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Chapter Twenty-Four

BLAKE

T he first thing I notice when I wake is the rich scent of coffee. Not just any coffee—the dark roast from Black Death Beanery that I’ve become addicted to over the years. My eyes flutter open to find myself alone in Malachi’s massive bed, tangled in sheets that still smell like him and sex and something deeper that makes my whole body flush with remembered pleasure.

Every muscle in my body aches in the best possible way. Even the marks from his fangs—tender spots along my thighs and neck that throb with each heartbeat—feel more like badges of pleasure than wounds. I stretch, cataloging each delicious twinge, and marvel at how different everything feels in the soft morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I should be exhausted. After the first time, I dozed off before Malachi woke me up two more times. I was convinced more orgasms were impossible, and each time, he proved he had the patience and skill to coax them from my body.

A notification buzzes my phone on the nightstand. Malachi must have put it there at some point. I grab it, thinking it might be Charlie, but when I see my twin’s name I ignore it. Whatever drama he’s stirring up can wait. For the first time in forever, I’m not immediately hit with the weight of responsibility or worry about getting Charlie to school or making rent or dealing with Sam’s latest crisis. Instead, I feel peaceful. Content. Maybe even happy, though that word feels dangerous to even think. All I want to think about is how tempting the smell of coffee is and how thinking about last night makes my skin tingle.

I slide from the bed, borrowing one of Malachi’s button-downs from his closet rather than grabbing something of mine from the guest room across the hall. The shirt falls to mid-thigh, the sleeves so long I have to roll them up several times. His scent wraps around me like an embrace.

I pad barefoot downstairs, following the smell of coffee and the low sound of movement from the kitchen. The sight that greets me nearly stops my heart: Malachi, shirtless in dark sleep pants that ride low on his hips, moving around his kitchen with ease that belies the lack of homeyness the rest of the penthouse has.

He turns as I enter, those golden eyes warming as they track over my body in his shirt. A small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” I manage, suddenly shy despite everything we did last night. Everything feels different in daylight—the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows casts Malachi in a softened glow, highlighting the lean muscle of his chest and arms. I try not to stare at the tattoos spanning his torso, but it’s impossible not to remember how they felt under my fingers, under my lips.

“Coffee?” he asks, already reaching for a mug. The domesticity of the moment hits me like a physical force. This dangerous, powerful vampire padding around his kitchen making me coffee, looking at me like I belong here.

“Please.” My voice comes out breathier than I mean it to. “I can’t believe you have Darcy’s roast here.”

He hands me the mug with a lopsided grin—the same travel mug Charlie gave me, I realize with a start. He must have grabbed it from our house before bringing us here. The thoughtfulness of that small gesture makes my chest tight. “They have the best coffee on either side of the river. If I have to spend any time here at all, I don’t want to have to spend eight dollars on something that tastes burnt.”

I glance around the penthouse again, curious about how empty it feels despite its high-end finishes. “You don’t really live here, do you?”

Malachi’s expression shifts—less teasing now. “No. I keep the penthouse for optics. The Place’s owner should look like he lives Topside. Appearances matter to the kinds of people we want as customers.”

“But it’s not home.”

He shakes his head once. “Home’s the Clan house in the Barrows. That’s where I live. Hell, I think last night was the first time I actually slept in that bed.”

There’s something about that that twists under my ribs. That he brought me here—where he doesn’t stay, where nothing feels personal—makes a part of me ache. Like maybe last night meant less to him than it did to me. Like maybe I’m just another temporary piece in a space built for appearances.

“What time do you need to pick up Charlie?” He leans against the counter, sipping from his own mug while watching me with an intensity that makes those thoughts of doubt evaporate.

“Soon. She’s at Tonya’s.” I take a fortifying drink of perfectly prepared coffee. “I’ll order a ride soon.”

He sets his mug down and moves closer, backing me against the counter. His hands bracket my hips, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Why? I can drive you.” He dips his head, brushing his lips along my jaw. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

I should say yes. I should keep this—whatever this is—separate from Charlie. But the words won’t come. Instead, I tilt my head, giving him better access to my neck. He makes a pleased sound low in his throat. I shiver as he brushes his lips over the spot he bit me.

“We can go to Blue Moon diner, after? I could go for some pancakes.”

It should be impossible for his words to send heat right between my legs, but at this point I’m becoming convinced I’d get turned on by Malachi reading the business section of Newgate Times out loud.

“Pancakes are good,” I manage to breathe out, gripping my mug tight as I try not to squirm.

Malachi hums in response, gently frees the coffee from my hands, and sets it on the counter beside us. Before I can ask him what he’s doing, I’m yelping as his hands slide under the shirt to grip my ass. He lifts me against him, his golden eyes devilish. I wrap my legs around his waist, holding his shoulders as I try not to think about how my bare pussy is against his stomach. He starts walking out of the kitchen in the direction of the stairs.

“I want a shower with you first.”

Over an hour later, after a very thorough shower, Malachi pulls the Range Rover into a visitor’s parking spot in Tonya’s condominium’s lot. I unclick my seatbelt and open the door, saying, “You don’t have to come in?—“

But Malachi is already getting out on his side, and I curl my lips and look at the ground as I battle the butterflies growing inside me. He walks beside me as we head up to the second floor, close enough that his long sleeve brushes my arm. We don’t hold hands, though, and I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed.

Considering the look Tonya gives me as she opens the door before we can knock, I’m definitely relieved.

“Well, good morning,” Tonya greets us, and I know my face is brighter than a tomato right now. She makes no effort to hide her appraisal of Malachi. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

While I opted for comfortable black leggings and a light knitted sweater, Malachi’s wearing a cream long sleeve button-down tucked into tailored black slacks. He left the matching suit coat in the car, and instead of a tie he’s opted to leave the top button undone. I’m convinced his outfit, as simple as he may consider it, is worth more than half of my wardrobe combined.

“This is Malachi, he’s my?—“

“Boyfriend!” Charlie finishes from somewhere further in the condo.

“—boss.” I finish lamely.

Tonya, goddess she is, simply raises a gleeful brow. “Is he now?”

Goddess as in the female version of Loki.

“He’s awesome,” Charlie announces, appearing beside Tonya with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her sketchbook in hand. Her smile is wide and knowing in a way that makes me want to crawl under Tonya’s welcome mat. “He kicked Uncle Sam out when he came over last week before mom got home. Now we’re staying at his place in Topside. He has every season of Married at First Sight.”

Malachi’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “It’s a good show,” he says, smooth as silk. “Thank you for watching Charlie last night.”

“Oh, the pleasure was all mine.” Tonya’s grin could put the Cheshire Cat to shame. “Blake, honey, could you help me with something in the kitchen real quick?”

I know exactly what this “something” is, but I let her drag me away anyway. Charlie’s already showing Malachi her latest sketches of building designs, and the sight of him bent to look at her notebook with genuine interest does dangerous things to my heart.

He’s beside her with all six-foot-two of his dark, utterly intimidating, suit-clad vampire body folded into something warm and casual. He might as well be carved from obsidian and sunlight, golden gaze focused entirely on my twelve-year-old. Even more, there’s real fascination in his face. I don’t think he’s faking it, not even a little.

Tonya, of course, watches it all with thinly veiled intrigue before she tugs me into the kitchen, turning so swiftly I nearly crash into her chest.

“You hussy!” she whispers harshly, her gleeful expression countering her words.

“Tonya,” I hiss, pushing her further out of sight even as my body buzzes with embarrassment and that ridiculous, rising warmth under my skin. I keep my voice at a whisper. “It’s not—it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, honey, what I think,” she drawls, setting her hands on her hips and giving me that terrifyingly gleeful, all-knowing momma-bear look, “is that the same woman who messaged the group chat last week about needing a girls’ night to talk about how ‘something happened’—has just shown up at my door clearly well fucked by a six-foot-two, sculpted-from-marble, sex-god-looking Nightshade.” She throws her hands in the air. “Girl, if I’d known that’s what had happened, I’d have volunteered for babysitting every night! We thought you meant something with work!”

“Tonya!”

“What?” she sniffs, and flicks at my wrinkled sweater like that’s somehow the greatest offense in the room. “I’m glad you’re finally getting some. And from a man who’s willing to stomp Sam into the damn floor in defense of you and that baby girl? Shit, I could cry. Hell, I will cry if you tell me there’s more where that came from. And you’re staying with him?”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in your kitchen.” I cover my face with both hands and groan into my palms, my skin scorching from neck to hairline. I slide my hands to the back of my neck, gripping tight and giving Tonya a pleading look. “We’re staying with him temporarily because our house was broken into a couple nights ago—“ I raise a hand to cut off her no doubt indignant demand for information, “—I know, I know. I swear I’ll tell you everything. Life has just been insane for the last week and the opening last night.”

“Mooooom!” Charlie whines from by the door. “Hurry up! He said we’re going to get pancakes!”

I let out a long breath and meet Tonya’s eyes, which soften. She wraps me in a huge hug, the ones that have been keeping me sane since I was seventeen. She presses a kiss hard against the side of my head. “We’ll get together in a couple of days and then you can tell us everything. So long as you and our baby girl are safe and happy, that’s all I care about.”

I squeeze her back, relief coursing through me. “Thanks, and I promise we will.”

“Mom!”

“I’m coming!” I shout back over my shoulder, matching her aggravated tone without thinking. Oh god, Malachi is probably regretting coming with me to pick her up.

Tonya shoos me out of the kitchen toward the front room. “Go on, girlie. Go enjoy your pancakes!” Her voice lifts as she looks over my shoulder as she follows me to the now open front door. “It was nice meeting you, Malachi.”

Charlie’s practically bouncing in place by the time I’m almost at the front door. Malachi stands beside her, hands in his pockets, casual and composed, with Charlie’s backpack slung over one shoulder. He grins at Tonya. “Good meeting you too.” He looks at me, his grin turning into something warmer. “You ready?”

I nod, smoothing my hands down my wrinkled sweater.

Then, as we’re walking down the stairs toward the parking lot, Charlie pipes up again—deadpan and cheerful. “He said he knows a place where we could get tattoos after pancakes.”

Malachi doesn’t deny it fast enough.