Chapter 10
KIERAN
That smug bastard of a vampire managed to sneak up on me; I didn’t even hear him coming. Probably because I decided to down a full bottle of whisky before trailing after Ronan into the Whispering Woods like a bloody idiot.
He's been off all week. Jumpy. Twitchy. Not a single prank on Darian, which is already suspicious as hell. No itching powder in his shirts, no glamoured fake spiders in the sink.
Darian hates spiders.
Just the little things I have noticed, too. His body wash smells like cherries and vanilla now, and he’s been baking.
A lot.
Most nights after a hard shift, I would find him in the kitchen, absolutely caked in flour, shit everywhere, but that’s his therapy.
I drink, he bakes, and Darian likes playing the piano.
We all have our vices, I suppose. He just comes with frosting. The meeting we had, I knew something was wrong with him, and he fled the building like his ass was on fire, so I let him and left for the pub, fucked a girl after multiple shots, then headed home to drink my whisky in peace.
Ronan came out of his room and told me he was going to the gym.
Big fucking joke.
The guy only works out when we make him; he would rather bake all day or sit playing games with Drew when not pulling pranks.
I know what everyone does, even if I’m drunk half the time.
I still notice everyone around me; the responsibility of keeping everyone safe never lets up.
As the oldest of our group, at thirty-three, I take it seriously, so when there's a change, I feel it deeply.
So, I downed my bottle and followed him, all the way to the Whispering Woods. I nearly got trampled by some sort of creepy wolf thing trying to catch up to him.
The further we got, the deeper the snow became, and I wondered why I didn’t bring a damn coat with me.
Because I’m drunk.
Now I’m here in some abandoned cottage that smells like cherries and vanilla after being attacked by a vampire.
I stumbled up against the wall, my sight a little hazy, but I could see the fucker standing in the doorway, and he was smiling.
I think.
“Kieran man, what are you doing here?”
I glanced to my side and, yep, Ronan was standing next to some girl I didn’t recognise.
Tiny thing.
White hair with soft red tips fell over her shoulders and ended just past her tits. Silver eyes, full lips, and one of those small button noses that you would call “cute.” She looked like she could fit in a damn backpack.
She was drowning in a hoodie that reached her mid-thigh, bare legs and feet. Her toes were painted red—of course they were. She looked like trouble wrapped in a blanket of innocence, and Ronan was standing way too close.
“Following you.” I rubbed my eyes; Ronan was looking at me, then back at the vampire.
“Cherry, why is there a blood mage at the door?”
I cocked my head as the little temptress glanced at Ronan and actually let out a little laugh.
“You’re the first person to call him a blood mage,” her voice was soft, low, with that husky edge that would probably sound downright sinful, moaning my name.
Nope. Not going there.
She’s trouble with a capital T—and clearly involved with Ronan. Hell, she looks young, and I’m probably way too old for her.
“Maybe you can stay,” the bloodsucking bastard says, swaggering toward them like he owns the place. I reach for my sword… and come up with nothing.
Brilliant. Forgot the damn thing.
His eyes cut to me. “You, on the other hand, have five seconds to leave before I send you home in bite-sized chunks.”
I clenched my fists, jaw grinding. I was more than ready to rip his throat out and wear his fangs as a trophy.
I don’t care what Ronan says—blood mage or not, I’ve met this freak before. He kills for sport, drinks blood, and that makes him a walking corpse in my book.
I took a step forward, ready to tear him apart limb from limb, but then she stepped in front of him.
The little temptress, standing there like she wasn’t a pint-sized thing in a room full of dangerous men, one that could easily drain her dry.
Her hands were on her hips, and her chin tilted as she looked at me dead on.
“One more step, Kieran, and I’ll sit your arse down myself.”
I stared at her for a second and let out a low chuckle. She really thinks she could take me.
Ronan stood behind her, subtly dragging his finger across his throat like I was about to make a very poor life choice. I blinked at him, then looked down at the tiny roadblock in front of me.
“Move.”
She folds her arms like a bloody queen. “No, you big brute.”
Stubborn little thing.
I placed my hands on her shoulders, ready to gently shove her aside so I could knock the smug look off the bloodsucker’s face, but I didn’t get that far.
Next thing I knew, I was airborne.
And then I crashed down onto something surprisingly soft. A couch, maybe. Or Ronan’s massive ego. Hard to tell.
I leaned forward, but my mind was a jumble. I couldn’t focus; all I could smell was cherries and vanilla, and I wanted that bloodsucker dead. My chest felt strange, and the skin on my fingertips tingled after touching her.
Temptress.
Ronan’s face came into view above me, and he rolled his eyes.
“Seriously, man, drunk again?”
“Fuck off.”
“You need coffee, or that syrup shit you drink.” He rushed off muttering, leaving me flat on my back, staring at the ugliest ceiling I’ve ever seen —cracked and some shade of orange that hurt my eyes.
Ugly.
Who would live here?
“I do, asshole.” That damn voice.
I looked up and met her glare—and shit, if looks could kill, I’d be digging my own grave by now.
I didn’t realise I was speaking out loud.
“She looks extra cute when she’s about to murder you,” Ronan called from somewhere, clearly enjoying himself.
“I will look absolutely adorable in a minute,” She replied, still not taking her judgmental eyes off me.
I think I’m seconds away from getting my ass kicked by a tiny homicidal pixie in a hoodie.
The bloodsucker was leaning against the wall near her, spinning a knife around like he had nothing better to do, his attention on me.
Ronan walked past her with a mug. “Ronan, this is a problem.” She tells him as he takes my hand and pulls me up into a sitting position, thrusting the mug at me.
“Drink your syrup.”
I ignored the jab and did just that; the burn on my tongue barely felt, the sweetness hitting the right spot, as it always helped sober me.
“I know the guy is massive and drunk; I didn’t hear him follow me.” He told her, but his eyes kept flickering to the bloodsucker as if he was expecting a knife in the back.
I wouldn't be surprised.
She noticed. “He won’t hurt you.”
The vampire smirked, lazy and lethal. “Now, don’t start fibbin', little witch. I’m still deciding if those pretty blue eyes would look better in a jar on my shelf.”
Ronan choked on air. “He’s joking, right?”
“Nope,” she said flatly. “Unfortunately, that’s just Malrik being… Malrik. Stop eye fucking him like he’s dessert.”
Malrik.
Stupid name.
Sleep tugged at me, the warmth of the coffee and the soft howl of the snow and wind outside lulling me fast. It wouldn't be long now till I was out cold—and if Malrik stayed, I probably wouldn’t wake again.
Ronan clicked in front of my face, “Hey, no sleeping, not until you tell me why you were following me. You're supposed to be with the twins.”
My eyes were damn near shutting on their own, heavy as hell and useless now. Their voices still murmured around me, but it all sounded warped—like I was underwater or stuck inside my own skull.
The warmth in the room wasn’t helping either. Between the heat, the hum of the wind and snow outside, and that damn syrupy drink still sitting in my gut, I was outmatched. Sleep was creeping in fast, and I wasn’t going to win this fight.
The last thing I caught before everything faded was a flash of beautiful silver eyes. Observing me.
I let out a low breath and sank into whatever soft thing I had been dropped on. Comfy enough, I’ve slept on worse. I’d worry about Malrik and whatever twisted ideas he had after I got five damn minutes of sleep.
Tomorrow, when I’m not drunk, I will deal with this and rip that guy’s damn head off.