Page 25 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

Six blood bags.I’d make them last.

I made my way back through the tunnel network in record time.

Voices from the kitchen drifted down across the ground floor as I climbed the basement stairs—Felix’s hesitant tones mixed with…

Flynn’s?At this hour? My hearing picked up their conversation with perfect clarity.

“And then the whole system crashed.” Felix’s voice carried none of its usual nervous energy. “But I’d already copied the data, so…”

Flynn’s laugh, sweet as honey, rang through the air. “Oh my god, that’s brilliant. Did they ever find out?”

“N-no. But I felt so bad, I sent them an anonymous email explaining the security flaw.”

“Of course you did.” Another laugh.

I paused outside the kitchen door, frowning. I’d never heard Felix speak so freely. The boy barely managed two sentences in team meetings, yet here he was, chatting away like they were old friends.

“Want another tea?” Flynn asked. “I found some proper loose leaf stuff in this cupboard.”

More tea?Shouldn’t they want to sleep?

“Yes, please. Though technically that’s Kit’s private stash…”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Another easy laugh rolled forth. Something tight coiled in my chest. What sort of magic had Flynn worked to draw Felix out of his shell so effortlessly? The rest of us had tried for monthswithout success.

“So, how long have you worked here?” Flynn asked.

“About a year. After I hacked their—”

I didn’t quite realise I’d barged in until both of them jumped at my sudden appearance. Felix’s mug clattered against one of the vast stainless steel workbenches, while Flynn nearly dropped the kettle.

“I thought I told you to go home, Felix.” The harsh words escaped before I had time to censor them. “I mean, you should be at home resting, Felix.”

Felix hastily dumped his mug in the sink. “S-sorry, I’m going.” He practically fled past me.

Flynn’s shoulders hunched inward, his earlier warmth vanishing as he busied himself with the kettle. The sight of him shrinking away from me felt like a knife to the gut.

“I didn’t mean to…” I cleared my throat. What was even my excuse for being here? “I was actually looking to see if any of that sourdough made it to the kitchen.”

Flynn’s hands stilled. “Oh. No, it’s all gone. Never seen people eat bread so fast.” His lips twitched. “Or violently.”

“Ah.” I shifted my weight, hyper-aware of how I must appear to him—lurking in doorways, frightening everyone. “Well, perhaps you could bake some more for us?”

What?I cringed at myself. I needed to leave before I suggested indentured servitude.

Flynn’s laugh filled the kitchen, but this time it held a nervous edge. “God no, I can’t bake to save my life. I just work the till.” He fiddled with his mug. “Been there two weeks now. Took me an entire week to find work in London, actually.”

I shifted further into the hotel’s kitchen, past the wall lined with industrial ovens to lean against the dumbwaiter system, now sealed shut.

“What did you do before?” Really, I shouldn’t have encouraged conversation, not when the hunger gnawed at me like this. But since our first encounter at Wilde Card, my curiosity about him had only intensifiedwith each passing moment, each laugh, each fidget of those restless hands.

“Back home, I spent ten years working for my grandfather’s boating company.” Flynn’s expression clouded. “Well,deadgrandfather’s boating company. Think it’s in Mum’s name now…”

The words trailed off, weighted with unspoken pain. I recognised that look—the careful way people stepped around sharp memories, like avoiding broken glass.

Flynn moved suddenly, reaching past me for the sugar pot on the counter behind. His shoulder brushed against my chest, and the scent of him hit me like a tidal wave. Cinnamon and warmth andlife, coursing just beneath that delicate skin.

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