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Chapter Fifteen
Jesse was no closer to calming down by the time he got back. He had to wait at the end of the lane for security, sent by Tom, to elbow their way through the crowd and escort him back inside. Cameras flashed and phones were thrust in his face. He blinked until finally he was in the warm stillness of the house where he sank to the floor and buried his head in his arms.
“Jesse? Jess?”
Tom’s voice came from an echoing distance, somewhere on the other side of the wall of storm water that swirled all around him. When Tom touched his arm, he jumped and scrambled away.
“Jesse—”
“I’ve got to see him,” was all he could say, glancing out of the window to see, thank God, it was starting to get dark.
“Jesse, wait.”
He didn’t. He rushed to the basement door, set his eye to the scanner then shambled down the stairs before the door had fully opened. It was so quiet he could hear his heart hammering. He hovered at the bars, staring in at the secured sleeping chamber beyond. He checked his watch, over and over. The seconds slugged by like hours.
“Jesse, come away.” Tom had come down behind him and took his elbow. “This isn’t safe.”
“I need to see him.”
“Jesse, we shouldn’t—” Tom started, then cut off when an alarm started blaring upstairs. He swore and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Jesse’s own was buzzing, but he ignored it.
“Something’s happening,” Tom said. “We gotta get out of here.”
“No.”
“You don’t get it,” Tom insisted, his grip tightening. “We don’t know how he’ll be.”
“Tom, letgo.”
They both froze when there was a click and a hiss. The sleeping chamber was opening.
Emory appeared as if out of nowhere. Jesse’s blood froze in his veins. His lover towered over them, clad in nothing but sweatpants and a T-shirt, the thin cotton pulled tight across his heaving chest. His eyes blazed with submarine fire. His lips were drawn back from his lips, revealing his canines, gleaming against his red mouth. His fists were clenched, and his huge arms bulged.
“Move aside.” His voice was thunderous. Jesse trembled. Tom stood frozen next to him.
“Emory,” Jesse said, his voice sounding small in his ears. “Please.”
“Out of the way,” Emory growled. “Now.”
“Emory,wait.”
But the haemophile shoved Jesse aside like he was nothing more than a doll. Then he was gone, just gone—like he’d evaporated.
It took several moments before Jesse could gather his senses enough to race back up the stairs.
“Emory, fuckingwait.”
He burst into the corridor, but it was empty. The garden door swung in the cold breeze. Jesse raced outside, running as fast as his legs would take him. His head pounded with every step. He kept calling Emory’s name, terror and confusion pumping in his veins. There were no footprints, but he had no problem following the shouting.
By the time he reached the moor gate, the shouts had risen to screams. Jesse staggered out onto the open moor and froze.
Emory stood barefoot in the snow, still as stone. His breath billowed in the air. Several men were scrambling in the direction of the road. One remained. He was yelling nonsensical threats, kicking the snow, waving his arms, almost hysterical.
“Emory, don’t hurt him,” Jesse cried. “Please.”
“Go back inside,” Emory ordered.
It was only then Jesse realized the hysterical man wasn’t yelling at Emory. Tyler was there, stood some distance away, just visible in the darkness. He was stiff as a board, and his head was tilted at an awkward angle. Jesse could make out the whites of his eyes and the violent shaking in his limbs.
