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Chapter Twenty-Five

BLAKE

T he drive back to Topside is peaceful in the best possible way. Charlie’s in the back seat, humming to herself while scrolling on her phone, and Malachi’s one hand stays casually draped over the wheel, while the other reaches across to rest on my thigh. It’s possessive in the gentlest way—like a claim made not with force but with certainty. Steady. Reassuring. Like he’s with me right now, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eating a late breakfast at Blue Moon Diner turned out to be a fantastic idea. The place was all chrome and cracked booths, the kind of breakfast joint that smelled like maple syrup and a hundred years of coffee grounds. Charlie had pelted him with questions from the second we sat down: about vampires, about The Place, about his opinion on reality TV, and whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

And Malachi—to my absolute shock—answered every single one of them. Playfully. Patiently. Like he wasn’t the literal general of a vampire crime family but just some guy who happened to be wearing a very nice shirt while listening to my kid talk about roller coaster architecture.

It’s Saturday. No school. No immediate responsibilities, except prepping for night two of The Place’s grand opening. Joséphine’s coming back over to stay with Charlie for the evening. Malachi arranged it before we even left the diner, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like taking care of my life was just . . . what he did now.

My phone buzzes. A glance at the screen makes my stomach twist. It’s Sam.

Where are you?

Why the hell are the locks changed??

You okay? I went by to check and there were Nightshade guys watching the place. What’s going on? Are you in trouble?

I frown, not having any idea what he’s talking about. I steal a glance at Malachi and realize it must be something he did. Truthfully, I haven’t let myself think about the break-in. I’ve been too buried in work with the opening and making sure Charlie is taken care of. Malachi hasn’t said anything about putting people in front of my house, and now I don’t know if I’m more confused or rattled.

“Everything okay?” Malachi asks, glancing over.

“Yeah,” I say automatically, then catch myself. “Actually . . . no. Not really. Sam is texting me. He stopped by my place.”

I give Malachi a pointed look.

He doesn’t so much as blink. His hand stays exactly where it is on my knee, that possessive, protective weight anchoring me even as irritation flickers low in my chest.

Before I can say anything else, Charlie pipes up from the back seat.

“Was he asking to borrow money again?” she asks, voice flat. “Because maybe he should try getting a real job.”

I snort before I can help it, tension breaking just enough to make room for a breath. I sigh dramatically.

“Because he has so many ideas, Charlie girl. He’s an entrepreneur, remember?”

She giggles and I shake my head.

Malachi pulls into the underground garage a few minutes later. We all pile out, Charlie rushing ahead with her backpack to the elevator. The moment we step inside the penthouse, the warmth of the drive and the easy rhythm of breakfast evaporate. I close the door behind us and Charlie immediately beelines for the couch, settling in and mumbling something about watching a new survival show that’s like The Hunger Games.

Malachi moves past me like a shadow—heading toward the stairs. I watch him from the entryway for a beat too long, the slow coil of unease that started with Sam’s texts tightening with every breath I take. After another look at Charlie, reassuring me she’s already absorbed into her day’s plans, I follow him.

It’s not just that he had men posted outside my house. Or changed the locks.

It’s that he didn’t tell me.

My heart races with a mix of confusion and frustration as I make my way upstairs. I think I understand what he’s trying to do—he wants to keep Charlie and me safe after the break-in—but there’s a weight to his silence that gnaws at me. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more going on, that it has something to do with the few gifts I’d gotten. I realize now I was wrong to ignore the fallout of the break-in, too caught up in the stress of opening night and the chaos of every day since. But that doesn’t mean Malachi shouldn’t have been clear about what “taking care of it” actually meant.

There’s a difference between wanting to protect someone and keeping them in the dark, and right now it feels like he’s choosing the latter. It’s frustrating. Especially because I’ve always been on my own. I’ve handled everything for Charlie and me; sure, I’ve had support from Tonya and other friends, but they’ve had their own lives and issues to deal with.

I’ve never been able to afford to be the damsel in distress, waiting for a knight to save the day.

I can’t let myself be like that any longer. Two days was enough. I don’t know what’s going to happen between Malachi and me, but life has taught me to never rely on people, especially men. The world makes it too easy for a man to walk away while a woman is stuck in a world that’s crumbling around her.

The penthouse is as pristine as ever, a sanctuary of marble and soft gray hues. Still, it feels almost clinical with its elegance, devoid of the warmth that comes from a place lived in and loved. In a household where sentiment should reign, the open spaces feel more like a museum, meticulously curated and managed instead of lived in. Through its open door, the guest room I’ve been sharing with Charlie is the only one that really looks lived in, my daughter’s bag and clothes piled against the wall.

I find Malachi already in his small office, the door wide open. I’ve done my best to respect his privacy, knowing I’m his guest, so it’s the first time I’ve been in here. Immediately, I notice that the office seems to match the rest of the penthouse—completely without personality or heart.

He doesn’t look up when I close the door behind me. He’s flipping through a stack of papers, brows furrowed in concentration. God, he makes even the mundane attractive. I probably would have given in sooner if I’d had to see Malachi in his office every day at The Place. But right now, I don’t want to think of our working arrangement or the undeniable connection I felt last night. Instead, I clear my throat.

“Malachi?”

He looks up, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Blake.” His voice resonates, deep and steady, wrapping around my senses like a hug. “Charlie’s settled in?”

“Yeah, she’s already sucked into that new survival show.” I keep my tone light. It’s hard to ignore the feeling that builds from him so easily asking about her. Like she’s her own person and not just an accessory in my life.

“Good.” He eases back into his chair, fingers brushing over the stack of papers again. I watch as he steels himself into that posture—slight hunch of the shoulders, jawline tightening—almost like he’s building walls to stop me from rounding the desk.

The air grows charged between us as I stare at him from across his desk. There’s a low, narrow couch along one wall where I could sit, but I’m having a hard enough time not pacing. What’s worse is he’s just looking at me, like he’s waiting for me to start this conversation. Like I’m the only party responsible when he could have opened up communication at any point over the last forty-eight hours.

Suddenly, it’s like all the frustration and stress and anxiety and bullshit I’ve been pushing down for the last week is rising up. No longer letting me ignore it and telling myself I’ll deal with all the little things when I have more time.

“Do you want to tell me why I’m getting texts from my brother about my locks being changed and people apparently guarding my house?”

Malachi doesn’t flinch. And he doesn’t make a joke about Sam like I had with Charlie earlier.

“I’ve also had an alarm system installed.”

My mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me right now?” Until that night, we’d never had an issue before.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift. Just meets my incredulous stare with infuriating calm.

“Seriously?” I snap. “You changed the locks. You installed an alarm. Apparently, you even put guards outside my home. Did you ever stop to think for one moment to, I don’t know—” I throw my hands up in exasperation, “—ask me if I wanted you to do any of that?”

I laugh—but there’s no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. Because why would you? Why consult the woman who actually lives there?”

His jaw ticks, but he stays still, calm. Too calm. It just pisses me off even more. I scoff before running my hands over my hair, before holding my nape, shaking my head.

He leans forward slightly. “Blake?—”

“No. You don’t get to Blake me right now.” My hands are shaking as I point at him. I’m unraveling. “You’re acting like it’s no big deal that you made decisions about my life without even asking me. My daughter’s life. That you’re entitled to do whatever you want, just because you were there that night?—“

I break off, breath shallow. My voice comes out smaller, sharper. My voice cracks, the emotions I’ve shoved down rising like a tide. “You were there—right when everything happened. You didn’t just show up. You intervened. Like it was nothing. Like you’d been waiting.”

It’s like a torrent of ice water crashes against me, the fire of anger gone in an instant as something horrible occurs to me. Nausea twists my insides, my skin soaked in a cold sweat as fear overtakes me. I don’t know who Malachi is, not really. Fear for me, for being an idiot. Fear for Charlie downstairs?—

In a blink, he’s no longer seated.

Malachi is right in front of me.

His eyes burn gold, fangs bared in a snarl. The air crackles around him.

“Don’t.” His voice shakes with barely leashed rage, but it isn’t cold—it’s blistering. “Don’t you dare suggest I’d hurt you like that. Don’t even fucking think it.”

There’s an honesty to his defense that strikes any doubt of him from me.

“I have done a lot of things, Blake,” he grits out, fangs still bared, breath sharp as cut glass. “But I have never, not once, put you or your daughter in harm’s way. Not then. Not ever.”

I can’t look at him anymore. Not with the shame now turning my stomach. It’s like I’m on some messed-up emotional roller coaster or a boat like that one in Willy Wonka. Except when I lower my gaze to the floor, his hand grasps my chin. His touch is so careful, so gentle, that tears burn in my eyes as he makes me look back up at him.

Seriously, what has this man done to me? I’m never like this.

“You want to know why I was there that night?”

His voice is like a rough whisper, like the day after screaming all night at a concert. I don’t know if I really want to know the answer. Whatever it is, it’s going to change everything. Somewhere, I find the courage to nod—more of a twitch of the head, but he accepts it. His hand falls to his side, but he doesn’t move back and neither do I.

He takes one breath, then another. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Since the first night you kissed me. Since the first time you showed up in my life like a hurricane I never saw coming.”

The look in his gaze shifts slightly, but not the intensity.

“After that night between us . . . I was already coming apart. Already looking for excuses to see you. I wasn’t thinking like a leader, like a business owner. I was a man in denial about losing his fucking mind. I was hunting alone near your street just to be closer. I told myself it was just a coincidence. That I was doing my duties to Ambrose. But the truth is?—”

He exhales, voice raw.

“The truth is, I’ve been obsessed with you. And that night . . . when I heard your scream? I moved before I even knew what I was doing. I didn’t think. I just ran.”

The confession hangs between us like a blade suspended by a thread. Heavy. Fragile. Honest.

Malachi swallows hard, and it’s like it costs him something to hold my gaze. But he doesn’t look away.

“I never meant to scare you,” he says quietly. “But I won’t lie to you either. You’ve been under my skin since the first moment. And the more I tried to walk away . . . the harder it got. So, last night I decided I was done walking away.”

Something shifts in his expression—something almost like relief. Because now it’s out there. Now it’s real.

And there’s no taking it back.