Bite Marks & Broken Hearts (The Killigrew Street Case Files, #1)

by T.J. Rose

What you forgot. The familiar fog rolled through my mind, memories slipping away like smoke whenever I tried to grasp them. Faces without names. Places without context. Centuries of existence, reduced to fragments and whispers.

Rory—” “Yeah?” “Try not to touch anything.” “That was one time—” “Three times,” Kit corrected. “Last month alone.”

gorgeously soft, a crocheted criss-cross of tawny wool with holes in, revealing a pattern of my bare, pale skin. Extremely risqué, for me.

But London was different. Here, I could finally be myself. Tonight was about new beginnings, about finally living my life on my terms.

The back of my neck prickled, and I knew—I just knew—it was the staring, smoking-hot dude before I even turned around. I spun, and there he was. Close. Way, way too close.

Don’t let yourself become a human ice lolly was a new one, but apparently it needed adding to the list. I’d wondered earlier why Damien had

“Ah yes, because that always goes down well with terrified civilians.” Kit’s Scottish accent grew thicker with his amusement. “Face it, boss. You deserved that knee to the balls.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Are you quite finished?” “Not even close.” Kit grinned, all teeth. “Should I assign you a protective cup for this mission? We’ve got spare gear in the weapons room.”

His proximity hit me like a slap. That scent—salt and sugar and life—wrapped around me, drawing me in. My throat burned with sudden, vicious thirst. You fool. I should have drunk before leaving Killigrew Street.

I offered him my hand to shake, and if I was being honest, it was mainly so I could feel the warmth of his skin once more.

Killigrew Street was a slice of nineteenth century London that time had forgotten. The cobblestones inclined gently, past terraced houses in faded

“Flynn.” His voice softened. “I promise you’re safe.” Right. Because following a stranger into a basement was the epitome of safety. Every horror film ever made screamed at me to run.

As I sank back, the sofa cushions molded perfectly to my body, and I felt… almost cozy. Like I’d walked into someone’s slightly chaotic family home rather than a secret underground lair.

Thick veins traced paths beneath his skin, rising and falling over prominent tendons that flexed as his fingers worked each precise fold. A light dusting of dark hair highlighted the sculptural quality of his arms—like something carved from bronze, all clean lines and sharp angles. Christ. What was in this tea?

“I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘What exactly is this strange establishment I find myself in?’” Actually, I was fantasising about licking your forearms while simultaneously sort of still pondering if I’m going to die, but sure, let’s go with that.

“Oh, a lesser demon.” I mimed wiping fake tears from my eyes, just to be dramatic. “No need to panic, then. But sure, why not? And I suppose next you’ll tell me your blond friend upstairs is secretly a werewolf?” Sebastián’s lips parted. “Well, we don’t use that terminology… but yes. How did you know?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. What the fuck was I doing? The man had just told me demons were real and I was dying, and here I was, practically throwing myself at him.

As if sensing my gaze, he turned, those dark eyes meeting mine. Something passed between us—a spark of… something. Then he looked away, leaving me with only the memory of amber flecks in darkness.

I didn’t want Flynn Carter to see me as a monster. Not when he looked at me with such raw, unguarded trust—like I was some kind of saviour who could piece him back together.

“Want another tea?” Flynn asked. “I found some proper loose leaf stuff in this cupboard.” More tea? Shouldn’t they want to sleep? “Yes, please. Though technically that’s Kit’s private stash…” “I won’t tell if you won’t.” Another easy laugh rolled forth. Something tight coiled in my chest. What sort of magic had Flynn worked to draw Felix out of his shell so effortlessly? The rest of us had tried for months without success.

“Though I have to say,” I continued. “It was more decoration than defence against the cold.” He grimaced, two pleasant pink dots appearing on his cheeks. “Damien ripped it. To shreds.” “Oh, that’s a shame.” And it was, though perhaps not for the purely practical reasons I should have been concerned with.

Our eyes met across the dim kitchen, and something electric passed between us. His gaze held such raw honesty—a mirror to my own centuries of isolation.

Rory replied. “I’d have him for my sugar daddy in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t cope with the brooding, you know? Can you pass me my water? It’s in the back.”

His smile morphed into a scowl. “Terrier. It was revenge for Kit’s being Poodle.” I burst out laughing, the mental image of the intimidating Kit being called “Poodle” too much to handle. “You’re joking!”

“Most civilians fear you initially. Or at minimum show proper caution. He… well, he doesn’t. Even after the firearms discharge and that failed extraction outside his residence.”

“We might not be able to save him, you know.” The thought speared ice through my own chest.

“You remind me of my grandfather.” The insult shouldn’t have sounded flirtatious, but paired with the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the slight bite of his lower lip, and that deliberate press of his knee against mine…

Why was it that his blood sang to me so sweetly, unlike his friend Emma’s, who worked alongside him? Or any of the customers, for that matter—sat far closer to me than he was.

“One cinnamon roll.” For a moment, I expected his eyes to widen—for him to have read my mind. Because I didn’t want a cinnamon roll to eat it, of course. The truth was far more pathetic—I simply wanted something that reminded me of his scent.

“Sorry,” he said to me, flashing a grin. “I had to tell her you’re weirdly obsessed with me, and that’s why you’re back again.” Ah. Not far from the truth, then.

In that moment, all restraint, all control, fled me. A crimson haze of fury descended as the predator within raged at the threat to what was mine.

Threatening an innocent human, my human, was unforgivable. My human.

I’d surely shattered Flynn’s trust this evening, and that caused a deep, profound ache to bloom in my chest. Would I see a flicker of fear in his eyes tomorrow, and each day after that?

He was wearing fresh clothes—another tight shirt, rolled up to reveal those magnetising forearms of his, though no tie for once.

Staring at the tea spilled on the counter, it suddenly occurred to me he hadn’t had a single sip. I sighed. “You can’t drink tea, can you?” He chuckled. “Darn. I thought I was going to get away with that. I’ll have a few sips, as you made it for me. But no. As you may have gathered, my dietary requirements are rather more… haemoglobin-based.”

The steam from my tea curled up between us. The memory of him tasting my blood rose sharp and clear—his tongue against his thumb, those eyes blazing with something wild and hungry.

His mouth quirked up at one corner. “I’ve had lovers of each and every persuasion over the centuries.”

“But you’ve been flirting with me.” His eyes narrowed. “I most certainly have not!” I might have had limited experience with relationships, but I wasn’t about to get gaslit by him, centuries-old vampire or not. “Really? What about ‘I find you incredibly attractive and your blood is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my mouth?’” His lips pressed together. “That wasn’t flirting. Those were simply… observations.”

“You don’t have a heartbeat.” His arms tightened fractionally around me. “I’m sorry.” The weight behind those two words hit me—he wasn’t apologising for his lack of pulse. He was sorry for being what he was, for all the barriers it created between us.

“I’d carry you up those stairs, throw you on my bed, and give you exactly what you deserve.” I pulled my head back, arching an eyebrow at him. “I think you and I have very different definitions of flirting, Sebastián.” “That was simply another—” “Observation,” I finished for him,

“Right. Yes. Absolutely.” He stepped back, running a hand through his curls. “That would be… wise.” “Wouldn’t want to tempt you with any more observations.” I backed towards the door, fighting a grin despite my predicament. “Purely out of respect for your noble vow, of course.”

“Though I must say, for someone who doesn’t flirt, you’re remarkably good at—” “Goodnight, Flynn.”

Rory says I shouldn’t waste perfectly good pastries on silly photos but he’s just jealous of my model potential LOL Then, a second later: (laugh out loud, not lots of love) xxx

just in case you thought I meant lots of love LOL btw the xxx was a typo, soz, I’m not flirting!!! I felt my forehead tug into the frown that surfaced anytime my teammates tormented me with their silly acronyms. Thank you for clarifying, Flynn.

but it was his rolled‑up shirtsleeves that caught my attention—and held it. There should be laws against exposing forearms like that. I accidentally licked my lips, then dragged my gaze up to his face, where his mouth quirked into an amused smile.

“Though I suppose we shouldn’t dismiss Priya’s romantic predictions so quickly. After all…” He stepped closer, and my breath caught. “Her observations about new connections have proven rather accurate lately.”

“Are you going to ghost me?” “What?” “I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone?” “Well, I’m already dead, aren’t I? Though I suppose vampires are an upgrade compared to ghosts—all the haunting, none of the walking through walls.”

Flynn was gone. Taken. Taken from me. Mine. They’d taken what was mine.

“That’s… actually quite useful.” “First time anyone’s called them useful.” I cut through the ties around his ankles. “Usually it’s more along the lines of ‘horrifying.’” “Well, I’m grateful for them.”

Delicious, delicious Flynn. Lovely Flynn. My Flynn. “No,” I tried again, the word a whisper. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Fantastic. Demon-enhanced blood donor, at your service. I’ll be sure to leave every pint of it to you when I die.”