Page 22 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

Iclosed the diary with a snap.

I’d kept these leather-bound volumes for centuries, though the earlier ones had faded to ink-stained fragments of lives I could barely remember living.

The antique clock on my desk showed almost 11:00 p.m. Only an hour remained until my meeting with Greaves.

I only ever needed a few hours’ sleep, and I tended to catch them just before dawn. These days, room 204 had become my sleeping quarters, though I remained steadfast in my rule against overnight stays for the rest of the team. Hypocritical, perhaps.

At least for now, Flynn’s presence would provide the perfect excuse.

I’d placed him in room 208, a few doors down from mine. It was one of my favourites. The corner suite boasted original Victorian features—ornate ceiling roses, a marble fireplace, and tall sash windows that always caught the evening sun. I’d seen dozens of architectural styles come and go, but this craftsmanship held a particular charm. Perhaps because it reminded me of…something. The memory slipped away like smoke.

What was Flynn doing in there? Had he managed to find sleep in his new surroundings? Perhaps I should knock, just to check if he needed anything—

No.

Best to leave him be. The poor soul had endured enough upheaval for one day without me hovering like some gothic horror at his door.

I leant back in my chair, the memory of Flynn’s earlier gratitude washing over me. The way he’d gazed up at me, those fatally blue eyesfilled with such trust. “Thank you,” he’d said, quiet and sincere and bloody hell—my dead heart had actually skipped.

And now, the image refused to leave me in peace.

My phone buzzed.

Kit

5 mins away for Flynn duty. I hope you’re not still working, boss.

Right. Time to focus on getting to Greaves. I quickly tidied room 210, my office come diary room, and stepped into the corridor—

Thump.

A warm body collided with mine. A startled squeak pierced the air as Flynn stumbled backwards. Pure instinct had me reaching out, my hands finding his waist to steady him.

“S-sorry!” Flynn gasped.

My fingers brushed against bare skin where his pyjama top had ridden up. The flannel hung loose on his frame, red chequered pattern stark against his pale complexion. That strip of exposed flesh felt like fire under my touch—gloriously warm, impossibly soft.

I snatched my hand back as if burned. “Do you need something?”

Flynn shifted from foot to foot, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually… I’m a bit hungry. Haven’t eaten since—” His stomach growled, finishing the sentence for him.

Bloody hell.Food.Of course he needed food.

“Ah.” Heat crept up my neck. “I should have thought—” I barely paid attention to my team’s mealtime routines, and as for my own…

“It’s fine, really.” Flynn offered a small smile.

“I’ll remind you where the kitchen is. The others always keep food there.”The others.I tensed—would Flynn pick up on my odd phrasing? This would probably be an ideal time to mention my own eating habits, and well, the whole undead vampire thing.

But something seized my vocal cords.

Icouldhave pretended to myself that I didn’t understand why I kept silent. But that would’ve been a lie.

I didn’t want Flynn Carter to see me as a monster. Not when he looked at me with such raw, unguarded trust—like I was some kind of saviour who could piece him back together.

The truth about what I was would surely shatter that illusion.

I’d just keep it going for atinybit longer, until Flynn felt safer with us.

---