The Vampire King's Mate

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Ivory POV

“Gav!” I hissed again, my voice a desperate, low frequency vibration. No answer. The kitchen door had swung shut, leaving me alone in the line of fire.

The bell above the door was still vibrating, a tiny, tinny sound that felt like a death knell in the sudden silence of the diner.

“Good evening, Mr. Connor! A pleasure, truly. What an unexpected honor to have you drop by on such a fine evening!”

Mr. Clover’s voice was so thick with sycophancy I could practically hear the squelch of it. He was practically vibrating, his spine curved in a bow that was one degree away from a full on prostration.

He was practically licking the expensive leather of Daniel’s shoes with his tone alone. I stayed frozen behind the espresso machine, the steam wand hissing as if it were sharing my panic.

I didn't look up. I couldn't. I kept my face partially obscured by the chrome housing of the coffee machine, my fingers working robotically to wipe a counter that was already spotless. I caught snatches of Daniel’s voice cool, clipped, and heavy. He was giving short, tight lipped responses, the kind that made it clear he found the conversation beneath him.

Then, the air in the room seemed to shift.

It was that same magnetic tug from the clinic, the one that made my skin feel too tight for my bones. I peeked through the gap between a stack of ceramic mugs. Daniel was standing there, the sunlight from the window catching the sharp line of his jaw.

He raised a hand, pointing a long, slender finger directly at me. As he did, the sleeve of his jacket shifted, revealing the pale, corded strength of his forearm and the map of veins that disappeared under his cuff.

My stomach dropped into my shoes. Why is he pointing at me? Why does he even know I’m here?

Mr. Clover’s head snapped around like a predatory bird. He marched toward the counter, his face flushed with a frantic "don’t-screw-this-up" energy.

"Ivory! Move it! Go serve his table," Clover barked.

"But Mr. Clover," I whispered, my voice cracking as I gestured wildly at the far end of the room. "I am ... I am right in the middle of serving another table. I will get Gav. Gav is much better with... important people."

"No, Ivory. We can't do that." Clover leaned over the counter, his voice dropping to a hiss that smelled of stale coffee and desperation. "He specifically asked for you."

The word you felt like a physical weight, pinning me to the floorboards. My eyes bulged, my mind racing back to the clinic to the heat of his fingers on my thigh and the ice cold "Get out" that had followed.

"Mr. Clover... you have got to be kidding," I gritted out through a forced, customer-service smile. "This is a public diner, not a walk-in exhibit. He can't just go around demanding specific servers like he’s picking out a prize in a cage!"

Clover’s face turned a shade of purple that matched the bruises hidden under my uniform.

He grabbed the edge of the counter, leaning in until we were nose-to-nose.

"Not if he is the son of our most important investor, Ivory! His family owns the ground you’re standing on. Now move your ass or get out and I will fire both you and Gav before the sun sets."

The name Gav stuck in my throat like a shard of glass. I looked toward the kitchen door. Gav needed this job. He needed the tips for his "Prince Charming" Finn and his reckless life. I couldn't let my mess drag him into the gutter.

I sucked in a breath, my ribs aching in protest, and straightened my apron. I looked at Clover, then at the silhouette of the boy waiting in the corner booth...the boy who had watched me bleed and then told me to run.

"I got this," I said, the words feeling like a lie the moment they left my lips.

I grabbed a fresh notepad and a pen, my knuckles white. As I stepped out from behind the safety of the counter, the "whispers" in the back of my mind didn't just murmur....they roared. This wasn't a diner anymore. It was a clearing in the woods, and I was walking straight into the jaws of the wolf.

I reached the edge of his table, the scent of his cologne expensive, calm, and terrifyingly familiar wrapping around me like a shroud.

"Welcome to Clover's," I said, my voice forced into a professional mask that felt like it was cracking. "What can I get you, Daniel?"

He didn't look at the menu. He didn't even look at the table. He looked up at me, his blue eyes dark and unreadable, and I knew right then this wasn't about coffee.

I felt the air thin out the moment I stepped into his orbit. The diner, usually filled with the comforting clatter of silverware and the hum of the refrigerator, suddenly felt like a vacuum where only he and I existed.

Daniel didn’t even look up from the menu at first. He traced the edge of the laminated card with a slow, deliberate finger, but his voice that low, raspy velvet that always seemed to vibrate in the pit of my stomach hit me like a physical blow.

"Are you avoiding me, Kitten?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and pointed. I felt the heat crawl up my neck, my pulse jumping at the base of my throat like a trapped bird.

"N-no… obviously not," I stammered. My tongue felt too thick for my mouth, and I clutched my notepad so hard the plastic backing groaned. I wanted the floor to split open right here, right between the salt shakers and the ketchup and swallow me whole. Anything to escape those piercing green eyes.

"Good. You better not, Kitten." He finally looked up, closing the menu with a soft thud that sounded like a gavel. His gaze swept over me, lingering on my face as if searching for the bruises he had inspected in the clinic. "Besides, why aren't you in school today? I looked for you everywhere."

The possessiveness in his tone made my skin prickle. He had looked for me? What for? Has he gotten new torture techniques that his gang and I is trying to practice?

"I… I was not feeling fine," I lied, shifting my weight. My ribs gave a dull throb as if to remind me of the truth. "And besides, I have my own personal reasons. Now, what do you want to order?"

Daniel leaned back, his long legs stretching out under the table, invading my personal space. He didn't look like a student. He looked like a king bored with his kingdom.

"Sit with me, Kitten."

My heart did a violent somersault. "No. Absolutely not. I am currently on duty," I said, my voice surprisingly smooth despite the chaos in my chest. I drew myself up, trying to channel some of the strength my mother always radiated.

I had no intention of sharing a booth with a bully like him not after the jackets, not after the cafeteria, not even if he was the most handsome thing I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

His expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened, a flash of something predatory and ancient flickering in the green.

"Sit with me… or you are going to regret it."

"Daniel, I have tables to serve..."

"I am going to count to three," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous, playful whisper. He leaned forward, the shadows of the booth playing across his sharp features. "One…"

I stood my ground, my jaw set. I thought I had a few seconds to think, to find an excuse, to call for Mr. Clover.

"Three. Time’s up."

The smirk that spread across his face was the most malicious, arrogant thing I had ever seen.

He didn’t even say 'two.' He just skipped the number entirely, a silent declaration that he didn't play by anyone's rules but his own.

In the next second, the world blurred.

I didn't even see him move...it was like he was a glitch in reality, moving faster than my human eyes could track.

His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a shackle of ice and fire. Before a scream could even leave my throat, he yanked me forward.

My boots lost their grip on the linoleum, and I tumbled through the air. I braced for the hard floor, but instead, I hit something firm, warm, and solid.

I gasped, my hands instinctively flying out to steady myself, only to land right on the broad, muscular expanse of his chest. I felt the steady, powerful thrum of his heart beneath his shirt.

I wasn't on the floor. I was on his lap.

His other arm wound around my waist like a vice, pulling me flush against him. The scent of his cologne...that calm, expensive, lethal fragrance was everywhere, filling my lungs until I was dizzy with it.

"There," he murmured against my ear, his breath sending a shiver down my spine that turned my knees to jelly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

I looked up, my face inches from his, and realized with a jolt of terror that the "whispers" in my head weren't just shouting anymore. They were howling.