Page 26

Chapter Nineteen

ISADORA

Downright fuckable?

Wasn’t that what Thorne said the townspeople called her brother—or brothers ? Frankly, I understood the collective thirst. And that said something, considering how I’d seen plenty of handsome men throughout my eternal life. But this?

This was absurd.

They weren’t merely men. Nor merely werewolves.

They were weaponized testosterone.

First, they were enormous. Not just tall, but vast .

The eldest, Alaric—or Ricky for short—looked like he wrestled bears for sport.

He’d stormed into the bar clad in a leather jacket, dark denim pants that couldn’t possibly have been off-the-rack, and sunglasses so large, they covered a quarter of his face.

Within seconds of arriving, he’d swept Thorne into a bone-cracking hug and swung her in circles while her poor legs flailed a good foot off the ground.

She’d cussed him out, using a far more colorful vernacular than I’d heard her use up to this point, then punched him in the throat when he’d refused to release her.

I’d expected an angry flash of golden eyes, or a snarl worthy of a sabertooth tiger.

Instead, Ricky had grinned, tousled his little sister’s hair, then set her carefully back on her feet, as though she were a fragile teacup instead of a werewolf.

Next came Felix.

Younger than Ricky, but still older than Thorne, he’d strolled in with a cocky sort of grace and an undeniable “older brother” energy.

One that manifested when he’d called out “Thornicle!” and then instantly nicknamed me “Izzy-Pop.” The mischievous glint in his shimmering green eyes told me he’d done it purposely to piss off his little sister and likely me as well.

In two hundred years, few had ever given me a nickname.

Fewer would have given me one as… charming as that.

And if those two weren’t enough to contend with, a third walking slab of muscle had arrived shortly after.

Thorne had screamed his name—Cassian—and thrown herself into his arms. He’d caught her mid-leap and spun her in circles before bringing her gently back to earth, murmuring something I couldn’t quite hear.

He hadn’t let her go, though. Instead, he’d hooked an arm around her shoulders and locked her against his side, her head barely reaching his pecs—his inhumanly defined pecs.

Thorne had then taken it upon herself to introduce us all. After which she’d declared, in front of her assembled brothers, that I was her new forever-bestie .

All three brothers had turned to look at me in unison, their gazes alight with identical glints of mischief, menace, and brotherly affection.

Naturally, I’d feared for my life. And not in a “they might kill me” sort of way but more like “what fresh, fraternal hell had Thorne dragged me into.” I’d quickly sent a text to Lucien begging for help, all while Thorne convinced her brothers that it was their personal duty to protect me, since I was their little sister’s best friend.

All four of them had left me rather speechless.

I had no idea what to say. Or think. These werewolves had completely invaded my bar.

And the worst part? Bernard hadn’t so much as chimed his displeasure, which felt like a personal betrayal, considering the way he’d treated me when I’d first arrived.

Was it too much to ask for my resident ghosties to give a few unsettling moans? Maybe make some furniture float?

“So, Izzy-Pop,” Felix said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Tell us about this stalker of yours. Who is it?”

“Idiot,” Thorne scoffed. “If we knew that, would we need you?”

Felix laughed, baring his canines. “Yes. Obviously. You’re hopeless, and we all know it. I can only imagine your friend here is too, considering she chose to partner with you . That doesn’t speak highly of her intelligence.”

Thorne growled and swatted her brother’s chest. Felix didn’t so much as flinch. He simply grinned at her like she was a cute and fluffy squirrel punching a brick wall. Chuckling, he swept us both under his arms, then noogied our heads.

Strangely, I was no longer envious and quite grateful, in fact, that I didn’t have brothers. This was…exhausting.

Ricky blew past us and vaulted over my ruined bar like some kind of Olympic athlete and began rifling through my pitiful liquor stock. One by one, he yanked out what few bottles remained, sniffed them, then arranged them in some mysterious order. By potency, maybe? It certainly wasn’t by flavor.

I opened my mouth to question his process when he snapped his head toward me like a bloodhound who had suddenly caught a scent.

“Do you have a shotgun?”

I stared, baffled. “Pardon?”

“A shotgun,” he repeated. “You’re a single woman living in a haunted bar with no security system?—”

Well, I had Rue.

“—so, you should absolutely have a gun,” Ricky finished.

I blinked. A vampire with a gun sounded somewhat redundant. Why arm myself with external weapons when I was born with two perfectly efficient ones capable of shredding through skin and arteries?

“I have fangs,” I said coolly.

Ricky grinned, flashing me his own pearly whites. “Yeah, so do we. Doesn’t mean we walk around unarmed.”

I gave him a pointed once-over, but I didn’t spot a single suspicious bulge—other than the oversized one cupped by his denim jeans.

“Are you all armed?” I asked.

“I’m not,” Thorne said with a shrug.

“She’s the family disappointment,” Felix retorted, patting her head like a misbehaving spaniel.

Without a word, Cassian appeared right next to me.

I didn’t see him cross the room. He was just suddenly there , holding a blade the length of his forearm in hand.

I let out a squeak-adjacent noise and jumped.

God only knew where he’d pulled that weapon from, but he began twirling it with the casual confidence of someone who had definitely used it on a live target.

My gaze flicked to Thorne. “Do I want to know where he pulled that from?”

“No,” she said flatly.

Cassian angled the blade at the bar, then back to me, flourishing it with a lazy kind of menace. The movements were elegant, almost hypnotic, like he was showing off for the sheer enjoyment of it. But given how closely the blade strayed to my throat, it was time for me to say something.

I opened my mouth, intending to do exactly that, when the bar door suddenly crashed open, and Lucien stormed inside, his coat billowing behind him like some avenging hero.

His gaze first landed on me before snapping to Cassian, then finally, the blade resting uncomfortably close to my throat.

And just like that, Lucien’s expression iced over. His eyes, which were usually dark and mysterious, now glowed with what I recognized as the promise of murder.

“Step. Away. From. Her,” Lucien uttered, his voice low and lethal.

“Oh, Lordt,” Thorne muttered, clearly piecing things together as quickly as me.

Except she didn’t know that I’d texted him for help. And in hindsight, texting him a “help me” without any follow-up afterward wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. Considering my developing situation, Lucien had likely thought the worst.

Amusement flickered across Cassian’s face—a twitch of his lips, and the faint narrowing of his eyes—right before he pivoted his body and placed himself squarely between me and Lucien.

Then he lifted that damn blade again. Except this time, he pointed it right at Lucien.

A casual, deliberate, come-at-me show of steel.

The two families had a long-standing feud that spanned decades, if not centuries. I knew that. But I’d expected better behavior than this.

Or maybe I was being na?ve.

“I was just showing her my knife,” Cassian said, his face now the picture of pure innocence.

I wanted to slap that expression right off his face. Preferably with a chair.

Lucien glowered at Cassian, his rage barely held in check. He took a single step forward. Cassian matched it, as casual as ever, fingers flexing around his blade’s hilt.

“You sure you want to do this, St. Germain?” Cassian taunted in a tone that suggested he very much hoped the answer was yes. “I’d hate to ruin that fancy coat of yours.”

Lucien didn’t answer. He just kept moving forward in that deliberate manner of his, with a kind of quiet that suggested he wasn’t just considering violence but planning for it.

Cassian, by contrast, looked delighted. This was clearly foreplay to him. A little family rivalry to explore. And possibly a little…who’s got the bigger, ahem, alpha energy.

It wasn’t a game to Lucien, though. He looked like he wanted to skin each of the brothers alive and use their pelts to reupholster his lounge.

I couldn’t allow that. For one, no way Lucien could take on all three brothers at once. For another, Thorne would never speak to me again if Lucien so much as nicked one of them. Nor would the two families ever overcome this ridiculous feud of theirs if one of them died.

Perhaps it was time for someone to intervene before this turned into a full-blown duel to defend one’s honor.

And by someone, I—of course—meant me.

After all, I had no skin in this game.

Cassian moved first. It was little more than a shift of weight, but just enough to tip the scale.

Lucien surged forward in response, and for one blood-chilling moment, I believed we were about to witness this showdown happen before I could stop it.

I sucked in a breath, about to intervene, when Thorne threw herself between them, hands outstretched, and shrieked, “Absolutely not!”

Cassian halted at the sound of his sister’s piercing voice, blade frozen mid-arc. Lucien, however, didn’t stop. Not until I moved.

I slipped in front of Thorne and pressed both hands against his chest. He came to a stop the second I touched him.

“No, Lucien,” I said quietly, firmly.

His gaze dropped to mine. They burned with heat and rage. But he didn’t push me away. Nor did he speak. Instead, he lifted his gaze—over Thorne’s and my heads—to glare at Cassian.

“Are you both out of your frigging minds?” Thorne demanded, hands planted on her hips like she was reprimanding two toddlers.

“He was threatening her,” Lucien growled. Was it me, or did that sound incredibly close to “he started it?”

“I was demonstrating ,” Cassian corrected. “Showing her that we don’t go anywhere unarmed. You were the one that came charging in like some vigilante.”

“You had a blade near her throat,” Lucien growled, taking a half-step forward before I pressed firmer against him. He stopped.

“And you taunted him,” I added smoothly, glancing back at Cassian.

Cassian’s sigh was theatrical. Thorne rolled her eyes. The brothers behind us chuckled like this was any old Tuesday.

“Listen,” I continued, hoping to dial the situation down to about a three. Considering their history together, that seemed more plausible than getting them down to a zero. Managing expectations and all that. “Why don’t we all take a breath, sheath the phallic weaponry, and perhaps have a drink?”

Ricky barked a laugh. “A drink? With a St. Germain? Are we under a compulsion spell?”

“I’d rather swallow holy water,” Felix muttered.

Thorne whirled on them. “You two can either sit your overgrown asses down and act like civilized wolves, or I will call Mom and tell her what you did to her damn garden gnomes.”

In perfect unison, Ricky and Felix visibly blanched.

“You wouldn’t,” Ricky whispered.

“She loved those gnomes,” Felix added, horror creeping into his tone.

Thorne’s smile was all teeth. “Try me.”

Grumbling like chastised schoolboys, the two hulking werewolves slouched toward the bar. Cassian hesitated a moment longer, his gaze flicking once to Lucien, then to Thorne, before finally stowing his blade and stomping over to his brothers.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Lucien, “I shouldn’t have texted you like that. Not without explaining my situation.”

He gave a single nod, his jaw still tight enough to crack his back molars. Clearly, there was some exceptionally bad blood between the two families. Thorne had given me a little backstory, but maybe I needed to know more.

“Right,” Thorne said, her voice echoing through the bar.

All eyes turned to her. “I think we need to get some things in order here. One, we’re all here to help Isadora.

She has a stalker. A vampire-hating, loft-trashing, emotionally unstable reject who very clearly needs to be dealt with. I vote with violence.”

“Hear, hear!” Felix barked.

“Shush!” Thorne snapped at him. “I’m talking right now. You three agreed to help. Which means, like it or not, you’ll need to cooperate with Lucien, who also wants to help.”

The three brothers erupted into a boisterous argument. I caught a few words like “self-important,” “downright cocky,” and “arrogant bastard” before Thorne stomped her foot and pointed a sharp, black-manicured nail at the trio.

“Garden. Gnomes,” was all she said.

Two words. That’s all it took. Ricky, Felix, and Cassian all sneered, but stopped arguing. After a moment, Ricky mumbled, “Fine. We’ll work with the bloodsucker.”

“I’m a bloodsucker too,” I reminded them sweetly. “I’m just nicer and much prettier.”

“Damn straight you are,” Felix agreed, grinning.

Lucien stole another step forward, his face a thundercloud. He lifted a hand and pointed his finger at Felix. I could only imagine the impolite response brewing on the tip of his wicked tongue.

Before he spoke and said something to throw this tentative truce out the window, I gripped his arm and forcibly lowered it.

“Please, Lucien.”

His gaze flicked down to me—still furious, still burning—but he didn’t argue.

“Thorne is my friend,” I added, voice calm but unwavering. “And I don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

His frown didn’t ease. But when I placed my hand over his, and once again whispered, “Please,” something shifted.

His shoulders relaxed a fraction. Just enough.

“Fine,” he growled. “But if any of them so much as harm a hair on your head?—”

“They’re here to help ,” I reminded him. “Not harm. You all have the same goal.” I glanced over my shoulder at Thorne’s brothers. “Right?”

Cassian lifted his left hand and proclaimed, “We’ll be on our best behavior. Scout’s honor.”

“None of you were ever scouts,” Thorne said. “And it’s the right hand, idiot.”

“Still counts,” he said, shrugging.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my bar. “Someone pour me something potent. I need it more than all five of you combined.”