Chapter 20
Kara
Imove about the stateroom, double-checking my supplies for tomorrow’s mission. Crystals, protection charms – everything needs to be perfect. My hands shake slightly as I fold a strip of black cloth, and I curse under my breath. I can’t afford to be nervous, not with Gran’s life at stake.
Get it together, dammit!
The memory of Lucien’s threat in the bathroom mirror makes my skin crawl. The image of Gran bound and helpless flashes through my mind again, and I pull in a deep, steadying breath, wishing it was more effective at calming me.
A knock at the door makes me jump. I know it’s Marcus before he even announces himself – our connection picks up on his presence like a tuning fork hitting the right frequency.
My body remembers his touch from last night, his lips on my skin, teeth grazing my throat…
I shake my head, forcing those thoughts away.
“Come in,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. I try to keep a rigid stance as I turn to face him, but the gentle roll of the boat has me swaying.
Marcus steps inside, filling the doorway with his tall frame. The air between us is loaded with tension, and I cross my arms over my chest.
Here we go again.
Another lecture about staying safe, about how dangerous the mission is. I can practically feel his protective instincts radiating at me.
“Whatever you’re going to say, save it,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “I’m going on this mission whether you like it or not.”
His eyes darken to the color of night as they meet mine, and I fight the urge to step back. Being this close to him in the room where we…
No. Don’t think about it, Kara.
I strengthen my mental shields, trying to block out the ghost sensations of his touch, the memory of his lips on my neck.
When I look up at him, he’s staring past me at the bed. He pulls his eyes away and looks into mine. For a moment, I’m lost. The memories, the sensations…
And there you go again, you idiot.
I brace myself for the usual argument, the overprotective vampire routine that’s becoming way too familiar. But Marcus surprises me by crossing to the desk and picking up one of my crystals, examining it with careful fingers.
“Your ward work is solid,” he says quietly. “And the strategy you outlined in the meeting was…impressive.”
I blink, thrown off balance by the unexpected praise. “What?”
“I think you’ve put a good plan together. It could work.” He pauses. “It will work.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Marcus Nightshade?”
A slight smile tugs at his lips. “I can acknowledge skill when I see it.”
Something’s different about him tonight. The usual tension is still there, but it’s shifted somehow. Unexpected feelings filter from him; I catch hints of…respect? Concern, yes, but not the suffocating protectiveness from before.
“So you’re not here to tell me I can’t go?” I ask, suspicious.
He sets the crystal down. “Would it make any difference if I did?”
Our eyes meet, and the air between us feels charged. I can sense a swirl of emotions from him – worry, admiration, something deeper that makes my breath catch.
“No,” I admit. “It wouldn’t.”
“Then I’m here to make sure you have everything you need.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small velvet pouch. “This might help.”
Curious, I walk up to him and frown down at it. Silver gleams in the low light as he tips the contents into my palm.
“What is this?” I look up at him, the cool metal growing warm in my hand. “Some sort of charm?”
“You might see it that way.” His lips twitch up. “It belonged to my mother.”
“Your maker?” I raise the gleaming silver chain and examine the dark pendant swinging from it.
“My birth mother.” He takes the chain from my fingers. I almost shiver when he reaches behind my neck to fasten it. The movement brings us close. “My human mother,” he adds.
I stare at him. This pendant is a connection to his mortal life. The enormity of this gesture leaves my head spinning. “Wow,” is all I manage.
He steps back. “Come to think of it, there may have been a little witch in her.” He smiles. It’s wistful.
“It’s…beautiful.” The words are woefully inadequate. I look down at where the polished black stone is nestled in an intricately woven silver setting. The workmanship is exquisite.
“It’s obsidian,” he says unnecessarily because I can already feel it. “It’s meant to provide protection.”
“I know,” I say, picking up on the gentle power of the stone. But that’s all I feel. No wards or charms. No spells. “It’s not magical, then?”
“It’s as magical as you make it, Kara.” His eyes are intense.
I study Marcus, still thrown by this shift in his attitude but determined not to let this new development shake me.
“Okay, what’s really going on here? Yesterday, you were ready to lock me in this room, and now you’re giving me your blessing?”
He runs a hand through his dark hair, and I catch a flash of frustration from him.
“I realized something. You’re not just some witch rushing into danger – you’re a warrior.
A protector. I’ve fought beside you, and you were as fearless and skilled as any soldier I’ve ever encountered. You have honor. I respect that.”
“And this revelation just hit you in the hour since we had our meeting?”
“No.” His eyes meet mine. “I’ve been watching you plan, strategize. The way you think through every angle, anticipate threats. It’s…” He clears his throat. “I was wrong to treat you like someone who needed sheltering.”
The admission catches me off guard. Vampires, especially ones as old as Marcus, aren’t exactly known for admitting mistakes.
“I let my feelings cloud my judgment,” he continues, then freezes as the word hangs between us.
My heart skips. “Your feelings?”
The air grows thick. I sense his internal struggle – the warrior’s discipline warring with something more personal, more intense.
“My feelings about…” He stops, jaw tightening. “About the mission. The situation.”
“Right,” I say, but we both know that’s not what he meant. “The situation.”
The ship lurches, and I stumble forward. Marcus catches me, his hands steady on my arms. The contact sends sparks through our connection, and I catch fragments of his thoughts – concern, desire, fear.
“Your feelings about what, Marcus?” I press, not stepping back even though I’ve regained my balance. His hands remain on my arms, burning through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“We might die tonight,” he deflects, but his grip tightens slightly. “This isn’t the time for—”
“For what? Honesty?” The boat rocks again, pressing us closer. My heart pounds frantically, and I know he can hear it. “If we might die tonight, isn’t this exactly the time?”
His jaw clenches. I feel his struggle – the words he wants to say warring with his self-control.
“Kara.” My name comes out rough, almost pained. “I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” I challenge, even as my defenses scream at me to back away, to maintain distance. But I’m tired of dancing around this thing between us.
The stateroom seems to shrink, leaving barely any space between us. His scent surrounds me – winter nights and ancient power.
“If I start,” he says, voice low and intense, “if I let myself feel everything that I—” He breaks off, pain flashing across his features. “I won’t be able to let you walk into danger again.”
The raw honesty in his voice twists something in my chest. Part of me wants to run, to hide behind my usual walls of sarcasm and independence. But another part, the part that responds to his touch, his presence, wants to tear down every barrier between us.
His last words hang between us, heavy with meaning. Before I can form a response, Marcus’s lips lock onto mine. The kiss is almost frantic, catching me completely off guard. My body responds before my mind can catch up, melting into him as the ship rocks beneath us.
His hands cup my face, and within him, I feel everything – his fear of losing me, his struggle against the intensity of what’s building between us, the depth of emotions he’s trying to contain.
It terrifies me.
I wrench away, stumbling back until I hit the desk. The crystals rattle behind me. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear the waves slapping against the hull.
“Well,” I say, forcing a smirk I don’t feel, “if you wanted a quickie before the mission, you could have just asked. That’s what this is, isn’t it? One last roll in the hay before the big battle?”
The words feel wrong the moment they leave my mouth. Marcus goes completely still; I feel the sharp sting of hurt before his mental walls slam up. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.
I wish I could take back the cheap shot. It was pure self-defense, my go-to response when things get too real, too intense. But the look in his eyes makes my chest ache.
I open my mouth to apologize, but pride keeps the words locked in my throat.
“Is that what you think this is? Some cheap hookup line?” His eyes lock with mine, and I’m sure he can see the lie in them, even as I fight to keep my thoughts from him.
“Isn’t it?” I say. “Oh, wait.” I roll my eyes. “It’s more, right? It’s the blood match. If I get killed, you’re in deep shit.”
“Fuck it, Kara!” He shakes his head. “Will you stop that? I know you don’t really believe it. You can’t. Not after—”
“After what? You got into my pants?” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “Don’t try to tell me you haven’t done that with a thousand other women before me, Marcus. What makes me special?”
Part of me is hoping he’ll give me an answer that rings true. Because every time I’ve been inside his head, all I’ve felt is confusion and denial.
“I don’t have the Bloodbane,” he grits out. “This isn’t about that.”
“Really? Then what is it about?” I put my hands on my hips.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But it’s not what you think it is.” His chest rises and falls as he stares at me for a moment. “Good luck tonight,” he says, then turns and walks away.
The door closes behind Marcus with a soft click that feels louder than a slam. His hurt bleeds into mine before he shuts that down, too, leaving an emptiness that makes me shiver. The room feels cold without his presence, or maybe that’s just the hollow feeling in my chest.
“Well done, Kara. Real smooth.” I grip the edge of the desk, the crystals still rattling from our encounter. The ship’s rhythmic roll feels more like a rebuke now.
What was I supposed to do? Let him in? Give him that power over me? The pendant he gave me feels heavy against my skin, a reminder of the trust I just threw back in his face. I touch it, feeling its warmth fade.
It’s better this way.
This whole blood match thing – it’s just magic playing tricks. Some cosmic joke pairing a witch with a vampire. And I won’t let myself be dragged into it. My sisters may have bought into the whole idea, but that doesn’t mean I have to.
A man who wants to be with me because he needs my blood to survive?
Nope. Not gonna happen.
The day I give my heart – and that’s not what this is at all – it will be to someone who truly wants me, not for what runs through my veins.
The waves slap against the hull, their rhythm matching my racing pulse. His scent lingers in the air, making it impossible to clear my head.
I sag onto a nearby chair, rubbing my face with both hands and trying to forget how close we were, how real he felt, how genuine his gift was. The memory of pain flashing across his features makes my chest tight.
It’s not real. It can’t be real.
But if it’s not real, why does the room feel so empty? Why does every roll of the ship make me want to reach out for his steadying presence? Why does my magic feel dimmed, like someone drew a curtain over a bright light?
I fight the urge to go after him, to take back those stupid, defensive words. Pride keeps me rooted in place, even as regret sits heavy in my stomach.
The kiss still burns on my lips, making it impossible to think straight. My fingers trace the obsidian stone, and I yank my hand away. I can’t keep dwelling on his gift, on what it means.
It doesn’t mean anything. He’s a vampire. I’m a witch. End of story.
But the memory of his touch won’t leave me, the way our magic merged.
No. That was just… What? A fluke? Some cosmic practical joke?
We’ve known each other for what feels like minutes.
And also an eternity. This connection, whatever it is, can’t be real.
It’s probably just some weird side effect of all the stress we’re under.
My crystals catch the lamplight, reminding me of more important things. Gran is out there somewhere, waiting for rescue. I need to focus on that, not on Marcus’s intense eyes or the way he looked at me before he left.
Get it together, Kara.
I mentally trace over the mission plans, trying to concentrate on the details. But my thoughts keep drifting back to him. The raw honesty in his voice when he gave me the pendant. The hurt I caused with my stupid, defensive words.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to the empty room. “You’re acting like some lovesick teenager.”
Love? Where did that word come from? I shake my head violently.
No. Absolutely not.
Whatever this is between us, it’s not that. It can’t be that. I’m a Blackwood witch. He’s a vampire elder. These feelings…they’re just magical interference. They have to be.
In a short while, I’ll be facing certain danger. Getting Gran away from the hell she’s been locked in. Lucien will be defeated. And then, with any luck, Marcus Nightshade will be out of my hair for good.
The pendant feels heavy against my skin. Like it’s calling me a liar.
Maybe I am. But maybe he is, too. Lying about this thing between us.
If I opened myself to him, that would break my heart.
I can’t take the chance.
I won’t.