s broom scratched against the floor as she swept, her movements deliberately slow.

“I can finish locking up,” I told her. “You should head home early.”

She paused mid-sweep, eyes darting between Seb and me. “Are you sure?”

“Course.” I forced a casual tone. “Go on, you’ve been here since five.”

Emma’s frown deepened as she untied her apron. “Text me when you get home, yeah?”

After she left, silence settled over the bakery, thick as dough, as I caught Seb’s eye and held it.

“We should get going,” he said.

Blood rushed in my ears as every muscle in my body coiled tight. “Not yet.”

Seb’s expression shifted, subtle changes flickering across his features like shadows on water. He remained silent, waiting.

“Look.” I gripped the edge of the counter, steadying myself. “I need to say something, and I need you to just… listen.”

The paper bag crinkled as he set the cinnamon bun down.

“Whatever this is between us—” My voice failed me, and I cleared my throat. “I’m developing… feelings for you. And believe me, I’ve tried not to. But they’re there, whether I like it or not. Whether you like it or not.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words.

“It’s all well and good to joke that you’re just making observations when you look at me that way, or when you touch my hair, or send me those messages.

But we both know it’s more than that.” I forced myself to meet his dark eyes.

“The other night proved that. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.

I saw the way you looked at me then. The way you’re looking at me now. ”

It was true. Though his posture remained perfect, the line of his mouth had softened, and those liquid-dark eyes burned with the same heat I remembered—equal parts wanting and warning.

“And before you remind me, I know we can’t… have full-on sex or whatever.” Heat flooded my cheeks, and I tugged at my jumper sleeve, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread. Christ, I sounded so awkward to my own ears. “But that’s okay. I don’t need it. I promise.”

The words caught slightly in my throat, but they were honest enough.

That night—just lying there with him in my arms, breathing in the faint scent of him, feeling his cool, solid weight—it had been more than enough.

Just having someone there , someone who saw me, really saw me, made the lonely ache in my chest finally quiet down.

It was more than I’d dared hope for back in Braymore Bay, crying on the beach and dreaming of a different life.

If that’s all we could have, if that’s all he could give…

I’d take it. I just wanted to coax out more of those rare smiles of his, learn the stories behind each tiny crease around his eyes, maybe even drag him away from his paperwork and his cases long enough to remember what living felt like.

I tried to smile at him, to lighten the mood, but my lips wouldn’t obey.

“But I can’t keep dancing around this. I had enough hurt back in Braymore, and I ran away from that, all the way to London. So I need you to decide what this is.”

My fingers trembled, and I clasped my hands together. “Because if you’re just… passing time, or if I’m just interesting because I’m new and convenient, or if this is some vampire thing I don’t understand—I need to know. Now. Before I fall any deeper.”

The words hung in the dimming bakery, raw and honest between us. Seb’s face remained unreadable, but something stirred in those burnt caramel eyes that I first fell into in this very building, a lifetime ago now.

“I can see how lonely you are,” I said. “Even if you do your best to hide it. And I know you got hurt last time. But twenty years is a long time to keep your heart locked away. And maybe… some chances are worth taking again.”

The pain hit like a bolt of lightning. One moment I stood waiting for Seb’s response, the next my chest exploded in agony. A scream tore from my throat—distant, as if someone else were making the sound. My legs buckled, and the world tilted. The back of my head cracked against the bakery tiles.

White spots danced across my vision. Every breath burned like shards of glass in my lungs. “It hurts! Fuck , it hurts—”

“Flynn!” Seb’s face swam into view above me. His cool hands pressed against my shoulders. “Try to stay still.”

I clutched at my chest, fingers scrabbling against my jumper. The pain radiated outward from my heart in icy waves. My teeth chattered. “It’s never been this bad!”

Seb pushed my hands aside and yanked up my shirt. The sharp intake of his breath sent fresh panic coursing through me.

“What? What is it?” My voice came out thin and reedy. When he didn’t answer, I pushed myself up on trembling arms to look.

Delicate patterns of frost spread across my skin like spider webs, emanating from just above my heart. The marks shimmered faintly in the dim light, beautiful and terrifying.

A moan escaped me as another wave of pain hit. I slumped back against the cold tiles. My hands felt clammy, skin breaking out in a cold sweat. “This is it, then. I’m really dying.”

“No, Flynn.” But the tremor in Seb’s voice betrayed his fear.

My thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. Panic clawed up my throat as another wave of pain ripped through me. “Hospital. Take me to the hospital.” I pushed against the tiles, trying to stand.

Seb’s hands pressed me back down, his grip firm but gentle. “It won’t help. I’m sorry, Flynn.”

“I need to try at least!” The words came out as a desperate sob. “For my mum! And Katie! ”

My chest tightened with more than just pain.

Mum and Katie would never know what happened to me.

The image of Mum staring out the window like she used to after Dad died, waiting for someone who’d never return, made me want to scream.

And Katie… I’d never get to talk to her, tell her what happened with Connor.

I should have tried—even if she didn’t believe me, I’d have done what was right.

The guilt I’d carried since leaving crashed over me like a rogue wave, threatening to pull me under. Now they’d never know the truth. They’d just be left with another empty chair at Christmas, and a lifetime of unanswered questions.

Seb reached out to stroke my hair, but I batted his hand away. The frost inside me pulsed with each thundering heartbeat, spreading further across my chest.

“I’m going back to Ireland!” I declared, voice cracking. I glanced outside at the cold, dark street, illuminated by a single lamppost. “This evening. I need to see my family. I can’t die without saying goodbye!”

“That’s not safe, for you or them!”

An exasperated scream tore from my throat. My head thumped against the tiles, each pulse sending shockwaves of agony through my skull. This was different from the previous attacks—so much worse. Like someone had replaced my blood with buckets of ice water, freezing me from the inside out.

I curled into myself, shivering violently. The cold radiated outwards from my chest, stealing my breath. Through chattering teeth, I managed to gasp, “Please… please…”

But I didn’t even know what I was begging for anymore.

“Let’s get you back to Killigrew Street. Priya will be able to do something for the pain.”

“I can’t—” Another violent shiver racked my body, and I tried again to force my legs into action. “My muscles won’t work. They’re seizing up. The cold. It’s like… ice in my veins.” My teeth chattered so hard I could barely fo rm words. “I can’t stand.”

Seb’s jaw tightened. He rose to his feet, grasping both my hands in his. “Let me help.”

He pulled, and for a moment I started to rise—then his grip faltered. I crashed back to the floor with a yelp as Seb stumbled sideways, catching himself against the counter.

“What’s wrong?” Through the haze of pain, I noticed how he swayed, his usual grace absent.

He pressed a hand to his forehead. “I haven’t… had any blood in far too long. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise how weakened I’d become. Kit’s currently out buying more for me.” His voice came out rough. “Give me just a second.”

“Come back,” I mumbled, fingers catching the fabric of his trousers. I tugged weakly.

Seb resisted for a moment, then his knees buckled. He looked awful—skin ashen, dark circles under his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before.

I pulled again, and he finally gave in, collapsing to his knees beside me. With the last of my strength, I drew him into my arms. He made a soft sound—surprise or protest, I couldn’t tell—but didn’t pull away.

We lay there on the bakery floor, my body racked with painful shivers, his unnaturally still. Moonlight spilled onto the tiles, and I tried to focus on the patterns in the stone, and Seb’s weight anchoring me, to make the pain a fraction more bearable.

“I’ll ring someone to come fetch us,” Seb said, and I just moaned in response.

Through the fog of pain, I watched Seb reach for his phone. His arm stopped mid-motion, muscles tensing.

“What?”

Then it hit me. The familiar ambient sounds of London—traffic, distant sirens, the hum of street lights—had vanished.

“The street has gone quiet. Too quiet.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper .

The silence pressed against my ears like cotton wool. Even the usual creaks and groans of the old building had ceased. The world felt frozen, holding its breath.

CRASH!

The bakery windows exploded inward. A symphony of shattering glass filled the air as shards rained down, glittering like deadly diamonds in the moonlight.

The display case splintered, sending fragments skittering across the floor tiles.

The force of it sent the little tables near the windows toppling, their metal legs scraping against the floor.

I tried to scramble away from the destruction, but my frozen muscles refused to cooperate. All I could do was cling to Seb, fingers digging into his coat. “What’s happen—”

The world plunged into darkness.

Not like someone had flipped a switch—more like the light itself had been devoured, leaving nothing but a void so complete my eyes couldn’t adjust.

“Seb?” My voice came out small, frightened.

A rush of movement. Strong hands seized my ankles and pulled .

I slid across the floor, ripped away from Seb. The tiles scraped against my back as whatever had me dragged me through the darkness. Pain blazed through my frozen muscles.

“Flynn!” Seb’s voice cut through the darkness, desperate and raw. “Let him go—”

More sounds—crashes, thuds, the distinctive crack of breaking wood. Seb shouting words I couldn’t make out, his voice growing more distant.

Something hard struck the back of my head. Stars exploded behind my eyes, and a scream tore itself from my throat—only to be cut off by a cold hand clamping over my mouth. The pressure against my face was crushing, making it impossible to breathe.

The blackness pressed in, absolute and suffocating. My lungs burned for air. Through the crushing dark, Sebastián’s anguished cry of my name pierced the void, then faded into oblivion.