Page 14

My maker is old—not that you could ever tell by looking at her. One night, after too much wine last year, she admitted she was one hundred and eighty two.

Only beings are able to be turned. Humans and witches never survive the transformation.

Generally speaking, witches—who really are just souped-up humans—have the shortest life span out of all beings.

Magical beings tend to live longer, depending on their type.

Vampires live the longest out of them all.

The oldest recorded vamp was three hundred and sixty seven.

Though they were turned at a time when records were sketchy at best.

Suffice to say, we live a long ass time.

Scientists, doctors, philosophers and other big brained types are always studying to figure out the magic behind how we work and why we lose all our magic and powers or whatever when we change, but they haven’t figured it out yet. Not that I really care. It’s one of those ‘it is what it is’ things.

That’s the other thing about vampires, other beings and humans think we’re stone cold, heartless beasts because most of us ‘move on’ from our old lives so easily.

I don’t know, maybe it’s true. Sure, sometimes I miss my old badger other half, but mostly it just feels like something that happened in another life, one step removed from me.

But not every new vamp feels that way. There are specialised support groups for vamps that struggle with the transition. Some can’t deal with it, especially if they turned under less than healthy circumstances.

I wonder how Finn is coping with the loss of the being he was before. Does he miss it? Does he even know about those groups? Selfishly, I haven’t shared the idea with him. There is not an insignificant part of my ego that enjoys being his safe space in the vampire world .

Maddy was a floriatae before she turned—a being that usually resides in the forests of sacred sites.

Their magic is inherently tied to nature.

She looks nothing like a forest being anymore, with a fondness for black leather, spiked heels and her waist length brown hair scraped back into a high ponytail, she looks terrifying.

It’s an act, though. She’s a sweetie.

“Your friend’s back,” She announces, looking over my shoulder at the checklist in my hand. “Forget the beer, stock the wine. Tomorrow is the Women in Business Coalition meeting. They’ll come by after for drinks. They always do.”

“Sure thing, boss.” I quickly reshuffle my trolley and reload it with the wine. Maddy waits patiently for me to comment on the first thing she said. But I won’t, even though I’m itching to find out more.

She knows it, too, her eyes dancing as she follows me out the storeroom back to the bar. Maddy hasn’t actually been around when Finn’s been in over the past few weeks, though obviously everyone has filled her in. Usually, she’s tucked away in her office, but tonight she’s working the bar with me.

I’m not sure if this is brilliant or terrible.

Lifo is on tonight. Usually, without Belinda here to keep him in line he’d be a right dillhole, but he has to pull his head in with Maddy around.

Sure enough, I can see Finn at the bar. He’s not alone tonight, though, someone is sitting next to him. A tall guy with a long black ponytail and black jacket that hangs over the back of his stool.

Are they here together-together? I wonder, my stomach cramping uncomfortably.

My hands squeeze the handle of the trolley and I almost ram into some chairs as I steer it to the bar.

I can hear Maddy’s chuckle behind me, but I don’t turn back to face her.

I’m too focused on the way they are leaning in to talk to one another .

Is it a date? Did he bring a date here? Finn throws his head back with a laugh and I catch the profile of the guy he’s with.

I’ve seen them together before. He’s the one that shot daggers at me the first night.

Those eyes are now entirely focused on Finn.

It definitely looks like a date, with the guy's hand resting casually on Finn’s thigh. Huh.

I push back against the feeling in my chest, and tug game-face back on.

Or at least try to. If Finn’s here on a date, good for him, I guess.

He’s a hottie, why wouldn’t he be dating?

Makes sense that he’d be going on dates.

It does seem a bit strange that he’d bring them here.

But that just means that he’s comfortable, doesn’t it?

And why wouldn’t he have told me about them?

It’s not like we’ve told each other everything about our lives or anything.

We’re just getting to know each other, but dates would be a natural conversation topic.

Especially with the absolutely insane dating stories he shares from Crumbles .

It’s the perfect segue, and he missed it.

Fuck. I feel sick. I lock my jaw to keep my mouth shut and focus on what I’m actually here to do. Work.

But as I pull the trolley around behind the bar and start unloading it, a little way down from where they are sitting, I hear them talking.

“I thought you said you were friends? Why didn’t he say hello?”

There is an indignant squawking sort of noise, which I can guarantee is definitely from Finn, followed by a shushing sound. “For the love of the Gods, Willan, shut it. I never said we were friends for fuck’s sake.”

The response is just so Finn , it brings my smile back to my face. Smothering a chuckle, I keep loading bottles into the fridge, catching Lifo’s eye where he’s watching the pair with huffy disgust. He rolls his eyes at me, wrinkling his nose like there is a turd on his lip .

Finn’s… whoever, snorts, not keeping his voice down in the slightest. “I’m pretty sure you said you were friends, Finn. And he definitely blanked you just now.”

There is a muffled, repeated slapping noise–I think Finn is hitting the other guy's arm? And then, “Friendly. I said friendly. Why’d you wanna come if you’re gonna be a dick?”

It’s an effort to hold in my laughter at Finn’s exasperation.

He has this utterly irresistible combination of awkward shyness and brash confidence.

Like the timidness has its limits and when he hits it, he’s full of ballsy bravado.

It’s confusing and shocking whenever he crosses the line, for him and whoever he’s talking to.

And I get a giddy little thrill when I get to hear it.

“Look, he’s obviously listening to us. He’s laughing. I can see his shoulders shaking,” Not-Finn says. What did Finn call him? William?

“Willan!” Finn’s embarrassed gasp sends me over the edge. Dusting my hands on my pants, I abandon my job and stand, turning to them with a grin.

Finn gasps again, flashing Willan a quick murderous look, before turning to face me. He leans into the bar as I approach, biting his lip to keep his smile at bay.

“Gods, this is pathetic,” I hear Willan mutter under his breath, his eyes ping ponging between me and Finn. Mimicking Finn’s position, we both ignore Willan. With my elbows on the bar, I get to see those freckles dusting his nose again.

“Talking about me, were you?” I tease, picking the cherry out of his drink and popping it into my mouth, sucking the last of the blood and juice from the candied fruit.

It’s a bold move, and probably inappropriate considering my boss is right there and I’m still not a hundred percent sure he’s not on a date, but it pays off when Finn’s eyes flare, locking in on my lips wrapped around the cherry stem .

“Well, you were being rude.” His voice has dropped an octave or two.

Pulling the cherry from my mouth with an exaggerated pop, I nod towards Willan who is watching us with an arched brow. “Thought you were on a date. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

At that the pair look at each other, their faces mirroring their shared disgust.

“A date? With him?” Finn throws a thumb in Willan’s direction who snorts derisively.

“You took his cherry and you thought he was on a date with me?” Willan asks, cocking his head.

Finn groans loudly at the unintended innuendo. Or, at least I think it was unintended? Willan doesn’t flinch, other than the littlest quirk of his eyebrow. Ah. Definitely intended then. Despite my earlier misgivings, I think I like this guy.

We both ignore Finn, who is as red as the neon signs around the place. That can’t be good for his health.

“It’s a good thing you aren’t on a date then, isn’t it?

” I say, holding his eye contact. It’s not like I’m challenging the guy or anything—that would be wrong.

It’s not like I have any right to go making any claims around here or anything.

But if he takes my statement as a subtle hint to fuck off and stay out of my lane, and away from Finn, well, that’s only a bonus for me isn’t it?

Willan’s eyebrow quirks again. Just the tiniest movement.

I would have missed it if we weren’t staring each other down.

I don’t speak ‘eyebrow’, but I do get the distinct impression that we understand each other.

Or at least, he understands me, and he’s not a threat to whatever this… thing is between Finn and I.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about nearly nonstop since Nikki’s loving quasi-interrogation the other day.

Why I’m so caught up on Finn. Why I haven’t even made out with Nikki during one of our dance breaks since he started regularly coming into the bar.

Why it feels like my blood’s on fire and my stomach is on a rollercoaster whenever he comes by.

Why I spend every day anxious as fuck about if he’s going to pop by the club and I’m going to get to hear him snort while he laughs and tells me all about whatever he’s been reading about.