Wounded Soul

by Annabelle Jacobs

  “A new suped-up version with fangs and super speed. Oh, and who now drinks blood.” She rolled her eyes. “Yep, same old you.”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “How you feeling?” Blake asked, gaze dropping to Ian’s mouth. A month ago that look would have meant something entirely different. Now he knew Blake was checking for fangs.

  “I’m not about to leap over the table and eat you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He grinned, but one look at Cate’s horrified face told him his humour had fallen flat. “Shit, sorry. I guess it’s too early for jokes?”

  “Way, way too early,” Cate muttered.

  “Not gonna lie, Ian. This . . .” Blake waved a hand in Ian’s direction. “It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “For me too,” Ian answered honestly. “I wasn’t prepared for this either.”

  Cate’s expression softened, and she went to reach out her hand but faltered.

  Fuck, this was so hard.

  “You seemed okay when we spoke on the phone,” he tried, because they’d both seemed far less bothered than they were now.

  Cate sighed. “Well, you weren’t in the room with me then, and your life was in danger. I was too worried to think about anything else.”

  Blake’s expression was more curious than afraid, his eyes darting all over as though trying to catalogue everything about Ian and check for differences. “What’s it like?” Curiosity had clearly overtaken any fear he felt.

  “Being a vampire?”

  Blake nodded. “Yeah. I mean I’ve read stuff, but you’re actually experiencing it for yourself.” He shook his head, a wry smile appearing. “Had to fucking one-up me and steal all the attention.”

  Ian would gladly give it back if he could. “Sorry,” he offered. “You know how competitive I am.”

  Blake huffed out a laugh, even Cate smirked, and although they were a long, long way from the best friends they used to be, Ian saw a glimmer of hope.

  Maybe they could eventually get past this and rescue some semblance of their friendship. Ian didn’t care how long it took; he could be patient if it meant having them both in his life.

  Watts appeared at the door, stopping any further conversation, and addressed Raph. “Sykes wants to see you.” He pointed at Ian. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on him.” Nodding at one of the guards on the door, he added, “Stewart, you escort Raphael down to the cells.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Well?” Jesse asked, eyebrow raised. “Is it true?”

  Raph sat on a chair facing his cell, brow furrowed as he digested all Jesse had thrown at him, both of them studiously ignoring Peter’s comments on the topic. Jesse didn’t give a fuck what he had to say about anything anymore, and it seemed neither did Raph.

  “Yes, it’s true, but those laws are old, Jesse. They haven’t been implemented in . . .” He held his arms out wide. “Got to be nearing well over a hundred years at least.”

  “But can I still do it? Can I challenge Peter?” Jesse sat on the edge of the bed, practically vibrating with a mix of rage and nervous energy. He needed this. Needed to get revenge for everything Peter had done, everything he’d taken from not just Jesse but a fucking long list of people.

  For Callum. And for Ian. Who’d both lost their lives because of Peter’s warped sense of entitlement.

  Raph sat back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. His gaze drifted to the cell next door. “If you choose to invoke this law, you do realise it’s to the death, right? Peter might kill you.”

  “Will kill you,” Peter hissed. “There’s no might about it. We’ll be out of here in a few years—assuming they don’t burn me to a crisp, of course—why would you even suggest this fucking nonsense?”

  Jesse refused to acknowledge him. He was so done playing Peter’s games. “I know the risks. And yes, I’m sure.”

  “And there’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  “I told you what he said, what he did.” Jesse took a moment to calm himself and let his fangs slide back in. “What would you do?”

  Raph gave him a long steady look, then stood. “I’ll go talk to whoever’s in charge while Harper recovers. There’s no guarantee they’ll agree to this. It’s not an area we covered when drawing up our agreement, but I can’t see them being opposed to two vampires fighting to the death.”

  Raph left and Jesse felt oddly at peace for the first time in a long while.

  He’d made the right decision.

  “You fucking idiot,” Peter spat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’ve put into motion?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to kill you, Jesse. It’s the fucking last thing I want to do, but you’re going to give me no choice. Why?”

  Jesse turned to face Peter, imagining him doing the same on the other side of the wall. “It’s like you said . . . You either learn to like your sire or you try to kill them.”

  RAPH RETURNED an hour or so later, face grim, and Jesse stood, going to the front of his cell.

  “They said no, didn’t they?” He couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  “Thank fuck for that!” Peter muttered from next door. “At least someone’s got some se—”

  “Actually they said yes.” Raph took a seat opposite both their cells. His gaze flicking from one to the other. “I got Liam to take a photo of the book, and the law states quite clearly, ‘A vampire may challenge their sire at any time if they feel aggrieved and wish to sever the tie between them. Proof must be shown to the coven elders, and their decision is final.’ That’s the newer version of it anyway.” He glanced Peter’s way, then back at Jesse.

  Peter scoffed. “Since when do the boys in black take any notice of our old laws?”

  “Since they realised they would only have to house one vampire in their building instead of two.”

  “So it’s on?” Jesse asked, a strange mix of excitement and anger running through him.

  “It is.” Raph walked closer to him. “As the resident coven elder, I’m satisfied you have proof enough to support the challenge.” He ran a hand through his hair, dark-blue eyes fixed on Jesse. “You can still change your mind, it’s not too late.”

  “Yes, Jesse.” Peter chimed. “Come to your fucking senses already.”

  Jesse ignored him, eyes locked with Raph’s. “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “WHAT?” IAN STARED at Raph, hands clenched at his sides.

  “You can’t be here, Ian.” Raph gestured at Liam, who stood off to the side.

  Ian had only just been introduced to him, and no offence to Liam—he seemed okay as vampires went—but Ian wasn’t going anywhere with him. “If Jesse and Peter are having a fight to the fucking death, then I’m not going anywhere.”

  Up until that point, Raph had been so calm and softly spoken for the whole time Ian had been with him that he’d forgotten he was the head of the coven. Now his expression hardened, gaze boring into Ian with an intensity that had Ian taking a small step backwards.

  “I am the leader of this coven.” Raph still spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the cold edge to it. “If you want to join us, you will do as I say when it comes to matters that concern the coven as a whole and your wellbeing as a coven member.” His features softened slightly. “You’ve only been a vampire for little more than twenty-four hours, Ian. How do you expect to control yourself in a room full of humans when two vampires are fighting to the death in front of you? It’ll be ugly and violent. There’s going to be blood. Can you imagine what that’s going to feel like? Especially when one of those fighting is Jesse. Someone whom, if I’m not mistaken, you care deeply for.”

  Ian wanted to protest, wanted to insist that he’d be fine, but his mind rushed back to what he’d almost done to the guards earlier, and he swallowed the words. Would it be different with vampire blood? Ian had no idea, but he didn’t want to risk it.

  “Fine,” he mutt
ered, not liking it at all. “But I want to see him before I go?” He refused to believe it might be the last time.

  Refused.

  Raph nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  IAN FOLLOWED Watts down several sets of stairs, with Raph and two other guards close behind. They were led through one set of key-coded double doors, followed by another, before emerging into a large open plan space.

  Four cells lined one side of the room, and they were nothing like Ian had imagined.

  Not that he’d ever been inside a prison, but he hadn’t expected the place to be so light and airy. There were no windows down there, but whatever artificial lighting they used, it made the place seem less foreboding than Ian thought it would be.

  The cells were separated from the rest of the room by a long partition of cabinets. He couldn’t see the other side to find out what they contained, but Watts noticed him looking.

  “That’s one of our weapons stores,” he said, gesturing to the cabinets. He raised the gun he carried. “Plenty more of these and other things, if our guests get rowdy.”

  Ian swallowed instinctively, still getting used to feeling apprehensive without any of the accompanying physical signs. He could only imagine what weapons they had at their disposal.

  As they approached the cells, the two guards behind dropped back, taking position against the cabinets, guns trained on Ian and Raph.

  Watts pointed towards the two cells on the end. “No more than fifteen minutes.”

  Raph thanked him and nudged Ian forward with a hand on his elbow. “After you.”

  Now that they were here, Ian’s steps faltered, not sure he was ready to see Jesse locked up in a cell. But they didn’t have much time, so he steeled himself and walked towards the furthest cell.

  What he hadn’t counted on was having to pass Peter’s cell first, and the familiar low chuckle caught him off guard.

  “Ahh, I thought I smelt you.” Peter made a show of inhaling loudly, and Ian shuddered. “Sorry about leaving you with those guards and all that mess. Must have been trying, to say the least. All that blood just—”

  “Peter,” Raph snapped. “That’s enough.”

  They were in front of his cell now, and despite knowing better, Ian looked inside. Heavy metal bars made up the front of them, while inside they were bare except for a low bed across the back wall. Made sense, he guessed. It wasn’t as though they needed toilet facilities.

  Peter caught his eye and winked at him. Ian turned away quickly.

  “You must think it’s Christmas come early,” Peter said, addressing Raph. “With me safely out of the way—for now, at least—gives you free rein to drop the agreement meeting and carry on as normal.”

  Raph rolled his eyes. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, I didn’t agree to that meeting because of you. It was a good idea for the whole coven. We should and will hold a review of our current agreement with the VLCD, and I’ve already suggested the other covens do the same. You being out of the picture won’t change anything.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow, and in the blink of an eye he was up standing in front of the heavy metal bars. “You don’t actually think I’m going to lose this stupid challenge your golden boy has instigated, do you?” When Raph remained quiet, Peter threw his head back and laughed. “I suggest you try and talk some sense into him before it’s too late.”

  Having had enough of Peter already, Ian left them to it and hurried to the cell next door. He stopped in his tracks when his gaze met Jesse’s.

  It might only have been a few hours since they’d seen each other, but the ache in Ian’s chest said otherwise. He wanted to touch him, needed to feel Jesse’s arms tight around him, and the fact it couldn’t happen only made the ache that much worse. “Hey,” he whispered, hands automatically reaching out to grip the bars.

  “Don’t,” Jesse said quickly and pointed at the bars. “They’re iron, with just enough silver mixed in to make touching them sting.”

  Ian curled his hands into fists, then let them hang at his sides. “Are you sure about this?” He ignored Peter’s heckling, trying to block him out as best he could.

  “Yes.” Jesse’s voice was strong and certain, and Ian could tell by his expression that nothing he said would change Jesse’s mind. “He killed Callum.”

  Oh.

  Ian wasn’t as surprised by that revelation as Jesse seemed to expect.

  Jesse ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve known he was capable of something like that. But all these years, I thought— Never mind. None of that matters now. I need him to pay for what he did, get justice for Callum, and a few years spent behind bars just doesn’t seem enough.”

  “A few years?” Peter hissed, reminding Ian that they weren’t alone. “I’d hardly call it that. Are you forgetting the countless people you’ve drained over the years? And don’t give me that bullshit excuse that they deserved it. You’re still a murderer, Jesse.”

  Ian flinched, couldn’t help it, and a shadow crossed Jesse’s face.

  “If you want to leave here and start fresh, I understand.” Jesse moved as if to reach out and touch Ian, then let his hand drop. “Peter’s right, I have killed people. And even if I believe that they deserved what they got, I’m not God. I don’t get to decide.”

  Ian should probably be horrified, or at least a little concerned, but all he could think about right now was Jesse fighting Peter and possibly losing.

  “Don’t do it,” he whispered, moving as close as he could. “Not for any of the bollocks Peter just spouted, but—” How did he tell Jesse he didn’t want him to get hurt without it sounding like he had no faith in his ability to fight Peter?

  Peter’s laughter was like nails on a chalkboard. “He thinks you’ll lose.”

  “No, I—”

  “It’s okay, Ian.” Jesse’s smile was tinged with sadness. “I know you’ve seen how ruthless Peter can be, but believe me, he won’t win.” The conviction in his voice went a little way to soothing Ian’s worries, but Peter was . . . Peter. A cold-blooded sadistic killer with none of Jesse’s gentleness or compassion. “Trust me. I can do this.”

  He wanted to, so badly, but . . . Swallowing his fear, Ian nodded. “Okay.” Jesse’s answering smile warmed him through to the tips of his fingers, and pain be damned he needed to touch him. The bars were too close together for Ian to fit his whole hand through, so he gripped the metal, hissing at the sharp sting, but when Jesse’s hands closed over his, the pain melted away, and all he felt was Jesse’s skin against his. “I trust you.”

  LEAVING JESSE behind at the VLCD headquarters went against every instinct Jesse had, but he had no choice other than to let Liam take him back to the house.

  “You know,” Liam said as he turned to lead them out. “Surely they have something here that could restrain Ian enough to let him stay.”

  “Liam,” Raph warned, stopping and turning to glare at him.

  “No, hear me out.” He spared Ian a soft smile. “If you were in Ian’s position, would you want to leave?”

  “No, but—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

  Ian looked between them, barely daring to hope.

  Raph muttered something under his breath, then pulled out his phone. “Wait here.”

  He walked off around the corner, busy texting, and Ian felt a rush of both excitement and nerves. “Does that mean I get to stay?”

  Liam put a hand on his arm. “Yeah. If Raph can arrange it.” He gave Ian a knowing look. “You ready for this?”

  “No.” Ian shook his head. Every part of him wanted to stay close to Jesse, but that didn’t mean he knew what to expect.

  “It’s going to be like nothing you’ve seen, Ian, I won’t lie. For all Jesse’s gentleness, he’ll have to be as vicious as Peter—more so—if he wants to stay alive.” He gave Ian’s arm a squeeze. “But I reckon not being here, not knowing what’s happening, has got to be worse.”

  “Yeah.” Ia
n didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t picture Jesse as a vicious killer and wasn’t sure he wanted to either . . . But he wanted Jesse to live.

  Raph appeared ten minutes later, three guards in tow. He stopped in front of them and faced Ian. “Come with me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jesse was ready when they came for him.

  But he wasn’t expecting to see Lys amongst the guards.

  At his confused look, she shrugged. “Apparently the ancient law you invoked calls for each combatant to have a second.” She gestured to herself. “And I’m yours.”

  Jesse couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have by his side going into this.

  Except Ian. But he was long gone by this time.

  She fell into step beside them as the guards ushered him out. He’d got so used to having guns trained on him, he hardly noticed them anymore. “He’s got years of experience on you,” she muttered.

  “I’m aware,” Jesse answered, shooting her a glare.

  “And he’s a vicious psychopath in case that had escaped your notice.”

  “I know, and you’re not helping.”

  “Sorry, but what the fuck were you thinking?”

  They walked down a long corridor, through a set of double doors, then down a flight of stairs. “I was thinking that I wanted to fucking tear Peter limb from limb because he killed Callum and has ruined every potential relationship I’ve had since then.” He glanced over at her. “He’ll never stop, Lys. If they don’t kill him, then no matter how long he spends in here, it won’t change anything. He’ll get out and it’ll start all over again. If the VLCD won’t kill him, then I have to.”

  She walked in silence beside him until they entered a huge room with a tall ceiling and gym equipment around the outside. But that wasn’t what caught Jesse’s attention. In the middle of the room was a large training mat, maybe for self-defence training or something. Guards surrounded every side, guns pointed inwards.