Page 87 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

“I’ll message Seb,” he said, pulling out his phone. “He’s going to be so pissed.”

“Do you think we could just go home now?” I asked. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for hot chocolate anymore, strangely.”

Kit nodded as he texted. “I’ll take you straight home.”

The walk back to the underground station felt like navigating a maze designed by someone with severe paranoia. Kit guided me through a series of seemingly random turns—doubling back on ourselves, ducking through a shopping centre that was mostly closed, taking a detour through a car park that added at least ten minutes to our journey.

“Just making sure we’re clear,” he murmured when I shot him a questioning look. “That vampire who ran off probably went straight back to Marcus, but better safe than sorry.”

His hand found mine again as we descended into the Tube station, fingers interlacing so tightly it sort of hurt. Kit insisted we avoid the closer stations, taking us on the District line to Victoria, then Victoria line to Stockwell rather than Battersea Park. Throughout the journey, his thumb never stopped moving across my knuckles in those small, soothing circles.

On the Tube, he sat pressed against my side, one hand resting on my thigh just above my knee. Every few minutes, his grip would tighten slightly, like he was checking I was still solid, still breathing, still there. When we had to change platforms at Victoria, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me close. The constant touching should have been too much—I was still shaking, overstimulated, wound tight—but somehow it was exactly what I needed.

By the time we reached my building, the adrenaline had mostly worn off, leaving me hollow and shaky. I fumbled with my keys, hands trembling enough that Kit had to steady my wrist to help me get the door open.

I expected him to say goodnight on the doorstep. Kiss me softly, maybe, then head off to go stake some more vampires.

Instead, he followed me inside, murmuring something about making me tea.

I collapsed onto the sofa, watching as Kit moved around my tiny kitchen with surprising familiarity. He seemed to somehow know exactly where everything was—mugs from the cupboard above the sink, Earl Grey from the tea tin on the counter, even the specific mug I preferred in the evenings, the one with the panda face that fit perfectly in my palms.

Was this from watching me through my window?

“Are you cold?” he asked, bringing the mug over and setting it on the coffee table before settling beside me on the sofa.

I was, actually. The kind of bone-deep chill that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with nearly having my throat ripped out by a creature of darkness.

“Your flat’s freezing,” he added.

I stared at him, taking in the small cut on his forehead that had stopped bleeding, the deep frown lines etched into his forehead, the careful way he was watching my face.

“Sorry,” he said suddenly, with a guilty smile. “No more insults about your lovely flat. Got it.”

“It’s okay. I know my flat is grim, and yes, I am cold.”

Kit’s arm came around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. The warmth of him seeped through my hoodie, and I found myself finally relaxing.

His fingers found my hair, combing through the strands with gentle precision. The touch made my eyes flutter closed, and when I opened them again, he was closer, close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said.

“Huh?”

“For that vampire. You kicked his ass.”

I laughed, though my heart swelled with pride. “I think you have a very different recollection of that than I do.”

He leaned in slowly, hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure I’d want this right now. Like maybe being attacked by vampires had put me off physical contact altogether.

I met him halfway.

The kiss was soft at first, careful, his lips barely brushing mine. But when I didn’t pull away—when I made that small sound in the back of my throat and pressed closer—something shifted. His hand tightened in my hair, the kiss deepening until I was dizzy with it.

We were twisted at an awkward angle, me leaning sideways to reach him, and after a moment Kit’s hands found my waist, tugging gently.

“Come here,” he murmured against my mouth.

My heart skipped a beat. Climbing onto his lap felt different here, in this private flat, than it had kissing under the trees in Hertfordshire. More deliberate. More intimate.