Chapter 22 Kit
Kit
I’m still waiting…
For…?
My list.
How did it go with Seb?
I’ll tell you tomorrow. I have more important things to be thinking about right now. Like this list.
I took a shower
Yeah?
Yeah
And what did you think about?
You. Obviously
Go on
The way you looked at me like you wanted to devour me
I did want to devour you
Still do
I keep thinking about your hands a lot. How they’d feel on my skin without any clothes in the way
Clothes are definitely overrated
I want you to take my clothes off
What else?
I want to see what you look like when you’re… excited
I want you to show me how to touch you properly
I want to know what you sound like when I do something you really like
I want you to tell me what to do. Like, guide me through it so I don’t have to worry about doing it wrong
You won’t do anything wrong
I don’t actually know what all the options are
For sex things
You don’t need to worry about that.
but I think I’d like you on top of me
Is that too basic for the list?
Nothing is too basic
I want to feel like, pinned down but in a good way
Safe but also… trapped?
Does that make sense?
Perfect sense
This list is even harder than I thought it would be
You’re doing brilliantly
You’re not laughing at me?
Never. I’m getting… excited, reading these, if that helps
oh
That helps
any final items for the list?
Um… your tongue
my tongue?
I want to know what it feels like when you use your tongue on… other places apart from my mouth
Fuck, Felix
Where specifically?
Everywhere?
That’s probably too vague for a list
No, no, everywhere is fine.
Everywhere is great.
I woke with Felix’s words burned into my brain. Everywhere. The memory of his messages ricocheted through my skull, and I had to press my face into the pillow to muffle a groan.
Bloody hell, what had I done to myself? Two years of wanting him, and now I had a detailed list of everything Felix wanted me to do to him. Written evidence of his desire, sitting in my phone like a loaded weapon.
My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, still worked up from the night before.
I dragged myself to the shower, but the hot water only made things worse. Felix had said he wanted to know what my tongue felt like everywhere. Everywhere. How the hell was I supposed to function today?
Last night’s debrief with Seb played on repeat in my head as I towelled off. I’d barely managed to keep my voice steady while reporting back on Marcus Vale, my skin still tingling everywhere Felix had touched me.
“His vampires were particularly unhelpful this time,” I’d told Seb. “Told me to fuck off in three different languages.”
Seb had leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “He’s avoiding us, and his fledglings are getting worse. Three more incidents this week alone. Brixton’s turning into a feeding ground.”
Marcus Vale had been a thorn in our side for years, reaching his pinnacle of bastardry when he’d worked with Seb’s dead sister to harvest souls across London.
You’d have thought he’d have had the decency to behave after that particular nightmare ended, but no.
He kept turning fledgling after fledgling, seemingly for his own amusement, with no regard for the streets of Brixton and beyond.
The new vampires were out of control, which meant Seb and I constantly had to put them down like rabid dogs.
I grabbed a clean shirt, then spent a full minute choosing a cardigan, my brain still half replaying that moment Seb had asked what on earth I was doing all the way over in Ealing with Felix.
I’d spun some bollocks about Felix messaging to ask if he’d accidentally left his headphones at the hotel and me wanting to check out new running routes by returning them to him that evening.
The lie had come easily, though it felt like betrayal.
Seb was my best friend, had been for years, but I couldn’t expose Felix’s secrets without his permission.
Seb’s eyebrow had lifted at my strange story—Ealing would be a three hour run from Bermondsey—but he hadn’t pressed.
“We’re lucky Felix didn’t get hurt,” he’d said.
Lucky.
Lucky. Right. Lucky that I’d been walking with him when two vampires decided to make us their evening entertainment. Lucky that I’d had to stake one of them while Felix almost got eaten alive by another.
Lucky that afterward, back at his flat, he’d kissed me like the violence had awakened something in him too.
Seb and I had discussed strategy for another thirty minutes—surveillance schedules, options for luring Marcus out of his hole, the usual dance of keeping London’s supernatural community from tearing itself apart.
When I left the hotel, I had this mad urge to go straight back to Felix’s flat. Obviously, that would have been far too intense—I’d learned my lessons—so instead, I’d settled for harassing him via text message, drawing out his desires one careful word at a time.
I’d gone to sleep thinking of Felix’s confession about wanting to feel trapped in a good way.
Safe but pinned down. I understood it perfectly.
Trust wrapped in restraint. Surrender without vulnerability.
The desire to be held so completely that escape became irrelevant, because you didn’t want to leave anyway.
To be overwhelmed by someone who’d never hurt you, never push too far.
I had a road map now. A road map to Felix’s pleasure. A bloody detailed one too.
But walking to work, doubt crept in. What if he regretted those messages in the cold light of morning? What if seeing me today brought only mortification at his boldness?
I pulled out my phone before I could second-guess myself.
Free for lunch today?
The reply came almost immediately, making my traitorous brain latch onto the possibility that he’d had our conversation open.
Felix
As long as it doesn’t involve another one of Priya’s quiches
Relief burst through me, as bright as sunrise. Surely jokes were a good sign.
I promise only two plates, nothing else
A pause, and then:
Luckily, I keep spare cutlery in my desk now
I stopped at three different shops on my way to work, which was completely mental behaviour, but I couldn’t help myself.
Fresh bread from the bakery I loved, proper cheese from that little deli, and scrumptious strawberries from the market stall that charged tourist prices but sold fruit that actually tasted like something.
By the time I reached the concealed entrance to the tunnels, I was carrying enough food to feed half of London.
The bookcase swung open with its usual creak, depositing me into the basement.
I paused, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I looked—a grown man smuggling gourmet lunch supplies like contraband.
How exactly was I supposed to explain this bounty to the team?
Oh, this? Just fancied treating myself. No, nobody else can have any.
Upstairs, the kitchen door stood ajar, warm light spilling into the hallway. I didn’t need our bond to know who was in there; the distinct rip-rip-rip of Freddy destroying something edible gave Rory’s whereabouts away instantly.
“Morning,” I called, pushing through the door.
Rory sat at the central table, blond hair particularly bedraggled. Freddy perched on the wooden surface beside him, methodically demolishing a stack of crackers with his tiny yellow teeth.
“You’re in early,” I observed, setting my bags on the counter and hoping Rory was too distracted to notice their suspicious abundance.
“Theo woke me up at half-past six.” Rory rolled his eyes dramatically. “My powers of persuasion of getting him to stay in bed this morning sorely failed. He muttered something about ‘the real world of having to go to work’ and buggered off to the station.”
“How dare he.”
“All gone, mate,” Rory announced to Freddy, brushing crumb debris from his palms.
The creature made an indignant chittering sound, his gaze surveying the empty space where his feast had been. Without warning, he launched himself across the kitchen in a series of acrobatic leaps, landing with a flourish on the worn wooden table beside the pantry.
Right on Issac’s shrine.
The small altar occupied the same spot where Issac used to perch during our kitchen gatherings, his long legs dangling as he juggled fruit and dispensed sarcastic commentary.
Priya maintained it meticulously—fresh oranges arranged among bundles of dried sage, photographs tucked between candles and sprigs of rosemary.
His leather jacket still hung on the hook above, its familiar scent of citrus threading through the kitchen’s warmth.
Freddy’s nose twitched as he investigated the offerings, his attention immediately captured by the bright orange sitting at the shrine’s centre.
“Freddy, no—” Rory started.
Too late. The ferret’s sharp teeth punctured the peel with a wet squelch, and he began methodically devouring the bitter rind with obvious satisfaction, his whiskers twitching with each determined bite.
“For fuck’s sake,” Rory muttered. “Priya’s going to have your head if she finds out you ate his memorial fruit.”
Freddy merrily worked his way through the orange peel, leaving chunks of mangled citrus scattered across the shrine’s surface. The absurdity of it struck me—death and decay and remembrance, all being systematically destroyed by an undead ferret with no concept of reverence.
“Speaking of… did you have any ideas of what you wanted to do in April?” I asked, attempting to redirect attention from both the shrine desecration and my own suspicious grocery bags. “For Issac’s memorial, I mean.”
Rory’s shoulders tensed, his gaze fixed on Freddy’s enthusiastic destruction. “I’ll think of something.”
I’d been very surprised when Rory had implied he was going to organise an event—he wasn’t typically the planning kind. Or the organised kind.
“You know, you don’t actually need to plan anything,” I said carefully. “We can all just gather that evening, have some food and drinks. Keep it simple.”