This entire situation was a gods-damned disaster.
As luck would have it—andto be clear, he was not feeling lucky at all—things rapidly deteriorated from there.
While Brynleigh showered, he put a few bags of blood in the bedroom for her, along with her suitcase. He wasn’t a monster, no matter what she believed. Then he grabbed some food, made another coffee, sat at the kitchen table, and pulled out his phone.
It had been vibrating nearly non-stop since early this morning.
Sighing, he unlocked the device and stared at the notifications. He had two dozen unread emails. He tapped on the first one, the subject line simply titledUrgent.
Captain Waterborn,
What is this I hear about Brynleigh Waterborn, formally Brynleigh de la Point, being removed from The Pit? The vampire has proven ties to the Black Night.
Under whose authority were you acting?
An immediate response is required.
- General Killian
Ryker typed out a quick reply reiterating that he was acting under orders from the Head Witch and to direct any concerns to her.
He closed the email, only to realize that each message in his inbox was a variation of the first. A low throb came to life in his temples, and he rubbed his forehead.
An hour later, he finished answering each message. He had started copying and pasting his replies halfway through, but by then, it was too late. The throb had turned into a pulsing ache.
Brynleigh had yet to emerge from the bedroom.
Needing to stretch his legs, he tucked his phone in his back pocket and strode over to her door.
A frown tugged at his lips, and he pressed his ear against the wood.
The room was completely silent.
His frown deepened as he knocked and called her name.
Still no response.
She wouldn’t have been so stupid as to try and escape, right? Not after he’d just freed her from prison. Although maybe she did. After all, it wasn’t like he truly knew her.
A thousand curses ran through his mind as he twisted the handle, opening the door. A growl rose in his throat, but he tamped it down as he took in the scene before him.
The room was washed in darkness. Curtains covered the window. The carpet was black. The wastebasket by the door was filled with empty bags that had once contained blood. Shadows snaked around Brynleigh’s hands and feet.
She was naked and stretched out on the bed, her body covered by the same thin quilt. Her right arm reached above her head like she was trying to grab something. Hair flowed down the side of the mattress, and her eyes were shut as she slumbered.
A whimper escaped her, and she rolled onto her stomach.
Ryker clenched his fists, and though this felt like an extreme violation of her privacy, he couldn’t make himself move. Anger held him in place.
Half of him wanted to throttle her, to kill her for wanting to kill him, and yet, the other half was drawn to her. He wanted to brush her hair away from her cheek, to check on her bruises and ensure they were disappearing. He wanted to be with her. Hold her and kiss her and love her like he had before their world imploded.
Right now, she didn’t look like a monster. She didn’t even look dangerous. If anything, she looked like she was his.
Except, she wasn’t fucking his. She’d never been his.
He rubbed a fist over his aching heart. She’d lied and intended to kill him, and like a fucking fool, he’d fallen in love with her.
The headache worsened.