Page 21 of Blood and Bells

I’m about to argue, but the words die on my lips. For the first time, I actually think about what he’s saying. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this has been too much, too fast—because, for all my bravado, the gala matters. The town matters. And doing this alone isn’t working.

The silence stretches, and his gaze softens as he watches me, his face still relaxed but there’s a hint of concern creeping through. It’s strange, this shift. Nick’s usually so wrapped up in himself and the other vampires that it’s easy to forget he’s capable of caring about something more than his blood bar and the chaos he brings.

I let out a long, steadying breath, rubbing at my temple. “I don’t know where to start. Everything feels like it’s slipping out of my hands, and I can’t catch up.”

Nick locks his eyes with mine, and for once, there’s nothing hidden there. Their silver isn’t clouding anything, and he isn’t trying to charm me. He’s just being Nick, and he’s just standing here. Listening. Trying to help.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I get that you’re trying to hold it all together, but you’ve got people who want to help. Me included.”

“So, what now?”

“We figure it out,” he says. “Do you know where the real power in being a vampire comes from?”

The question takes me by surprise. “Anne Rice? Or, do you have, like, a vampire God or something? I don’t know.”

“It’s the coven. The group of individuals we travel with, the ones who support us through our endless passage through time. The fact that we’re never alone.” He slides his sleeve so it brushes mine, then stills. “Let us be your coven, Holly. We can help.”

The sincerity of the offer catches me by surprise, and I’m flustered. I can deal with sarcastic vampires and arrogant vampires, but genuine vampires are a bit much.

“Is there a membership fee? Or do you have to eat me?”

He doesn’t say anything; he only stares at me. As the seconds pass, I realize the exact words that just left my mouth, and my face heats with embarrassment. Draven leaves me to flounder in my moment for a few more uncomfortable seconds before jumping in.

With a theatrical cough, he says, “Let’s leave that part out for now.”

Nick stays silent as we walk to the blood bar, occasionally offering me his elbow to lean on as I skirt around the half-frozen puddles. Reflexively, I type out a message to Mr. Patel, who likes to know when patches appear. We carry on past the shopfronts with their Christmas displays, each cheerfully trying to outdo the next. Mrs. Christie, proprietor of Sugar Me Timbers, is out front locking up. She’s a delightful grandmother who wields her authority with the rolling pin that rarely leaves her side, and as we go by, she gives me a sly grin and lifts it in salute.

Ahead, the neon sign of Nick’s blood bar shines like an oasis in the dark.

Hemoglow looks like a tavern that grew up into a speakeasy and then made friends with a holiday market. The sign is a soft red script with a single teardrop for the O, casting a soft blush over the pavement. Frosted windows wear etched snowflakes and veined leaves, velvet curtains parted just enough to show the candlelight beyond. Beneath a low timber lintel, a wreath of black-green holly hangs on the door, its glass berries a deep garnet, and a chalkboard advertises a Warm Winter Flight with clove mulled O, spiced AB with orange peel, and a cranberry tonic chaser. The brass handle gleams, polished by a thousand late-night arrivals.

We reach the door, and Nick holds it open for me, his usual swagger firmly back in place. The warmth hits me immediately, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses wrapping around us as we step inside. The place smells of dark wood, cloves, and a hint of something mineral that reads more library than laboratory. It’s a scent I’ve started associating with Nick more than I care to admit, and worse, I’ve started to like it.

The bar is nothing like I expected.

Warm light glows from beeswax sconces and old glass pendants, casting honey across polished wood and deep red velvet. Behind the bar, bottles gleam like liquid jewels. A fireplace crackles in the corner, lending a cozy note that feels almost out of place against the elegance. Paper snowflakes drift overhead, and a chalkboard near the door reads House Rules: be kind. Consent is required. Hydrate between drinks. Free rides home after ten.

The crowd isn’t what I imagined, either. I expected broody vampires nursing crimson cocktails or maybe a few terrified humans hoping to be glamoured into oblivion. Instead, it’s oddly normal. A mix of humans and vampires chatting, laughing, and even clinking glasses over what looks suspiciously like mulled wine. A small spruce twinkles in the corner, all mismatched ornaments and a paper star that lists the staff cookie swap schedule.

Nick watches me take it all in, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Not bad, huh?”

“It’s nicer than I thought it would be.”

He places a hand over his heart, feigning a wound. “Your faith in me is overwhelming, Frost.”

We take a seat by the bar, and I’m about to fire back a retort when a sharp-dressed bartender in suspenders with a sprig of holly on his lapel interrupts me. His dark brown hair is immaculately combed, and there’s a devilish glint in his eyes. He’s tall, muscular, and seems to be the kind of man who’s used to having women fawn over him, and he looks like he knows every regular’s order and their dog’s name.

“Evening, Nick. Your usual?”

Nick nods but gestures toward me. “And whatever she’s having.”

The bartender arches an eyebrow at me, clearly amused. “First-time? Welcome to Hemoglow. Hot toddy with rosemary honey, or our mulled cranberry spritz?”

“Either,” I reply, feeling strangely out of my element.

Nick leans against the bar, his focus shifting to a pair of women across the room. They’re clearly human, their faces flushed from one too many drinks, giggling as they make their way toward us. One of them, a blonde in a glittery dress that screams holiday party reject, zeroes in on Nick like a child who’s spotted the biggest present under the tree.

“Nick!” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and slurred. “There you are! We were hoping we could tempt you to join us!”