Touch in the Night

by S. J. Coles

Genres: Vampires; LGBT & Pride

Synopsis

FROM EXCITING AUTHOR OF LGBTQIA ROMANCE FICTION S. J. COLES

Book one in the Blood and Bonds series

Jesse Truelove never felt a part of his own family. But can a vampire really give him a new one?

With a criminal record, no steady job and a penchant for kink, Jesse Truelove has spent most of his life feeling like an outsider. He tells himself it doesn' t bother him, that he never needed human connections anyway.

Now the Undying Baron, Emory Von Magnusson, a vampire— or, to use the modern term, ‘ haemophile' — has reclaimed his ancestral home north of Jesse' s hometown, and the human population isn' t sure how to react. Jesse knows a thing or two about what it' s like to be misjudged, so he keeps an open mind. But when a bungled break-in at Emory' s home brings them face-to-face, Jesse finds it' s much more than his mind that' s stimulated.

However, building a relationship with an undead blood-drinker was never going to be straightforward, especially when that undead blood-drinker reveals he wants a family.

 

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Release date: November 7, 2023

Publisher: Pride Publishing

Print pages: 336

Sample

Chapter One

“Can you see all right, Olly?”

“Yeah.”

Jesse looked up. His nephew’s face was solemn under his blue bobble-hat. Jesse patted his knee and shifted the boy’s weight on his shoulders.

“You know there’s nothing to be scared of, right?”

Oliver didn’t answer right away. “Dad says the baron is dangerous.”

“He said that to you?”

“Not to me. To Mum.”

“And what did your mum say?”

“I dunno…I snuck away before I heard. They’re arguing a lot again.”

Jesse edged to the side as a woman brought her phone up to photograph the illuminated front of St. Helen’s church. The snow-flecked air was rich with the smells from the mulled wine cart and bratwurst stall but stiff with a sense of unease. Jesse scanned the crowd, noting the unusual lack of children.

“He’s not dangerous, Olly,” he said. “He’s just a man.”

“He’s not a man, though, Uncle Jesse,” Oliver whispered urgently. “He’s a vampire.”

Jesse suppressed a smile. “There’s no such thing, mate. Just wait. You’ll see he’s just a guy, like me…like your dad.”

“Dad says they kill people.” Oliver’s grip tightened on Jesse’s head.

Jesse muttered under his breath. “There are bad ones and good ones, Olly…just like people.”

Lights flooded the stage before his nephew could answer. A woman Jesse recognized from TV stepped up to the microphone, raising her hand in response to the muted applause.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for braving the cold to be here tonight. We have a truly unique Christmas light display for you this year. Leaflets with a walk-around guide can be picked up at the tourist info center, or you can download the York Christmas Festival app.” She smiled wider, darting her focus behind her. She took a deep breath. “Without further ado, I would like to welcome our special guest, someone who has funded this year’s illuminations and who has kindly agreed to switch them on. Please welcome, Baron Emory Von Magnusson.”

More hushed applause and whispered comments punctured the frozen air as a tall figure stepped onstage. Oliver tensed. Jesse stared.

He’d seen pictures of Von Magnusson, of course. It seemed to Jesse that you could hardly look at your phone these days without seeing something about ‘The Undying Baron’ and his recent move back to his ancestral lands. He was a handsome, broad-shouldered figure with styled black hair and dark blue eyes, the color of a nighttime ocean. Hot? There was no question about that. Jesse didn’t mind admitting to himself that the haemophile was the stuff of fantasies—chiseled jaw, flawless skin, a body he’d be happy to take a flying run at. But still just a flesh-and-blood guy, not the inhuman demon

 the hate groups touted him as.

In person, however, he literally took Jesse’s breath away. He was the tallest man Jesse had ever seen. He towered over the woman, who was easily five-eleven in her stiletto heels. His shoulders were so wide that the black wool overcoat, dotted with snow, had to be custom-made. Under the coat, he wore a tasteful suit in Oxford blue, a crisp, white shirt and a blood-red tie. Jesse blinked, wondering if that had been deliberate. But then the haemophile’s eyes met Jesse’s, and all intelligent thought fled.

There was an electric moment when Jesse was convinced the haemophile was reading every inappropriate thought that rolled through his mind, then he lifted his cobalt gaze and Jesse was able to breathe again.

“A very warm welcome to all of you,” the haemophile said, his voice deep and rich as coffee liqueur. “I am honored to be here. York is a city very dear to me, and any chance to make it shine brighter warms my heart.”

More staid clapping. Every gaze was fixed on the speaker, but the expressions on the faces around Jesse were uncertain. Magnusson never blinked, and his smile never wavered. The glimpse of his over-long canines Jesse had got as he spoke had sent a needle of uncertain excitement over the back of his neck. He shook himself and patted Oliver’s shin.

“See? Just a bloke…like I said.”

Oliver’s gaze was locked on the haemophile, but his grip on Jesse’s head had loosened, and he sat a little easier across his shoulders.

“He’s big,” Oliver murmured.

“You’re not wrong there, mate,” Jesse said, drawing a deep breath, hoping it would cool the sudden heat in his veins.

“This year’s Christmas display is something a little different,” Magnusson went on. “I wanted to try to recreate the York I was born in.—the one I knew as home, to show the world the timeless nature of our city’s beauty. So, if you’ll allow me…”

The smiling woman stepped

aside, gesturing toward the large switch on a table next to the mic. Magnusson wrapped one large, gloved hand around the lever. He pulled it back with a click.

The streetlights dimmed at the same time as countless points of white light sprang into life around the square. Hundreds of simulated candles flickered along every eve and window ledge, their flames appearing to sway in the chill breeze. The building fronts were dotted with points of cooler white, creating the illusion of an unclouded night sky crowded with stars. A full moon wreathed in wisps of silver cloud was projected on the front of the church. The uneasy murmuring silenced as the crowd turned to take in the display.

“It’s moving,” Oliver whispered, his voice hushed with awe as the projected clouds appeared to drift away, leaving the moon shining and full on the front of the building.

Magnusson was gazing up with a smile on his full, tilting lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I give you a winter night in eighteenth-century York—cold but warm with welcome, dark but lit by love.” He gestured around the square “The stars and moon are true to their current positions in the sky above us and will move as they do. As you walk throughout the city, you will find constellations, planets and galaxies. The candles will burn down before dawn but tomorrow”—he smiled wider—“it all begins again. A very Merry Christmas to you all—and a Happy New Year.”

The clapping that broke out as he raised his hand was far more enthusiastic. The square filled with chatter. Phones were lifted to photograph the lights. Magnusson shook the hand of the woman on the stage and withdrew into the shadows.

“Come on, Uncle Jesse. I want to go see over there…”

Oliver was trying to scramble down Jesse’s body. He lowered his nephew to the floor but was unable to resist glancing back, trying to see if the haemophile was still there, in the dark, watching.

But Oliver tugged on his hand again, and he allowed himself to be dragged down Stonegate to follow the trail of flickering candles. Oliver squeaked in delight

 and pointed to where the sparkling band of the milky way shimmered over the closed-up shop fronts. He hustled them down Minster Gates toward the towering hulk of the Minster itself, asking ceaseless questions about the constellations that Jesse was only able to answer with the aid of Google and a Wi-Fi hotspot.

When they had completed a circuit of the moonlit, star-speckled Minster, weaving between the swelling crowds with increased difficulty, Jesse drew Oliver aside.

“It’s getting late, mate. Better get you home.”

“But I want to see if the moon’s moved!”

“It’ll be back tomorrow night,” Jesse said, tucking his chin into his threadbare scarf and wincing again at another missed call notification from his brother. “Come on, pal. Time to go.”

The crowds thinned as they walked toward the river. Oliver started to shiver, and Jesse picked up his pace, thinking to get Oliver back in the warmth as quickly as possible, even though he wasn’t keen to face the sort of welcome he guessed would be waiting for him at his brother’s house.

“What’s that?” Oliver stopped in his tracks and looked back up the deserted street.

“What was what?”

“Didn’t you hear that?”

Jesse heard it—a muffled cry, almost too quiet to hear.

Oliver pointed back the way they’d come. “I think it’s coming from over there.”

Jesse backtracked to the mouth of an alley. He could hear the traffic from the main road and the hoot of a boat on the river, but inside the alley was silent and dark.

Jesse knelt by Oliver. “I want you to stay here, okay, mate?”

“But what is it, Uncle Jesse?” Oliver whispered, his face crumpled with concern.

“I don’t know, but you’re going to stay here, yeah? Hold on to this railing, and don’t let go. I’ll be right back.”

Oliver nodded, pursing his lips, and Jesse squeezed his hand and crept into the alley.

“Hello?” he called. “Hey, is anyone there?”

Silence. Jesse took another step and spotted a pale shape in the shadows. A little girl sat

against the wall with her knees drawn up and her face buried in her arms.

“Hey,” Jesse said, his heart going into his throat as he knelt next to her. “Hey there. Are you okay?”

She squeaked and curled into a tighter ball.

“Hey, love, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m not gonna hurt you. What are you doing here on your own, huh?”

The girl shook and clutched her arms tighter about herself. Jesse bit his lip and pulled out his phone to call the police then swore when he saw his battery had died.

“Hey, Olly,” he called. “Come here a sec, mate.” Oliver crept into view, his eyes intent as he spotted the girl. “Looks like this little lady’s lost. She’s scared. Can you tell her it’s okay?”

“Hey,” Oliver said uncertainly, approaching the girl. The girl finally raised her head. Even in the dimness, Jesse could see her face was tear-stained and puffy. “Hey,” Oliver said, kneeling next to her, putting his mittened hand on her arm. “Hey, what’s up? You lost?”

The girl nodded, screwing her face up like kids did when they were trying desperately not to cry.

“It’s okay,” Oliver said with a smile. “We can help. Can’t we, Uncle Jesse?”

“Course we can,” Jesse said. “We’ll get you home, love. You’ll see. Can you tell us your name?”

She sniffed. “Dimity.”

Oliver giggled. “That’s a funny name.”

The girl scowled. “No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is,” Oliver said, smiling wider.

“No, it isn’t,” Dimity insisted.

“Okay, okay,” Jesse said as Oliver’s smirk threatened to break into another giggle. “Dimitry?"

Can you tell me where you folks are?”

“I’m…I’m looking for my dad,” she quavered. “I’ve looked everywhere… He was supposed to be here.”

“It’s all right, honey,” Jesse said. “We’ll find him. But let’s get you inside somewhere warm first, okay?”

Dimity stared warily at Jesse.

“It’s okay,” Oliver said. “Uncle Jesse’s nice, really. He only looks scary.”

“Oi,” Jesse said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and Oliver laughed, startling a chuckle from the girl. “He’s right though, love. They’re only piercings. I’m soft as soft inside, promise. Up you get. I know a place around the corner that does the best milkshakes.”

Her face brightened, and Oliver exclaimed excitedly. They helped Dimity to her feet, and Jesse instructed his nephew to take the little girl’s hand and not let go. Oliver obeyed, and Jesse took his nephew’s other hand. They left the alley, the little boy chattering about the moon and star lights, the Minster, the candles.

“I wanted to see it,” the girl sniffed again as they turned onto another side street. “My dad was supposed to be there.”

“We’ll get you back to him, love. Don’t worry,” Jesse said. He ushered them into the warm, steamy space of Ditzy Daisy’s Ice Parlor with relief. His hands pulsed as they warmed. The children’s faces lit up as they took in the counter, laden with sponges, brownies, trifles, cupcakes and cookies.

He steered them into a booth near the door just as a smiling middle-aged woman in a bright blue apron appeared from behind the counter with a notebook.

“And very nice to see you again, Jesse,” she beamed as she took in the children. “On babysitting duty again, I see?”

“Hey, Daisy,” Jesse said, keeping an eye on the children as they began scanning the laminated menu of colorful ice creams. “Can I borrow your phone?”

She gave him a mocking look. “Out of credit again?”

“It’s sort of an emergency.”

Daisy’s face clouded. “An emergency?”

Jesse nodded to the girl and lowered his voice. “Found the little lass in an alley. Got separated from her dad at the switch-on, I think. My phone’s dead, and I

need to call the police.”

“Oh Lord,” Daisy whispered, handing over her phone. “Sure thing, Jess. The poor little mite. You get on with that, and I’ll sort them out with some sugar.”

“Thanks, Daze,” Jesse said with a heartfelt smile and stepped to one side to make the call.

“Police, please,” he answered the emergency switchboard operator. “Hey,” he said when a woman answered after a number of beeps, “I’m at the cafe on Huntington Road, York. I’ve found a lost little girl, Dimity. She’s looking for her dad.”

“Did you say Dimity Hawthorn, sir?”

Jesse blinked. “Don’t know her surname, but I think she was at the Christmas light switch-on—”

“We have a call in for her, sir. Did you say she’s safe?”

“Yes, she’s safe. She’s a little shaken up, but she’s with my nephew now and seems better.”

“Your name, sir?”

Jesse watched Daisy start loading ice cream into the milkshake mixers, keeping one eye on the children. “Jesse Truelove.”

“And the cafe?”

“Ditzy Daisy’s.”

“We’re on our way. Please keep the child in the cafe.”

“Yeah, of course. So you’re gonna tell her dad?”

“Officers are on the way,” the woman repeated. “Please do not move from your current location.”

She hung up. Jesse stared at the phone for a moment with unease sneaking through his insides. He returned to the booth just as Daisy set two glasses overflowing with whipped cream, chocolate shavings and sprinkles in front of the wide-eyed children.

“There you go, me dears,” she said, tucking a glittery straw into each glass. “That should

keep body and soul together until we get you home.”

“Amazing,” Oliver enthused. “This is the biggest one I’ve ever had.” He slurped noisily. Dimity watched him with a shy smile. “Go on. It’s caramel choco fudge, my favorite.”

The little girl sipped from her own glass. She smiled shyly through a cream mustache.

“Good, huh?” Jesse smiled, and the girl nodded. “And I’ve got some good news,” Jesse said. “Your dad’s on his way.”

She beamed. “He is? Really?”

“He’ll be here any minute,” he said. “So you better start work on that.”

She grinned wider, showing a gap near the front where a new adult tooth was just starting and went at the whipped cream with the long spoon Daisy had laid on the table.

“Thanks, Daze,” Jesse said, handing the phone back. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t worry about it. Poor little thing must have been terrified. And you can forget about that, too,” she added, as Jesse started rummaging in his pockets for money. “It’s on the house.”

Jesse smiled sheepishly. “A double lifesaver.”

“Not a problem, hon. Want a coffee before the coppers get here?”

“That’d be great.”

Jesse perched at the counter with his coffee, grateful for the bitter heat warming him through from the inside. Daisy flipped the sign to Closed, just as blue flashing lights filled the cafe and three police cars crowded the curb outside. Jesse straightened as a black car muscled between them and out climbed a tall, thin woman, immaculately turned out in a peach belted overcoat and black patent heels, her silver-streaked hair gathered into an artful arrangement at the nape of her neck. She screamed money, and her tall, rigid posture screamed control, but the look on her face was unmistakable. She was scared.

She strode into the cafe with three police officers and what looked like two members of private security at her heels, her eyes darting everywhere until they landed on Dimity. The worry in her face stiffened into hard lines of anger.

“Dimity Hawthorn, 

there you are. Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?”

The girl cowered into her seat. Oliver glanced between the girl and the gathering in the doorway with wide eyes. Daisy watched with a wary expression from behind the counter.

Jesse frowned and stepped forward. “Uh, hang on…”

The woman’s gimlet-sharp gaze transferred from the girl to Jesse. He saw her take in his undercut, nose ring, tattoos and leather jacket and watched a familiar look of disdain fill her amber eyes. “And you are?”

“Jesse Truelove. I called the police.”

“Oh,” the woman said, looking down at his ripped jeans and worn-out trainers. “Well, we thank you for keeping Dimity safe, but she’s coming with us now. Dimity? Come along at once.”

“Just hang on one second,” Jesse said, stepping between them. “She said she wants her dad.”

“Mr. Truelove,” the woman said, her thin, dark brows drawing together in a sharp frown. “Please, step aside.”

“Where’s her dad, lady?”

Dimity was clutching her glass tight, a small frown of defiance creasing her forehead. “I want Daddy, Aunt Helena.”

Helena’s face flushed. She glared at Jesse. “I regret to say my niece has no father, Mr. Truelove. And she ran away from her minders today when they took her to the Minster for the carols.”

“I wanted to go to the lights,” Dimity said, her face screwing up. “Daddy was supposed to be there.”

“She seems pretty sure,” Jesse began, but the woman nodded to her security men, who hustled forward and manhandled Jesse out of the way. Dimity burst into tears, and a diminutive, somber-clothed woman came forward to take her hand and drag her from the booth.

“At least let the lass finish her milkshake,” Daisy put in.

“Dimity does not eat such things,” Helena said as the little girl was steered toward the exit. The police stepped aside to hold the door open.

“Hey, wait.” Jesse moved to follow them, but Helena stepped into his path.

“Again, we thank you for your assistance,” she said, producing a leather wallet from her oversized handbag and extracting out two fifty-pound notes. “We can take it from here.”

“I don’t want your money, lady—just to know the lass is okay.”

“She’s fine,” the woman insisted, holding out the notes. “She is back with her family now, where she belongs. Take it. I insist.”

Jesse took the money with numb fingers, and the woman swept out of the cafe without a backward glance. She exchanged some brief words with the police officers before they doffed their caps, climbed into the police cars and drove away. One of the security staff held open the back door to the big black car to allow Helena to climb inside. Jesse caught a glimpse of Dimity sitting in the back with her stony-faced minder before the door was closed and they drove off.

“Poor wee thing,” Daisy said, shaking her head. “Guess the rest of that milkshake’s yours, lad,” she added to Oliver.

“No, we’d better go,” Jesse said. “Olly? You done?”

Oliver nodded, his face strangely solemn as he watched the black car disappear from view. “Do you think she’s okay, Uncle Jesse?”

“Yeah,” Jesse lied. “Yeah, I’m sure she’s fine. Here,” he said to Daisy, laying the money on the counter. “You take this.”

“Oh no, honestly.” Daisy waved it away. “Jesse, that’s yours.”

“I don’t want it,” he said, shoving it toward her. “Put it toward your Christmas staff booze-up or something.”

Daisy smiled an uneasy smile and took the money. “Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks, Jesse.”

“See you around,” he said, taking Oliver’s hand and leading him outside. He heard Daisy lock the door behind him and stood looking in the direction the car had gone for a long moment until a yawn from his nephew

reminded him how time was getting on. He steered them back toward the river then over the road bridge and back toward Heworth.

 

 

Chapter Two

Jesse stood in the overheated, over-decorated living room, glowering at the designer rug rather than meet his brother’s eyes.

“I just cannot believe you took him, Jess.”

“I take him every year.”

“Not this year. I specifically said I don’t want him anywhere near that thing.”

Jesse fought a sigh. “That’s why I took him, Ant. The poor sod thinks there’s a vampire living up the road.”

“There is.”

Jesse gave him a look. “Perhaps you should try getting your info from somewhere that’s not Facebook.”

“And the dark web’s so much better?”

“Ant…”

“I was there, Jess. I was there in London when that guy got slaughtered.”

“Yeah, I know. You never stop bloody going on about it.” Anton’s face darkened and Jesse pursed his lips. “Look… You and Sareena don’t go around teaching Olly it’s okay to judge people by their race or anything, do you? So, you shouldn’t—”

“The key word there is people, Jess. Those things are not people.”

“It was just one rogue haemophile, Ant.”

His brother’s handsome face was tight with anger. His green eyes, a shade darker than Jesse’s own, blazed. “It only takes one.”

“You’re being daft.”

“They are dangerous. And I don’t want my son anywhere near them. Understand?”

Jesse was grateful to be shown the door. He made for the gate, but someone calling his name made him turn.

Sareena crunched down the snowy drive toward him. Her breath hung around her in clouds, and her warm, kind face held an unfamiliar strain of worry.

“Try not to think too badly of your brother, Jess,” his sister-in-law said. “He’s just trying to protect Oliver, that’s all.”

“Olly was scared out of his wits until I showed him this guy’s just a guy,” Jesse said, lowering his voice. “His own dad telling him there’s monsters living up the road? Jesus Christ.”

Sareena winced. “You have to understand how much Blood Winter shook him. His conference was in the same building where that man got killed.”

“I know. And that would shake anyone up. But this is about Olly. And I don’t think he needs to be scared of some dude who’s just trying to live his life.”

“I know, and I agree with you,” Sareena said, laying a hand on his arm. “But it’s not your fight.”

Anger, instantly doused by sadness, flared in his chest, and he looked away.

“I’m working on it, I promise,” Sareena said, squeezing his arm. “Just…give Ant a break,

okay? He’s been finding everything tough since your dad passed.”

Jesse closed his eyes, a dull ache in his gut. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Sareena’s smile was gentle, but her brown eyes were concerned. “You’re okay, right? You don’t need any money or—”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t usually miss calling Ant back. Are you out of credit again?”

“My phone died is all.”

Her gaze was knowing. “A contract phone would be more reliable, you know. There are some good deals around now. And we can help out with the payments.”

“I don’t need charity, Sareena.” Jesse regretted the words the minute they left this mouth and lowered his gaze. “Sorry. I guess it’s getting to me, too.”

Sareena put her hand on his arm. “You don’t need to apologize. And it’s not charity, Jesse. It’s for Oliver. He wants you to keep in touch, too.”

“I should get some work any day now,” he said softly. “The first thing I’ll do is buy credit.”

“And pay your heating bill?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Promise?”

Jesse looked into her deep caramel eyes, welling with love and concern. Like always, he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Get back inside. It’s freezing. Tell Olly I’ll see him around, yeah?”

Sareena nodded. “Of course. And come back soon. Your brother misses you, too.”

Jesse clenched his mouth of his response, nodded and turned away before Sareena could say anything more.

He soon found himself at the end of Chestnut Avenue, looking left along Heworth Road toward the university district and his poky flat then right toward the

river and the city center. He searched through his pockets, found a crumpled fiver and headed toward town.

The Evil Eye was crowded and steamy, the air thick with the smell of warm humans and spilled spirits. He made his way to his normal stool at the bar, weaving between the usual mix of townies and tourists, laughing and sipping elaborate cocktails. He ordered a Dark and Stormy then sat, sipping his drink and searched the crowd.

It wasn’t long before a guy hanging on the edge of a group near the door caught his eye. He weighed Jesse up a moment with seeming interest building in his square-jawed face. He leaned in to shout something to his friends then made his way over, carefully steering his whiskey sour ahead of him in an exaggerated attempt not to spill.

“I’ve seen you here before, right?” the man said, overly loud.

“I dunno, have you?” Jesse said, trying to gauge if the guy really had big arms under his hot-pink shirt or if it was just a trick of the light.

“Pretty sure I have. And on Grindr, too, yeah?”

Jesse’s blood started to thrum. “Maybe.”

The man glanced back at his friends, who were all laughing raucously over something on a phone. He leaned in to talk into Jesse’s ear. His breath smelled like whiskey and mint gum.

“Yeah, I remember your listing. Said you like it a bit out-there, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jesse said, meeting his eye. “Think you got it in you?”

Dark heat lit the man’s eyes. “Yeah. I reckon I do.”

“Okay then…?”

“Tyler,” the man said, grinning and showing straight, white teeth.

Jesse set his glass aside. “Okay then, Tyler. Your place or mine?”

“Yeah, I, uh…” He looked back at his friends. “Gimme five minutes?”

“Four.”

Tyler hurried back to his friends, downing his drink as he went. He conversed insistently

with them, and they looked over, sniggering and clapping the big guy on his back.

Jesse checked his watch then jumped when someone slammed a shot glass on the bar at his elbow.

“He’s not gonna give you what you want.” A girl with hair the same electric-aqua as the liquor sat beside him and downed her own measure. She made a face and coughed. “And you know it.”

Jesse eyed her narrowly. “And you know what I want?” he said and drank.

“You want a man who can make you feel like a whore and a prince, all at once.” She grinned, her teeth very white against her dark lipstick. “You’re asking too much of human beings, Jess. No such man exists. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

“What do you want, Trixy?”

“I want,” she said, holding up her hand to order two more shots, “to discuss a business proposition.”

“This isn’t really a good time.”

“From the state of those,” Trixy said, nodding at the holes in Jesse’s jeans that were clearly not part of the design, “I would say it’s the exact right time.”

He sighed, lifting the second shot. “What’s the job?”

“Not here,” she said. “Come to mine?”

“Can’t you just email me?” he said, downing the shot with a grimace.

She shook her head, her bunches dancing. “I’m not putting any of this into emails. Come over and all will be made clear.”

“I’m kinda in the middle of something here,” Jesse said, sliding off his stool as Tyler caught his eye and nodded to the exit.

Trixy glanced at Tyler and snorted. “Fine. Go have your lackluster bar-pickup sex, then come over. I’ll be awake all night anyway.”

 

* * * *

 

They hadn’t even got to Jesse’s floor before Tyler was shoving him against the wall and

thrusting his tongue into his mouth. There really was strength in his brawny arms, evident in the way he was grabbing roughly at Jesse’s arse, but the movements were clumsy with drink and desperation. Jesse concentrated on the feel of the strong, male body, his warm, musky scent and the very promising feel of a hard, long member crushed into his crotch.

“I want you to hold me down, yeah?” he said as he fumbled through his pockets for his keys. “Make me beg.”

“Fuck yeah,” Tyler panted, grinding against him. “I can do that, baby. I’ll make you beg.”

Jesse got the door open and they shambled across the sitting area, shedding coats and shoes as they went. Tyler’s breathing was heavy, his hands grasping, the kiss sloppy and demanding. Jesse grunted as he came up against the kitchen unit and yanked Tyler’s salmon-pink shirt over his head. He was toned as an athlete, his skin tanned and dusted with fair hair. His biceps bunched invitingly, making Jesse’s arousal spike. Jesse ran his hands up them. Tyler responded with a growl and fumbled at his belt.

As soon as he’d unfastened his fly, Tyler shoved Jesse’s hands down the front of his pants. A frisson of excitement went through Jesse when he measured the thickness and weight of the hard flesh in his hands. He began stroking and tilted his head away from the clumsy kiss to let Tyler mouth wetly at his neck.

“Get your pretty arse out, yeah?”

“Hold me down,” Jesse breathed, closing his eyes and clutching at Tyler’s hard biceps with one hand, pumping the thick length with the other.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tyler panted, unbuttoning Jesse’s jeans. “Where’s your room?”

“No. Right here.”

“Fuck. Okay.”

Tyler spun Jesse, shoved him against the counter and yanked his jeans down. He grabbed Jesse’s wrist with his free hand and crushed himself against his arse, fumbling his thick cock toward his entrance.

“Jesus,” Jesse growled. “Put a rubber on, you reprobate.”

“Christ, really? Now?”

“Yes, now,” Jesse snapped, yanking open a drawer and slamming a condom on the counter.

Tyler swore and reached over, pinning Jesse with his strong legs but then he heard the packet ripping and Tyler’s grunts as he sheathed himself. “Lube?”

Jesse fumbled in the drawer and handed the bottle over. He listened to the slick sound of Tyler lubricating himself then two lubed fingers were thrust into him. Jesse swore and crushed his eyes shut. He breathed through the feel of invasion as Tyler fumbled at him, stretching and probing, breathing heavily in his ear.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Now?”

“Get it in,” Jesse said, clutching the countertop. Tyler groaned then Jesse gasped as Tyler’s length slammed into him. Jesse moaned, drinking in the sharp stretch, the feel of the counter digging into his belly, the strong frame pinning him in place, the fingers tightening around his wrist.

“Yeah, you want that?” Tyler muttered as he kicked Jesse’s legs farther apart and bent him over the counter. “Fuck,” he swore as he started to move. “Fuck, yes, yes, yes.”

Tyler growled and grunted in time with his thrusts. Jesse closed his eyes and ears and fumbled for his own cock, concentrating on the sweet, deep pummeling and trying to angle himself so Tyler reached the spot inside that burst with pleasure upon contact.

“Harder,” Jesse said through clenched teeth.

“Christ, yes,” Tyler said, and obeyed, ramming him into the counter. “Ask for it. Tell me to fuck you, baby.”

Jesse clenched his mouth shut, buried himself in the sensations, tried to ignore the awkward angle, the way Tyler grasped his wrist with bruising but not dominating force and stroked himself faster, willing the cloud of sparks building under his stomach to swell and spread.

But then Tyler was crying

out, thrusting deep and holding himself in, trembling and groaning.

Jesse swore, freed his wrist and reached back to hold Tyler in him until his own orgasm finally spilled out.

He released Tyler, who staggered back, panting and swearing. Jesse straightened, rubbing the red marks where his hips had been rammed into the counter and pulled his jeans up with a sigh.

Tyler’s face was ruddy and slack with release. Sweat beaded his forehead. His grin was wide as he picked up his shirt.

“That was awesome.”

Jesse fastened his fly without replying.

“So, look…” Tyler said as he buckled his belt. “I kinda left my mate in the middle of his stag do. I’m the best man, you know.”

“Door’s that way, mate,” Jesse said, nodding to the exit and began hunting through the cupboards for something to eat. There was a moment of shocked silence then the front door slammed. Jesse suppressed a familiar flare of guilt, retrieved a dry crust of bread from the cupboard, spread on the last of his margarine and took a bite before moving through to the bedroom.

The glow of the half-dozen computer screens bathed the small room in an eerie green light. He sat at the desk and plugged his phone in to charge while doing a check of his encrypted email and message accounts.

He swallowed the last of the bread as he binned the emails, most of which were trying to sell him Viagra and none of which was an offer of work and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his face.

His phone turned back on and buzzed. A message from Trixy.

 

You coming or what?

 

Jesse sighed. He was tired and sore—and not in a good way. But he was also still hungry and had spent his last fiver on that Dark and Stormy at the Evil Eye that he hadn’t even finished.

 

On my way. 

He sent the message, showered off the scent of Tyler’s floral aftershave and left the flat.

 

* * * *

 

“Still walking straight I see,” Trixy said as she led him along her purple-painted hall. “Another bust, then?”

“Got anything to drink?”

Trixy went to a cupboard in her tiny kitchen unit and retrieved a bottle of tequila and two glasses. “Perhaps you should try dating a nice guy…just for the sake of variety.”

“Glen was nice,” Jesse muttered. “Look how that turned out.”

“Glen was boring. There’s a difference. Hungry?” she said, throwing a packet of crisps at him.

Jesse ripped them open and began shoving them into his mouth, accepted a glass and sprawled on the cushion-strewn sofa.

“Thought as much,” she said, dragging over the desk chair from her recording booth and sitting. “Just so you know, you look like shit, Jesse.”

“Thanks, Trix. That’s really helping.”

“Something going on with you?”

Jesse downed the tequila and grimaced. “Just had a day.”

Trixy smiled. “So, how would a grand turn things around?”

Jesse paused with the last handful of crisps halfway to his mouth. “A grand?”

Trixy nodded.

“For what?” he asked, not liking the glint in her eye.

Her dark-painted mouth twisted in a feral grin as she handed over a tablet. “I’ve got an

 idea…a groundbreaking idea. But I need your help.”

It was an online article from The York Press.

The Undying Baron Moves to Town.

Progressive Pragmatism or a Real and Present Danger?

Jesse scrolled to the pictures of Magnusson, looking impeccable at a press conference. His blue-black eyes gazed out of the picture, cool and measured. He scrolled on to a picture of Oswald House, Magnusson’s ultra-modern mansion, all glass and chrome. The article claimed it was built on the very spot of an Elizabethan hall that had belonged to the baron’s family over three hundred years previously.

“I think you’re a bit late trying to go viral with the haemophile thing,” Jesse said, handing the tablet back. “Nothing’s ever gonna rack up the hits of that phone footage from Blood Winter.”

“That footage went wide ’cause it’s the only truthful video of these things,” Trixy said, her eyes dancing. “People aren’t interested in the interviews and PR projects. They want to know what haemos are really like.”

“Do they?” Jesse asked disbelievingly.

“Hell yeah. This guy moving here is a fucking gift. Candid footage of the Undying Baron, unguarded and unfiltered, would be prime content—bigger than any celebrity streaming their gym session or whatever. And it’ll serve a purpose.”

“What purpose? Ad revenue for your YouTube channel?”

She tilted her chin. “A definitive answer to the question everyone is asking.”

“What question?”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Trix…”

“Everyone’s talking about it,” Trixy said, indicating the article. “But no one’s trying to find an answer.”

“You don’t think he’s allowed a private life like the rest of us?”

“No one has private lives anymore,” she retorted with an impatient gesture. “Everything’s online—medical records, home movies, banking, everything.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Trixy huffed through her nose. “You can keep yourself off the grid ’cause you’re a raging

 nerd. But if anyone needs scrutiny, it’s bloody vampires.”

Jesse opened his mouth to protest but then looked away, fatigue stealing the energy to argue.

“A thousand quid, Jesse. Half now, half when the job’s done.”

“What, exactly, is the job?”

She enlarged the picture of the mansion. “I need you to get me inside.”

Jesse paused in the act of pouring more tequila. “Come again?”

She tapped her neon pink fingernail on the screen. “Get me into Oswald House. Day time.”

“Why?”

She grinned. “I’m gonna open his coffin.”

Jesse stared at her. “I’m sorry… It’s been a long day. It sounded like you were gonna try and get yourself killed?”

“If he’s really safe enough to be living outside a haemophile commune, then I shouldn’t be in any danger, right?”

“They all lock themselves away in the day, commune or not. And by the way, they don’t sleep in coffins.”

“Either haemophiles are dangerous or they’re not,” she said, taking the tablet back. “I intend to prove it one way or another.”

“He’ll have a sleeping cell, bars, locks.” Jesse gestured helplessly. “That’s how they keep us safe. Breaking in defeats the whole point.”

“We don’t know that. Maybe the vulnerable-in-the-day thing is actually bullshit. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, I’m gonna find out—and I’m gonna film it.”

Jesse shook his head and stood. “You’re nuts.”

“Because I’m invested in the truth?”

“Because you’re willing to risk your life for hits on TikTok or YouTube,” Jesse said. “It’s not worth it.”

“A thousand quid, Jesse. I know you need it.”

“Not that bad. Get someone else.”

“There is no one else,” she said. “I know you can do a B&E, Jess. You’ve done it before.” 

“That was years ago,” Jesse snapped. “I was a stupid kid.”

“Takes someone pretty smart to break into the art gallery the same time they’ve got a Matisse on display.”

“I wanted to see the bloody painting,” he said. “If they’d just let me buy a ticket like everyone else—”

Trixy slapped an envelope on the arm of the sofa. “Five hundred now. Seven more when it’s done—and I’ll do your next tattoo for free. Come one, Jesse. What do you say?”

“I say you’re crazy…as usual.”

“Can you really look me in the eye and tell me you’re not in the least bit curious?”

The image of Emory Von Magnusson rose in his mind—the broad shoulders. The deep, intense gaze, the sharp, white teeth.

Trixy was grinning at him.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and grabbed the envelope. “Fine. Fine. I’ll get you into his bloody house. But I still want to be paid if he kills you.”

Trixy stood, chuckling. “I’ll put it in my will. Don’t worry.” She planted heavy kisses on both his cheeks. “Thanks. You won’t regret it.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

She lifted the tequila bottle. “Wanna drink until you do?”

Jesse sighed and shrugged. “Sure.” ...