Chapter 6
We had barely moved deeper into the corridor when the sound of hurried footsteps came from behind us—light, rapid, the distinct cadence of another overeager fledgling who hadn’t yet learned the meaning of caution.
I closed my eyes briefly and sighed. Not again.
Before I could turn, a young man came rushing around the corner, nearly colliding with me in his haste.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his features still holding that lingering softness of youth.
His hair was a tousled mess of dark curls, and his shirt was half-buttoned, as if he’d thrown it on in a hurry.
“Cassara!” he said, his eyes lighting up with unmistakable excitement. “I just heard you were here. Can we—”
He didn’t finish.
Con moved faster than air. One moment the boy was speaking, the next he was slammed hard against the stone wall, the impact echoing through the corridor like a gunshot.
The young vampire gasped, fangs flashing reflexively in shock.
Con’s forearm was pressed across his chest, pinning him effortlessly, his other hand gripping the front of the fledgling’s jacket.
The golden light in his eyes had flared into something feral—cold and ancient, the look of a predator whose patience had finally run dry.
“If one more male asks for private time with Cassara,” Con said, his voice low and lethal, “I will flay them.”
The fledgling’s mouth opened, a stammer dying in his throat as Con leaned in closer.
“Do you know,” Con continued softly, almost conversationally, “how long it takes a vampire to regrow his skin?”
The boy’s eyes widened, pupils blown in pure terror. He shook his head frantically.
“I do,” Con said. “Weeks. Painful ones.”
I stepped forward, my voice serious. “Constantine.”
He didn’t look at me at first, his attention still fixed on the trembling fledgling. For a heartbeat, I wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard me. The air had shifted—thick with his aura, an oppressive heat that made the shadows crawl away from him.
“Con,” I said again, more firmly this time.
His eyes flicked toward me then—still molten, still wild—but something in my expression must have reached him. He exhaled once, slow and controlled, and released his grip.
The fledgling stumbled back, clutching his chest, too terrified to speak. His mouth opened soundlessly, but whatever apology he meant to stammer out was lost.
“Get out of my sight,” Con said quietly.
That was all it took. The young man bolted down the hall so fast his footsteps blurred into silence, the echo fading into the stairwell.
For a moment, the only sound left was the soft hiss of the sconces along the wall.
I turned to Con, my pulse still thrumming. “You can’t keep doing that,” I said, though my tone came out gentler than I intended. “They’re fledglings by our standards.”
His jaw tightened. “They need to learn respect.”
“Fear isn’t the same thing.”
He met my gaze then, and the feral light in his eyes dimmed just enough to reveal something else beneath it—something rawer.
“You think I don’t know that?” he said quietly.
“But they don’t see you the way I do, Cass.
They don’t understand what you’ve done for this clan.
They see a story. A legend. Something they can chase. ”
His words caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected him to sound almost… wounded.
I took a slow breath, letting some of my own tension ease. “You don’t have to protect me from admiration.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “It’s not their admiration that worries me.”
The quiet that ensued was heavy but not hostile. The flicker of candlelight brushed over his face, tracing the hard lines of his jaw, the restrained strength in his posture. I could still feel the echo of his fury in the air, like static clinging to my skin.
Finally, I stepped closer, just enough that the edge of my sleeve brushed his. “If you keep threatening every man who talks to me, we’re going to run out of couriers.”
That earned a huff of something that might have been amusement. “Then maybe they’ll learn to write instead.”
“Con—”
He turned to me fully then, the intensity in his gaze softening. “You shouldn’t have to deal with their attention. Not here. This is your home. You deserve peace.”
For a heartbeat, I didn’t know what to say. The anger I’d expected wasn’t there anymore—only quiet sincerity, layered with something that felt dangerously close to confession.
“I’m not sure peace is something we get anymore,” I said finally.
He nodded once, the hint of agreement in his eyes, then stepped back. “Then I’ll settle for quiet.”
“Starting now,” I said, arching a brow.
He inclined his head, but the knowing curve of his mouth betrayed him. “Starting now,” he repeated.
And as we continued down the hall, the echo of his growl still haunted the air—low, protective, and far too intimate to ignore.
The corridor had fallen quiet again, the air thick with the remnants of Con’s fury and something else—something heavier, unspoken.
I could still feel it buzzing through the space, the way static clung to skin after lightning passed close.
The sconces along the wall burned low, casting soft amber shadows that flickered across the black marble floor.
I turned to him, ready to say something sassy, something that might break the tension before it suffocated us both—but then he moved.
One step forward. Another.
His eyes, molten gold in the low light, locked on mine with a heat that rooted me in place. I should have looked away, should have said his name like a warning—but the word never made it past my lips.
Con’s hand came up, fingers brushing along my jaw, slow and careful, as if he were giving me a chance to stop him. The air between us was electric, thick with the scent of old stone and the trace of his cologne—cedar, smoke, and something darkly sweet.
Then his mouth was on mine.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was restrained only by the sheer force of his control—an old, aching hunger finally uncoiling after centuries of silence. His hand slid to the back of my neck, anchoring me, and for a moment, the world fell away.
I’d forgotten how to breathe. All I could feel was him—his body, solid and warm against mine, the strength in his grip, the low rumble in his chest that might’ve been a growl or a sigh. My magic stirred, unbidden, rising to meet the rush of heat coursing through me.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t fight it. I didn’t think. I just let go.
And then—
A sound. A startled gasp from somewhere down the corridor.
The moment shattered. I broke away, my breath ragged, my heart pounding in my throat. The air between us crackled with everything that had just been said without words.
I took a step back, my fingers brushing my lips as I tried to steady myself. “You did that on purpose,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
Con didn’t deny it. He just stood there, watching me, the hint of satisfaction flickering across his expression. Then he shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “At least the males here know what they have to deal with if they continue to pursue you.”
My eyes narrowed. “So that’s what this is? A warning?”
“Call it what you like,” he said evenly. “It was effective.”
Anger flared hot and fast through the haze of whatever that kiss had left behind. “I’m not your property, Con.”
His eyes darkened, the gold fading to deep amber, his voice low. “I’ve never claimed you were.”
“Then stop acting like it,” I snapped.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The tension between us was no longer subtle—it burned, alive and unrelenting, like a live wire sparking in the dark. Neither of us moved. Neither of us blinked.
His jaw tightened, and I saw the pulse in his throat, the effort it took for him to stay still. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” he said finally, his tone quiet but fierce. “You think I don’t know the line I’m walking every time I touch you?”
I swallowed hard. “Then why keep doing it?”
“Because I can’t stop.”
The words hit harder than they should have. They echoed in the hollow between us, in the space where the kiss still lingered, hot and dangerous.
I turned away first, my hands trembling despite myself. “You should have.”
He exhaled slowly, the sound a mix of frustration and something that almost sounded like regret. “Maybe.”
I didn’t look back as I walked past him, but I could feel his gaze on me—burning, steady, a gravity I couldn’t seem to escape no matter how far I moved.
Once I reached the stairs, my pulse still hadn’t slowed. The taste of him was still on my lips, and the echo of that moment—his mouth, his voice, the quiet fury in his restraint—would not fade.
And as much as I hated myself for it, I already knew this wouldn’t be the last time I let him cross that line.
My phone buzzed, the vibration muffled against the leather of my jacket. I pulled it free, thumb brushing across the screen to reveal a message from Julian.
Found something strange in the Quebec archives. Need to FaceTime. You’ll want to see this.
I frowned, the hum of curiosity cutting through the lingering heat from my argument with Con. I looked up to find him still watching me, arms folded, his expression unreadable, but the tension between us palpable—like a thread pulled too tight, one wrong move from snapping.
“Julian,” I said, holding up the phone. “He wants to FaceTime. Says it’s important.”
Con’s brow lifted slightly. “Then we should take it somewhere private.”
I nodded. “Let’s head up to my suite. Yours will be right beside mine.”
He followed as I turned down the hall, our footsteps echoing softly against the marble.
The east wing of Shadow Thorn had always been quieter—reserved for the elders, the founders, and those who needed distance from the restless energy of the younger clansmen.
The corridor curved upward into a landing framed by tall windows, moonlight spilling across the floor like silver water.
My suite was at the end of the hall.
When we stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the space wrapped around me like a breath of memory.
It was exactly as I’d left it—dimly lit by the amber glow of wall sconces, the scent of cedar and old parchment lingering in the air.
A fire burned low in the hearth, its crackle the only sound in the room.
The main chamber opened into a sitting area draped in deep-crimson and black velvet, books stacked on low tables beside crystal decanters of aged blood.
The walls were lined with paintings—Luke’s work, mostly.
I’d chosen each one carefully, their brushstrokes capturing the eerie beauty of the northern landscape—dark forests, frozen rivers, the shimmer of auroras stretching across cold skies.
Con stepped in behind me, his gaze moving across the space, taking in the heavy drapery and the small touches that made this room mine—the blades mounted above the hearth, the worn leather chair by the window, the stack of journals beside the bed.
His eyes lingered there—the bed.
Large, carved from dark wood, draped in black satin that caught the flicker of firelight. It wasn’t ostentatious, but it was undeniably intimate. The kind of space meant for rest… or something far more dangerous.
I felt his gaze before I saw it, the weight of it sliding over the room, then settling on the bed once more. My pulse stumbled, a flicker of heat curling low in my stomach.
“This will do,” he said quietly, though his voice was lower than usual, his tone rougher.
I turned away, pretending to check the signal on my phone, even as I felt my heartbeat quicken. “You have the room next door,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray me. “It’s nearly identical except for the decor.”
“I’m sure it is,” he murmured, and when I glanced back, the corner of his mouth had curved into something knowing.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—but it was charged, the kind that made the air feel thicker, like the walls themselves were listening. I crossed to the small table near the hearth, setting my phone down and opening the FaceTime window.
Julian’s name flashed across the screen, his voice coming through before the image stabilized. “Cass? You there?”
I nodded, forcing myself to focus. “We’re here.”
Con stepped beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned in to see the screen. The touch sent a current through me—immediate, impossible to ignore.
Julian’s image flickered into view, his pale features illuminated by the soft glow of a monitor behind him. “Good,” he said. “Because you’re going to want to see what we just found.”
As he turned the camera toward a stack of ancient ledgers and a carved stone tablet covered in unfamiliar sigils, I caught my reflection in the glass for the briefest second—standing too close to Constantine, my heart still unsteady, the memory of his gaze on the bed haunting me more than I was willing to admit.