Silent Night, Violent Night (Vengeful Hearts)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

BLAKE

My shift is almost over. Just two more hours, then it’s nothing but peace, quiet, peppermint bark… and Damon. So much Damon.

I miss him with an intensity that catches me off guard sometimes. It’s ridiculous since we’re together every spare second, but there’s no denying how my heart feels.

This week has been especially chaotic—clinical rotations have devoured every bit of my time.

Between my insane schedule and Damon working legitimate security consulting during the day (a job that he was pretty much born to do), not to mention our evening extracurriculars (vigilante shit), it feels like we’ve barely had time to breathe, nevermind spend quality time.

Whenever I think we’ll get a quiet evening—maybe order some comfort food, curl up on the couch, pretend we’re normal people for a few hours—the police scanner crackles to life with something we can’t ignore.

Or Damon’s phone explodes with texts from Jasper and Leon, needing him for surveillance, extraction, or cleanup.

I sound bitter. I’m not. Truly.

What we do is important… fufilling—saving people, stopping monsters, making sure the bad guys don’t get away with it.

I wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

It’s just… hard sometimes. Hard to have all these different versions of us without time to just be, to breathe and settle in with the weight of it all.

That’s why I’m practically vibrating with anticipation, watching the clock like I’m able to move the hands forward with my mind.

Damon promised me two full days of uninterrupted Christmas time.

Two days of just us. No scanner, no missions, no masks.

Just Blake and Damon, being the twisted, obsessive, perfectly matched couple we are.

Jasper, Falin, Leon, and Bailey are all staying at the Shea’s place for the holidays.

We somehow weaseled our way out of it—promising we’d show up for Christmas dinner—claiming we both had to work through Christmas Eve.

Mrs. Shea sounded disappointed, but Bailey covered for us and distracted her with another round of Christmas shopping.

She texted me later that night. Something like, enjoy your alone time, with a wink face.

And now I get Damon to myself. I can wake up in his arms at whatever time we feel like.

Watch his perfectly sculpted forearms flex as he makes my latte just the way I like it, all sleep-rumpled, those dimples out when he smiles at me across our kitchen.

Open gifts together under the tree. He’s all mine.

And I won’t have to share him with the rest of the world for forty-eight hours.

The things I want to do to that man…

“Blake?”

I snap out of my daydream to find Stephanie, one of the nurses on tonight, staring at me with her lips cocked. “You’ve been standing there, looking at that chart for five minutes without writing anything.”

“Sorry.” I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks heat. “Been a long week. My brain is mush.”

“It’s almost over, girl. Then you’re off until the twenty-seventh, right?” She squeezes my shoulder as she passes. “Lucky. I got stuck with overnight tonight and tomorrow. My kids are gonna kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, imbuing empathy into each word. Stephanie’s a single mom of two little girls. She works twice as hard as anyone else on this floor.

“It’s much needed overtime for me. Got that car to fix. I’ll make it up to them.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Someone’s gotta be here, anyway. All the chaotic shit happens during the holidays.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.” I shoot her a sympathetic smile. “At least you’ll have New Year’s off?”

“God willing.” She checks her watch. “Speaking of chaos, did you hear about the thing with Dr. Martin’s patient earlier? Room 3. Ate a box of Christmas chocolates.”

I tilt my head. “Okay?”

“The whole thing… box and wrappers included.”

“On purpose?”

“That’s yet to be determined.” She shakes her head. “Poor guy. Anyway, I’m gonna go check on him. Holler if you need anything.”

I watch her go, imagining how terrible that man must be feeling.

Once she’s around the corner, I settle in at the nurses station to finish charting.

The computer monitor’s brightness is turned up high enough that I strain my tired eyes as I pull up my last patient’s chart.

Mr. Williams, post-surgical follow-up, vitals stable, pain managed.

I’m typing my assessment when voices drift over from the other side of the desk.

“Yeah, obviously it’s sketchy… but damn. Fifteen grand! I could pay off a few months of student loans with that.”

I peek around the desk, my ears perked up, and spot two residents I met during orientation a few months ago.

I can’t remember their names… mush brain and all.

But I think I remember her being on a family medicine track and the guy on the surgical path like me.

What are they doing on this unit? And what is this about fifteen grand?

“Jess, come on. You’re crazy to even consider it.” He leans in so he’s eye level with her. “A private house call on Christmas Eve? No charting? No record-keeping? That’s like, medical malpractice waiting to happen. You want to fuck with your future when you’ve worked so hard?”

My breath catches somewhere between my throat and chest.

“It’s not malpractice if I’m doing a legitimate exam,” Jess argues. “The guy said it’s just a wellness check. Some wealthy family wants to make sure their relative is healthy enough for holiday travel, I bet. Probably flying somewhere overseas and wants medical clearance.”

“Then why not come to the hospital like normal people?”

“Because they’re not normal people, Adam. They’re rich. They have private chefs and personal trainers and therapists who come to their house. Why wouldn’t they have a doctor do the same?”

Adam pulls a hand through his short hair, before laying his hands on Jess’s shoulders.

It’s an intimate act, something Damon’s done before.

They must be more than just colleagues. He’s worried, and I can’t help but feel a similar prickle of anxiety run through my body.

I’ve developed these new skills, instincts, doing what we do, honing my gut feelings until they’re pinprick sharp and certain.

And whatever offer Jess is talking about has the tiny hairs at the back of my neck standing on end.

Adam sighs and speaks lower. “What do they want you to do for the money?”

“Like I said, it’s just a wellness check.

Full physical, vitals, blood work to send out to private labs, maybe some diagnostic testing.

He said he’d send over a list of what they need when I accept the offer.

” Jess’s voice drops a little. “He said I could bring an assistant if I wanted. He actually encouraged it, said I’d have to give them a cut of my pay though. If that makes you feel better—”

“Christ, Jess, I don’t know. Something about this feels off. Where’d you meet this guy again?”

“This morning in the cafeteria.” There’s a few seconds of silence before Jess speaks up again. “God, Adam, you can cut the look. Just say it.”

“Fine. You know you don’t have to worry about money anymore if you—”

“Not now, okay. I just—I don’t need this.”

Their voices start to fade as Jess hurries in the opposite direction of my desk and Adam follows close behind.

I usually make it a point to stay out of other people’s business. There’s enough drama around here that getting involved in all of it would drive me crazy. But this time, I couldn’t help but overhear. Whatever’s happening between them, I hope they work it out.

I get back to my chart, staring at the computer screen again, reading the same line three times without comprehending it.

Fifteen thousand dollars. Christmas Eve. Private residence. Blood work and diagnostic tests.

No records.

There’s no stopping it. The darkest, most fucked up possibilities flood my mind. Things I couldn’t have imagined before Damon—before my eyes were forced open to the reality of our world, before I came face to face with real monsters, before I became their hunter.

Trafficking victims being branded as healthy before being sold.

Medical clearance for illegal activities… like organ harvesting.

Forced birth control or abortions.

Stop. You don’t know anything yet. It could be totally innocent. Like Jess said, just rich people being rich people.

But my gut—the thing that’s kept me alive through gunfire and raids and late-night stakeouts—is screaming that this isn’t innocent at all.

I force myself to finish my charting, save the file, and log out. My phone is already in my hand before I consciously decide to text him.

But his name is waiting on my screen—he texted first.

Freddy: What’s up, Angel? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

I can’t help but smile. He’s watching me, as usual.

A deep sigh leaves my lips. “Fuck my life.” So much for forty-eight hours of uninterrupted Blake and Damon time. But I can’t ignore my gut. That’s not who I am.

Me: Can we talk about something?

His reply is instant.

Freddy: I’m in the cafeteria… already got your usual. You okay?

My stomach does that warm, fluttery thing it always does when he’s nearby.

Most people would find it suffocating—the way he always knows where I am, what I need, how to anticipate my every move.

But I’ve never felt safer, more seen, more understood than I do with Damon’s obsessive attention fixed on me.

Me: On my way.

I catch Stephanie on her way back to the desk as I grab my purse. “Taking my break. Want me to grab you anything from the cafeteria?”

“Ooh, coffee would be amazing. Almond milk, extra sweet, please.”

“You got it.”