“T’es un vrai connard,” Alexander moaned nasally, shooting Sorley a filthy look. But he lifted the glass to his lips.
Gethin held his breath. The vampire emptied the glass in three quick gulps, set it down, and shuddered again. He smacked Sorley’s hand away, then leant against the back of the sofa and let out a sigh.
“My God, that was hard to do.” He closed his eyes and sagged into the cushions.
Sorley flicked his gaze to Gethin. “We will watch some television. You should eat, then get some sleep. Use my bed. When Alec is well, because he will befine,”— he squeezed his friend’s thigh briefly — “we too will rest for a while.”
Gethin hesitated. It was tempting, but…
Sorley stood and ushered Gethin towards the door. “We will be fine,” he repeated. “If we are missing when you wake, check the basement. I suspect Alec could be entertained better down there, plus I have a comfortable sofa if we wish to sleep.” He smiled encouragingly at the subject of their concern. “You see? You already look better for some blood. In an hour, you can have some more. It will push out the stuff that vile monster put in your system.”
Gethin didn’t think the slender vamp looked any better at all, but he couldn’t fault Sorley’s attempts at cheerleading. He headed to the kitchen, detouring briefly to set the washing machine running for a second time, before he grabbed meat and cheese from the fridge and made himself a hasty sandwich, which he washed down with a pint of orange juice. Cramming a banana into his mouth as he wiped a quick cloth over the crumbs he’d left, he determinedly didn’t check on the vampires, instead shutting himself quietly into Sorley’s bedroom. Pulling off his sweats, he slid into smooth sheets that smelled of Sorley and of their combined sweat and cum. Comforted by the aroma, his wolf approving soundly of the scents, he was out cold within seconds.
13
SORLEY
Alec didn’t puke.He slept fitfully on the basement sofa, his limbs twitching under the cashmere blanket Sorley covered him with. He’d so far refused to take any more blood, but Sorley wasn’t done with his stubborn friend yet. If a charm offensive didn’t work, he’d threaten the man. It was, after all, highly likely the effects of whatever he’d been doped with would be significantly lessened if he quenched his thirst. Otherwise, what point would there be in having concocted something that made vampires turn away from their only food source?
While he dozed, Sorley bypassed the Council and rang Dalziel directly. He wanted to know about the shifter.
“Any news?” He didn’t bother to announce himself. Dalziel had his number stored.
“I’m very well, thank you, Sorley.” His sire’s lowland Scots accent, still distinctive after three centuries, sounded mildly irritated. Sorley pressed on.
“So, about the shifter? Have they found him yet?”
“Give me one moment please.” There was the distinctive clunk of a phone being placed on a hard surface. Some light shuffling sounds. A sigh. Then, “I was resting. Is it so very urgent that it couldn’t wait until after four p.m.?”
Sorley glanced at his handset and winced. Oops. His sire really did love his routine. “I thought it was imperative we solve this as quickly as possible,” he countered sulkily. “Alec is still quite sick.”
“Ah yes, the Alexander I have never heard of.” Dalziel’s voice was now the honeyed purr of a big cat who had dinner in its sights and didn’t want to scare its prey off. “Any idea why this would be? I understand he’s ‘old’. Care to enlighten me?”
Sorley winced. “He’s private,” he said quickly. “He doesn’t like to be the centre of attention.”
“Except he is now very much the name on everyone’s tongue,” came the sharp rejoinder. “It would be best if he were to take advantage of our various Council amenities in order to facilitate his healing. We’ll have a car sent for him at dusk.” His tone didn’t leave any room for discussion. Sorley didn’t have time to worry as Dalziel continued, “The shifter was captured this morning. There is a text on my phone I’m reading now. Ahh, Justin says he sent a full report via email. I suppose I could look now, seeing as I’m up. Wait on the line. I shall head downstairs to my office.”
Sorley had a sudden flashback to standing to attention as a child in his father’s study, the starched linen of a new shirt scratchy against his youthful flesh, his palms sweaty as he endured yet another blistering attack on his rambunctious nature from his mostly distant and yet frustratingly aware parent. His belly tightened as he waited for his sire to come back on the line.
“Right, here we go. One Alfie Carlton. Hmm, he sounds like a Dickens character. Aged twenty-four, height, five eleven, weight, approximately eleven stone, curly red hair and hazel eyes. Evaded capture for quite some time, which is hardly surprising considering the acreage the search team had to cover. When cornered, he first tried to flirt with Iolo Hughes, then immediately attempted to back under a stone wall whilst sobbing and begging his pursuers not to rape him. Then he all but humped Edwin’s thigh while they restrained him. He apologised and cried again.” He huffed softly, and even over the phone Sorley could feel his sire’s compassion. “Poor bastard. Sounds like the drug did a right number on him. Not a hint of aggression, apart from pushing that first lassie up against the hedge, but that appears to be some side effect of the drug. I wonder…” and the volume of his speech dropped, “…I wonder if the effect on wolves is sexual. An urge to imprint on a partner, on anyone maybe, rather like your urge to feed got scrambled up with a desperate belief it would make you sick. Was the purpose to drive the shifter to mate, or to attack?” Sorley heard him swallow. “To…rape?”
Sorley closed his eyes, overcome with weariness. “Did Justin’s report come with a photograph of this guy at all?”
Dalziel was suddenly all business. “Yes, why?”
His throat tight, Sorley croaked, “I think I recognise him from the description. If I do know him, that’s a definite connection between all three victims.”
“All threeknownvictims. But yes, that would be concerning. Hang on, I’m sending the photo now.”
Sorley took one look at the picture and his heart sank. “I know him,” he whispered. “Well, I don’tknow himknow him, but I’ve met him. Fuck.”
“Tell me.” Dalziel sounded calm and kind now, but there was thrall behind his gentle command.
“At a club on Canal Street. I don’t know, maybe three months ago? Might be less. There was a bunch of really drunk lads, not all of them well behaved. I’d had half an eye on them in case shit kicked off. This Alfie, he was out of his depth. I could smell him from across the dance floor.”
“He’s a wolf. That’s not much of a surprise.”
“Not like that, Dalziel. Fear. He wasn’t just anxious, he was scared. Proper worried.”
