Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It should’ve been a grey day with leaves crunching underfoot and petrichor filling the air, but no. Today, the sun chose to inconvenience everyone instead. Or maybe it was just her. Not a chunky-knit cardigan, waterproof trench coat or thick-soled boot in sight, only t-shirts, short skirts and sandals. She picked up the empty mug and stacked it on top of the precarious tower on her tray.

Her head throbbed, and she winced. Autumn was unseasonably late. Two men in linen suits passed by the windows as if to prove her point. If only she’d had the same foresight. She’d spent the morning rushing to work instead of checking the weather and turned up in jeans, a t-shirt, jumper and her favourite leather jacket. No wonder Veloura had rushed over to her, she must’ve looked like she’d run a marathon.

She glanced around the café, and then carried and placed the tray down next to the sink. A sound hyenas would be envious of sliced through her skull, forcing her to turn towards the noise. Five women sat at a table, all with the same blonde balayage hairstyle and sporting the same athleisure wear. A pastry was set in front of each of them to be prodded and poked at, judging by the crumbs. All of it was probably going to end up in the bin. Although, hyenas would never waste food. Fine, maybe they were a troop of monkeys then. Or a cult. 

Some people in suits and the resident hipsters glared at them. It wasn’t just her then. They were tucked away underneath the in-door trees and wide-leaf plants Sorrel had added for ‘a bit of homeliness’, like that would be enough. 

The interior was all slate and concrete and metal tables and chairs with exposed steel beams. The various paintings added a splash of colour here and there, but God forbid if someone fell, they’d crack their head on the concrete floors. A few armchairs had been added, but it didn't make it comfy. Sorrel was a sunflower on a sunny day, so it was easier to believe she hadn't designed the place herself. Then again, they had regulars camped out most days, so maybe it wasn't as uninviting as it seemed.

She flicked her eyes to the counter, a sigh escaping her as soon as they landed on the till. No Veloura. Another customer had probably been weird with her and she’d snuck into the back office. She’d said it was par for the course, being a succubus and what not, but it must be stressful.

A sting ran deep through her leg, the throbbing following soon after. She closed her eyes. Breathe, she needed to breathe through it. At least this was happening during the slowest part of the day. It wasn’t long until her shift finished, and then she could get home and have a hot shower. There was nothing like feeling clean.

When most of the pain subsided, she opened her eyes and took a tentative step forward. Good, it wasn’t too bad. Some of the tension left her shoulders, and she reached for her mug of coffee. It was her fourth one of the day, but someone would have to pry it from her cold, dead hands if they wanted her to stop.

She strolled over to the till, careful not to let even a hint of a waddle creep into her movements. The cold brew slipped down her throat, and then she set it down. Another stinging pain ripped through her other thigh. Fuck, this one was much worse. She grit her teeth against the scream almost escaping her and grasped the counter, closing her eyes. 

Deep breath in. One, two, three. Deep breath out. One, two, three. Deep breath in. One, two, three. Deep breath out. One, two, three. Thank God she was wearing jeans today. Sweating like an animal in the heat wasn’t ideal, but it could take a bit of soaking, even if it would be a bitch to clean.

‘Are you okay?’

The deep voice startled her into opening her eyes. A chest in a navy and grey three-piece suit with a red tie and matching pocket square filled her view. Someone cleared their throat. She looked up towards the sound.

Eyes the colour of pomegranate seeds watched her, framed by neat eyebrows. High cheekbones and dark-red, slicked-back hair. His face held no signs of concern, smooth skin remaining… well, smooth. Porcelain-covered bone. Had she imagined the question? There was a harshness to him, like a blizzard on a pitch-black night. It put her on edge. Or it should’ve, but he was so… so…

So pretty. Like one of those fancy paintings sold at auction for billions.

His eyes widened. ‘Sorry, did you just say that I’m… pretty?’

No, she hadn’t. She frowned. She’d said it in her head… hadn’t she? 

Heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘What can I get for you today, sir?’ The practiced smile spread across her face.

He regarded her for a moment, flat expression returning. ‘I asked if you were okay. It looked like you were going to pass out.’

‘I’m fine, sir. What can I get for you today? Maybe you should eat something. You look a little under the weather.’ And now she was insulting him. Great.

His lips twitched. ‘Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about that. And I think you’re the one who should eat something.’

Being concerned over what wine to have with dinner, over some nonsensical financial report, sure. Concern over a random barista? Odd. ‘I’m fine, really. Would you like to hear about the new seasonal items?’

His eyes flicked down, and she followed his gaze. Her hands were still gripping the edge. Her cheeks burned hotter and she let go, shoving her hands into the pockets of her apron.

He met her eyes again. ‘Do you have a staff room where you can take a break? Or why don’t you sit down at one of the tables? We’ll call your boss. I’ll be happy to explain everything if you don’t feel up to it.’

Not happening. Besides her dying on the inside, Sorrel would want to cut down her hours out of concern. This job wasn’t the easiest for her physically, but it paid the bills.

‘It’s really okay. My shift will be ending soon, so I can rest afterwards.’ Now the strange, albeit pretty, man knew she would be off work soon. For fuck’s sake. ‘If you’re not sure about our drinks, I would recommend the new chocolate brownie latte. Or if you’re looking for something cold, we also have two new summer drinks – the lemon posset shake and Eton mess shake.’ And they all came with a side of diabetes.

‘Is everything okay?’ a familiar voice said to her right.

Relief slid through her. Veloura.

She turned to see the dark-skinned beauty sauntering over, her curly lilac hair tied up in her signature ponytail.

‘I was just asking this customer–’

‘Your colleague needs to sit down. It looked like she was going to pass out.’

For the love of God, she just wanted to get through her shift.

Veloura glanced at him, then turned to her and frowned. ‘Is that true, Cyn? I think Sorrel’s in the back sorting through some admin stuff, so I don’t think she’d mind taking over. It’s not for that long anyway, James should be here soon.’

Sheer force of will kept her smile on. ‘No, it’s fine. I think I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.’

‘You looked like you were in pain.’

If she didn’t live in a society, she would’ve chosen violence. ‘I don’t sleep well in the heat.’

‘Hmm, it has been warm lately. In that case, I’ll make the drinks. What can I get for you, sir?’ A smile spread across her face. It had gotten generous tips and phone numbers on more than one occasion.

But his gaze hadn’t moved from her. Such lovely eyes.

‘What sandwiches would you recommend?’

Was he asking her or Veloura? His eyes flicked down then back up.

Veloura pointed to the menu behind her. ‘Well, we have a new selection of–’

‘Cynthia, which sandwich would you recommend?’

Veloura went rigid. Okay then.

‘We have some of the classics like ham and cheese, coronation chicken, tuna mayo with sweetcorn. Our new sandwiches include a pastrami and brie sandwich with dijon mustard, a salmon and cream cheese sandwich with a dill sauce, and a barbecue pulled pork bun with pickled red onions and coleslaw.’

‘Hmmm, I think I’ll go for the pulled pork bun then. And an Americano, please.’

‘Would you like that to go or eat in?

He paused for a minute. ‘Eat in, and please heat it up.’

Veloura walked away to get everything ready, likely fuming. Men didn’t interrupt her, they fawned over her. Well, at least it was nearing the end of her shift.

‘That’ll be ten pounds seventy-five.’

He handed over a fifty-pound note. ‘Sorry, I don’t have anything smaller.’

She bet he didn’t. She bit the inside of her cheek. Embarrassing herself earlier had been enough, she wasn’t going to do it again! She gave him his change just as Veloura handed him his drink and sandwich.

‘Have a good day, sir!’ Veloura said, her chipper voice a bit too high.

How much longer did she have on her shift? Before she could look at her phone, he pushed the plate towards her.

She frowned. ‘Sir?’

‘Eat it. You’ll feel better.’

What? ‘Sir, I can’t, it’s yours.’ Even if it smelt good.

‘Yes, and I’m giving it to you.’ 

She swallowed, the steam rising off the bun only enticing her. No, she couldn’t take it. 'I can’t–’

‘Be a good girl and eat it, or I’ll be forced to buy you something else. Maybe a different sandwich? A slice of cake, perhaps?’

Her heart skipped a beat. Wh-What? He didn’t just say that. She was hearing things. 

His lips twitched again, and he walked over to a sofa chair in the shaded area and sat down, turning his attention to his phone. He tapped something on the screen, and sipped his drink. What a strange customer.

The smell of barbecue pulled pork drew her back. Well, if he was going to be so pushy about it, maybe she should just accept it. Better than wasting food. She limped over to the stool hidden behind the counter and sat down with the plate on her lap. Biting into it, a sigh left her as soon as the flavour burst on her tongue. Considering her eating habits, this was quite the luxury. Thank you, strange customer.

The café was supposed to have been a place to waste time until his next meeting. Fear, apprehension, panic – it was all people looked at him with. He’d expected the same thing when he’d laid eyes on the cute thing at the counter. Of course, then he’d seen how unwell she'd looked. Her reaction should’ve been even bigger.

So pretty.

Startling hadn’t been the word. She’d been gripping the counter so hard, she could’ve fallen over. But instead she’d said… that. And she didn’t even know him. Her warm brown eyes had widened, pupils dilated, a blush covering skin the colour of sand dunes at dusk.

Now she was nowhere to be seen. He sipped his drink. They didn’t have a staff room, so where did she go? He opened his contacts on his phone, slowed his breathing and blocked out the noise around him. Her heartbeat had been unstable, so it shouldn’t be hard to–

A soft sigh cut through his focus. His shoulders went rigid. Where had it come from? Another breathier sigh this time. He clenched his jaw. No, relax. She wasn’t scared before, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t be.

He stood and approached the counter again, the lilac-haired woman from earlier still standing there.

‘Can I get you something else, sir?’ A wide smile and a flutter of her lashes accompanied the question. 

And she’d looked so disinterested before. She would be charming if not for her scent: the saccharine pull of a succubus. Many had lost themselves to the species’ thrall. People who lauded their supposed mental strength and control, and then destroyed their lives to get one more taste. But it was never about control – they were predators looking for their next meal, as they all did. The sooner people realised that, the less pathetic they would be.

Pastries and cakes were lined up in neat rows behind the glass panel. Did she like fruit? Maybe caramel? Chocolate had been popular for the last few centuries, so it was a safe choice.

‘A slice of the chocolate gateau.’

‘You don’t strike me as someone with a sweet tooth. That’s so cute!’ Another flutter of her lashes.

His dismissal of her must’ve hit a nerve. ‘It’s not for me. Where’s the girl from earlier?’

Her smile stiffened and she looked down to the floor. He leaned over the counter to see Cynthia sitting on a small stool with the plate in her lap, polishing off the last bite of her sandwich. Good, some colour had returned to her face. She finished eating, tongue tracing her lips in a slow lick. He swallowed.

‘Um, that’s really nice of you, but you don’t need to do that. The sandwich was already too much.’

Doubtful. ‘Do you like chocolate?’

Her eyes roamed his face and then she plastered on the fake smile from earlier. ‘I’m really okay. I don’t want to take advantage.’

‘In that case, shall I get one of everything?’

Her eyes widened. ‘No, no, I—’

‘You’re not making me do anything I don’t want to do, but if you consider something as small as this as taking advantage, you might as well do it properly.’

She looked down at her plate and bit her lip. The skin there must be so soft.

‘Th-Then just a slice of chocolate cake. One slice only.’

‘Good girl.’ That was the second time he’d said that. What was going on with him today?

Her head snapped up to look at him, a blush forming on her cheeks. His fingers twitched in his pocket.

He forced his eyes back to the succubus. ‘You heard her. A slice of the chocolate gateau.’

‘Of course, sir. Did you see anything you’d like for yourself?’ She leaned on the counter, chin resting on the back of her overlapped hands. Her forearms framed her ample cleavage, her half-lidded eyes focused on him. 

Okay, so he’d really hit a nerve. ‘That’s all for now.’

He paid and watched her hand the gateau on a plate with a fork to Cynthia.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice soft as she stared at the cake.

‘My pleasure.’ And it was, to his surprise.

He returned to his table, took out his phone, and focused on blocking out all the noise once more. A couple minutes passed. Maybe she wouldn’t do it. Maybe it was a one time thing. And here he was, listening out for it like a lunatic. Lowen would probably think he’d gone crazy before laughing his ass off. And he’d never let him forget it. No, he should get up and—

A satisfied sigh reached his ears and licked down his spine. He clenched his jaw again. She couldn’t be doing it on purpose, she was hiding. And she hadn’t given any indication that she knew what he was. Another sigh, softer this time. He didn’t eat cake and the like often, but it wasn’t good enough to elicit such a response. The other day, Sera had been talking about a fancy pastry shop that had won awards. What sounds would she make if he brought her something from there?

His phone rang, jolting him back into the café, noises rushing back in. Lowen. He sighed, then stood and turned to the counter. Still hiding.

The succubus gave him a wink.

Good. This is how it should be. And it was better to leave than do something else out of character. Leave and never come back again.

Chapter Text

Hmmm. There was something off about this. The nose? No, it was adorable. The eyes? A little crooked, but it was to be expected. What was it… ah! The ears! A touch pointier and it would be perfect. A nudge forced her to look up. At least Sorrel had waited for her to pause. Now her cat wouldn’t have lopsided ears.

‘Your man is here again,’ Sorrel said, a twinkle in her eye as she gestured towards the suited figure walking towards the café entrance.

She grabbed the latte with Cynthia’s cute little masterpiece and skipped over to a young woman dressed in all black with one side of her head shaved and the other side with a lopsided bob. It was forty-sixty on whether she hated cats.

She sighed as he came through the door. It was bad enough that Veloura teased her about it, but even Sorrel was in on it now. At first, she’d been pleasant in the way a café owner would be with a customer – until Sorrel got it into her head that he liked a certain caffeine addict. 

As if. A day didn’t pass without someone drooling over Veloura, and Sorrel was a pretty, fair-skinned witch with green eyes and greener hair that dropped down in waist-length waves when it wasn’t in her work bun. She was a bumble bee in human form, even the most reserved customer warmed up to her in the end. 

As for her? She was just there.

He strode towards the counter in a full grey three-piece suit with a navy tie. A silver watch gleamed from its position atop his pocket. Another day, another test. No matter what anyone said, a suit was by far the sexiest thing a man could wear. Pain had stopped her from appreciating it the first time, but the following days were a blessing and a curse. A broad chest and shoulders, a narrow waist and long legs covered in a crisp suit tailored to perfection.

And some petite, healthy femme fatale with gorgeous skin was probably lounging around in his bed after getting him out of his suit. After messing him up in his suit.

And there went what little joy her latte cat had given her.

‘Good morning, Cynthia.’

A thrill tickled up her spine. His velvet voice made her name sound expensive. That was being filed away for later. ‘Good morning, Mr Thornveil.’ She smiled, but it was stiff. Her usual customer service smile was wider. ‘Just your usual today, sir?’ 

The third time he came in, he offered up a business card and insisted they used each other’s names. Corvin Thornveil, head of a firm that specialised in providing supernatural security measures. First names were for friends and lovers, and she was neither. And he was in a different league: his looks, life experience, dress sense, and judging by that pocket watch, his tax bracket too. But he’d kept pushing and she’d relented by using his surname.

Hah! She relented. Veloura would either roll her eyes or give her a look if she’d heard that.

He stood there like he had all the time in the world. 

Why wasn’t he saying anything? Oh, right. ‘I mean, just your usual, Mr Thornveil?’

‘Morning, Mr Thornveil!’ Sorrel beamed at him as she walked behind the counter, eyes darting between them.

She should quit, but it was unlikely that her next boss would be as nice as Sorrel. Might be less annoying though.

‘Are you okay, Cynthia?’

‘Of course, Mr Thornveil. Why wouldn’t I be?’ Her smile shrunk a little bit under his gaze.

It was just a colour, but she could almost believe he could see through her. Red x-ray vision reading her insecurities, her thoughts, every time he looked at her. The urge to hide warred with the desperation to word vomit. But that was stupid. They were strangers. 

She cleared her throat. ‘I made breakfast and brought it in this morning!’ Simple as it was, making it instead of sleeping took a lot more energy out of her, but now he wouldn’t buy her anything. Although, if he wanted to buy her third coffee for the day…. ‘I mean it. It’s in the fridge in the back.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘What is it?’

‘Just food.’ Someone would think they were in a relationship. And Veloura and Sorrel were listening to all of it. They didn’t have a choice with him holding up the queue.

‘What is it, Cynthia?’ His voice had a slight edge to it.

She swallowed the urge to hide. ‘Porridge… but I put fruit and nuts and stuff in it.’ He wouldn’t say it wasn’t good enough, right? She held her breath.

His eyes roamed over her face. ‘Sounds like a reasonable breakfast.’

She let her breath go. A stocky bald man who screamed middle management huffed and tutted, pulling his sleeve up to his elbow to look at his watch. Okay, maybe not all men in suits are sexy, but that’s not the suit’s fault.

‘Veloura, can you make Mr Thornveil’s Americano?’

‘No worries. Morning, Mr Thornveil!’

‘Morning, Veloura.’ He kept his eyes on her despite the greeting. ‘So when are you eating it?’

What? She glanced behind him, the bald man glaring at her.  ‘Um, in a little bit.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Any longer and it’ll be lunch.’

That was a bit of an exaggeration. It was around ten-thirty, there was more than enough time. Plus, the constant smell of coffee put food way down on the priority list. Not that it helped her lose weight.

‘Cynthia.’ 

In another life where she wasn’t working and had a different body, she’d have flirted and teased him about being bossy. But this was reality. Fuck capitalism and being sick. ‘I’ll eat it now.’

He didn’t move.

‘I’ll eat it now, Mr Thornveil.’

The corner of his lips kicked up. ‘Good girl.’

Her stomach squirmed, heat filling her face. 

‘It’ll be nighttime before I get my coffee! Can you take this conversation elsewhere?’ The bald man started tapping his foot against the stone floor.

An Americano was placed on the counter, but Veloura was watching her. Her usual playful expression was gone, her head tilted as if she was thinking about something.

‘Thank you, Veloura.’ He grabbed his drink, white gold rings gleaming on the prettiest yet sturdiest hand she’d ever seen, and glanced back at Cynthia before moving to his armchair under the shaded area. Yes, his armchair.

She turned to the customer in front of her, the prim woman’s glare appearing soft after Mr Thornveil’s piercing gaze. But that was it, wasn’t it? It was only Mr Thornveil that made her all… all… not like herself. She rang up the order, Sorrel preparing everything and Veloura staring at her in the same way as before.

‘What?’ Was she going to tell her off about the queue?

‘You like him,’ Veloura said. Sorrel handed her the takeaway cappuccino and she placed it on the counter, eyes remaining on Cynthia.

‘Like who?’ Cynthia smiled at the customer, who left with a harumph. Well, she wasn’t coming back.

‘Father Christmas. Who do you think I’m talking about?’

The middle manager was next, scowl in position. Cynthia took his order, widening her smile, and he slammed the money down on the counter. An insect would’ve gotten a warmer look from Veloura.

‘You all should be ashamed of the so-called service you provide! If I’m late to my meeting, I’m going to–’

‘Then leave.’ Veloura didn’t smile. She scanned him up and down, her eyes like they could cut glass. ‘If you knew you were going to be late, you could’ve left at any time. What you’re buying isn’t a necessity, it’s a luxury.’

‘W-Well, I never, what kind of establishment–’

Burnt pine permeated the air, thick and heavy and sending shivers down Cynthia’s spine. It filled her lungs, the bitter taste almost choking her, and her skin tingled like she was wading through static. Veloura’s eyes were black – no irises, no sclera, just black. 

Run. She needed to run. 

‘Leave now.' Veloura’s voice was all gravel and fire.

The man’s eyes widened, pupils dilated, his chest moving as his breaths came faster. He grabbed his money, and scurried out of the café.

Veloura blinked. Her lavender eyes and light, honeyed scent returned, cutting through and dispersing the burnt pine. It was getting easier to breathe by the second, the need to run dissipating along with it.

‘Remind me to add something extra to your wage this month,’ Sorrel said, patting Veloura’s shoulder with a smile.

Veloura scoffed. ‘If you do that again, I’ll really start to wonder if this place makes any money.’ She paused, her eyes landing on Cynthia, a slight frown on her face. ‘Are you okay, Cyn? Sorry, I just kind of did that without checking with you.’

‘You don’t need to apologise. If anything, I should thank you for getting rid of him. Just remind me not to make you angry.’ Seriously. The static lingered, running along her skin in a way that made her heart race. If she ever got angry at her… no, let’s not think about it.

Veloura let out a short laugh. ‘As if. Concerned maybe, but I don’t think I could get angry at you.’

People said that but they didn’t mean it. It was like people insisting that caviar was tasty. If the social currency associated with it was gone, would they still find it tasty? Doubtful.

‘So let’s get back to the topic at hand, shall we?’ Veloura raised a neat eyebrow at her.

Cynthia took a deep breath. ‘I don’t like–’

‘My dear, save it. Call it professional intuition. It would be weirder if I couldn’t tell.’ She grabbed a cappuccino and toastie from Sorrel and handed it to the customer.

The customer in question, a tall man with beefed up arms and shorts tight enough to become his second skin, cast Veloura a furtive look and snatched it out of her hands like she was going to commit an assault. And of course, the smile Veloura aimed at him said she knew as much. His brisk walk to the door was at least clear now the rest of the queue had disappeared into thin air.

Veloura cleared her throat, eyes fixed on her.

‘It’s… It’s not like that. He’s a nice customer. He’s a regular who’s friendly, and I’m just being friendly back.’ She grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the counter. Might as well do something useful while being interrogated.

‘And you just happen to like being dommed by him while you guys are being “friendly”?’

Her skin was going to melt off at this rate. Ignore it. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it!

‘Okay, fine, you don’t like him, you’re just attracted to him. I get it, the whole domineering thing is very hot – in the right context. And Cyn, this isn’t the right context.’ Veloura leaned on a clean spot, chest on full display. It would be mere minutes before another queue formed.

She sighed. ‘What context are you talking about?’

‘I mean, you don’t know anything about him.’

‘If that’s your reason, no one would date each other.’ Not that she’d ever date someone. 

She changed cloths, put it under the tap, wrung it out and then started wiping the syrup bottles down. They always got so sticky and it drove her insane because–

‘Cynthia.’ Veloura narrowed her eyes.

Why was she… oh. ‘I wasn’t talking about me. Isn’t that the point of dating? Finding out if you’re compatible and all of your potential partner’s deep, dark secrets? Unlike Mr Thornveil and I, who are simply friendly.’ And that would be it.

‘Uh huh. In that case, you may want to do something about that pink aura you have.’ Veloura checked her nails, then spotted three men acting like they were looking at the menu in the window and not peeking. A little wave from her and they were falling over each other to get through the door.

Cynthia frowned. ‘Pink aura?’

The men headed over to Sorrel, which made sense as she was the less intimidating one out of the two of them. And judging by the not-so-subtle glances towards Veloura, their courage wasn’t quite there yet.

‘Yeah, you get this pinky-reddish aura whenever he’s around or talking to you. Thought you should know.’

That was laughable. Surface-level attraction was one thing, but her burden was too heavy. Being with her was too heavy. Even if it wasn’t, to see the disgust on her would-be partner’s face when she undressed… the rejection…. 

She squeezed the glass bottle in her hand, knuckles going white. She would write her resignation on her lunch break. Would Sorrel accept it written on a napkin? Well, she’d have to.

‘Hey, hey, Cynthia! I’m sorry, I was just joking! Look at me.’ Eyes wide, Veloura grabbed her shoulders and forced her to face her. ‘I can only see auras on whoever I’m sexually or romantically interested in. Take a deep breath, Cyn. If you get any redder, you’re going to have an aneurysm!’

She took a deep breath in, then out, and repeated it three more times. ‘I don’t… I’m not…’

‘I’m so sorry, I know how private you are about that sort of stuff. I just… I didn’t think.’ Her eyes roamed her face.

It wasn’t Veloura’s fault. Dating, romance, love – all of that wasn’t in the cards for her. The idea was as ridiculous as it was foreign. Daydreams of a different life couldn’t hurt her more than she wanted it to. It was safe. But reality was cruel, and she wasn’t enough of a masochist to endure the pain it would inflict on her. She’d had enough of that. Pain was a ghoul that shadowed her, plunging its claws as it wished, forcing her to look into its decaying eyes and listen to its giddy laugh. 

It would never leave. 

And yet, it seemed like every time she accepted she’d never date, that she understood she’d never have romantic love, she overreacted to throwaway comments and teasing. It sent her spiralling into the depths of her mind – a place filled with snickering echoes and derisive voices. And then the ghoul’s claws would scrape across her skin. 

Unshed tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. She wouldn’t do anything when she went home. She wouldn’t. If she was going to do it, she would’ve done it by now. Besides, who would be the one to find her? Sorrel? Veloura? Traumatising them wasn’t in the plan.

‘I… I think I just need some breakfast. Sorry about that, Vel, I didn’t–’

‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Cyn. Don’t apologise.’ Veloura’s hands tightened further. ‘Go eat and I’ll check on you in a bit, yeah?’ She gave her shoulders a final squeeze and let go.

She nodded. ‘I’ll be in Sorrel’s office.’ It would be quiet there and no one would see her. 

And if she took a moment to cry, no one would know.

Chapter Text

It was outdated by at least three years. Three whole years. The brazen glow of the magic circle could maybe act as a nightlight, but that was it. His jaw tightened. A physical lock and chain would be more effective, which was ridiculous. It would take no effort from a low-level thug to get past the magic here.

How had no one filed a complaint about the landlord? Or tipped off the ombudsman?

He rewrote the inscription within seconds. As if being useless wasn’t enough, the inscription had been written with the ugliest handwriting. No one took handwriting classes anymore, and all magic suffered for it. He added a few layers of protection and a trigger to alert him if something happened. As for covering his tracks… he might as well, as unlikely as it was that someone would check. 

With a click, the door handle turned, and he walked into the small studio flat. He placed the briefcase down on the floor. It was a bright room thanks to the floor-to-ceiling window, but there were no knick-knacks, no pictures of friends or family. It was so devoid of life.

The linoleum had a light-coloured wood design, but had started curling up in the corner. He would bet money the landlord didn’t even try looking for a higher quality one. And the walls needed a new coat of paint, or three. Something warm instead of the white-cream colour it had. There were hospitals that were more welcoming. Clothes were strewn across the bed and the singular sofa chair. She didn’t have guests over then.

Was that why this place was so peculiar? Unassuming as it was, there was something off about it, something hard to pinpoint.

He moved further in, past a table that could maybe fit two people, and glanced around the kitchenette. The dishes were still in the sink. He opened the mini fridge and found… a couple of ready meals, a box of four eggs, some fruit and a carton of milk. Where was the rest of it? He opened a cupboard – plates, some pans ironically – but no more food. Maybe she ordered in instead. With her wage, it was unlikely, but not impossible.

Didn’t she have porridge the other day? He opened the cupboards, searching until he found the oats and nuts. There was nothing else in here. He frowned. The bags were small as well. Maybe she wasn’t someone with a big appetite. Maybe she didn’t like cooking. Either way, it was concerning. And judging by the smell of the opened bag of nuts–

That was it. The smell. The café’s roasted coffee beans, toasted sandwiches and sugary treats had obscured her scent from him. But he was in her home. The place should be covered in her scent but the distinct lack of it was unnatural. Everyone smelt of something. Even the uppity elves, who prided themselves on being the cleanest species, had a woody base note to them. This was unnerving. And frustrating.

Glancing towards the bed, a laptop sat on the bedside table. If he could get some of her scent, maybe he could figure out what it was about her that drew him in. 

It wasn’t what she said to him on their first meeting. Although, the deeper tone of her voice had been a pleasant surprise. 

It wasn’t her looks, but she was cute. Soft kissable lips. Warm skin begging for his tongue. A pretty, biteable nape for his fangs to sink into while she rode his–

He swallowed and shook his head. The laptop. He could look at what was on it, but would that be going too far? He moved towards it–

The chemical smell drifted over, stopping him in his tracks. Antiseptic. He strode to the bathroom and switched on the light. If the flat was small, the bathroom was microscopic. How she could fit into here with all her curves and that arse–

He cleared his throat and looked around. The smell was much stronger here, almost enough to make him gag. He frowned. Why hadn’t he smelt it as soon as he came in? And what was she doing with it for it to be so strong? She couldn’t be bathing in it. 

Judging by her flat, she wasn’t obsessive about cleanliness, but maybe it was different when it came to her body. It wouldn’t be surprising if it were. Most people had a ‘thing’ about them. A few centuries ago, people would’ve been burned for wanting to be clean. Thank fuck he didn’t live in that time anymore.

There was a large medicinal-looking box on the floor. He picked it up and, balancing it on the sink, opened it. He blinked. And then again. Gauze of all sizes, various medical tapes, scissors, antiseptic creams as well as the offending bottle of antiseptic itself. What did she need all of this for? He rummaged through, pushing things to the sides. He froze.

Scalpels. Menace gleamed off of them from within their individual packaging under the stark bathroom light. She wasn’t… she couldn’t be. Despite the distractions of the café, the scent of blood would have been apparent. It was often joked that vampires were sharks on land, but he hadn’t smelt a trace of blood anywhere near her.

Maybe that’s why she’d looked so unwell when they first met. Maybe she’d cut too deep.

He gripped the box, knuckles turning white. A cursory look into her had unearthed a simple, quiet life. She didn’t talk to many people and she wasn’t close to her family. A reason for alarm bells by some people’s standards, but more common than many wanted to believe.

Everything made more sense now. The scattered clothes. The lack of food. The impersonal living space.

It was severe depression. A demon who was gifted invisibility by eye-rolling and lectures dripping with condescension. Willful ignorance made it easier to do its work. The sufferer was spoken of as a villain in hushed whispers while the demon danced in victory on their shoulders. Countless lives had been lost to it in the last century alone, even before it had a name. 

Did she have the same thought? Did she think it was better to… to disappear? To leave? Her shy smile, and the way she blushed when he watched her. The curls that would stray out of her ponytail no matter how many times she re-tied it. The sneaky glances she threw at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. That… that look she had in her eyes when he praised her. All of it would fade away until the memories were warped by time.

He placed the items and box back as it was and left the bathroom. He was a stranger. At most, a regular at her place of work. It didn't make sense for him to be so shaken by it. Living this long and witnessing a certain amount of death was to be expected. 

Not a flicker of emotion had run through him when a soldier had fallen to the ground, life withering in his eyes muddied by the grey sky. Gunpowder and the damp scent of lightning magic had hung in the air. Melting snowflakes started settling on his skin instead as he lay in a slushy, mucky field riddled with holes. Blood had saturated every blade of grass. Tears had frozen in corners of the body’s eyes.

No remorse when slitting Thomas’ throat after his betrayal. The stout man had floundered on his kitchen floor, slipping on the bright, imported Italian tiles slick with his own blood, gurgled pleas forcing his neck to spurt every other sentence. He’d rummaged for Thomas’ most expensive vintage wine and slipped out, welcoming the quiet of the night.

And yet.

Walking away would be the right thing to do. He shouldn’t have come here in the first place. Curiosity had gotten the better of him on this occasion, that’s all it was. He moved towards the entrance, the briefcase glaring at him in front of the door. Her wellbeing, her life, had nothing to do with him. And he was being creepy. No, more than that – he was a criminal. He’d been one before he’d met her. Before she’d been born. Hell, before her grandparents had been born, probably. She would be well within her right to report him to the authorities and run as far as she could. Not that the authorities were ever good at catching him.

And yet, he’d brought his briefcase.

Three meetings, two hours of emails and five unnecessary calls later, he was at his desk. He hadn’t bothered lighting a fire or switching the lights on in his office. The dark was welcome after this morning’s revelation, as was tonight’s red wine.

Tapping a rhythm on the desk, he gazed at the two dark monitors. It was all set up. The only thing left was to log in. And doing that was for her benefit more than his. What if someone broke in and tried to hurt her? It would be better for him to deal with it than some police officer who didn’t think it was worth their time.

He swirled the wine in his glass, contemplating it for a few more seconds, and then gave in, powering his computer and logging in. His shoulders stiffened at the loading screen. In a few moments, he was going to see–

Her figure was burrowed into her sheets, soft snores picked up by the camera. He needed to see her closer. He scrolled the middle wheel on his mouse, zooming into her face. She looked so peaceful, haphazard curls covering the pillow as she nuzzled into it. He zoomed out.

Minutes, maybe an hour, passed as he watched her toss and turn every now and again. He got what he wanted, he should log off. But he didn’t move. He was stuck. She turned again, this time kicking the covers partially off of her. The t-shirt had ridden up, showing part of her stomach, but it was the shorts that got him, if you could even call them that.

They barely covered her, and they clung to her arse in a way that only inspired greed. The sip of wine did nothing to quench the thirst burning in his throat. His hands should be the ones pressing into her skin, touching and holding her while she cuddled against him. Instead, he had to watch her while she was far away in her flat–

She kicked the rest of the sheets off and he went rigid. The white patches on her thighs glowed in the camera’s night vision. They weren’t small either, covering at least three or four places on her inner thighs. The softest part. Places that should be kissed instead. He grit his teeth. When had she done it? Did she cut herself as soon as she came home?

Today must’ve been too stressful. If they’d had another customer like the dickhead who went on about being late to his meeting… no, hurting him wouldn’t do anything but make him feel better. And he’d become a monster if she found out. She would be scared and he… he wouldn’t be pretty to her anymore.

Leaving her job also wouldn’t solve anything. No matter where she went or what she did, the demon in her mind would follow her.

There was only one thing for it – he had to get her to open up to him.

Chapter Text

If this were a movie, she'd be shouting at the heroine. Of course you’re on edge. You know something’s wrong. Only idiots go back into the house when the killer is clearly inside.

But this wasn’t a movie. Two weeks ago, she’d walked into her flat and her stomach did a weird flip. The comforting quiet of her own space weighed heavy with unease, and it had remained that way.

It was off. Very off. 

Burglars had attacked their house during secondary school. Twice. The distress of someone violating their personal space had taken a long time to disappear, not that the bastards cared. In this case, nothing was missing, but the feeling of being watched hadn’t left.

No. Her mother would’ve called her dramatic. She was boring. Plain. She didn’t do anything outside of catching up on sleep and working… okay, an easy target she may be, but easy didn’t mean appealing. 

In any case, moving wasn’t possible. Saving money was less of a solid financial decision and more of a fun, little game fate played with her: a flat tyre, a dripping pipe under the sink, the washing machine not even starting. And that didn’t even include all the dressings and other medical supplies she had to top up. No savings, no moving.

Staying with Veloura wasn’t an option. The idea of making small talk with her ‘meals’... no. Just no. Plus, she was a demon. Someone with the nose of a hound was the last thing she needed around her. If Veloura found out and treated her differently or with scorn, working together would be unbearable for both of them, albeit for different reasons. Besides, they weren’t close enough to have brunch together, let alone living in the same space.

Sorrel would probably be okay with letting her stay for a while. Her happy, free-spirited self would view it as helping a person in need, but neither of them would be able to relax. In the end, she was still her boss. And Sorrel was a fusspot. If she saw the way she ate, the way she struggled, she wouldn’t be able to let it go. And she’d probably be on her case about filing a police report, like that would do anything. 

Following up with the authorities, having to explain why she felt something was wrong, and pushing them for any sort of help would be exhausting. A crime hadn’t been committed. The ‘vibe’ of her flat felt off. She could picture the raised eyebrows and mocking looks now. Quite audacious considering the public paid for their fifteen rounds down the pub every week.

The bigger question was who could it be? Veloura and Sorrel made far too big of an impression for anyone to notice her – and thank God for that. Both of them were partial to teaching ‘lessons’: a man who’d been turned into a frog for a month and another who could only get and stay hard if he was looking at a blank wall. Those were the lighthearted ones they’d told her about. Thank God she wasn’t an arsehole.

In any case, they were much better equipped to deal with unwanted attention. The real question was whether it was unwanted attention. Out of all the customers, it was most likely–

‘CYNTHIA!’

Steamed milk sloshed over the side of the shiny metal jug, covering Cynthia’s hand and the floor. Fuck! She slammed the jug on the counter and winced at the stinging heat, pressing her fingers into the burn to alleviate it.

Veloura grabbed her wrist and tugged her over to the sink. ‘Oh my gosh, Cyn! Are you okay? Quick, put it under the tap,’ she said while turning the handle. 'I'm so sorry!'

Cold water rushed over burning skin, forcing another wince. ‘No, no, it’s my fault for being startled. I was thinking about something.’

‘I could tell. I must’ve called you five times before you heard me.’ She tapped her fingers on the counter, eyes on Cynthia’s hand. ‘... do you want to talk about it? I mean, if you want to. No problem if you don’t.’

Ugh. Since her overreaction, Veloura walked on eggshells around her. It didn’t matter how many times she said they were fine, Veloura treated her like a bomb about to go off. If she’d been able to grit her teeth and not say – not feel – anything, there wouldn’t be this awkwardness.

‘No, it’s nothing. Just a thing I’m trying to figure out.’ She smiled at Veloura. ‘What did you need?’

‘Toby’s here and he’s asking for you.’ She paused, something shifting in her eyes as they roamed her face. ‘I think he’s a nice guy. Seems decent, don’t you think? Oh, don’t worry about the spill, I’ll clean it up.’

What? ‘That’s random, Toby doesn’t seem like your type at all. And it’s okay, I’ll cle–’

‘Cyn, it’s fine. Wet a clean cloth and keep it on the burn. And I wasn’t talking about me.’ She grabbed another cloth but stood there, fidgeting with it for a few moments. ‘You know what? Ignore what I said, go ahead and talk to him. It’s been a while since he came,’ she said while smiling.

What was that about? 

A smile tugged at Cynthia’s lips as she walked towards the till. It was hard not to. 

Toby had an open cheerfulness about him that wasn’t the standard for elves, but then again, he didn’t look much like an elf. Of course there were traces of his elven heritage, but overall, he was more muscular and his features were sharper and more pronounced. Even his braid was a darker blond as opposed to platinum.

‘Hey Toby, long time no see! How have you been?’

‘Better now that I’m seeing you, Cyn.’ He leant forward on the counter, black t-shirt straining as his biceps flexed. 

She rolled her eyes, lips widening into a full smile. ‘You can save that for your patients.’

‘And why would I save it for them? I need someone who can appreciate me – ideally someone who’s not asleep whenever I come to see them and not trying to play me for some morphine.’ He grinned, eyes turning a lighter brown. ‘And, lucky for you, you’re conscious most of the time.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, but I’m awake against my will. And I’ve never tried to play you for morphine. There’s still time for that though.’

His grin shrunk a little. ‘Headaches still acting up? If you come by my hospital, we can run some tests. Nothing scary, just for precautions’ sake.’

That would be great if it were headaches. ‘No, it’s fine. Nothing paracetamol can’t fix.’ Which it didn’t. ‘Wasn’t there some CEO trying to set you up with her granddaughter? From the sound of it, you would’ve been set for life.’ And in a different life, she’d have asked him if the CEO had a grandson or grandnephew.

‘Come on, Cyn. I’m not the type. The rains of adversity water me. The unsteady soil of the unknown nurtures me. The fiery death glare of a patient who–’

She raised her hand, and then lowered it. ‘I get the point.’

‘No, the point is sitting on some overpriced chaise longue while someone hand feeds me grapes doesn’t exactly suit me.’ His eyes flicked down to her hand. ‘Where’s your first aid kit?’

She shifted the damp cloth to cover more of her hand. ‘Oh, no, you don’t need to worry about this. I burn myself all the time. And that’s quite a specific scenario for someone not into it.’

‘What can I say? I was cursed with a creative flair alongside my sparkling personality and good looks.’ He lifted his black rucksack onto the counter and rifled through it, pulling something out and setting it aside.

‘And so humble too. I’m sure tons of people are trying to get your attention – both awake and asleep.’

‘You’d think so, but I’m embarrassingly free.’ He put his rucksack down on the floor and pulled her hand towards him. She opened her mouth to protest, but he’d already removed the cloth while maintaining a firm, gentle grip on her. ‘I think my patients can tell.’ He peered at the reddened skin, his smile falling as he focused. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve had one try to slip their number into my pocket. Maybe they’re like predators sensing fear – they can sense there’s no rush.’ He unscrewed the lid from the tube of antiseptic.

His hands wouldn’t be as rough as Toby’s. In her mind, anyway. In reality, maybe his hands were as rough as the outside of a pineapple. No, a man in a suit meant sitting at an office desk all day. It was more likely his hands were as soft as the pashmina her aunt used to bring out on special occasions. She’d loved that thing like it was her child.

It didn’t matter. He hadn’t touched her. Not a singular graze from one of his ring-adorned fingers whenever she’d handed him his Americano. He could be enforcing a boundary. Making a point about him being a friendly regular who gets his coffee from them on his way to work, and not to cross that line.

The heaviness in her flat said something else though. That, and the way he spoke to her.

‘All done! So what do you think?’ Toby’s smile returned as he looked up at her, his hand still holding hers.

The large, white waterproof plaster was stark against her brown skin, the sting returning as the medicine soaked in. ‘I think you’d get a good grade on applying plasters if you were back in uni. I’d give you a five-star review at least. Might even buy you a coffee.’

He barked out a laugh. ‘No, I meant about the movie. I’ve got a rare Saturday free and you like horror movies.’

Liking them was a stretch. It helped her stop thinking for an hour or two. Or wallowing. ‘Um, I don’t think–’

‘What happened?’ He didn’t yell but he might as well have.

He towered behind Toby, hands in his trouser pockets, somehow bigger and broader than normal in another charcoal and navy three-piece suit. Was he averse to anything not dark or monochrome? His gaze lingered on their hands, still touching. She yanked it away and shoved it into the pocket of her apron, the plaster pulling her skin as she clenched her hand into a fist. His eyes shifted to hers, his usual piercing stare stronger. Were his irises glowing?

It was unnerving. Or it should’ve been. ‘Hello, Mr Thornveil. How are you today?’ She smiled, warming like clockwork in front of him.

‘You’ve hurt yourself.’ He sounded normal, but…

‘Oh, it was a silly accident. I was steaming some milk and I spilt some of it on my hand. I can be a bit clumsy sometimes.’ Most of the time, more like.

‘An accident?’ Something flickered across his face, disturbing his otherwise neutral expression. His question was simple, and yet it held an odd undercurrent.

Maybe he'd woken up in a bad mood today. ‘Yes. I have them more often than I’d like, but I’m used to it at this point.’ She let out a laugh that was too high even to her own ears. 

His expression sharpened, and her stomach dropped. Was he annoyed? Did he hate clumsy people? If nothing else, he didn’t tolerate incompetence. Everything about him screamed it from the first time they met. He probably had an assistant who made delicious coffee with all the grace of a ballet dancer. And she gave herself regular burns from hot milk.

‘Was it an accident?’ he said, a more obvious edge to his voice.

She frowned. That was unexpected. ‘I said it was, why wouldn’t it be? I was distracted and Veloura was trying to talk to me. I was startled and it spilt.’ Did he think… ‘She didn’t do it on purpose, if that’s what you’re asking.’ 

‘It’s not.’

It was off peak, only the regulars sitting in the café. Lively conversations, clinking mugs and cutlery, and the tip-tapping of laptop keys filled the space between them. Her heart skipped a beat.

There wasn’t anything to say. It was just an accident. And yet, for some reason, the way his gaze burned into her was… 

God, she wanted to climb into his lap. To press and rub herself against his firm, warm chest. To trail her lips across his rigid jaw until the tension disappeared. That was weird right? Irrational. Nonsensical. Desperate. The worst part was he was probably her stalker. 

There was no proof, but from the beginning, he’d been focused on her in a way no one ever had been. No matter what shift she took, he would turn up. Considering his job, it wouldn’t be hard for him to get into her flat. And it made sense that nothing had been taken; he could afford to buy her flat at least ten times over. 

All of this, despite being speculation, made sense. But there was one thing holding her back from absolute certainty: why? What did he get from this? From her?

He cleared his throat. No, not him – Toby. He’d moved to stand beside Mr Thornveil. 

‘Who are you?’ The glare he threw at Mr Thornveil harshened his features. 

Weird. Toby got on with everyone. ‘This is Mr Thornveil. He’s a regular here. Works in security.’

Toby arced an eyebrow. ‘Security?’ He scanned him up and down. ‘Ah, I get it. You sit at the top while barking orders at everyone, huh?’

‘You’re entitled to that thought, if that’s the way you want to look at it,’ Mr Thornveil said, his gaze never straying from her. ‘Have you had your break yet?’

She blinked. ‘Uh, not yet. I was going to, but–’

‘Then come have it with me now.’ He said it like they did it all the time.

A flutter in her chest threatened to burst free. No, don’t get carried away. He’s stalking her. ‘Why? I mean, I don’t think I’d be a good conversation partner.’

‘We won’t know unless we try, will we? Who knows, you might find me to be quite the bore.’ His expression hadn’t changed but a lightness lined his voice.

‘I… I don’t think so. You’ve probably got a lot of interesting stories.’ Unlike her. She didn’t live, she survived one day to the next. It didn’t make for good tales.

‘Hmm, now you’re setting the bar quite high for me. In that case, let’s do a trade: I’ll tell you a story if you tell me something about yourself.’ He pulled out a twenty-pound note and placed it on the counter, his rings clattering on the surface as he did so. ‘An Americano for me and something for yourself.’ He glanced at the food display. ‘A slice of the cheesecake maybe?’

Heat filled her face. No one had ever been so fixated on feeding her before. It was… odd. ‘I’m not really a cheesecake person.’

‘I meant get what you like. It doesn’t matter what it is.’ He pushed the note towards her.

It was so pristine. Not a crease in sight. She shouldn’t take it. He was likely her stalker. Encouraging him would be bad. He’d only get more and more persistent. Plus, his intentions were unclear. Maybe he was lulling her into a false sense of security.

She’d spent a few days after they first met trying to figure out what he was, but there weren’t any obvious signs. He could be a species that used human flesh for rituals. Or ate humans. As uncommon as it was nowadays, it didn’t mean crimes like that stopped happening altogether.

‘Cynthia?’

Her eyes snapped up from the note.

‘I didn’t mean to pressure you. You don’t have to get anything you don’t want to.’ His voice was softer, the glow from his eyes absent.

Her stomach dropped. Crap, was he upset now? ‘No, I was thinking about… thinking we should get something to share.’ What? Where the hell had that come from?

‘That’s a great idea.’ Toby pushed himself forward, not quite managing to move Mr Thornveil out of the way. ‘I’ll join you. I wanted some sugar to help me get through the evening shift.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Hadn’t he left a while ago? ‘In that case, I’ll pack you a couple slices to–’

‘No, no, I’ll have it here. I have time to kill anyway.’ Toby looked at her, his smile not as stiff.

But then she wouldn’t get to chat to Mr Thornveil alone. 

Which was good. A blessing in disguise even. It meant less chances of her saying something stupid to him. And Toby being there would make her less nervous. Plus, Mr Thornveil wouldn’t try anything weird. It was good. Really.

Mr Thornveil sent a long look to the back of Toby’s head. His expression hadn’t changed, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

His gaze shifted to her, whatever look he gave Toby no longer there. ‘Give me your hand, Cynthia.’ 

Her hand? She presented it to him, palm up, keeping the plaster out of sight. Better not to remind him of her mistake.

A breath caught in her chest. Soft skin enveloped hers, rings radiating his body heat as they glinted and his fingers brushing her wrist as he held her hand. She had an answer now - not as soft as she’d expected but far softer than Toby’s. How would it feel elsewhere?

‘Here.’ He pressed the twenty-pound note into her hand. ‘Take this and get something to eat. Or use it for something else.’ Despite how low he spoke, it blocked out everything else.

‘I–I can’t take your–’

‘You can if I’m giving it to you. We’ll have our chat another time. Some of your customers seem rather needy today.’ He turned her hand over and inspected the plaster, thumb tracing it with gentle movements.

The warm, pale fingers wrapped around her looked… right instead of strange. Like they were meant to be there. A shiver tingled up her spine. His heated palms pushing her thighs apart, making his rings glisten as those thick fingers rubbed into that aching spot inside her–

‘You won’t have another accident, will you?’ His gaze met hers.

For fuck’s sake, focus! She licked her lips. It might make him angry, but… ‘I can’t promise that. I’m clumsy, and–’

‘I just want you to try. For me. Say you’ll try.’ His eyes bore into hers.

Ridiculous. They were nothing to each other. He had no right to ask anything of her. She glanced at their hands. ‘... I’ll try. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll try.’

‘Good girl,’ he said, not a whisper above a murmur, like it was for her ears only.

Heat surged into her cheeks, unable to break away from the keen gaze he always fixed on her. He placed her hand on the counter, the absence of his touch like stepping out onto a frozen lake. She swallowed. He lingered a few seconds longer, then left, the café noises pouring in once more.

Good girl.

It was just words! The heroines in her books swooned at them too, as romance characters should. But this wasn’t that. He showed concern for her wellbeing. That didn’t mean love. It didn’t spell attraction. And she didn’t need saving, unlike the heroines. 

Even if she did need it, heroines were beautiful and benevolent, or they were smart and cheerful no matter the circumstances. They deserved to be saved and to receive the adulation all the other characters gave them. Their scars were from fighting battles to save someone or something. Worthy endeavours. Those scars were put on pedestals, looked upon with pride as a gift from a hard-won journey.

None of that applied to her.

She put the note on the counter, fingers trying to smooth out the creases caused by her grip. Mr Thornveil showing kindness indicated kindness, nothing else.

‘... Cyn?’ 

She tore her eyes from the note.

No smile, nothing of the cheeky charm from earlier. A flat expression, with some of the lustre gone from his eyes, had replaced it. ‘I think I’m going to head out too.’ He picked up his rucksack, swinging it over his shoulder with more force than needed and leaving the other strap free.

Did he dislike Mr Thornveil that much? He didn’t do anything to him. ‘Oh, do you want me to put a couple cake slices in a box?’

‘No, I’ll get something from the canteen.’ He hiked the strap higher on his shoulder, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘The movie… don’t worry about it. I think it’s too scary, even for me. Let’s watch something else another time.’ 

Tightness filled her chest. Annoyed… upset? No, he was definitely upset. ‘Yeah, maybe a comedy. Something lighthearted.’ She smiled at him.

His eyes flicked down to the twenty-pound note. ‘... as friends?’

‘Yeah. We can make a day of it – you, me and Vel.’ If she was willing. Then again, she had mentioned Toby being a decent guy, so she probably would.

A slight smile spread across his face, back straightening a little more. ‘Okay, that sounds like a plan. I’ll drop by another time and we can sort out the details.’

He left, and she returned to smoothing out the creases in the note.

‘What’s got your knickers in a twist?’

Corvin looked up from the report, Lowen lounging on one of the sofas in his office, arm resting on the back of it. His sky-blue suit was stark against the dark brown leather. It set his teeth on edge.

‘What makes you think I’m annoyed? And don’t you have something better to do than be here?’ He tossed the papers onto his desk and loosened his tie.

‘The fact that you haven’t turned a single page in the last half hour. And you just loosened your tie. I can’t remember the last time I saw you do that.’ Lowen stood and walked over until he was in front of the desk, gold chains glinting through the top of his white shirt, the first three buttons likely undone to irritate him. ‘So who’s the target? Or the client? What size team do you need?’

‘I don’t need a team.’ Even if he’d been toying with the idea of taking the elf out. ‘And what have I told you about dressing appropriately? I don’t employ you to look like a backstreet thug. Or a streetwalker.’

He arched a blond eyebrow, green eyes dancing with his usual amusement. ‘They call them sex workers these days. And if you keep noticing me like this, we’re going to have to have an uncomfortable talk, boss. You’re not my type, but I could find a man who–’

‘I’m in no mood, Lowen. Leave.’ He needed to get through the reports, and figure out how on earth he was going to get Cynthia to open up to him.

Lowen raised his hands in surrender, then dropped them. ‘Before I do, let me ask you one thing – does your “mood” have anything to do with the equipment you bought recently?’

Tension seeped into Corvin’s shoulders, but he kept a steady gaze on Lowen. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I was checking the inventory and nothing was missing, and yet somehow, a set of cameras had been signed out. By you. And they’re the expensive, magic-inscribed ones as well.’ His eyes locked onto Corvin. ‘Did you buy another set?’

‘Is that an issue?’ Buying it under the company was a smoother process with less questions. From the seller, anyway. 

Maybe he should’ve just bought it as a personal investment, but the background checks would’ve taken too long. He would’ve been forced to visit her flat every night if he’d had to wait. Going home before nightfall was the only reason he hadn’t attached a GPS tracker to her rucksack or car. And he might still do it, seeing as she took the train into work.

‘Of course not, boss, but I figured as your head of operations, I’d at least get a note about it.’ Some of the amusement slipped from his face.

‘There’s no note because there’s nothing for you to do. You should be thanking me for getting new equipment.’  And ignoring any and all curiosity. Then again, he paid him well enough for his inquisitiveness.

‘I am thankful, but it’s….’ He paused, a flicker of something like indecision crossed his face. ‘There’s definitely nothing for me to do, right?’

‘Nothing. Carry on as you have been and I’ll let you know if I need your input.’ And he wouldn’t. Not for her.

Whether that answer satisfied him or not, Lowen gave a short nod and left.

A sigh escaped him. Holding her hand earlier was a mistake. Kneeling before him with a shy smile and dark eyes, her soft hand wrapping around him as he guided her on how to stroke him. Warm palms on his chest as she took her pleasure on top of him, head thrown back with her pretty neck on display. Nails scratching marks into his back as she squeezed around him and he sank his fangs into her neck. Fuck!

The sort of attraction she displayed wasn’t meant for someone like him. He’d seen it plenty of times towards normal, well-adjusted people. Towards people who were well integrated into society. 

The women who forayed into his bed did so out of unhealthy curiosity. They’d anticipated violence. They’d begged for bruises and marks born out of a brutality they’d hoped he had. They wanted an unemotional, violent beast, not a lover.

Nevertheless, it was predictable. Inviting someone into his bed became a chore. It wasn’t long before he stopped paying for escorts as well. It was hard to do anything when the person would rather be anywhere else, if not for the money. 

For Origins like him, normal women trembled out of fear in his presence; they shook his hand wearing a thin veil of disgust, but not her. 

So pretty.

Monsters didn’t get blushes and shy looks. And yet, she gave him all of that and more. She’d shivered at his touch. Leaned in. Pressed her hand into his and kept it there. Listened to his requests and responded with a lick of her pink lips. Dilated pupils and parted lips said she’d expected something. Something he was desperate to give her.

But not yet. Attraction was as transient as the weather. He needed her invested– No, obsessed with him.

Corvin eyed the pile of black leather folders, and then glanced at the clock. Three… no, four reports and she’d be home, and he could check on her.

Chapter Text

No lights were on in her flat as she laid in bed, scrolling on her phone. He’d only just logged in, but his stress was already dissipating. It had become a nightly ritual, sipping a glass or two of that evening’s choice of wine while he watched her. 

Sometimes it was mundane things, like doing laundry or cleaning up, her arse hypnotising him whenever she bent over. Sometimes she laughed at a show on her laptop and he was treated to a moment of utter joy that spread across her face. Cooking was a rarity unless it was one of those awful ready meals. The darker part of him had hoped to see a glimpse of skin, but she always came out of the bathroom dressed in pyjamas; those snug shorts teasing him better than any woman had. Did that mixed elf know about it?

Tobias Forst. Toby. Tobias was a reasonable name, but he’d once met a dog named Toby, and frankly, it suited the dog better. A doctor in one of London’s major hospitals. Mixed heritage but identified most with his elf side. Likely faced difficulties because of it.

An insufferable flirt who’d zeroed in on Cynthia.

And she’d smiled at him, a genuine one at that, as if he was amusing. Her eyes had brightened with enjoyment. She hadn’t noticed him until he stood behind the elf. Tobias had applied medicine and a plaster with eyebrow-raising familiarity while being gentler than he probably was with any other patient.

And he’d asked her on a date. Opportunistic bastard. He was lucky Corvin had moved on from the more violent aspects of his lifestyle. Mostly. Otherwise, Tobias would’ve ended up ‘helping’ the ecosystem on a scenic plot of land on one of the isles. Hmm. Maybe he’d have found a less scenic bit.

It had mollified him a great deal when she saw him, skin flushing in an instant and her pupils dilating. Grabbing her hand had only been about Tobias in part, it had been more about needing reassurance that she was okay. About connecting with her. But her confusion over his concern hadn’t been much of a comfort. It was like she wasn’t used to someone worrying about her. In any case, her insistence on the burn being an accident convinced him – this time. What would he do next time?

It was one thing to point out self-harming behaviour, but it was another to get the person to stop it. Of course, there was one method that had a certain… appeal, but whenever he’d done it, there’d been no heart in it. Granted, the women who suggested it probably thought they could see a more ruthless side to him. Those women could never have guessed what the colder, darker part of him yearned for.

It would be different with her. He had no basis for that other than instinct. Would she fight him? Cry and beg for him not to do it? To not put her over his lap and redden that voluptuous arse? Tears would stream down that cute face, full lips bitten red from trying and failing to hold back from crying, stammering pleas pouring out of her while he held her in place – and then he’d do it anyway. He hissed out a breath, cock filling as he watched her in her bed, still scrolling on her phone. His fingers twitched as if he could feel the heat emanating from his palm already.

The real question was would she hate it? Curse at him for her punishment? He clenched his jaw. Begging and pleading, even screaming was fine, but he wouldn’t tolerate curses thrown at him. Cursing in pleasure, yes, but animosity wasn't allowed. However, that was an assumption. She might crave it even while she tried to get away. Would she get wetter and wetter as skin met skin? She’d get a reward if she did. They both would when he’d slip inside her. Then he’d make her cry for a different reason.

The fantasy was too much, it was like he could taste her tears on the tip of his tongue. He pulled out his cock, precum dripping down his length. Once… no, maybe twice. It wouldn’t be enough but it would get the edge off while she was awake and he could watch her pretty face.

He wrapped a hand around himself, eyes fixed on her–

She rolled over and put her phone on the bedside table. He frowned. It was far too early for her to turn in. But instead of laying down, she opened the bedside table’s door and pulled out a case. Fabric, from the look of it, and she reached inside and pulled out–

A breath caught in his chest. It was a curved dildo, about six-inches long. A G-spot vibrator? He throbbed, and squeezed himself at the base. Not yet. It had been over a month since he’d been watching her, and there hadn’t been a single time where he saw her pleasuring herself. At one point, he'd accepted that she probably did it in the bathroom or his timing was far too off with his meetings, as frustrating as it was. But he was here now.

She kicked off the sheets, those fucking shorts clinging to her hips. The white bandages on her thick thighs jarring as they always were, but they couldn’t diminish the excitement thrumming through him. He swallowed. Where was the lube? She couldn’t put it in without–

The vibrator buzzed to life, and instead of pulling her shorts down or lubing it up, she lifted the waistband and shoved the toy into a place higher than he expected. Ah, she wanted it quick. Disappointing but it was better than nothing. It could be months before he saw her like this again.

Stroking up and down, he kept his movements slow, eyes glued to the screen. Her eyes were closed, lips pressed together and her hips still despite the pleasure she must be feeling. His shoulders stiffened. More titillating noises had escaped her lips eating a slice of run-of-the-mill chocolate cake, but a vibrator on her clit elicited nothing? Impossible. 

A gasp drew him back in, her breathing getting heavier. He stroked himself to the rhythm of her panting, tightening his grip a touch as it quickened. She started moving the vibrator, probably grinding it against her clit, and then stilling once more. With the way her hips shifted, it must be pressed against a sweet spot.

‘Fuck, fuck, please! Please, please, please!’ A whine laced her whispered words. She lifted her hips before slamming them back down, her hand keeping the vibrator in place.

Who was she begging? Some nameless, faceless man? Some regular at the café he didn’t know about? He bit the inside of his cheek. No, don’t think about it right now. It was better to focus–

‘Please, please! Coming, I’m coming, I’m com– Corvin!’

Quick reflexes were the only thing that stopped him coming when she moaned his name. He’d squeezed the base of his cock yet again, relaxing as the urge passed and his eyes widening when what happened settled in. It was him. Not a nameless, faceless man. Not an elf. Not some other regular. Not someone normal and safe. Him. She’d been begging him the entire time... for what? To make her come? To fuck her?

Fucking hell, there was nothing he wanted more right now, but that didn't even begin to cover the things he wanted to do to her. Or for her. Or with her. Lust was short lived, he needed to make her–

‘Please, Corvin!’ His name was somewhere between a moan and sigh. ‘Need you, want you inside, want you to–’ She threw her head back, hips shifting from the orgasm rippling through her.

Fuck! A spurt of precum trickled down, the head throbbing and his balls tightening. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the chair’s headrest. This was too much, he couldn’t–

‘More,’ she said on a sigh. ‘Want more, please make me come again!’

Opening his eyes and lifting his head up, he fixed his eyes on her figure. She shifted so much that she was in the middle of the bed. How many more times was she going to come? It was a mistake to assume it was a quick thing. Women with high libidos weren’t uncommon, but many found it too much after a while. Unless…. 

She came again, and this time, he stayed still and waited. An hour passed. She made herself come again, then again, then again, his name slipping from between her lips every time. 

‘Corvin, I can’t anymore, please!’ She kept the vibrator against her.

If he was there, he’d spend hours sucking on her neglected nipples, testing her reactions to see how hard or soft she liked it. And no part of her would be safe – her neck, arms, back, stomach, thighs – they would all bear his marks. He’d pin her arms in place and use his hips, cock and fingers to find that spot inside that would drive her insane. He wouldn’t let up, alternating between fast and slow, getting a feel for what her little pussy really wanted. What his little pussy really wanted.

‘I really can’t, please stop, Corvin, please, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t–’ Her body trembled, teeth sinking into her lower lip to stop the sound he was most desperate to hear.

The taste of blood snapped him out of his trance, and he darted a tongue out. His fangs had dropped, the ache in them only adding to the pleasure. Everything in him yelled to go to her, to take her and sink his fangs into that warm patch of skin between her neck and shoulder while she screamed through another orgasm on his cock.

But he couldn’t. Impatience would ruin everything. Many men fell due to a lack of discipline, and he wouldn’t be one of them. Plus, he'd gotten more than he wanted: confirmation of her desire for him and her overstimulation kink. A kink he’d restrained to fantasies because many didn’t expect nor want it from him.

Leaning back against his chair, he returned to stroking himself much slower this time. There was no rush. She wouldn’t be able to come too many more times after that. At least, that’s probably what she thought. He could push her much further. And would. In the meantime, he’d rewatch this when he needed to control himself and take the edge off.

His pretty girl never should’ve called his name.

Chapter Text

Thank God winter had finally arrived. Was she struggling to get out of the warmth of her bed? Yes. Was she already wincing at having to brave the cold to shove herself onto a packed train full of tired, caffeinated, sullen-looking people in thick coats and bulky rucksacks? Yes. But you know what she wasn’t? Sweating. Or on the verge of passing out. Or turning delirious with heat stroke. 

Rolling over, the sharp pain under her arm forced a grimace. Thick antibiotic cream and gauze could only do so much as a buffer for the pain. Ugh, the bathroom might as well have been across the country. If it wasn’t for her bills, she wouldn’t bother. Well, that and… God, even thinking about it was too much. 

Last week had been a difficult week for her skin, it became worse and worse until her current wound. Pain should’ve been nothing to her. Dealing with it all the time since she was young led to a certain detachment from it when the pain was manageable. But it had hurt so much, the skin under her arm swollen, taut and throbbing in pain, every movement agony and she just… she just… needed someone.

The idea of crying by herself, wallowing in pain was unbearable. Scrolling through social media didn’t help. Reading distracted her until she had to move. She’d needed to sleep, and painkillers weren’t going to do anything for her.

And then he popped up. Like he did at the café. Like he did in her dreams. Shoving him out of her fantasies and trying to replace him with a movie actor or a fictional character didn’t work. Blue eyes seeped into red. Skin blanched into supernatural paleness. Voices became smoother and deeper, facial features more structured and angular. He whispered words he would never say to her, promises he would never keep, endearments she would never hear. It was like he’d taken over her mind. And she’d come harder and twice as much than she’d had in a while. 

Then she had to work two days later. She’d spent it glancing out of windows, wiping counters down so much that Veloura had asked if she planned on entering a cleaning competition. The joking hadn’t distracted her. Simulations ran through her mind on how to maintain eye contact, on how not to burst into flames when he looked at her.

But he never showed. He stopped, just like that. It had been like a dream, him appearing for a while and then disappearing out of nowhere. Maybe he’d gotten bored. Or found someone– somewhere with better coffee and baristas who suited his tastes more. That was his right, even if it was a little upsetting.

A buzzing noise from the bedside table signalled a call, and her lips stretched into a smile at the name on the screen.

‘Why, hello there, angel.’

‘Morning, Cyn. That’s quite a voice you’ve got there. If I had been a different man, I might’ve had to make an honest woman out of you,’ he said, amusement lacing his words.

‘That’s your fault, Santo. Do you even know what time it is right now?’

He groaned. ‘Sorry, we spent the day at the beach and wanted to check in on you. I didn’t even look at the time.’ Something rustled in the background.

‘Is Aru there with you? Let me say hi to her.’

‘Nah, she’s still at the beach, probably toying with some poor sod who thinks he has a chance with her. You should’ve come with us, Cyn.’

‘Putting aside the money and the insane heat over there, you actually think I’d want to be around spiders? Australia is like their headquarters or something.’ She shuddered. ‘God, just thinking about it makes it feel like they're on me. You know they’re all venomous, right?’ Not to mention all the medical supplies she’d have to carry with her.

He laughed. ‘It’s not that bad in the city. The countryside… you might see one or two here and there.’

Ugh, gross. ‘Knowing they exist is enough to put me off, thanks very much.’

‘Well, let me know what souvenirs you want.’ There was a sound like a bottle being opened. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Oh, you know, the same as always.’ Except for him. He was a break in the monotony of day-to-day living. Like having a cupcake with all the frosting and sprinkles after eating nothing but dry, bland crackers.

‘Really? Nothing?’

‘Okay, you got me. I actually spent the last week meeting up with the local lotharios and getting my back blown out.’ As if.

‘Cyn.’ There was an edge of exasperation to his voice.

‘Hey, you’re the one who asked.’ And why did he bother asking? It’s not like anything interesting happened. Going to work, coming home, cleaning her wounds and sorting out her dressings, scrolling on her phone for an hour or two and then going to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

He sighed. ‘Vel told me. About him.’

A breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to breathe it out. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

‘Cyn, I know about him. That’s not going to change because you want to play ignorant. Just… let me talk to him. I want to see what he’s like first before things get serious.’

It was her turn to sigh. ‘It’s driving me insane to keep saying this, but he’s just a friendly regular.’ Or was, anyway. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Cyn–’

‘You know I can’t date.’ The admission cut through her, but the empty ache following it was an old friend.

‘That’s not true,’ he said with tenderness. ‘You just need to find the right guy, and Vel said–’

‘Vel is wrong. And there isn’t a right guy. Even if there is, I’m not putting myself through that.’ He was pretty to look at, and that’s it.

‘Just tell me this: are you interested in him? If your skin… if your health was different, would you have dated him? It’s rare for you to be interested in anyone, so I’m curious.’

A heavy, dull pain built in her throat, swallowing it causing the corners of her eyes to prickle. ‘I can’t tell you that.’

Silence filled the line, broken by an odd-sounding birdsong in the background.

‘It’s okay for you to like someone, Cyn. You’re allowed to.’ His gentle tone didn’t soften the punch his words dealt.

What could she say? He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t understand. The pain was inescapable. Each day brought a new flare up: another day of not being able to move her arm without flinching, another day of trying to walk like normal while blood soaked into the gauze on her thigh, another day of crying in the shower because of how ugly and disgusting she was. No one would be flattered by her liking them.

Even if they were, and could get past her size, they wouldn’t be able to stop the repulsed expression on their face if the time ever came where they saw her naked. And Corv– Mr Thornveil would be the same. His eyes would turn cold, glaring at her like she was nothing. It would be gut wrenching. In fact, he might react worse depending on his species. The smell alone would have him running. The deodorising spray her doctor had given her was one of the only reasons she could work. 

Maybe it was better to get it over with. New scalpels were sitting in her medicine box. How long would it take? Thirty minutes? An hour? That wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. Veloura, or more likely Sorrel, would be the one to find her, but once they grieved, if they grieved, they’d never have to think about it again. It would become a difficult memory faded by time. An unfortunate colleague who chose the coward’s path – because that’s what she was. A coward afraid of living.

‘Fuck, Cyn, breathe. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed.’ Footsteps on wood came through the phone, like Santo was pacing up and down. ‘Hey, Cyn, are you there? Cynthia?!’

She blinked as tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I’m here.’ Shit, her voice was meant to be steadier. Get it together!

‘Look, all I’m saying is that I want you to be happy. If this guy makes you happy–’

‘He doesn’t make me anything. We’re not like that.’ Silence filled the line again, and she sighed. ‘Seriously, Santo. There isn’t anything there. Not from his side, anyway.’ And that was all Santo would get. Even if her theories about Mr Thornveil stalking her were true, it didn’t mean it was out of affection. It might be out of curiosity, like birdwatching.

‘... Aru and I are coming back home before the end of the year. This is a warning for you to prepare yourself, Cyn. You can’t keep yourself locked up like you have been.’

The wound under her arm throbbed and stung. ‘I heard you loud and clear, San.’

‘Then get some rest and we’ll talk later.’

‘Okay, tell Aru I miss her.’ She hung up and dropped her phone on the bed.

Of all the things to happen this morning, that had been unexpected. And her shift started in two hours. A groan escaped her. Why couldn’t she have won the lottery or something? Limbs heavy with sudden fatigue, she stood–

A sharp stab shot through her leg, and she bit back a scream. Oh, God, please no. She widened her stance and prodded against the inside of her thigh with gentle pressure. Fucking hell, two more flare ups the size of ping pong balls had surfaced next to an already bleeding, open wound. No, not again, she couldn’t– 

She clenched her jaw. At least the gauze would cover it if it burst, but working was going to be a bitch. It was fine. It was going to be fine. This was nothing new. Tears welled again. She took a deep breath and let it out. Work. She had to work.

She walked to the bathroom and–

What was that sound? Soothing but crackly… and it was warm too… it was almost like… fire! She bolted upright in the bed, heart racing, head swivelling this way and that way. And then she blinked. And blinked again.

This wasn’t her flat. A brick fireplace crackled and popped, casting deep shadows around the furniture. Paintings of summer gardens and fields hung from moss-coloured – or maybe olive? – walls, the hues darker in the face of flickering flames. The sturdy mahogany cabinets and wardrobes boasted luxury with their shiny brass handles. A large oval mirror with an intricate silver woven frame hung above an empty vanity table. The bedsheets weren’t scratchy or worn at all, and the duvet and mattress was like being hugged by clouds. All of it was so classy – and something she’d never afford in her lifetime.

Well, this could be one of two things. One, she was dead, and this was the limbo people talked about before being judged and going to hell or heaven. Although, it might be a bit too cushy for it. Limbo always sounded like it would be most similar to a liminal space rather than a fancy room.

Two, she was kidnapped by… a serial killer. Fuck, what the hell was she doing sitting around and admiring the bloody decor? She shoved the duvet back. Oh, thank God, she still had her pyjamas on. The change in weather prompted switching to long pyjama bottoms, and while it wouldn’t do much in the cold, it was better than shorts. 

What should she do first? Run? But what if someone saw her? There could be an eight-foot, grizzled, mountain of a man outside with crazed eyes and a briefcase full of torture tools outside the door. No, taking a peek was–

The door opened, and she jolted, heart in her mouth, grabbing the duvet as if covering herself with it would offer some protection.

A petite woman flitted in. ‘Oh good, you’re awake. Mr Thornveil will be pleased.’ She drew the curtains, light flooding in despite the grey sky, and turned back with her hands clasped in front of her.

It was like the woman had stepped out of some American documentary about Stepford wives: silver-blonde hair slicked back into an elegant bun, slim frame accentuated by the light-yellow, knee-length dress, and her apron gleamed a pristine white. Cream house slippers and a thin gold watch completed the ensemble. Sixty… no, she didn’t look a day over fifty. Fine lines around her mouth and blue eyes softened and warmed her face. This was a person who smiled often. A small comfort, all things considered.

Wait, did she say… ‘Mr Thornveil?’ She frowned. ‘Did you say Mr Thornveil would be pleased?’

The woman’s eyes roamed her face. ‘Mr Thornveil did say you’d be a bit confused when you woke up. Nothing a bit of food can’t fix, I’m sure. Are you able to eat?’

‘Uh, I think so, but wait, where am I?’ 

‘You’re at the estate.’ The woman’s tone made it sound like that was obvious.

The… estate? ‘Who’s estate?’

The woman’s brow furrowed. ‘Mr Thornveil’s, of course. He did say you were unconscious when they found you. Maybe we should call the doctor in. They said it was likely you hit your head, you poor thing.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Wait, I was unconscious?’ That didn’t make sense. Sure, it had been painful to walk, but not enough to pass out.

‘Yes. The hospital did a CT scan, but nothing showed up, thankfully. Can you move? Walk? If you can, I’d like to show you around your room and then we can go down to the kitchen. Mr Thornveil said he’d give you a tour of the rest of the estate later if you’re feeling up to it.’

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Nothing of what the woman said explained why she was here. ‘Uhhh…’

If it was possible, the woman’s brow furrowed further.

‘Uh, my name’s Cynthia.’ Well, it was better than saying nothing. And being here didn’t matter, she needed to leave.

‘Oh my goodness, where are my manners?’ She placed a hand on her chest with a flourish. ‘I’m Agnes. I must apologise, we rarely get new visitors here. Mr Thornveil prefers to meet with people outside, so the people who come here are generally familiar.’

‘It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Agnes.’ Was it really?! Stop with the small talk and do something! ‘Now that I’m awake, I think I should probably leav–’

‘Of course, you’ll want some space to freshen up.’ Agnes gestured to the wardrobe. ‘All your clothes are in here and–’

‘My what is in the what?!’ Her jaw dropped. She jumped up, the throbbing pain in her leg and arm doing nothing to slow her down, and opened the wardrobe. Her clothes, all of them, were hung up or folded in neat piles.

Agnes looked at her like she was the weird one. ‘Some things are in the drawers. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of separating them out. Makes things easier to find.’

The separation wasn’t the problem, it was the fact they were here at all. Her hand tightened on the handle. ‘Look, Agnes, I really think I should–’

‘Oh no, look at the time!’ she said, peering at her watch. ‘I need to get a move on for dinner. Follow me!’ 

Agnes grabbed her wrist and pulled with a strength belied by her stature. If she tried to resist, falling over would be inevitable, and she didn’t trust herself to be able to get up without looking like she wasn’t in pain. Or burst one of her abscesses. Agnes opened a door, and they stepped through it.

Staring was all she could do. The ecru-coloured bathroom wasn’t just twice the size of her flat, it was a full wet room. Floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted the light-grey stone counters, shelves, cabinets and floor, the texture pleasing underfoot unlike the worn tiles in her bathroom. A showerhead fitted onto one wall, the shelves near it bare. The calming, earthy tones were contrasted by silver accents and a large mirror spanning across a wall. And as if having a wet room didn’t already scream money, there was a tub set into the floor that could probably fit five people.

‘Are you okay, dear?’ Agnes’ frown was back.

‘Uh, yeah– Yes, I’m fine.’

Agnes didn’t look convinced but she started showing her how to put on the shower, tub and the underfloor heating. Underfloor bloody heating. No, wait, she couldn’t be swayed. Her priority right now was to leave. Leave and then figure out what the hell was going on.

‘... so you’ll have space to put your things there. Oh, and I also brought your bathroom things.’

It was like being doused in cold water. ‘My… bathroom things?’ Like her medical supplies? Her mouth went dry. Did she look inside? Did she think it was weird how she had so many medical supplies? Did… did Mr Thornveil know? A hand on her shoulder forced her eyes up.

Agnes’ brow furrowed again. ‘Oh dear, you look a bit pale. Let’s get you to bed so you can have a lie down.’

‘No, I can just–’

‘No, you need a rest.’ Agnes turned her towards the door and guided her to the bed with the force of a hurricane. ‘I can only imagine what Mr Thornveil would say to me if he were to see you in this condition.’ She pulled back the duvet and waited.

She sighed, ignoring the twist in her stomach at Mr Thornveil seeing her in her pyjamas. ‘Agnes, I don’t need rest, I need to–’

‘Cynthia, you look like you’re about to fall over. If you can lie down for ten minutes, I’ll bring you a cup of tea, and then you can tell me all of your concerns. Does that sound fair?’ 

It did. And that was the problem. The wound on her leg stung and throbbed, followed by the one under her arm. Fatigue flooded her. She needed a shower, a moment to assess the damage. 

‘... ten minutes. No longer than that.’ Afterwards, she’d go home and take stock of everything that happened. Maybe make plans to move to another country.

A bright smile spread across Agnes’ face. ‘Good. A nice cup of hot tea and maybe a sandwich while I finish dinner.’

Whatever. She didn’t care anymore.

Chapter Text

The email might as well have been in another language. She was here. Not in her flat, where he could only see her through a screen. Not at the café, where he would get maybe five minutes with her. Here. In his estate. Within mere touching distance.

Although, there was no pleasure in how she came here. His heart almost stopped at the sight of her still, prone figure on the floor. Veloura’s banging on the door had been the thing that brought him back. The transportation circle he carved nearby had him there in minutes, blood thrumming through him and drowning out whatever Veloura said as he ripped the ‘security’ circle away and forced the door open.

Scooping her into his arms, where she hadn’t made a single noise at being disturbed, he’d opened a portal connected to the nearest hospital and walked through. The blood had drained from the nurse’s face when she saw them. And as if sitting under the headache-inducing lighting for two hours hadn’t been enough, the doctor had fumbled his way through a long-winded explanation, eyes darting towards the fire exit the entire time. All he’d had to say was that she hadn’t suffered any head injuries, everything else could be managed by Hilda.

And that led them to now. Did she like her room? He wasn’t precious about changing any of it if she didn’t. Not that she would be there for long. His room was much more spacious and had more closet space. Or rather, their room.

There was a light knock on the door.

‘Come in.’

Agnes walked through, closing the door and standing in front of it. ‘As you requested, I removed the shaving blades and scalpels from her belongings before I put them in her bathroom. I was about to show Miss Fallow the scrolls but she started looking unwell, so I told her to go to bed and I’d bring her something to eat. Poor thing’s completely fallen asleep. I don’t think she’d wake up even if I shook her.’

He stiffened. ‘Call Hilda and tell her it’s an emergency. I want her here within the hour. I’ll go watch over Cynthia.’

Chilled fingertips caressed her forehead, then brushed her cheek. God, she was thirsty. What happened with… wasn’t Agnes bringing tea? And what was that smell? It was like jasmine… no, warmed jasmine after a bout of summer rain. She snuggled further into the pillow, cool silk rubbing against her skin.

The fingers disappeared. No, don’t go! She let out a whine, not stopping until they were back. A palm cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over her lips, the soothing scent tickling her nose. 

Better, so much better.

Hushed voices forced a groan out of her. Her limbs weighed a thousand tonnes, eyelids just as heavy, but someone decided to have a conversation near her? Talk about inconsiderate. Blissful, dead-to-the-world sleep was right there, if they could shut up for one minute–

A door closed, silence following. Finally. Now she could fall back into–

A hand jostled her with all the energy of someone shaking a protein drink. ‘Cynthia, you need to get up now.’ The voice was prim and brooked no argument.

Forcing her eyes open and blinking a few times, the woman came into view. A black pencil skirt and blue chiffon shirt peeked through the long white coat covering it. A lab coat. Is that what you called them? The thing that scientists and doctors wore?

‘Cynthia, look at me.’

She looked further up, but with the heaviness in her head, it was a struggle. Lime-green eyes peered at her face, the young woman’s long platinum hair pulled back in a tasteful updo using a gold claw clip, her pointed ears on display. Ah, she was an elf. A sophisticated, beautiful one at that, but then beautiful elves were like fish in the sea: they were everywhere. But her being an elf meant…

‘You’re a doctor.’ Was that her voice? Bloody hell, it was as rough as she felt.

‘Well, if you can put two and two together, you’re not as bad as Corvin thinks you are. That’s something at least.’ She perched on the edge of an oversized grey wingback chair adjacent to the bed. Had that been there earlier? It was almost amusing. If she sat back any further, her black stilettos would be swinging beneath her. ‘Can you get up by yourself? No need to stand, sitting up is perfectly fine.’ 

So Hilda and Mr Thornveil were on a first name basis. She nodded and manoeuvred into a sitting position, making sure not to wince. ‘Sounds like you and Mr Thornveil are close,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even.

‘We’ve worked together for a long time, and been friends for even longer.’

‘So… so you guys are friends then. Friendly with each other, and all that.’ God, she sounded stupid. It would’ve been better if she’d just asked outright!

Hilda tilted her head and regarded her. ‘That’s what I said.’ She paused. ‘And I’m thankful that he’s a friend. A rigid man like him would drive me insane. I’ve never let him set me up with anyone out of fear he’d give me someone like him.’ She smiled. ‘And you can tell him I said that. I’ve always thought he needs someone who isn’t put off by his sullenness.’

Oh. ‘I don’t think he’s that bad,’ she said, the words coming out soft.

‘Maybe,’ Hilda said, something like amusement glinting in her eyes.

A wave of heat rushed through her. She leaned back against the wood headboard, and closed her eyes, more to get away from Hilda than anything. Although, if her body could sink through the mattress, it would. Why was she so tired?

‘No sleeping. I have a few questions I need to ask you and then you can rest.’ The doctor crossed one leg over the other, graceful as a swan on a lake, her spine as straight as a ruler. With a snap of her fingers, a clipboard with paper and a pen appeared, and she balanced it on her knee.

‘What makes you think I’m going to answer you?’ For all she knew, the doctor was here to assess her organs’ viability.

‘Because that’s what I’m here for. I’m a doctor and you’re unwell. Sounds about right, doesn’t it?’

‘How do you know I’m unwell? Who are you? For all I know, you’re a dentist who’s still smarting about not getting into medicine and looking to “prove themselves”. My organs won’t make for good donations by the way.’

An unexpected smile spread across her face, softening her features and making her much more approachable. ‘I’m Hilda. I work for Corvin as a private doctor. I’m happy to show you my degree and certificates to prove that I am actually a doctor. I don’t have anything to prove that I haven’t been a dentist though, so you’ll have to take my word for it. And I’m only concerned about your organs in terms of how they function for you.’

Well, it’s nice to know she has a sense of humour at least. ‘Sounds like something an organ harvester would say. If they work for me, who’s to say they wouldn’t work for someone else?’ Although, the receiver probably wouldn’t enjoy what they’d inherit.

Hilda raised a manicured eyebrow. ‘Are they working for you?’

‘They must be if I’m here and talking about them.’ Then again, being in this room wasn’t a good sign. If she was sick enough to collapse, maybe her organs weren’t okay. Oh no. She’d never get a transplant.

‘That’s not true, but judging by your face, you’ve come to that realisation yourself. Well, you don’t need to worry. I received your blood tests from the hospital, and your organs seem to be functioning well, all things considered.’

She frowned. ‘All things considered?’

Hilda’s smile dimmed a bit. ‘Your white blood cells are quite high, and there were traces of some very strong antibiotics in your system.’

Fuck. ‘Makes sense, being unwell and all that.’

Something flickered over her expression. ‘Is there an underlying health condition that could explain your results?’ 

Hilda might be a good doctor with the way she pushed for answers. Straight to the point. Firm without being demanding. No condescension – not yet, anyway. Her patients probably cried in gratitude while giving her loaded Christmas hampers because she was so nice. She seemed like a citrusy marmalade kind of person. Not a basic one though, something that cost ten pounds a jar.

Hilda gazed at her without blinking.

‘I’m not dying.’ Unfortunately.

‘That’s not what I asked, Cynthia. I could’ve pulled your records but I didn’t because I wanted to get to know you as you know yourself, health and all.’ She waved her hand, the pen and clipboard vanishing.

‘Isn’t that highly illegal?’ Not that she could sue. Going to court would likely leave her homeless. It was the principle of it more than anything. 

Hilda smirked. ‘Did you tick a box that said you consent to sharing your information with all your medical providers?’

Ah yes, the devil in the details. ‘... Maybe.’

‘Then it would’ve been all above board if I’d done it.’ She leaned forward, smirk gone. ‘Look, if you tell me what’s going on, I promise to look after you the best I can.’ She smiled again. ‘I come highly rated by all my patients.’

Look at her, being right for once. She looked down at the duvet, and fiddled with the edge. ‘... You’ll tell him.’

‘Tell who?’ 

She shifted. ‘Mr Thornveil,’ she whispered.

A pause. She didn’t dare look up. 

Would there be surprise? Over her caring about what he thought of her? Maybe pity? That someone like her li– had some sort of feeling for Mr Thornveil? Hilda probably saw loads of women around him batting their eyelashes and dropping flirty comments. Healthy, slim women who had more to offer: more money, a better education, better family. They might come from a family that liked them instead of tolerating them.

‘Cynthia, look at me.’

She bit the inside of her cheek and lifted her head.

There was a tender look in Hilda’s eyes. ‘I won’t tell him anything other than what he needs to know – which is the bare minimum. It’s your decision what you choose to share with him, not mine. And I can understand why you’d be concerned about sharing anything with him. Even for a vampire, he’s–’

‘A vampire?!’ Her mouth fell open.

The tenderness vanished, a blank expression replacing it. ‘You didn’t know? That… explains some things. Does him being a vampire upset you?’

Was she upset by it? ‘I–I don’t know. I mean, a part of me hoped that maybe he was something less invested in… in blood.’ Like a sorcerer or someone who didn’t have the nose of a bloodhound.

‘I see. Well, if you’re happy with it, I can discuss it with him. Despite how he seems, Corvin is a reasonable person. If I ask him to let you go home, he will, and I can ask him to leave you alone.’

Wait, what? ‘But I don’t want him to leave me alone!’ It took a moment to register what she’d said, and then heat filled her face.

Hilda frowned. ‘But I thought you said you didn’t like him being “invested in blood”, as you put it.’

‘Well, yes!’ She clenched the sheets. ‘It’ll be worse. So much worse. He’ll be… disgusted. He won’t be able to stand being around me.’

Her frown deepened. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

She grit her teeth. ‘It’s… it’s my thing. My condition. It’s autoimmune, and… and…it’s really gross. He’ll hate me.’ His glare would turn glacial. ‘He’ll think I’m disgusting. He wasted all his time on me.’ He might curse her out, or throw her out onto the street. She didn’t even know where she was. ‘No, it’s better I leave. I’ll leave and never see him again. I should quit and work somewhere else too, so he can still get his coffee there. Or maybe he won’t even want to go–’

‘Cynthia!’ The hand on her shoulder squeezed. A blurry Hilda stood over her.

She blinked. When had she started crying? 

Fingers snapped, and a box of tissues appeared. ‘Take a deep breath. Corvin isn’t the type of person to do that to someone he’s taken in.’

‘You don’t know that. I’m like a stray he’s interested in for the moment. When he realises I’m sick – really sick – he’ll be horrified. Like I’m a raccoon he’s picked up, except I have rabies.’

Hilda frowned. ‘Anyone picking up a raccoon shouldn’t be surprised they have rabies. Apparently twenty percent of them have it.’

‘Oh. That’s sad.’

‘Yes, well, I’m more concerned about why you just compared yourself to an infected racoon. Be honest with me, Cynthia, what’s going on?’ She didn’t move. Hilda would remain there until the world ended. Or that’s what her stance said.

It was okay. She could tell her. She was a doctor and… and she’d said she wouldn’t tell Mr Thornveil. But did she mean it? ‘... hidradenitis suppurativa.’ Her lips barely moved as she said it. Either way, it would be better to come out with it. Face the rejection and get it over with – and that went for both Hilda and Mr Thornveil.

‘I see. As you can imagine with the kind of patients I have, it’s not an illness we come across, but I know of it.’ To Hilda’s credit, her expression didn’t change. ‘I assume it’s quite extensive considering how you came to be here. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain on a daily basis?’

Shit. In reality, she’d say an eight or nine, but that was being overdramatic. There were people around the world suffering from all sorts of pain, and theirs was probably much worse than hers. What number said that she felt pain but it wasn’t that bad?

‘Uh, I think a seven?’

Hilda’s eyebrows rose. ‘And you’re working with that level of pain? What painkillers are you taking?’

Damn it, she should’ve said a five or a six. ‘Um, I don’t really take painkillers. They don’t do anything.’

Her eyebrows remained raised. ‘You don’t take any painkillers? None? Even when the abscesses burst?’

Even when the abscesses burst? She winced. The bluntness was a punch to the stomach. When she spoke to her own doctors, it was a fight to talk about it without crying hysterically.

Tenderness returned to Hilda’s face. ‘I’m starting to understand what’s going on. Listen, I’m here to help you. As I said, I won’t say anything to Corvin except for the bare minimum. However, I’ll need to take a look at the wound sites to assess the extent of your autoimmune condition.’

The tears came thick and fast, blurring the room, but a dull ache in her throat stopped any sound from escaping. It stopped her breathing. The bedsheets probably cost two months of food. Her thigh throbbed, a stabbing pain working its way up her leg. If she stayed here any longer, she’d get blood on them. It was inevitable. It ruined everything. Every fucking thing. God, she shouldn’t be here. Her flat. She needed to go home and be alone. Away from people. Away from Cor– 

Hilda squeezed her shoulder. ‘I promise you – Cynthia, look at me – I promise you I don’t think any less of you because of your condition. And I’ve dealt with a lot of wounds in my long, long life so far. You won’t be the first nor the last.’

That didn’t mean–

‘Please, Cynthia. Let me help you. Please,’ she said, the pleading tone soft enough to pierce through her roiling emotions.

Help. The desperate part of her, the part that choked on screams for help, had been slapped, punched and kicked to the bottom of her soul ever since this disease had first appeared. But did she deserve help? And what did it mean that Mr Thornveil had brought Hilda here? It was all so… so… difficult to understand. So there was only one thing to do.

She gritted her teeth and nodded.

Chapter Text

Tick… tick… tick. An hour had passed with no word from Hilda. Did medical appointments take this long for humans? For non-Origins? His hand flexed next to his computer’s keyboard. Hilda had ushered him out of the room with a roll of her eyes. Probably for the best.

Sand-coloured skin had turned pale, fever-hot skin burning his fingers. Her little snuggle into the pillow forced him to pull back, but she’d whined. For him. Whined until his palm was flat against her cheek, thumb daring to graze the soft skin of her lips. A contented sigh had been his reward.

Never had anyone sought him for comfort. Mercy, yes, but this… was a flower looking to the moon. A glowy lump of rock that didn’t do anything useful. Of course, witches believed in its power and werewolves were beholden to it. But flowers starved and withered under a sunless sky with only a moon for company. And for the moon? It couldn’t even be seen without the sun.

The phone rang. ‘What?’

‘Someone’s irritable. I thought you’d be happy to hear from me,’ Hilda said, tiredness lacing her voice.

He sat up straighter. Calling him instead of coming to his office meant she’d taken blood samples. ‘Is she okay?’

A pause. ‘Yes and no. Nothing that’s life or death, so that’s something but…’

Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair and let out a quiet breath. It wasn’t the worst-case scenario. That was all that mattered. Anything else could be fixed. ‘But what?’

She sighed. ‘She’s not well, Corvin. And I’m not talking about her current rundown state.’

He opened his eyes. ‘You said she was fine.’

Another sigh. ‘No, I said she doesn’t have anything life threatening. Right now, she’s living a life of pain and, unfortunately, it’s chronic. She’ll have it for the rest of her life. I’ve given her some medication and some pain relief but it will only do so much.’

He sat up straighter. ‘What is it? The diagnosis?’

A beat passed. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘You… can’t tell me.’ He blinked. ‘Why not?’ And since when did Hilda withhold information from him?

Papers shuffled in the background. ‘I promised Cynthia I wouldn’t, so I won’t.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You promised her? Since when were you so soft? Our “visitor” last week certainly didn’t see this side of you. If he had, he probably would’ve walked away with his left arm still usable by the end of your session.’

‘Even if he’d been able to use his arm, he still would’ve left with his teeth in a jar. Stupid squirrel shifter should never have tried his hand at being an information dealer without knowing the consequences.’ A thud, and she cursed under breath. ‘And anyway, you don’t need me to tell you anything. You’ve looked into people’s medical history before, although the reason behind it was different. Still, you can still look into her files like always.’

No. It had crossed his mind, but it was off. Wrong, absurd as that sounded. But asking Hilda was a loophole. It wasn’t invasive, it didn’t scream untrustworthy – he was just enquiring about someone under his care. ‘Why aren’t you telling me, Hilda?’

‘I like her,’ she said, a slight strain in her voice, probably from picking up whatever fell. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like an actual doctor, especially considering the work you give me. Got it!’ Some rustling and the telltale squeak of her office chair, then a deep breath. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but find someone else. Cynthia isn’t like the other women you’ve been with. A fling would only hurt her, and she needs stability. Someone who wants to settle down.’

And he wasn’t the kind that settles down. Or maybe it’s because he’s an Origin. Too violent, too peculiar. Too close to the heritage they couldn’t bear looking into the eyes of, in case they saw something of themselves in him gazing back. He grit his teeth. ‘What makes you think she’s a fling?’

‘... isn’t that why you brought Cynthia there? I’ll admit, her being at the estate was a surprise, but we’ve all heard the, albeit superficial, gossip about the women you’ve spent a few months with here and there.’

Because those were the ones who weren’t put off by him. Mostly. ‘So you think that I’m just going to have my way with her and toss her when I’m done?’

‘Well, it’s not like you’re intending on Bonding with her.’

Those words shifted inside of him, heavy and bitter. What she’d said wasn’t wrong per se, but the idea of Cynthia being so unconnected with him was… he cleared his throat. ‘That’s not your concern. I want you to look after her.’

‘Well, I’ll fit her in where I can around–’

‘No, prioritise her. Whatever her needs are, they supersede anything else.’ Cynthia wouldn’t suffer more than she needed to. He’d make sure of it.

Silence filled the line. He couldn’t blame her. If he was told fifty… no, twenty years ago that he would be so taken with a random woman, a human woman, he would’ve brushed it off as mad ravings. And yet, here he was.

‘Corvin, that’s a bit–’

‘Russia.’ 

A sharp intake of breath. ‘Really? You’re using Russia?’

If Hilda didn’t understand this, there was no point in trying. The clock on his desk let out a soft chime. It was early, but Cynthia had spent most of her time here in and out of sleep. She needed to eat something soon. ‘Do I need to call a different doctor, Hilda?’

A couple minutes passed. ‘... I understand. I’ll prioritise her.’

He let out a breath. Good. For all her sass, Hilda was one of the most competent doctors he’d met. ‘Is there anything you can tell me?’

There was a faint tapping of keyboard keys alongside some mouse clicks. ‘Losing some weight might help, but it’s not a guarantee. To be honest, her unstable blood sugar is more of a concern. It’s probably because of her erratic eating patterns, so I’ll send Agnes some meal ideas to get her into a routine. Again, I can’t say it’ll make a massive difference to her chronic illness but it won’t make it worse.’ More mouse clicking. ‘Oh! I also made a bit of discovery. Do you remember those weird bean-bag thingies the humans hung from their battle gear during the war?’

He frowned. ‘The ones that gave them that strange smell?’

‘Yes. Apparently, they kept refining whatever they soaked it with and turned it into a medicinal spray of sorts.’

‘A medicinal spray? For what purpose?’ Such a niche product could only have so many uses.

‘According to the government’s medicine database, it’s to keep humans safe. It must’ve been part of the treaty. From what I can tell, it’s heavily regulated and is only allowed to be used for medical purposes.’

While surprising, that made sense. It can’t be that common, or it would’ve swept through the supernatural community quicker than a flood in winter. Many would remember it – whether they wanted to or not. ‘So it does what? Give people an off-putting smell?’ 

‘No, it erases their smell entirely.’

Ugh, what time was it now? Rolling over, she blinked, the glow of the fireplace stinging her eyes as they adjusted. The room was dark again, so someone must’ve closed the curtains. Probably Hilda. Crying in front of other people was beyond embarrassing, but there was nothing like falling asleep after it. Sure, her body ached all over, but an earthquake would have struggled to wake her.

With a rumble, her stomach twisted. When had she last eaten? Yesterday… no, that didn’t sound right, but moving would be such a pain in the arse. To Hilda’s credit, she hadn’t flinched or gasped or made any sort of expression when she’d seen her wounds. Instead, she’d scrubbed her hands clean in the bathroom. Prodded the skin with experienced yet gentle fingers, moving past the swellings that were obviously painful. Inspected the extensive scarring in her armpits and thighs. Sobs had racked her body, fear and self-disgust rising in her throat, when Hilda had to look… down there. She’d kept her knickers on and Hilda had maintained the same cool, professional efficiency, tugging the fabric when she needed to examine a scar or potential wound site better. At least she’d been quicker about it.

After she’d calmed down, Hilda scrubbed her hands again and reapplied thicker dressings more secure than she could’ve made them, and scrubbed her hands once more so she could scribble some notes.

It seems like at least a couple of the wounds are infected. Do you still have some antibiotics? Not a problem, I’ll bring some for you. How many are you normally prescribed? That won’t be enough, I’ll give you more. Don’t worry about listing them, I’ll take a look at your file. Dressings… I’ll bring more of those as well, or at least ones that are more comfortable. Your current ones look like they’re doing more harm than good. I’ll need to take some blood samples, partially to confirm the infection but I want to check a couple more things. You’ll get the results no later than tomorrow.

There was no fighting, no arguing, no… no begging for medicine or dressings. And seemingly no judgement. Unshed tears pricked at the corner of her eyes again. Maybe she should get Hilda a fancy hamper with some pricey marmalade. Maybe a lime one. Was that luxurious enough?

In any case, walking wouldn’t be as much of a problem, but this was an estate. The kitchen could be in another borough depending on how big it was. She stretched, careful not to move too much in case it pulled at her skin. No need to cause unnecessary pain.

A book closed with a soft snap. She stiffened. Then scrambled to sit up.

Mr Thornveil sat leaning back in the not-so-oversized wingback chair, his black suit jacket open and revealing a waistcoat in some satin-looking material and a corresponding black tie contrasting with a crisp white shirt. The book was now placed on top of his crossed legs. Fingers tapped a gentle rhythm on the hard cover, fire flickering in his eyes and across his rings. The warmth of it distorted his expression, turned him unfamiliar, but the glimpses of him in the angular shadows flitting over his features were more him.

Had Hilda told him? She wouldn’t have. She’d promised. Not that that’d stopped anyone before.

‘How are you feeling?’ His voice was deeper without the usual café noise, the crackling of the fire almost high pitched in comparison.

Heat settled between her hips and– No, not now. She swallowed. ‘Um, better, thank you.’ Good, she didn’t sound as hoarse as before.

‘In that case, you must be quite hungry. Agnes is reheating dinner so we should make our way down to the dining room. I believe it’s some sort of beef stew.’

Her stomach rumbled, heat filling her face before the noise stopped. The corner of his lips kicking up was a trick of the light. It had to be. 

‘Um, before… before that I wanted to ask why I’m here.’

‘You’re unwell. I thought a more restful environment would help you recover.’ The way he said it was so matter of fact. It would be convincing if it didn’t skirt around him kidnapping her.

… should she push? He seemed like a patient man, but he was a stalker. That meant he was at least a little crazy, right? But it wasn’t obvious by how much or what form his kind of crazy took outside of kidnapping. His neutral expressions could be a façade like the suits that covered his broad shoulders, clung to his trim waist–

‘Your colleague, Veloura, was quite concerned,’ he said, eyes roaming her face. ‘Give me your hand.’

Oh God, Veloura! And Sorrel! They were probably worried sick and she was just… just… sitting here chatting to her kidnapper! ‘I should leave.’ It was dark now, but maybe she could call a cab somehow. The only problem was finding out the address.

His gaze darkened, and he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. ‘Cynthia, give me your hand.’ 

There was that heat between her hips again, heavier and more persistent. If she sat on his lap, would he push her off? Stare at her with the cold detachment he often had when looking at his phone? Or would he… pull her closer by gripping her hips, his cheek grazing hers, low chiding voice in her ear telling her to listen to da–

Another swallow. With a slight tremble in her hand, she held it out, palm up. His hand curled around hers, tugging it a little closer to him, the heat of his skin almost stinging. He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out her phone, placing it in her hand.

‘I thought you’d want to contact her and let them know you’re okay.’

Her phone was there. In her palm. He wasn’t cutting her off from the outside world. That was a good thing but… what did it mean? Snatching her from her flat just to let her go didn’t make any sense. His thumb brushed her wrist and sent a shiver up her spine. 

‘Um, thank you.’ Why the hell was she thanking her kidnapper?!

Seconds or minutes passed, the chill in her hand thawing away with his body heat as he observed her without blinking. And she couldn’t look away even as she squirmed inside under his attention. They couldn’t stay like this for the rest of the night. It was weird. She licked her lips. He followed the movement, something other than the fire glimmering in his eyes as they stayed on her lips. Her breath quickened slightly.

If he leaned forward a bit more, his lips would be–

The loudest rumble yet from her stomach shattered the trance she was in. Flushing with heat again, she yanked her hand back and shoved it under the duvet, fixing her eyes on the bed. 

‘Time for dinner then,’ he said, something like amusement lacing his voice. ‘I’ll wait outside and give you a moment to get ready.’ 

She glanced up, his wide back facing her, but instead of heading towards the door, he moved towards the end of the bed. Lifting the lid on what had looked like a bench before, he pulled out something fluffy and walked back to place it on the floor.

‘When I renovated, I had underfloor heating installed throughout, but I thought this would add to your comfort,’ he said as he straightened up.

A bit odd trying to make an abductee comfortable, but then she wasn’t a kidnapper. On the floor were fluffy slippers in… white? Pink? It was hard to tell in the dim light. ‘Uh, you didn’t have to, but thank you. Again.’

A beat passed. ‘I did it because I wanted to, Cynthia.’ That glimmer was back in his eyes. ‘And you’re welcome,’ he said, expression turning neutral and oblivious to the way her womb clenched at his towering form. ‘Take your time.’ And he left, the door closing behind him with a muted snick.

The crackle of the fire was sharp in his absence. Saying that he did it because he wanted to was a manipulation tactic, but it was pointless. She had nothing to give him. Money, a high-flying career, model looks, connections – she didn’t have any of that.

Shaking her head, she threw the covers back and slipped her feet into the plushest clouds that existed on earth. And of course they were the right size. How the hell did he know that? Did he take a sneaky look at her shoes somehow? She wiggled her toes in the fluffiness, and then stood. Oh God. There was nothing but softness between her and the floor. In fact, she couldn’t feel the floor. Her threadbare slippers at home were probably cursing her for being such a whore right now.

Well, irrelevant of what happened from here on out, she couldn’t do it on an empty stomach. A few cushioned steps, and she was in the bathroom, switching on the light–

Oh. Fuck. Is this what she looked like right now? Putting aside the bags under her eyes and how alarmingly pale her brown skin looked, her hair… her hair! It was a matted mess, curls sticking out in random places while other strands were either flat or crooked. And all of it was frizzy!

In school, they’d learnt that some animal shifters inherited their night vision prowess from their ancestors. Were vampires the same? Could they see everything in the dark like it was daylight?

… no. Nope. For her own sanity, they could not. Mr Thornveil could only see what she could. There was no reason to panic.

Otherwise, she might have to see if the bathroom windows open – and how far.