Chapter Three
Kyson
The creak of metal when the cell door opened felt more ominous then when it had slammed shut behind me. With a shaky breath, I stepped out then glanced at Dane, our eyes meeting. His expression mirrored how I felt.
We’d heard the destruction, the yelling, and then the thunderous silence down the hall. Malachi and Giovanni had arrived, dragging with them centuries of baggage they’d finally unpacked in what had sounded like complete devastation.
“Shit,”
I muttered as the deputy led us toward the front of the building. Not once had I gotten into this kind of trouble while living at Winterhaven. It wouldn’t be shocking if Malachi told me to pack my crap and leave, especially since I’d dragged his boyfriend along for the ride.
“How upset do you think they are?”
Dane whispered, his gaze bouncing several times between me and the hallway ahead.
My brows rose high enough to blend with my hairline. “Dude, they just tried to kill each other.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “They don’t get ‘upset’. They’re a walking apocalypse with a grudge.”
“You could have lied to me!”
Dane hissed in a low tone, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he narrowed them.
“Fine, I think they’re just mildly peeved. They’ll probably give us a strongly worded lecture. Feel better?”
He opened his mouth but snapped his head around when the deputy stepped aside, leaving us face-to-face with Malachi and Giovanni.
I placed my hand on Dane’s back when he instinctively tried to retreat, only to feel the violent tremor running through him. It was enough to make my chest tighten. My jaw clenched as I glanced at the brothers, then a gasp slipped from me at the raw heartache etched into Malachi’s dark eyes.
Dane’s fear was gutting him.
Malachi approached slowly, his hands splayed open in a gesture of surrender. “Are you okay, little warrior?”
It was like watching a warlord kneel before the battlefield’s last survivor. I’d seen him enraged, surly, and lost in the stillness of his own dark mind, but this… This was something else. The man before me wasn’t the prince who’d crushed armies or left entire legacies trembling in his wake. This was Malachi stripped bare, his pride discarded, his power meaningless in the face of Dane’s terror.
And he didn’t care who saw him.
The weight of it hit me like a blow. A dark prince who struck fear in the hearts of his enemies was now humbled, reduced to nothing but a man desperate to erase the tremors in the person he loved. My throat tightened as I watched the way he looked at Dane, like nothing else mattered, not even those witnessing such an intimate moment.
For the first time, I realized Malachi wasn’t invincible. And for the first time, I wondered what it would feel like to be seen the way he saw Dane.
My gaze tried to stray to Giovanni, but I forced them to stare at the floor. The scars littering my body were a stark reminder that I would never know that feeling.
“Are we free to go, Sheriff Whitmore?”
I asked, focusing on a small piece of paper that seemed to be stuck halfway inside the wall.
“Yes.”
His deep voice was thick with emotion, as if moved by Malachi’s display.
I couldn’t take it anymore, so I headed straight for the exit, then moved swiftly to the side of the building, where I used the shimmer to try and escape the pain burrowing deep inside my soul.
* * * *
I’d dodged everyone for a week, but oddly enough, I’d hung out with Dick in the kitchen, enjoying his company. It should’ve been the last room I wanted to visit since it was where I’d been possessed. But it was better than being alone in my bedroom, and I wasn’t ready to face anyone.
Giovanni. Admit it. He’s the one you’re avoiding.
Twice he’d knocked on my door since Harrington’s bullshit arrest, and both times I’d pretended I wasn’t in there.
“So, you pressure cook it for what, forty minutes and it’s done? Just like that?”
I watched as he adjusted the time, the beeps echoing in the small room.
It wasn’t that small, but compared to the towering grandeur of the other rooms, the kitchen felt snug, like a warm hug wrapped in sunlight.
This was another space Malachi had let me own. I’d found a picture in one of those home and garden magazines, and Dick had brought it to life.
Swear, it was an exact replica of the one from the magazine. He’d even flawlessly filled in the areas that couldn’t be seen in the picture.
Buttery yellow walls reflected the soft glow from the crank-open windows above the farmhouse sink, where a slight, warm breeze stirred strands of my hair. The sink itself was massive, its porcelain surface gleaming, and wide enough that I swore I could probably curl up inside it. Beyond the window, the backyard sprawled, the grass swaying in the breeze.
“Yes,”
Dick said, his voice as steady as his hands. “Forty minutes, and you have a complete meal.”
The guy had more patience than anyone I’d ever met. I was like a toddler with a million questions, but he never seemed irritated when I asked them. Except whenever I asked what he was. Then his eyes did that glowing thing, a warning to drop the subject.
“What exactly are you cooking?”
That was one thing that sucked about a pressure cooker. I couldn’t lift the lid and inhale the aromas, which was one of my favorite things to do.
Dick stood at the butcher-block island in the center of the room, his knife moving in fluid, precise strokes as he chopped potatoes into perfect cubes. The wood beneath his hands was nicked and worn, its surface etched with faint scars from countless meals prepared over the years. Copper pots and pans swayed slightly on the wrought-iron rack overhead, catching the light with every faint movement.
“Barbecue short ribs,”
he replied, his hand never missing a beat with the knife, even when he glanced at me. If I’d tried to cut something that fast, my fingers would be included in the dish.
The six-burner cast iron stove on the far side of the kitchen added its own charm to the space, its brass accents gleaming faintly. A pot of baked beans simmered on the front burner, the scent of brown sugar and molasses curling through the room and wrapping around me. Three times, I’d grabbed a spoon for a taste, my mouth watering for more.
I leaned my hip against the oak counter next to the sink, watching him work. The surface was smooth and polished, its honeyed tones glowing in the sunlight. My entire life—all twenty-six years—I’d never eaten this good. Dick’s food was like having my own gourmet chef. Every single dish he’d cooked had been perfection, a slice of comfort in a life that rarely offered any.
Whatever he was, the guy was a master at cooking. Last winter, I’d stupidly used the shimmer on one of my needs to get out of the castle and fucked around and caught the flu.
If the vampires avoided me before, it was nothing compared to a sneezing, watery-eyed, runny-nose human. They’d acted like I’d been a walking plague or the harbinger of death. Not even Giovanni had come near me.
But Dick? He’d not only nursed me back to health but had fed me the most amazing soup I’d ever tasted. I still salivated whenever I thought of its deliciousness.
Dane walked in, heading straight for the pantry. Which meant Malachi was lingering in the hallway. The room was too bright for him to enter. He’d insisted on having the windows in the kitchen sealed after my possession, but I’d had such a meltdown, he’d dropped the subject.
The kitchen had incredible lighting during the day, and fuck if anyone was taking that away from me. I wasn’t sure how the whole dimension thing worked, but a slight breeze filtered through the windows from the countryside yard, carrying the scent of honeysuckle as a few birds tweeted. I needed that sense of normalcy, as well as the sunshine and scents from the outside world.
At times, it had been the only thing that had saved my sanity.
I didn’t move when Dane walked out of the pantry, hoping he didn’t notice me. No such luck.
“Are you done hiding, or should I pretend you’re invisible?”
He set the package of cookies on the counter, grabbed a spoon, and tasted the beans.
He slapped his hand on the counter, his eyes rolling back. The guy had more food orgasms than anyone I’d ever known. “You are a rock star, Richard.”
Dick smiled, seeming pleased at the praise.
“Dude, I complimented it three times, and you didn’t once preen at me,”
I grumbled.
Regret filled his eyes. “My apologies, Kyson. I’ve just grown so used to your praise, I’ve begun to take it for granted.”
“And Dane is the shiny new toy,”
I replied.
Dane shot me an uncomfortable glance, causing me to realize how bitchy I sounded.
“Sorry.”
I ran my hand through my hair. He was one of two people who wasn’t offended by my scent, and I was unintentionally pushing him away. That would only make me feel even more isolated, which was the opposite of what I wanted.
I’d had enough of feeling hopelessly alone for the past five years.
“I’m just—”
Having a hard time since seeing Malachi basically worship you. “It’s just an off day for me.”
“I’m not trying to sound selfish,”
Dane said as he approached. “And trust me, I get… you know.”
He pointed at his head, referring to both of us refusing to talk about our trauma. “But you and I are the only humans here. No offense, Richard.”
“None taken.”
Dick gave the beans a slow stir.
“But you can’t leave me hanging while you pretend the world doesn’t exist, Kyson.”
“You have Malachi,”
I pointed out.
“And you have Richard, but is he enough? No offense, Richard,”
Dane said without looking at Dick.
“Not offended.”
Dick slid the cubed potatoes into the boiling pot of water on the stove.
“You think I’m blind?”
Dane whispered. “You think I don’t see the way you look at Giovanni when he’s near you?”
I scoffed. “I have no idea—”
“Save your denial for someone who’ll let you get away with it,”
he said. “Both of you get all weird-eyed when you’re near each other.”
Dane wiggled his fingers in front of his face. “Maybe stop avoiding him and, at the very least, have a conversation with him.”
“Amen,”
Dick muttered.
My gaze shot to Dick before darting back to Dane. “I’m not trying to sound like a prick,”
I replied. “But why don’t you just focus on yourself and I’ll do the same.”
Dane narrowed his eyes. “You’re too stubborn for your own good. And you can try to push me away all you want, but I don’t forget about my friends. Especially when I care about them.”
“I wasn’t abandoning you,”
I argued, feeling triggered. I’d never known my dad, and my mom had decided one day when I was seven that she didn’t want to be a parent anymore. I’d lived with my grandfather until he died when I was fifteen. Once I’d turned eighteen, my foster family had kicked me out like I’d meant nothing to them.
After being abandoned my entire life, it was hard for me to form relationships.
Even if I desperately wanted them.
Dane looked taken aback at my snarl. “I never said you abandoned me, Kyson. I just took the long way of saying I miss your company.”
Jesus Christ. I felt like I was losing my shit. Seeing the intimacy at the station messed me up more than I thought, causing the hollow ache inside of me to grow.
“I’m…”
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I’m sorry, Dane. I don’t know why I’m snapping at you.”
You can’t even tell him the truth. That wasn’t even worth lying about.
I jumped when he touched my arm. My hands dropped, and I caught how quickly Dane pulled his away.
Without a word, I headed out of the kitchen, ignoring Malachi when I passed him in the hallway. My skin felt too tight, and my breaths were coming out too fast.
Halfway to my room, I stopped and pressed my back to the wall, closing my eyes. It wasn’t just Dane and Malachi’s relationship messing with me.
The feeling of abandonment, of being so utterly alone, felt like a heavy weight in my chest. My entire adult life I’d shied away from making friends, allowing fear to stop any potential relationships from ever forming.
Maybe that’s why I’d been such an easy target for Osiris. It had taken little effort for him to gain my attention, to ensnare me with his charm.
The same with Giovanni. I’d latched onto him like a desperate puppy, taking risks even though I’d known he was just as dangerous. Maybe even more so. It had been Osiris who’d carved me up, but it was Giovanni who tortured my sanity.
Five long years and my yearning for him hadn’t changed. I pathetically clung to that one moment we shared, a moment of tenderness he’d shown me years ago.
Slowly, I opened my eyes when I felt a presence, startled to find Giovanni standing right in front of me, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his slacks.
I’d always wondered how he could stand to be near me with my offensive odor, but he never seemed to be bothered by it. I would’ve asked, but I’d always been afraid of the answer.
He was somehow even more gorgeous than the night we met, but all the vampires were stunning, as if beauty was a strict requirement of their species.
Which only made me feel even more hideous because of my scarred body.
Maybe stop avoiding him and, at the very least, have a conversation with him.
My mind went blank. After years of holding him at a distance, I had no idea how to bridge the gap I’d created, no clue how to find the right words.
Giovanni jerked his head slightly, silently instructing me to follow. I hesitated as he walked away, his dress shoes clicking on the marble flooring. Vampires could move without a sound, so why was he making his presence known?
I debated on whether to follow or stay put, until curiosity finally won out. Pushing off the wall, I hurried after him as he turned the corner. As soon as I rounded it, he was there, waiting for me.
We walked in silence, and I noticed we weren’t heading for my bedroom, but I forced myself not to ask where he was leading me. I didn’t trust a single vampire, not even Giovanni, not entirely. He might’ve treated me kindly, but that didn’t change the fact he was still steeped in darkness.
Giovanni Winterhaven was my solace and my undoing, the calm I craved and the chaos I feared, a darkness I couldn’t trust but who I always wanted to turn to.
We stopped in front of a solid black lacquered door, and I watched as he pressed his hand against the smooth surface where a doorknob should’ve been.
Why have I never seen this before? Over the years, I’d explored the castle at great length, had been down this corridor many times, but I never recalled this door being here.
The intricate scrollwork lit up, glowing as tiny rivulets of fluorescent blue slid through the grooves, though it didn’t move quite like liquid. Then I heard a soft click.
He pushed open the door and walked inside. My heart was racing, but I didn’t move, afraid to take a step. But once again my curiosity finally won out.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, the door closed behind me. There wasn’t a handle on this side either.
I was trapped.
Turning, I started to demand he open the door, but the words caught in my throat as my gaze swept over the room. Leather pieces were draped over black mannequins, battle uniforms and armor from wars long since forgotten. Weapons lined the walls—spears and javelins with gleaming tips, wicked-looking knives with curved blades that seemed to thirst for a fight.
My gaze landed on headpieces perched atop a display, their crowns adorned with what appeared to be stiff horse hair running down the center like a fierce Mohawk.
I was standing in Giovanni’s past, staring at the things that shaped him into who he was today. There had to be over a dozen battle attires, all different in style. “How many wars did you fight in?”
“This isn’t the entire collection.”
He moved around a mannequin, running his fingers over the chest plate with a look of reverence. “I lost a lot of what I owned. What remains pales in comparison to what I’ve worn.”
From what I’d learned, vampires lived a long time. I just didn’t know how long. Maybe I should’ve asked when Malachi had given me immortality.
“How old are you?”
I asked, my hand trailing over one of the leather pieces on the mannequin closest to me. But the moment my fingers brushed the surface, a vision blazed through my mind, sharp and vivid, and I snatched my hand back like it had burned me.
I glanced at him and found him watching me, as if gauging my reaction.
“A few thousand, give or take a couple centuries.”
Thousands? My breath caught. I was expecting hundreds, but thousands ? I couldn’t wrap my head around living that long. My childhood felt like a lifetime ago, and I was only twenty-six. I rubbed my forehead.
“Overwhelmed, little bird?”
His chuckle was soft, sliding gently over me like an intimate caress.
“Why do you call me that?”
Ever since I’d come to live here, Giovanni had called me little bird, and I never knew why.
He nodded toward the leather outfit closest to me, the one I’d touched, silently telling me to touch it again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“They are just memories, imbued into the fabric of my uniforms, Kyson. Harmless.”
Harmless. Right. In this place, that word held an entirely different meaning. I swallowed roughly, licking my lips, unsure if I wanted to see the bloody wars he’d fought in.
Calling myself a dozen different idiots, I placed my hand against the shoulder piece.
A sharp gasp escaped me as my mind was yanked into a barren wasteland cloaked in heavy fog. The air felt thick and oppressive, the trees naked and lifeless, their branches twisted like grasping hands.
Bodies littered the ground, a grim and endless sea of the fallen. Among the carnage, only one figure stood, wrapped in the same leathers my fingers rested against.
In each hand, daggers glistened, their blades dripping with blood. Giovanni moved silently across the desolation toward a lone tree. Kneeling at its base, he set his weapons aside and reached down.
When he rose, he held a small bird, cupped gently in his hands. Its tiny chest heaved, one wing fluttering weakly while the other hung at an unnatural angle, the only movement in a world stilled by death.
“An innocent casualty,”
he murmured, his voice soft and filled with a blend of sorrow and reverence. His thumb stroked over the bird’s head in a gesture so tender it seemed a sharp contrast to the carnage surrounding him.
Sinking to the ground, he pressed his back against the tree, one leg bent as he cradled the fragile creature to his chest.
Through the material, his sorrow poured into me, a crushing heartache born from taking so many lives. Yet, among the destruction, there was a fragile, fighting spirit—wounded but refusing to give up.
It was a glimmer of defiance in a world shattered by violence, and somehow, it brought him solace. He remained there for hours, his gaze lifting, not to the carnage but to the horizon beyond, his eyes heavy with something that lingered between grief and regret.
All the while, he cradled the bird in his hands, his fingers brushing over its feathers in an attempt to comfort it, as if easing its pain might somehow lessen his own.
Feeling as if I was intruding on a private moment, I pulled my hand away, and I was instantly back in the room. Only, Giovanni stood right behind me, so close I could feel the warmth of his body.
“Do I frighten you, petit oiseau ?”
he murmured in my ear.
It suddenly struck me that he saw me as that bird. Broken, but refusing to give up. If only he knew how many times I had.
“Yes,”
I replied honestly as I trembled.