Professor Blood (Ironwrought Book 2)

by Anna Wineheart

“Quinn,” he snapped. “Remember me?”

  The vampire charged past the benches, clawed hands swiping at Brandon. He caught Brandon in the shoulder, nails pricking into Brandon’s skin, and shoved him across the room. Brandon lost his balance, hurtling forward, crashing into the centrifuge so hard it rattled.

  Two weeks ago, Quinn had told the lab tour group, Don’t lean on this machine, or you’ll unbalance the system. Treat it as your firstborn.

  Brandon grimaced, prying himself off the centrifuge. This isn’t you.

  Quinn flew at him, claws glinting. Brandon twisted past the racks of empty test tubes. The vampire followed, swept the racks off the counters. Glass smashed at their feet.

  Brandon lunged forward, grasping Quinn by his arm. Quinn swiped at his cheek. Two of his claws caught Brandon’s skin, thin scratches that burned and drew blood. Brandon swore.

  But something flickered in Quinn’s eyes when warm blood trickled down Brandon’s jaw. Then Quinn wrenched himself from Brandon’s grip and struck again, and Brandon shoved him back against the bench. Quinn’s research notes were stacked into a pile behind him.

  The vampire swept his arm through the papers, scattering them like falling feathers.

  “Stop this,” Brandon growled, his mind racing. This wasn’t Quinn. This was a vampire, a creature that would rip him apart in two seconds. But somewhere in there was the broken professor, too, and Brandon couldn’t kill him.

  Quinn lunged at him, and Brandon twisting away, swearing when Quinn followed him all the way to the back of the lab, murder in his eyes. Brandon backed up against the countertop oven, its cool, shiny exterior a cold wall behind him. He could bowl Quinn over, or pin him, or—

  He charged at Quinn, and Quinn grasped his shoulders, slamming him back into the oven.

  The oven listed backward, its sturdy weight giving out. Brandon planted his hands on Quinn’s chest, heaved him off, and the oven crashed onto the counter behind them, its door slamming open, the test tubes inside spilling out, smashing across the floor.

  Brandon’s stomach clenched. This couldn’t go on. “Quinn,” he shouted, grabbing the vampire’s forearms when Quinn leaped at him. “Stop this! You’re destroying your lab!”

  But Quinn stared blankly at him, his tongue darting over his lips, fangs sharp.

  How do I stop you? Why didn’t you tell me? Brandon shoved Quinn’s hands behind his back, holding them down so tightly his arms trembled. Then he pinned Quinn against the counter with his hips, leaning back when Quinn snapped at him with his teeth. This close, the vampire was a regal monster, a mass of violence trapped in human form. And he was pressed up against Brandon, his body wiry and firm.

  “Quinn! You know me!”

  Quinn glared, his pupils constricted, drool trickling from one corner of his mouth.

  And this hurt, the thought that Quinn would never recognize him again.

  Reckless, Brandon leaned in, pressing his lower lip against Quinn’s fangs. Sharp points dug into his skin, little bursts of pain. Blood welled up along his lip, dripped down his chin.

  Quinn sucked in a sharp breath.

  Then his tongue flicked out, cool and soft, dragging over Brandon’s lip.

  “Drink it,” Brandon growled, tipping his mouth up, leaving it open for Quinn. Better Brandon’s blood than whatever Quinn just had. His blood wasn’t addictive. And if he had to—if Quinn went any further out of control—Brandon had his knife. His stomach squeezed.

  Quinn struggled weakly, but he chased Brandon’s blood with his tongue, his breath puffing cool over Brandon’s face.

  And the fight in his limbs drained by a fraction.

  Quinn groaned, leaning closer, his tongue dipping into Brandon’s mouth, swiping over his lip as he searched for more blood.

  This shouldn’t be happening—Brandon holding a vampire, Brandon not killing a vampire. Brandon allowing the vampire to suck his blood, even as his muscles tensed with nine parts fight and one part fear. He held a vampire right against his body, and at any time, Quinn could sink his teeth in and rip his throat open.

  Instead, Quinn took Brandon’s lip into his own mouth, his lips dragging soft and damp. He sucked on Brandon’s skin, licking over the tender cuts. Then he pushed his tongue into Brandon’s mouth, tasting like blood and chemicals, and Brandon’s heart thumped.

  He hadn’t been this close to Quinn before. Hadn’t imagined they’d be pressed up like this, Quinn languidly exploring his mouth without knowing it. Quinn purred, his tongue sliding down to Brandon’s lip again, his fang catching on Brandon’s skin in a prickle of pain.

  Blood welled up, and Quinn groaned, lapping at the cut. His eyes slipped shut, his body falling pliant against Brandon’s, and Brandon released his breath, wariness slowly slipping out of his body.

  He didn’t know what the fuck just happened, or how he’d managed to stop Quinn with his own blood. Even if it wasn’t what Quinn had searched for, it was good enough.

  “Good,” Quinn moaned, slipping his tongue deeper into Brandon’s mouth, as though seeking more. It touched Brandon’s tongue, soft and searching, and Brandon shivered, pleasure skittering down his nerves. This wasn’t... wasn’t a kiss.

  But he’d seen Quinn and his various facets—the snarky professor, the hesitant vampire, the broken man, and he hoped that Quinn was still in there, somewhere.

  Quinn purred, sucking Brandon’s lip into his mouth. Brandon pressed Quinn to the counter, just in case.

  Minutes later, Quinn leaned away, his eyes sharper than before. Brandon’s heart kicked. Did he remember that... kiss?

  He waited until Quinn’s gaze locked with his. Quinn blinked. “Brandon?”

  Relief slid through Brandon’s veins, slow and sweet.

  “How much do you remember?” Brandon asked. He didn’t know if Quinn would hate that they’d kind of kissed, even if Brandon had enjoyed every second of it. Because Quinn wasn’t just a vampire—he was kind, and selfless, and Brandon... wanted more of him.

  Quinn frowned and shook his head. “Not much. I remember the blood and the antidote, and then... nothing.”

  “I cut my lip on your fangs,” Brandon said. “You seemed to recover when you drank my blood.”

  Golden eyes dropped to his mouth. Quinn licked his own lips, as though tasting Brandon’s blood, his gaze thoughtful. “I... hurt you,” he said, his eyes flickering over Brandon’s body, widening when they caught the blood on his shoulder and cheek and arms. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Brandon said. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

  “But—”

  “You were trying to find an antidote. Is my blood enough of one?”

  Quinn frowned. “It shouldn’t be that convenient. I’ll run a test on your blood, but... it would be a miracle if your blood were the solution. I haven’t found anything else that would break a vampire from the haze.”

  “You broke out of it pretty quick when you had my blood.”

  Quinn eyed Brandon’s mouth. Blood slid warm down Brandon’s lip, and Quinn’s nostrils flared.

  “Take it,” Brandon said, tipping his mouth toward Quinn.

  Quinn’s cheeks turned a dark red. “I-I didn’t... Did I... suck it off your mouth?”

  “You pushed your tongue in,” Brandon said, a thrill shooting through him at the way Quinn squirmed, his eyes wide. His gaze flickered past Brandon’s shoulder.

  Brandon froze, the reality of the past few minutes crashing back. Don’t look at the lab.

  He knew what Quinn’s gaze took in, though: the glass shards and scattered paper, the oven on its side, the centrifuge knocked askew.

  Quinn sucked in a sharp breath. Then he glanced back at Brandon, his face pale. “My lab?”

  “It’s fine,” Brandon said, even though he knew nothing about it. “It’s just things. You can replace them.”

  “I did that?” Quinn croaked. “I can’t—My lab...”

  “You’re back,” Brandon said firmly. “That’s more i
mportant.”

  But Quinn squirmed out of Brandon’s arms, glass crunching under his shoes. He stepped gingerly across the lab, peering at the broken test tubes, the sheets of paper on the floor. Then he glanced at the fallen oven, and froze.

  “No,” Quinn murmured, his voice strangled.

  “You can replace it,” Brandon said, following him.

  But Quinn didn’t listen. Instead, he drifted along the counters, checking his machines. He stopped at the centrifuge. Then he sobbed dryly, setting a careful hand on its lid.

  “You were going to get the blood in the fridge,” Brandon said. “I stopped you.”

  It took him a while to realize that his own limbs had loosened. Quinn was back. And they were both still alive, scratched, but mostly fine.

  Quinn turned to look at him, his gaze lingering on the rips in Brandon’s shirt, the scratches down his arms. Then he met Brandon’s eyes, and the corners of his lips pulled down. “I’m sorry,” Quinn choked. “I didn’t mean—”

  Brandon closed the four feet between them, pulling Quinn’s thin body into his arms. The injuries were fine. They’d heal. But the destruction had broken something in Quinn, and Brandon hated to see the despair in his eyes.

  “C’mon,” Brandon murmured, stroking down his back. “You’re back. That’s important.”

  “But...” Quinn trembled, pulling away to look at him, his face completely raw.

  And Brandon leaned in, brushing their lips together.

  8

  Quinn

  Quinn had been afraid of Oriel’s blood. He’d known its effects, could smell the promise and the danger in it.

  Through the past two weeks, he’d buried himself in his research, trying to mix an antidote for Oriel’s white blood cells. He’d mixed a cocktail of chemicals, things that would halt the blood cells, or destroy them before they could sink into a vampire’s nervous system.

  The only problem had been in testing it. Under the microscope, the treated blood cells had stopped moving, or disintegrated. And Quinn had almost found the optimum ratio of blood to suppressant, too.

  Before he could test it on himself, Brandon had stepped into the lab, refusing to leave.

  If he were honest, Quinn had been relieved to know Brandon would be around. Despite his history of killing vampires, Brandon hadn’t hurt Quinn yet. Instead, he’d come to class, did what he needed for his project and... he’d held Quinn in the office two weeks ago, promising safety.

  So Quinn had let him stay, certain that Brandon would kill him if he lost his mind.

  He hadn’t expected the destruction that would follow.

  When he blinked, the haze falling away, Quinn saw Brandon first. He smelled that sweet-salty blood in his nose, tasted the rich iron of Brandon’s blood on his tongue. Quinn hadn’t accidentally killed him, and that thought was unexpectedly liberating.

  Brandon had looked at him, his hazel eyes a whirl of emotions, and he’d looked relieved beyond anything.

  Then he’d asked if Quinn remembered what happened.

  Quinn remembered vague movements, blood and pressure. That was the effect of Oriel’s blood; the haze, the craving for more, except he hadn’t been able to find more of Oriel’s blood.

  Then Brandon had offered his own blood, and the memories sharpened; Quinn licking Brandon’s lips, his tongue pushing into Brandon’s mouth. And maybe Quinn had fantasized about this, thought about Brandon pressed up against him.

  So they’d somehow kissed while Quinn was half-conscious. Quinn’s stomach flipped. Had he given himself away?

  Embarrassed, he glanced at the lab, trying to recover.

  The lab looked as though a whirlwind had swept through it. The glassware was broken. The machines had been shoved askew—the delicate centrifuge, of all things—and the oven lay on its side, its door hanging open.

  It had taken him twenty years to put his lab together, collecting instruments and machines and glassware, and it all lay around them now, some damaged beyond repair.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  “You can replace it,” Brandon said.

  But there was just so much destruction. The glassware wasn’t so bad. But the machines—two of the oven’s legs had twisted, and the centrifuge... Quinn didn’t even know how broken it was, whether it needed an insane amount of repairs. And even though he had the money to replace them all, these machines were his companions, friends he saw every day in his home.

  It hurt something fierce in his chest. Brandon’s injuries piled on top of that, angry scratches dotting his shoulders, the scent of his blood wafting into Quinn’s nose.

  “You were going to get the blood in the fridge,” Brandon said, far too kindly for a hunter like him. “I stopped you.”

  At what cost?

  Quinn shivered, reaching out to touch the centrifuge. The fingertips of his gloves gaped open, ripped by his claws. This was why Seb had told him not to drink the blood. But he couldn’t administer an antidote without testing it first, and... he’d damn near destroyed his lab. And he’d hurt Brandon. How could he have done that? Why hadn’t Brandon killed him?

  “I’m sorry,” Quinn choked. “I didn’t mean—”

  His throat squeezed, and Brandon stepped in close, pulled him into a tight hug. It didn’t ease the horror of the destruction, but Brandon’s warm body gave him something else to focus on. Quinn didn’t want to remember anything right now.

  “C’mon,” Brandon murmured, his breath puffing in Quinn’s hair. “You’re back. That’s important.”

  But it still didn’t make things right. Quinn looked up, feeling as though the ground had pulled away from under his feet.

  Brandon kissed him.

  It started slow, Brandon’s lips dragging warm and gentle against his. The kiss felt... familiar, and Quinn smelled the thick, heady scent of Brandon’s blood, wanted the delicious weight of it on his tongue.

  He returned the kiss, lips parted, flicking his tongue against Brandon’s cuts. Blood smeared across his tongue, mellow like burnt sugar, and Quinn moaned, sucking Brandon’s soft lower lip into his mouth, lapping up every last trace. It tasted good, better than Oriel’s, and Quinn wanted to lick at Brandon all day, savor the rich droplets of his blood.

  Brandon groaned, pulling his lip out of Quinn’s mouth. It left Quinn bereft, made him hesitate. Did Brandon not want more? Brandon was a student, and a hunter, and... Quinn shouldn’t be sucking his blood. Or kissing him.

  Brandon leaned in again. Horrified, Quinn pulled away.

  “What are you doing?” Quinn gasped, licking the smear of blood off his own lip. His instincts screamed at him to press closer, sink his fangs into Brandon’s skin. Gulp all his blood down. Quinn kept his hands at his sides.

  Brandon stilled, his eyes growing wary. “It’s not obvious?”

  Quinn gulped. Yes, it was. “I don’t... Why the hell would you...?”

  Brandon glanced away, his cheeks turning a faint pink. Quinn’s stomach flipped. Okay, he hadn’t expected that. Nor did he expect Brandon to look so damn adorable, blushing like he wasn’t a hunter who had killed eighty vampires.

  “Do you have to be this thick?” Brandon muttered, licking his kiss-swollen lip.

  “You gave me your lip to suck on,” Quinn blurted. And he’d licked it like he would Brandon’s cock. Did Brandon know? Quinn’s cheeks burned. “This shouldn’t be happening.”

  “I’m probably insane,” Brandon said.

  “Same here,” Quinn breathed, Brandon’s body pressed up against his, warm and solid. He squirmed around, pulling his gloves off. Then he rinsed his hands at the sink and turned back, touching Brandon’s lip gingerly. The cuts looked shallow, but blood still seeped from them. “I didn’t think you enjoyed the taste of vampire.”

  “I have gourmet tastes,” Brandon said, his gaze darting back onto Quinn’s lips. Quinn’s mouth tingled.

  “What does vampire taste like to you? Stale bread?”

  Brandon snorted. “Kinda like chemicals and
blood.”

  “You’re supposed to be killing me.”

  “Maybe another time.” Brandon’s gaze was intense, fixed on him.

  Quinn swallowed, his stomach squeezing. “Why not now?”

  “You don’t deserve to die, damn it.”

  Quinn sagged. “You mean I’ll have to live on eternally as punishment.”

  Brandon sighed, reaching up, sliding his fingers over Quinn’s nape. For a while, Brandon watched him. “You’re a good person.”

  “I’m... What?” Quinn struggled to understand. Brandon wouldn’t kill him. Brandon thought he was good, and this was ironic, wasn’t it? “Why do you even care?”

  Those hazel eyes watched him, unwavering. “Because you’re patient with your students. You don’t try to drink from them. Hell, you haven’t even bitten me once.”

  Quinn gulped. He’d thought about it several times, dragging his fangs down Brandon’s throat, lapping up the lines of blood from his skin. His stomach squeezed. “I thought you hated me.”

  Brandon stared back, his gaze steady. “Do I look like I hate you?”

  Even though he didn’t want to, Quinn dragged his gaze over Brandon’s face; over his dark eyebrows, down his pointed nose, to his full lips. Then his broad shoulders, his strong chest, and Quinn thought about the hunter who spared him, who looked at him for who he was. Even if Quinn didn’t care to treat himself gently.

  And maybe he liked Brandon more than he expected, more than he should.

  He stared into Brandon’s eyes, waiting for a flash of dislike, or anger, or violence.

  But Brandon met his gaze, as though Quinn were a normal person. And that was the greatest gift of all.

  Quinn leaned in, slanting his lips against Brandon’s, opening for him. Brandon nudged his lips wider, slid into his mouth, his tongue soft, searching. Heat jolted down Quinn’s spine. He pressed himself closer, fingers curling into Brandon’s shirt. And Brandon growled, hefting Quinn against him, their hips pressed together.

  Past his jeans, Brandon’s cock was a hard line, eager, hungry, pushed up against Quinn’s. Brandon wanted to fuck him, and Quinn’s breath rushed out of his lungs.