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When he’d held her hand a little while ago, she’d allowed herself to believe that she might have gotten through to him, but she saw now it had been for show, something to annoy Catch. Turner had been trying to make him jealous. Catch was—well, Catch was a player, a flirt, a dangerous guy—the sort every woman fell for and no woman could keep. He’d used her too.

Matty slipped out of the house. Maybe it was time to look for a long, white tunnel.

She stomped past the partially erected fairground rides and swallowed her disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy them. Her last happy memory of her parents had been at Winterval, her mum screaming when her dad had taken her on some whirl-you-around, make-you-sick, don’t-ever-make-me-do-that-again ride. Two weeks later, her mum was dead.

Matty slowed down and found herself in front of the Ghost Train. A burst of laughter escaped her lips. Was that her long white tunnel? Then she started to cry. Turner and Catch. Catch and Turner. Matty nowhere in sight. They looked hot and sexy and…right.

She wiped her sleeve across her eyes and speeded up, kept going until she reached the river that marked the edge of the property line. Matty climbed up to sit on the parapet of the old bridge and looked down at the dark water rushing below. She wasn’t going to jump. Too cold, too far, and if she was already dead, what was the point? Her head bubbled with images of Catch and Turner in each other’s arms, and all she could think was how she wished she was there with them and that they’d wanted her there too.

Not going to happen. Turner wanted her gone. The plan to blackmail him over the books was idiotic. How was that going to make him like her? So, what was she going to do? The farther she got from Milford, the more unsettled she became. Something tied her to this place. She was scared of leaving for good. Matty sighed. She’d think of something, and she might as well do that in comfort, not where she was cold and miserable.

As Matty turned to climb down, a stone shifted under her foot and she wobbled. Teetering in one of those cartoon flail-in-the-air moments, she scrabbled at the parapet and dislodged a chunk of rock. Matty followed it into the river with a loud scream.

The shock of hitting the water stunned her and even before she bobbed to the surface, she felt herself swirled downstream in a torrent swollen by weeks of heavy rain high on the moors. Matty fought to keep her head above water and tried to swim for the bank until she slammed up against something that knocked the remaining breath from her lungs. She hadn’t even seen the fallen tree in the dark.

Matty hadn’t the strength to climb onto it. Thick branches stopped her moving toward the bank and the other way led out into the river. All the time, the water tried to pull her down under the tree. She was stuck.

And cold.

And scared.

* * * * *

It amused Gabriel to think of how many ways he could inflict pain without killing Dava. They lay naked on his bed, though she still wore her new red high heels, and Gabriel stared at her slim neck, trying to ignore her incessant chattering. Twenty years in solitary confinement had left him comfortable with silence. It didn’t seem to have had the same effect on her.

“That’ll be him,” she said.

Gabriel tuned back in. “Who?”

“I told you. Pete, the guy who showed me how to use the computer.”

“The mortal you’ve fucked and sucked for the last week.”

Dava reached for his cock. “Jealous?”

Gabriel barely managed to restrain his snort of laughter.

“I called him and asked him to come,” Dava said. “He’s going to be useful. He can sort stuff out for us.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Well, then I’ll sort
him
out.” She rose to her feet.

“Going to get dressed before you let him in?”

Dava smiled. “I have to give him an incentive. Want to watch?”

She left the bedroom and Gabriel swung his legs off the bed. He
did
like to watch. He didn’t like that she knew him so well. He pulled on pants and a shirt and opened the bedroom door to see Dava wrapped around a spindly guy with lank hair and bad skin.

“You were robbed?” Dava tried to look aghast. Gabriel guessed she was the thief. “That’s terrible. Do you need money?”

“Whoa, who’s that?” Pete asked, looking over her shoulder.

“I’m Gabriel.”

“Are you and Dava together? I don’t want to— I mean, maybe I should—”

“He made me,” Dava said.

Pete blinked guileless eyes while Dava wrapped herself tighter around him. Pete’s hands hovered above her butt, clearly nervous about touching her while Gabriel stood there. Pity.

“Made you?”

Gabriel watched carefully. It didn’t matter if Pete couldn’t accept what they were. He wouldn’t remember being told if they didn’t want him to, but Dava was right that they needed help. Compliant mortals were useful. Particularly those with limited intelligence.

“You’re vampires?” Pete asked.

Gabriel laughed at the look of shock on Dava’s face. Maybe the guy was more intelligent than she’d thought.

Dava clung onto Pete’s hand. “Yes.”

The youth smiled. “I thought so. You never ate anything, even the pizza. I was always tired when I left your apartment and I didn’t think it was just the—well, my neck was sore too, and I couldn’t remember everything. Since I hadn’t been drinking, I—well, no, I hadn’t thought you were a vamp but now you mention it—that’s so cool.”

Oh Christ.
He talked as much as her. And he
was
sharper than he appeared. Gabriel plastered a smile on his face. “Will you help us, Pete?” He turned on his charm and while Dava stroked the bulge at Pete’s crotch, Gabriel made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Not if he had any sense.

Pete’s mouth dropped farther and farther open as Gabriel spoke.

“So, you need to go and see this Turner guy,” said Pete finally. “You need me to arrange transport and mobile phones. In return I get a thousand pounds a week and a bonus every month.”

“And the pleasure of Dava’s company,” Gabriel added, ignoring the glare she shot him.

“Done,” Pete said.

Yes, you have been.

“When we get the books, we’ll arrange a meeting of the Calling,” Dava said. “Though we should give it another name. Maybe the Purelight Fellowship?”

We, we.
Gabriel was already tired of her. “Turner might not have the books.”

“He does.”

Despite his caution, Gabriel suspected she might be right. So, had Turner seen something in the diaries he hadn’t? He’d maintained his belief in the books throughout the trial, through witness after witness describing how Gabriel had tricked them.

Why?

Chapter Fourteen

Turner sprawled naked on the couch, staring at the wall opposite. His gaze flickered over the long scratches in what he knew had to be expensive wallpaper and then followed the streaks of cum trailing to the floor. Thank God George wasn’t there. He’d have killed him. Turner’s jaw twitched. What the fuck was he doing thinking about the wallpaper when he’d just done something so wonderful.

The pleasure of feeding from Catch had been intense to the point of pain. That jolt of heat as the taste of him burst on his mouth. Turner felt his cock swell as he remembered the sensation of Catch’s blood exploding into him, filling his body, his mind. Bloodlust in all its
revolting, powerful glory.
He could still taste Catch’s blood, the sweet flavor lingering in his mouth. Turner wanted to say something to Catch about biting him, but what?

I’m sorry?
He wasn’t.

I didn’t mean to?
He did.

Why had Catch let him? He’d never allowed him to before. The last time Turner fed directly was the day before Plasmix had been made compulsory. A long time ago. And now Turner knew how right he’d been not to lapse because drinking from Catch had been…indescribable. Words really failed him, which, although he was a taciturn sort of guy, was still a shock.

Luckily, Catch had thumped him in the gut, otherwise Turner might not have stopped.
Shit.

Catch sat with his back to the couch, legs crossed at the ankle, his head resting against Turner’s chest. His neck had already healed. Only two smudges of blood remained to show what Turner had done.

God help him, he longed to do it again. He ought to ask Catch about it, but he didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. Turner wasn’t sure he could stop at one question.

Had Catch liked it?

How did it feel?

Why had he let Turner do it?

When could he do it again?

Would Catch do it to him?

“Sorry about the mess on the wall,” Catch mumbled. “You bring out the beast in me.”

Turner was both relieved and disappointed by Catch’s avoidance of the real issue. So it was up to him. “What now?”

“Well, I could get a sponge—”

“Not the wallpaper.”

Catch shifted against him and the brush of hair against Turner’s nipple sent blood rushing to his cock. So much for playing nonchalant.

Catch turned to face him. “I’m staying until Dava’s been apprehended and I find out what Gabriel is up to.”

Doing his job, even though he’d said he wasn’t. Catch clearly didn’t want to discuss what had just happened. “After that?” Turner asked.

“’S’up to you.”

Turner sighed. They were right back to where they started with Catch’s inability to commit. Turner wasn’t sure he wanted to ever trust Catch again. If he risked letting his guard down, Turner left himself wide open to getting hurt. He’d managed for twenty years on his own—with George—he didn’t need this sort of complication.

Liar.

“Where did Matty come from?” Catch asked.

“She was here when I arrived. You notice anything…unusual about her?”

Turner didn’t miss the way Catch’s Adam’s apple moved up and down. He’d said there was nothing between them, but Turner’s spine tingled. He felt a rush of anxiety but wasn’t sure why. What was the matter with him?

Maybe he
did
know.

“Have you fucked her?” Turner asked.

“No,” Catch snapped. “Have you?”

“Yes.”

Catch rose to his feet and stretched. He kept his back to Turner, and Turner couldn’t help but think Catch didn’t want him to see his expression.
Jealous?

“I’ve been trying to get rid of her but she won’t leave,” Turner said to his back.

Catch bent to pick up his clothes. “You don’t want her?”

Yes, but for her sake— “No.”

Catch turned to face him. “She’s—”

“Invisible.”

“What?” Catch laughed.

Turner rolled to his feet and collected his clothes. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Hey, hang on. You can’t say something like that and not explain. And I need a shower too.”

Catch followed as Turner left the room. No sign of Matty sitting on the stairs or lurking underneath them.

“What do you mean?” Catch asked as they walked up the stairs. “How can she be invisible?”

“You, George and I can see her. No one else. I don’t think. She doesn’t eat or drink. She can get through locked doors. She—”

“She’s a ghost?” Catch whispered.

Turner glared at him. “How could you figure that out in a couple of seconds?”

“Because I accept weird creatures exist and you just told me she’s invisible.”

Turner intensified his glare.

“She’s not a ghost?” Catch asked, misunderstanding the glare.

Turner pushed open the door of his room. “She says she’s not, but I think she’s in denial.”

“She’s dead?” Catch leaned against the doorframe. “She can’t be dead.”

“I’m undead. You’re half-dead. Why shouldn’t she be dead?”

Turner walked into the bathroom and straight into the shower. Catch slid in behind him. Turner’s jaw ticked and his cock perked up.

“How did she die?” Catch asked.

“She can’t remember. That’s something I have to do. Find out what happened to her and then she can—move on.”

Turner grabbed shower gel and squirted it onto his palm. As he lathered his body, he thought Catch was being uncharacteristically quiet. As he opened his mouth to speak, Catch’s strong fingers reached to wash Turner’s cock and then slid up his chest and into his hair. Turner sighed. Was there any point fighting this? Did he even want to?

Catch’s touch was hard and soft at the same time, pain and pleasure mixed together. Turner rested his forearms against the shower wall and pressed his forehead between them. This was all Matty’s fault. She’d unlocked what he’d hidden away. The box lid had sprung open and he’d let his feelings out. Now he couldn’t force them back inside. He
cared
what happened to Matty. He
cared
about Catch. But he wouldn’t let himself love because in Turner’s opinion that was a pointless exercise. A weakness, an unnecessary emotion that invited vulnerability.