“You want this?” Peter tore a corner off the top and held the bag out towards him.
Ian hated how badly he wanted to drink it down. Hated how his hands were already reaching out for it. Hated the condescending way Peter whispered, “Good boy,” as Ian snatched the bag from his hands.
The moment blood spilled into his mouth, Ian moaned in appreciation.
He didn’t remember anything ever tasting this good.
His body sang, nerve endings coming to life as he drank and drank, barely able to get it out quickly enough. When the bag was empty, he threw it at Peter and hissed, “More.”
Peter reached behind and then tossed him another.
Ian caught it, tearing into it with an urgency he tried not to think about.
“I think I’m going to like him.” Peter chuckled.
Ian would’ve told him to go fuck himself, but he didn’t want to stop drinking. He did manage to cast a glance at Jesse, who stood leant against the wall, expression hard to read. From what little Ian knew about him, he’d guess it was a mix of regret, fascination, and from the way his eyes darkened as he watched... desire.
Watching Ian drink bag after bag of blood was clearly doing it for Jesse, and Ian didn’t have the mental focus to decide how he felt about that. He pushed it to the back of his mind, along with everything else he didn’t want to think about.
Finally, after bag number four, Ian slumped back against the wall, thirst quenched. He closed his eyes and tried not to let panic take over as his head cleared and everything that was now different about him suddenly became obvious.
He breathed in deep, instinct making him draw air in and out, and the scents of everything in the room were overwhelming. The tang of blood hung in the air—rich and coppery—and Ian licked his lips, the faint taste of it still there. Peter’s scent made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. It brought back memories of pain and despair, and Ian wanted to wipe it from his mind. He turned to face Jesse, his scent easy to pick out, and a smile curved his lips as he remembered fun, laughter, sex so good it made his toes curl. But then he remembered who’d done this to him and his smile faded.
As strange as it all was, underneath it all, breathing felt...wrong.Ian blew out a breath, then forced himself not to automatically take another. Half of him wanted to suck in air like he had for the past thirty-odd years, but the other half knew he didn’t need to anymore. He sat there unmoving for a good few minutes, and when nothing happened—no gasping, no desperate need for air—Ian had to accept the God-awful truth.
Even if his earlier bloodlust hadn’t been enough to convince him, the sudden lack of a need for air pretty much sealed it.
I’m a motherfucking vampire.
“Well,” Peter said and clapped his hands. “As fun as this is, I need to go write my heavily edited report for Raph and make sure those two idiots stick to the same story.” He gave Ian a little wave, then turned to Jesse. “I’ll be back later to see how things are going. Remember, don’t let anyone in and under no circumstances let him out.” He was at the door in an instant, Ian marvelled at how fast he moved, then his mind screeched to a halt.
Can I move that fast?
His body felt too full and sluggish to bother trying, so he stayed where he was.
The door snicked shut, and Ian watched as Jesse walked over—humanly slow—to lock it behind Peter.
“Why aren’t you as fast as Peter?” He couldn’t help pulling a face as he said his name.
Jesse smiled. “Because Peter is an egotistical show-off. I don’t need vampire speed to move around my bedroom.”
Vampire speed.
Jesse said it so matter-of-factly, but it still sounded weird. Made up.
Yet here he was, sat on the floor of a vampire’s bedroom, in a vampire house, splattered by the remains of the blood he’d just drunk.
“Hey,” Jesse soothed, now crouched in front of him, and when the fuck had that happened? He reached up to cup Ian’s jaw, but Ian jerked his head backwards. “Sorry.” Hurt flashed in Jesse’s eyes and a wave of anger gripped Ian like a vice.
“You have no fucking right to touch me after what you did.”
Jesse looked like he’d just slapped him. “I know.”
Good.
Jesse sat on the floor, leaving about two feet of space between them. “I know you’re feeling angry and upset and probably a million other things right now. And I’m so very sorry.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Everything about him screamed sincerity, but Ian struggled to get past one thing.
“You did this to me,” he whispered. His hands shook as panic began to creep in. “I’m terrified right now.” He put a hand on his chest. “My heart should be beating a mile a minute, but it’s just sat there. Dead.”
