Page 102 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

Papers and photographs cluttered the surface, connected by a web of red string. My fingers traced the string connecting Flynn’s name to the other victims. Was there a pattern here, just beyond my grasp?

Kit cleared his throat. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re about to go full conspiracy theorist with the strings.”

I narrowed my eyes, dropping my hand from the board. At least I hadn’t told him about my suspected hyena stalker.

“Vampires and demons don’t mix. The last time I saw them work together was Paris, eighteen thirty-two. My diaries imply that half the supernatural population died. The Seine ran red for days.”

“Cheerful as always, boss.” Kit said. “You think this is similar?”

“I don’t know.” I studied the photograph of “Damien.” The sight of his sneering face made me want to punch something. Preferably him. We’d shown his picture to over fifty supernaturals, with little success. Cambions were essentially foot soldiers, with a higher power often directing them. We were keeping tabs on over thirty of them, but Damien had appeared from nowhere. He came onto our radar after a contact reported overhearing him talking to another lesser demon in an ancient dialect, one typically reserved for those in positions of power.

“Someone with considerable influence must be pulling the strings.”

Kit stretched, his joints popping. “Could be that demon you mentioned? The one from the East End who’s getting a bit too big for his boots?”

I shook my head. “Lord Vasquez,as he calls himself, controls his territory too carefully to risk such a mess. Besides, he despises vampires. Claims we smell of death.”

“That’s rich.” Kit snorted. “So what about the Brixton clan? That Marcus Vale fancies himself in charge of?”

“That’s what worries me.” I leaned forward. “The Brixton vampires have been a massive problem ever since Vale started building his little cult. Those vampires have always despised my interference. I can only imagine their anger towards me now I’ve killed two of them.” When I finally met Vale face to face, he’d likely have some choice words for me. “But Vale’s clan have never been particularly organised. Never seemed to have an agenda, beyond their bloodlust. But obviously…”

I stood, pacing to dispel my nervous energy, staring at the photographs on the board, the twelve victims of the dark demon magic. I refused to let Flynn become number thirteen.

“There’s something more at play here. We need to speak with White again.” Twenty years of loyalty, and I still wasn’t convinced she was always as forthcoming with her help as she could be.

“When’s your next scheduled check-in?”

“Given recent events, I’m going to have to bring our meeting forward.”

Kit’s eyes gleamed with familiar mischief. “Try to sound less enthusiastic about it. You know, some people actually enjoy their weekly therapy.”

I shot him a look that would have withered a lesser man. Kit just grinned, as immune to my glares as he’d been since we’d met seven years ago.

“Go home, Kit.” I waved him away. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Kit rose, but paused at the bookcase. “You should get some rest too. And by rest, I don’t mean brooding in your office all night.”

“I already made such a promise.”

“Spending the night in Flynn’s room, then?” Kit’s grin turned wolfish. “How domestic of you.”

I refused to dignify that with a response.

Upstairs, the hotel’s corridors stretched dark and silent before me. As I passed Flynn’s door, his steady heartbeat called to me, tempting me inside. But work demanded my attention first. I had promises to keep, yes—but also a lesser demon to hunt.

Dawn would arrive soon enough. Perhaps then I’d allow myself the luxury of lying beside Flynn, watching his face in sleep, memorising the precise rhythm of his breathing.

As I slipped into my office, Flynn’s blood still sang through my veins, a reminder of both pleasure and peril. Of darkness and dawn.

Of promises made, and promises yet to keep.

22

Flynn

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