Page 27 of The Donor’s Dilemma

“Just act normal, and don’t do anything else stupid,” he said. “And don’t fucking lie to me again.”

“I won’t,” she swore.

“Be quick with the door,” he muttered as she went to get out.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Yeah, me too.”

She opened the door just wide enough to squeeze out and slammed it, trying to block the sunlight from getting in. The windows were black from the outside, but he waited until she opened the front door before leaving.

Well, that couldn’t have gone much worse.

Chapter Eight

Theodor Chapel had lived through his fair share of terrible birthdays.

There was his seventeenth, when he got in a fist fight over a neighbouring farmer’s daughter. He lost the fight and the girl. Or his two hundred and tenth, when a priest caught him feeding on a merchant, causing town-wide hysteria ending in a witch hunt. Or his three hundred and eighty-second, when the birthday party he didn’t want was crashed by a local werewolf pack. With one thought of that day, he smelled copper on the air, felt the slickness of his sword hand. All these years and bile still rose at the memory.

The day always brought out the worst in him. They always ended in arguments or bloodshed, and it would seem this one was no different.

He had lied to Verity. A little white lie though, not like hers. He wasn’t meeting with friends, wasn’t celebrating in the slightest. Nowadays he pretended birthdays didn’t exist. His brother texted him at midnight and that was all he expected. All he wanted.

Now he stood in his apartment, the vast open plan space only heightening his solitude. Empty glass in one hand, phone in the other, he stared at the little Roman coin he had propped up in the centre of the mantelpiece.

Words had escaped him. Casting his mind back, Theo couldn’t remember the last time someone had brought him an actual gift. Well, one that wasn’t alcohol. Nobody ever knew what to buy him. Nobody but Verity.

His phone clattered against marble as he tossed it on the coffee table and returned to the kitchen island to refill his glass. Not for the first time, he wished that he could get drunk. Wished that he could drink himself into oblivion and forget about this mess.

Maybe that’s why everyone always brought him whiskey. They knew how badly he wanted to drown in it.

But if he drowned, Verity would too. And Theo wouldn’t allow that.

Even if the whiskey couldn’t quite have the desired effect, it still calmed him. Smokey warmth enveloped his senses as he sipped, attempting to get his thoughts in order.

If Verity had been caught there alone and without an invitation, there would have been hell to pay. Going with Theo, not so bad as long as she played along and publicly accepted the fact that official guidance and legislation didn’t exist in SubRosa. Even bumping into Viv, he could handle. But Abe, not only being there, but Verity catching his eye? That was a complication he could not have anticipated.

That little coin had made him feel more seen and understood than he had in years. And then she went to that fucking club.

How could she understand him like that, but not trust him? It had felt like a slap in the face when Stella called to tell him, and the sting wouldn’t ease.

So reckless. So, fucking reckless!

He snatched the phone back up and flicked through the messages until he found the text from his brother:

Happy birthday old man! Don't

get in too much trouble!

It was as if he knew.

Theo hit call and raised the phone to his ear with a heavy sigh. Jesse answered on the second ring.

“Shouldn’t old-timers be in bed by now?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, I should, but I might have a problem.”

“Need me to tuck you in?”