Page 20 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

The cold in my chest spread, tendrils of ice wrapping around my ribs like skeletal fingers. My breath came in short, painful gasps that didn’t seem to deliver any oxygen. I was drowning on dry land.No, no, no.After everything that had happened, after running all this way from Braymore Bay, this was how it would end?

Three weeks in London, thenboom,dead at the tender age of twenty-five. I wasn’t even sure what to do with my life yet. Just a burning desire to keep breathing. Funny that.

Fuck, I really needed to call my mother now, before she saw my face on the news. And Katie—Christ, she’d probably want to arrange my funeral flowers herself.

The sofa dipped beside me. Cool fingers wrapped around my forearm, anchoring me.

“Flynn. Look at me.”

I raised my head with effort, feeling as though my neck could barely support its weight. This close, I could see tiny flecks of amber in Sebastián’s eyes, like dying embers in the depths of night.

“I won’t let that happen.” His grip tightened, firm enough to ground me. “We have time. And I promise you, I will do everythingin my power to save you.”

My supposed saviour’s presence radiated a strange sort of calm—the conviction in his tone steadied my breathing, though my heart still raced like a trapped animal.

“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate. I searched his face, seeing only steadfast determination, and in that moment, I felt safer than I had in months. My gaze landed on his full, plump lips, slightly parted.

Without thinking, my free hand reached for his other arm as some magnetic pull drew me toward him, urging me closer. My fingers barely brushed his sleeve before he jerked away, putting three feet of space between us as he retreated to his armchair.

Heat flooded my cheeks.What the fuck was I doing?The man had just told me demons were real and I was dying, and here I was, practically throwing myself at him.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, studying the concrete floor. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine.” His voice had gone carefully neutral. “The mark… it might make you act… impulsively.”

I wanted the sofa to swallow me whole.

Right. Blame it on the demon magic.Much better than admitting I’d been about to make an advance on the mysterious, beautiful man who’d saved my life.Almostsaved my life.

I had to take what I could get.

Sebastián rose and strode to a wall panel. “Everyone to the basement. Now.”

A crackle of static: “Oooh, is this about our new friend? Has he fainted yet?” Rory’s voice echoed. “Five quid says he’s fainted.”

“Rory.” Sebastián’s tone was pure warning.

I hugged my arms around my middle, trying to stop the trembling that had taken over my body. Footsteps thundered above. Priya and Rory appeared first, the latter bouncing down the stairs. Felix skulked in, retreating behind an armchair, eyes darting everywhere except at me.

Heavy boots announced another arrival. This had to be Kit—Rory’s brother. Though larger, the family resemblance showed in the sharpjawline and proud nose. But where Rory was compact energy, Kit was pure predator. A thin scar traced through his left eyebrow, his movements controlled and deliberate.

Kit’s gaze swept the room, softening at Felix’s hunched form. “Felix. Come sit properly.”

Felix’s head snapped up then down again. He inched around the armchair but remained standing.

Kit sighed and settled into the chair. “Right, then. Flynn Carter, aye?” His Scottish accent was more pronounced than Rory’s. “Well, you don’t look quite as scrawny as Rory reported.”

Ouch.

I glared at Rory, annoyance overriding my fear. I raked my eyes over his small frame. “Right, because you’re clearly qualified to judge physical proportions.”

Rory’s mouth dropped open, and Kit barked out a laugh. I tried not to look smug.

Sebastián stood, commanding attention without speaking a word. “As I suspected,” he began, voice grave. “Flynn has been marked by a cambion, the very one we received information about weeks ago. The symptoms match our previous cases.” He pulled over a corkboard covered in photos and documents, with Damien’s grainy CCTV image at the centre.

“He’s called Damien,” I offered.

Rory snickered, but Kit’s hand shot out, catching him across the back of the head with a solidthwack.

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