There was no response, not even a nod. Only that same rapt attention. Seth considered asking,Why did you knock me over last night?But decided against it. The kid seemed skittish, and maybe mostly nonverbal. And he wasn’t knocking Seth overnow, so why not let bygones be bygones?
“Are you going to be okay out here?” he asked instead.
He received another nod this time.
Not sure what else to do or say, Seth went inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He felt oddly cruel in doing so. But that was ridiculous. It would have been insane to ask the stranger inside. The bakery wasn’t open, and Seth still had pastries to make. What was he going to do—work with the kid lurking behind him, watching Seth’s every move with those ancient dark eyes?
Another strange, internal shudder ran through him. Seth wasn’t sure if it was the good kind or bad kind, but he wasn’t goingto overanalyze it. The gray weather was doing weird things to him, like it was giving a spooky edge to everything. Next thing Seth knew, he’d be wearing all black and trying to commune with ghosts or cast spells with his cinnamon sticks.
Seth got some coffee started and his music going, selecting one of his favorite morning playlists, all low and moody and lyrical. He pulled his headband up to push his hair back and washed his hands thoroughly in the sink, donning his gloves afterward.
He was making a smaller selection of pastries today, keeping his supply low until business picked up. It was easy to get lost in the act of creating food, even the basic scones and muffins he’d made a million times over, with different flavors and twists based on Seth’s mood that day.
So Seth was focused. It was only every now and then his mind drifted back to a certain pretty face and probing dark eyes.
And when six o’clock rolled around, Seth went to the front with his heart lodged strangely in his throat. He unlocked the front door and turned his sign over to “Open” with hands that weren’t quite steady.
He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous, but it turned out it didn’t matter either way. The kid didn’t show up at six. He didn’t show up that day at all.
Or the next. Or the next one after that.
For all Seth knew, he was gone for good.
3
RILEY
Riley ran through the forest as fast as his feet could carry him.
Which was, to be honest, very, very fast. It was a good thing too, since his house in the woods was a twenty-minute drive from the little coastal town on a good day. And it seemed really important, in this moment, to get to that house. To get very far away from…other places.
Because the sights and sounds and smells of the forest were surrounding Riley on every side, but all he could see were messy brown curls, and soft cheeks, and strong-looking hands with delicate fingers. All he could hear was a bright, warm voice asking if Riley would be okay. All he could smell was tart orange, and sugar, and a hint of what he thought might be vanilla. Like a cake. A bright sunshine cake with sticky-sweet icing.
Riley had eaten a lot of human food over the years—any intake helped with the hunger pains—but it had always beenabout quantity, not quality. Nothing made in an oven or on a stove had ever compared to the hot, rich burst of blood on his tongue, so what had been the difference?
But now—nowRiley could see the appeal. A big slice of cake, placed oh so carefully on a beautiful, breakable plate. Just for him. Just for Riley.
Mine. Mine, mine, mine, MINE. Turn back. Turn BACK.
Okay, notjustfor him. Because Riley still had his stupid fucking voice to think about, because he was still a stupid fucking vampire.
The thing inside him was mad as hell that Riley had made them leave. It was throwing a tantrum, furious enough that it hurt to think, its yelling and snarling creating a pounding rhythm behind Riley’s eyes.
Riley hadn’t been able to say anything to the beautiful baker with the voice raging inside him like that. He’d barely been able to nod. And now the voice was yelling about mates, and biting, and…other stuff.
But that was fine. Riley was used to ignoring its tantrums. He’d had years of practice.
Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!he yelled inside his own head, a childish counter to its enraged growls.
It didn’t like that, but whatever. Sometimes it was nice to yell back, even if it was a useless exercise.
When Riley finally made it home, he didn’t pause on the porch or stop in the entryway to toe off his muddy shoes. He ran straight to the dining room, where his moms were playing cards on their oversize, ornately engraved, admittedly ostentatious dining room table.
His moms were used to him running—in the forest, in the house, to and from town—and barely blinked at the speed of his entrance. “Oh, but the mud, darling,” Mama Daphne only scoldedsoftly, as Mama Sybil cursed under her breath at whatever strategic move Mama Daphne had just pulled.
“How was town?” Mama Sybil asked without looking away from the cards arranged on the table.
They hadn’t used to be so casual about Riley returning from town. It had once been a whole event, every time he’d managed to surround himself with humans without trying to tear into someone’s throat.
