Chapter 9
HELLSING
It was humid and hot this morning, and the faint smell of rain was in the horizon.
I’d been up since dawn, sitting outside the house, leaning against my Harley while I checked the plugs and wiped down the pipes.
The sound of metal on metal and the smell of oil were better than any therapy I’d ever had.
It gave my hands something to do, kept my head from wandering too far back into the darkness I’d seen last night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Grace.
Arched and trembling, eyes wide with terror one minute and blazing with power the next.
Her eyes were glowing a bright amber and her body had been scorching to the touch.
My thoughts went back to the Midnite Wytch, the way she’d pulled me back…
that wasn’t something I could shake off easily.
I was now absolutely certain I didn’t crawl out of that pit; she’d somehow dragged me out.
What was worse was that I knew she was hiding something from me. I could sense it, and my gut was never wrong. Like Buffy with her cramps, but instead it was the pang of sharp anxiety.
Yeah, I like the Buffster, girl was a badass fighting demons.
But that’s besides the point, Grace’s energy was intense last night, and I felt it pulse through me as I lay next to her.
It was dark but familiar, and I could swear it felt exactly the way it did after I returned from one of my trips to Neverland.
Not that comparing Hell to a fairy tale made it less ominous.
I didn’t understand why she wasn’t telling me the truth, but I’ve learned that with Grace, you just had to be patient.
The front door creaked open behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know it was her. The shift in the air was enough.
She padded barefoot down the steps, my oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.
Her hair was a wild mess; dark auburn waves tangled from sleep.
The morning light caught the faint shimmer of her skin, still pale from shock but softening at the edges.
My shirt barely covered her thighs, and when she tugged at the hem like she’d just realized how short it was, I felt a slow burn settle deep in my gut.
She looked half-awake, half-guilty, and all beautiful.
“Coffee’s on the counter,” I said without looking up, wiping my hands on a rag.
Her voice was still husky with sleep. “Found it. Can’t function without it. You always up this early?”
“Old habit,” I said, glancing over at her. “Didn’t sleep much.”
She squinted against the sun, holding the coffee mug with both hands. “Yeah… me neither.”
I watched her take a sip, her lips wrapping around the rim of the cup, and I tried not to think about how damn good she looked standing there in my shirt, barefoot and flushed. She caught me staring, of course she did, and rolled her eyes.
“What?” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Nothing,” I lied, smirking. “Just thinking that shirt suits you.”
She looked down at herself and scoffed. “Please. I look like I’m drowning in it.”
“You look perfect,” I said before I could stop myself.
That blush hit her cheeks, quick and pink, and she tried to hide it by taking another sip of coffee. She glanced away, pretending to look at the bike.
For a few quiet moments, it almost felt normal. Just a man fixing his bike, a woman drinking coffee on the porch. No demons. No nightmares. Just us.
Then her phone rang.
She frowned at the screen before answering. “Hey, Seraphine.”
I glanced up at the name. Seraphine Laveaux. I knew the family. Every Royal Bastard in New Orleans knew that name. The Laveaux women were born with power in their blood, descended from the one and only Madame Laveaux, the Voodoo Queen herself and Jameson’s most coveted council.
Seraphine was her youngest niece, maybe thirty at best. Beautiful, wild, and reckless, just like Grace. I’d known her just as long as I had known Grace.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Grace said into the phone, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. “The shop got hit last night… yeah, the Scorpions.”
Her eyes flicked to me. I could hear Seraphine’s voice through the tiny speaker, fast and worried, asking a thousand questions. Grace nodded, murmured small answers, and then said, “We need to talk. Lunch? At the usual place.”
She glanced at me again, her gaze steady this time, something unreadable passing between us.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
She ended the call and tucked the phone into her pocket. I crossed my arms over my chest, watching her.
“I’m meeting with Seraphine this afternoon,” she said, matter of fact.
“Nope,” I replied flatly. “No way in hell.”
She sighed, already irritated. “Oh, come on, Hellsing. Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not after last night.”
She planted a hand on her hip, and the hem of my shirt lifted just enough to test my control. “She’s a Voodoo priestess, Peter. If a demon calls, I’ll be with someone who actually knows how to handle it.”
“Cute,” I said, giving her a look. “But that ain’t gonna fly with me. You’re stayin’ put.”
She huffed, tossing her head. “Don’t you have better things to do than babysit me?”
I stared at her, jaw tight. “Probably. But I gave your old man and my Prez my word, and that means somethin’.”
She stepped closer, the steam from her coffee curling between us. “You can keep your word without locking me in your damn house.”
“Grace,” I said, voice dropping. “You nearly got torn apart by who knows what last night, because you won’t tell me. And that’s fine, you keep whatever you want to yourself. But do you really think I’m going to risk you goin’ out there alone?”
“I won’t be alone,” she shot back, stubborn as hell. “And I already told you; I’m not some damsel you need to save, I’m not your good deed for the year, nor am I just some project you need to fix, Hellsing. I can handle myself.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, fighting a retort. “You know you sound just like your daddy when he gets pissed at me.”
“Good,” she said with a smirk. “Means I’m doing something right.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. She always knew how to push my buttons.
She tilted her head, watching me quietly for a moment, then softened. “If you’re planning on keeping me here, I at least need to go home and grab a bag.”
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. She wasn’t wrong. “Fine,” I muttered. “But I’m goin’ to see Jameson. We’ve got things to handle.”
Her eyes lit up, victory flashing across her face. “So that’s a yes?”
“It’s a ‘don’t make me regret it,’” I warned. “You go home, grab what you need, and meet me back at the Midnight Wytch before sunset.”
She grinned, setting her empty mug down on the porch railing. “Sunset. Got it.”
“Grace,” I said, catching her gaze, serious now. “Don’t mess around. If you see anyone you don’t recognize, Scorpions, strangers, whatever, you call me. Understand?”
She nodded, but there was that spark in her eyes again, the same one that made me want to both throttle and worship her.
“Yes, Father Hellsing,” she teased, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
I couldn’t help the low growl that rumbled out of me. “Smartass.”
She smirked. “You like it.”
She wasn’t wrong.
As she turned to head back inside, sunlight poured through the open door, outlining her in gold.
My shirt shifted against her curves, her bare legs moving with a grace that made my throat dry.
I forced my attention back to the Harley before I did something stupid, like follow her upstairs and forget why I was here.
I’d been around plenty of women in my life, but none of them made me feel like this, like I was walking a tightrope between heaven and hell. Grace Desdemone was fire, and I knew it. And still, I couldn’t stay away.
When she disappeared inside, I exhaled hard, dragging my hand over my face. I looked down at my palms. They were scarred and calloused, stained from years of riding and fighting, and wondered how long I could keep them off her.
Sunlight hit the chrome of my bike, blinding me for a second, and I took it as a reminder. I had things to do, a club to answer to, and a demon to deal with.
But as I swung my leg over the seat and started the engine, I couldn’t stop thinking about her standing barefoot on my porch, wearing my shirt, looking at me as if she could see right through the walls I’d built.
I told myself I’d see her before sunset.
What I didn’t tell her was that I wasn’t sure which one of us I was more afraid of, the demon hunting her, or the fire she’d lit in me that I couldn’t put out.