Quinn's Undying Rose (Scanguards Vampires #6) (28 page)

His hand reached out and lifted the empty bottle that stood on the dryer. Remnants of red liquid were encrusted on its bottom. The clear glass was imprinted with only two letters:
AB+
.

Blake sniffed and recoiled, instantly being reminded of the many bar fights that lay in his past. The smell was the same as when he’d tasted his own blood when some jerk had broken his nose with a well-aimed punch.

“Yuck!” he ground out.

This couldn’t possibly be what it smelled like. No way did blood come in bottles. Sure, if there was a bleeder in the house, then maybe he might keep bags of blood in the fridge for an emergency transfusion, he knew that much from the science channel, but who on earth would keep blood in bottles? No, his sense of smell had to be off. Maybe it was because of that damn heartburn that plagued him.

He set the weird bottle back where he found it and left the room. His best chance at finding a remedy for his stomach troubles was most likely in the kitchen. For sure, that’s where they kept any meds like that.

Blake entered the kitchen and was surprised to see Wesley sitting at the kitchen table, his head buried in a book. At the sound of the door closing behind him, the other trainee’s head snapped toward him.

“Oh, hey, Blake. Didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“Early? Guess you’re not used to this odd schedule either, huh? I mean—” He motioned his head to the ceiling. “—can you believe that our trainers sleep practically all day? What kind of company allows that?”

Wesley grinned from one ear to the other. “A pretty cool company.” Then he pointed to the kitchen counter. “Want some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”

Blake was about to decline, knowing that coffee would make him feel even worse, but thought otherwise of it. He didn’t want Wesley to think he was a weakling.

“Sure.”

“Milk is in the fridge.”

“I drink it black, thanks.” No need to add another dose of lactose to his sensitive stomach.

As he poured himself a cup, he opened up one of the cabinets, clandestinely looking for some antacids.

“What do you need?” Wesley asked.

“Uh, sugar,” he lied and opened another cabinet, but came up empty once more. Darn, was he the only one in this house who used antacids?

“On the table.”

Pasting a smile on his face he turned back to Wesley and joined him at the kitchen table.

“What are you reading?”

“Just some research,” Wesley deflected and closed the book, shoving it under a newspaper, before Blake could read the title.

His curiosity aroused, he reached for it and pulled it out before his fellow trainee had a chance to stop him.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

Wesley reached for it, but Blake pulled away from the table, then read the book’s title.

“
Witchcraft: Get your potions just right?
” He tossed Wesley an incredulous look. “You’d better not have any of the trainers see what crap you’re reading. They’ll think you’re wacko!”

Wesley tore the book from his grip and rose hastily, his chair making a loud noise as it scraped along the kitchen floor. “None of your business, or theirs! And I would suggest that you don’t start snooping around. You might not like what you find.”

Clearly annoyed, he turned and headed for the door.

“Hey, Wesley, don’t be such a hothead. I don’t care what you read. I’m not gonna tell the others.”

But Wesley was already out the door. Moments later he heard the door to the living room being opened, then closing again. Great, it had taken him about two minutes to piss his only ally off. And he’d wanted to talk to him about how his mission as decoy had gone. Even though they had eaten together the night before, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to him in private since Nina had been around. He figured it wasn’t cool milking another trainee for information in front of a trainer.

“Uh, screw it,” he murmured to himself.

He dumped the coffee into the sink, glad he didn’t have to drink it now. Then he went about to open every drawer and cabinet he could find. No inch remained unexplored. No antacids. All he noticed was that for the fact this was such a large house and a large and modern kitchen, it was only sparsely equipped. Considering that at least ten people were currently staying there, he doubted that there were enough knives and forks available for everybody to eat at the same time.

He shrugged. Not his problem.

As the burning in his stomach intensified, he knew he had to take matters into his own hands and go to the nearest drugstore to buy what he needed. One of the rules instantly flashed in his mind:
don’t leave the house on your own
.

Since he’d just pissed off Wesley, he would rather bite his tongue than ask him to accompany him. It didn’t matter. Nobody was awake yet. They wouldn’t even know that he’d left the house. And if he snuck out through one of the side doors, Wesley wouldn’t hear him either.

Blake looked down at himself. Crap, he needed to get dressed first and fetch his wallet. But before he could even reach the kitchen door, it burst open and Oliver charged in, dressed in his pajamas, his body advancing toward the locked pantry in a blur of movement.

Blake gasped in surprise, his heart stopping simultaneously. If he’d still been holding the coffee mug, he would have dropped it now.

Having heard his gasp, Oliver whirled around and faced him. Blake wished instantly he hadn’t, because the creature that looked at him was more animal than man: eyes glaring red, a wild look about him, his body tense.

Tilting his head, Oliver’s eyes assessed him. His nostrils flared, and it reminded him of a bull or a horse. When he sniffed and approached with the graceful movements of a predator, Blade shrunk back from him, quickly looking behind him, wondering where to escape to.

“Oliver, what’s wrong?” he stammered.

But his trainer didn’t respond. Instead he peeled his lips back and exposed his white teeth, Oliver’s gaze not pinned on his face anymore, but sliding down to somewhere on his neck.

“Shit!” Blake yelled.

Oliver’s teeth weren’t evenly shaped. Two of his canines were longer and pointy. As if he’d put on Halloween props. His teeth looked like fangs.

Setting one foot in front of the other, Oliver appeared as if he was fighting to stay back. But he kept advancing.

“Run,” he pressed out between clenched teeth.

Despite the warning, Blake didn’t move: he was frozen in shock, paralyzed. His limbs didn’t follow his command, his legs were heavy like lead and didn’t move.

Something akin to regret flashed in Oliver’s eyes, before they turned a darker red.

“I can’t . . . tried to resist . . . ”

Whatever else he wanted to say, died on his lips when he pounced. Blake felt Oliver’s hands dig into his shoulders and pull him against his body. He struggled against his grip without success, when he should have easily pushed him off. Oliver was less bulky than himself, less muscular, yet he didn’t even break a sweat, keeping him immobile.

Then he felt Oliver’s fangs dig into his neck.

Shit, he was going to die!

30

The scream came from downstairs, catapulting Quinn out of bed. Rose, whose warm body had been molded against his, woke simultaneously. Exchanging a worried look, they recognized immediately who had screamed.

“Blake!”

Jumping up, Quinn snatched his pants off the floor and pulled them on, not bothering with underwear or anything else. A split-second later he was out the door, knowing Rose wouldn’t be far behind him. He charged down the stairs and past the other guestrooms. Doors opened as he flew past them, voices chasing his rapid descent to the first floor.

The scent of human blood now reached his nostrils.

“Shit!”

Had Keegan managed to gain access to the house? It should be impossible: Wesley and Nina were supposed to be keeping watch during the day to alert them should anybody approach the house.

Panicked, Quinn almost collided with Wesley who came running from the living room.

“Is it Keegan?” Quinn asked without slowing down.

“Nobody got in,” Wesley claimed, following him.

Voices and footsteps from the other residents filled the previously quiet house.

Quinn kicked the kitchen door open and barreled in. He rocked to an abrupt halt when his eyes quickly assessed the situation.

“Oliver! Fuck!”

His prodigy had his fangs lodged deep in Blake’s neck as the latter struggled against the attack, his eyes open and drenched in fear and panic.

Quinn rushed to them and clamped his hands around Oliver’s arms, holding him immobile. He couldn’t simply pull him away from Blake or he would risk tearing his grandson’s neck open.

“Release him! Withdraw your fangs! Now! I command you as your sire!”

A low growl came from Oliver.

“Do it, son,” Quinn urged more quietly. “You don’t want to hurt him. I know you don’t.”

Slowly, Oliver’s shoulders relaxed, and Quinn felt him shift his head backwards, away from Blake’s neck. From the corner of his eye he saw that the kitchen was quickly getting crowded. The scream had woken everybody.

“Oh, God, no!” Rose screamed as she pushed past him and reached for Blake.

As Quinn pulled his prodigy away from his grandson, he looked at the damage he’d done. The incisions on Blake’s neck were deep and bleeding profusely. Blake instantly pressed his hand against it, but he was swaying.

Pushing Oliver behind him, Quinn barked out an order, “Cain, Amaury, take care of Oliver.”

Then he reached for Blake. Simultaneously, he and Rose caught him before he could fall. But Blake struggled even against them, fear and distrust coloring his eyes.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled, trying to pull away from them.

“He’s bleeding so much!” Rose’s eyes brimmed with tears.

Quinn slid his hand over Blake’s, slowly prying it away from his neck. Rose was right; there was a lot of blood loss. It had to be stopped immediately.

“Don’t be afraid, Blake, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll seal the wound.”

Blake wildly shook his head, trying to get away from him. “No! Oh, God, no! Shit!”

“Hold his head still, Rose.”

As Rose put her hands on Blake’s head, his eyes shot to her. “You too? You’re all like him aren’t you?” he cried out in desperation.

Not losing any time, Quinn lowered his mouth to Blake’s wound and let his tongue snake out. Quickly and efficiently he licked over the site. Twice, until he felt that the wound had closed due to the healing effects of his saliva. The bleeding stopped instantly.

Just as quickly, he pulled back from Blake, not wanting to cause him any more distress. He caught Rose’s pleading look when he straightened.

“Wipe his memory,” she urged.

A frightened widening of Blake’s eyes together with a shocked gasp, made Quinn contemplate her request for longer than he should. Then he slowly shook his head.

“I think he has a right to know.”

“No!” Rose’s protest was instantaneous.

Reaching for her, Quinn sent a silent plea to her. “It’s for his own safety. We can’t keep on wiping his memory whenever he sees something he shouldn’t. He needs to know what’s going on.”

When she squeezed his hand and gave a little nod, he knew she had finally seen reason.

“But I’ll be the one telling him.”

Then she turned to Blake again, whose entire face was a mask of worry and fear. As soon as she loosened her grip on him, he jerked back from her.

“Now, now, son,” Quinn tried to calm him, still holding onto his upper arms. “Just stay calm. Nobody wants to hurt you. We’re all here to protect you.”

Blake’s doubtful look darted past him. Quinn turned his head and saw that Cain and Amaury were talking soothingly to Oliver, who looked devastated. He caught Oliver’s look.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. I couldn’t help it. The temptation . . . ” Oliver dropped his head and turned away.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he assured his prodigy and turned back to Blake. “Why don’t you sit down, Blake.”

Wesley pulled a chair to assist.

Quinn shot him a quick look. “And weren’t you supposed to keep an eye on him during the day?”

“If your grandson wouldn’t be such an ass, it would be easier not to avoid his company,” Wesley griped. “But if he keeps on pissing people off by invading their privacy—”

“That’s enough,” Quinn interrupted.

“Grandson?” Blake croaked. “What the fuck?”

Quinn looked at Rose who pulled another chair and slunk into it. Now eyelevel with Blake, she leaned closer. Instinctively, Blake shrunk farther back into his.

Blake watched them with suspicion. His hand went to his neck where Oliver had bitten him, yet the skin was now flawless as if it had never happened. It was freaky to say the least. But he knew what he’d seen: Oliver had fangs, and that made him a vampire.

And if he was one, then the others had to be vampires too. When Quinn and Rose had held him while Quinn had licked his wound to seal it, he’d felt the same kind of supernatural strength from them as Oliver had displayed.

Shit! How could vampires exist and how the fuck had he gotten mixed up with them?

“Blake, honey,” Rose suddenly started. “There’s something you need to know. We’re vampires, but—”

“No shit!” he interrupted. He’d figured that out in the last thirty seconds himself. There couldn’t possibly be anything new she could tell him now. “The cat’s out of the bag.”

And now that he knew their secret, what would they do with him? He cast an assessing look at the assembled crowd. Nobody was missing. Amaury and Cain were huddled with Oliver who had turned away so Blake couldn’t see his face anymore. Zane stood at the door as if wanting to make sure nobody entered or left the kitchen. Thomas and Eddie were frowning. Nina looked concerned, while Wesley had a defiant look on his face.

Jerk! He was ready to bet his first paycheck that Wesley had purposefully not come running to his aid, because he was still pissed off about that stupid book. For good measure, Blake glared at him before looking back at Rose.