Chapter 16 #2
“No.” Quin ran his fingers through his beard, which needed a comb. He sniffed the air. “There’s no scent of anyone else but us.”
Kit’s nostrils flared. “The smell of that oil could easily cover the scent of someone else.”
Quin took a deep breath. “What is it, then? One of the St Andrews vampires playing some sort of trick? A spell from those witches?”
Kit shook his head. “None of the vampires can get into your house without an invitation. Even if the witches were the type to do this, this started before we met them.”
“When did it begin?”
Kit was quiet for a few seconds, so Quin pulled him back into the bed. Given the sun had risen by this point, it wouldn’t be long before Kit succumbed to sleep, and Quin wanted him cosy and safe under the covers.
“I’ve had nightmares for years,” Kit whispered. “But it got worse around six months ago. The marks on my body. Waking up screaming. Missing time. And my appetite had been all over the place. I need to feed more often, but I don’t get full, no matter how much I take.”
Quin pressed his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions at Kit’s confession.
For Kit to have gone through all of this alone made him feel like he’d let Kit down.
He blamed himself for not trying harder, pushing more, but part of him knew that had he come on any stronger, then Kit wouldn’t have let him in at all.
He settled himself by wrapping Kit in a big bear hug, pleased to at least offer some comfort.
“I hear his voice sometimes,” Kit whispered. “It’s like he’s in my head.”
Quin didn’t have to ask who he was. “Is it in your head?”
“What else could it be?”
Quin didn’t know. “Did anything happen six months ago that might explain it?” he asked.
“Nothing. I do nothing, Quin.” Kit paused, humming. “Well, I met up with Shaun, Rake, and DJ around then. I think that was the first time I heard Lawrence’s voice so clearly.”
“Do you think they did something to you?”
“No,” Kit said, short and vehement. “They’re not like the other vampires. They wouldn’t hurt me.”
Quin let out a sigh of relief. If Kit’s friends had been involved in anything nefarious, it would have crushed him. “I wish you’d told me you were dealing with this, but I’m glad you have now. You don’t have to do this by yourself anymore.”
When Kit spoke, sleep muffled his voice. “I’m glad, too.”
Quin held Kit until he fell into a deep slumber. Quin had to pick Mabel up at midday, but he didn’t want to leave the bed until the last second. He needed to keep Kit close.
Every time he opened his eyes, his gaze flicked over to the window, heart in his throat as he expected to see the shape again.
There was no sign of anything—or anyone—but them in the room. Still, Quin hadn’t ever felt so uneasy in his own space. It was like every shadow hid an intruder.
He didn’t get a wink of sleep.
Mabel danced around Quin’s feet when he arrived to pick her up from Louie’s.
He invited him inside for a cup of tea, as usual, but Quin was anxious to get home to Kit.
Leaving him alone at all made his skin itch with uneasiness, and he didn’t know how he’d feel about letting Kit go back to his own little flat once night fell.
Perhaps he’d convince him to stay longer term, at least until they figured out what was going on.
“Quin?” Louie must have tried to get his attention more than once, judging by his expectant look.
Quin blinked. “Uh-huh?”
“Are you okay? Everything all right with your guy?” Mortification crashed across Louie’s face the second the words left his mouth. “Sorry, that was so inappropriate. You don’t have to tell me a damn thing about your relationship. You just look a bit sad.”
Quin touched his own face, as if he might verify the expression he wore. “I’m all right. Thank you, though. It’s nice of you to care enough to notice.”
“If I’m honest, I was planning to invite you in for something harder than a cuppa, but I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
Quin managed a smile at that. “How about we take a rain check on the drink, and next time I’ll introduce you to my boy?”
“Boy?” Louie asked in a faux-scandalised tone.
“Uh…” Quin was so knackered from his scant few minutes of sleep that he hadn’t realised what he was saying.
“Oh my god, your face,” Louie said, grinning. “That’s cute, Quin. I’d love to meet him. You get back. I can tell you’re champing at the bit for it.” He reached out and petted Mabel. “I’ll see you next month, little lady.”
Quin set off with a wave. “Cheers, Louie.”
It was a bank holiday weekend, so the crowds were thick.
Quin fought his way through dozens of families and couples munching on their fish and chips and dodging the seagulls.
Mabel seemed to sense Quin’s urgency, as she didn’t let even the prospect of pats from enthusiastic children distract her from leading them straight to the house.
When they got in, Quin went straight up to the bedroom. Relief surged through him at the sight of Kit exactly where he’d left him; curled under the duvet, looking peaceful.
Quin checked his watch. It was hours until they could be together again. Quin hated that they couldn’t be in each other’s company during the day, but he accepted it as a necessary part of a relationship with a vampire.
It might have been a Saturday, but he spent the rest of the afternoon getting caught up on work. He’d been sleeping for most of the days during the full moon cycle, so needed to ensure he’d deliver ahead of deadlines.
Instead of working at his desk with his extra-wide monitor, he brought his laptop through to the bedroom and camped out on the bed.
It wasn’t great for his posture, or the speed at which he worked, but today he didn’t mind.
Being close to Kit was paramount. Quin even let Mabel jump up onto the end of the bed.
She lay flat out on her belly and looked pleased with herself for wangling the invite.
He left the bedroom only a few more times that day, once to run out and get some milk and bread from the corner shop, and another to take Mabel out on a walk.
Despite brief breaks from coding to give Mabel some attention and to order a takeaway, the day dragged on.
He tracked the hours and minutes till sundown as avidly as he’d watch the live feed of the rugby scores.
Around an hour before dark, Quin’s phone vibrated. He picked up the call without tearing his eyes away from his laptop screen, assuming it was Sage, given that his cousin was the only person who ever called him without prior warning.
“Hey,” he greeted.
“Hello, Daddy.”
It was not Sage.
Quin pulled the phone down. Despite knowing exactly who it was, he looked at the caller ID to confirm, and then shoved the phone back against his ear. “Lark, what the fuck? You can’t just—”
Lark trilled with laughter. “Calm down, Quince. I’m not being serious.”
Quin contemplated whether he should hang up, turn his phone off, and then run to the beach and chuck it into the sea. Somehow, he imagined Lark would get ahold of him anyway, perhaps by sending him a message personally delivered via strip-o-gram or something equally ridiculous.
He sighed. “What do you want?”
“You haven’t been responding to my messages.”
“No. I haven’t read them.”
“Rude.”
Quin barked a laugh at the audacity of Lark’s statement. “You have no self-awareness, do you?”
Lark was quiet for a few seconds. “So, you’re still mad at me.”
“No, I’m not.” It was the first time Quin had even thought about the fact that he no longer held any strong feelings for Lark.
Given how long they’d been in a relationship, it should have been shocking with the ease with which he’d got over it.
His gaze slid to Kit where he lay next to him, and a slow, content warmth swelled in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t surprising he’d moved on so fast, after all.
“So, you’re going to come back and we can put everything behind us?” Lark asked.
“No.”
“But…that’s not fair.” Quin could hear Lark pouting furiously over the phone.
Quin was unaffected by the dramatics, however. “It’s very fair. What did you think was going to happen after I came in to find you getting railed in the kitchen?”
“Quin, we talked about opening the relationship up.”
“I remember the conversation. And I also remember saying that I needed time to think about it.”
“I thought that meant you were okay with it.”
Quin’s fingers caught in a knot in his beard as he rubbed at it. “The funny thing is, Lark, I might have said yes, had you given me the space to consider it. You could have gone off and got fucked with no issue. But you did it behind my back.”
“It was a misunderstanding.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
“A miscommunication, then.”
“Those are the same thing,” Quin pointed out.
“Don’t be so stupid. Come back. Please.”
Quin winced at the insult. “I don’t live my life to cater to your whims. Not anymore.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You haven’t even apologised.”
“I-I have nothing to apologise for,” Lark said, his voice growing wobbly and thin. Quin might have felt bad for him if the situation were different, but he’d had enough of Lark berating him and calling him names. He didn’t need to listen anymore.
“This conversation is over. Don’t contact me again.” With that, Quin hung up. And then, with a sense of finality, he blocked Lark’s number. He wasn’t under any illusions that it would stop Lark unless he accepted the rebuff, but he was well overdue putting the final nail in that particular coffin.
Quin took Mabel downstairs for her late dinner, then cleaned up in the kitchen before inhaling two packets of prawn cocktail crisps. He regretted it immediately and popped a few grapes in his mouth for some kind of balance.
After a thorough brushing of his teeth, he slipped back into bed, situating himself so that he was spooning Kit. It was odd, holding him like this when he was unconscious, but Quin figured it would be nice for Kit to wake up in his arms.
Quin must have dozed off, as the next thing he knew, small hands were roaming over his body. He cracked one eye open. “Kit?”
Kit hummed his hello and bit—without fangs—at Quin’s pec.
“Ow,” Quin said.
Kit looked up at him. Quin had never been so relieved at the sight of his bright purple-blue eyes. There was a cheeky expression on Kit’s face, a carefree glint that Quin never wanted to see gone again. It made his insides fuzzy with fondness.
“That didn’t hurt,” Kit stated.
Quin placed a protective hand over his chest. “What makes you say that?”
Kit’s fangs slid out, sharp and glinting in the low light. “Because you like it when I bite you.”
“Carry on, then,” Quin said, leaning back on the pillow and giving Kit access to his neck.
Kit didn’t wait for further invitation. He sank his fangs into the juncture of Quin’s neck and shoulder. Kit had been right in his assessment: Quin did like it when Kit bit him.
Quin sank into the mattress as his body warmed, a fire of need stoking in his belly. He cradled Kit’s head, giving Kit’s mussed curls a light tug. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Kit taking his time over his breakfast.
Kit pulled away, a drop of blood dripping from one fang before he licked his teeth clean. His pupils were blown wide, not like that morning, but enough that it gave Quin a split-second jolt of concern. What Kit said next, however, had Quin blinking with shock.
“I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”