Page 38 of Vampire Soldier

Fury devours me.

No lock can stop me. The back door gives way beneath the full force of my shoulder with a burst of splinters and slammed hinges. The cheap steel frame crunches like cardboard as I tear through the entry into the kitchen, my gaze already sweeping the rooms ahead.

Her heartbeat thunders now. Fast. Sharp. A second, smaller heartbeat clings to it—Charlie. I still can’t scent the intruder but I hear a third heartbeat, rapidly retreating.

I round the corner into the hallway and catch the backswing of the open front door just as a silhouette vanishes into the curbside dark. I could follow. I should follow. I should rip whatever creature apart for threatening Blake.

But I stop.

My hands tremble as I hold myself on the edge of that decision, torn between instinct and fear. The kind of internal war only beings who’ve lived centuries understand—the balance of consequence weighed against something deeper. Something more personal.

I choose them.

I hit a speed dial as I climb the stairs. Ashe picks up on the second ring, his voice rough with disuse—he must be asleep with Cassandra. “Malachi?”

“Her house was broken into,” I say, tone stripped bare of anything but fact.

“Is she okay?” his voice is steel immediately. There’s an edge there—the Nightshades protect what’s ours, and Blake is under our banner now. She was the moment I buried my cock in her and asked Kasar and Lan to help defend her.

I hear his mate in the background, her sleep-addled voice clearing as she asks about the situation. I don’t have time to settle her worries, not when the hall at the stair’s landing is drenched with twin scents of fear. And that blood—calling to me.

“Yes. Intruder escaped,” I clip out. “I need you here in twenty. I’m taking them to my penthouse.”

“I’m on it.”

I hang up, already turning my focus back to her. At her door, softly, so only she can hear, I say, “Blake. It’s me. Open the door.”

A pause. Then a heavier scrape—her moving the barricade. I can smell her sweat through the wood, the spike of adrenaline and disbelief. And that goddamned tempting and infuriating scent of her blood.

The door cracks. Just enough for one eye.

“Malachi?”

I nod. “He’s gone. I came the second I heard you.”

“How—” she cuts herself off as her voice wavers and shakes her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No. But I am.” I tilt my head. “And I’m not leaving you here another night.”

She blinks. Then opens the door all the way.

She’s in a giant sleep shirt, her feet bare, Charlie clinging to her hip with a narwhal pressed tight to her chest. Blake’s eyes shine with disbelief, rage, and something unspoken. Her hands tremble slightly from the surge of adrenaline, but she stands between me and her sister like a wall.

I’ve never wanted to kneel before anyone more than I do in that moment.

“I just need to call the police. You don’t have to take us anywhere.”

“I’ve already called Ashe,” I counter. “And no police. We’ll take care of this.”

She looks like she wants to fight me on it—jaw tight, eyes blazing. But there’s a tremble in her knees, and Charlie shifts against her with a soft, exhausted whimper. The moment stretches between us, tight as wire.

“You’re not giving me a choice,” she says quietly, not a question.

“No,” I say. “I’m not.”

She exhales through her nose, sharp and tired, and then turns without another word, walking back into the room with Charlie’s limbs curled around her like a vine. I hear drawers opening. A zipper. The soft rustle of a duffel bag being filled in a rush. And underneath it, the too-fast heartbeat of a woman holding herself together by sheer force of will.

I run a hand over my face, my fangs still throbbing behind my lips. I retreat downstairs. Her blood is in the air—faint, but enough to make my entire body coil with want. I can still see it: the tiny slice on her thigh, bright against her skin. The scent of her fear. Her protectiveness. Her rage.

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