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Chapter Twenty-Six

BLAKE

M alachi’s private office at The Place isn’t just intimidating—it’s fortified. Built to project authority the way other men wear suits. And right now? The damn thing hums with it.

I’ve been in this room before—sat across from that ridiculous desk pretending not to shake in my seat, pretending the weight of his gaze didn’t make my spine feel like it was grinding into dust. But this is the first time I’ve walked into it as… whatever I am now. Not just a name on payroll. Not just a body in dancer’s shoes and leggings brought in to “maintain the production schedule.” This time, I’m the woman who’s been kissed senseless, worshipped against a desk, bitten—fed from. Like someone cherished. Like someone claimed. And who has no fucking clue what happens next.

Maybe that’s why it takes me a moment to realize there are already people in here.

Perry, I already know, but the other man and woman are strangers to me. The three of them look at us when we enter, and I’m pinned in place. I only move again when Malachi nudges me forward with a hand to my lower back after he’s closed the door.

Perry is sitting in the chair I’ve come to think of as “his,” the leather club chair closest to Malachi’s desk. He’s dressed in his usual slacks and polo, with his leather folio closed and propped on the leg he’s got crossed over his knee.

An unfamiliar man with raven-black hair pulled back in a half bun stands near the large window overlooking the restaurant, with his arms folded like someone carved him out of granite and ran out of fucks to give. When he looks over his shoulder, light glints off his golden eyes. Another vampire. He’s in one of the Nightshade signature black suits, the cut so clean it could slice someone if he moved too fast. His golden eyes track me the second I enter, not cold, but not exactly warm either. Just… observant. Like he’s cataloging my whole mood in a second and deciding exactly how dangerous I am to this situation. He makes the whispers of the Barrows come to mind, the ones that talk about the Lion of the Barrows—the vampire king’s right hand and top enforcer.

He has to be Kasar.

A woman is the most casual-looking of them, with bright brown eyes that mark her human. She’s got the look of effortless beauty down, with her black wavy hair tumbling artfully around her shoulders, thick black eyelashes with only a touch of eyeliner, and lip gloss on her cupid-bow lips. She’s wearing a wine-red tunic dress that probably costs more than my entire monthly food budget. She’s lounging in Malachi’s chair, pushed back from the desk, sneakered feet propped up on it like she owns the place. The mischievous grin she gives him is overly familiar—and an irrational spike of jealousy cuts through me.

Malachi hadn’t said he was with anyone; I had just assumed he wasn’t. But why would he have had sex with me if he was? Why would he have said that I was his and take me and Charlie into his penthouse?

She’s got the curves I’ve always envied and oozes confidence. She fits here. In Topside. With him. I feel even more out of place in my thrifted work clothes—tight, pale lavender athleisure pants, a white racerback cotton tee, and my favorite long black cardigan. At least I’m wearing my nicest black flats, though they don’t make me feel any less shabby.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” the woman teases with a pout. Even her voice is sexy—raspy, low, like it’s made for private booths and whispered secrets.

Malachi stalks around me and knocks her feet off his desk. “Heathen,” he says in a mock scold. “I haven’t been avoiding you, El. I saw you last night.”

I refuse to be jealous. There’s no reason to be. Malachi and I haven’t discussed if we’re exclusive, and I can’t expect him to not have had a history just because I was a virgin before him.

“That doesn’t count,” El replies, sticking her tongue out at him before turning her bright smile on me. “You must be Blake. Perry here’s been raving about how good you are for the Stage Producer position. And I was here last night. It was amazing!”

I blush, shooting a grateful look at Perry. Nervously, I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thank you. I’ve really enjoyed working here.”

She doesn’t respond right away—just pokes Malachi in the stomach again. I try to ignore the sharp stab of jealousy. Clearly, they’re close.

“Are you going to introduce us properly, Mal?” she asks.

Malachi huffs at the shortening of his name, though the fondness in his expression doesn’t escape me. He swats her hand away before it can jab him again.

“Blake, this is Eloise, an absolute menace.” There’s affection in his tone despite the words. He gestures to the other vampire. “And that’s Kasar. Like she guessed, this is Blake—the stage producer.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say with a polite nod.

“I might be a menace, but he still loves me,” Eloise adds with a grin, before she looks back to where Malachi looms over her. “I’m actually here for work, though. The reviews are starting to come in from last night, I’ve got new material to get your approval before we start using them. Did you have a chance to read Deidre’s write-up? It ran today in the Newgate Times.”

He turns serious, glancing between me and Eloise. His voice drops. “I haven’t. Can you give it to Perry? I trust him. There’s another issue we need to handle first.”

Eloise frowns, clearly picking up on the tension thickening the air. She gets up, leaning down enough to sweep up a large tote bag that says I just wet my plants, and sits in the free chair. Perry stands, gesturing for me to take his seat.

“Send me the graphics and I’ll go through them,” Perry says to Eloise as I take the newly vacated seat. He dips his head towards Malachi, gives me a smile, and heads out, closing the door behind him with a quiet snick.

Eloise looks between Kasar, who’s turned to lean against the window and give Malachi his full attention. “Is this something I should hang around for, or should I head downstairs too?”

Malachi waves her to stay seated. “You may as well stay; then you can save me the trouble of updating Ambrose.” He must see the confusion I try to hide when he clarifies. “Eloise is Ambrose’s mate.”

I shouldn’t feel as relieved as I do learning that. But it’s quickly replaced by steely determination when Kasar pushes off the wall and crosses to the desk in two strides. “So, tell me everything. What is going on with the break-in at my place? What haven’t you told me?”

“Oh,” Eloise says, drawing out the O. Her gaze darts between me and Malachi and there’s a mischievous glint in her eye. “Is it like that, then? Did Mal-pal here go full alpha, overprotective vampire male on you?”

Malachi rolls his eyes, surprising me, as Eloise snickers. She reaches over and pats my arm, making me realize I’ve clenched both hands tightly in my lap. “We really need to hang out and get to know each other. Anyone who makes Mr. One-night-stands go into protective vampire mode has my automatic approval.”

I blink at her, surprised at the turn the conversation seems to be taking. “Thank you, I guess?” My heart can’t help but flutter when I think of what we did the night before and how everything seems to be pointing towards it being more than just one night.

“Where was Kit during the break-in?” Malachi asks, completely ignoring Eloise and directing his attention to Kasar.

“Wait, wait. Kit? The shifter guy who’s asked me out a few times? You think this is him?” My voice is thin, sharp-edged with disbelief. It’s at that moment I realize Malachi isn’t wearing the contacts that he usually does when at The Place.

He doesn’t look at me as he replies. Those golden eyes now fully unveiled are fixed on Kasar, but his voice cuts clean and lethal. “We know it is. I caught his scent there and on the gifts you’ve received.”

The room goes still. Kasar nods once, confirming Malachi’s assessment like a full sentence. There’s a shift, a subtle tightening of the air, and every hair on my arms stands on end.

“He’s been seen near The Place twice in the last week,” Kasar says, voice rough like smoked steel. “Trying to pass casual. Watching from across the street. Too polished for a drunk night out, too still for a man with no agenda.”

My stomach drops straight through the floor.

Eloise—still perched in her chair, now silent but alert—watching me with a trace of something softer than her usual impish charm. Like she’s balancing between two instincts: the jokester and the fellow woman who’s seen too much.

I sit back hard in the leather chair, the material creaking beneath my thighs. “But… that doesn’t make sense. Why?”

I don’t mean the break-in. I mean the escalation.

Kit was always pushy, yeah. Always too smooth, too confident. I’d made it pretty clear I wasn’t interested in going to dinner with him, and then Malachi said we were dating. This, though? Driving me out of my home? Creeping on me at work? Sending hauntingly personal gifts? That’s not just being persistent. That’s an obsession.

“He wants you.” Malachi’s voice is deep, calm—but there’s razor wire coiled beneath each word. “I saw it at the Gentlemen’s Study. The way he hovered at your end of the bar, how he tried to touch you and didn’t like being told no. He practically challenged me when you left to clock out that night.”

My heart beats faster, a low roar building in my ears. “So what, he’s pissed I told him no? I’ve told him no for years.”

“Shifters,” Kasar says, his tone resigned, “don’t all play by the same rules. Some of them think claiming is about persistence, not consent. Add obsession and a bruised ego, and you get dangerous delusion.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be that close,” Malachi mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “He shouldn’t have had the opportunity.”

I turn to him, my voice sharp. “Then why didn’t he stop? If he knew you were watching?”

“Because that’s the kind of guy who doesn’t care,” Eloise interjects, her tone unusually sober. “He’s not trying to win you over, Blake. He’s trying to win. Period.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, frustrated. “What does he want me to do? Date him? Apologize for not being interested?” I blanch, thinking about the note with the first gift of coffee and flowers. About forgiving me for the night before. My horror must be obvious when I meet Malachi’s eyes, because in a fraction of a second, he’s kneeling in front of me, broad hands gripping my thighs.

“Tell me.” His voice is deep with command.

“The night after we—” I gulp, refusing to look at either Kasar or Eloise, my face burning, “you know. That morning, there was coffee and flowers left on my doorstep, but there was a note.”

“What did it say?” Eloise asks, her voice cotton-covered steel of support. Malachi’s eyes are still locked in on mine, the grip of his hands never flagging.

“It said that the night before was forgiven. I thought you had written it. But it had to have been him.” Nausea wraps around my backbone as I realize Kit had to have been there. Somehow he had known what Malachi and I had done. Disgust crawls over my skin at the idea that a stranger could have watched what we had done in the living room.

Malachi growls, and I flinch. The deep rumble cuts off immediately, and my vampire takes a step back. I miss his grounding presence already and want to demand he come back.

“You’ve increased security?” Eloise’s tone is sharp, commanding. My head whips towards her. She looks different than when we first walked in. In the place of the teasing lady is a woman sitting as if made out of iron, her expression one of fierce command. For me, a stranger she just met.

Kasar nods, and I huff a laugh from my nose, getting her attention. “I demanded to know everything because of him apparently putting guards in front of my house and installing a security system all without talking to me about it first.”

The side of her mouth inches up in a wry, understanding smile. “You’re new to vampires, but let me tell you something: they’re not good at boundaries when it comes to their mates. Once one of the Nightshades’ inner circle have decided that you’re theirs to protect, there isn’t anything they won’t do. If Kit is still alive, that means Malachi is exercising extreme restraint. I never wanted to know how many people Ambrose and them killed the night we confronted Michael. But that’s a whole other story.”

I try to process her words, but all I can keep coming back to is the word mate. Is that what I am to Malachi? He said I was his but... mate? I know enough about supernatural creatures to know that it’s not a casual term. I try to meet Malachi’s eyes, but he moves back to his desk, looking everywhere except at me.

“Kasar, I want him picked up the moment a soldier finds him,” he orders, like Eloise hadn’t just dropped a bomb into my psyche. “He hasn’t been seen since the break-in, but I don’t think he’s giving up.”

“This is...” I trail off, unable to find the right word. Bigger? Worse? Realer than I was ready to admit?

Eloise leans forward, forearms braced on her knees. “This level of behavior? He’s not going to stop because you ignore him or finally tell him off. Guys like that—they don’t hear no. They hear a challenge.”

I glance between her and Malachi. “So what, I’m just supposed to wait around hoping he gets bored?”

“No,” Kasar says, tone flat. “You’re supposed to keep living your life while we make sure he never gets close enough to try again.”

Malachi cuts a look Kasar’s way, like he might’ve preferred that message come with a little more finesse. But I appreciate the honesty.

Still, it’s not enough to stop the rising frustration in my chest. I breathe out a shaky exhale. “Then what’s the plan? Because hiding forever isn’t it.”

“We’ve already increased surveillance at The Place,” Malachi says. “You’ll continue to be escorted to and from the penthouse. Any packages delivered go through screening. Your house will remain under guard until I say otherwise.”

“So you expect me to just smile and pretend like this isn’t happening? Like someone isn’t out there thinking I belong to him?”

“No.” His eyes flash gold again, and it’s not anger this time—it’s something darker. Protective. Possessive. “I expect you to keep living. Because you do belong—to yourself. Not to him. And I’ll tear the city apart before letting him do shit.”

I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

Eloise nods approvingly. “See? Alpha vampire mode. Called it.”

Kasar looks at her, deadpan. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m always helping,” she mutters, but leans back again.

Malachi reaches across the desk, and I’m moving my hand to him before I realize it. His grip is solid, grounding. “I won’t let him touch you. Either of you. You have my word.”

For now, that has to be enough.