Page 82 of My Bloody Valentine

A horn blares, snapping me from my thoughts. I’ve been standing at the green light, lost in my head. Other pedestrians brush past, shooting me irritated looks.

I start walking again, but my feet feel like lead. How did I end up here? Caught between my oldest friend and the man who awakened something twisted in me?

My reflection catches in a store window, and I can’t ignore how haunted and pale I look.

I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over Amelia’s number. What can I possibly say to make her understand? How do I protect her without betraying Adrian?

The cold seeps through my coat as I stand there, torn between two worlds. One safe and familiar, the other dangerous and intoxicating. Both are equally vital to who I’ve become.

34

ADRIAN

Iwatch Maya's delicate hands temper the dark chocolate, her movements precise and graceful. In my private kitchen, the metallic scent of our special ingredient mingles with the rich aroma of cocoa.

"The shell needs to be thinner here." I guide her wrist, showing her how to tap the excess chocolate from the mold. "It's the perfect balance between delicate and sturdy."

"Like us," Maya says, a knowing smile on her lips. Her fingers brush against the fresh scratches on my forearm from our latest hunt.

"That hedge fund manager will make an exquisite addition to our Easter collection." I press my lips to her neck, tasting the lingering sweetness there.

Maya hums in agreement, carefully filling each shell with our signature filling. "The bitterness of his fear paired beautifully with the Madagascar vanilla."

I admire how naturally she's taken to our craft, her culinary expertise elevating our creations to new heights. Where I once worked alone, we now move in perfect synchronization. She understands the artistry required to transform base emotions into sublime confections.

"The rabbits need that hollow center," Maya suggests. "It adds depth, makes people question what's missing."

"Like the void that they all carry inside." I wrap my arms around her waist as she pipes delicate decorations onto each piece. "Until we fill it with something meaningful."

The timer chimes, and Maya retrieves our latest batch from the tempering machine. The chocolate gleams like polished obsidian, hiding its crimson secrets. We've become partners in every sense—in the kitchen, in the hunt, and in life and death. Our Easter collection will be our finest work yet, each piece infused with the essence of carefully selected donors.

"Taste." I offer her a spoonful of ganache, watching her eyes flutter closed as the flavors bloom across her tongue. Her gift for sensing emotions makes her the perfect collaborator, able to detect every nuance we capture in our creations.

My phone buzzes as Maya continues her careful work with the chocolate. A text from Gabe lights up the screen—a photo of Amelia's latest piece being installed in his jazz club. The sweeping abstract curves in deep burgundy and midnight blue perfectly capture the soul of jazz.

I smile, remembering how Gabe's eyes lit up when he saw Amelia's work. He'd been hunting for the right artist to transform his club's atmosphere, and Maya's suggestion of her best friend proved perfect in more ways than one.

Amelia's art speaks to the same shadows that drive Gabe when he's on the hunt. Where I am precise and methodical, Gabe embraces chaos. His kills are messy, passionate affairs, like Amelia's bold brushstrokes that bleed across the canvas.

"They balance each other," I murmur, watching Maya's skilled hands work.

"Hmm?" She glances up.

"Gabe and Amelia. Her light keeps him in check. And he allows her to explore the deeper parts of herself through her art."I show her the photo. "Look how the red bleeds into black here—like blood in water."

Maya nods, understanding. "She's been different lately. More... free. Less afraid of what people think of her work."

That's what happens when you find someone who truly sees you. Gabe may be rough around the edges, but he recognizes the beauty in Amelia's twisted pieces—the ones galleries deemed too disturbing to display—just as I recognized the perfect partner in Maya's ability to taste emotions.

"Their installation opening is next Friday," I note, typing a quick response to Gabe. "We should bring a special box of truffles to celebrate."

I'm reviewing inventory reports when Detective Carter walks into my boutique, his badge glinting under the crystal chandeliers. Maya tenses beside me, but years of practice keep my expression neutral.

"Mr. Vale. We're investigating several disappearances connected to local restaurants." Carter's eyes scan the pristine display cases. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course not, Detective." I gesture to the tasting room. "Maya, would you fetch us some coffee?"

As Maya heads to the back, I text Gabe under the counter, "Police. We need backup."

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