Chapter Nine
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Tessa
Morning light filters through the curtains in Vex’s room, my room now, technically, since mine is still frosted over and uninhabitable. The bed smells like him, cold and masculine and strangely comforting, and I lie there for a long moment staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday in my head.
The garage.
His mouth on mine.
The way his eyes went white and I didn’t run.
The way I wanted him, monster and all.
A knock on the door makes me sit up, pulling the blanket around myself even though I’m fully clothed in the same sleep pants and tank top from yesterday.
“Yeah?”
The door cracks open, and Hannah peers in, a steaming mug in each hand. “Thought you might need coffee.”
I could kiss her.
She comes in, closes the door behind her with her hip, and hands me one of the mugs. The coffee is perfect, cream and two sugars, exactly how I like it. I take a sip and groan.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know.” Hannah sits on the edge of the bed, studying me with those sharp eyes that see too much. “So. The garage. Want to talk about it?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Not really.”
“Fair enough.” She grins. “But for what it’s worth, I think it’s good. You two have been dancing around each other for months. It’s about time something gave.”
“Hannah—”
“I’m just saying.” She holds up her hands. “You could do a lot worse than Vex. He’s loyal, protective, and he looks at you like you hung the moon. Plus, the whole brooding vampire thing is kind of hot.”
I choke on my coffee. “Did you really just say that?”
“What? It’s true.” She laughs, then sobers. “But seriously, Tessa. Are you okay? After the attack, the mark, all of it?”
Am I okay?
Honestly, I don’t know.
Every time I close my eyes, I see that shadow reaching for me, feel the mark burning like ice in my veins.
I hear the creature’s voice whispering my name, promising to make me his.
And underneath all of that is the memory of Vex’s hands on my body, his mouth claiming mine, the way he said I was his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m terrified,” I admit quietly. “But I’m also... angry. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be marked by some ancient ice demon, didn’t ask to have my life turned upside down, didn’t ask to be attracted to a vampire who thinks touching me might kill me.”
“But you are attracted to him.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah,” I say. “I am. And that terrifies me almost as much as the Khorvath does.”
Hannah reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Then don’t be terrified. Be pissed. Channel that anger into something useful.”
“Like what?”
“Like learning how to defend yourself.” Her eyes gleam. “Blade’s got Hollywood and Scout setting up a training session this morning. Figured you might want to join. Unless you’d rather sit around and wait for something else to attack.”
The thought of sitting around doing nothing makes my skin crawl. I’ve spent my whole life running from things, hiding, trying to stay small and safe. And where has that gotten me? Marked by a demon and hunted by something that wants to use me as a weapon.
Fuck that.
“I’m in,” I say.
Hannah’s grin is fierce. “That’s my girl. Come on. Let’s get you some real clothes and some breakfast. You’re going to need your energy.”
The training area is behind the clubhouse, a cleared space with targets set up against hay bales and what looks like a makeshift sparring mat laid out on packed dirt. Hollywood and Scout are already there, along with a few other brothers whose names I’m still trying to remember.
And Vex.
Of course, Vex is there.
He’s leaning against the side of the building, arms crossed, watching me with dark eyes that see everything. He’s changed into a black t-shirt that stretches across his chest and shoulders in ways that should be illegal, and his jeans sit low on his hips. He looks dangerous. Predatory.
Mine, something inside me whispers.
I shove that thought down and focus on Hollywood, who’s grinning at me like he knows exactly what I was just thinking.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says. “Ready to learn how not to die?”
“Charming,” I mutter.
“That’s what they tell me.” He gestures to the targets, grinning. “We’re starting with the basics. Gun safety, stance, aim. Scout here is going to show you how to hold a weapon without shooting yourself in the foot.”
Scout steps forward, handing me a handgun. It’s heavier than I expected, cold metal that feels alien in my palm. “Ever held a gun before?”
“Does a water gun count?”
He snorts. “Not even close. Okay, first things first. Trigger discipline.” He demonstrates, finger resting alongside the trigger guard instead of on the trigger itself. “You don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. This isn’t a movie. You fuck this up, someone gets hurt.”
I nod, mimicking his grip. The gun feels awkward, wrong, but I force myself to get used to the weight of it.
“Good,” Scout says. “Now, stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. You want to be stable but not rigid. Like this.”
He moves into position, and I try to copy him. It feels unnatural, exposed, but when I glance at Hollywood, he nods approvingly.
“Not bad for a first-timer. Now, raise the gun. Both hands. Dominant hand on the grip, support hand underneath. Arms extended but not locked.”
I do as he says, aiming at one of the targets. My arms shake slightly from holding the position, and the gun wavers.
“Breathe,” Scout says. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Steady yourself. Then, when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull. Squeeze.”
I take a breath. Hold it. Squeeze.
The gun bucks in my hands, the recoil shocking even though I was expecting it. The bullet goes wide, hitting the hay bale several feet from the target.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Hey, you hit something,” Hollywood says. “That’s more than most people manage on their first try. Again.”
We go through it again. And again. And again.
My arms are screaming by the fifth shot, my hands cramping from gripping the gun so tightly. But the bullets are getting closer to the target, and that small victory fuels something inside me.
I’m not helpless.
I can learn this.
“Better,” Scout says after my tenth shot actually hits the outer ring of the target. “You’re improving fast. Want to take a break?”
“No.” The word comes out fiercer than I intend. “I want to keep going.”
Something flickers across Scout’s face, respect, maybe, and he nods. “Alright. Let’s work on your draw. If something’s coming at you, you’re not going to have time to stand here and take your sweet time aiming.”
He shows me how to draw from a holster, the motion quick and practiced. I try it, fumbling the gun on my first attempt, but getting it right on the second.
“Again,” Scout says.
I do it again. And again. And again.
My muscles burn. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the cold. But I don’t stop.
Because every time I raise the gun, I’m not seeing the target. I’m seeing the shadow. The claws. The thing that marked me and thinks it owns me.
And I’m telling it to go fuck itself.
“Tessa.” Vex’s voice cuts through my focus, and I lower the gun, turning to face him.
He’s moved closer without me noticing, his eyes tracking every move I make. “You’re tensing your shoulders. It’s throwing off your aim.”
“I’m trying—”
“I know.” He steps onto the mat, moving with inhuman grace that makes my breath catch. “Let me help.”
He comes up behind me, and suddenly his hands are on my hips, adjusting my stance. His chest presses against my back, cold even through the layers of clothing, and his breath ghosts across my neck.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low enough so only I can hear. “You’re fighting yourself. Let your body do what it needs to do.”
His hands slide up my sides, over my arms, adjusting the angle of my elbows. One hand settles on my shoulder, thumb pressing into the tense muscle there, and I have to bite back a moan.
This is torture.
Sweet, exquisite torture.
“Better,” he says, his lips so close to my ear I can feel them move. “Now breathe. In. Out. Good. Aim.”
I try to focus on the target, but all I can think about is him. The cold of his body against mine. The strength in his hands. The way his voice wraps around me like silk.
“Squeeze.”
I squeeze the trigger.
The bullet hits dead center.
“Holy shit,” Hollywood says from somewhere to my left. “Did you see that?”
But I’m not looking at the target. I’m looking at Vex, whose eyes have gone white, pupils blown wide with something that’s definitely not just pride in my shooting.
“Good,” he says, his voice rough. “Again.”
He stays behind me for the next five shots, his hands guiding my aim, his body pressed against mine in ways that are absolutely not necessary for proper shooting form. And every single bullet hits the target.
Because apparently, all I needed to focus was Vex’s hands on me and his voice in my ear telling me I can do this.
When we finally break, my hands are shaking, not from fear or exhaustion, but from the adrenaline and arousal coursing through my veins. Vex steps back, putting space between us, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
“You’re a fast learner,” Scout says, oblivious to the tension crackling between Vex and me. “Seriously. Most people take weeks to get where you got in an hour.”
“Motivated student,” I manage, my voice only slightly breathless.
Hollywood laughs. “I’ll say. Alright, let’s move on to hand-to-hand. Because guns are great, but sometimes things get up close and personal.”
He demonstrates a few basic self-defense moves, how to break a grip, how to use someone’s momentum against them, how to go for vulnerable spots if someone grabs you. I practice with Scout, who’s patient and doesn’t pull his punches but also doesn’t actually hurt me.
And the whole time, I feel Vex watching.