Page 22 of Property of Mako
The initial flutter that had stirred in my abdomen died. What were you expecting, Lyra? For him to say he wanted to feel you snuggled up to him on his bike?
“Then let’s go.”
We rode into town on his bike, and I couldn’t believe the thrill it gave me. I’d forgotten how much I loved the feeling of the wind blowing through my hair like that. Yet, the true thrill came from the feel of his hard body between my legs and beneath my hands.
The rest of the day flew by, and before I knew it, it was dark and the day was done.
That was the worst time. When everything stopped and it was quiet, I couldn’t still my thoughts. I couldn’t bury my worry that I’d never see my sister again.
I didn’t sleep. Then again, I rarely did anymore. The dark circles under my eyes most days bespoke my lack of sleep of late.
Yet neither did he. I wanted to ask if he did sleep.
We sat in the living room until long after midnight, the old record player that had belonged to my grandmother spinning blues, the lights off except for the glow of a single lamp. His leather vest hung off the chair in the corner, and the tattoos along his arms moved like whispers in candlelight.
“Why do you do it?” I asked, watching him. “Stay involved in society. If you’re as old as you say you are—wouldn’t it be easier to just… disappear? Be a lone wolf or whatever you want to call it? Not worry about anyone but yourself.”
“I tried,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Didn’t stick, I guess.”
“Because of what happened to her?” I asked, taking a shot in the dark. From little things he’d said, I had a strong suspicion that this had to do with a woman.
He didn’t answer. But the look in his eyes said enough.
“I think that despite your broody, moody exterior, you actually have a good heart,” I softly murmured.
He remained mute as he stared out the window.
Around 3 a.m., his phone rang. I rubbed my eyes, surprised that I’d actually fallen asleep. I didn’t even remember feeling sleepy.
He picked it up without a word. Listened. Eyes narrowing. A growl caught in his throat like something feral.
He ended the call and stood.
“We’ve got a lead. Someone who infiltrated the Covenant—years ago. Presumed dead. He’s willing to talk.”
“I’m coming with you,” I informed him as I bolted to my feet and rushed for my boots.
“No. A prospect is on his way. He will stay with you until I get back. Get some sleep—you’re exhausted.”
“I didn’t ask.”
His lips parted, sharp with protest, but I stepped in front of him.
“You said you weren’t going to leave me alone,” I whispered, playing low ball. “So don’t. Let me help you.”
For a few moments, he stared at me like I was the last bit of light left in a drowning world. Then he reluctantly nodded.
We met him in an abandoned chapel on the outskirts of Red Hollow—vandalized pews, stained-glass windows shattered long ago. The informant’s name was Marrow, though I doubted that was the one he was born with.
I thought I looked bad from my perpetual insomnia? He looked half-dead. Pale, gaunt, eyes sunken like he hadn’t slept in a decade. But there was something alive in his stare—something manic. His eyes darted to the corners of the room as if he expected shadows to peel off the walls and grab him.
“You don’t know what they are,” he rasped. “The Covenant. You think they’re just ancient vampires with too much money and too many secrets? They’re more. They serve something older.”
“Focus,” Calix growled. “Tell me about the auction.”
Marrow smiled faintly. “It follows the moon’s phases. Every time.”
Calix’s gaze grew sharp. “Every time?”
