Page 114 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

Sebastián

As Flynn slept, I traced my fingers over his chest.Cold.So damned cold. And I was sure being wrapped around me all night hadn’t helped. The first rays of sunlight crept through the gap in the curtains, casting a soft glow across his face.

Flynn’s peaceful expression shattered. His brow furrowed, lips twisting into a grimace of pain. A whimper escaped his throat as his head thrashed against the pillow.

My hand froze above his ribs, above the darkness I couldn’t chase away. His legs tangled in the sheets as he fought whatever horror played behind his closed eyes.

“Flynn.” I gripped his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused. His hand clutched at his chest, right over the spot where that damned mark festered.

“It was all…” Flynn’s voice rasped. “Dark. Dark and cold.”

I brushed his hair from his forehead. “The magic can cause strange dreams. But you’re okay now.” I pressed my lips to his temple, lingering there.

His breathing slowly steadied, though his fingers remained splayed across his heart. “Are you angry at me?”

I frowned at him.

“For last night? Untying you. It felt right in the moment, but I know you said…”

“No, I’m not angry.” As if I could harbour any amount of annoyance after sharing something sospecial.

“And you stopped right away. I asked you to stop, and you did immediately. But—”

I silenced him with a kiss, recalling how I’d sucked the blood from his tongue after he’d cut himself on my fang. Those blood-drenched kisses… I could have happily lapped at the wound for hours, but Flynn had asked me to stop, and I had. I’d controlled myself. For him.

My dead heart stirred like winter ice breaking in spring, a cascade of emotion flooding through the cracks—relief, pride, gratitude.Devotion.

Our kiss deepened—his lips parting sweetly beneath mine—but I couldn’t allow myself to indulge in him again, not now. If we started that, I may never leave his bed.

Pulling away, I traced my fingers along his jaw. “If anything, I’m in awe of your trust. Your bravery. You’ve trusted me with your life. Your body. And also your heart, by telling me everything that happened with Connor.”

He’d given me so many pieces of himself now, so it was surely my turn. My fingers stilled in his hair as the weight of what I was about to share pressed down on my chest. Even here with him, the looming date cast its shadow. “Six days until the thirty-first of October.”

Flynn shifted beside me, propping himself up on one elbow. “You don’t like Halloween?”

A hollow laugh escaped my throat. “It’s the date I have to read a certain collection of diaries.” I settled back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster. “My oldest diaries. From my human years.”

“Youhaveto read them?”

“I force myself to read them every ten years. On the anniversary of her death.” The words came out clipped, mechanical. “To make sure I never forget what I did to her.”

Flynn fell very still. “Her?”

“My sister. Magdalena.” The name summoned a hazy fragment of her—thick brown hair dancing in a warm breeze, dappled sunlight through leaves, a moment frozen in time before I destroyed everything.

Flynn’s hand found mine under the covers, but I barely registered his touch. Every decade, October always felt like this—a noose gradually tightening around my neck, each day bringing me closer to those blood-stained pages.

“I spend the whole month dreading it.” My voice was a whisper. “Like a ticking time bomb, counting down the days until I have to face myself again.”

Flynn’s face crumpled as he absorbed my words. The sheet slipped down his chest as he sat up abruptly, revealing the faint delicate frost patterns that now adorned his skin. They looked almost beautiful, like intricate mantilla lace. A stark contrast to their true meaning—death’s fingers slowly claiming him.

He shifted, expression gentle yet determined. “Hey… Why do we have to wait until Halloween? If this is hurting you this much…” He reached for my hand. “Maybe we could face it together. Today.”

“Flynn—” The protest died in my throat. How could I explain that these memories were like a poison so potent they had to be contained to a single day every ten years?

“I know it’s your private ritual, and I’m not trying to dismiss that.” He squeezed my fingers. “But watching you torture yourself with dread for the next six days…” He shook his head and started to pull on his clothes. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

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