Chapter 15 #2
He points toward the door. “Because you've got vamps showing up at my shop.”
“One vamp,” I snap.
“That's one too many.”
I snatch up my purse, cursing under my breath.
“Listen, kid,” Ronnie says apologetically. “I’m just trying to look out for you…”
“I don’t need you looking out for me,” I huff, slinging my purse strap over my shoulder.
His expression softens. “I know you think that, but everyone needs someone.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, and I turn away before he can see them, heading for the door.
I hate that Ronnie sounds worried.
I hate that he’s making sense.
And most of all, I hate that Vincent managed to taint the one place that still felt normal.
“Bex, come on!” Ronnie calls after me, but I don’t break stride. I just flip the lock and shove through the front door, letting it swing shut behind me hard enough to rattle the glass.
There’s a black SUV waiting at the end of the block, right where it dropped me off hours ago. One of Elliott’s security guys is behind the wheel, and he must spot me coming because the doors unlock before I even reach for the handle.
I yank the back door open and practically throw myself inside, slamming it shut behind me.
The driver glances up in the rearview mirror.
“Everything alright, miss?”
“No,” I huff, the answer slipping out before I can stop it.
He tilts his head ever so slightly, waiting.
I drag a hand over my face and let out a tired breath.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m fine. Just take me home, please.”
He doesn’t press– just nods once, shifts the SUV into drive, and pulls away from the curb.
I sag against the window, the cool glass soothing against my temple as the streetlights smear past outside. My pulse is finally starting to slow, but my stomach is still twisted into knots, anger and embarrassment warring with the waning adrenaline.
Vincent’s eerie smile is seared into my damn brain. I replay every word of our conversation, wondering if I should’ve handled it differently and whether name-dropping Elliott was enough, or if that only bought me a little more time.
Ronnie wasn’t wrong. Vincent didn’t stumble into the shop by accident, he found me.
The realization settles like a lead weight. I close my eyes, forcing myself to take one slow breath after another. Even so, the ride home feels endless.
By the time the SUV pulls into the underground parking garage, I’m emotionally wrung out. The elevator carries me up to the penthouse in silence, and when the doors slide open, I enter to find Elliott standing in the kitchen, mixing one of his meticulously measured blood cocktails.
He glances up at the sound of my footsteps, his dark eyes finding mine immediately. They sweep over my face with the same quiet, clinical attention he gives to samples in his lab. Then his brow furrows.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” I reply automatically, dropping my purse onto the kitchen island.
He lifts his glass, studying me over the rim. “You’re lying.”
I frown back at him.
I hate how he does that. Most people take things at face value, but Elliott Faulkner watches too closely.
He notices the tension in my shoulders, the way I keep rubbing my hands over my arms, the fact I won’t quite meet his eyes.
Whether it’s vampire instincts or whatever scientific bullshit his brain uses to dissect everything around him, I have no idea, but somehow he always manages to see straight through me.
Normally, I’d tell him to mind his own damn business.
Tonight, I’m too exhausted to bother.
I let out a slow breath. “Got a visit at the shop tonight from my vampire stalker.”
Elliott freezes with the glass halfway to his lips.
“Stalker?” he repeats, slowly lowering the glass back down to the counter.
“Yeah,” I huff. “The one who cornered me about Taylor and James. This whole source thing was supposed to fix it, but apparently he’s still following me, showing up at my fucking job.”
Something unreadable flickers across Elliott’s face before disappearing behind that infuriating composure of his. “What happened?”
I shrug, trying to play it off like less of a big deal than it felt. “He walked in as if he belonged there. Said he’d been passing by and saw me through the window.” I roll my eyes. “Bullshit, obviously.”
Elliott’s hands flatten on the counter and he leans forward, eyes darkening. “Do you know his name?”
“Vincent something,” I mutter, shaking my head. “He was a Bite client. Lives in Midtown.”
He absorbs that in silence, his gaze drifting for a fraction of a second as though he’s assembling pieces only he can see.
“I told him you claimed me,” I add, realizing I probably should’ve led with that. “That I’m your source now.”
This time, the pause lasts just a little longer. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re impossible to read.
“I see,” he says quietly, reaching for his glass again. "Perhaps you should remain closer to the penthouse for the time being."
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Well, that won't be a problem. Pretty sure I just got fired.”
One dark brow lifts as he takes a long sip from his glass. Waiting, patient as ever, as though he already knows there’s more I’ll say if he’s quiet long enough.
Normally, he’d be right, but tonight, I don’t have anything left to give.
I wave a dismissive hand, grabbing my purse from the island. “I’m just gonna take a long, hot bath and try to forget this night ever happened.”
Something in Elliott’s composure slips. His throat works around a swallow as he lowers the glass, the tip of his tongue catching a stray drop of blood from his lower lip.
His gaze flicks over me, pupils widening, then he looks away so abruptly it’s almost jarring, lifting the glass for another drink.
“Good talk,” I snort, rolling my eyes as I turn toward the hallway.
I barely make it two steps before his voice stops me.
“Beatrix.”
“It’s Bex,” I grind out, glancing back at him over my shoulder.
“Bex,” he corrects, eyes locked on mine with unnerving intensity. “If you need anything, you only have to ask. Time off from your duties in the lab, a visit with Taylor…”
The offer catches me off guard. It’s practical; exactly the sort of thing a reasonable person would offer someone in distress. Yet from him, it feels oddly personal.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, turning away before I can think too hard about why that bothers me.
I continue down the hall and slip into my bedroom, not even bothering with the lights. The darkness greets me like an old friend, wrapping around me as I lean back against the door and let out a slow, weary sigh.
For a little while, I just stand there, mind racing.
Tonight started with me pretending nothing had changed– that I could just slip back into my old life as easily as pulling on an old hoodie. Then Vincent walked into the tattoo shop and reminded me exactly how much it has.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Maybe this is just how my life will always be. Navigating one problem after another, each disaster bleeding into the next until I figure out how to claw my way through it. I’ve always managed before. I’ll manage this time, too.
The apartment is so quiet I almost miss the faint creak of a floorboard outside my room. The subtle shift of air, like someone’s standing there, listening for the sound of my breathing.
An hour ago, that realization would’ve sent ice through my veins. Here and now, it sends a little thrill surging through me.
Part of me wants to throw the door open just to see if I’m right. The other part can’t decide which outcome would be worse– that nobody’s there at all, or that Elliott is… and he’s still standing on the opposite side of a door instead of crossing the distance between us.
I saw the way his pupils flared when I mentioned the bath. The way he looked away almost immediately afterward, like denying himself came as naturally as breathing.
Vincent watched me because he wanted information. Elliott watches me because… I don’t know why. But it doesn’t feel like a threat. Something about it feels safe.
A bite would make all of this disappear for a while. Just one rush of venom, one blissful wave of euphoria, and the rest of the world would finally shut the hell up.
But Elliott won’t bite me.
Won’t touch me.
Won’t even let himself look for more than a heartbeat before retreating behind that maddening self-control.
I push away from the door before I’m tempted to do something stupid, cross to the bathroom, and start the tub.
Maybe enough hot water can wash this night off me. Though somehow, I doubt it.