Wounded Soul

by Annabelle Jacobs

  Ian reached for his wallet. “This what you want?” He held it out to him. “Take it. I’m not looking for any trouble.”

  The guy had the gall to look offended. “I don’t need your money,” he scoffed. “I have no idea what Jesse saw in you.”

  “Jesse?” Ian frowned. What the fuck did Jesse have to do with any of this? A horrible thought struck him. It’s safer for us both if we stop it now. Jesse’s words took on new meaning. What the hell was he mixed up in? “Where is he? Is he okay?”

  “Jesse’s fine. A lot pissed off I imagine, but otherwise fine.” He smiled then, and it was possibly the creepiest thing Ian had ever seen. It made his skin crawl.

  Despite wanting to do the exact opposite, Ian kept eye contact as he carefully and quietly unzipped his front pocket. “You a friend of his?” He slipped his hand inside, fingers closing tightly around the spray.

  “You could say that. I’m Peter, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

  Nope. Asking for his name was about the furthest thing from Ian’s mind. He tried to shrug Peter’s arm off, but it was suddenly like a lead weight. “If you’re not going to rob me, then can you let go of my arm? I have someone waiting for me.”

  “Ah-ah.” Peter shook his head, nose scrunched up. “I don’t think you do.”

  “What do you—”

  “Your friend Cate was very cooperative. I asked her to send that message. She’s not waiting for you.”

  Rage overtook Ian’s fear, and he grabbed a handful of Peter’s shirt. “What the fuck have you done to her?”

  Peter didn’t so much as flinch. “Nothing. I can be very persuasive when I want to be. I doubt she even remembers our conversation, and I deleted the text, so . . .” His hand darted forward so quick Ian didn’t realise he’d moved until he felt it grip his own hand inside his pocket. “Whatever you’ve got in there, I doubt it’ll do you any good.” He pried the spray out of Ian’s fingers and brought it out to examine it. “Oh, I stand corrected.” Turning it over in his hand, seeming to have no trouble reading it in the dark alley, his eyebrows rose. “This is VLCD standard issue.” Peter turned a fanged smile on him, and Ian’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  He froze, body locked down with shock, and no words wanted to come out either.

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Peter licked over his fangs, slow and predatory, then he grabbed both of Ian’s arms—phone clattering to the ground—picked him up, and sped them further into the dark alley.

  Away from the street and any possible help.

  Ian found himself pinned against a damp brick wall, Peter’s hand around his throat. “Cry for help and I’ll rip your tongue out.”

  From the look in his eye, Ian had no doubt he’d do it without a second thought.

  He was so fucked.

  Fear washed through him like an icy wave, and he started to tremble.

  This was not how he wanted to die.

  “There are rules,” Ian ground out, surprised his voice didn’t shake too. “You can’t kill me.”

  “Hmm.” Peter ran a finger along Ian’s cheekbone, then down across his bottom lip. “I see DS Jones has been spilling secrets. Just how well do you know him?” His eyes bore into Ian’s and he felt himself answering despite wanting to tell Peter to go fuck himself.

  “Best friend,” he spat.

  “Ahh. Not fucking then.”

  Ian’s heart stuttered, and Peter laughed.

  “Not for want of trying, eh? I don’t blame you, he is rather delicious.” Then his expression darkened, and Ian tried to sink back against the bricks. “Poor Jesse. I take it he doesn’t know you have a thing for your BFF? And a VLCD member at that.” He laughed again, but there was no humour in it. “He’ll be crushed when I tell him.”

  Ian tried not to put the pieces together, tried to ignore what his brain was telling him, but . . . “Is Jesse like you?”

  “He wishes.” Peter’s laugh was more genuine this time, but then his expression darkened again, quick as a flash. “But if you mean is he a vampire? A drinker of blood, member of the undead, et cetera?” He waved a hand about. “Then yes. I’m afraid you’ve been fucking a killer.”

  No.

  He would’ve noticed, wouldn’t he? Ian scrambled to remember everything about their time together. Had he been so caught up in the moment that he’d failed to notice that Jesse didn’t have a heartbeat, didn’t need to fucking breathe? Maybe Jesse did something to his mind . . .

  Jesus Christ, Cate had been worried about meeting a vampire out on the street when all the while he’d had one in his bloody bed!

  He’d been at the bar where she worked. Spoken to her, for fuck’s sake.

  Motherfucking bastard!

  Ian wracked his brain for a way out. No way was he dying in some pissed-stained alley at the back of a Spar shop. “They’ll know if you kill me, right? The VLCD will come after you. They’ll probably kill you too.” An educated guess, but from the shadow that passed over Peter’s face, he wasn’t far off the mark.

  “I was supposed to investigate you from afar without raising suspicion.” He laughed softly, then leaned in and ran his nose along the column of Ian’s throat.

  Ian’s heart stopped. For one long moment he thought that was it, thought Peter was going to rip his throat out and drink his blood until he died right there on the street.

  Instead, Peter sniffed.

  “I can smell him on you,” he whispered. “I was all set to do as I was told, find out what I needed, then leave you alone. But then I smelt Jesse’s scent on you, faint, but definitely his.”

  I knew I should’ve washed my fucking sheets.

  “And that was that,” Peter carried on. “I can’t possibly leave you alive, knowing that you still hold his attention even though he’s been banned from seeing you.”

  Ian’s mind whirred as Peter spoke in a voice far too soft for the words he was saying.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he choked out, horrified to feel his eyes welling up. “I won’t contact him again. Ever. I won’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Such a liar,” Peter crooned, stroking his face again. “Jesse always goes for the feisty, clever ones.” The hand around his throat tightened, tipping Ian’s head to one side. “He was mine once. Would still be mine if I hadn’t made one little error of judgement.” He leaned in close, lips brushing the side of Ian’s throat.

  Oh God.

  “He’ll be so upset when he finds you.”

  Fangs grazed his skin, and Ian closed his eyes.

  “But I’ll be there to comfort him, just like I was the last time he lost someone he cared for. I’ll make him see that fucking a human is never a good idea.”

  Ian felt Peter’s mouth open wide, and he struggled under his grip, but it was like he was held in place by iron bars.

  “They’re just food.”

  Fangs pierced his skin and pain, sharp and hot, lanced through him. The scream died in his throat as Peter drank and drank, pulling the blood from Ian’s body with each long swallow.

  His eyelids felt heavy and unconsciousness tugged at him, calling him to give in and let go. He fought for all he was worth, kicking his legs, hands scrabbling at anything they could reach, but it was useless. Peter ignored it all, his rhythm never faltering until Ian couldn’t hang on any longer, and the world went black.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jesse checked his mirror, on the lookout for traffic police as he flung his car around the country roads. Raph would be furious when he found out Jesse had left, but he couldn’t let Peter anywhere near Ian without being there to keep an eye on them.

  He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

  Peter had a good hour-and-a-half head start, and anything could’ve happened in that time.

  He wouldn’t kill Ian, even Peter wasn’t that stupid. But he was creative, and Jesse wouldn’t put it past him to scare Ian half to death or injure him and make it
look like an accident. Peter was sadistic that way, especially, he suspected, when it came to men Jesse liked.

  He should’ve known this would happen.

  Should’ve stayed the fuck away from Ian as soon as Peter smelt his scent on him.

  He gripped the steering wheel so hard it creaked.

  The roads were pretty much deserted as he drove into the centre, and Jesse headed to one of the twenty-four-hour car parks. His phone chimed with a text as soon as he turned off the engine.

  Peter’s name displayed on the screen, and dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

  Nothing good would be in that text.

  Jesse knew it, but he had to look.

  I found something of yours. I think it broke. Sorry.

  The phone slipped from his fingers, the photo accompanying the text burnt into Jesse brain.

  “No!” he roared, the sound deafening inside the car, but he didn’t give a fuck about anything right then. His phone chimed again. Jesse steeled himself and bent to pick it up. Ian’s pale, lifeless body stared back at him, lying on the dirty ground looking unharmed, but Jesse knew he’d find puncture wounds on his neck or wherever Peter had drunk from him. Ian was dead, or very close to it.

  Jesse recognised the signs.

  That motherfucking bastard.

  He was going to burn for this. If Raph didn’t report him to the VLCD, Jesse would do it for him.

  Forcing himself to read the words in the latest text message, Jesse tore his eyes from Ian’s photo.

  He’s not dead yet. Come get him before I finish him off.

  Where? Jesse typed back, already out of the car.

  Peter sent him an address and Jesse was off, running through the city streets at full speed, nothing but a dark, shadowy blur to anyone that saw him.

  At the entrance to the alleyway, Jesse ground to a halt, Ian’s scent all around him, along with Peter’s. He hissed under his breath. “I’m going to kill you for this. Fuck handing you over to the police.”

  Peter appeared out of the shadows, and two figures dropped down from the roof of a nearby shop to stand beside him.

  Jesse cursed under his breath. Peter alone he could handle. But not three of them.

  “What?” Peter’s amused voiced raised his hackles. “You didn’t think I’d come alone did you?”

  “No.” Jesse walked towards him, gaze flicking to Ian’s body, trying to see if he was still breathing. “You like an audience.”

  Peter laughed. “That I do.”

  Jesse’s foot hit something as he walked, sending it skittering across the ground. He glanced over to see a phone come to a stop a few feet away.

  “Oh, you might want to pick that up. It’s Ian’s and we don’t want any evidence lying around, now do we?”

  Jesse stayed where he was. “The more evidence there is against you, the better.”

  “I don’t think it’s me they’ll be looking for when they find poor Ian’s body.” He poked Ian with his foot, and Jesse heard the faintest of groans.

  He was over there like a shot, fingers searching for a pulse.

  “I told you he was still alive.” Peter leaned in close over Jesse’s shoulder. “Barely.”

  “Fuck off.” Jesse glared at him, teeth bared. He put his hands gently underneath Ian and started to lift him up. He’d carry him to a hospital if he had to.

  “It’s too late,” Peter murmured. “Listen to how slow his heart beats, how it struggles to pump what little blood he has left. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, but . . .” For a second Jesse thought he heard a hint of regret in Peter’s voice. “Better say your goodbyes quickly, Jesse. You have a body to dispose of.”

  He felt the life drain out of Ian as he held him in his arms, heard the moment his heart gave up.

  No!

  Jesse closed his eyes as rage burnt hot and bright. He wanted to tear Peter apart with his bare hands.

  Very carefully he laid Ian back onto the ground, then leant down and gave him one last kiss.

  Jesse stood and slowly turned around. “You murdering bastard.” Ignoring the other two vampires, he whirled on Peter, hands slamming into his chest as he shoved him up against the nearest wall. “I’m going to call the fucking vampire police and tell them what you did.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” Peter grinned, making no effort to get away, and Jesse felt the presence of the other two on either side of him.

  He tensed, expecting them to strike any second. “Why? I want them to hunt you down like the monster you are.”

  Peter nodded towards his wrist, and when Jesse looked down, it took him a moment to realise what was missing.

  “Where’s your tracker?”

  “Tucked in my rucksack on its way back to the coven. I sent the other two members of our team back already, told them we’d be right behind them. No one will be any the wiser.”

  “How?” They had special keys to take the trackers off and Raph kept them all in his safe. Every removal was recorded along with everything else. “Raph—”

  “Has no idea.”

  Jesse glanced at the vampires flanking him, both of whom he’d seen with Peter before. “Yours too?” They held up empty wrists.

  “So you see, Jesse, the only person they’ll trace back to where Ian died . . . is you.”

  No. No, no, no.

  “The boys from the VLCD trust their trackers over anything we have to say. Especially when it’s someone they care about.” Peter pointed at Ian’s body. “He’s DS Jones’ best friend. They won’t believe a word you say.”

  Jesse smashed Peter’s head against the wall in frustration and backed away.

  “Temper. Temper,” Peter slurred, eyes glazing over.

  Jesse ignored him, hands fisting his hair as he tried to think of what to do.

  His phone.

  His motherfucking phone with Peter’s messages on it.

  Trying not to let anything show on his face, Jesse raised his hands, letting Peter go. “Fine. You win. There’s nothing I can do to get you punished for this, so just fuck off and let me deal with it then.”

  Peter rubbed the back of his head, already healing, then blinked a few times and eyed Jesse curiously. “Jesse, Jesse . . . I know you better than you think.” He tapped his chin. Gaze roaming up and down Jesse’s body as though searching for something.

  If Jesse had any, he’d be holding his breath right about now.

  When Peter’s gaze lingered on Jesse’s coat pocket, his stomach dropped.

  “Clever.” He looked proud, as though Jesse almost outsmarting him was somehow his doing. “I’d forgotten about your phone.” Turning his head slightly, he motioned towards Jesse’s pocket. “Michael, relieve Jesse of his phone and Ian’s as well, would you?”

  “Don’t do it Michael. He killed Ian, not you.”

  Michael shrugged and licked over his fangs. “I wish it had been me.” He took the two paces towards Jesse and reached for his pocket.

  As he reached out to take the phone, Jesse reacted on instinct, snatching Michael’s hand and snapping it up and backwards. The bone made a satisfying crack and Michael howled in pain.

  Jesse turned to run, knowing his only chance was to get out of the alley and out into the open where the risk of discovery was greater, but Peter and the others would be a lot more cautious in their attacks. He made it two steps before hands gripped his shoulders from behind, and the next moment he was flying through the air straight towards the wall.

  His head connected with the brickwork first, scraping away the skin and stunning him momentarily. He fell to the floor in a heap, vision blurring at the edges and a dull ache spreading throughout his skull.

  Someone yanked him to his feet, manhandling him until he was shoved face first against the wall.

  “I did this for the good of the coven, Jesse.” Peter. “He knew about us, and we can’t have that.” The hands holding him disappeared, and Jesse stumbled to the floor, darkness creeping in, threatening to pull him
under, but he fought against it. Now was not the time to pass out.

  Clinging to consciousness, his body finally healed itself enough for Jesse to straighten and take in the scene around him.

  Peter and the others were gone.

  He quickly checked his pockets.

  Both phones were gone too.

  Jesse wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, but the reality of the situation caught up to him, and he closed his eyes for a second to collect himself, then rushed over to where Ian’s body lay.

  Kneeling down beside him, Jesse leant over him and brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Looking at him now, eyes shut, mouth slightly open, and with no visible injuries save for the puncture marks on his neck, Jesse could almost convince himself Ian was asleep. Not lying dead in a dirty alleyway.

  He ducked his head, closed his eyes again, and wished for all the world that he could go back in time and never walk over to him in that bar. If Ian had never met Jesse, he’d be alive right now.

  Jesse felt something roll down his forehead, then over his nose. His eyes snapped open in time to see a drop of blood fall from the tip of his nose straight past Ian’s parted lips into his mouth.

  Then another.

  Jesse stared, horrified and frozen in place.

  Another drop, and he forced himself into action, rearing back and wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. It came away bloody—the wound was almost healed but had bled a lot first. Fucking head wounds.

  Jesse stared at Ian’s face, question after question running through his mind.

  Had it been enough? Do I want it to be? Should he give him more? Should he pick up Ian’s body and get the fuck out of there before someone discovered them?

  To sire a new vampire, there was a window of an hour or so after death to give them vampire blood or the body wasn’t viable. Ian had been dead for ten to fifteen minutes, tops. Jesse had never done it himself. He had no idea how much blood you had to give someone before they turned. A few drops? A few mouthfuls?