CHAPTER 21
POPPY
Iwake up to sixteen text messages from Sage and the realization that my life has become a supernatural soap opera.
SAGE: I can’t sleep. Tell me EVERYTHING
SAGE: Not so much the day. I want to know what happened when you got back to your room
SAGE: Why haven’t you responded
SAGE: Are you making out with him RIGHT NOW
SAGE: Poppy Rose Gable if you are ignoring me for some undead makeout session, I will fly to the Bahamas
SAGE: That was a joke. Mostly. Only because I have my own wedding problems here
SAGE: Fine I’m going to sleep but I expect a FULL debrief tomorrow
SAGE: Today. It’s technically today. You know what I mean.
Then the morning shift:
SAGE: Good morning sunshine
SAGE: Still waiting
SAGE: Your silence is DEAFENING
SAGE: I’ve been patient for like 8 hours which is a personal record
SAGE: Should I be worried? On a scale of 1-10?
SAGE: Poppy you’re killing me
SAGE: If you don’t respond in the next hour I’m booking a flight
SAGE: That’s not a threat it’s a PROMISE
I sit up in bed, wincing at the remnants of last night’s food poisoning.
My stomach has settled, but my head is still processing everything else.
The confession. The vampires. The fact that I’m apparently dating an immortal creature of the night, and my biggest concern right now is how to not give away Julian’s secret to my best friend—who pretty much guessed it already.
Even if I could tell her, how could I do it without sounding insane?
Julian is already awake. Of course he is.
He’s sitting at the desk in the corner, tablet in hand, looking like he stepped out of a magazine spread for “Billionaires Who Don’t Need Sleep.
” His hair is perfectly disheveled. His shirt is crisp.
I’m pretty sure I have pillow creases on my face and something suspicious in my hair.
“Morning,” I croak.
He looks up. Something softens in his expression. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was hit by a truck made of bad shrimp.” I reach for my phone. “I need to text Sage before she actually books a flight.”
“She seems persistent.”
“You have no idea.”
I type back quickly:
ME: Sorry! Food poisoning aftermath. Fell asleep early.
ME: The kiss was... complicated.
ME: I’ll explain everything after the wedding. Promise.
The response comes in seconds.
SAGE: COMPLICATED???
SAGE: That’s the most ominous thing you’ve ever said to me
SAGE: What kind of complicated? Good complicated? Bad complicated?
SAGE: “I’m falling for my fake boyfriend” complicated?
SAGE: “He’s secretly married” complicated?
SAGE: “He’s actually a vampire” complicated?
I nearly choke.
ME: You’re spiraling
SAGE: I’M CONCERNED
SAGE: Your silence for 14 hours followed by “it’s complicated” is NOT reassuring
ME: I promise everything is okay. Just wedding stress and stomach issues.
ME: I’ll video call you tonight and explain everything.
SAGE: Everything?
ME: ...mostly
SAGE: POPPY
ME: Trust me. Please. Two more days.
SAGE: Fine. But I’m staying up tonight. The SECOND you can call, you call.
SAGE: And if you’re dead I’m going to kill you.
ME: That’s fair.
I set down my phone and look at Julian. He’s watching me with that expression I’m starting to recognize—the one that means he’s been paying attention to every word I typed while pretending to read his tablet.
“She’s worried about you, isn’t she?” he says.
“She’s always worried about me. It’s her love language.” I push myself out of bed. “What time is it?”
“Just after eight. My associates arrive in an hour.”
“Associates.” I head toward the bathroom. “That sounds very mafia.”
“They prefer ‘old friends.’ Though the comparison isn’t entirely inaccurate.”
I pause at the door. “Should I be nervous?”
“They’re here to help.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Julian sets down his tablet. Crosses to me. Gently, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear—which somehow grounds me.
“They’re going to be curious about you,” he says. “You’re the first person in a very long time who’s learned what we are and chose to stay. That’s... unusual.”
“Unusual good or unusual ‘they might eat me’?”
“Unusual fascinating.” He places his hand on my cheek. “But I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not them. Not Damien. Not anyone.”
“I know.” I cover his hand with mine. “I trust you.”
“Get dressed,” he says. “We have vampires to meet.”
The resort has a private arrival area for guests who prefer discretion. I didn’t know this existed until Julian led me through a series of hallways that definitely weren’t on the map they gave us at check-in.
“How do you know about this?” I ask.
“I own a share of the resort.”
“Of course you do.”
“It’s a good investment. Bahamas real estate appreciates well, and the tax advantages—”
“Julian.”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to justify your billionaire purchases to me.”
He almost smiles. “Noted.”
The arrival area is small but elegant—a private lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden. Three chairs are arranged in a semicircle with a table in front of them. A bar cart sits in the corner, fully stocked with things I suspect no one here will drink.
We wait.
I fidget with my bracelet. Check my phone. Fidget some more.
“You’re nervous,” Julian observes.
“I’m about to meet a bunch of vampires who are here to help us fight another vampire who wants to destroy you by destroying me. Nervous seems appropriate.”
“They’re going to like you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I like you. And I have excellent taste.”
Before I can respond, the door opens.
The woman who enters is striking in a way that feels almost aggressive. Light brown hair swept into an elegant updo. Designer suit that looks expensive but slightly dated—like she bought it in the nineties and never bothered to update. Sharp cheekbones. Sharper eyes.
“Julian.” Her voice carries a Russian accent and about three centuries of attitude. “You look well. For someone whose progeny is trying to murder him.”
“Elena.” Julian crosses to her. They don’t hug—vampires apparently don’t do hugs—but there’s warmth in the way they regard each other. “Thank you for coming.”
“You saved my life.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Now I save yours. Very fair, is it not?”
Her gaze finds me. I resist the urge to take a step back.
“So.” She circles me slowly, like she’s appraising livestock. Or dinner. “This is the human who knows our secrets and didn’t run.”
“Umm, yeah, that’s me,” I manage. “The non-running human.”
“Fascinating.” She completes her appraisal of me. “You are either very brave or very foolish.”
“I’ve been told it’s both.”
Something shifts in her expression. Not quite a smile, but close.
“Good answer.” She turns to Julian. “I like her. She has spine.”
“I noticed.”
The door opens again. This time it’s a man—tall, dark-skinned, with a smile that suggests he finds everything amusing. He’s dressed more casually than Elena, in torn jeans and a t-shirt—both of which has that whole “I didn’t spend a ton on my clothes, but he totally did” vibe.
“Julian Blackthorne.” His voice is deep and warm. “Never thought I’d see the day you called in favors for a woman.”
“Nathaniel.” Julian’s tone is dry. “Never thought I’d see the day you arrived on time.”
“I’m highly motivated.” Nathaniel’s gaze slides to me. “And now I see why.”
He crosses to me, takes my hand, and actually kisses my knuckles. Like we’re in a period drama. Like this is a completely normal greeting.
“You must be Poppy. Julian’s been remarkably tight-lipped about you, which tells me everything I need to know.”
“What does it tell you?” I smile awkwardly, you know, since it’s totally a new thing having my knuckles kissed, let alone by a vampire.
“That you matter.” He releases my hand. “That’s dangerous, in our world. But also rather wonderful.”
I glance at Julian, and I can see the tension build in his face as he clenches his teeth.
“You’re making her uncomfortable,” he says.
“I’m making you uncomfortable,” Nathaniel corrects. “She seems fine.”
“I’m fine,” I confirm. “Just... processing. That’s all.”
“Take your time.” Nathaniel settles into one of the chairs. “Last time I was in the Bahamas, it was still British territory. The hurricanes were worse. Or perhaps we just didn’t have weather apps.”
I blink. “When was that?”
“Eighteen-something. The decades blur together after a while.”
The door opens a third time.
The woman who enters is different from the others. Colder. More contained. She moves like smoke—silent and deliberate—and her eyes scan the room, which I presume she’s checking for exits and threats.
“Sofia.” Julian’s voice carries respect. Maybe even wariness. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’ve been waiting for this.” Her accent is harder to place—Spanish, maybe, with something else underneath. “You’re giving me what I’ve wanted for decades. A chance at Damien.”
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge my existence. Just crosses to the window and stares out at the garden like we’re not even here.
“She’s friendly,” I mutter.
“She has history with Damien,” Julian says quietly. “He killed someone she loved. She’s been tracking him for decades.”
“Oh.” I look at Sofia with new understanding. “So this is personal for her, too.”
“It’s personal for all of us. That’s why they’re here.”
Julian’s head of security is the last to enter, carrying a briefcase.
“You all know Marcus,” Julian turns around in his direction, gesturing toward him. “He’ll be running comms from security. He’ll be our eyes and ears.”
Marcus places the briefcase on the table and opens it.