Chapter Four
Kayden
She moves fast. Not vampire-fast, but faster than she has any right to.
I should've seen it coming. Should've sensed it. But my senses were distracted by the scent of her skin, the way her breath caught when I stepped in, the lingering memory of her blood still branded behind my teeth.
I register the attack half a second too late.
I shift just enough to avoid the branch driving through my chest.
Asher moves faster. He's already between us, hand snapping around her wrist like a steel trap.
The stake clatters to the floor.
She wouldn't have landed the hit. But she tried.
My vision tunnels.
A surge of fury rips through me, hot, wild, and unfiltered. And before Asher can say a word, I've got her.
I wrench her from his grip and slam her against the wall, her back to me, her body flush with mine. My hand traps both wrists behind her back. My other clamps around her throat.
Not choking, but controlling, dominating the moment.
Her pulse thuds against my palm, fast and frantic.
My fangs drop, instincts flaring.
I'm drowning in her scent—damp skin, wild nature, that subtle, maddening sweetness that still lives in my memory from a year ago. Her blood is carved into me like a curse I never shook.
Lightning flashes through the window. Thunder booms overhead, shaking the glass.
I lean in close to her ear, my voice low, the edges honed sharp with fury.
"Well, well, well," I murmur, almost fond. "Spirited, aren't we? Trying to stake two vampires while wearing only a shirt that barely covers your thighs."
She struggles, twisting in my grip. Her body presses into mine, and hell if that doesn't ignite a very different hunger. The storm outside has nothing on what's boiling beneath my skin.
"Is there any reason I shouldn't rip your throat out right now, sunshine?" I ask, voice smooth.
I don't mean it. Killing her would be too quick and merciful.
Her breath is ragged when she replies. "What does it matter, now or later? You were going to kill me anyway."
From behind us, Asher finally speaks, "We're not going to kill you."
"Right," she murmurs.
She doesn't believe him. Smart girl.
"Kayden," he adds, firmer now. "Let her go. She's terrified."
I don't turn. "Seriously, brother? Your kumbaya methods extend to this?" I press a little closer, letting her feel exactly how much danger she's in. "She tricked me. Drugged me. Drained me. Left me to burn. Now she's tried to kill me again, and you want to play therapist?"
"She won't give us answers if she's dead," Asher says, flat as stone.
His voice is calm, but I don't need to look back to feel the heat of his disapproval bleeding off him.
We both know I've killed for less. Far less.
"Then let me go," she snaps, twisting in my grip.
Her movements are wild and useless. That damn shirt rides up as she struggles, exposing bare skin in flashes, just enough to push the wrong kind of heat through me.
I'm not sure now whether I want to sink my fangs into her throat or throw her down and find out what kind of sounds she makes when she's not lying.
Maybe both.
In turn.
Or at the same time.
I let go of her wrists. My hand slides around her waist, dragging her against me. The other tightens at her throat.
"Feral little thing," I murmur against her ear. "Showing your true colors now. Brave, but not bright, trying this stunt without your forest friends around."
She stiffens, but I can feel the pulse pounding under my hand. Fear, yes, but something else, too.
I admire her defiance. That raw, wild edge. I want to strip it back layer by layer, learn who—what—she really is.
Once I have my answers, I'll decide if she burns or stays.
"I saved your life," she chokes out, voice tight.
"And endangered it. Twice," I growl back.
My fingers splay across her stomach, pressing into warm skin. Holding her there. Not just to restrain. Not anymore.
She smells like wildflowers. Sun-warmed meadows. Sweet, earthy dew. It's crawling under my skin, blooming inside my chest. Tempting me. But I don't bite.
Not because of any monk-like self-control my brother preaches about from his damn mountaintop of moral superiority. I don't bite because I choose when to hunt and who's my prey.
"Kayden," Asher snaps. His hand clamps around my arm, hard. "Enough."
His tone has changed. He senses it now. The shift. This isn't just about violence anymore.
"It's not the way," he says. "We need answers. Not whatever this is."
My grip loosens, but not for him. This is exactly the way. Good vampire, bad vampire routine. Let's see which one she breaks for.
I spin her around in one motion and grab her wrist. Drag her with me.
She resists, but I'm stronger, faster, and done playing. I toss her down onto the couch—rough, but not enough to hurt. She lands soft, but I stay standing, looming over her like the question she can't escape.
Asher steps closer, his posture shifting, shoulders squared, voice crisp and commanding. The Colonel in him rising to the task.
"Do we need to restrain you?" he asks, tone flat, no bullshit.
She swallows hard. Looks away for a beat. Then meets his gaze again.
"I won't try to kill your brother," she says. "Again."
I smirk. Can't help it.
"Oh, that's comforting," I drawl. "A half-naked mystery girl promising not to stab me a second time. You fill me with trust, sunshine. Shame that 'shove-a-branch-through-my-heart' moment tends to stick in the memory. Even if the attempt was… spirited."
We both tower over her where she sits on the couch. The contrast is sharp. Intentional.
Asher is here to control the situation. I'm here to enjoy it.
She shifts slightly, pulling her legs up onto the cushion, sitting sideways like she's trying to look smaller and harmless. It's a signal—see, I'm not about to pounce.
Still, I wouldn't mind if she did. I'd like to see her try.
Even curled up like that, there's nothing docile about her. She radiates defiance wrapped in vulnerability. And, damn, if it doesn't keep stoking the fire in my blood.
Asher, the master of calculated optics, eases the tension in his usual quiet, disciplined way. He steps back, half sits against the liquor cabinet behind him. Casual, but still in control. Just dialed down enough to look less like a threat.
So predictable.
I stay planted where I am, watching her squirm beneath my gaze, feeling her unease. Her heat.
"We got off on the wrong foot," Asher says.
"You don't say," I mutter.
"We'll start over." He ignores me, of course. That's his thing. "I'm Ewan Asher Darrow. You can call me Asher."
He gestures toward me. "This is my brother, Kayden Darrow. I assume you knew at least something about him when you two… met."
Met.
I roll my eyes at that. That night was many things—explosive, twisted, nearly fatal—but met?
That's generous.
I don't correct him, though. Let him run the good-cop routine. Let her think she's safe-ish.
Because when it's my turn again, I'll remind her what kind of game we're really playing.
Asher
"What's your name?" I ask, testing the waters. Seeing if she's softened.
She doesn't sit like a victim. Not curled up in fear, nor folded in on herself with guilt or panic. She's planted sideways on the couch, legs tucked, arms crossed, eyes tracking both of us like she's still working out her next move. Attack or retreat.
"Sage," she says at last.
I nod. A start.
I wish Kayden would step back, give her some air. But he's locked in. Circling. Pushing. Enjoying himself too damn much.
But I know my brother. This isn't just revenge. He's pretending it is, but this is a collision. Old blood and something new—unresolved and dangerous. It's spiraling, and I can feel it slipping out of control. I need to de-escalate before it tips into chaos again.
"Sage," I echo. "All right. I don't know how you ended up in these woods or what exactly happened, but I'll start from our side. Do you know where you are?"
She glances out the rain-drenched window. The storm is still hammering the trees.
"Middle-of-nowhere Maine," she says flatly.
Kayden smirks. "She's got that right."
I ignore him. Keep my voice steady. "You're in a town called Briar Hollow. I live here. So do a number of other supernaturals who've built a life here. It's a refuge."
Her eyes narrow slightly, still skeptical.
"Maybe we can help you," I continue, "since you're clearly running from something."
She tilts her head a fraction. "So what? You're some kind of good vampire?"
"I try to be," I say simply. No sugar. Just truth.
There's doubt in her eyes. Fear, too, though she's doing a decent job burying it under that steady gaze.
"My brother's basically a vampire Dalai Lama," Kayden chimes in, the grin in his voice sharp and unwanted.
She glances at him, then at me again. Her body shifts slightly.
I try not to notice the way my shirt clings to her frame, the way it drapes just enough to expose the delicate curve of her collarbone, the way the hem glides over the ink along her thigh—vines and flowers winding up her skin like something alive.
Beautiful.
And dangerous.
Focus.
I keep my gaze locked on her face. Only her face.
I have to stay calm, professional. That's the only way this can work.
Because if I start seeing her as anything else, if I give space to what's tightening in my chest, I won't be the one in control anymore.
I clear my throat, keeping my posture neutral—shoulders loose, relaxed, like I'm not hyper-aware of her every movement.
"You have no reason to trust me," I say. "You don't have to. I'm not asking for that. Just a brief truce. Can we do that?"
She looks away, jaw tightening, something flickering across her face—the kind of fear that settles in the bones after trusting the wrong people. After running for too long.
My gaze drops for a moment. The collar of my shirt hangs loose on her, one side slipping lower than the other. Her skin is pale, still recovering from the cold, marred with faint scratches and a bruise blooming dark along her thigh from what happened in the forest.
I shouldn't notice any of that. But I do.
I drag my gaze back up. Keep my voice even. "Look, Sage, I know what it means to run."
She doesn't respond, but I press on, softer this time. "If you tell me what's going on, I might be able to help—protect you."
It slips out before I can stop it. A mistake.
I don't offer protection lightly. Not to someone we know almost nothing about. Not to someone who lured Kayden into a trap, then tried to stake him in my living room. Even if most days, I feel like throttling him myself.
I sense his stare. He doesn't say anything, but I catch it in my periphery—judgment, maybe. Or amusement. Or both.
Sage's eyes lift to mine, narrowed. "Protect," she repeats, low and almost mocking. "Let's do this instead. You want a truce? Fine. I give you answers. You let me go. That's my deal."
I almost smile. She's got no leverage. Half-naked, bruised, weak from cold, and still negotiating like she's holding the high ground.
"All right," I say before Kayden can open his mouth. "Deal."
She nods, shifts slightly again on the couch. "Can I at least get a drink?" she asks, voice dry.
Damn it. I should've thought of that. She must be parched. Probably starving.
"Of course. We have food, too. All kinds. Human food included," I add quickly. "The place is stocked for various guests," I explain, in case she has some special dietary requirements like many supernaturals.
Kayden snorts. "We don't serve kombucha or wheatgrass smoothies, though. And by the look of those tattoos, I wouldn't rule out moon water and crystal charging as part of your daily routines."
I resist the urge to swat him on the back of the head, like I used to when we were kids. Scratch that—I want to swat him most days. He just hasn't been around to give me the opportunity in the last century or so.
Sage shoots him a deadpan look. "Whiskey is fine."
Kayden raises a brow, clearly pleased. "Now you're speaking my language, sunshine."
He moves toward the cabinet like a man happily appointed bartender of the damned, pouring drinks with a flair that almost makes me shake my head.
"Didn't peg you for a hard liquor type, though," he says. "Thought you'd be more of a lavender tea and incense kind of girl."
She takes the glass without hesitation. "I'm full of surprises," she says smoothly.
Their fingers brush just for a second, but the air stills. Like even the room knows something passed between them.
Despite the barbs, jabs, and violence, there it is again—that thing building between them. Dark and dangerous.
"So, Sage, I'll let you decide where to start," I say, letting my voice cut through the tension.
The offer is deliberate. Not an interrogation, but a choice. If she feels cornered, she'll lie. Letting her steer gives us the best shot at something real.
Still, we'll have to watch every word. Weigh them. She's hiding something, I just haven't figured out which part yet. Or why.
She takes a sip from her drink and tilts the glass just slightly, buying herself time.
Meanwhile, Kayden drops onto the opposite side of the couch like he's claiming his territory.
One arm hooked over the back, legs sprawled in that lazy predator way of his.
Casual, but not relaxed. He lifts his drink like it's a prop, his eyes never straying from her.
I don't like it, but I don't stop it. Kayden won't be managed. Never has been.
Sage shifts away from him, toward the corner of the couch, keeping both of us in her line of sight.
She doesn't speak yet. She waits, testing the silence. I let her. I've played this game before. Sometimes silence gets more answers than a barrage of questions ever could.
But beneath my exterior, I'm watching just as closely as Kayden.
Because I know my brother. I know the look in his eyes right now.
He's not just hunting—he's haunted. Whatever happened between them didn't just wound his pride.
It did something deeper. It left a scar.
I saw it in the way he showed up on my doorstep. Then stayed.
Kayden's had close calls before. Most of them his own damn fault. But this one—meeting her a year ago—changed him. I'm not sure if it's for better or for worse.