Page 7 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

He took another step forward. I pressed myself flat against the wall, heart hammering so hard it could burst. The security light caught the man’s face properly for the first time—tight dark curls framed devastating cheekbones and full lips that might have been beautiful if they weren’t twisted into a glower. His long coat hugged broad shoulders that spoke of contained power, and even through my panic, I caught myself wondering what he looked like underneath all those fancy clothes.

But criminally attractive or not, I didn’t want him anywhere near me. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

His lips parted as he drew closer, and I caught a glimpse of white teeth that seemed a touch too sharp.

“I said stay back!” My voice came out as an embarrassing croak.

“Listen, y—”

“Get away from him!”

Emma’s voice rang out from the entrance of the alley. My tiny colleague stood there like an angry sparrow, her cropped dark hair spiked with sweat, brandishing her phone like a weapon. The screen’s glow illuminated her face as she shouted, “I’m calling the police right now, you freak!”

He clicked his tongue, eyes darting between Emma and me. His jaw clenched, and something dangerous flickered across his face, like he might just call her bluff. But he tucked whatever weapon he’d been holding into his long coat and backed away, maintaining that intense eye contact with me until he disappeared around the corner.

Emma sprinted towards me, her trainers pounding on the concrete. On her phone, I caught a glimpse of the tracking app she’d added me to earlier that day. She threw her arms around my waist, nearly knocking me over with the force.

“Oh my god, Flynn! Are you okay? I’m so sorry I was late. The Tube was delayed and I had no signal—” She pulled back, holding me at arm’s length. “What happened to your jumper?”

I glanced down at the torn wool hanging off my shoulders. “I… There was this other guy. Before that guy, I mean. He—” The words stuck in my throat. How could I possibly explain what had just happened? I wasn’t even sure myself.

“Let me see.” Emma’s hands hovered over my chest. “Did he hurt you?”

“I don’t know. It feels like… like ice. Right here.” I pointed to the spot where Damien had pressed his hand, which still felt wrong somehow, like someone had replaced that patch of skin with frozen metal. “Can you see anything?”

Emma squinted, phone torch aimed at my skin. “No marks or anything. Maybe you’re just cold?” She shrugged off her denim jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “Here.”

The jacket was far too small, and did nothing to combat the chill, which seemed to come from inside my chest rather than the night air.

“Can you help me find the nearest hospital?” My voice came out small and pathetic, and I cringed at myself. This was surely not the way to make friends. “Please?”

“Of course.” Emma wrapped an arm around my waist, steadying me.

She guided me towards the street, away from the pulsing music of Wilde Card and the shadows that seemed to writhe at the edges of my vision. I took one last look back at the wall that Damien had scaled with impossible ease. Though I felt stone-cold sober, that tossermusthave spiked my drink—it was the only explanation.

Well, it was safe to say my first night out in London was an epic fail.

I was supposed to solidify my friendship with the only person who’d shown the slightest interest in getting to know me, and distract myself from constant thoughts of home and Tom and Connor by hooking up with a cute stranger.

Instead, my jumper looked like it had been mauled by a bear, and I’d almost been shot at by some deranged psycho who made murder look unreasonably attractive.

At least the night couldn’t get any worse.

Though judging by the strange burning chill still spreading through my chest, I had a horrible feeling I could be wrong about that.

3

Flynn

“What do you mean, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me? I’m telling you, it feels like there’s a shard of ice stuck inside me!”

The doctor peered at me over her wire-rimmed glasses, tapping her pen against the clipboard. Four hours, two blood tests, a chest x-ray, and an ECG later, and this was what I got? A pat on the head and directions to the nearest psych ward?

“Mr Carter, we’ve run every test we can think of. Your vitals are normal, there’s no sign of any foreign substances in your system, and nothing is visible on your chest under any of our equipment.”

I pulled my torn jumper aside, jabbing at the spot where Damien had touched me. “Look, I know how this sounds, but—”

“Have you considered that this might be anxiety related?” The doctor didn’t hide her patronising tone. “You mentioned you’ve recently moved to London. Big changes can trigger physical manifestations of stress.”

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