Page 53 of Wounded Soul
“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?
His gaze dropped to Ian’s mouth, a trail of red smeared the inside of his lips.
My blood.
Mine.
Jesse was struck with a need so great, he’d sunk his teeth into his own wrist and was holding it over Ian’s mouth before he realised what he was doing.
“Oh fuck. Fuck.” He knew he should stop, should take his hand away, but he couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.
Drop after drop fell into Ian’s mouth, but he didn’t so much as twitch.
Am I doing it wrong?
There was a section on siring in the library book he’d picked up yesterday, but he hadn’t had a chance to read it.
How long did it usually take?
Voices sounded down the street, faint for now, but Jesse couldn’t focus, couldn’t sense which direction they were going.
No way could he leave Ian’s body here now.
Scooping him up into his arms, Jesse ran.
He hugged Ian tight to his chest, going as fast as he could through the dark streets, ducking down alleys and behind shops at the faintest sound of people.
If he got caught now, it would probably mean his death. Or rotting away in one of the VLCD’s specially constructed cells.
The car park was blessedly empty of people when he got there, but it had security cameras throughout. Jesse stood in the safety of the shadows, noting the locations of the ones he could see in relation to his car. If he carried Ian’s body in there, someone was going to notice.
