How would you react if you woke up at night to find Wren in your kitchen?

Chapter 3: Hate, Kiss, Kill

The nightmare started how it always did.

My hand reached out for the doorhandle of my flat, a shadow fell over me, then I'm wrenched away from the door, mouth parting to scream before a hand clamps down to stop any sound escaping. I fought like always, scratching at the hand over my mouth and the arm around my waist, kicking, jerking about, throwing my head back, all to no avail. I'm dragged to the deserted garages, thrown against the rattling metal door, fighting for breath. . .

Normally, this point of the replay of my attack is when I see its face for the first time, it's red, bloodshot eyes, yellow teeth bared in a snarl, but this time, when I lifted my head to look the monster in the eye, the attacker had Taran's face. He smiled at me, hand squeezing my throat so tight my head feels like it will burst, then he struck for my throat.

***

Skin slick with sweat, duvet damp around my legs, I blinked into the darkness as fear slowly loosened its grip around my throat. Not Taran's hand. But this wasn't my uncomfy single bed either.

Soft snoring drew my gaze across the room - my room at Mum and Dad's I realised - to see Laura contorted on my pullout couch, mouth wide open, one eye fluttering in the midst of a dream. A smile stretched away the tension of fear. But my heart still thundered in my chest, and the image of Taran's face contorted into a vicious snarl, no sign of humanity in onyx eyes, was burned into my mind.

Taran would never have hurt me like that, I told myself, even if he'd said he wanted to the last time we'd spoken. My mind was just delighting in torturing me. And it had. I was too terrified going back to sleep now would have the nightmare picking up from where I left off.

Slipping from bed, I shoved my feet into a pair of fluffy baffies and tugged on a dressing gown.

One good thing about being home, if it was still my home, was my father's fondness for hot chocolate meant the kitchen was always well stocked. He even hid the good stuff that wasn't the low fat crap Mum insisted on instead.

The house was still and quiet when I stepped into the hallway, with long shadows stretching across the floors. I eyed them like they might shift into the shape of the monster still trapped in my head. I'd never been scared wandering the halls at night, but lingering anxiety and Wren's jest of ghosts earlier had contaminated my logic. The stairs creaked ominously beneath my feet. Had they always done that? I couldn't remember. Everything felt different, creepier, now that I knew things really did go bump in the night. My imagination ran wild. Wild enough that when I entered the kitchen and saw a hulking shadow standing before an orange glow, I nearly believed in ghosts.

My hand flew to my chest on a sharp gasp, even as I blinked to realise it was no ghost. It was Wren standing before the whirring glow of the microwave. Hands braced on the counter, head hanging low, he made no acknowledgment of my presence. But he didn't tease me for getting a fright either. Progress, I supposed as I closed the door gently behind me and padded across the floor.

"You're up late," I commented, not really expecting him to answer. On tiptoe, I strained to grab the tin of hot chocolate powder in one of the high cupboards.

"Your nightmare woke me up," Wren grumbled. "And I'm not used to sleeping at night."

Of course. Vampire. I'd barely spent a month at The Blackbird, but when I got home, I too found it strange no longer staying up into the late hours. However, I loved the sun. Wren seemed determined to curse at it whenever he was forced to go out in it. I frowned. He hated it, it hurt him, but he'd been willing to put himself through that to come here with me.

I set about making my drink while watching Wren out of the corner of my eye, attempting to decipher his true reasonings for being here. Just as I set the kettle on the stove to heat up, the microwave dinged. Wren made no move to take out whatever it was he put in.

Hunger growled in my belly. Hunger that wouldn't be satiated by whatever meal he was cooking. "You need to feed."

He turned to lean against the counter and fold his arms. "Are you offer-"

"If it will make you feed, maybe I should," I cut him off sharply.

His nose scrunched. I'd called his bluff. Somewhat. I didn't think it would take much to set Wren off. There was a wild aura around him, a predatory glint in his eyes, and he couldn't hide that his fangs had dropped, pressing into his lower lip. He clung onto the counter at his back so hard his knuckles whitened.

"You need to go."

"As soon as my hot chocolate is ready."

"Go," he barked.

His mood swings were as infuriating as his boss.

"No!" I slammed my mug down. "This is my family's house, you can't tell me where I'm allowed to be. And from the look of you, I don't think it's a good idea to leave you to stalk the house in the dark. You're starving. What if you lose control and hurt someone?"

I'd meant it as a light jest, but those eagle-like eyes narrowed. Peeling away from the wall, Wren took a menacing step towards me.

A tingle of anticipation crawled up my spine. I'd been stalked like this before. Never would I have thought to see desire etched into Wren's expression.

He took another step.

Another.

One more so we stood so close I had to look up to see his face.

"You really think I'd put your family in danger, sunshine?" he asked on a menacing purr. "Has Taran made out like I'm a ravenous beast who lacks control? Do you know how much control it takes to feed as little as I do? Far more than your precious Taran can boast of having."

I had no answer to that.

The scream of the kettle cut through strained silence.

Wren didn't move, studying my face with a perplexed expression. He leaned in so close his chin brushed the top of my head.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" He muttered at my ear. The cupboard behind me swung open and Wren stepped back with a mug in his hand before returning to take out what was in the microwave.

He dropped a blood bag on the kitchen counter.

"Did he feed from you?" Wren demanded as he poured the contents into the mug.

"Once," I uttered on a shaky exhale.

Why was I answering?

Wren twisted to gaze at my leg.

Suddenly why he'd touched there me in the car made sense.

How, how did Wren know that was the place Taran had bitten me the one and only time I'd let him? The thought that he'd seen it in my head, that he'd been watching through the bond when I replayed those moments at night, uselessly trying to recreate Taran's touch with my own fingers, was humiliating.

"I couldn't let him do it again," I said. Which Taran cited as one of the reasons for breaking our contract.

"He shouldn't have done it at all. You weren't ready. Still aren't ready." His sneer was one of disdain.

My stomach rolled nauseously as I watched him take a sip of warm blood.

"I'm sorry my eating habits make you so sick."

"No, no I'm sorry. It's just. . ." I eyed the bag, the dark colour of the blood that lingered at the bottom. "Does it taste the same?"

"It tastes like shit."

I didn't mean to snort, but Wren chuckled harshly alongside me.

"It's like wine dry of flavour. Everything that makes blood addicting to our kind has been taken out. There's no spark of life. It's bland and tasteless and it barely does what our bodies need it to, but it does. For a time. Vampires can't live off bagged blood alone."

So why did he do it? What did he get out of starving himself? Out of forcing down something that tasted like shit and did little for him?

"We weren't all lucky enough to be turned by makers who cared," Wren muttered in answer to my unasked questions,

I frowned. "I thought you were turned by McCreary too. You use his name like Taran does, so does Ness, doesn't he?"

"Taran is our Laird, he took Ness and I in, among others, so we took his name." He took another hesitant sip of his meal, and I could sense the effort it took for him to swallow it down. Could feel the disgust that rattled his body...disgust and, curiously, guilt. "McCreary was a good man. He was happy to let Taran add more strays to his Clan. Having the same last name makes it easier for other vampires to identify who you are and where you stand in the world."

And so I was beginning to understand out how vampire families were structured, at least when it came to made vampires. The only born vampire I'd met was Cameron when I'd visited An Toiseach, and that had been brief with little time to ask questions.

"Do all vampires belong to a clan?" I asked, stirring my hot chocolate thoughtfully.

"Most. Some vampires prefer to go it alone, and then there's some Clans that aren't recognised by An Toiseach for various reasons."

Like those who supported An Ùr, like Brian, I guessed.

I took a sip of my own steaming drink but barely tasted the sweet chocolate flavour as my mind whirred over the bits and pieces I knew about vampires to create a fuller picture.

For once, the silence between us wasn't awkward. Maybe Wren was lost in his own thoughts too as we drank. My gaze trailed over his fully clothed form, his position mirroring mine on the opposite side of the kitchen. As always, he wore a long-sleeved top, baggy enough it hid his shape, just like the loose breeks he wore.

We weren't all lucky enough to be turned by makers who cared.

A wave of fury washed over me. Was his maker the reason Wren struggled to feed? Why he felt such deep self-loathing and was forever on a short tether?

"Do you really care, Sunshine?" he asked as he moved to the sink to rinse his mug out.

"Stop reading my thoughts." I huffed, before adding. "But I do care, you know. Whatever trauma it is-"

"Trauma? You think I have trauma?"

I regretted saying a thing, sighing as I wandered over to place my mug in the sink as well. "I think you have things in your past you use to punish yourself."

"Is that so."

"I'm not trying to pry, Wren." My arm brushed against his as I turned and he flinched back a step. I laughed mirthlessly and muttered, "Some boyfriend you are."

The flurry of emotions that raced through him were too numerous to pick out; so strong that, at first, I didn't comprehend what was happening when the kitchens counter bit into my hip and pressure hit my lips. His touch was uncertain, hands awkward on my waist, as if he wasn't even sure what to do despite initiating the kiss. His body crushed into mine with enough force to bruise. And I wasn't fighting. Hands that had fallen limply at my side began to lift, curling into the soft fabric of his top. Cold shock melted into heated confusion. The bond between as buzzed in a frenzy so loud my mind crackled.

I kissed him back. God did I kiss him back. My hand cupped the back of his neck as I took the lead, sweeping my tongue over his lip to ask for entrance...but that was my mistake.

With a strangled, tortured sound, Wren shoved himself away and glowered at me with such fury, I shrank into the counter. His eyes blazed a brilliant yellow-gold, like the eyes of a hunting eagle, and he fled the room in such a rush it might as well have been in a flutter of feathers.

I took a step to go after him, lips moulding into the shape of his name, then hesitated when I heard the sound of the front door being torn open. It slammed shut with a resounding thud. I knew better than to try to go after him. In fact, I feared it would be putting myself in danger to go after a vampire whose anger felt like lava searing through my veins.

This hadn't been what I'd worried about when agreeing to bring Wren along.

What was wrong with the men in my life!

He'd kissed me, so why was he acting like I'd crossed the line?

I should be the one acting out. I should be the one who was angry.

I was angry.

With myself. With Taran. With Wren.

Hot tears pricked my eyes.

The next time I kissed a man, he was going to be human, I promised myself. And he wasn't going to drive off or run away or feel guilty afterwards. I was done feeling as though I was lacking.