Page 65 of Vampire Soldier

There’s a difference between wanting to protect someone and keeping them in the dark, and right now it feels like he’s choosing the latter. It’s frustrating. Especially because I’ve always been on my own. I’ve handled everything for Charlie and me; sure, I’ve had support from Tonya and other friends, but they’ve had their own lives and issues to deal with.

I’ve never been able to afford to be the damsel in distress, waiting for a knight to save the day.

I can’t let myself be like that any longer. Two days was enough. I don’t know what’s going to happen between Malachi and me, but life has taught me to never rely on people, especially men. The world makes it too easy for a man to walk away while a woman is stuck in a world that’s crumbling around her.

The penthouse is as pristine as ever, a sanctuary of marble and soft gray hues. Still, it feels almost clinical with its elegance, devoid of the warmth that comes from a place lived in and loved. In a household where sentiment should reign, the open spaces feel more like a museum, meticulously curated and managed instead of lived in. Through its open door, the guest room I’ve been sharing with Charlie is the only one that really looks lived in, my daughter’s bag and clothes piled against the wall.

I find Malachi already in his small office, the door wide open. I’ve done my best to respect his privacy, knowing I’m his guest, so it’s the first time I’ve been in here. Immediately, I notice that the office seems to match the rest of the penthouse—completely without personality or heart.

He doesn’t look up when I close the door behind me. He’s flipping through a stack of papers, brows furrowed in concentration. God, he makes even the mundane attractive. I probably would have given in sooner if I’d had to see Malachi in his office every day at The Place. But right now, I don’t want to think of our working arrangement or the undeniable connection I felt last night. Instead, I clear my throat.

“Malachi?”

He looks up, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Blake.” His voice resonates, deep and steady, wrapping around my senses like a hug. “Charlie’s settled in?”

“Yeah, she’s already sucked into that new survival show.” I keep my tone light. It’s hard to ignore the feeling that builds from him so easily asking about her. Like she’s her own person and not just an accessory in my life.

“Good.” He eases back into his chair, fingers brushing over the stack of papers again. I watch as he steels himself into that posture—slight hunch of the shoulders, jawline tightening—almost like he’s building walls to stop me from rounding the desk.

The air grows charged between us as I stare at him from across his desk. There’s a low, narrow couch along one wall where I could sit, but I’m having a hard enough time not pacing. What’s worse is he’s just looking at me, like he’s waiting for me to start this conversation. Like I’m the only party responsible when he could have opened up communication at any point over the last forty-eight hours.

Suddenly, it’s like all the frustration and stress and anxiety and bullshit I’ve been pushing down for the last week is rising up. No longer letting me ignore it and telling myself I’ll deal with all the little things when I have more time.

“Do you want to tell me why I’m getting texts from my brother about my locks being changed and people apparently guarding my house?”

Malachi doesn’t flinch. And he doesn’t make a joke about Sam like I had with Charlie earlier.

“I’ve also had an alarm system installed.”

My mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me right now?” Until that night, we’d never had an issue before.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift. Just meets my incredulous stare with infuriating calm.

“Seriously?” I snap. “You changed the locks. You installed an alarm. Apparently, you even put guards outside my home. Did you ever stop to think for one moment to, I don’t know—” I throw my hands up in exasperation, “—ask me if I wanted you to do any of that?”

I laugh—but there’s no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. Because why would you? Why consult the woman who actually lives there?”

His jaw ticks, but he stays still, calm. Too calm. It just pisses me off even more. I scoff before running my hands over my hair, before holding my nape, shaking my head.

He leans forward slightly. “Blake?—”

“No. You don’t get to Blake me right now.” My hands are shaking as I point at him. I’m unraveling. “You’re acting like it’s no big deal that you made decisions about my life without even asking me. Mydaughter’slife. That you’re entitled to do whatever you want, just because you were there that night?—“

I break off, breath shallow. My voice comes out smaller, sharper. My voice cracks, the emotions I’ve shoved down rising like a tide. “You were there—right when everything happened. You didn’t just show up. You intervened. Like it was nothing. Like you’d been waiting.”

It’s like a torrent of ice water crashes against me, the fire of anger gone in an instant as something horrible occurs to me. Nausea twists my insides, my skin soaked in a cold sweat as fear overtakes me. I don’t know who Malachi is, not really. Fear for me, for being an idiot. Fear for Charlie downstairs?—

In a blink, he’s no longer seated.

Malachi is right in front of me.

His eyes burn gold, fangs bared in a snarl. The air crackles around him.

“Don’t.” His voice shakes with barely leashed rage, but it isn’t cold—it’s blistering. “Don’t you dare suggest I’d hurt you like that. Don’t even fucking think it.”

There’s an honesty to his defense that strikes any doubt of him from me.

“I have done a lot of things, Blake,” he grits out, fangs still bared, breath sharp as cut glass. “But I have never, not once, put you or your daughter in harm’s way. Not then. Not ever.”

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