Page 48 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

But I couldn’t.

Iwouldn’tbreak the vow I’d made to myself.

Understanding finally dawned in his eyes, and he took a step back, readjusting his jacket with unsteady hands. Relief and disappointment warred within me as he created distance between us.

“Who was she, exactly?” Flynn asked, jerking his head towards the railing.

I sighed, then tentatively filled him in on the circumstances that had led her to our path tonight—explaining that Marcus Vale had spent the last six months building a cult of desperate fledglings. He’d been turning vulnerable humans and teaching them to hunt recklessly through Brixton’s nightlife. His followers had already left multiple dead bodies in their wake. Victims who survived were often left with fractured memories, their minds ravaged by amateur compulsion.

Throughout my explanation, Flynn listened with tense attention, nodding at intervals, his eyes flickering between me and the spot where Eliza’s body had fallen, clearly struggling to process everything.

By the time I’d finished, Kit and Rory had arrived, grim-faced. Kit took one look at Flynn, then my blood-drenched clothes, and then my face, twisted in self-loathing.

He pulled me into a rare crushing embrace, his familiar woodsmoke scent wrapping around me. Over his shoulder, I caught Flynn watching us intently.

“You okay, boss?”

I managed a nod against Kit’s shoulder, allowing myself a moment of comfort before pulling away. There was work to be done.

“One of Marcus Vale’s vampires attacked us. She had to be dispatched.”

Kit’s eyes flicked behind me. “Where is she now?”

“On one of them.” I jerked my thumb at the boats.

“I’ll help clean the yacht,” Flynn offered, his voice surprisingly strong.

“Absolutely not.” The words came out harsher than intended. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“It was part of my old job, remember?” Flynn’s chin lifted stubbornly, and his hands were clenched at his sides. “And I want to help.”

Rory was already hauling cleaning supplies out of a bag. “Don’t listen to him—course you can help. Otherwise I’ll be stuck doing it all myself. Here, I’ve got all the stuff we need.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but Flynn cut me off. “Please. I need to do something useful.” There was something almost desperate in his tone—he needed to regain some control after having it so violently taken from him.

“Fine. But be careful. Don’t fall in the water. It’s freezing.”

Flynn attempted a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He opened his mouth, perhaps to mock me for my concern, before snapping it shut.

It took a while, but Kit and I managed to get Eliza’s body into the bag while Rory and Flynn tackled the wobbly deck. We loaded the body into the van, and I insisted Flynn sit up front with me. The drive to the tunnel access point was silent save for the engine’s rumble and Flynn’s slightly elevated heartbeat, which I seemed permanently attuned to.

I kept sneaking glances at him, searching for signs of shock. He sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the passing lights outside the window. His fingers occasionally drummed against his knee. Once or twice, he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

We paused at a red light, and all of a sudden I couldn’t stand the silence. “Are you alright, Flynn?” I asked, the question feeling wholly inadequate.

Flynn turned to face me, and to my surprise, concern flickered across his features. His eyes searched my face with an intensity that made me want to look away. But I held his gaze, caught in the depths of those sea-blue eyes.

“No.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “But I will be, soon.”

The smile he offered me was small but genuine, a gesture of reassurance I didn’t deserve.

He hesitated for a moment, then reached across the space between us. His warm hand squeezed my arm briefly, the touch sending electricity through my cold flesh. The gesture was quick, almost shy, but it left me reeling.

We’d have to talk properly about everything that happened tonight. About what he’d offered me. Why I had to refuse, as kind as the offer had been.

Though I was under no illusions—I’d surely shattered Flynn’s trust this evening, and that caused a deep, profound ache to bloom in my chest. Would I see a flicker of fear in his eyes tomorrow, and each day after that?

Though perhaps that was for the best. The events of tonight had shown, in no uncertain terms, why emotional entanglements with humans were dangerous.

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