Page 18 of Grim’s Delight (The New Protectorate Syndicate #1)

NINE

Felix took in the little apartment with a sweeping glance. “This is nice. I like your wallpaper.”

Dahlia didn’t reply. She stood stiffly in the doorway of the bathroom. There was no relief at the sight of him, but he hadn’t really expected any. His girl wasn’t the type to appreciate a man riding to her rescue.

He had little doubt that she could’ve taken care of the blond twerp, but as soon as he got word that Devon had been seen entering her building, he knew it was finally time to give him what he deserved.

It was too bad for him. Dahlia would’ve been more merciful. Felix didn’t do that sort of thing.

It didn’t matter that Devon didn’t know about Felix’s claim. What mattered was that he’d been bothering Dahlia and other women on his staff for a long time, and finally making a move on her had given Felix the perfect excuse to rid the world of his unique brand of garbage.

No one could fault him for it. A claim was a claim, and one placed on a blood bride was a beast all its own. Even if she’d just been his anchor, Felix wouldn’t have been judged for his quick execution, but the fact that she was his blood bride made it more than justified.

It was expected.

Ignoring the body on the floor, he did a small circuit around the apartment, taking in all the little details she’d never shown him through the lens of her phone’s camera.

Of course, he knew her shopping habits. He checked her payment records weekly, just to see what she’d been up to and make sure she didn’t need some help.

He didn’t do it to keep control over her but because he was a pathologically curious sort of person. Knowing things was his favorite hobby, and knowing Dahlia had surpassed anything he’d ever enjoyed before.

Felix loved knowing that she bought the same coffee every week.

He loved that she never splurged on anything new, but was willing to shell out her hard earned money at estate sales or thrift stores.

He loved seeing what textbook she’d been forced to buy that semester and where she ate lunch with Cecilia that day.

Every single one of those purchases told him a story. It told him what she valued, what made her happy, and what she deemed necessary. More importantly, it told him what her weaknesses were. It was vital information for a man like him.

And he could admit that he just liked it. Because he liked her. A lot.

The roof of his mouth pulsed angrily as he circled around her bed. She still hadn’t made a sound, but the feeling of her awareness of him, her nearness, made the craving for her almost unbearable.

Dahlia had always smelled good. He noticed it the night they met, when Harlan Bounds so kindly handled his uncle for him.

She smelled of vanilla and brown sugar and suede and whatever fancy shit she used in her hair. One whiff of her and a flash of that scowl…

He’d been caught, hook, line, and sinker.

It was a beautiful kind of torture to be in her space, especially now. If she smelled delicious before, it was nothing compared to what Alastair’s blood had done to her.

All venom neutral vampires smelled sweeter than the rest of their kind. There was no instinctive disgust when he sucked in her scent. No instinct telling him to avoid drinking at all costs. No competitive urge to show dominance or strength. There was only hunger.

Blood brides were hard-wired to be delicious.

While vampires as a whole were designed to be predators, they were designed to prey on vampires, and that meant everything about them was meant to appeal. To entice.

His mouth watered as he slowly turned to face his girl. The ache in his fangs was persistent and growing, along with other parts of his body, but it couldn’t quite distract him from the dark circles under her eyes or the hollows of her cheeks.

He was so happy to see her that he’d been briefly distracted from his fury. The sight of her standing there, trembling in her skimpy silk pajamas, brought it roaring back.

“You’re in some serious fucking trouble,” he bit out. “When were you going to tell me you were sick?”

The thought of what she must have been through in the last two weeks sent a wave of awful, prickly feeling over his skin.

A vampire lived or died based on how well they cared for their anchors, blood bride or not.

It was a hard-wired survival imperative.

A vampire couldn’t feed on a sickly, neglected mate, after all.

It was his job to keep her safe. It was his job to provide for her. It was his job to see to her needs, whatever they were.

He’d been forced to keep his distance while his war with Yvanna dragged on, but that didn’t mean the instincts were muted. Even knowing he couldn’t keep her, he’d felt them like a knife between his ribs every day as he lay in bed, staring at his ceiling and gnashing his teeth.

To know she’d not only been on that roof the night of the assassination but also silently suffering as Alastair’s blood took hold really, really pissed him off.

And when she still refused to say anything? A fuse lit.

Felix stalked across the room. Her cornflower blue eyes went wide as she watched him approach. Bare feet slapping against the cheap bathroom tile, she scrambled backward until her spine hit the edge of the sink.

He didn’t stop.

Felix crowded her against the sink. She leaned as far back as she could, but it didn’t do much. Cupping her cheeks, he pressed his thumbs into the corners of her mouth.

“Show me,” he growled.

The brat sucked her lips between her teeth instead.

Gods, that stubborn shit made him hard. He loved it when she looked at him like that — scared but scrappy. Determined to be a pain in his ass at every turn. He’d seen it in her that night in The Lush. Just a spark. Just one look.

That was all it took for him to know she was perfect.

But this was serious business. They only had a handful of minutes before Bowan men came down on their heads like a hurricane, and he wasn’t eager to start another war just as he finished one.

Well, he was, but not with Dahlia around. She needed to be safely tucked away in the Amauri house before he started shooting.

“Dahlia, I’m already mad at you. You really want to make things worse? Open.”

He half expected her to keep fighting him, but she didn’t. She let out a shaky sigh and closed her eyes. Reluctantly pulling her lips out from between her teeth, she flashed just a hint of fang before attempting to hide them away again.

Felix’s pulse jumped as he pressed his thumbs into her upper lip, forcing her to reveal the full length of her dainty little fangs. They were pearly white and smaller than he was used to, but fit her perfectly.

A rush of blood made him light-headed as he stared at them. He hadn’t had time to secondguess the news that his girl had been turned. They’d taken an m-gate — a magical tear in space-time — to get to her before anyone else could. There hadn’t been a moment to really think about any of it.

Of course he smelled the change in her scent and he saw the synth on her counter, but until that moment, it hadn’t really sunk in that it was real.

Dahlia was a vampire.

Dahlia was his.

An elation unlike anything he’d ever felt popped in his chest like Charter Day fireworks. He’d been so focused on making sure she was okay and that he got to her first that he hadn’t allowed himself to truly consider the fact that he’d been given everything he’d ever wanted.

The war was over. The family belonged to him. Dahlia McKnight would be his until the day they died.

And after, too, if he had anything to say about it.

Easing her full lip down over those beautiful new fangs, he breathed, “This is the best night of my fucking life.”

Dahlia’s eyes popped open. Rearing her head back, she looked at him like he’d pissed in her synth.

“What are you talking about?” Before he could explain, she started slapping at his chest and arms. “Why are you here? How did you even— What is going on? How does everyone know that I’m— I’m— And you killed Devon! In my apartment! Felix, what the fuck?—”

His girl wasn’t a crier. She was a stiff upper lip, lick her wounds in private sort of woman. So it really alarmed him when she stopped slapping him and started crying the big gulping and shaking kind of tears.

“Wh— what is going on?” she repeated, batting at him weakly. “Go away, go away, go away!”

Very aware of his men standing guard nearby, Felix reached back to close the bathroom door. No one needed to see Dahlia like this. She’d be mortified if she knew they were there, and selfishly, he wanted to keep every bit of her vulnerability to himself.

Hoisting her up onto the edge of the sink, Felix stepped between her legs and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

He rested his chin on top of her head and let out a pleased sigh when her breath puffed over his exposed throat.

It wasn’t the time to be turned on, but he couldn’t exactly blame his cock for being excited.

It’d waited three long years, after all.

She was nearly enveloped by his coat, which was a necessity in San Francisco’s bullshit excuse for a summer. She didn’t exactly relax, but she didn’t push him away, either.

“Shh,” he soothed, petting her silky blonde hair covetously. She was so damn pretty. Dolled up or bare-faced. Dressed in her favorite outfit or wearing her pajamas. Grinning or ugly crying. It didn’t matter.

Dahlia McKnight was a mcknockout.

Her voice was adorably watery when she demanded, “What are you doing here, Felix?”

He glanced at their reflection in the mirror and smiled. They looked damn good together. “I’m rescuing you, of course.”

“How did you even know?—”

Just like that, his smile turned into a scowl. “That you’d been turned? Not because you told me, that’s for sure.”

Dahlia pushed his chest until he reluctantly dropped his arms. Clutching fistfuls of her hair, she stared at the floor in wide-eyed disbelief as she croaked, “How does everyone know that? I just found out today and— and Cece is the only person who knows. She wouldn’t tell anyone. So how did Devon and you find out?”

There wasn’t time to get into the ugly details, but he knew that he’d never get her anywhere willingly if he didn’t at least partially explain the situation.

Rubbing his hands up and down her arms, he said, “The vampire underworld is big and made up of more than just us. There are factions who make it their business to keep eyes on places like hospitals — and keep doctors in their pockets. The information was sold to whoever has their claws in Solbourne General, then leaked through informants and spies. Nothing stays secret for long when everyone’s willing to be bought. ”

Dahlia’s expression was heartbreakingly shocked. “The doctor?”

“The doctor,” he confirmed.

“But why? Why does anyone care?”

“A lot of reasons,” he hedged, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket. No doubt it was Milo telling him to move his ass. “But we don’t have time to get into all of them here. We need to get you out of here. Now.”

Dahlia leaned away from him again. Giving him a suspicious look, she asked, “Why?”

“Because if that dipshit—” He jerked his thumb toward the bathroom door. “—knew, that means everyone knows. We won’t just have the Bowan cavalry riding in, but every piece of shit in a thousand mile radius.”

She made a face. “Bowan? Why would Mr. Bowan care?”

They really didn’t have time to get into the intricacies of vampire culture, so instead of answering, he clapped his hands together and announced, “Time to get a move-on! Pack a bag with essentials but don’t worry about the rest. I’ll have everything shipped home.”