Soaked In The Blood Of Angels

chapter 2

An hour later, the boy is nowhere to be found. He’s escaped from the building without any of Harry’s men having been able to lay a single finger on him. Harry’s blood burns, boils in his veins. He orders his men to find him and bring him back, barely able to concentrate on anything other than the remnants of that infuriating scent.

Harry uses every connection he has to find out information about the boy, and even then it’s just a name - Louis Tomlinson.

Louis Tomlinson. Harry can work with that.

“Lucas,” Harry begins, folding his hands together on top of the table, slouching in his chair, “Tell me you have something for me.”

It might sound like it’s a question, but it’s really not. It’s been four days since Louis Tomlinson walked into Harry’s club to get himself a nice little feeding, and since then there’s been neither hide nor hair of him to be found. He’s doing an excellent job of concealing himself, and normally Harry would have lost interest by now. Chasing someone who doesn’t want to be found is something Harry only does when they have something of his he wants back, and he’s not interested in the wallet Louis stole. Harry has plenty of wallets, and plenty of money to buy a new one if he needs it.

Harry can still smell Louis’ blood. It’s like an echo in his nose, a scent he’s unable to shake, sweet and wafting, floating around corners when Harry is least expecting it to. He’s never held onto a blood-scent this long before, and he can’t seem to forget it. There wasn’t a drop of blood spilled that day, at least none that belonged to the boy, and Harry can still smell it. He can almost taste it, that’s how strong the scent is.

It’s been four days, and Harry has had enough of waiting. He pays his people more than enough for them to be providing him with answers, not helpless shrugs and a lack of information.

“He’s been using your credit card,” Lucas says. He’s holding a thin stack of papers, and he slides them across the desk to Harry. “This is a list of his purchases.”

Harry picks them up, flicking through them. Most of the purchases are small. A tea shop purchase here, a grocery store purchase there, the occasional charge from a clothing store or a fast food place. Nothing over a hundred pounds. There doesn’t seem to be a real pattern to them, no repeat stores or small distances to indicate a neighbourhood Louis might be inhabiting.

How many are there in total?” Harry asks, laying the pages back down on his desk. He hates it when people steal from him, usually makes an example of them, but right now all he feels is the warm thread of amusement. Louis has to know that someone would have noticed the purchases, yet he’s still using the card. It’s almost as though he’s treating this like a game.

Harry likes games. He especially likes games that he’s confident he can win.

“Fifteen,” Lucas answers. “Do you want me to cancel the card?”

Fifteen purchases. Fifteen in four days. This is definitely a game.

“No,” Harry says. “Leave the card alone. I want someone monitoring it around the clock, and when it’s charged again I want to be notified immediately.”

“Yes, boss,” Lucas says, bobbing his head before making his way to the door, shutting it gently behind him.

Harry can still smell the blood. Now it’s just a matter of time before he gets to taste it, as well.

As far as Harry can tell, there’s no real pattern to the purchases. He spends the next two days going over the list again and again, searching for something he’s missed, something that will point him in the right direction. If any of his staff were a little less intimidated by him someone probably would have said something about it, but they’re not, and Liam’s out of town for a few days. There’s no one around to accuse Harry of being obsessed.

And he is obsessed. He can admit that, if only to himself. He wants to drain the boy dry, bleed him out until he begs for his life, leave him hanging on the edge while Harry revels in that blood drunk feeling he so rarely allows himself to have.

It’s a small mercy when Lucas comes back with a location. Harry doesn’t even bother grabbing a jacket as he strides out of the club and to his car.