Page 15

Chapter Fifteen

MALACHI

T he Barrows are quieter in this part of town.

Topside still hums with its sterile cleanliness, the simulated hum of electric cars, and the flickering breath of neon bleeding off glass towers. But the Barrows? It hibernates beneath its skin this hour, darker than a closed throat. Life doesn’t vanish so much as it coils inward, waiting, watchful. Born to that hunger, I understand it intimately.

I crouch on the ledge of a neighboring row house across the street, perched like a gargoyle watching her glowing windows. The wind tugs at the ends of my coat and drags scents past me—warm asphalt, fried food from the takeout place three blocks over, and layers of human musk, always tinged with anxiety in this part of town. None of it matters. I only breathe for one thing.

Blake.

Her scent rising on the draft between buildings is the only thing anchoring me, dragging me from the spiral I’ve been locked inside since the moment I felt her pull away.

She’d almost walked right into me yesterday.

She’d passed ten feet beneath my perch without even knowing. The way her jaw was tight, her lips pressed together with fake calm—I’d bet every dollar in my bank account she wasn’t just thinking about lighting gels and missed cues. No. Something was bothering her.

And I hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a single word. Because if I had, I would’ve lured her somewhere dark and nailed every inch of her to the wall until the only name she could remember was mine.

So I stayed still. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

I didn’t mark her neck, even though her fluttering pulse made my fangs lengthen and my cock harden.

Instead I let her walk away… because I’m supposed to be the one with control. The one restrained enough to follow rules. General of the Nightshades. Businessman. Professional. Responsible.

Except all of that restraint is a lie when I’m close to her.

Now I watch her row home, counting how long each room stays lit.

The flick of yellow light dies from the kitchen first. Twenty-three seconds later, the hallway dimmer clicks off. Then the soft orange glow I know is Charlie’s night-light filters through the sheer curtains of the bedroom window. I sit on the roof edge and watch Blake slowly circle the front windows, checking locks again.

Once. Twice.

Her hair’s down tonight, softer than it has any right to be, curling against her cheek where she pushes it back out of habit. I noticed she had the lilac color refreshed and wonder what she’d look like with her natural hair. Just as beautiful, no doubt. She’s in one of those oversized sleep shirts again, no bra, and I curse every shred of ethics I have because my damn cock tightens like a leash on a starving dog.

And I know—gods help me—I know this isn’t passing infatuation. It isn’t some indulgence I’ll shake off after a few weeks of tension and a night in her bed. No. I’m becoming obsessed with her. With the way she smells, the way she tucks her chin when she’s thinking, the way she lies through her teeth to everyone but still can’t quite lie to me. I’m coming undone over a woman I swore I wouldn’t touch again.

I won’t admit it to her. Not yet. Not to Perry. Not to the clan. But here, in the dark, with only the moon and my guilt to bear witness—I admit it to myself.

Charlie appears for a moment in the hallway behind her, arms wrapped around a plush narwhal. Blake smiles, bends to kiss her on the temple.

And then the home goes dark.

I should leave. She signed her employment papers, shifted to professionalism so seamlessly I almost believed she’d forgotten about the way she came on my cock while I held her hands down.

But I can’t leave. Not tonight.

There’s something wrong. I can feel it in the pit behind my ribs, in the teeth of the wind. The same way I can feel an ambush coming hours before the shadows shift. The part of me that has slaughtered men, that has defended the Barrows for centuries, that has kept me and mine alive… it’s screaming now.

The apartment stays dark for an hour.

Then two.

I sit like a statue, breathing her faint scent in. Listening to the steady, even beats of her and her daughter’s hearts. Waiting.

Thinking about the fact that she and Charlie like the same shitty shows I do. Married at First Sight. They’d been watching the recent episode earlier in the evening, the sounds of the season’s latest pair of disasters echoing through the front windows.

If there’s a part of me that wants that—a real connection, the often painful honesty of partners trying and failing—it stays buried.

Until now.

I scent it before I hear it.

A scuff. Barely audible. Like suede against cement.

A whisper of motion—too quiet for a human to catch. A scrape of fabric. The unmistakable creak of an old floorboard, just one, in the far back corner of the apartment.

Inside.

Then a soft gasp—barely audible, but sharp enough to pierce through my spine. Blake’s voice, too low for a human to hear, too clear for me to ignore.

“Charlie—shhh, baby. Come here. Into my room. Hurry.”

The doorknob clicks. A rush of breath. Wood dragging against wood—furniture scraped hastily across the floor. The soft clatter of something locking into place.

My legs are moving before I’m even aware I’ve leapt from the rooftop, gravity snapping at the hem of my coat, the wind tearing past my face. I hit the street below in a crouch, already lunging toward her row home. Even before my boots hit pavement I’m snarling, fangs punching free, the snick of power sliding through my limbs like oiled blades. The windows on this block rattle with the force of impact—I make no effort to hide it. Let anyone watching know: a predator is loose, and he’s hunting.

There’s nothing. No footfalls. No scent trail. No fear scent from the intruder—which in itself is an answer. Whoever it is, they knew how to mask it. They’re good. Too good. Blake screams above as a door is bashed against. Her scent floods into me as I reach the side of the house—blinding, concentrated, laced with adrenaline and the copper-bright note of blood.

She’s hurt.

Fury devours me.

No lock can stop me. The back door gives way beneath the full force of my shoulder with a burst of splinters and slammed hinges. The cheap steel frame crunches like cardboard as I tear through the entry into the kitchen, my gaze already sweeping the rooms ahead.

Her heartbeat thunders now. Fast. Sharp. A second, smaller heartbeat clings to it—Charlie. I still can’t scent the intruder but I hear a third heartbeat, rapidly retreating.

I round the corner into the hallway and catch the backswing of the open front door just as a silhouette vanishes into the curbside dark. I could follow. I should follow. I should rip whatever creature apart for threatening Blake.

But I stop.

My hands tremble as I hold myself on the edge of that decision, torn between instinct and fear. The kind of internal war only beings who’ve lived centuries understand—the balance of consequence weighed against something deeper. Something more personal.

I choose them.

I hit a speed dial as I climb the stairs. Ashe picks up on the second ring, his voice rough with disuse—he must be asleep with Cassandra. “Malachi?”

“Her house was broken into,” I say, tone stripped bare of anything but fact.

“Is she okay?” his voice is steel immediately. There’s an edge there—the Nightshades protect what’s ours, and Blake is under our banner now. She was the moment I buried my cock in her and asked Kasar and Lan to help defend her.

I hear his mate in the background, her sleep-addled voice clearing as she asks about the situation. I don’t have time to settle her worries, not when the hall at the stair’s landing is drenched with twin scents of fear. And that blood—calling to me.

“Yes. Intruder escaped,” I clip out. “I need you here in twenty. I’m taking them to my penthouse.”

“I’m on it.”

I hang up, already turning my focus back to her. At her door, softly, so only she can hear, I say, “Blake. It’s me. Open the door.”

A pause. Then a heavier scrape—her moving the barricade. I can smell her sweat through the wood, the spike of adrenaline and disbelief. And that goddamned tempting and infuriating scent of her blood.

The door cracks. Just enough for one eye.

“Malachi?”

I nod. “He’s gone. I came the second I heard you.”

“How—” she cuts herself off as her voice wavers and shakes her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No. But I am.” I tilt my head. “And I’m not leaving you here another night.”

She blinks. Then opens the door all the way.

She’s in a giant sleep shirt, her feet bare, Charlie clinging to her hip with a narwhal pressed tight to her chest. Blake’s eyes shine with disbelief, rage, and something unspoken. Her hands tremble slightly from the surge of adrenaline, but she stands between me and her sister like a wall.

I’ve never wanted to kneel before anyone more than I do in that moment.

“I just need to call the police. You don’t have to take us anywhere.”

“I’ve already called Ashe,” I counter. “And no police. We’ll take care of this.”

She looks like she wants to fight me on it—jaw tight, eyes blazing. But there’s a tremble in her knees, and Charlie shifts against her with a soft, exhausted whimper. The moment stretches between us, tight as wire.

“You’re not giving me a choice,” she says quietly, not a question.

“No,” I say. “I’m not.”

She exhales through her nose, sharp and tired, and then turns without another word, walking back into the room with Charlie’s limbs curled around her like a vine. I hear drawers opening. A zipper. The soft rustle of a duffel bag being filled in a rush. And underneath it, the too-fast heartbeat of a woman holding herself together by sheer force of will.

I run a hand over my face, my fangs still throbbing behind my lips. I retreat downstairs. Her blood is in the air—faint, but enough to make my entire body coil with want. I can still see it: the tiny slice on her thigh, bright against her skin. The scent of her fear. Her protectiveness. Her rage.

I want to bite her. Gods help me, I want to sink into her flesh and taste what it means for someone like her to fight like that. To guard like that. It isn’t about sex—not only. It’s about the kind of craving that undoes kingdoms. The kind that makes centuries-old monsters drop to their knees.

I shouldn’t want her like this. Not when she’s shaking. Not when she’s bleeding. Not when she’s looking at me like I’m the only solid thing left in a world that just cracked beneath her feet.

But I do.

And if I don’t get her out of this house, if I don’t put distance between her and whatever shadow slipped in through that window, I will lose what little control I’m clinging to.

I wait. Thirty seconds. A full breath. Then I take out my phone and call Kasar.

He picks up like he was waiting for it.

“Something happen?” This time, there’s no amusement in his voice. Kasar rarely bothers pretending to be surprised.

“There was a break-in. Blake’s place.” I glance around again—honed eyesight catching the subtle clues, the right-angle scrapes by the hallway window, the faint flutter of letter edge from a disturbed pile of mail. “In and out too fast to leave much. I didn’t get a look at his face. And there’s no scent of anything .”

“Magically cloaked. And you think it was the wolf.”

“I don’t scent him but there’s no one else who’d do this.” My voice shakes on the edges. Not from fear. From rage.

“Unless it was a coincidence.”

Kasar’s tone makes it clear he thinks it’s a coincidence as much as I do.

I step into the living room, glancing around in hopes of a sign tonight was a standard B&E but unhelpful. I try to ignore the couch where I’d been between Blake’s legs. “Nothing looks—” my jaw snaps shut as I see a white gift box tied in ribbon on the side table.

The Nightshade’s enforcer is silent as I cross the room. With a single jerk of a hand, I rend the velvet ribbon and flip the lid off it. I nearly put my fist through her hallway at the contents. “It was him. I’m bringing both to my place. Now.”

“Problem I need to be aware of?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep you updated. Let me know as soon as you pin down where he was tonight.”

“Where who was?” Blake’s voice comes from behind me.

I hang up and turn to see her there, holding a messenger bag and tugging Charlie behind her by the hand. I take the young girl in, my protective instincts expanding to include her. Her eyes are foggy yet wide, tired from being woken in the middle of the night but too anxious to relax. She’s in an overlarge sweater with a sloth on it and her strawberry blonde hair is down around her shoulders.

“I’ll explain once we’re at my place,” I answer and try to relax so I look less threatening. I doubt it works. I meet Charlie’s blue eyes. “Your mom told me about how you two watch Married at First Sight together—” a line that has Blake narrowing her eyes at me, “—It’s actually one of my favorite shows. I have every season at my place. Maybe your mom will let you play hooky tomorrow and you can marathon it? If you want.”

Charlie looks as skeptical as her mom does and the closing of a car door stops her from answering. Both she and Blake flinch as they look towards the still open front door. Blake takes a step towards me and I try not to fucking love that she does that. Her instincts tell her I’ll protect her, even if her mind questions me.

“It’s just Ashe.” I give in to my needs, just enough to put my hand on her lower back. With a gentle nudge, she and Charlie let me guide them out to the street where Ashe waits beside the driver door of a large black Mercedes SUV. In his crisp suit, I doubt they can tell I woke him up with my call. He gives me a nod which I return and he moves to the passenger door behind his and opens it. He hands me the keys.

Blake urges Charlie in first before joining her. I close the door with a quiet click.

“Get men here,” I order lowly. “I want the whole neighborhood combed. There’s a white gift box in the living room. Have someone deliver it to the penthouse.”

Ashe nods once. “We’ll keep you updated.”

I don’t bother answering. Instead I get into the SUV and drive us through the sleeping Barrows toward the relative safety of Topside. Only in the dark of the car do I finally let myself snarl, teeth flashing in the dark.

No scent. No name. No trace.

But he was here.

And next time, I’ll be waiting.