by Rhea Watson
That all shot to hell the moment I shuffled out of my hospital room, Seamus at my aching heels—and a pair of burly security warlocks I’d never seen before blocking my path.
“What is the meaning of—”
“Shame, Jack,” Iris Prewett mused, sidestepping the wall of warlock muscle, each of whom towered over her by a good foot and a half, and offering me one of her saccharine sweet—fake—grins. “You had such…” Her lips thinned, looking more natural already, and she pressed her steepled fingers to them for a moment to consider her words. Never mind that I knew for a fact she had rehearsed this little spiel in front of the mirror, determined to get it just right. “You had such interesting ideas for the academy. I’m afraid, however, I can only allow you to return to your room to pack.” She pointed to the letter caught in my death grip. “You understand, of course. Technically, you are no longer an employee but a campus guest. I can’t have you wandering about. Nothing personal—just a safety precaution.”
Something in my neck clicked when I stretched out the crick. Behind me, Seamus cleared his throat uncomfortably, and the security warlocks glanced at each other, hands on their belt wand holsters.
“Iris—”
“Oh, please, I must insist.” She held up a waif-thin hand, one that had always been stronger than it looked, just like the rest of her. “Headmistress Prewett to guests.” The witch stepped back, allowing the warlocks to shoulder up to me, nearly my height and each just as broad. My former second-in-command smirked over their shoulders, hands up innocently. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Jack. I’ll take great care of the school. Run things as they should be run.”
She then turned and sauntered down the dim stone corridor, gas lamps flickering erratically as she passed.
And I just stood there, watching her go, watching her take my title and my academy, as fury went off inside me like a bomb.
2
Bjorn
I had given her time to cool off.
A full day of space.
But as I drummed my fingers on the couch armrest, staring at the half-open bathroom door’s reflection in the black TV screen, listening to her prepare for tonight’s impromptu staff meeting, I decided enough was enough.
No more time. No more space. We had made that mistake before and lost precious weeks because of it, and after that kiss, I wasn’t about to risk it. Not again. Not her.
Uncrossing my legs, I paused for a beat when the tap water hissed to life, then abruptly cut off. The sound of her opening her makeup bag followed, zipper whizzing and product rustling, and I finally stood, zeroed in on the bright yellow sheen spilling through the opening.
Last night hadn’t gone according to plan. I mean, the plan had never been to kiss her, reject her advances to take things further, and then plunge into a fight that would keep us apart for a full day afterward. Before we went to this meeting and settled in for fuck only knew what, many of the staff on vacation and Jack—as far as I knew—still in a hospital bed, this needed to be squashed.
Alecto and I deserved better than uncomfortable silence and palpable tension.
When I crossed our flat’s common area, I made sure to purposefully step on all the creaky floorboards so as not to startle her. Despite my efforts, Alecto still flinched when I nudged the door open with my foot and stepped into the light, blush brush in hand, her outfit for the day dour but chic.
“Sorry,” I muttered, her pulse thundering between us like gunfire. She side-eyed me in the mirror, then resumed sweeping the feathery black bristles over her cheekbones. While I was in one of my usual outfits—jeans and a grey knit pullover, plus a spritz of cologne—Alecto had gone full Wednesday Addams in a fitted little black dress, long-sleeved and high-necked with rigid white cuffs and a lacey collar. Somehow she had even wrangled that curly mane into a tight fishtail braid.
Low kitten heels.
Opaque black tights.
A delicious morsel—who kept glancing at me in the mirror, her profile lovely and elongated as she bent slightly over the counter to apply her makeup.
When she didn’t protest my blatant up-and-down glances, her heartbeat slowing under my lazy perusal, I carried on looking. Not as a friend would, but as something more—as the vampire who had kissed her in the conservatory.
Who had dried her tears.
Who craved her blood, desperate to sink his fangs into her inner thigh and listen to her squeal with pleasure—
My roving eye stilled.
The vampire who had only just noticed the massive goose egg on her forehead.
“That’s new,” I noted, skipping over the guilt of not realizing she had acquired a new injury since we last spoke. Tucked off to the left side just below her hairline, the bump stood tall and proud and angry. A jagged red line sliced across it, suggesting that whatever had happened had made her bleed, and bruises bloomed around it, noticeable beneath her foundation.
Alecto’s amber gaze flitted up to the mark on her reflection’s forehead.
“It’s from the sirens,” she said, the lie followed by a soft throat clear and a noticeable increase in her heart’s BPM. Right. When would she accept that her body always told me the truth?
I crossed my arms, eyes narrowing. “It’s not.”
“It—”
“You think I can’t smell the difference between a new wound and an old one?”
The stubborn little witch slammed her makeup brush down on the counter, then grimaced over her shoulder at me. “Eww. Bjorn—gross.”
“Yeah.” I leaned onto the thick wooden frame, eyebrows up as I barricaded her inside our shared bathroom, my figure on a diagonal and blocking the entire doorway. No running this time—for either of us. “This is what you signed up for with me.”
Alecto rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips as she rooted around her sparkly purple makeup pouch. Seconds later, she straightened with her mascara in hand, slowly twisting the cap off, her smile dying before it had a chance to really shine as she studied that huge lump in the mirror.
“Benedict and I had a talk last night,” she admitted. Licking her lips, she leaned over the counter again and got to work on plumping her lashes, too casual about the omission for my liking.
Benedict—not Ash Cedar.
Fucking bastard.
Everything inside me turned to cold steel, a violent war drum pounding in my chest. It had lain dormant for so many years, nothing else spurring it to beat like this—like that welt on her forehead no doubt delivered by a warlock I was ten seconds away from butchering wherever he stood.
“He knows,” Alecto muttered, moving on to her left eye, focusing on a few stubborn lashes in the corner. “I… He gave me my mom’s ring last night, just after you and I talked. Like, out of nowhere, just… Maybe he did it to bait me, or it was some weird courtship gesture. Maybe he just wanted answers.” She sniffed and straightened, stabbing the mascara wand back in its tube. “Anyway, I saw it, I knew it from the pictures—and I kind of just… attacked him.”
Shieldmaiden.
That had been my first impression of Alecto Clarke—Corwin, not Clarke. Alecto Corwin, diminutive witch with the heart of a warrior. She had proven twice now that she would charge headlong into battle for people who mattered, besting murderous students and carnivorous sirens. Odin had a seat for her in his great hall, surely, Valkyries waiting in the shadows to bring her soul to Valhalla when the time finally came.
But that was a long way off.
Centuries, if she was the type to indulge in anti-aging potions.
And I hoped that was the case—for I faced eternity, and I wished to spend it with her, this beautiful shieldmaiden worthy of all the honors.
Only the here and now was more complicated than that.
Benedict knew who she was, that she had survived.
She had physically attacked him.
He fought back.
And now they were just… existing. Two predators sniffing at each other’s territory, k
een to take whatever they could. Blood. Bone. Life itself.
She shouldn’t walk the castle alone anymore.
Of course she would balk at the idea of an escort, a bodyguard, a fellow warrior to watch her back.
Which was why I planned to keep it a secret. Alecto Corwin had saved the lives of two grown men at Root Rot, two powerful supernatural creatures who should have rescued themselves.
She deserved respite.
Or, at the very least, she deserved backup who wouldn’t fail her.
“Good,” I growled at long last, the thought of her beating that pretentious warlock to a bloody pulp only making me want her more. When her eyes flicked to mine in the mirror, I arched a brow and tipped my head in deference. “Well done, elskling. I hope you left scars.”
Heat plumed in her cheeks, surpassing the makeup and shining bright like a lighthouse in the middle of a tempest. So fucking perfect. Shaking my head, I pushed off the doorframe and rolled my shoulders back.
“Alecto, last night…” Say it right this time, you old bastard. “I didn’t mean to imply you should just forgive him. You have a right to vengeance. You are owed a pound of flesh for what he stole from you, and you should take it in whatever way suits you. I only meant to—”
“I know,” she admitted softly, tossing her mascara back in her makeup bag with a sigh. “I just… It’s a sensitive subject, and I guess I got, uh, kind of triggered.”
I snorted. “Kind of?”
“Very?” she offered, waiting for my slow nod before returning to the mirror and rooting through her supplies. “Yeah, let’s go with very triggered.”
My rumble of agreement made her heart dance, and I finally unfolded my arms, sliding my hands into my pockets as I watched her uncap a lipstick and bring it to her lips. “Well, noted, for the future.”
“I’m sorry.” She dabbed the bloodred stick across that plump lower lip, my favorite of the pair. Perfect for nibbling on and nipping at. Alecto hesitated before moving on to the top, watching me in the mirror as she said, “For freaking out on you—I’m sorry. I regretted it literally seconds after I left the greenhouse, but I was committed to storming off.”
“Yes, rather dramatic of you. Was I supposed to chase you through the rain?”
“Maybe.”
“Next time, perhaps.”
Mischief sparked in her eyes. “Please do.”
That spark jumped to me, zinging straight to my toes and back up to my cock. Still, I waited, loitering in the doorway until she finished her lipstick, then slowly ambled into the bathroom.
“I’m sorry for pushing you without explaining myself properly,” I told her as she cleared down the counter, plopping the scattered bits and pieces of her makeup regime back in the pouch. “I know how it must have sounded… You often leave me tongue-tied.”
Alecto shrugged coyly. “Oh, I’m aware.”
“That obvious, am I?”
“You’re an open book, Asulf,” she insisted with a giggle, pointing her bulging makeup pouch at me before tossing it in one of her drawers under the sink, both of us allotted two each. When she straightened, she smoothed out the crinkles in her dress, the fabric coasting over her curves in a way that could only be described as divine. However, her frown stopped the hungry exploration of my eyes, and I reeled it all back in, sensing we weren’t quite finished. Lips pursed, the little witch went for her braid, which she wrapped around her head and held in place with one hand, then went for her glass jar of hairpins with the other.
“Look…” Alecto unscrewed the lid and knocked it off so that it clattered on the counter as her fingers took a deep dive for bobby pins. “I get where you were coming from. You did a lot of bad things—things you can tell me, or not, totally your call. Tell me tonight, tomorrow, or a year from now… I won’t judge you.”
She stabbed the first pin in, this one holding the lot in place, then moved on to two-handed styling, fingers on autopilot as she tacked that long braid all the way around her skull. Throw in a few flowers and my elskling could pass as a bride of spring, a queen waiting to be swept away by a dark god—a shadow warrior who would burn the world for her.
“But I’d like to think I know you,” she murmured, and for the first time it was her curious gaze roving my body before settling on my mouth. “You’re not a bad man, Bjorn.”
I ignored the shame plucking at my dead heartstrings, the floodgates holding back an ocean of blood trembling under the pressure. “Not this century, anyway.”
Her shy grin was more than I could have hoped for, given the subject matter.
“I am trying to make amends,” I muttered. Six years at Root Rot helping those who most needed me was the bare minimum, but it was a start. “I acknowledge it—my past.”
And if she wanted details, I had no qualms providing them.
Not all at once, of course.
Or she might finally run screaming for the hills, the rotting darkness inside too much for anyone to take.
“That’s the first step, isn’t it?” Alecto swept her hands over her hair, smoothing the rogue wisps around the braid. “Admitting it?”
“That’s what all those TV experts say.”
This time, she snorted, hers genuine and not forced, something she always tried to muffle and hide—offered freely this time, cheeks rosy. “Right? Gods, we watch too much of that shit…”
Our chuckles eventually tapered off to a much more pleasant sort of quiet, one that was no less heavy—but easy. Alecto cocked her hip against the counter, facing off with me, eyes on mine, soft and maybe a little expectant. My hands eased out of my pockets, but then immediately settled back in when I wasn’t sure where to put them, closing the distance between us by another few lazy paces.
“So,” I started, towering over her in her kitten heels, “are we still in a fight?”
Alecto sucked in her cheeks briefly. “No.”
“Good.” I swept a hand through my hair, then scratched at the back of my neck, suddenly on shaky ground again—so fucking rare with a woman. Normally I was confident, forever sure of myself. When to kiss. When to touch. When to take things further. When to fuck her senseless against the wall. I had all the steps of this dance perfected, but Alecto threw me every time, what we had too precious for any further mistakes. “So…” I cleared my throat. “Am I still allowed to kiss you, then?”
Alecto sniffed and looked away, her nonchalance betrayed by the traitor in her chest hammering its eager consent. “I mean, if you have to ask, then I dunno if you should—”
I pounced, lunging forward and snapping an arm around her waist, yanking her to me in a flash. Our mouths met, smiling, laughing, the collision of fire and frost echoing deep in my core. While she clutched at my sweater, fingers twining into the knit, my free hand cupped her cheek as our lips parted and tongues tangled. Her heat slashed through my veins, spreading fast and furious, a wildfire blazing through a parched forest, consuming all in its path.
Consume me, elskling.
I’m yours.
With a growl, I hoisted her up and shoved her onto the counter, then hiked her legs to snake around my waist.
And you’re mine.
No tears this time. No grief. Hand planted on the mirror, I kissed her like I needed a taste of her soul, catching her bottom lip with my fangs every so often and groaning when she gasped. The flash of pain and dribble of metallic had sent women fleeing in the past, terror in their eyes and panic in their hearts. Alecto’s pulse quickened, yes, but she also dragged me closer, heels gritting into my lower back, hips grinding against my thickening cock.
All the time and effort she had put into her makeup—wasted.
I ruined her, cradling the back of her head in my hand, her body blanketed with mine—smothered, overpowered, overrun. Alecto Corwin might have been a shieldmaiden on the battlefield, but I had a feeling she would be a wild cat in bed, all sharp claws and bared teeth and unrelenting passion that would flavor her blood.
Make it my new fa
vorite.
So long, AB-negative.
Hello, elskling.
The rattle of my belt buckle seemed to startle her back to reality, even if she was the one who had yanked it open, her greedy fingers already on the button and zipper of my jeans. Her lashes fluttered against mine, and I cracked one eye open to find hers wild and heavy-lidded.
“The meeting,” she mumbled against my hungry mouth, her tongue snagging on a fang. The sprinkle of blood—sweet with a mouthwateringly tart aftertaste, like the wild blueberries that used to grow around my childhood village—drove me mad, beckoned the monster to surface.
“Fuck the meeting,” I snarled, dragging her back to me and kissing her harder, deeper, committing her moans and mewls to memory. For a moment, she might have considered it, her body molding to mine, rocking and writhing, hands everywhere, her mouth a bloody inferno that I plundered with the savagery I’d kept locked up tight for decades. All sweetness for my modern-day lovers. Tender touches and soft kisses, thinking I had to woo them with romance after a lifetime of brutality.
But Alecto responded to my rough caress just as others had melted for my gentle strokes. She yanked at my hair, snapped her teeth at my lips, put my tongue in its place as it marked her, claimed her.
Or, tried to, anyway. Strong as she was, I was stronger, and from the quickening of her heartbeat, that excited her.
But not enough to keep her.
Not tonight, anyway. Groaning, my darling twisted away with a sharp gasp, her hands on my shoulders, nails biting through my sweater’s stitching as she shook her head.
“No, no, we need to go,” she said breathlessly. The fact that it sounded like it pained her to stop gave me a twisted thrill—made the monster drool. Smirking, I dragged my lipstick-smeared mouth down her neck and flicked my tongue over her fluttering pulse point. Slid my thumb into the hollow of her throat as I’d imagined the first time we met—the perfect fit. While her hips rocked against mine, Alecto slid her legs down to the countertop with a huff and a shake of her head. “Seriously. Iris said some shit last night—”