Page 8

8

MERCER

Mercer was half tempted to leave the damn fool up there and walk right back out: to let Rahil hang in the trap he’d re-caught himself in until he used his oh-so-precious whimpering to vow never to be anywhere near Mercer’s property again. It would serve him right. Besides, with Anthony’s new project utterly kicking his ass—Mercer had made so little progress over the last week that if he didn’t have an epiphany soon, he’d have to bring in help—and vaguely threatening emails from William Douglas showing up in his inbox on the regular, Mercer had too much work and worry to cater to an unhinged stranger’s whims.

As he turned away though, the pitiful noise Rahil made did something to Mercer’s heart that he could only describe as painful and exceptionally unwanted .

“Merc,” Rahil whined.

He closed his eyes, and slowly, so slowly, he turned back around. “Ah, fuck.”

As he flicked on the lights, Mercer could clearly see the strain this was putting on Rahil’s body. He hung at an awkward angle, his fingers swollen on one hand and his skin raw where the cords held it. Shivers racked through him, the whites of his eyes shot with red and a sweat stain down the front of his gothic-pirate inspired shirt.

“I hate you,” Mercer muttered. He pulled the lever to lower the wooden flaps over the shed’s window—that, at least, would prevent any immediate further injury—but he refused the impulse to release Rahil completely. In distress or not, he was a two-time home invader now. Mercer gave the vampire another slow once-over, and managed to keep the jittery worry in his chest—either for himself or for Rahil, he wasn’t sure—from slipping into his voice as he asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Rahil?”

“I just figured I had such a lovely time last week,” Rahil answered, shifting to wink at Mercer head-on. His bonds tightened from the movement, and the self-satisfied expression turned to a wince. “I wasn’t here to take anything, I promise.”

That , Mercer felt he could believe. But it clearly wasn’t the full story. “A lovely time, huh? Was it the entrapment that did it, or the hunter threatening me, or some magical third thing? And don’t say my hot body.”

Rahil had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. “Partially that, yes. But I also figured, with how intrusive that Douglas fellow was last week, and you not reading my messages...”

Mercer nodded slowly, putting the pieces together. He was still trying to determine whether the picture it revealed was one of impulsiveness or just pure stupidity. “So, you trapped yourself in my shed, in case something had happened to me, because then you’d be in the optimal position not to come to my aid, and probably die here to boot.”

“Exactly.” Rahil grinned halfheartedly. “As the kids these days say, I go down with my ships.”

It took Mercer a moment to connect the pun, but when he did he had to stifle a groan. What would his kid call them? Rahcer or Merhil , maybe.

Mom-replacement, dad-hoarder, betrayer —there were a lot of other nicknames Lydia could come up with, he was certain. Mercer tried to focus on that above all else.

“You could have just knocked,” Mercer said. He was going down with this ship: the one where logic and common courtesy prevailed. The smith and the jester, was also a viable option. Or maybe, The disinterested and the flirt.

Rahil shrugged, looking far less concerned than he should have. “I thought this was more fun.”

“ Fun .” Mercer didn’t buy it. Either Rahil had a truly masochistic streak or… or sometimes the most obvious answer was the right one. “How long have you been here?”

“Only since sunrise.”

The immovable object and the unstoppable force —that was it. A terrible ship name for an impossible situation. Mercer stared at Rahil, trying to make out any lick of sense he could. “I mean no offense by this, but seriously, what is wrong with you?”

“I ask myself that every day.” Rahil gave a lopsided smile, which didn’t quite fit the rest of his pained appearance, and said, bluntly, “Really, this is far from the worst situation I’ve deliberately fallen into.” He licked one of his fangs before adding, “The biggest inconveniences are that you’re here and I’m famished... which means I’m being tortured by one rather incredible snack.”

Mercer’s neck felt like it was on fire, and all the bundled worry he’d had for this—for Rahil, for himself, for the situation—flared into a singular panic. He took a step back, despite knowing that the vampire was fully contained. “My holy silver might not work on you, but I can find something that will.”

Rahil blinked, before his eyes widened. “Woah, hey, I did mean food hungry.” He laughed, sounding a little awkward. “I’m just teasing about you being a snack. I’m a stupid flirt; it’s what I do.”

A rush of embarrassment ran through Mercer’s cheeks as he realized this was the exact same mistake he’d made last time Rahil was here. Maybe Rahil was being vague this way just to fuck with him? No, that was silly; vampires needed to eat and drink just the same as any human and Mercer couldn’t expect them to be the ones to have to clarify simply because he took issue with the idea of being bitten.

Though, if he was being fair, Rahil deserved half the blame simply for choosing to act this coy. And be this good looking. And—he stopped himself before making an excuse regarding what Rahil was wearing , his Victorian-esque shirt so thin it was nearly see-through, with those same tight pants and what Mercer swore was a different pair of tall boots from the pair he’d worn last week.

“Too caught up in other things to grab breakfast?” Mercer taunted him, trying not to think about how Leah used to zone in on a project—ones with much the same absurdity and ingenuity as the trap Rahil had chosen to fall back into—for days at a time, only pausing to eat when Mercer brought her something. She’d always looked so beautiful with smears of grease on her hands and her red curls sticking out from the sloppy bun where she’d tucked pencils and small tools. If he was comparing the two scenarios, that would make Rahil’s project Mercer . He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Or, more accurately, he was sure: sure that it shouldn’t have made him feel this pleased.

Rahil played with the ruffles on the front of his shirt, straightening out the ones that had been squashed under the cords. “It wasn’t entirely my fault. Things keep coming up between me and the grocery store. You know, like the sun.”

Mercer really had to stop setting him up for answers that reminded him just where their power imbalance lay.

He knew better than to feed wild animals. He had a feeling Rahil was more a stray than a truly feral creature, but he couldn’t go around feeding the strays either—not unless he wanted to take them in after. All he had were reasons not to take in Rahil, and besides, with Anthony’s request looming over him, he had other vampires to worry about. Rahil looked so pathetically miserable, though…

Trying his best to appear disgusted by the thought, Mercer dragged his last mini bag of emergency chips from the nonsense drawer—barbecue, ironically his least favorite flavor—and made a show of popping it open. “This is all I have on me. But I can’t imagine you’d want them.” He stuck one of them in his mouth after, for good measure.

Rahil looked like he was literally salivating, transforming from a devilish sex trophy to an oversized puppy dog in a matter of seconds. “Oh, that’ll do.”

Mercer lifted the bag carelessly by one side. “You sure?”

In response, Rahil opened his mouth, his tongue partially extended. His fangs were so slim and lean above it.

“What do you take me for?” Mercer grumbled. He stepped closer, and instead of placing a chip in Rahil’s mouth, he opted for the saner option and pulled out his phone, navigating to the trap app. “Careful now, you’re going down hard this time,” he said, clicking the button for release. He caught Rahil at the last moment, letting the vampire’s gangly weight ease into his arms.

“You have no idea,” Rahil whispered as his gaze met Mercer’s with a yearning so deep that it almost pulled Mercer in.

Almost.

He looked away, efficiently lowering Rahil’s shaking body to the floor. He let go as soon as Rahil seemed steady enough to lean against the cupboards on his own, but Mercer could still feel the pressure of him shivering through his skin. It was not calling him back. He wouldn’t let it.

He stepped away, trying to shake the feeling off. And stepped again.

Rahil watched him, his brow tight and his hands pulled up against his chest. Cautiously, he turned his attention to his fingers, wriggling them and hissing quietly under his breath, a sound more similar to a cat’s than anything humans could make. Mercer could see the pain in each movement, the stiffness and shock Rahil was clearly working through.

It made Mercer feel faint.

He tossed over the bag of chips, a little less concerned as Rahil managed to snatch it out of the air with ease. If his shaking body hadn’t been proof of his own stupidity, then the obvious hunger with which he dug into the snack was evidence that he hadn’t exaggerated how long he’d been hanging for .

Fuck, maybe Mercer was being too hard on him. Rahil was a vampire, after all, and Mercer knew, even from working with the more affluent of their kind, just how difficult and senseless that life could be. Sometimes irrational acts came, not from irrational people, but irrational presents and irrational pasts. Mercer knew that from personal experience.

“You must live around here?” he asked, fumbling for some reason why he of all people might have suddenly become this useless vampire’s special interest.

Rahil stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth. His shoulders bounced languidly. “A couple miles south. I have a quaint little five-bedroom Victorian with all the trappings; the creepy attic, the dark forest, the shadowy porch. The fireplace is definitely haunted.”

He had a home of his own, at least. From what little he’d seen of Rahil, Mercer could imagine it, too: the Gothically romantic old estate, with crows perched on the roof and ivy growing along the porch. Every piece of furniture was probably pretending to be as antique as Rahil’s outfits. “Sounds charming.”

A quirk came into Rahil’s lips, soft and genuine. It was precious. “I love it,” he said, pausing to shovel down the rest of the chips. “I’ve always enjoyed unique things, and I wanted a place that was big enough to share with others.”

“That’s a nice reasoning,” Mercer admitted. His own place was designed to be a tiny fortress for himself and Lydia alone and he was impressed by Rahil’s willingness to allow others in. Though it probably went hand in hand with his apparent willingness to force himself into the lives of random strangers.

“Thank you.” Rahil licked the last of his chip crumbs off his fingers with such gusto that Mercer had to look away.

He was not avoiding the sight because it stirred something in him—did it stir anything in him? He couldn’t tell beneath the guilty twist in his chest and the turn of his stomach. The more he did look away though, the more he knew the sight would make him feel things—good things—once Rahil wasn’t here, when his tongue was just a thought in Mercer’s head and not a reality. If he let it, anyway.

“Well, now that you’re finished…” Thank God his voice had not been hoarse; he could feel the lump.

Rahil made a sound far too much like a whimper. “You’re not kicking me out—with the sun this high?”

Mercer had to distract himself by opening his notebook. That only left the holy silver charm and a page of dead-end notes he’d made for Anthony’s project staring him in the face. The mere sight of it made him queasy with stress. What the hell hadn’t he tried yet? Surely nothing that could be done alone in his shed. “You’re not too far from home,” he told Rahil, distractedly. “You can take one of my old coats. I’ll call you a cab.”

“No, please,” Rahil said, turning almost sugary-sweet as he continued. “I’ll be quiet again, on my life, I swear. You can even tie me back up.”

Rahil was not making this easy.

It occurred to him suddenly that if Rahil truly refused, there was little Mercer could likely do about it. He didn’t burn under the touch of holy silver, was likely about as strong and fast as Mercer even in the metal’s presence, and Mercer hardly considered calling the police an option—he could predict how badly that would turn out for both of them. But what Rahil didn’t do was try to lord his power over Mercer.

As he stood, he made himself smaller instead, wrapping his arms around his waist with his brows tight. “Please?”

Mercer played with the holy silver charm he’d left between his notebook pages, watching Rahil for a sign that this was all an elaborate ruse of some kind. He could find none. “You said I can put you back in the trap?”

Rahil’s throat bobbed. “Yes.”

“And then, I could do what I want with you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Rahil was offering to give up his power. His agency.

And instead of shying away from the idea, he was nodding, still looking at Mercer like some kind of fanged puppy-dog. “If you’d like.”

Mercer really, really did not need a stray right now, but as he pulled himself back from the emotions coursing through him, the pieces fell into place. Maybe Rahil was exactly what he needed—not for himself, but for Anthony. Mercer was supposed to create a substance that acted like impaired holy silver, producing a radiation that would dampen a vampire’s inhuman qualities without destroying them cell by cell.

And here Mercer had a vampire whose body was predisposed for that exact thing. If Mercer could figure out why, and reverse engineer the effect…

“All right,” he said.

Rahil’s brows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. No pun intended.” Mercer gave his holy silver charm a little toss before setting it back on the notebook. “But if you stay, you’re helping me.”

“Oh good! There’s a few things you’re working on that I’ve been dying to try out.” Rahil winked, his gaze going toward the more kinky projects in the shed.

Mercer smiled. “Not like that.”

Before his victim could protest, he drew out his phone and reactivated Leah’s trap.