Page 77 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

I hung up, forcing my body—still trembling with pleasant aftershocks—to its feet.

My rules didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. I had to see him. I had to touch him. I had to have him in my arms.

I knew, as sure as all the stars in the sky, that he’d be safe with me. His blood might sing to me, but his trust meant more. His warmth.His light. After an eternity of darkness, I’d been caught by his gravity, unable—unwilling—to break free from his orbit.

Though simply to beentirelysure of his safety, I swiped the cask off the side and took as large a gulp as I dared, to keep any lingering hunger at bay for a couple more hours.

Energy surged through me, unlike anything before. Usually after feeding, a pleasant lethargy would settle in my limbs, but tonight every nerve ending crackled. My muscles coiled with untapped strength, as if I could run for miles without tiring.

I yanked off my ruined shirt before snatching up a fresh one from a drawer.

The corridor stretched before me, and each step carried the weight of anticipation. The brass numbers on door 208 gleamed in the dim light.

I knocked, and the door opened immediately. Flynn stood there, bare aside from a towel around his waist, skin wet from what must have been a very hasty shower. A small bandage was wrapped above his elbow. Droplets traced paths down a defined torso—his shoulders and arms bore the subtle definition of someone who’d spent countless hours wrestling with sails and fighting tides.

Flynn’s ocean-deep eyes widened, filled with a mix of…hope and disbelief?

“You came.” The words tumbled from his lips, soft and wondering.

The scent of his recent pleasure hung in the air—intoxicating as hell, especially combined with the smell of Flynn’s soap.

“You asked me to.” I kept my voice steady, though every inch of me sang with awareness of the proximity of his almost naked body.

I stepped into the room, and he shut the door behind me.

“I thought you would say no.” His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, raw honesty carving itself onto his face.

The admission stung.

“Come here.”

I’d craved another chance to hold him since that night in the kitchen. I opened my arms, and Flynn stepped into my embrace without hesitation.His head tucked perfectly beneath my chin, and I breathed in the citrus scent of his damp hair. My arms encircled him, one hand splaying across his bare back while the other curled around his waist.

His slightly smaller frame fit against mine as if crafted for this purpose, and a deep contentment settled inside me. Like the first moment of silence after the tolling of cathedral bells. Though beneath my palms, I felt tiny tremors running through his body.

“You’re shaking,” I murmured into his hair.

“I’m fine,” he said, muffled against my chest.

I guided him towards the bed, snatching up his pyjama bottoms and a blanket from the nearby chair. “Here.” I pressed them into his hands.

“I’m not cold,” Flynn protested, though his skin had broken out in gooseflesh.

“I can’t join you in that bed unless you’re wearing trousers.” The words came out firmer than I’d intended.

Boundaries. I still had them. Even if they got murkier by the second.

Flynn’s eyes met mine for a long moment before he nodded, stepping back to pull on the pyjamas. He left his chest bare, and my gaze traced the constellation of the few water droplets still clinging to his skin. The thought of touching him, of feeling his lovely warmth beneath my palms, sent a thrill through me.

“You don’t want a shirt?” I asked. “I’m afraid I’m not the warmest bed companion.” Just one of the many, many ways I was wrong for Flynn, right underneath my intolerance of sunlight, and the fact that my hands had spilled enough blood to fill the Thames.

“Nah. I always run hot. I’ll probably sleep way better with you cooling me down.” He smiled at me as if it was such a simple thing.

Eyeing his bandage, I beckoned him closer with two fingers. “Show me.”

He offered me his arm. “Honestly, this is overkill. It barely needed a plaster.”

I unwrapped it carefully, inspecting Priya’s handiwork. The cut was small, precise. If I were to lick it, I could speed up the healing process.

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