Chapter 29 #2
His hand is inches from my arm when the shop door suddenly explodes inward.
Glass shatters with a deafening crack, spraying across the floor as something streaks inside too fast for my eyes to track.
I flinch, throwing an arm up on instinct– but before I can even process what’s happening, a pair of strong arms clamps around my waist from behind and yanks me backward.
I know who it is before I even see him. Before I hear his voice or catch his scent or feel the familiar breadth of his chest against my back. Every nerve ending in my body seems to recognize Elliott Faulkner.
I sag against him on instinct, my back molding to his chest as one arm bands around my waist. His other hand splays across my stomach to hold me firmly against him, and the tension that’s had every muscle locked tight since Vincent walked through the door instantly loosens.
When I tilt my head back to look up at him, he’s both beautiful and terrifying.
His eyes are so dark they’re nearly black behind the lenses of his glasses, his lips drawn back just enough to expose the sharp points of his descended fangs.
Every muscle in his enormous body is coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap.
He looks fucking feral.
“She is mine.”
His voice is low and lethal, each word vibrating through me down to my bones.
Vincent’s smile falters.
I should probably object to being discussed like property. Under normal circumstances, I absolutely would– but right now, I couldn’t give less of a shit.
I sink more fully into Elliott’s hold, his arm tightening around me in response, anchoring me securely. For the first time since Vincent walked through the door, I manage to drag a full breath into my lungs.
Vincent’s gaze travels over Elliott, taking in the hulking frame wrapped around me, the exposed fangs, the unmistakable threat radiating from every inch of him.
“How touching,” he sneers.
“What do you want with her?” Elliott demands.
Vincent frowns, shaking his head. “That’s none of your concern.”
“She’s my source.” Elliott’s hand flexes against my stomach. “Which makes it very much my concern.”
Vincent gives me a once-over, his jaw working. “Leverage,” he states simply.
Elliott stiffens behind me. “Against whom?”
“The king.” Vincent tilts his head, gaze flicking up to Elliott. “His human is rather attached to her, is she not?”
Taylor.
I stare at Vincent, anger burning through the last remnants of my fear. “Oh, fuck you,” I snarl. “You think you can use me to get to her?”
The arm around my waist tightens. “Beatrix.”
“What?” I snap.
“Not now.”
I twist my head enough to shoot Elliott an offended look, but his focus remains on Vincent.
I glance back over to see his gaze flicking between us, something shifting behind his eyes. The smug amusement disappears, replaced by something cold and calculating before his attention settles squarely on Elliott.
“I challenge your claim.”
Oh, fuck.
I try not to flinch, but I fail– because I know what that means.
We’ve had this conversation before, about how a source can be challenged. A claim can be taken by force, and the human caught in the middle doesn’t get a fucking vote.
Elliott’s arms fall away from me, and for one awful second, panic takes hold. I stumble back, reaching for him, but he’s already moving, stepping in front of me and completely blocking Vincent from view. His arm reaches backward, palm finding my hip and guiding me farther away.
“No,” I whisper.
He keeps backing me up, putting more distance between me and Vincent.
“Eli…”
“Keep her safe,” he orders.
I don’t even realize who he’s talking to until Ronnie appears at my side, his hand closing firmly around my upper arm.
“Come on, Bex.”
I resist, digging in my heels, my eyes fixed on Elliott’s back. Everything in me rebels against moving away from him, but Ronnie tugs hard on my arm, forcing me another step backward.
Devin hobbles over to join us, one hand pressed to his cheek where an angry bruise is already beginning to bloom. He stares at the two vampires with wide eyes, looking understandably shell-shocked.
“This is my shop,” Ronnie announces, his voice rough but remarkably steady. “Whatever bullshit you two have going on, take it outside.”
Neither vampire acknowledges him. They’re completely focused on each other.
Vincent stands perfectly still across the shop, while Elliott remains planted between us, shoulders squared, hands loose at his sides.
The tension in the air thickens as the silence stretches.
“Eli,” I whisper again.
He glances back at me, and that’s when Vincent moves.
“Elliott!”
The warning barely leaves my mouth before Vincent becomes a blur, but luckily, Elliott’s even faster. The two of them collide with enough force to send a nearby stool skittering across the floor, and everything after that happens too fast for my human brain to properly process.
A flash of movement. Elliott’s hand shooting upward. A sickening crack followed by a wet, visceral tearing sound. Something warm splatters across my face, and then… silence.
I blink.
Vincent’s still standing– at least, most of him is. His body remains upright for one bizarre, impossible second before his knees buckle and he collapses heavily to the floor.
His head doesn’t go with him.
Because Elliott is holding it.
Blood streams from the ragged stump of Vincent’s neck, splashing onto the floor. His amber eyes stare sightlessly ahead, mouth slightly open, a shocked expression frozen on his severed face.
I stare in horror while somewhere behind me, Devin whispers, “Holy fuck.”
Elliott looks down at the head in his hand, completely expressionless, then drops it. It hits the floor with a horrible thud, and nobody moves. Nobody speaks.
Eli reaches calmly into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He removes his glasses, frowning at the blood spattered across the lenses, then begins wiping them clean.
I stare at him, completely speechless.
There’s a head on the floor– a head that was attached to a body approximately thirty seconds ago– and Elliott is cleaning his fucking glasses.
He holds them up for inspection, apparently satisfied, then slides them back onto his face. His gaze immediately finds me, sweeping from my head to my feet as if checking for injuries.
I’m fine, physically.
Mentally, the jury’s still out.
Apparently determining that I’m no worse for the wear, Elliott turns to Ronnie. “I apologize for the mess. I’ll have someone here within the hour to clean it up and replace the glass in your door.”
Ronnie just stares at him, mouth hanging open. I swear I can see the exact moment he recalculates everything he thought he knew about me.
Elliott turns back to me and extends a hand. “Shall we?”
I stare at his outstretched palm. Then at Vincent’s head. Then back into Elliott’s eyes.
Well.
I suppose we’ve committed to this particular brand of insanity.
I place my hand in his, and his fingers close firmly around mine.
He guides me toward the door, stepping over Vincent’s body without so much as glancing down.
I’m considerably less graceful about it, the sole of my boot landing in a puddle of vampire blood as I try to skirt the carnage.
I track it all the way to the door, leaving dark red footprints behind me.
“Bex.”
Ronnie’s voice stops me just before we reach it, and something in his tone makes my chest ache.
I turn to find him standing beside Devin, staring at me from across the wreckage of his shop, and a resigned sigh escapes me. “I know.”
His expression tightens, and I give him a small, wistful smile before letting my gaze drift around the room.
My stool. My station. The stupid stickers stuck along the edge of my mirror. Shelves of ink and tattoo designs covering the walls. The place where I’ve spent countless hours making art, talking shit, bitching about clients, and eating cheap takeout between appointments.
For years, this place was home…
But I guess I’ve got a new one now.
I look back at Ronnie, forcing a brittle smile. “I’ll see you around?”
His jaw clenches. “You better.”
I hold his gaze for another second, then turn away. Elliott steps through the shattered remains of the door, and I follow him out into the night.
“I’ll buy you a tattoo shop,” he murmurs.
A laugh escapes me despite everything. Of course that’s his solution.
I wipe a smear of blood from my cheek with the back of my hand. “Were you stalking me again?”
“Watching,” he corrects. “Always.”
“Whatever.”
I shake my head, though I can’t really object to him stalking me this time since he swept in and saved my ass. And Taylor’s, probably. I just know that dumb bitch would’ve come running if Vincent was holding me hostage, and then if Vincent didn’t kill me, James would’ve.
I spot the familiar shape of Elliott’s matte black McLaren GT parked down the street, starting toward it.
“Not that way,” he mutters.
I stop and look back at him, arching a brow.
“I don’t want blood on the interior.” He nods in the opposite direction, where the black SUV from his security company is parked at the curb– the same one that brought me here earlier.
“Good call,” I say, changing course.
I should probably be freaking out right now. Instead, a slightly hysterical laugh presses at the back of my throat.
Not long ago, my biggest problem was choosing which engagements to take. Now, I’m walking down the street covered in vampire blood while a Nobel Prize-winning immortal offers to buy me a tattoo shop because the one I worked at has become collateral damage in supernatural politics.
My life has officially become fucking ridiculous. Dangerous, complicated, and completely unrecognizable from the one I had a few months ago.
But as Elliott falls into step beside me, his hand brushing mine, I can’t bring myself to wish any of it back.
At least it isn’t boring.