Page 58 of Wounded Soul
He pulled the T-shirt over Ian’s head and carefully slipped his arms through the sleeves. When his gaze landed on Ian’s face, peaceful for the moment, Jesse vowed not to do the same to Ian. He might have brought him into this life, just like Peter had done to him, but that’s where the similarity ended.
He refused to take advantage of Ian like that.
“Oh look,” Peter said, his excitement obvious as he reached for a pack of blood. “It’s starting.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ian came to with a jolt, eyes snapping open.
The room looked unfamiliar, smelled unfamiliar, and that, coupled with the way his whole body felt wrong, had him sitting bolt upright and scrambling back until his shoulders hit the headboard of the bed he was on.
Scents bombarded him, some welcome, others—
His head snapped to the left, jaw suddenly aching as his gaze landed on fuckingPeter. The night’s events flooded his brain, and Ian backed away so fast he toppled off the bed, falling onto his back with a thud.
What the fuck is he doing here?
And where the fuckishere?
“Ian?” Jesse rushed over to him and crouched in front of him.
“Careful, Jesse,” Peter warned as he peered over the edge of the bed.
Ian glared at him, horrified when a hiss-type noise erupted from his own mouth. Clamping a hand over his lips, he felt something that made him freeze in shock, eyes going wide as saucers.
Tentatively he licked over his teeth.
Two of them now very sharp and pointy.
Looking helplessly to Jesse, he let his hand drop. “What the fuck?”
“Try and calm down, okay.” Jesse held both hands up in front of him as though Ian were a wild animal expected to charge at any second.
And actually it wasn’t too far off the mark. When he glanced at Peter, a white-hot rage swept through him and all he wanted to do was leap at him, but something else tugged at him more before he could act on it. A feeling growing in intensity by the second. His eyes sought out Jesse’s again, hands automatically clutching at his throat. “I’m thirsty.”
“I know. And I’m going to get you something for that in just a second. First we need to—”
Ian got to his feet, moving so quickly it made his head spin. He grabbed the nearest thing for support, which happened to be the back of an armchair. The fabric felt smooth under his fingers and it smelt of Jesse, temporarily distracting him, then his craving got the better of him again. “I said I’m fucking thirsty. I need water, or juice or something.”
“The something is about right,” Peter muttered.
“What the hell does that mean?” He refused to believe what they were implying.
Refused.
“Don’t play dumb, Ian.”
“Peter.” Jesse’s voice held a warning.
“There’s no point trying to ease him into it, we need to get some blood in himnow.”
Ian swallowed, trying to deny how good that sounded, and backed as far into the corner as he could get, sliding to the floor. “No.” His voice came out scratchy and lacking any conviction. “What the fuck did you do to me?” He spat the question at Peter, assaulted by the memory of his hands and teeth from the night before.
Peter grinned. “Oh, this wasn’t my doing. I left you for dead.” He gestured to Jesse using the bag of blood he now held. “Your current state is all Jesse’s fault.”
Ian knew he should be mad, should be furious for what they’d done to him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the blood in Peter’s hand. Couldn’t focus on anything else.
His throat burnt, fangs ached, and he let out a low keening noise, his body moving of its own volition.
