10
Quinn
The next few weeks didn’t pass easily.
Quinn had cleared the mess in his lab, ordering fresh test tubes and beakers, calling up repairmen to fix the broken machines. While waiting for the glassware to arrive, he’d borrowed apparatus from the other professors, sending his students to the other labs to use their equipment.
He’d felt terrible about it—the destruction in the lab was his fault, and he shouldn’t have had to bother his colleagues. But it was done; the machines weren’t working, and broken glass wasn’t easily mended.
Just like that rift he’d caused between himself and Brandon.
And it was fine, really. Brandon was a student. He had no business coming into Quinn’s lab, getting into his pants. Even if Quinn wanted Brandon a hairsbreadth away, sweat caught between their bodies.
He shook himself out of his thoughts, rearranging the pet rocks in his office. Three weeks ago, after a research session, Brandon had stopped by the office door, nodding at them. Why do you have stones in your office? he’d asked.
Because you can’t squeeze blood from a rock, Quinn had answered. Brandon had snorted, humor glinting in his eyes.
Quinn smiled at that memory. Then he settled behind his desk, trying not to imagine what Brandon had seen, when he’d sat in this chair three weeks ago.
He still remembered the faint humiliation from that; Brandon had seen how hard Quinn was, how needy he had been.
Quinn swallowed, turning back to his laptop. Sometimes, he imagined Brandon’s heat on his skin, Brandon’s breath puffing through his hair.
“Stop that,” he muttered, powering on his laptop. “He’s your student.”
After that torrid night, Brandon hadn’t shown up for class for a week. Quinn had thought he’d dropped out of the course, but his name lingered on the class rosters like a stain.
Quinn had worried. He’d crept to the car shops downtown, where Brandon had said he worked, and sighed when he glimpsed Brandon’s broad shoulders. Then Quinn had slipped away, guilt weighing down his footsteps.
He shouldn’t head to Brandon’s workplace again. Brandon had made it plenty clear that he didn’t want to see Quinn, and Quinn understood that. They were both adults. Brandon was his student, too, and Quinn liked his tenure too much to lose it sleeping with a student.
Except he missed Brandon’s voice, missed seeing him smile. When Brandon had finally returned to class two weeks ago, he’d sat with the other students, hidden away amongst their crowded ranks. In the lab, he’d not looked at Quinn at all, and had partnered with that redhead girl with the glasses.
He hadn’t gone home with her—Quinn had sniffed discreetly at him, and flushed when he’d realized what he was doing. Then he’d hidden away in his office, waiting for the students to approach with their questions.
So perhaps Quinn couldn’t stop thinking about that accursed hunter, and maybe he missed the comfort of Brandon’s embrace. And it was hell, knowing he’d maybe had a chance with that man. Well, maybe not. Brandon hated vampires. Quinn didn’t want to risk biting him, didn’t want to risk drinking too much of his blood.
Quinn swallowed, checking his phone. Still no word from Brandon.
“You need a walk,” he told himself. “Get him out of your head.” Or maybe it should’ve been Get his head into you, but that was... unprofessional.
He ignored the twinge of desire in his body, shuffling out of his office. At the door, he twisted the key in the lock, thinking about the fresh blood in the fridge.
Last week, Oriel had visited again with Seb, leaving more blood samples behind. Quinn had used his newly-fixed centrifuge to separate Oriel’s blood, drawing out the white blood cells so Seb could drink the blood-and-plasma mixture. Seb had promised Quinn another favor.
What favors Quinn needed, he had no idea. Mostly because what he really wanted... was to set things right with Brandon. He couldn’t do that.
Quinn had watched Seb and Oriel in his lab, and his chest had ached, knowing that a human-vampire relationship was possible. If he hadn’t been involved with Brandon, maybe he could’ve even tried the relationship thing with someone else. But Brandon...
Damn it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Brandon at all.
The traffic lights turned red before him. Quinn realized that he’d wandered all the way downtown, to where he’d skulked around two weeks ago, hoping that Brandon had been fine.
In the twilight, everything seemed different—the trees looked like mutated creatures reaching into the sky, and the buildings stared solemnly at him, their windows gaping like empty eyes.
It wasn’t as though he’d find Brandon here, this time of day. He didn’t even know where Brandon lived.
So Quinn wandered, glancing at the bright windows of sandwich stores, the neon lights of a psychic’s shop, the moths fluttering under the sodium streetlamps.
A breeze picked up as he stopped by a quiet intersection: a strip mall to one side, a quiet park to the other. And as the evening breeze curled beneath his nose, he smelled the coppery tang of blood.
Hunger gnawed in his stomach. Quinn pressed a hand to it, swallowing. He shouldn’t follow the scent. But it smelled rich, like human blood, and the last time he’d had any... it had been Brandon’s, when Quinn licked the crimson droplets from his lip.
Since then, he’d grown weak on chicken blood again, imagining the smooth flavors of salt and caramel when he drank.
I shouldn’t follow that scent. But his feet stepped in that direction anyway, and Quinn gulped, curiosity prickling in his mind.
He wandered down deserted side streets, the purring of cars fading into the background. Further away, someone shrieked. Footsteps thudded. Quinn paused. He never got involved with the other vampires; the coven’s business wasn’t his. He shouldn’t even be out here, wandering through the shadowy downtown roads.
Someone snarled, and another breeze blew past. It smelled like blood, like salt and caramel.
Quinn’s stomach clenched.
He tried shifting into dust, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. “Come on,” Quinn muttered, closing his eyes, focusing on relax. He’d done it once this year, back when Brandon chased him out of the lecture hall. He could do it again. Someone hurt Brandon. Someone hurt Brandon, and they had to pay.
He loosened his limbs, breathed in, then out, and his body disintegrated into a million pieces of dust.
Quinn swooped down the street, winding between trees and over buildings, until he spotted movement in a dark alley below. Three figures, one standing away—a frightened human. The other two were locked in a vicious fight. One was gaunt and pale; the other dark-haired, his shoulders broad. Quinn remembered the salt of his skin.
The figures swiped at each other; the vampire with claws, Brandon with his knife. Open cuts littered Brandon’s arms; he stabbed at the vampire, silver blade sinking into its chest. The vampire shrieked, claws slashing at Brandon’s arm. Brandon swore and yanked his knife out, leaping backward. The vampire pounced at him.
Quinn flew into the alley, circling around the figures, trying to pull himself back into his human shape. He couldn’t. Brandon glanced at Quinn’s dust, eyes wary.
In that second, the vampire struck at Brandon’s chest, claws slicing two scarlet lines across his heart.
Horror shot through Quinn. Not there! Brandon couldn’t get vampire blood onto those cuts, or he’d be blood-bonded to the vampire. The vampire realized it, too. He smirked, fangs gleaming, and threw its bloody knuckles at Brandon’s chest. Brandon stabbed down with his knife.
Mine, Quinn thought, fury vibrating through him.
He pulled, coalesced into his human shape. Then he plunged between hunter and vampire, shoving Brandon away. The vampire’s claws sunk into Quinn’s chest, grinding over his ribs. Pain burst through his flesh.
“He’s mine,” Quinn snarled, punching the vampire’s hand away. Maybe he was hungry, but Brandon was Quinn’s. No other vampire could claim
him.
“The fuck,” Brandon snapped behind him.
“Leave now,” Quinn said, glaring at the vampire.
“He’s unclaimed,” the vampire said, shoving at Quinn’s chest.
Quinn staggered across the gritty alley floor, wishing he had more strength than this. He needed to separate the vampire from Brandon, get Brandon’s cuts cleaned up.
Brandon lunged, his blade sliding between the vampire’s ribs. The vampire shrieked, claws slashing. Quinn grasped the vampire’s flailing hand, slammed it against the alley wall.
“I don’t need your help,” Brandon said through clenched teeth, lodging his blade in the vampire’s heart. The vampire struggled, screeching in agony.
“He was about to bond with you,” Quinn hissed. “Haven’t you heard of the blood bond?”
“The fuck is that?”
“How are you a hunter?” Quinn shuddered. Brandon could’ve been bonded to any other vampire without knowing it. “It’s when you become my primary prey. Your blood will heal me most.”
Those words sent a thrill down Quinn’s spine. My prey. Mine. He hadn’t thought how good that sounded, until those words rung between them. And Quinn wanted. He wanted Brandon as his, wanted Brandon’s blood slicking his tongue.
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“Probably because you kill them before they bond with you.”
The vampire shuddered against the alley wall, then stilled. Quinn’s blood rushed with relief.
“Why are you even here?” Brandon glanced at him, breathing hard, still holding the knife in place. He had to keep silver in the vampire’s heart until he truly died, or the vampire would heal himself, return for vengeance.
“I smelled blood,” Quinn said, uneasy. He wasn’t admitting that he’d been searching for Brandon.
Blood trickled down Brandon’s arms, crimson rivulets that smelled like salt and burnt sugar. Before this, Quinn had been distracted, getting Brandon out of the way, keeping the other vampire away from him.
But now that the threat was gone, Quinn sucked in a deep breath, and the heavy, coppery scent of Brandon’s blood teased his nostrils, tempting a taste. Quinn’s fangs pushed out into his mouth, their blunt tips sliding over his lower lip. He needed that blood in his body, needed it on his tongue.
Brandon watched him, his eyes unreadable. He knows. Gut clenching, Quinn thought about stepping away. But the heat of Brandon’s body radiated through the inches between them, tantalizing. He hadn’t had that heat in weeks. And if Brandon was just going to wipe all that blood off...
Through the five weeks he’d known Brandon, Quinn still hadn’t gotten a proper taste of his blood. It had dripped from a cut here, a wound there, but it hadn’t gushed over Quinn’s tongue, filling his mouth.
Stop thinking about it. Quinn glanced around the rest of the alley, trying to distract himself. The human victim had disappeared.
“I’ve never seen you around here,” Brandon said, his gaze narrowed.
Quinn gulped. He hadn’t realized that Brandon was furious, until now. “I’ve never really been here.”
“Then why did you come? I thought you were another vamp when I saw your mist, damn it!” Brandon’s eyes flashed. “I almost stabbed you!”
“I couldn’t revert to this.” Quinn held his hands out, his cheeks prickling with disgrace. “I’m... weak. You know that.”
Brandon held his stare, his knife still in the vampire’s heart. “Then you shouldn’t have come at all.”
Quinn flinched. He would never be good enough for Brandon, would he?
“I smelled your blood.” Quinn looked at his feet, imagining disgust in Brandon’s gaze. At the end of it all, Brandon was still a hunter, his goal to destroy vampires like Quinn. Maybe he’d get tired of Quinn one day, and kill him too.
“What’s that thing about the blood bond?” With his forearm lodged against the vampire’s body, Brandon tugged at his shredded shirt. The scent of his blood wafted into the air.
Quinn groaned, sniffing at it. “It happens when a vampire mixes his blood with yours. Through a cut on one of our chests. You become the vampire’s prey, and your lifespan will increase in accordance.”
The parallel scratches on Brandon’s chest gleamed in the faint lamplight, and Quinn swallowed. Brandon watched him shrewdly. “You said ‘He’s mine.’”
Quinn’s cheeks prickled. He had to leave before he embarrassed himself further, before Brandon told him to disappear. “I... I said it to drive him off. I meant to say you were my prey. Vampires get possessive over these things.”
“I’m not your prey.”
I wish you were. “No, you aren’t. I’m sorry I said that.”
“Are you really?” Brandon’s gaze darted over Quinn’s fangs, and Quinn hated how telling they were. He pulled his lips over his teeth, trying to hide them. “You want to drink my blood.”
Quinn gulped. “I just... smelled blood. It’s an uncontrollable reaction.”
“You wouldn’t drink his.” Brandon nodded at the vampire.
“His blood is different. It’s stale, and he’s used the nutrients from it.” Quinn shrugged, forcing himself to turn away. First one foot, then the other. Get out of the alley. Go home, and forget about Brandon.
“What about mine?”
The memory of luscious blood surged through his mind. Quinn’s stomach tightened. “Stop tempting me with it,” he snapped, his fangs sliding bluntly against his lip. “I’m not drinking from you.”
“Why?” Brandon narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t trust myself,” Quinn said, chest squeezing. “I’ll kill you like I did my sister. You’ll hate me.” He didn’t want to hear Brandon’s answer, so he made himself keep walking.
“What if—what if I let you?”
Quinn’s stomach flipped. “Damn it, Brandon.”
But he turned, and Brandon’s gaze burned hot through him. Quinn’s breath rushed out of his lungs. For a long while, Brandon stared at him, considering. “We’ll give it a try,” he said at length, clenching his jaw. “Just to see what it’s like.”
Quinn couldn’t breathe. Brandon was either brave, or stupid, or both. Genevieve had died, and Quinn hadn’t the self-control to pull himself away. “I don’t—don’t trust myself.”
“If it’s bad, I’ll tell you to stop,” Brandon said. And he tilted his head to the side, offering his throat.
Quinn’s instincts roared. He was striding, he was right there next to Brandon, Brandon’s strong neck bared for him, tendons taut, his skin gleaming with a fine layer of sweat. Quinn hungered so much his teeth ached. He needed Brandon’s blood. Had dreamed of it. And here it was, thrumming under a layer of skin and muscle, willingly offered.
Maybe it was a trap. Maybe Brandon would change his mind, and stab him like he stabbed the other vampire. Maybe Brandon would shove him off, tell Quinn he was disgusting.
And yet his blood called, rushing through his veins, warm and rich and salty-sweet. Quinn shivered, just being this close to him.
“Get on with it,” Brandon said, his pulse missing a beat. He was afraid, just a little. But he’d offered, and Quinn couldn’t believe how much he liked this man. Loved him, maybe. “Stop smelling me.”
So Quinn opened his mouth, brushing the tips of his fangs over Brandon’s skin.
11
Brandon
Brandon had never been both glad and terrified in the same breath.
He’d been walking down the street when he heard someone shout. So he’d jogged down into the alleys, only to find a vampire bearing down on some girl. He’d struck out with his knife, distracting the vampire, trying to get his silver blade into the vamp’s heart. The vampire had released the girl and fought back, and Brandon had been three seconds from finishing it off.
Then that telltale mist had swirled around them, as though the vampire had called for backup. Brandon had tensed, ready to strike the second the other vampire attacked.
Except his quarry clawed his chest, drawing blood. The mist swooped between them, solidified. And Brandon almost shoved his knife into the new vampire’s skull.
It was Quinn. Brandon yanked his blade away, its tip slicing off some of Quinn’s hair.
“The fuck,” Brandon snapped, horror twisting through his gut. The other vampire shoved Quinn away. Brandon stabbed him through the heart. The vampire shrieked, jerking, and all Brandon felt was an aching relief when he pinned the vampire down, held the knife steady.
He’d been two inches away from stabbing Quinn. Two inches from slicing through his body, and it shouldn’t have sent a jolt of fear through his heart.
He couldn’t kill Quinn. He was afraid to kill Quinn, and that thought gnawed through his mind, because it was so wrong. He’d never been afraid to kill vampires.
For the past three weeks, he’d avoided Quinn. He’d thought it would be fine, forgetting that damn idiot so he could move on with his life. Except he couldn’t stay away from Quinn’s lectures. He’d gone to Quinn’s classes, stolen glances at him in the lab, and the whole time, he’d thought his lab partner would catch on. Maybe she did. He didn’t care.
So he snapped at Quinn, saying things he didn’t remember, smothering his fear with fury. I can’t kill you, damn it!
Quinn stared at Brandon’s throat, his eyes dark with hunger. Brandon had seen for himself just how weak Quinn was. The vampire he held pinned was thin, starved. And he’d shoved Quinn off easily, like Quinn weighed nothing.
Quinn knew how damn weak he was, and yet he drank chicken blood, that idiot.
And maybe Brandon couldn’t shake how much he liked that man, how much Quinn stuck to his principles. So he offered Quinn his throat, thinking it would help for Quinn to drink some blood, get stronger.
He’d been thinking about this for three whole weeks.
Quinn stepped up behind him, his footsteps light, his skin brushing cool against Brandon’s arm. At the back of Brandon’s mind, a little voice whispered, Vampire.
Professor Blood (Ironwrought Book 2) Page 11