Chapter 20 #2
Before going back to his office to talk about what we will be working on in the next few months. A new acquisition from a private collector, he tells me. Sumerian grave goods that need cataloging and authentication. Research opportunities. Potential publications.
I completely lose track of time.
The work is absorbing in the best way—the kind of focus that makes hours disappear.
We discuss periodization and provenance, debate the dating of certain artifacts, pull reference texts from his overflowing bookshelves.
Carl Evans is brilliant and enthusiastic and exactly the kind of mentor I hoped for.
So much that when he basically begs me to go home, I see I’ve been here almost an hour over my shift.
“Oh gosh I didn’t realize the time.”
“You don’t have to overwork yourself, Talulla, I know you’re good at your job already.”
The praise makes warmth bloom in my chest. “Thank you, Mr. Evans.”
“So professional, you can call me Carl. Now go home and enjoy your evening.”
I nod. “Good evening, Carl.”
And with that, I run outside and find a very annoyed Jonathan.
He’s leaning against the car, arms crossed, that emo-in-a-suit look now accompanied by a scowl. The sun has set while I was inside, November darkness coming early, and the streetlamps cast orange pools of light on the pavement.
“He’s very displeased.”
Flynn. Of course. I’m late, which means the schedule is off, which means my control-freak vampire is probably pacing holes in our floor. “I know I know, now let’s go,” I reply, and he opens up my door and to a very punctual vampire we go.
“Ms. Popescu,” a male voice that seems oddly familiar calls from behind me.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I know that voice—smooth, authoritative, with an edge that says predator in a way that has nothing to do with vampires.
Jonathan is in front of me in a second, moving with that supernatural speed, putting his body between me and whoever just called my name. I can’t help but snort as I turn to see who the voice belongs to.
Mr. Norton. The alpha from the S.P.I.A.
He’s tall—taller than I remembered from our brief meeting—with dark hair going silver at the temples and eyes that gleam amber even in the streetlight.
He’s wearing a long coat over a dark suit, looking just like a government agent.
But there’s something wild underneath, barely contained.
Werewolf alphas always have that quality, like they’re one wrong word away from shifting and tearing your throat out.
At least this one does, Kaden is definitely more controlled.
“Stalking me, alpha?”
He tilts his head in curiosity as his eyes land on Jonathan, and I see his nostrils flare slightly. Scenting. Analyzing. “You are a very peculiar vampire hunter.”
“I’m retired.”
He snorts, and the sound is almost a growl. “Didn’t look so retired the other night.”
He is indeed stalking me. The Halloween party. He knows about the Halloween party. Which means the S.P.I.A has eyes on us, which means we’re under surveillance, which means Flynn is going to absolutely lose his mind.
Fuck.
I cross my arms over my chest before saying, “I sorta have places to be, big scary wolf, if you have anything to say, say it.”
“I was wondering if you had any information about the disappearances, I know you talked to the Drusus coven.”
So they’ve been watching that closely. The S.P.I.A doesn’t miss much, apparently. “The kidnappings have stopped as you already know. The Drusus coven would have told me if more went missing.”
“Yes, they did stop. Palo Alto can go back and worry about other things.”
“Then why are you here, alpha?”
He smirks, and there’s teeth in it. Not quite a threat but close. “To show you just exactly how well I do my job.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Jonathan asks, showing his fangs. His voice has dropped an octave, gone dark and dangerous.
“Call back your guard dog, vampire hunter. You might need my help one day, and I tend to not be as agreeable when people antagonize me for no reason whatsoever.”
The words are calm, but the message is clear. Don’t make an enemy of me. The alpha’s amber eyes are fixed on mine, and I can feel the weight of his power, his authority. Werewolf alphas don’t make idle threats.
“Is that it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“For now.”
“What is it with men and having to constantly look tough and cryptic?”
The werewolf laughs, surprised and genuine. “Please do keep in touch if you discover anything that could help our investigation.”
I simply nod, and then I walk toward the car, and as soon as Jonathan drives off, I start breathing again. My heart is hammering, adrenaline flooding my system. “Well, now he’s going to be really pissed.”
“Why does the S.P.I.A know you so well? Talulla, what the fuck?”
Jonathan’s voice is sharp, accusatory, and I can see his hands gripping the steering wheel again. The classical music is still playing—Chopin turned to Bach—but it feels incongruous now.
“Didn’t Flynn tell you?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Of course he didn’t. Because Flynn compartmentalizes information like it’s an Olympic sport. “So I might have tried to look for some files in their archives.”
“Okay?”
“Uninvited.”
“For fuck’s sake. This changes everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I do not deal with those assholes.” There’s real venom in his voice now, old hatred that speaks to history I don’t know.
“Neither do I.”
“That interaction says otherwise.”
“We’re on the same side, they’re trying to solve a case just like the Drusus coven is.”
“They’re only on their own side. They’re werewolves.”
The prejudice is naked and raw. Whatever happened between Jonathan and werewolves, it wasn’t good. “I see you have unresolved issues with them.”
“They just…you can’t trust them.”
“I’m not.”
He simply nods. “Good.”
“I do have werewolf friends, though, Flynn too.”
“He tolerates your ex. It’s different.”
I feel my jaw drop. “Kaden is not my ex, what the fuck? We’ve always been just friends.”
“Sure.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“Glad to be of service, vampire hunter.”
“Retired, Jonathan. Fucking retired.”
“Are you going to tell him about what happened, or should I have the honors?”
The threat—because it is a threat—hangs in the air. “Go back to being silent.”
He laughs but obeys. Thank fuck.
I pull out my phone, chewing on my bottom lip as I type two separate texts. The butt plug shifts again and I’m reminded that tonight is supposed to be about celebration, not about S.P.I.A agents and surveillance and all the shit that keeps following us.
on our way home, fangs. - T
is there anything you need to tell me, Cass? - T
The replies come almost instantly.
you’re late. - F
Why? - C
I roll my eyes at Flynn’s text and ignore it, as I type a reply to my best friend.
The SPIA decided to pay a visit at work asking if you had any leads. - T
Flynn is going to kill me, isn’t he. - C
Is there anything new? - T
I would have called you if there was anything new to report but with the kidnappings stopping it’s not easy to continue to investigate something that is just not happening. - C
Great. So we’re being monitored by the S.P.I.A for a case that’s gone cold. Perfect.
Can’t wait to see Flynn flip as soon as I tell him what happened. I just hope he won’t make me wait any longer because if he decides to change his plans tonight, I don’t care what he’ll do, but I’m giving myself a fucking deserved orgasm.
We pull onto our street as full darkness settles over London. The house lights are on, warm and inviting through the windows, and I can see Flynn’s silhouette pacing in the front room.
Here we go.
First day of work? Success.
Evening plans? Probably about to be derailed by a paranoid vampire boyfriend and SPIA complications.
My sex life? Hanging by a very thin thread.
I adjust one more time as Jonathan parks, the plug reminding me of exactly what I’m supposed to be celebrating tonight, and steel myself for the conversation ahead.
This is going to be fun.