Fuck it, he needed to get back to the house.
They should’ve just gone to the VLCD in the first place, consequences be damned.
I’ll go meet Blake, tell him Ian’s in danger, and get him to call his VLCD buddies to meet them at the house.
Hopefully they wouldn’t be too late.
Grabbing his keys and wallet off the table, Jesse shoved his phone in his pocket and headed out.
Pulling the front door open wide, he looked up and promptly froze.
He should’ve paid more attention.
Should’ve listened to his instincts.
Should’ve checked the CCTV before leaving the flat.
The six guns pointed in his direction couldn’t mean anything good.
“Hands where we can see them, Sykes,” Harper barked at him, seeming miles away from the friendly officer who’d shown Blake around the coven the other night.
Jesse slowly raised his hands. “Is there a problem, Detective Inspector?”
“Yep, you could say that.” He motioned to the other officers next to him. “If you so much as twitch, they’ll fire. And I’m sure you don’t want that.”
Jesse winced.
No, he fucking did not want that.
At one time the vampire police used to use silver bullets, which burnt like acid, but you could usually dig them out in time before they killed you. Now they’d developed a new range of weapons that—rumour had it—began to eat away your flesh on impact. Jesse’s skin crawled imagining the damage one bullet would do, let alone six.
He stayed perfectly still. “I don’t plan on moving a muscle.”
“Sensible decision.” Harper gestured towards two of his men. “Secure him.” They hurried forward, cuffs out, and Jesse allowed himself to be manhandled until his face pressed against his front door, arms yanked roughly behind his back.
A sharp hiss escaped him as the silver-laced iron fastened around his wrists, irritating the skin. The silver was annoying as his body repeatedly tried to heal itself only to be burnt again and again, but the iron was the real pain in the arse. For whatever reason, whatever properties—magical or not—that it held, it rendered him no stronger than a human.
In these cuffs he was at their mercy.
A trickle of fear crept up his spine as they turned him to face Harper.
“Jesse Sykes, you are under arrest for the murder and subsequent changing-against-his-will of Ian Moreton.”
“What?”Fucking hell. Jesse searched the faces looking back at him until finally his gaze landed on Blake. The hate and disgust in his eyes were clear to see. Jesse had spoken to him less than an hour ago. What the fuck had gone wrong in that time?
“You’re making a mistake,” Jesse tried to reason, his voice surprisingly calm. “I didn’t kill Ian.” He left out the admission of changing him. No point giving them information until he knew what they already had.
Harper stepped forward, drawing his phone out. “How do you explain this then?” He turned the screen towards Jesse and shoved it in his face. The photo was remarkably clear and there was no mistaking Jesse, crouched over Ian’s prone body and glaring back over his shoulder fangs bared. Looking for all the world like he was about to bite him.
Jesse remembered that moment. He’d been glaring at fucking Peter. Michael or Simon must have taken the photo. Bastards.
Clenching his fists so his hands wouldn’t tremble, Jesse met Harper’s gaze. “I know how that looks, but I didn’t kill him.” Harper looked less than convinced. “It was Peter. He sent me a photo of Ian on the ground in that alley. When I got there, he was already dying.”
“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?”
“Because there wasn’t time.” Jesse snapped. “Peter had left him too close to death. They wouldn’t have got there in time. He had a few minutes at most.”
“So you decided to turn him instead.”
