“Yes.”
“You left last night before he could glean so much as a word from you. Tonight, you hide all that he desires.” I tilt my head to one side. “Well, not entirely. Wear the shirt as you usually would.”
Grant blushes at that, and I do not know why. He dresses, always, as though he has just strolled from the nearest beach, despite the fact that we have lived in London for the entirety of his vampire life. I do not mind, though I wonder how I did not connect that he might be from some coastal town in the firstplace. No, I might even admit I like it. He reminds me of what the sun once felt like when it beat down upon my upturned face. It is not a feeling I sharply miss, not with Grant so close.
He retreats into the bathroom to shower and change, so I take the time to dress, and I am fastening the top button of my shirt when he emerges. The dark sweep of eyeliner makes his eyes look even bigger, and a swipe of gloss on his lips, slightly parted, has my insides quivering for a taste.
I banish the feeling with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”
Grant steps up beside me so he can look in the only mirror in this room. My breath catches at the sight of us side by side. True hunger has long since been buried in my past; I have always been a careful, cautious vampire.
For a second, Ifeelit. I see a future we could have, where this would be no job, and there would be no other vampire involved at all. Just the two of us, taking the time to indulge in some pleasure or another.
“Let me help,” Grant says, and he snatches up my tie before I can utter a sound in protest.
I do not protest, either, when he slides the fabric around my neck, leaning in so he can tie a rudimentary but neat knot at the base of my throat. He scowls as he does it, brow furrowed in concentration, but his fingers are quick and deft and, all too soon, he is smoothing down the silk and adjusting my collar and taking a single short step away.
“Thank you.”
I do not want to do this. I do not want to take Grant to a place where others will look upon him as though they can make him theirs. I do not want Jakob to get even closer than that, this dangerous vampire, who will wear his desire freely in his attempt to seduce another victim into his schemes.
Grant must read some of it from my face, or maybe siphon it from our bond. “I’ll be fine, Vlad,” he says. “Just got to get him a bit worked up. And you’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“So, it’ll all be fine.”
“We need ground rules.”
“Ground rules?”
“He cannot touch you.”
Grant lets out a bark of laughter, but it sounds strange. “Vlad, we can’t—I’m not going to, y’know. I’m not going todoanything with him, but I need to find out who this fae is, don’t I?”
He does. We discussed kidnapping Jakob, threatening the identity of the fae out of him, but there is every chance she has been hiding herself whilst in the club and therefore might see us take him, and there is also a chance Jakob does not know. Our best chance is for Grant to get closer to Jakob and meet her himself. At least that way, we can ensure our intel is truthful.
“You do,” I admit. “I will watch out for the fae. For danger.”
Grant squeezes my arm, and the grin he aims at me feels genuine and makes me swallow hard. “I know you will.”
iii
too pale, eyes too big but also for a moment, I think there are three of them—him—so I don’t know what I’m thinking at all.
I’m hardly thinking, spiralling, because I can’t move my legs from under the crumpled mess that is the front of the car and I thought that the whole point of that was to stop people in the car from getting so injured, but that hasn’t helped me now, has it?
I whimper and he shifts next to the window, eyes sweeping over me. My head feels heavy. I drop it back against the headrest and blink up at the night sky.
Dark, so dark. Stars like pinpricks in the distance.
I’m going to die here. Here, like this, in this car with this stranger over something stupid, and every breath hurts, jabbing pains radiating from my side that only intensify when the stranger reaches over and takes one of my hands in his.
Name?I don’t hear the first part of the question. That’s okay. I don’t need to answer. I don’t think I can. All I can taste is myown blood. My face burns too, but I can’t think about that for too long.
Tell me your name.Firm. I roll my head to one side, whimpering at the pain even that movement brings. He’s got some kind of accent, something I can’t place, something that’s barely there at all. Doesn’t matter. His voice is low, warm, soothing, eyes so wide and dark that I might just trip and fall right into them.
Might not hurt to die like that. Not like this. This fucking hurts.
