Page 88 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

“What? What is it?” My voice came out thin and reedy. When he didn’t answer, I pushed myself up on trembling arms to look.

Delicate patterns of frost spread across my skin like spider webs, emanating from just above my heart. The marks shimmered faintly in the dim light, beautiful and terrifying.

A moan escaped me as another wave of pain hit. I slumped back against the cold tiles. My hands felt clammy, skin breaking out in a cold sweat. “This is it, then. I’m really dying.”

“No, Flynn.” But the tremor in Seb’s voice betrayed his fear.

My thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. Panic clawed up my throat as another wave of pain ripped through me. “Hospital. Take me to the hospital.” I pushed against the tiles, trying to stand.

Seb’s hands pressed me back down, his grip firm but gentle. “It won’t help. I’m sorry, Flynn.”

“I need to try at least!” The words came out as a desperate sob. “For my mum! And Katie!”

My chest tightened with more than just pain. Mum and Katie would never know what happened to me. The image of Mum staring out the window like she used to after Dad died, waiting for someone who’d never return, made me want to scream. And Katie… I’d never get to talk to her, tell her what happened with Connor. I should have tried—even if she didn’t believe me, I’d have done what was right.

The guilt I’d carried since leaving crashed over me like a rogue wave, threatening to pull me under. Now they’d never know the truth. They’d just be left with another empty chair at Christmas, and a lifetime of unanswered questions.

Seb reached out to stroke my hair, but I batted his hand away. The frost inside me pulsed with each thundering heartbeat, spreading further across my chest.

“I’m going back to Ireland!” I declared, voice cracking. I glanced outside at the cold, dark street, illuminated by a single lamppost. “This evening. I need to see my family. I can’t die without saying goodbye!”

“That’s not safe, for you or them!”

An exasperated scream tore from my throat. My head thumped against the tiles, each pulse sending shockwaves of agony through my skull. This was different from the previous attacks—so much worse. Like someone had replaced my blood with buckets of ice water, freezing me from the inside out.

I curled into myself, shivering violently. The cold radiated outwards from my chest, stealing my breath. Through chattering teeth, I managed to gasp, “Please… please…”

But I didn’t even know what I was begging for anymore.

“Let’s get you back to Killigrew Street. Priya will be able to do something for the pain.”

“I can’t—” Another violent shiver racked my body, and I tried again to force my legs into action. “My muscles won’t work. They’re seizing up. The cold. It’s like… ice in my veins.” My teeth chattered so hard I could barely form words. “I can’t stand.”

Seb’s jaw tightened. He rose to his feet, grasping both my hands in his. “Let me help.”

He pulled, and for a moment I started to rise—then his grip faltered. I crashed back to the floor with a yelp as Seb stumbled sideways, catching himself against the counter.

“What’s wrong?” Through the haze of pain, I noticed how he swayed, his usual grace absent.

He pressed a hand to his forehead. “I haven’t… had any blood in far too long. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise how weakened I’d become. Kit’s currently out buying more for me.” His voice came out rough. “Give me just a second.”

“Come back,” I mumbled, fingers catching the fabric of his trousers. I tugged weakly.

Seb resisted for a moment, then his knees buckled. He looked awful—skin ashen, dark circles under his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before.

I pulled again, and he finally gave in, collapsing to his knees beside me. With the last of my strength, I drew him into my arms. He made a soft sound—surprise or protest, I couldn’t tell—but didn’t pull away.

We lay there on the bakery floor, my body racked with painful shivers, his unnaturally still. Moonlight spilled onto the tiles, and I tried to focus on the patterns in the stone, and Seb’s weight anchoring me, to make the pain a fraction more bearable.

“I’ll ring someone to come fetch us,” Seb said, and I just moaned in response.

Through the fog of pain, I watched Seb reach for his phone. His arm stopped mid-motion, muscles tensing.

“What?”

Then it hit me. The familiar ambient sounds of London—traffic, distant sirens, the hum of street lights—had vanished.

“The street has gone quiet. Too quiet.” His voice dropped to barely a whisper.

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