Thirst

By Lisa Worrall

“What are you?”

A killer haunts the streets, stalking unwilling victims and leaving them drained of their blood.

When the evidence runs dry, Detective Max Bowman quenches his thirst at his local bar hoping for inspiration. Instead, he’s robbed and left for dead in the alley. Waking up in the warm bed of horror novelist Carter Gray was the last thing he expected, but it may be the lead he needs.

Carter hides a dangerous secret and behind his life as a bestselling author and it might be the answer, no matter how unbelievable, Max has been looking for.

But, as they search for the killer, Max begins to wonder if he’s being led in circles by a mastermind of plot twists and deception.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Worrall
• Release date: Nov 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005368562

Lisa Worrall

I live in Leigh on Sea, a small seaside town just outside London on the coast of Essex, about ten minutes from Southend, which boasts the longest pier in the world. I live with my partner and two ever-growing children, who I let think are the boss of me; along with a dog who actually is. As the wonderful Beatrix Potter said, "There is something delicious about writing the first words of a new story. You never quite know where they'll take you." I know exactly what she means and hope you'll join me for the ride.

Book preview

Copyright 2020 by Lisa Worrall

Smashwords Edition

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Dedication

A big thank you to my betas, Elin, AnnMarie and Teresa

who made sure all my I’s were dotted and my T’s crossed.

Not to mention my P’s and Q’s.

And to Kelvin, who is and will always be

the Rhett to my Scarlett

(even if I had to tell him who they were),

the Gable to my Lombard and

the Penfold to my Dangermouse

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

About Lisa Worrall

Also available

Prologue

Pain, lots of pain. Max tried to force his eyes open, but only one would comply; the other was already swollen shut from the impact of a closed fist. He had no idea how long he’d been lying in the alley behind the Blue Deuce. But that probably had more to do with the shot he’d taken to the head, than the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. He did, however, dimly remember a tall blond man with piercing blue eyes who’d introduced himself as Tony—might have been Tommy—buying him a beer. A beer followed by a shot of Kentucky Bourbon. Then another, and another, and…. He’d stopped counting after the fourth. He also remembered laughing and joking with Tony/Tommy. Flirting and being flirted with. Nothing seemed out of place.

Nothing, that was, until it was suggested they go somewhere quieter. Max readily agreed, the guy was hot, and he was not against the odd hook-up once in a while. But, instead of heading into the brightly lit street, Max found himself being jostled from both sides into the alley behind the bar. Suddenly, Tony/Tommy held him on his left and, from nowhere, a dark-haired man grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind Max’s back to hold him steady. Too late, Max realized everything was out of place, as Tony/Tommy’s fist connected with his face, then his knee with Max’s groin.

The two of them punched and kicked him. In his alcohol infused state, all he could do was curl in on himself on the ground and hope to minimize the damage. He didn’t want to think too deeply about the sharp snap he heard when a hard boot connected with his ribs, or the meaty sounds of flesh upon flesh. Darkness reached out to engulf him in its warm embrace, but he stubbornly refused to let it claim him. Hands grabbed at his keys, his wallet, then he grunted as a boot connected with the muscle in his left ass cheek. His head was pulled back by a vicious hand twisting in his hair and he momentarily found himself gazing into Tony/Tommy’s piercing blue eyes. Then the word fag was spat in his face before his head was slammed back down on the dirt.

Max listened to their retreating footsteps and tried to lift his head. He cried out as white hot pain cut through his side. He tried to drag in some air and inadvertently triggered a coughing fit. His mouth filled with what he thought was saliva and he spat it out, cringing at the dark splatters that hit the ground. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips and he stared at the stain of red on his skin. Fuck. That can’t be good.

If he could get up, he could get help. No problem. Somehow, Max managed to stumble to his knees and tried to use the wall beside him to pull himself up. But his legs buckled, and he crashed back to the ground. A guttural moan was wrenched from him as he fell. The pain was overwhelming. The ground shimmered and the outer edges of his vision darkened as he fought to stay conscious. A battle he knew he was not going to win. Shi—!

Two strong arms suddenly lifted him as though he were a small child. Max tried to lift his chin, but his head weighed about a hundred pounds. Instead, it just lolled to the side, coming to rest on a firm shoulder, and he caught a glimpse of blond hair and pale blue eyes before the dark claimed him.

Carter pulled open the door of his black 1968 Ford Mustang and settled his ward carefully in the passenger seat. He leaned across him and slowly reclined the seat to settle him into a more comfortable position. Shrugging off his heavy woolen coat, he rolled it and slipped it behind the semi-conscious man to prop up his head, then took a moment to study his passenger. He gazed down at the battered face he had been watching all night from his dark corner of the bar, fully aware how beautiful it was underneath the swelling and bruising.

The man’s name was Max, that much he knew. He’d heard him introduce himself to his assailant. Carter sighed heavily, furious with himself that he’d realized too late the plans the blond and his accomplice had for him. If he hadn’t been distracted. If he hadn’t been so thirsty—

He shook away the thought and slid behind the wheel, extinguishing the muted glow of the dome light when he closed the door. As he started the engine and pointed the car toward home, a satisfied smile curved his lips. The two men who had robbed and beaten Max had already paid the ultimate price for what they’d done. Carter glanced into his rearview mirror, parted his lips and ran his tongue down one of his elongated incisors.

They wouldn’t hurt anyone else—and he wasn’t thirsty anymore.

Chapter 1

Carter eased his car down the narrow alley between the two high-rise apartment buildings that made up the complex he lived in, and steered toward the underground garage. He slowly pulled into his usual spot and turned off the engine. Max groaned softly beside him and Carter tensed, hoping he wouldn’t wake, but Max’s eyes remained closed. What the fuck am I doing? That he would have to figure out when he got himself and his passenger upstairs. But first, he needed to get Max out of the car before anyone saw them. The young men and women he usually brought home were conscious, at least for the first half of the evening, and he didn’t want to bump into Officer Reynolds from apartment 3B and explain why he was sneaking a barely conscious, badly beaten man into his home.

Opening the door, he gently slid Max out and lifted him into his arms once again as if he weighed nothing. Carter could have picked him up with one hand if he so desired, but he didn’t think that was the best option, given Max’s current state. Max’s injuries probably wouldn’t benefit from any displays of heightened strength and, in the present circumstances, he was pretty sure Max wouldn’t appreciate it either.

Carter looked left, then right, seeking anything that would alert him to the presence of another. He remembered the last time he’d been careless and not ensured the garage was completely empty before he left the elevator—carrying the body of a rather voluptuous brunette if he recalled correctly. His neighbor had taken quite a bit of compelling before Carter had been certain he’d have no memory of what he had seen. Namely, a bone white arm falling from inside the plastic it was wrapped in and the rest of the body it was attached to. Satisfied the only scents he detected were those of the man in his arms and the lingering scent of the building’s caretaker, he locked the Mustang and quickly made his way to the elevator.

Inside the small metal box with its faux-granite walls, he balanced Max carefully while he scrabbled in his pocket for the plastic key card that would take the elevator up to the penthouse. He leaned back against the wall as the doors slid shut and adjusted Max in his arms. Carter froze when a soft whimper fell from Max’s parted lips. His hand was hooked under Max’s arm, resting against his side, and he could feel the heat beneath the skin. His ribs were, at the very least, severely bruised, if not broken. Not that he needed to have supernatural senses to know Max’s attackers had done an excellent job of beating the crap out of him.

One vampiric benefit, as he called them, was the ability to sense what was happening beneath the skin, by touch. He hoped there was no internal bleeding. But he wouldn’t know the extent of Max’s injuries until he had placed his hands on every part of the damage the bastards had caused.

The elevator whirred to a halt and the doors slid open to reveal a long corridor with the entrance to the penthouse at one end. Carter carried Max down the hall and pressed the pad of his thumb to the scanner mounted on the wall. A green line traversed the electronic device, and he waited as the heavy bolts were released from their housing with a series of loud clicks and the door slowly swung open. Once inside, Carter kicked out at the door with his foot and the bolts rammed home as it closed behind him.

Gordon! Carter yelled, striding down the hall to his bedroom. He laid Max gently on his bed, letting his fingers linger on Max’s soft curls as he smoothed the pillow beneath him. Gordon! He yelled a little louder, inwardly cursing his stupidity when Max grunted, his shout having obviously slipped through the fog wrapped around Max’s brain. Carter shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the chair next to the bed.

A tall, black man skidded on the highly polished floorboards as he ran into the room. His eyes widened briefly, but that was his only visible reaction to the scene before him—not that Carter would have expected anything less. Gordon had worked for Carter since he came of age, just as his mother had, and was his housekeeper, confidant, protector, and friend.

I’m sorry, sir. I was in my quarters, Gordon apologized. I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.

Help me get him out of his clothes. Carter avoided Gordon’s gaze, even though he felt its weight as he began to undo the buttons on Max’s shirt.

He was always meticulously careful when it came to hunting. He certainly didn’t bring home waifs and strays. Then again, if he knew what the hell he was doing, he’d be able to answer the questions he knew were racing through Gordon’s mind. But he also knew Gordon wouldn’t ask them. As always, Gordon was the epitome of discretion as he moved around the bed to assist.

Once they’d removed Max’s clothes and he lay on top of the sheets, clad only in his boxer shorts, Carter stood up. He grabbed his coat and fished in his pocket for the wallet and keys he had retrieved from Max’s attacker.

Take a cab to The Blue Deuce, please Gordon, Carter instructed. Then drive his car, an SUV judging by the fob, to the address on the license. He opened the wallet, his gaze widening at the ID and badge within that indicated Max was a detective in the homicide division. Of course, he’s a cop. What else would he be? Shaking his head at the irony of it all, he handed the license to Gordon and waited for him to leave the room.

Perching carefully on the edge of the bed, Carter slowly moved his hands down Max’s body, his touch featherlight. The places where Max was injured burned red hot against his palms, giving him some indication of whether he would need to take a trip to the hospital. But he was confident there was no internal bleeding.

As he thought, Max’s ribs were severely bruised but not broken, so at least he wouldn’t have to worry about any bones puncturing a lung in the middle of the night. He winced at the pulsing heat of the damaged flesh against his fingertips. Anger, dark and all-consuming, washed through him. Drunk as he was, the bastards could have hit him a couple of times, stolen his wallet and walked away, but they hadn’t wanted to just hurt him. They’d wanted to annihilate him.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the rush of blood through Max’s veins and concentrated on the flow. It pulsed against his fingers evenly, giving no indications that blood coursed anywhere it shouldn’t. He then shifted his attention to Max’s stomach, sliding his hands across Max’s taut six-pack and around to his hips. He winced at the feel of the blown capillaries beneath the skin; the bruising was already evident, blossoming purple and black. Carter knew Max would more than likely be pissing blood for a few days, thanks to the kicks he had received to his kidneys.

There is, of course, a surefire way to heal him, Carter.

He shook his head against the persistent little voice in his ear. One word; bitten out through gritted teeth, sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. No! Carter looked up when Gordon returned, carrying a bowl of water, some towels, and several rolls of heavy bandage. As he set them down on the nightstand, Carter smiled his gratitude. Gordon returned the gesture and padded quietly out of the room.

Carter soaked one towel in the warm water then gently eased it over Max’s skin, wiping away the dried blood at the corner of his mouth and under his nose. He stilled when Max groaned in his imposed slumber, the dampness of the cloth breaking through the blanket of semi consciousness. It was merely the instinct of doctor to patient that made him soothe the crease in Max’s forehead with his fingertips until darkness pulled the man back into its embrace. Purposely ignoring his inner vampire—who was laughing hysterically at his doctor/patient analogy—he concentrated on wiping away the blood that had seeped from Max’s ear, probably from a kick to the head. Wow, they really did a number on you, didn’t they? he murmured. It was obvious Max had a concussion and would need to be roused regularly, but the fact that he was somewhat responsive to pain was a good sign.

After having washed away the blood and dirt from Max’s face and body, Carter picked up one of the bandages and opened it. He wondered briefly whether he should call Gordon to help him as he let his gaze travel over the muscled planes of Max’s chest and across the width of his shoulders. The muffled slam of the front door indicating Gordon’s departure, decided the matter.

Carter grunted at the ridiculousness of his hesitation. With his ability to speed up his movements, it would be quicker to strap the rib himself anyway. He slipped one hand beneath Max’s neck, and the other he eased around the smooth skin of his waist, positioning him so he was nestled in a semi-upright position against the mountain of pillows.

Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t sent Gordon out right about now.

Refusing to rise to the bait of his own subconscious, he placed the end of the roll against Max’s sternum, just below the flat discs of his nipples. Slowly, he began to feed the bandage around his broad back, pulling it tight enough to support but not enough to restrict his breathing. On the second pass of the bandage, Max groaned, and Carter found himself staring into his glassy brown eyes. For a split second, Max regained focus. It may only have been for an instant, but it was long enough for him to try to defend himself from what he must have thought was another attack.

Shh, Carter said softly, carefully restraining Max’s hands with his own, fearful the frightened man was going to do further damage. It’s okay, everything’s okay. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and combed his fingers through the wavy bangs that rested on Max’s furrowed brow. He gently stroked Max’s sweat-slick skin and mumbled nonsense until Max’s eyes glazed over and he slipped back into unconsciousness. Carter snatched his fingers away from the softness of Max’s hair against his skin. He scrubbed his hand over his face and closed his eyes as the sweet musk of Max’s sweat assaulted his senses. What was happening to him?

He took a deep breath, more out of habit than necessity, to regain some form of composure, then continued with the task at hand. His movements were jerky, and not entirely gentle, for each brush of his fingers against soft, warm skin the color of caramel sent the tightening in his gut straight to his cock. Something that he was far from comfortable with. But then the whole evening had become something he was far from