Chapter 21
We had him.
Connor Flannery, the Irish Dom, a snake in a tailored suit and the last man on earth who should have looked at my mate the way he had.
The night was cold, the kind of damp that seeps into your bones, still slick from an earlier rain that left the asphalt gleaming like oil under the sodium glow of the streetlamps.
The industrial district was quiet at this hour, with no trucks rumbling, no workers shouting, just the low hum of distant machinery and the faint drip of water from rusted gutters.
Draugr was already waiting when I pulled up, a shadow cut from the night itself.
Black combat gear clung to his massive frame, gloved hands resting loose at his sides, but there was nothing relaxed about him.
His eyes burned with that unnatural stillness I’d seen in him before every kill.
His calm and cold stare, the kind of calm that meant blood was coming.
Lucien stood beside him, posture straight, shoulders squared, the hilt of a long blade rising over his shoulder, strapped across his back.
His expression was carved from granite, unreadable but charged with anticipation.
Both of them were wired the same way I was tonight, coiled tight, ready to strike.
I stepped into the shadows with them, my boots silent against the wet pavement. “You sure it’s him?”
Draugr’s gaze never left the darkened building across the street. He nodded once, the movement sharp. “Corner office, top floor. He came in an hour ago with no security outside.” His voice was low, carrying in the stillness. “He must think no one’s insane enough to hit him here.”
Lucien’s mouth twitched into a humourless smile, the kind that showed teeth without showing warmth. “He’s wrong.”
The three of us stood there for a beat longer, the air between us heavy with the unspoken truth, we weren’t here for business, we were here to send a message .
We moved like the predators we were, silent.
Me in front, because this was my kill. Draugr at my flank, Lucien covering the rear.
Inside the building, the air stank of whiskey and old cigars.
The hum of an ancient elevator echoed down the hall, but we didn’t need it as we took the stairs, boots silent on concrete.
The office door wasn’t locked which evidenced what an arrogant bastard he was, thinking that no one would come for him.
Connor looked up from behind his desk, pale eyes widening just a fraction before his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Roman. Didn’t expect…”
I didn’t let him finish, instead I placed my hands on the edge of the desk pushing it over in one shove, papers scattering like snow. My hand was on his throat, slamming him back into the wall hard enough to crack plaster.
“You should’ve looked away,” I said, my voice low, deadly.
He tried to speak, but my claws broke into his skin. Blood welled, as I leaned in close. “This is for Layla. For thinking you could put your eyes, your thoughts, anywhere near her.”
He spat at me, a disgusting thick, defiant glob that landed just shy of my face. That single act snapped the leash I’d been holding tight. My rage sharpened, honed into something surgical and cruel. He’d just signed away the last few breaths of his life.
I didn’t kill him quick. Quick would have been a mercy, and mercy was a language I didn’t speak tonight.
I drove my fist into his ribs…once, twice, each strike deliberate, each one rewarded with a wet crack and a gasp that broke into a cough.
He tried to twist away, but I caught his leg, slamming my boot into his knee until the joint gave with a sickening pop.
He screamed, a hoarse, pitiful sound, and I leaned in close enough for him to see exactly what lived behind my eyes. “Every second you’re still breathing,” I growled, “is because I’m letting you.”
The room reeked of him, his sweat and the cheap whiskey that he was drinking with something fouler beneath it.
His blood, when it finally spilled, was bitter on the air, tinged with the rot of a man who’d lived too long on lies and power he didn’t deserve.
I didn’t drink. I wouldn’t taint myself with him.
I only fed from Layla, my mate, my only source of sustenance. This… this was different.
This was about pain. About making him feel every heartbeat that brought him closer to the end.
About letting him know that death wasn’t just coming, it was already here, wearing my face.
When I finally tore his throat out, it was with my bare hands.
He dropped to the floor, twitching once before going still.
Silence filled the room, my breathing was steady, but the rage in me was finally cooling. One threat against my mate, against my child had been neutralized.
Draugr stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable, but his eyes…
his eyes told me he understood. He never flinched at the sound of bone breaking, didn’t turn away from the sight of Connor when he was gasping for air through the blood in his throat.
If anything, there was a glint of grim satisfaction there.
He’d have done worse, far worse if it had been his mate in danger.
We didn’t need words for that kind of understanding.
Lucien stepped forward looking down at Connors body, his boots silent against the stained concrete.
His gaze swept the scene with the precision of a man who’d seen too many endings and still counted every one.
He gave me a single, slow nod of approval, and also the quiet acknowledgment that the Irish Don’s death was more than just business.
It was personal, and in our world, personal always demanded blood.
The air between us was heavy with that silent agreement. We’d make sure the body disappeared, that it burned and scattered, erased from existence. There would be no trail, no whispers left to tell the tale.
Lucien’s voice broke the quiet, low and certain. “We’ll clean it,” he said, like it was already done. Then his gaze shifted to me, sharper, knowing. “You go be with your woman.”
He didn’t have to say more. They knew I’d stayed too long away from her already. And they knew that as much as I’d enjoyed ending Connor, my place, the only place I truly belonged was now at Layla’s side.
By the time I got home, the estate was quiet, too quiet.
That stillness that only came in the deepest part of the night, when even the guards moved like shadows and the air felt heavier.
Gideon met me at the door, posture as sharp as always, but there was something in his eyes I didn’t like, there was a flicker of hesitation, the kind a man only has when delivering news he knows won’t be received well.
“She’s fine,” he said first, like that would soften whatever came next.
I narrowed my gaze. “But?”
He shifted his weight almost imperceptibly, jaw tightening. “She’s been… feeling insecure. About Celeste.”
The name alone made my teeth grind, my jaw locking hard enough I could hear the faint click in my ears. “Celeste?” I repeated, the syllables tasting like ash.
“She thinks you might…” He hesitated, the way a soldier hesitates when he’s weighing whether or not to put his head in a lion’s mouth.
My voice dropped into that low, cold register that made most men step back. “She thinks I’d look at another woman?”
“She’s pregnant, my lord,” he said evenly, not flinching under the weight of my stare.
“Everything feels bigger to her right now. She’s carrying your child; she’s dealing with all of this…
” He gestured vaguely toward the house, the unspoken war outside its wa lls.
“…and you might want to remind her exactly where she stands with you.”
I didn’t answer right away. I just stood there, letting the silence stretch until it was taut enough to cut. Then I exhaled slowly, a deliberate release of the anger coiled tight in my chest.
Without another word, I walked past him, my boots making no sound on the marble, but every step carrying the intent of a man who was about to make damn sure his woman never doubted where she belonged again.
I found her in the kitchen. She was barefoot, wearing one of my shirts, hair pulled back, her hands dusted with flour as she worked cookie dough onto a tray. The sight was so domestic, so normal, it almost undid me.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” I said, stepping up behind her as I lowered my head to kiss her neck.
She didn’t turn. “Baking cookies isn’t going to make me tired, Roman. I’m fine.”
I slid my arms around her waist, pulling her back flush against my chest, my palm splaying over her stomach where our child grew. My voice was low, deliberate, each word a vow carved into stone. “You are the only woman for me. You understand that…don’t you?”
Her hands stilled on the counter, fingers curling slightly into the dough. She didn’t look at me at first, just stared at what she was doing as if the next words might cut her if she met my eyes.
“Sometimes…” her voice was soft, almost hesitant, “I wonder if you see women like her…polished, perfect women, and think…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, “…think maybe you could’ve had someone like that instead.”
That thought…her thinking it, burned hotter than anything Flannery or the demons had ever thrown at me. I tightened my hold, not to hurt her, but to make damn sure she felt every ounce of the truth in me.
“Layla,” her name a growl against her ear, “the day I met you, every other woman ceased to exist. Do you understand? Not just in my bed or in my mind. Not anywhere.” I turned her in my arms, so she had to look at me, my thumb brushing her chin up until her gaze met mine.
“Vampires don’t stray from their mates, baby.
We don’t even fucking see anyone else. Not their faces, not their bodies, nothing.
The bond makes it impossible. It’s not a choice but who we are.
And you…” I let my eyes travel deliberately over her face, her lips, her body, “you are it for me. For eternity. There will never be another.”
Her lips parted, a faint tremor in her breath, and I knew she was hearing me but also feeling the bond hum between us…hot, unbreakable and alive.
“Celeste?” I continued, my mouth brushing the edge of her jaw.
“She’s nothing. She’s a shadow in the corner of the room.
And shadows mean nothing to a man who already has his light.
Not once. Not ever.” My voice was sharp, because the idea cut too deep.
“You are my mate. Do you know what that means for a vampire? It means the rest of the world disappears. Every other woman becomes invisible. There is no temptation, no second glance. There’s only you. Always.”
Her eyes softened, but I didn’t let her look away. “From the second I knew you were mine, you became it. The only one I’d fight for. The only one I’d bleed for. The only one I’d die for. No other woman exists for me, not in this lifetime or in the next.”
She exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay,” she whispered .
I kissed her then, slow but deep, until the scent of sugar and chocolate blurred into the taste of her mouth, and the only thing left in my world was exactly where it belonged, in my arms.