Chapter 18 #2
The casual way he says it almost makes me laugh, but I’m too irritated to give him the satisfaction. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m literally a bodyguard.”
My infuriating vampire snorts, and there’s genuine amusement in the sound. “Oh you absolutely don’t, I know that very well, kinda almost killed me a few times.”
The memories flash through my mind. The morning after the concert when I actually did stake him, when he came to check on me and I tried to stake him again. The sparring matches that turn a little too real, a little too sharp. Which he absolutely loves.
Yeah, I can take care of myself.
“Then why?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like being watched. You already do it a little too much.”
Growing up under Emil Popescu’s scrutiny, every movement monitored and critiqued, every decision second-guessed—I’ve had enough surveillance to last a lifetime. The thought of having someone shadowing me, even at a distance, makes my skin crawl.
“Well, good thing Jonathan knows very well not to look at you more than he strictly has to, which is just from the house to the car, from the car to the museum, and then from the museum to the car again.”
Jonathan. So he’s already got someone in mind. Of course he does. “How would this make me feel better?”
“Because Jonathan would do anything you ask him to?”
I raise an eyebrow. The idea of having someone at my beck and call is weird and uncomfortable. “You’re the one that likes to give orders, not me, fangs.”
That makes him smirk, and I know he’s thinking about the bedroom, about the way I melt under his commands when we’re alone. Heat creeps up my neck, but I ignore it. We’re not talking about that right now.
“You’d have a friendly face close by ready to help while I’d get to you, how does that sound?”
Better, actually. Because as much as I hate to admit it, the thought of something happening and Flynn being across the city, unable to reach me in time, has been gnawing at me. “Who even is this Jonathan?”
“A vampire I met about thirty years ago.”
The answer is so casual, thrown out like it’s nothing, and I have to remind myself that Flynn’s life stretches back decades before I was born.
Thirty years ago, I didn’t exist. My parents might not have even met yet.
And Flynn was already making alliances, building relationships with other vampires.
It’s dizzying sometimes, the time of his existence.
“You’d leave me, a vampire hunter, with a vampire.”
“You’re technically retired and also sleep with one so I don’t see where the problem is.”
He’s got a point, but I’m not ready to concede yet. “Flynn, what if this guy hates me because of what I represent?”
Because it’s a valid concern. Vampire hunters have killed countless vampires over the centuries.
My family alone has probably taken out hundreds, no, thousands.
The Popescu name carries weight in the vampire world, and not the good kind.
What if this Jonathan sees me as a threat?
What if old grudges override whatever loyalty he has to Flynn?
“He doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
Flynn’s expression goes dark, dangerous. His eyes flash with something primal, something that reminds me exactly what he is when he’s not being careful and controlled. “Because he would be already dead if he did.”
The words are said simply as if he’s commenting on the weather. And I believe him. Flynn would absolutely kill anyone who posed a threat to me, friend or not, alliance or not. I’ve seen what he does to vampires who cross that line.
The memory of the Halloween party is still fresh—the way he ripped that vampire’s heart out with his bare hand for daring to threaten me.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“You do.” The corners of his mouth lift up, that infuriating smirk that means he knows he’s already won. “You could say no.”
“And what happens if I say no?”
“I get to drive you to work.”
“Flynn, this is actually ridiculous.”
“Why are you so shocked? Men do this all the time, why can’t I drive you to work now?”
“You know why.”
Because it’s not about him driving me to work. It’s about what it represents—the gilded cage, the loss of independence, the slow erosion of my autonomy. I left my family to escape that suffocating control, and now I’m terrified of walking into it again, even with someone I love.
“I don’t.”
I take a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “I don’t like feeling trapped, Flynn, I don’t like it at all.”
The words come out more vulnerable than I intended, and I see his expression soften. He understands, I know he does. He’s been trapped before—by his maker, by his nature, by circumstances I’m still learning about.
“And you’re not, but you’re also scared about your father, so I’m giving us options that you’re shutting out before actually thinking about it.”
Damn him for being reasonable. I sigh, heavy and exasperated. “You’re right, but fuck, I feel like we will never be free of him.”
His jaw locks, and I feel he has more to say, but he waits and thinks about the following words. “He’ll eventually get tired.”
I look at him, at the hope in his eyes that I wish I could share. “I don’t think so.”
“Or he could surprise you and show up with a homemade cake and congratulate us on our new house.”
The image is so absurd, so impossibly far from reality, that it actually hurts. Emil Popescu baking a cake. Emil Popescu congratulating me on anything that doesn’t involve staking vampires. “Keep dreaming.”
“Maybe he’d even buy a new washing machine for us.”
“Just like a normal dad would do.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I hear the longing in my voice.
That small statement makes me look down for a moment, at my hands curled around the now-lukewarm tea, and I feel the loss of something I will never get to live with my father.
The normal relationship, the mundane gestures of care, the approval that doesn’t come with conditions and blood.
Flynn catches it right away. The gloominess. He always does.
He drops down on his legs so that he’s at my eye level, his hands rest on my thighs and he’s now looking up at me.
The position should be submissive but somehow isn’t—he’s still in control, still commanding the moment, just choosing to meet me where I am.
His hands are cool through my leggings, steady and grounding.
“Let Jonathan drive you, and give me and yourself peace of mind.”
His gray eyes are intense, pleading in a way Flynn rarely allows himself to be.
This matters to him. My safety matters to him in a way that goes beyond rational thought, beyond what’s reasonable or necessary.
And maybe that’s what love is—excessive worry and over-the-top precautions and doing whatever it takes to keep the other person safe, even when they don’t think they need it.
My lips turn to a thin line, but I nod. “Fine.” Because what he’s requesting isn’t anything crazy. It’s for my safety, even if nothing and no one, except Flynn, could save me from my own father, but I do think for him, knowing someone can stall the inevitable is what he needs to have.
“Thank you.”
The relief in his voice is palpable, and I feel some of my resistance melt away.
“You could…drive me too from time to time,” I say, because again, it really wouldn’t be bad at all, and I’d enjoy showing him around and reliving our first date together.
He gave me this opportunity after all, he was able to find it and let me get this job and he made sure I’d be able to get here and pursue my dream.
“I’d love to.”
I can’t help but feel a smile tugging on my lips. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Nonsense.” He brushes his lips on my forehead, the kiss soft and lingering. “I’m the fortunate one who gets to live a life with you.”
And that’s how we end the conversation.
He stands, stretching to his full height, and I watch as he moves toward the door. But before he can leave, his phone buzzes in his pocket. The sound is jarring in the quiet of the office, and I see him tense immediately.
He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his expression goes carefully blank. Too blank. The kind of blank that means he’s hiding something.
“Everything okay?” I ask, watching him closely.
“Fine.” The word is clipped, and he’s already typing a response, his fingers moving quickly across the screen. “Just business.”
But his jaw is tight, and there’s a line between his eyebrows that wasn’t there a moment ago. He’s worried about something. Maybe even scared, though Flynn would never admit it.
“Flynn.”
“It’s nothing, Talulla.” He looks up at me, and his smile is strained at the edges. “I need to make a call. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit. Don’t want to bother you too much.”
He’s gone before I can press further, moving with that supernatural speed that means he doesn’t want to answer questions. I hear his footsteps on the stairs, then the click of our bedroom door closing.
Something’s wrong. And he doesn’t want me to know.
I turn back to my books, but the words swim in front of me now. The Sumerian artifacts can wait. Tomorrow’s first day can wait. Because right now, I’m worried about what’s making Flynn look like that.
He leaves to fortify the security, and I go back to my books, but my mind keeps wandering. To the notes. To my father. To whatever was on Flynn’s phone that made his expression shutter like that.
Tomorrow is my first day of work, and the last day of my punishment. And I know very well he’s planning something—big—to make it unforgettable.
I just hope it’s the good kind of unforgettable, and not the kind that involves more mysterious threats and security upgrades.
Outside, the sun is setting, casting long shadows across the garden.
I try to focus on my notes, on the museum, on anything other than the anxiety churning in my gut.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something is coming.
And I don’t think it’s going to be a homemade cake and a new washing machine.