That had been the first time in two hundred years he’d had human blood. In fact, it was a miracle he hadn’t bitten Brandon, drained him dry like how he’d killed his sister. Quinn’s stomach twisted.
And that was the third reason why he had to avoid Brandon Remy: not only was Brandon a hunter and a student, but Quinn wanted to fuck him, wanted his blood, and... he was everything Quinn shouldn’t want.
Quinn held his breath, injecting Oriel’s blood into two separate vials. Then he discarded the syringe in the biohazards bin, placing the sealed vials in the centrifuge. The moment the centrifuge locked, he released his breath.
Back at the bench, Seb’s fangs had grown. Quinn’s hadn’t. Because Seb was blood-bonded to Oriel, his reaction to Oriel’s blood was stronger. Quinn wondered what it was like, being bonded to a human.
He sat on a stool a yard away, turning his back on the centrifuge and the tantalizing blood spinning within it. How would he work with that sample, if the barest scent of it gave him hunger pangs? “What do you want me to do with that blood?”
Seb quirked his eyebrow. “You put it into that machine, and you don’t know?”
“Say that to Professor Blood, why don’t you?” Quinn smiled. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since you first called. Oriel’s blood is rare—for it to be so different, it has to be a unique illness, or an antibody response, or something in his DNA. To eliminate the possibilities, I’m separating his blood into its components.”
“Honestly, I just want it... not addictive. Something I can drink,” Seb said. “But an antidote or suppressant would be nice.”
Quinn nodded. They sat in silence the next fifteen minutes, Quinn preparing microscope slides and micropipettes. His visitors perched on the lab stools, murmuring to each other. When the centrifuge unlocked with a beep, Quinn hurried over, pulling one vial out. The blood had separated into three layers: plasma, a thin film of white blood cells, and red blood cells.
Holding his breath, he pipetted the plasma layer into a clean vial. Then, carefully, so he didn’t disrupt the hair-fine layer, Quinn pipetted the white blood cells into a second vial, and the red blood cells into a third. From each vial, he drew a tiny sample, dotting them on the glass slides.
Under the microscope, all three samples contained no microorganisms. To be safe, Quinn repeated the procedure three more times.
“I’ll need to do further tests; DNA sequencing will take a week or two,” Quinn said, fitting a clean plastic tip onto his pipette. “Right now, it seems that the anomaly might be due to Oriel’s DNA, or antibodies from an illness. The red blood cells don’t have DNA, so I’ll let you try that first, Seb.”
With the pipette, he released a crimson droplet onto Seb’s fingertip. Seb’s fangs pushed out past his lips. He licked the blood off his skin, rolling it in his mouth. “Gods, that’s delicious.”
Quinn could imagine. Next to Seb, Oriel watched with wide eyes, his knuckles white. They waited for half a minute, then Oriel whispered, “Zero,” and sucked in a deep breath. “Seb?”
“I’m here,” Seb said, his gaze locking with Oriel’s. “I’m fine.”
Tension drained out of Oriel’s shoulders. They leaned toward each other, and Quinn turned away, wishing he could plug his ears to avoid the soft, damp sounds of kissing. Really because it reminded him of a hunter. Brandon’s lips would be warm and silky, wouldn’t they, sliding along Quinn’s shoulder?
Quinn gulped, studying the plasma layer under the microscope. Why am I still thinking about him?
He remembered Brandon’s damp clothes, remembered I was fixing a bus in the rain, and knew he had little reason to doubt Brandon’s words. What kind of person would be late for class fixing a bus?
When Seb and Oriel fell silent, Quinn turned back with a new pipette tip of plasma. “This one is risky,” he said. “There are dissolved proteins in here that may or may not trigger the addiction. Barring some intensive tests, the fastest way to know is to let you try it. Do you want to do that?”
Seb exchanged a look with Oriel. Then he shrugged, extending his finger again. “Sure.”
Quinn released the bead of plasma onto his fingertip. Seb licked it off, and they waited. Mostly, Quinn wondered how he’d stop Seb if Seb fell into a haze. He would protect Oriel first, of course, keep Seb away from the human. Having had human blood, Seb was far stronger than Quinn. Quinn would probably get hurt. That was okay.
But half a minute passed, and Seb blinked, looking around himself. “Think I’m fine.”
“So it’s the white blood cells,” Quinn said, relief whispering through his veins. I was afraid we’d destroy the lab. “That saved me a lot of time. Would you like the rest of the blood?”
“Hell yeah,” Seb said. Quinn mixed the plasma and red blood cells together, handing the vial over.
Seb tipped the blood into his mouth, his throat working. The scent of it crept into Quinn’s nostrils when he breathed—bittersweet, not as potent, but tantalizing all the same. His own canines pushed into his mouth, and he swallowed, needing more blood than just a whiff of it. His stomach clenched. A droplet of crimson clung to the side of the vial.
“Need more,” Seb growled, angling his mouth over Oriel’s throat.
The door opened then, without warning. All three of them looked up. Brandon stepped in, hazel eyes flicking over them: Quinn, Oriel, Seb. Comprehension and horror flashed through his face.
Before Quinn could react, Brandon reached for his knife, and lunged.
5
Brandon
Brandon scowled, striding down the biology lab corridors.
If he never saw that vampire again, he’d probably be stoked about it. Pumped. Peachy. He’d grin and buy himself a brand new silver knife. Work an extra week at the car shop for free. That was how much he hated that professor, with his sneering insults and corny nicknames.
Or maybe he just hated himself for stooping so low, fucking a vampire instead of killing him. Brandon pushed those thoughts from his mind.
Except Quinn had left him out of the loop about the lab tour, when he knew Brandon wanted an in on that blood research. Quinn still hadn’t replied to Brandon’s email after twenty-four hours. That wasn’t what they’d agreed.
Brandon glanced at the email inbox on his phone—no new messages. Not that he wanted a reminder about that vampire and his squirming body.
He ignored the stirring at his own groin, glancing at a new SMS notification.
No sender name or number. This contact had been texting him every two weeks since last year. They’d probably found his number from a hunter’s group. The very first text had said, Send over vamp sighting info. Brandon had answered. In exchange, the number sent back hideout locations, and Brandon had gone in and killed those vampires, pulling their victims out to safety.
He tapped on the newest text. Two vamps sighted last night in SLO. 10yo girl murdered behind Gary’s Hardware on Higuera.
What the hell? Brandon paused, the words burning into his retinas. Higuera was a busy street, with too many witnesses for a vampire to strike easily.
He’d missed the police channel last night, working late at the car shop. His boss had allowed him to attend college on that condition: take his days off for classes, and make it up by working nights. Not hunting made him uneasy; who else would protect the civilians?
Because of vampires, his parents’ murders had been classified as unresolved—that had been ten years ago. Vampire murders still weren’t publicized now. Brandon growled, hot fury sweeping through his chest. Someone was suppressing news about vampires, and it wasn’t only in San Luis Obispo.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket, storming to the Blood Synthesis lab. If this goddamn vampire killed the girl, I swear...
Somehow, the image of Quinn lunging at humans didn’t seem right. But Brandon had known him for all of one day, so who knew?
He definitely hadn’t been thinking about the professor. Not his squirming body, not the hunger in his eyes wh
en Brandon ground up against him, fucking him into the office door.
Who was Brandon kidding, really?
Two days ago, Quinn had felt alive against him, and it had gone against everything Brandon had known about vampires. Quinn wasn’t supposed to squirm and pant. He wasn’t supposed to arch against Brandon like he needed to come, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to haunt Brandon’s thoughts for forty-eight hours straight.
Why Brandon wanted to fuck a vampire, he had no bloody idea.
He strode to the lab door, a plaque reading Blood Synthesis mounted on smooth mahogany. He grasped the door handle, pushed it open. If Quinn wasn’t in here, Brandon would look into all the lecture halls until he found the damn vampire. Maybe threaten him for a separate lab tour, so he could mine information from Quinn.
Except there were two vampires in the lab—one with black eyes, the other with red. And Not-Quinn was two inches from sinking his fangs into a blond guy. Brandon’s stomach clenched. Kill them!
He yanked out his knife, lunging at the vampire. Chaos exploded around him.
The blond guy—human?—hurtled at Brandon. Not-Quinn charged after him, his fangs sharp. Quinn tore after them, black eyes flashing. Brandon swerved away from the human, stabbing at Not-Quinn’s heart—the blond guy punched Brandon’s hand away, his own knife slicing a thin gash down Brandon’s forearm.
“Don’t touch him,” the blond guy snarled. The red-eyed vampire growled, grabbing the blond’s arm, hauling him back.
“Back off,” Not-Quinn said, his fangs tearing bloody lines down his lower lip. The nails on his hand extended into claws.
Brandon charged at him again, fury boiling in his gut.
A moving shape crashed into Brandon from the side, slamming him up against the lab door. Brandon’s skull knocked into wood; the vampire in front of him growled, fangs blunt at the ends, his eyes black, his hair auburn. “Brandon,” Quinn snapped, his hand fisted in Brandon’s shirt. “Stop this.”
“What the fuck,” he said. Above the pounding fear and adrenaline, his gut screamed, Vampire. And he needed to kill this man, needed to kill the other one before they both tore him into pieces. He couldn’t see the blond guy. The vampire might’ve ripped his throat open and Brandon wasn’t there to save him—
“No one’s getting hurt,” Quinn said, digging his arm into Brandon’s chest.
“Fuck you.” Brandon shoved him away, and Quinn staggered. Then Quinn pushed back with his entire body, slamming Brandon back against the door. His hands trembled with the force of it, his chest heaving. Then he hissed.
Brandon blinked past the pain in his body, looking down when his knife met resistance.
Crimson blood bloomed across Quinn’s shirt. Brandon’s knife had sliced down vertically against Quinn’s ribs, its edge still buried in Quinn’s chest. One well-angled stab, and Quinn would be dead.
Quinn grabbed his wrist, ramming it against the door inches from Brandon’s shoulder. “Kill me if you must,” Quinn said through gritted teeth, pain flashing in his eyes. “But let them go.”
“No way,” Brandon said, shoving back. Let a vampire go? Was Quinn insane? “I’ll kill all of you.”
“Even those who don’t drink?” Quinn’s eyes glittered. He released Brandon’s shirt, slipping his hand up to Brandon’s throat, cool fingers wrapping around Brandon’s larynx.
Brandon’s heart kicked. Kill him.
Briefly, Quinn’s gaze darted to the gash on Brandon’s forearm. “Seb hasn’t harmed a single civilian, you bastard. I won’t let you kill him.”
“What the hell,” Brandon said.
“Haven’t you heard of the minority?” Quinn leered, scorn in his eyes. “For a hunter, you’re abysmally ignorant.”
He wasn’t ignorant. How the fuck did Brandon ever find Quinn attractive? “You’re both vampires,” he said, shoving Quinn off. Quinn staggered back, and Brandon struck at him, his knife flashing.
Dark mist swept past his arm; a tawny hand struck out of the cloud. It grasped Brandon’s wrist, yanked him backward so he lost his balance. And the mist coalesced into a human shape behind him: the other vampire, with the red eyes and pointed fangs. Ice shot down Brandon’s spine. He was sandwiched between two vampires.
“Seb, no,” Quinn snapped, grasping the counter for balance. “He’s my student!”
The other vampire paused, fangs inches from Brandon’s throat, his cool grip tightening painfully around Brandon’s wrist. Red eyes flickered between Quinn and Brandon. “He’s your student? You’re teaching a goddamn hunter?”
Kill him or he’ll kill you. Brandon twisted around, swung at the vampire with his free hand. Seb grabbed it in a heartbeat, claws drawing blood from Brandon’s skin. “Damn you,” Brandon snarled, his heart thudding. This vampire’s grip was unyielding, like steel. Compared to him, Quinn’s hold had been light as fabric. Brandon struggled, and the vampire held on fast. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
“You say that like you aren’t grateful to be alive,” Seb growled. He glanced at Quinn. “Kill him?”
Quinn shook his head, meeting Brandon’s eyes. “No one is dying in my lab. Brandon, I don’t appreciate you attacking my friends.”
“You’re all vampires,” Brandon said. Why was he even surprised? San Luis Obispo had to be crawling with Quinn’s friends. “Did you kill the girl last night?”
Quinn blinked. “What girl?”
“Ten-year-old on Higuera. Behind the hardware store.”
Quinn exchanged a look with Seb. “Are you sure it wasn’t a mugger?”
“It was—” It was on the SMS. And it wasn’t like Quinn had any idea who Brandon’s informant was. “It was on the police channel.”
“It wasn’t either of us,” Quinn said, rubbing his face. “Ten years old? Oh, gods. Why was she out at that time?”
“Fuck if I know,” Seb said.
Brandon stared at the vampires. They weren’t surprised by the murder, but they didn’t seem pleased about it, either. Unlike the other eighty vampires Brandon had killed. “Really? You wouldn’t have killed her?”
Quinn sagged against the lab bench, his gaze flickering to Brandon’s forearm. Behind Brandon, Seb shook his head. “‘Course not. We aren’t in the coven. We don’t kill civilians.”
“We kind of are in the coven,” Quinn said, his lips twisting in a wry smile. “But we don’t belong.”
Brandon’s stomach turned to ice. He’d heard about a coven, but he’d never found out enough to believe it. He tugged futilely at Seb’s grip. “There’s a coven?”
“A very unpleasant one, yes.” Quinn licked his lips, his nostrils flaring. “Gods, you smell good.”
“Are you drinking from him?” Seb asked.
In the fray, Quinn had implied that Seb didn’t drink. Brandon didn’t believe it. Who else would he drink from? Prisoners? Like that blond guy behind them, maybe? Seb had been about to bite the blond when Brandon stepped in. And Quinn had let it happen—of course he did. Brandon glared accusingly at the professor.
Quinn’s gaze flickered over Brandon, from his face to his chest to his legs, and back up. And Brandon remembered two days ago, when their little interlude had happened in Quinn’s office, Quinn’s lips dragging damply along his skin.
“I don’t drink,” Quinn rasped, hunger flickering through his eyes.
“You drunk from me two days ago,” Brandon said, his pulse thudding. Quinn looked like he wanted to devour Brandon, and it sent a thrill of something up Brandon’s spine. “I didn’t think you could survive without blood.”
Behind him, Seb snorted. “You drank from this guy? Really, Quinn? You broke your two-century streak?”
Quinn’s cheeks turned a dark red. “I didn’t mean to. He was just—right there.”
He picked at his torn shirt. Drying blood glued the fabric to the four-inch gash. Past the raw flesh, Brandon glimpsed the whites of his ribs. The vampires he’d fought would’ve healed from that by now, their skin knitting back flawlessly. Instead
, Quinn prodded at his wound, wincing. What’s wrong with this guy?
“You’re healing pretty quick,” Seb said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Guess you did drink his blood.”
“That’s quick?” Brandon asked, incredulous.
The vampire behind him chuckled, but he didn’t release Brandon. “If you have a grudge against vampires, hunter, Quinn’s the wrong one to kill. He’s the only one of us who hasn’t had human blood in, what, two hundred years?”
“Shut up, Seb,” Quinn muttered, pushing the two sides of his wound closed, like he was trying to help it heal. “Don’t tell him all my secrets. I’m his goddamn professor.”
Two hundred years? Brandon watched Quinn, his thoughts whirling. He remembered Quinn’s groan, the soft touch of Quinn’s tongue on his neck. How could a vampire survive without blood? Because Seb seemed to be telling the truth. Who would joke about a vampire who didn’t drink? But it made sense now—the ground-down tips of Quinn’s fangs, the weakness of his grip, the entire premise of his research: blood synthesis.
“You haven’t had blood?” Brandon asked, just to be sure. “What kind of vampire are you?”
Quinn barked a laugh. “A rather miserable one. But the same goes for you, doesn’t it? Misery begets misery.”
“I’m not miserable,” Brandon said.
“Look into a mirror, hunter. Tell me you don’t see a walking mass of angry boy.”
“I’m not an angry boy.”
“You’re young, aren’t you? Then you’re a boy.” Quinn’s eyes glittered with humor.
“I’m twenty-eight,” Brandon said.
“Which means you’re a baby compared to me.”
“You fucked a baby, then.”
Quinn froze, his mouth open, his gaze darting up to Brandon’s. Then he looked at Seb, and his cheeks flushed a dark red.
Behind Brandon, Seb exhaled, shaking his head. “A hunter, Quinn? Really? Your student?”
“I know this is wrong.” Quinn fixed his eyes on the lab counters, his posture wilting. If Brandon didn’t know better, he’d think Quinn was ashamed right now. And it was odd, a vampire being ashamed. Almost like a human.
Professor Blood (Ironwrought Book 2) Page 4
