“This is way out of my hands,” Seb said. “I’m not dealing with it. You’ll be fine if we leave?”
We? Brandon looked up, catching the eye of the blond guy. He’d forgotten about him.
“Hey,” the blond said, smiling warily at Brandon. He grabbed a pair of sunglasses off a counter. “Not exactly a pleasure, but hi.”
“Thanks for today, Quinn,” Seb said, his grip still tight on Brandon’s wrists. “I owe you.”
Quinn glanced at Brandon, then at Seb, as though he was piecing together his next words. “I’ll work on a longer-term solution. Take care, you two.”
The blond wandered over. Next to Seb, he stopped, sliding the sunglasses onto Seb’s face, veiling his red eyes. Then he tiptoed, kissed Seb on the lips, and slipped out through the door. Seb released Brandon, following in a swirl of cool air.
The door clicked shut.
For a long moment, Brandon stared, the cut on his forearm stinging. The human had just kissed that vampire. What the actual fuck? Who would get that close to a vampire? The blond had to be a spy, or a hunter, or—
“They’re blood-bonded,” Quinn said, pushing away from the counter. “They want to start a family.”
The words seeped slowly into Brandon’s mind. Why would a vampire want a family? “That’s... possible?”
Quinn’s eyes glinted. “When two men love each other very much—”
“I don’t need that fucking talk,” Brandon snapped, glaring.
“You seem to need the most basic lessons,” Quinn said. He shrugged out of his shirt, wincing.
And it still unnerved Brandon, how long this vampire took to heal. “You’re not dying, are you?”
Quinn glanced at his wound. “Maybe next century. I’m bleeding a little slowly.”
Brandon bristled. “Does everything you say have to be so damn sarcastic?”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps.”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
“Again?”
He flipped the professor off this time, and Quinn smirked.
“I did always wonder about the middle finger,” Quinn said. He turned away from Brandon, wiping his chest with his balled-up shirt. “If that’s supposed to look like a cock, then that’s a very indecent proposal, isn’t it?”
“Not everyone wants a dick up their ass.”
“Do you?” Quinn glanced at him sidelong, his lips curving.
And Brandon couldn’t help staring at his mouth, at the gleam of it, how pink it was. “Not any more than you do.”
Which was the wrong answer, because Quinn chuckled. “So if I said yes, then you want this up your ass.”
Quinn curled his fingers toward himself, leaving his middle finger pointed out. Brandon traced the pale line of his finger with his eyes, thinking about it probing him. His hole clenched with anticipation. “No,” he said, heart pounding.
But Quinn smiled, glancing at Brandon’s chest. Brandon remembered too late that the vampire could hear his heart, too. And his pulse had given that away.
He scowled. “Damn you. You want my cock up your ass.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes, turning away. “I’m your professor, Brandon. I won’t accept sexual favors.”
“Except you already did. In there.” Brandon jerked his thumb at the office.
“Nothing happened,” Quinn said sharply, glaring over his shoulder. “Or do you want your name tarnished, hunter?”
Brandon swallowed. He didn’t cling to his reputation as a hunter, but even so... He’d fucked a vampire. And that was wrong, just like every other thing he’d found out today: Quinn wanted to fuck his ass. Quinn wanted Brandon’s cock in his ass. And Quinn hadn’t had blood in two hundred years, until Brandon’s. And apparently vampires and humans could bond—whatever the hell that meant—and start families.
It was too much to comprehend.
“I don’t believe it,” Brandon said. “You’ve never had blood? Until mine?”
Quinn paused in the doorway of his office, his expression shuttered. “I’ve been drinking animal blood for two hundred years. If that matters to you.”
Something had made Quinn stop drinking, then. “You can live on animal blood?”
Quinn held his hands out. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”
“Seems impossible,” Brandon said, but his thoughts spun. He’d been killing vampires who targeted humans. It had never occurred to him that there were other vampires around. If Quinn could be believed, then he was different. Not quite as bad as the other vampires. Maybe he wasn’t even a parasite, and... I can’t believe I’m even thinking this.
“Why even drink animal blood?” Brandon asked.
“Because I’m staying alive, apparently.”
“Why?”
Quinn’s lips thinned. “Do I owe you that explanation? Should I not be alive?”
Brandon almost said You shouldn’t, but... Quinn didn’t drink human blood. And maybe he wasn’t the monster that had murdered Brandon’s parents. Maybe he was different. Brandon struggled to wrap his mind around that.
“Are you going to wash that blood off?” Quinn settled into the chair behind his desk, his chest pale, smeared with blood. The gash was now two inches long, a damn sight better than before. And his chest was lean, too, like Brandon had imagined, his nipples little pink discs waiting to be touched. “Or are you just going to slobber in my doorway?”
“I’m not slobbering,” Brandon said, yanking his attention away. Quinn’s gaze lingered heavy on his forearm, where dark blood was starting to crust. So maybe they were both ogling the other. “Why should I wash it? Are you breaking your new no-blood streak because of me?”
“I’m not drinking from a human,” Quinn said. Except his eyes roved over Brandon’s wrist and down his body, over his chest and hips and thighs. Like he wanted to pin Brandon down and devour him. And the five-feet block of air between them tautened. “Much less from a drooling boy.”
“You’re the one drooling,” Brandon said, glaring. Quinn was a damn liar, too, except Brandon could read him like a car manual. Yeah, he wasn’t the least bit attracted to this man—his vampirism, his leering, his stupid smart words.
“Did you have anything else to say? I’m sure I’d prefer silence to your voice.” Quinn pulled a new shirt from his drawer, shaking it out. Then he draped it over his shoulders, letting it fall softly against his chest.
Brandon stared, wondering what those pink nipples tasted like. What Quinn’s cock tasted like. And he was disappointing his parents, wasn’t he, if he wanted to fuck a vampire? If he thought maybe Quinn wasn’t so bad?
“I’m leaving,” he said.
Ten years ago, his mom had said, Graduating already? You’re growing up so fast. I’m proud of you. And his dad had ruffled Brandon’s hair and pulled him into a hug. This was how he repaid them, by getting all comfortable with a vampire. The same sort of creature that had murdered them.
Angry with himself, Brandon said, “You’re supposed to send me that lab tour schedule.”
“You’re in no position to make demands,” Quinn said, narrowing his eyes.
“We made an agreement.”
“That I did not consent to.”
“Send those dates to me, or I’ll call the feds on you.”
Quinn stiffened, his eyes darting to the door. And a little thrill of victory hissed through Brandon’s veins. He had something against the vampire. Even if all this was wrong, he was doing something right. And that eased the guilt in his gut.
“You’re despicable,” Quinn said, dislike flashing through his eyes.
“You’re vile,” Brandon said. “I wish I’d never met you.”
Quinn’s gaze hardened. “Very well. I’ll send that schedule to you.”
The triumph in his chest roaring louder, Brandon nodded, striding out of the office.
Two steps outside the Blood Synthesis lab, he pulled his phone out. Found two vampires at the SLO college. Seb and Quinn.
Thirty seconds after he
sent the message, an answer came. Very well.
6
Quinn
The lab tour was scheduled for 10 AM. As the minute hand crawled closer to 12, Quinn wished the clock would slow down, or stop completely.
He didn’t want to see his students. Or rather, he didn’t want to see Brandon. Because the thought of “his students” had distilled down to one face in his mind: hazel eyes, black hair, and a too-smart mouth that distracted him to no end. Yesterday had turned out to be a disaster.
Quinn should have locked the lab door. Especially when he’d had Oriel Lancaster in his lab. But for years, no one had barged in, and Quinn had gotten into the bad habit of not locking his doors. Except Brandon had charged in at the most inopportune time, and his silver knife had stung like fire in Quinn’s chest.
It was ironic that Seb and Oriel had been visiting. Quinn had been surprised, almost embarrassed by their intimacy. He’d known about their bond, of course. To see it in person, though... It had shaken him a little. What human would love a vampire? What human could look past that predatory instinct, that desire for blood?
Then Brandon had announced that Quinn had tasted his blood. Before that, Quinn had prided himself on two centuries of no human prey.
It hadn’t stopped there. In front of Seb and Oriel, Brandon had revealed that Quinn had fucked him, a student and a hunter, and Quinn’s dignity had burned down to ashes.
It had been a horrific mess.
Yet, he still ached for more of Brandon’s blood. The shallow gash on Brandon’s forearm had bled down to his wrist, telling Quinn where exactly he should’ve licked. Brandon had smelled delicious, and Quinn had trembled, holding himself back.
Quinn groaned, rubbing his face. At least the cut on his chest had healed.
His phone alarm went off at exactly 10 AM. He winced, standing to unlock the lab door.
Outside, ten students milled about in the hallway, mostly in their early twenties. They always looked so young. Quinn scanned a few of their faces, careful to ignore the broad figure leaning on the wall three paces away. Then he glanced down at the roster on his clipboard. If his students ever found out his true identity, they would feel betrayed, probably hate him.
But Brandon already hated every cell of his body; did it matter who else did?
Not really, if Quinn thought about it.
He pushed those thoughts away, calling out the students’ names. One by one, the students filed into the lab. Quinn made sure to look only at them, until one name remained. On the roster, Brandon Remy seared its way through his mind.
He looked up, his skin prickling under Brandon’s stare. And Brandon pushed away from the hallway wall, his shoulders and biceps flexing. Quinn gulped.
“You missed a name,” Brandon said, his footsteps silent as he prowled over. Quinn couldn’t drag his eyes away, not when Brandon’s gaze coasted down his body, and all his nerves lit like fire. “Are you going to call mine?”
Quinn licked his lips. “I don’t need to, do I?”
“Call my name anyway.”
“What will happen if I don’t?”
“Do you want to know?” Brandon stopped inches away, his gaze boring into Quinn’s from inches away, the heat of his body radiating through the air between them.
“You make this sound illicit,” Quinn breathed. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Say it.”
A student’s name shouldn’t carry so much weight. Except Quinn knew the different ways Brandon could roll off his tongue, and none of them were suitable for school.
“Right here?” he croaked.
“Where else?” And in a murmur, Brandon added, “In bed?”
Quinn’s blood surged south, the ferocity of it dizzying him. He tried to breathe, except his pants were tight, and he couldn’t think.
He should hate this man, this hunter who had manipulated his way into Quinn’s lab group. And Quinn did. He never wanted to see Brandon again, never wanted to hear his voice. Every time Brandon mentioned the feds, the Blood Synthesis group, Quinn tensed. Brandon was a threat.
And Quinn wanted to squeeze into his pants, wanted to grind their bare cocks together.
“My name,” Brandon whispered, his breath heavy on Quinn’s lips. The hallway was empty. And Brandon lifted his hand, tracing his knuckle along the line of Quinn’s cock, his warmth soaking through the fabric of Quinn’s pants. Quinn’s mouth turned sandpaper-dry.
“Brandon,” Quinn groaned, pleasure feathering through his body. It sounded like sex—all of this felt like sex—and it was wrong. Anyone could step out of a lab, and... Brandon cupped his cock, squeezing it.
Quinn’s breath punched out of his lungs.
Brandon brushed past him, his full lips pulled in a smirk, a hard line at his groin.
Quinn ducked into his office for a few seconds, so no one saw him adjusting himself. Then he buttoned up his lab coat, striding into the lab. Why did you let him bait you?
Because he hated this man, and his resentment made him want to pin Brandon down, fuck that cocky smirk off his face.
It still meant he wanted to fuck a student, and that incriminated him. Quinn tried not to scowl.
The students had seated in rows along the lab benches, their chatter dying down when Quinn stood before them. Brandon sat at the far end of the first row, his gaze dragging down Quinn’s body, lingering at his hips. Quinn’s cheeks prickled. The lab coat should hide his arousal, but Brandon’s gaze wandered up his body, met his eyes knowingly.
Quinn looked away, setting his clipboard down. “Welcome to the Blood Synthesis research group. If you’ve attended the Basics to Blood lecture, you’ll know that I’m Professor Quinn.”
Brandon raised his fingers, a brief wave. “Is this tour really necessary?”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. You signed up to ask questions like this? “Yes. It’s necessary for the enlightenment of your soul.”
“My soul is light enough, thanks.”
“Your soul is so dark I’d have to fish it from the ocean’s depths.”
Brandon snorted. The students looked between them, and Quinn waved to catch their attention. “Now that Mr. Fashion Show has shared his wise words with us, we may proceed with the tour.”
Brandon glared, glancing down at his own clothes. Collared shirt and jeans, all dry today. Pity, Quinn thought. His drenched shirt had shown off his body far better.
“Why Blood Synthesis?” Brandon asked.
“Why did you join this research group, Mr. Remy?”
Brandon hesitated. “Wanted to learn about blood. For hunting.”
That, Quinn hadn’t known. Brandon would use this knowledge against him, then. “I’m sure a Midwestern college would have suited you much better.”
“I live here,” Brandon said. “That, and you seem to know what I want.”
His gaze slid down to Quinn’s hips again, and Quinn’s cock twitched at his attention. And nine other students watched their exchange, wondering what the hell was going on. Quinn fought the blush off his face.
They’re probably regretting this right now, he thought. Just like Quinn regretted adding Brandon to his research group. “The purpose of the Blood Synthesis group is to find a commercially viable alternative to human blood,” he said. “Artificial blood, for people who aren’t able to produce their own.”
Brandon’s eyes gleamed. “And for people who don’t want to consume blood?”
Quinn tensed, watching the other students. None of the rest seemed to understand, or even look at Brandon. The vice around Quinn’s heart relaxed. “For people who would rather not accept blood transfusions, yes.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. Quinn smiled, victory singing in his chest.
He explained the group’s research projects—testing oxygen-transport materials, inventing blood prototypes, and new ways to produce synthetic blood. Then he introduced the students to the equipment—the centrifuge, the flow cytometer, the DNA analyzer.
“After thi
s, you’ll divide into pairs to practice the microscopes and micropipettes,” Quinn said. “I’ll allocate specific research projects to each of you, but you’ll need to know the basics of operating these machines.”
The students broke up into pairs. Quinn gave them glass slides, showed them how to drip a blood sample onto the middle of the slide, and set up a protective glass film over the blood. Then he walked around, correcting students on their microscope handling.
This took Brandon’s attention off him; the tension in Quinn’s body eased, and he focused again on teaching.
Fifteen minutes later, his neck prickled. He found Brandon watching him, so he smiled, wandering over. “Do you have a problem?”
“We can’t focus on the sample,” Brandon said. “I think the microscope is overworked.”
“You must have worked it to death,” Quinn said dryly. Then he pointed out the two adjusting knobs. “This first one gets you closer to the sample. Once you have that, use this smaller knob to focus—you may have to close an eye to get the lines sharp.”
Through the explanation, Brandon’s gaze flickered thoughtfully between Quinn and the microscope. At the end of it, he said, “Thanks,” and Quinn turned away, the weight of Brandon’s gaze lingering on his back.
I’m just someone you want to kill. The thought sat heavy on Quinn’s chest, following him around to the other pairs.
When he looked back again, he found Brandon helping his lab partner—a girl with red hair and round glasses. He spoke quietly to her, his large fingers careful with the slide. What caught Quinn’s attention, though, was the serious expression on his face, the concentration with which he set the slide under the microscope, nodding for her to give it a try.
Quinn looked away, the gravity of Brandon’s gaze playing over and over in his mind.
He could appreciate the thought Brandon put into the lab exercise. Brandon Remy wasn’t here as a hunter—he was here to learn, and... by giving the practice its due attention, it felt as though he was looking into part of Quinn, respecting all the efforts Quinn had put into this research group for the past twenty years.
Professor Blood (Ironwrought Book 2) Page 5
