Page 16 of Consume Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve #4)

My chest tightens. I cover it with sarcasm. “Philosophy lessons with dinner? You really know how to woo a girl.”

His smirk is pure trouble. “Am I wooing you?”

“You’re trying,” I shoot back, but we know that’s exactly what he’s doing. And it’s working.

The waiter arrives with our food, then, saving me from whatever smug thing he was about to say.

We eat, and the conversation drifts, easier after that—him asking what it’s like working with Natalia (“like juggling live grenades in a library”), me prying a little about his years traveling (“You make your life sound like one long war”).

By the time dinner is over, I’m laughing more than I thought I would tonight.

Halfway through dessert, I catch him watching me again, not with hunger this time but something softer. It knots something deep inside me .

“Careful,” I say, pointing my fork at him. “You’re going to make me think you’re enjoying yourself.”

He doesn’t even blink. “I am.”

And, I realize, despite the hell of the last eighteen months, so am I.

After dinner, we walk through the Crossroads with me pointing out some of my favorite places. Noctan is a great listener, which is something I didn’t expect but find incredibly hot. Then again, it’s in that quietness that lies a stealth and cunning I should really be more wary of.

“Wait. This is my house…” I trail off.

We’re standing before my childhood home, before I realize it, and I honestly have no idea whether he or I steered us here. Noctan’s eyes are on the house, but there’s a smug curve to his full mouth.

Definitely him then.

I swallow. “How did you?—”

“I told you before. My recon training is very useful.”

I scowl up at him even though my chest squeezes in a way I don’t want to examine. Apparently, I like the stalker vibe in a man. “You could have just asked.”

“I am asking,” he says, and when I glance at him, his gaze is steady and intent, like my answer matters more than he’ll admit. “Can I come in?”

I have the distinct impression we aren’t just talking about the house.

Something in me gives way. “Fine. Come on, sentinel pup.”

He smirks at the nickname, but when he follows me up the walk, I can feel the weight of his attention on every step I take, like he knows what a big deal this moment is for me.

The porch creaks under my weight, same as it always did. I half expect my mother’s voice calling me in for dinner, the smell of fresh bread drifting through the open windows. But the house is silent.

I fish the spare key from the hollow under the third step—a habit so ingrained I don’t even think about it until I feel Noctan’s gaze on me.

“What?” I ask, straightening.

He’s leaning against the porch railing, the casual stance doing nothing to hide the sharp edge in his eyes. “It’s strange, seeing you here.”

“Strange how?”

“Like I’m trespassing.”

“You are trespassing,” I remind him, unlocking the door.

Inside, the air is faintly musty, like it’s been too long since anyone’s lived here.

And I guess it has. Tori technically owns it, but even she hasn’t visited.

I only know because she asked me to look in on the place, to make sure it’s still standing, from time to time.

I think it’s too painful; the memories. I don’t blame her.

It’s why I stayed away too. But now, the familiar sight of the worn sofa, the framed photos on the mantle, and the crocheted throw draped over the armchair hit me right in the chest.

I slip my shoes off by the door and glance back at him. “You coming in, or are you going to lurk ominously on the porch all night?”

He smirks and steps inside, the warmth of his presence immediately filling the space. “You sure about this? ”

“About letting you in?”

“About letting me see this part of you.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s just a house.”

But it’s not, and we both know it.

He walks slowly through the living room, his gaze flicking over the photos, the shelves lined with books, the tiny imperfections in the wood floor. It’s the same look he gave me the first time he saw me—the one that made me feel like he was cataloging every detail to keep forever.

When his hand brushes mine, the dagger’s whispers go silent. The relief is instant, almost dizzying. I let my fingers curl into his without thinking.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Yeah. It’s just… quiet.”

His thumb sweeps over my knuckles, and I’m about to say something else when I hear it.

A faint tap .

We both turn toward the sound. It came from the hallway, near the old curio cabinet where my mother used to keep her favorite teacups.

I try to tell myself it’s nothing—just the house settling—but my pulse is already picking up speed.

“Stay here,” Noctan says, his voice dropping into that low, lethal register that makes my stomach flip for entirely conflicting reasons.

“Not a chance,” I whisper back, and together, we move toward the sound. I let go of his hand, taking a fighting stance.

Another tap. Louder this time. Followed by a faint hiss in the back of my mind.

The dagger .

My breath catches. It shouldn’t be here—I left it at home.

Noctan’s hand tightens around mine, and the whispers cut off again, but the pressure in the air doesn’t ease. Something is here. Something dark and more alive than the dagger usually feels.

My visions prickle at the edges of my mind. I shove them away. Now’s not the time to check out of reality.

As we reach the end of the hallway, I see the curio cabinet door swinging open on its own.

I freeze on the threshold.

It’s here.

The dagger.

Not in its holster, not in my apartment, but balanced upright on the middle shelf, its tip pressed into the wood as if nailed there by invisible hands. The air around it vibrates, thick and metallic, tasting like blood in the back of my throat.

Smoke wafts from the hilt.

Reminding me of earlier when it nose-dived into Natalia’s grimoire.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no?—”

Noctan is already stepping in front of me, his body a solid wall between me and the blade. “You said you left it at home.”

“I did.” My voice comes out high, thin. “It doesn’t matter where I leave it. If it wants to find me, it will.”

His jaw flexes. “Then we find a way to make it?—”

The dagger speaks in my mind, louder than it’s been in days. Last chance to kill him. Fulfill the bargain .

“I told you,” I snap, voice shaking. “I will never kill for you again.”

There’s a pause—a moment where I think maybe the silence means I’ve won.

Then the voice returns, darker now, curling into my mind like gnarled fingers. So be it. I’m done asking.

The shelf shudders.

“What are you doing?” I ask aloud.

Why wait for someone else to do your bidding, the voice hisses, when you can do it yourself?

A low vibration rolls through the room, rattling every picture frame, every fragile dish. Noctan steps forward to shield me, but my eyes stay locked on the weapon.

It rises. Slowly, impossibly, it lifts from the shelf, point first, turning in the air. Shadows peel off its surface, spilling like ink across the walls, crawling over the floor. The shape swells, twists—until it’s no longer a dagger at all.

The shadows knit themselves into the shape of a man. A tall , broad-shouldered man with skin the color of old ash and eyes like molten lava. The edges of him blur, more smoke than flesh, but the grin stretching across his face is far too real.

Emanating from him is the same cold hunger I’ve felt in my head since the day I took up the blades—now standing in front of me, corporeal and breathing.

Noctan’s body goes taut, and his scent changes to that of a wolf.

I tense, feeling caught between two threats.

The dagger—no, the thing that was the dagger—tilts its head, studying me. “We had an agreement, Kendall. ”

“How is this possible?” I breathe.

“I’ve collected more than enough power to cleave to a body, should I choose. All it took was the right spell.”

“The grimoire,” I choke out.

He smiles, blood dripping from his teeth. “I gave you ample opportunity before taking such extreme measures. Our bargain was binding, even for me, but if you won’t honor it…” His smile widens, sharp and terrible. “…I’ll just take what I want from you both.”