Chapter 10

"Oh," Thornfield narrows his eyes at me. "I thought Nova was coming?" In the museum's entrance hall, he stands, as usual, stock still. He's like a fucking statue. Like his movements are all calculated, controlled, thought through. He barely ever folds his arms, or scratches his chin. He's the picture of composure.

Except when he encounters werewolves, apparently. Because the way he is with Sam is not calm or composed.

"She's busy." I don't like the way he looks at her. She told me what happened between her, Thornfield, and Kole. And, sure, it turned me on. I mean, I'm fine with her wanting the guy.

But I'm not okay with him wanting to fuck her. I don't trust him not to go for a bite – to try and taste the blood he's heard so much about. So, when she got up to leave, I suggested she stay with Mack and Snow.

"I'll go," I said gently, kissing her forehead. "You enjoy the sunset from up here. Just the three of you."

It broke my heart to see the look in Mack's eyes as he nodded his thanks at me. And then made me feel horribly guilty because my motivation was to keep her away from Thornfield, not to give him more time with her.

I bite my lower lip.

Something in Mack's demeanor is bothering me. I know he's in pain. But it's more than that; it's like he's given up. And I don't know how to handle that.

Sam, too, is in trouble. He's absent more than not, and I'm struggling to know how to bring him back into the fold of the group when we have so many other things to deal with.

In the darkness of the doorway, Thornfield quirks a dark eyebrow and me and his large shoulders twitch beneath his suit jacket. For once, I wish he'd turn up in jeans and a sweatshirt, looking anything other than the suave mother fucker he is.

"In that case, I don't need company," he says slowly.

"I'm afraid you do." I walk toward the main doors and fling them open. Dull evening light streams in. Not for the first time, I'm stunned by the fact Thornfield doesn't flinch or shrink back like every other vampire. He simply walks to the edge of the shadow, toe just over the line, and inhales slowly – like he's daring the sun to try and burn him.

"You do not trust me," he says, staring out into the museum courtyard.

Behind us, the security guard tuts and makes a show of rubbing his arms against the chill in the air.

"You failed to get the scepter back. It was kind of your one job." I lean against the doorframe, deliberately positioning myself in the light.

"I was outbid. There was nothing I could do. The Anti-Magick-Alliance?—"

"Must have found themselves a wealthy benefactor if they can outbid a Thornfield." I turn and fix my eyes on him. "Your family has controlled this city for centuries. We all know the kind of wealth you have stashed away."

"My family—" Thornfield stops. There's a flash of irritation in his eyes, and a tiny speck of red that makes me want to keep pushing him. Through gritted teeth, he continues, "My family is none of your business."

I turn back toward the courtyard. As soon as the sun dips below the horizon, we can leave. Any minute now…

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Thornfield says, taking a flask from his pocket and bringing it to his lips. He sips loudly, and the tang of blood fills my nostrils. "Not being able to read me?"

I shrug, but I'm pretty sure he can see from the look on my face that he's right. "How do you do it? You don't shield. So, is it just that you don't have emotions?"

"I have them. I just choose not to lean into them. And I'm well practised at keeping them locked away." Thornfield steeples his fingers and smirks a little. "I'm a lot older than you, remember. A lot older."

I chew my lower lip and feel my jaw twitch. "Plus, you're a demon." I'm talking more to myself than to him. "Generally speaking, empaths can't read the feelings of demons."

Thornfield lets out a short sharp chuckle. "A demon, am I? Is that a fact?"

"It's a theory."

"A theory no one can quite agree on… are vampires demons? Soulless? Evil? Or are we just like you? Not human. More thanhuman. But not demons. Just different."

"That's a question for a philosopher, not me."

"I'm interested in what you think."

"Bullshit." I stand up straight and pace a little back and forth. I don't know how he manages to rile me up like this, but I don't like it. I'm used to being able to control my emotions, and the irony of the fact I can't read Thornfield's but he makes mine surge, is not lost on me.

"Sun."

"What?" I snap.

"The sun has gone down. We can leave."

* * *

It's strange seeing Thornfield outside of the museum. In the half-light, his face looks different. Paler, somehow, yet the muscles are more defined.

For a brief moment, he stops and turns his face up toward the sky, as if he's trying to catch the memory of the sun and hold it on his closed eyelids. A pang of sympathy hits me smack in the chest. I spent years in a concrete box when HEL had me in their clutches; I know what it's like not to feel daylight. To feel like your entire body has become paper thin. Like it might waste away.

For Thornfield, it has been centuries. Exactly how many, I have no idea.

We've all heard the rumors about the vampire families that controlled England for so many centuries. How, slowly, they became like the supernatural mafia – grasping hold of the cities in which they lived and ruling with cruel fists in order to keep our kind protected. And to further their own desires, of course.

Legend says Thornfield's family is the oldest of them all.

How many centuries is that?

How many hundreds of years has he lived in the dark?

"Problem?" he asks, opening his eyes and looking at me the way a dog looks at someone who's trying to steal his food when he's sleeping.

"No. Just think we should get moving."

Thornfield holds out his arm and gestures toward the archway that leads out onto the main street. "After you."

He leads me past streams of traffic, and stores. Bright Christmas themed lights, joyful storefronts, stressed parents carrying bags of shopping. Large noisy buses and queues of miserable, cold, people waiting to board them. Then into the large, picturesque market square.

With a church as its backdrop, and stalls still lit up despite the late hour, it's the sort of place I'd want to stay and explore if we were here for any other purpose.

Perhaps one day soon, we can take Nova on vacation. Go somewhere with the purpose of – dare I say it – relaxing instead of fighting for our lives.

Cocktails, Nova in a bikini, clear blue water… my lips twitch and my cock copies them. It has been too long since I ravished her body. In the past, the adrenaline of the fight seemed to fuel our need for each other. All of us. But something about this trip feels fractured. Perhaps because Luther isn't here. Perhaps because of what's happening to Mack – and the thought he might…

I stop myself, shake my head, and follow Thornfield across the square.

Like a moving shadow, he dips into a small dark alleyway and comes to a halt opposite a tiny abandoned cemetery. Weird location for a bunch of gravestones. But, then, everything about this old English city is weird. Unplanned. Built up, and around, and on top of itself to try and make it fit modern day life when, really, it belongs in the past.

Thornfield stops in front of a store with a red-framed window and a worn-looking door. The sign reads The Haunted bookstore.

I read it twice before laughing and swiping my fingers through my hair. "Are you serious?"

Thornfield scowls at me as if I've just insulted his favorite bar. "Yes," he says. "I am serious."

I open my mouth to respond, but something about the look in his eyes, and the tensing of his jaw, tells me not to. Instead, I shrug and allow him to be the first through the door.

As it opens, it rings gently. We wipe our feet on the mat.

It's the smallest store I have ever been in, and the scent of old books is almost overwhelming. "Mack would love this," I mutter, turning to look at the crowded shelves.

"Well, if we're successful you can bring him here for a day out," Thornfield snarks. After a slight pause, he adjusts his suit jacket and straightens his shoulders.

Something has shifted in his demeanour. Probably imperceptible to anyone else, but for me – something tingles just on the edge of what would normally be there.

Emotion.

Feeling.

Something is almost palpable.

And when a figure emerges at the top of the tiny staircase next to the counter, I realize why…

A blond woman with hips to rival Nova's appears and makes her way down toward us. Her curves weren't made for the small staircase, so she turns sideways slightly, but smiles when she reaches eye level with Thornfield.

Smiles. Then frowns a little. "It's you," she says.

Her crystal blue eyes lock with his.

And the tension that swells in the air is enough to make me feel like I need to turn away or wait outside.

Tucking a blond ringlet behind her ear, she reaches out to shake Thornfield's hand. He looks at her pale, delicate fingers as if he might combust if he touches them.

I wonder if she sees what I do – if she feels what I do – or if she's completely oblivious.

When he curls his fingers around hers, she simply nods and says, "We didn't have the chance to introduce ourselves properly last night. My name is Luna."

Thornfield moistens his lips. I notice his tongue linger on one of his fangs, but she hasn't seen it – she's still staring into his eyes.

"Lucien Thornfield," he says.

"I'm glad you came back, Professor," she says, slipping behind the counter and checking the time on an old-fashioned watch she wears on her left wrist.

"I couldn't stay away." Thornfield moves closer to the counter. He has regained his composure now, and is back to his usual stoic self.

Except… he's not.

I see it now.

This woman has no idea who he is. But he knows who she is, and he is very clearly in love with her.