Brandon watched the parasite in front of him; eyes empty, cheeks gaunt. He remembered the pale vampire from ten years ago, when he’d opened the front door and found his parents dead, and the vampire had swooped at him, rushed past in a cloud of mist. His ears had rung with a terrible screeching.
There was a vampire behind him now. Brandon tensed, suddenly unsure. But he’d told himself he’d try it, just once. Quinn hesitated, too, and Brandon snapped, “Get on with it.”
Quinn leaned in, the ends of his auburn hair brushing Brandon’s jaw. He parted his lips. His fangs gleamed.
A vampire would kill Brandon, just like it had killed his parents and the girl behind the hardware store and—
Fangs brushed his neck, cool and smooth.
Fear surged through Brandon’s veins, icy and paralyzing. His body seized, his heart kicked into overdrive, and he couldn’t breathe, he had to get the vampire away from him and fuck he was going to die like Mom and Dad did.
He jerked away from the vampire behind him, gasping, his fist gripping the silver knife so hard his knuckles turned white. Run. Kill.
The dying vampire shuddered, his body crumbling into dust at Brandon’s feet. But there was still a vampire behind him. Brandon turned, his throat clogged with panic, his instincts screaming Kill it.
The vampire stepped away, his palms up, his eyes wide. “No, don’t kill me,” he gasped, backing into the other wall. “I’ll go. I promise.”
He looked like he was about to cry, and Brandon couldn’t remember who he was, only that he was a vampire and his name was Quinn.
“Then go,” Brandon snarled, his hands shaking, the trembling blade catching the glow of the faraway streetlights. “I don’t trust you.”
The vampire sagged, his mouth falling open. He pressed himself flat against the alley wall, edging away until he rounded the corner, disappearing from sight. Brandon looked down at the pile of dust on the dirt-caked floor.
Bile rose in his throat. He threw up a little, coughing, spitting the taste from his mouth. Then he pressed his forehead against the cool brick wall, breathing in deep.
He was alone in the alley. There wasn’t anyone here. He’d killed the vampire, and the other had fled.
Quinn had fled.
For a moment, Brandon rolled that name around in his mouth. Quinn. Professor Quinn. The other students called him Professor Blood, and Brandon had seen him stripped of his defenses, seen him shuddering and open and helpless.
Quinn was human, and a vampire, and Brandon... shouldn’t have chased him away. But it was the right thing to do, when nothing could possibly work out between them. His parents would be disappointed. Hell, Brandon was disappointed in his own choices, and there was no future for him and Quinn.
It shouldn’t feel like he’d made the worst mistake of his life.
With a groan, Brandon dropped his knife with a clatter, burying his face in his hands.
12
Quinn
Quinn stumbled back to the college, his throat tight, his eyes prickling.
It shouldn’t have mattered so much, Brandon shoving him away. He should’ve known Brandon couldn’t stand to have him so close. Brandon was afraid of Quinn’s teeth, and Quinn should’ve known better than to try biting him. He couldn’t even trust himself, not with how he’d murdered his own sister.
Even if he’d licked blood off Brandon’s cuts, it was different from sinking his fangs into Brandon’s flesh. Brandon hadn’t been bitten before. Of course he would react badly. He would never allow a vampire near him.
And so Quinn’s vampirism would always cause a rift between them. Quinn would always be a reminder of Brandon’s parents’ deaths. If he cared for Brandon, then he would remove himself from Brandon’s life, so Brandon could be happy.
It was better that they never saw each other again.
He strode past the stone letters of College of San Luis Obispo, ignoring the security guard stepping out of his booth.
“Professor Quinn,” the guard said, but Quinn brushed past him. “There were a couple of men looking for you. I told them I saw you leave.”
Well, it was late. They could visit tomorrow.
He barreled up the sidewalk, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. His chest shouldn’t hurt this much. Leaving Brandon shouldn’t hurt this much, and maybe... he really did love Brandon.
Even if he was a student.
Even if he was a human.
Quinn gulped, striding up the stairs of the biology lab building. None of this should have happened—not the sex, not the different facets of Brandon’s person, not the memories he’d stashed of Brandon smiling.
He’d focus on the blood samples Oriel had left, maybe test another suppressant. He wasn’t any closer to finding one that worked, and gods damn it, couldn’t he succeed at this for once?
All he wanted was something going right in his life, so he didn’t have as many reasons to hate himself.
He strode unseeingly through the hallways, passing the other labs with their plain brown doors. Then he stopped in front of the Blood Synthesis lab, setting his hand on the door handle. He’d locked it before he left; where was his key?
The door handle turned when he pressed down on it. Quinn frowned. It’s open? I thought I locked it.
He pushed open the door, and two figures in the lab froze. They were dressed in white, with surgical masks over their faces. The fridge door was open, and one of them held Oriel’s unlabeled blood samples in his gloved hand. A chill skidded down Quinn’s spine. How did they find out?
“Plan C,” one of the masked men said. They were thieves. Agents.
Quinn swore, striding forward. “You can’t have those,” he snapped. “Who sent you?”
The men didn’t even look at each other. They backed away, turning toward the corner of the lab. Quinn followed, listening to their heartbeats. Two hearts in front of him, thumping quickly.
One went thud-thud-thud behind him, and Quinn spun around. A figure in black stepped out of his office, gun in hand. How did I not notice...?
The agent fired. A tranq dart lodged in Quinn’s throat. He snarled, yanked it out, leaped at the agent. He should flee. But this was his lab; he couldn’t let them take the samples away.
Quinn flung himself at the black-clad figure, shoved the point of his gun away. The man reached for him; Quinn grasped his throat, squeezed. The man struggled. Quinn was too weak to kill him easily, but fury burned in his veins. He needed these people out, needed those samples back. He’d promised to keep them safe.
The agents behind him clicked their own guns. Quinn swore, knowing he should turn to dust right now.
He tried to relax. He couldn’t.
He heard the whistle of the darts before they hit, one in his neck, the other in his back. He grabbed at them, and the agent in black lunged at him, punched him in the face.
He reeled, slamming into the wall, pain bursting through his skull.
One of the agents grabbed him, twisting his arms behind his back. Strong hands locked him in place. He needed to relax, damn it! Quinn snarled, struggling. The men in white exchanged a glance.
“How did you get here?” Quinn snapped.
“We received tip-offs. Someone called Brandon.”
Quinn’s stomach turned to ice. No.
But even as he refused to accept it, he knew Brandon had told on him. How could he not, when he’d spent ten years hunting vampires?
Quinn gasped for breath, trying to think. He needed to leave. Needed to grab those samples. But Brandon had given his secret away, and all his thoughts clustered around that. Of course Brandon hated him. Why had Quinn ever thought otherwise?
His vision blurred at the edges. The tranq darts. Quinn shook his head, needing his thoughts to clear. He needed to get out now.
He tried to relax. His body stayed intact, and his thoughts slowed to a crawl. Need to leave. Somewhere. Tell Seb about blood. Brandon hates me.
Someone shot another dart at him. His
arms were locked tight. He couldn’t move. His vision spun, and Quinn reeled.
Then the men shoved at him, and his legs gave out.
His last thoughts, before his vision blanked, were of hazel eyes and a handsome cocky smile.
13
Brandon
Brandon’s feet thumped on the sidewalk, his breaths coming hard and uneven. I shouldn’t have told him to go, damn it!
He glanced over his shoulder at the road, jogging through a pedestrian crossing. He needed to apologize to Quinn. Back in the alley, he’d offered Quinn his blood, and when Quinn had tried to drink from him, he’d panicked, snapping at Quinn to leave.
That shouldn’t have happened. It was Brandon’s fault, and Quinn’s hurt stare haunted his thoughts.
It wasn’t like anything could happen between them. They’d fucked a couple times, talked some. It wasn’t as though Brandon knew the professor all that well. But he knew Quinn well enough, knew Quinn where it mattered, and his gut said to find Quinn and apologize. Now.
He wanted to see Quinn again. Maybe see him smile. The past three weeks of not talking had been torture, and of course when they’d met again, Brandon had to chase Quinn away.
Quinn was far too important. He’d listened to Brandon talk about his parents, he’d given Brandon a chance with the classes. He’d only tried to bite Brandon when Brandon gave him his fucking permission, and gods, both of them had to be insane.
No. Brandon should stop right now and go home, because he was nuts, looking for a vampire so he could apologize.
His phone buzzed.
Brandon swore. He tugged it out of his pocket, slowing down to read the message.
Vampire at SLO College. No need to go down. We’ll take him alive.
Quinn? His stomach shrunk into a hard lump. What? he jabbed on the phone, then hit Send.
In a few moments, the answer came. We have a series of experiments. The professor will be a good candidate for them.
Brandon read the message again. They were going to take Quinn. Experiment on him. There was something incredibly wrong with that statement, and his heart clenched.
The feds hadn’t known about Quinn until Brandon went and told them, and gods, why the fuck had he done that?
He sprinted, his thoughts churning.
There were so many vampires in San Luis Obispo. So many vampires everywhere, if they bothered to look. But no, they had to take Quinn. Quinn was in danger—did he know that?
Brandon tugged his phone out again, hit the Call button on Quinn’s name. The phone rang four times, and the dial tone cut off. Brandon swore. Did Quinn reject his call, or had he already been captured? I hope I’m not too late.
He shot past the trees, the stoplights, the benches at the bus stops. He knew this town inside and out, and the college was five minutes away if he sprinted. Five minutes was far too long—anything could happen, and...
Gods. Please be okay.
This was his own damn fault, and if Quinn somehow died from this, if they hurt Quinn—Brandon’s stomach turned to ice. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Because Brandon cared for Quinn, more than he did a professor, more than a friend, and...
Maybe he loved Quinn. And that was the most insane thought of all.
The tall buildings of the college came into view. He could see the dark square windows of the chemistry building, the long windows along the auditorium. He dashed past the guard house, ignored the guard’s yell, and charged at the biology labs.
In the barely-lit parking lot behind the biology building, a car and a truck had parked by a side door. The rest of the parking lot was empty. Brandon slowed down, his footsteps silent as he inhaled deeply, held his breath, then released it. This late at night, most of the professors would have already gone home.
He’d seen this place empty once, back when he’d dropped by Quinn’s lab at 7 PM. Quinn had swallowed Oriel’s blood and gone wild, and Brandon had calmed him down. They’d fucked that night, and he’d left at 10 PM, bitter after their argument.
It was now close to 11 PM, and there shouldn’t be a car or a truck parked here, light streaming out through a gap in the truck’s cargo door. Quinn was in there. Brandon felt it in his gut.
And gods, he needed Quinn to be alive. If he was dead, if those damn feds had killed him... Brandon’s gut clenched.
He couldn’t lose Quinn at all, and he was only realizing it now.
Calm down. Think.
Brandon scanned his surroundings for movement, glad for the black clothes he’d worn out to hunt. Then he crept to a tree close by, and stepped around the car. The shadowy seats were empty.
He wound around to the truck—no driver, either—then to the open cargo door, pressing his back to the cargo hold. Both vehicles had all numbers on their license plates.
“I’ll transport the blood and phone,” one voice said in the cargo hold. “We need that data back at HQ ASAP. They’re pushing for advantages over the vamps and won’t tolerate any more delays.”
“Thought you brought that card reader along, Sean. That’s shoddy of you.”
“Sorry. ‘Sides, this truck is for experiments. Not data-mining.”
“You’d think we’d get a better truck for this gig.”
“It’s just a phone. Shouldn’t be an issue.” The voice approached the door, and Brandon froze, his mind racing. That was Quinn’s phone, wasn’t it? With all his vampire contacts, the friends whose identities he’d refused to divulge. If these guys had Quinn’s phone and blood samples, then where was Quinn? Was he alive? Brandon’s blood froze in his veins. Calm the fuck down.
He knocked on the door. The conversation hushed.
“I’m a hunter,” Brandon said. “Got a message to come here. You got a vamp?”
The door slid open, and Brandon squinted at the bright fluorescent lights shining down on him. He pointed at the knife in his holster.
Three guys stared at him: one in black, two in white. The guy in black an icebox under one arm and a phone in his other hand. Quinn’s phone. And beyond them, Quinn lay on a long metal table, his face pale, his eyes closed. They’d pulled his lab coat open, tugged his shirt up. There was a tiny device strapped to his abdomen. The fuck were they doing to him?
Brandon fought down the visceral reaction to snarl. “That’s the guy?”
“No one’s supposed to be here,” the guy in black said. “We’re taking him alive. You’re not needed.”
“Hey, that’s fine,” Brandon said, holding his hands up. His heart thundered. If any of them were a vampire, they’d have heard his pulse by now. “How’d you catch him? They’re slippery bastards. I’m surprised he’s still alive.”
But Brandon caught the rise and fall of Quinn’s chest, and his nerves eased a little.
“Tranq gun.” The man in black narrowed his eyes. “Go home. We’ll call you if we need something.”
“Sure. Sorry for interrupting.”
Quinn was alive. That counted for something. The agents wouldn’t kill him yet. Ignoring his instincts to grab Quinn, Brandon backed away. The man in black stepped out onto the asphalt, heading over to the car.
“Hey,” Brandon said, following him. “Is that a vamp’s phone? I didn’t know they used phones. I mean, they’re old, aren’t they?”
The man eyed Brandon like he was an idiot.
“Can I look at it? Just to see how they contact each other. Comes in handy, you know. Like I think there’s a vamp doctor in SLO. Thought I might message him.”
The man frowned deeper, but he handed the phone over, its screen lit up. “Thirty seconds.”
They were in the shadows of the truck, and it was dark enough that Brandon couldn’t see his hands. So he slipped his own phone out of his pocket, clicked the lock button on Quinn’s phone. The screen shut off, leaving them in darkness. “Oops.”
The agent clicked his tongue. Brandon slid his own phone above Quinn’s, lighting the screen up again. And for the first time, he was glad that even their home scr
eens were the same. He pressed Quinn’s phone to his thigh, covering it with his hand. “Wow,” he breathed. “Looks the same as mine. I had no idea.”
He could feel the man rolling his eyes. The man snatched the lit phone from Brandon’s hand, turning back to the car. “Whatever. Go home, kid.”
Brandon slipped Quinn’s phone into his pocket. Then he padded to the back of the truck and poked his head through the door. “What are you guys doing now?”
It sucked, acting stupid. But Quinn was fine, he was still breathing. Brandon froze when one of the men uncapped a tube of blood, holding Quinn’s mouth open. “Better take off, kid. We’re using him to track down someone. This will be dangerous.”
“With blood?” Brandon widened his eyes. It had to be Oriel’s blood, then. They were using Quinn to hunt Oriel. “Are you guys gonna be fine?”
“Sure. He’s a mild one.”
The car purred past him, its engine fading into the distance. Two men left. Brandon willed his heart to stop thumping so hard. He leaned against the open truck door, watching as the agent tipped blood into Quinn’s mouth. You have no idea what monster you’re creating.
The man shut Quinn’s mouth. Both agents observed Quinn, and Brandon counted down the seconds, breathing shallowly. They’d given Quinn 5 ML of blood. More than what Quinn had swallowed three weeks ago.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.
Quinn shuddered, a flush rising to his cheeks. His eyes snapped open, gleaming golden, pupils constricted. A growl rumbled in his chest. He sat up on the metal table, open shirt fluttering around his sides. Then he sniffed at the air, and his fangs pushed out into his mouth, pointed ends sharp.
The agents exchanged a look, the easy smiles on their faces falling away.
Kill them, Brandon thought.
Quinn’s gaze fell to the vial Oriel’s blood had come from. The agent holding it gulped, pulling out a silver knife.
“Wrong move,” Brandon murmured.
Quinn’s claws flashed. They tore through the man’s throat, splattering blood, and Quinn’s nostrils flared.
Professor Blood (Ironwrought Book 2) Page 12
