Page 54 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

I might have had limited experience with relationships, but I wasn’t about to get gaslit by him, centuries-old vampire or not. “Really? What about ‘I find you incredibly attractive and your blood is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my mouth?’”

His lips pressed together. “That wasn’t flirting. Those were simply… observations.”

I glared at him.

“I… shouldn’t have been.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Flirting, that is. If I was.”

My heart skipped at his hesitation, at the way his fingers tangled in those dark curls. And maybe it was the late hour, or the lingering adrenaline from earlier, but something about his uncertainty made me brave. Made me want to chase this feeling, consequences be damned.

I eyed the brass fastening at Seb’s collar, imagining the satisfyingpopas it came undone. Of what Seb’s chest might feel like under my fingers—smooth and firm and forbidden, like touching a precious treasure.

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was reckless, but I was tired of playing it safe. Tired of watching opportunities slip away like tide water between my fingers.

I stepped closer, his scent—jasmine and that wild, dangerous undercurrent—wrapping around me like smoke.

“Maybe Idon’t mind the flirting.” My voice came out lower than intended, almost sultry. “Maybe I’ve been enjoying it.”

Seb’s jaw clenched, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “Have you not been listening? I just explained that after James, I killed people. Many people. So I made a vow. No humans. No relationships. No exceptions.”

I tilted my head, studying the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had balled into fists at his sides. Had he really condemned himself to spend the rest of his life alone because of one incident? All those years stretching ahead of him, empty of touch, of connection—the weight of that self-imposed isolation felt suffocating even to imagine. “That’s stupid.”

“Stupid?” Seb’s eyes flashed, and suddenly he was right in front of me, his hand resting just above my collarbone, as if to grip my throat. Not squeezing, but holding me in place with inhuman strength. “You think my control is a joke?”

Oh dear.I definitely could have phrased that better. I immediately wanted to claw back the word, seeing myself through his eyes—young, immature,stupid.My heart hammered against my ribs. His face hovered inches from mine, those chestnut eyes burning with predatory intent.

“Let me explain.” His voice dropped to a growl that vibrated through my chest. “If we had sex, I could drain you dry. Not because I would want to, but because I couldn’t stop myself. For me, like most vampires, bloodlust and sexual desire are intertwined. The moment I lost control, my fangs would sink into your throat, and I would drink and drink until your heart stopped beating.”

I couldn’t breathe. Not from his grip—which remained loose enough to allow air—but from the raw honesty in his words.

“Would you want to risk that?”

I watched, transfixed, as his lip curled back in a slow, deliberate motion. What happened next made my breath catch in my throat. His canineslengthened, extending like twin ivory needles until they taperedto wicked points. These weren’t the cheap plastic fangs from Halloween—they were elegant, lethal weapons that gleamed in the dim light. My mouth fell open at the sight. Each an inch long, they looked sharp enough to slice through flesh like butter.

“Risk dying in my bed while I feast on your blood like some rabid animal?”

The raw danger in that moment, the predatory grace of those fangs, sparked a confusing cocktail of terror and want. “I—”

“Because that’s what could happen. Especially with me being permanently half starved.” His fingers tightened fractionally. “I could kill you, Flynn.”

He released me and stepped back, and I gasped, releasing the tension I’d been holding. The kitchen spun slightly.

“So no.” His voice was ice. “Nothing. I won’t risk it. Not to mention you’re supposed to be here under Killigrew Street protection.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I slumped forward onto the counter, resting my forehead against the cool surface, letting my mortification seep away somewhat. My heart still raced from his display of power, from those lethal fangs. “That was abeyondstupid thing to say. I wasn’t thinking. It’s been a long night.”

“Are you alright?” Seb’s voice had lost its edge. “I don’t wish to hurt your feelings. Genuinely. I just… need to keep you safe.”

“No, it’s fine.” I traced circles on the countertop with my finger. “I just need a moment. Besides, I’m getting accustomed to rejection these days. I’ll get over it quickly.”

“What do you mean,accustomed?”

I kept my head down, not wanting to see his expression. “After my grandfather’s funeral… it was my friend Tom’s last day at home. He was leaving me—well, leaving Braymore—to work a season on the yachts.” The words spilled out freely, as if desperate for escape. “And I kissed him. And he… did not take it well. Not in a horrible way. He was quite nice about it, considering.”

My memories of that day were tragically crystal clear: Tom by my side all throughout my grandfather’s service. He’d known exactly how to make me smile, how to comfort my mum as the tears spilt down her cheeks.

Then after, we’d walked to the beach, our elbows brushing as we slipped across the sand to the pier.

Tom telling me his news. Saying how it was bad timing, but he’d be back in a couple of months.

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