Page 16 of Grim’s Delight (The New Protectorate Syndicate #1)

EIGHT

He stood on her little welcome mat, his blond hair disheveled and his eyes just a little too wide.

He was dressed more casually than she’d ever seen him.

Instead of his tight shirts and slacks, he wore joggers and an oversized coat, like he’d thrown on whatever he could grab before running out of his house.

Devon sucked in a sharp breath. His pale eyes skimmed over what he could see of her from between the partially open door and the wall.

“Hey, Dahlia.” He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry for dropping by unannounced.”

Dahlia wasn’t really surprised he showed up. If anything, she’d expected him when it became clear she wouldn’t be returning to work. But something about his body language made her instincts scream an alarm.

When he braced his hands on the door jamb and leaned closer, his scent became overpowering in a way it never had before. It was cloying and burnt, like brown sugar and cigarettes and clothes a day overdue for the wash.

Stomach rolling in a too-familiar way, Dahlia curled her suddenly cold toes against the cheap flooring. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“I heard you’re not coming back to The Lush,” he answered. His gaze flicked over her shoulder. “Can I come in? I was hoping we could talk.”

Her nails bit into the wood of her door. Every instinct warned her not to let him inside, and not just because he was a threat. Her skin crawled at the idea of letting this man into her private space.

Not caring if she came off as rude, she told him, “I really don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I’m not coming back.”

It unnerved her when Devon didn’t pout or throw a fit. Instead, he smiled at her. “Oh, I know. You’re too good for that place. I’ve been telling you for months.”

Wrong-footed, she was too busy trying to figure out a way to end the bizarre visit to stop him from shouldering past her. “Hey! I didn’t say you could come in,” she snapped, watching him stroll into her tiny studio like he owned the place.

He took a long look at her cheap stick-on wallpaper, thrifted drapes, and carefully DIY’d light fixtures.

Her apartment was cozy and beautiful, full of rich reds and maroons and touches of burnished gold.

She’d designed every inch to fit a loose femme fatale’s boudoir aesthetic and she didn’t appreciate the way Devon looked at it like he’d just stepped in something foul.

The look of disgust only lasted a second, however. As soon as it appeared, it was replaced by something else. Something hungry.

Devon took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

Color rose high on his lean cheeks. Flushed and visibly excited, he turned on his heel to give her another one of those big, unsettling smiles.

“I always knew you were special. You know, Duke told me I had to leave employees alone. Pissed me off, but thank fuck I listened to him! He’ll change his tune about how bad things went with the Bowans when I tell him what I’ve got. ”

Dahlia didn’t dare move away from the door. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head toward her kitchenette. The pack of synth the hospital had sent her home with sat on the counter, missing one bottle, beside the vase of withered flowers he’d sent her.

“You enjoying your new diet along with those fangs?”

All the blood drained from her head in a rush. For just a moment she’d forgotten. She hadn’t even thought to try and cover her mouth.

Not that it mattered. What did Devon care if she was a vampire or not? She’d effectively been taken out of the dating pool, and she wouldn’t be welcome back at her position in The Lush.

She hadn’t done anything wrong, either. There was no shame in having some seriously bad luck.

And yet she felt it crawling up the back of her neck like cold, clammy fingers. The way he looked at her was far worse than how he’d done it before. He’d always objectified her, but now he looked at her like she was meat.

But that doesn’t make any sense. If anything, he should be pissed he can’t have me.

Suddenly aware of everything from her thin pajamas to her brand new pair of fangs, Dahlia pressed her back against the door and eyed Devon like the intruder he was.

“What do you want?” she demanded, annoyed that her voice came out a little high.

“I bet you’re starving. I know I am. You smell like the stuff dreams are made of, baby.” Devon shucked his oversized coat and tossed it on her bed, completely carefree. He wore a thin, v-neck t-shirt underneath it — and a gun.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The situation had been serious before, but the shoulder holster and its gaudy, too-big bolt gun made it very serious.

Keeping her eyes on the gun, she muttered, “Devon, I don’t know what’s going on, but I need you to leave.”

Patting the gun like a prized dog, he assured her, “Ah, don’t worry about this. I only brought it in case anyone else shows up. Can’t have anyone horning in on my claim.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he even knew how to use a gun like that — a big dick handgun with a mean kick, as her cousins would say — but she’d seen how quickly Devon could explode in anger, so she held it in.

Instead, she calmly asked, “Your claim on what?”

Devon put his hands on his hips and flashed his fangs in an expression that was part smile and part sneer. “You.”

Dahlia’s mind was working overtime to catch up to what in the world was going on. Everything was a bunch of broken pieces in her head. She’d only just caught up to the fact that he knew she’d been turned when another realization hit her: he hadn’t been surprised.

Cold sweat dewed on her freshly cleaned skin. How?

The only person who knew was Cecilia, and her best friend would quit The Lush before she gave their bosses Dahlia’s personal information.

The only possibility that made any sense to her was that the brothers had somehow put together what had happened that night on the roof, but the timing was deeply suspicious.

The doctor knew, she realised. But why would he tell my boss? And even if he did, why does it matter to them?

None of it made any sense, but most especially the way Devon looked at her as he prowled toward where she stood.

“I’m a vampire now,” she warned, though he obviously already knew.

It didn’t stop him. If anything, it made him more excited as he boxed her in against the door. The muscles of her thighs flexed, preparing to run, but when the butt of that monstrous gun touched her side, she froze.

No matter what he said, the threat was there.

Devon placed his palms flat on the door on either side of her head.

Leaning down to whisper in her ear, he said, “I know, baby. That’s why I’m here.

” The sound of him drawing in another deep breath made her shudder.

“You smell divine. I always heard you taste better than regular blood. I can’t wait to get my first taste. ”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. “You— you can’t do that. My blood’s?—”

“Even more delicious now than it was a couple weeks ago,” he purred. “Or at least, that’s what people say. I’ve never gotten the chance to try a bride before.”

Bride? The word pinged off of some distant, nebulous memory, but she didn’t have time to work through what it might be.

Feeling like an animal in a snare, she glanced from side to side, trying to figure out her best escape route that wouldn’t get her shot.

Devon was clearly into some stuff she’d never heard of.

She’d always been told that vampires couldn’t feed each other without dying, but maybe there was some kink for it she’d never been privy to.

Or maybe Devon had just lost his mind. It seemed equally likely.

Dahlia had never been bitten before. She was one of the very few servers at The Lush who hadn’t tried it at least once.

Many were more than happy to trade a single feeding at the end of their shifts for an extremely hefty tip.

She’d heard it was more pleasurable than it sounded and provided a lovely little buzz.

But she’d never been curious enough to risk it even before Felix warned her that he’d be extremely unhappy if he found out she’d fed someone else. She was even less inclined now that she knew doing so would kill her.

“Devon, you can’t bite me,” she told him, trying to sound reasonable and not as scared as she felt. “That’ll kill me. I thought you liked me. You don’t kill people you like.”

He laughed a loud, braying laugh. “It won’t kill you. It’ll feel really good, I promise. But maybe you’re right. You should bite me first. You’re probably starving. And I’m a gentleman.”

Dahlia balked when he pressed down on the top of her head, trying to guide her mouth to his neck. “Have you lost your mind? It’ll kill you, too!”

She’d always figured Devon was a consummate coward and would probably run at the first sign of any real danger, but he didn’t bat an eye at the thought of her injecting him with her brand new venom.

Even if she hadn’t been warned explicitly against it, her stomach turned at the thought of feeding on him. Nothing about him appealed to her on any level.

“You won’t,” he crooned.

Bracing her forearm against his chest, she tried to wedge a bit of space between them. “How? What’s going on?”

Devon winked. “It’ll just take a couple bites and no one will be able to take you away. The Bowans will have to make a deal with us.”

A little spark of temper went a long way to burning up her fear.

Pushing hard on his chest, she watched him stumble back a step and took the opportunity to slip to the side.

The fire escape couldn’t be trusted and there was no way out besides the door, but she had to put what little distance between them she could.

“What does Mr. Bowan have to do with this?” she demanded, skirting around the kitchenette and toward the bathroom. Worst came to worst, she could lock herself in and yell for Cecilia to call for help.

Devon tracked her progress around the room with a slow spin on his heel. “How about I explain it all to you at my place?” He offered her an indulgent smile. “You come home with me, baby, and we’ll work everything out.”

“No, thanks,” she snapped. “I’m happy here. My boyfriend wouldn’t like it if I went anywhere with you.”

Devon’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t know that.” She held his stare as she inched toward the bathroom. The lock was flimsy and the door wouldn’t do anything to stop a plasma bolt shot, but it was better than nothing.

“You never smell like anyone,” he challenged, shoulders hiking in a defensive, angry posture she’d seen dozens of times. They were headed into dangerous territory, but she couldn’t think of what else might deter him. “There’s no scent here. And even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. You’re mine.”

Some reckless idiot inside of her actually compelled her to scoff aloud. “You don’t know my boyfriend. He’s gonna flip his shit if you touch me, Devon.”

Only one part of that was a lie. Felix had never been her boyfriend, but he would lose his mind if he discovered another vampire had been encroaching on his territory.

It’d happened before. She’d once made the mistake of complaining about a serial grabber at work. The next night his face appeared on the news. He’d been dumped in front of a hospital missing his hands.

A vein began to throb in Devon’s neck. His excited flush had deepened into a darker puce. “Tell me his name, then.”

She’d never said it aloud. She’d never even told Cecilia. Dahlia had kept whatever existed between herself and Felix close to her chest. At first it was because he was dangerous. And then it was because she didn’t want anyone telling her to stop.

Her heel just edged over the tile of the bathroom floor when she said, “Fel?—”

A fist pounding on her door cut her off. Dahlia froze, caught for a split second by the thought that it might be Cecilia.

She wouldn’t knock, she reminded herself as Devon whirled around.

She watched with dawning horror as he clumsily unholstered his heavy gun and reached for the doorknob. Tearing it open, he’d barely raised his gun when a deep voice drawled, “Hello, fucker.”

The flash of a bolt going off reached her before the whine of the discharge did, and a full second before Devon’s body dropped to the ground in a heap, most of his head missing.

Dahlia slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle her scream.

Her body locked as a man in a long black coat stepped over the body and casually tucked his gun away.

He was tall and lean, with wide shoulders and a head of wavy black hair that curled around his ears and neck.

A distinctive white lock of hair was a jaunty little swirl that just brushed his eyebrow.

His nose was straight. His eyes were a cool gray. And when he put his hands on his hips and looked at her, he smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Recognition was a lightning bolt through her entire body.

Even if she hadn’t spent three years as his reluctant penpal, she would’ve recognized him from that awful night in the bar, when they dragged the bloated, poisoned body of his uncle Julius out onto the dance floor and he’d taken a drink with it sitting at his feet.

She’d know her boogeyman anywhere.

“Hi, pet,” he greeted, rocking back on his heels like a little boy too excited to stand still. “D’you miss me?”