Page 41 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

I’d saved countless lives, yet none of them had ever looked at me quite like this.

This beautiful, fragile human who was looking at me like I could protect him from each and every darkness this cruel world might throw at him.

It made me want to be worthy of that look, more than anything.

9

Sebastián

Icouldn’t stop staring at him.

It was like he was a magnet and I was a helpless piece of metal being pulled towards him.

This was exactly why I’d sent Priya to the bakery to watch Flynn for the last two days. Then, this morning, I’d found myself announcing it was my turn.

The bakery buzzed with the usual weekday crowd. The scent of fresh bread hung thick in the air, almost—but not quite—masking the intoxicating smell of Flynn’s blood.

“You?” Flynn had said in the morning briefing. “Don’t you have… um… more important things to do?”

Yes. Yes, I did.

I’d brought some work with me, but the bakery was proving to be fairly distracting.

Flynnwas proving to be fairly distracting.

Why was it that his blood sang to me so sweetly, unlike his friend Emma’s, who worked alongside him? Or any of the customers, for that matter—sat far closer to me than he was.

Despite not actually being allowed to bake the bread, Flynn’s apron was dusty with flour. He scratched his nose, brushing a thin white layer onto it, and I smiled. Glancing up, he caught my eye, and quickly looked away. A blush crept up his neck.

My fingers tightened around my pen as I forced my attention back to my notepad. Yet every few seconds, my gaze drifted back to Flynn as if drawn by an invisible thread.

The way he moved with such careful precision, the slight furrow in his brow as he concentrated on his work, the curve of his neck when he bent to check the oven…

His gentle patience with flustered customers. The way he did this little shimmy dance between the counter and kitchen when he thought nobody was looking, somehow managing to rescue Emma’s forgotten timer while plating his own orders.

Warmth poured from him like the sun—the dangerous, devastating sun—from his bright eyes, his infectious smile.

After two decades of control, I’d thought myself immune to such base attractions. Yet here I sat, reduced to an infatuated teenager, unable to tear my eyes away from a human who’d stumbled into my world a handful of days ago.

Again, I forced my gaze down, but a shadow soon fell across my papers. The scent of freshly buttered toast wafted towards me, mingling with Flynn’s unique aroma. I glanced up.

Flynn stood there, plate in hand, a wicked glint in his oh-so-blue eyes. “Sir, these seats are for paying customers. I’m going to need you to buy something, or I’ll have to kick you out.”

The corner of my mouth twitched.

I reached for my wallet, making a show of eyeing the toast with exaggerated scrutiny. “But that’s not what I ordered!”

Flynn blinked a few times before he quickly recovered. “Oh, silly me. Please forgive me, sir.” The menace then batted his eyelashes at me, and I had to force myself not to react. “What was your order?”

“One cinnamon roll.”

For a moment, I expected his eyes to widen—for him to have read my mind.

Because I didn’t want a cinnamon roll to eat it, of course.

The truth was far more pathetic—I simply wanted something that reminded me of his scent. Something I could take back to room 210 and keep on my desk to indulge in privately, letting the aroma wash over me while pretending I wasn’t behaving like a lovesick fool.

“Huh.” His head tilted to one side. “I didn’t peg you to have a sweet tooth.”

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