Soaked In The Blood Of Angels

chapter 3

The coffee shop is dimly lit and quaint, tucked away between two bustling clothing shops. For being in such a busy section of town it’s rather deserted, only a few patrons sitting at tables and one barista behind the counter.

Good. Less people means less witnesses to pay off later.

It’s clear the barista has recognized him from the way she immediately stills, clutching a rag between her hands and eyes darting between him and the phone lying on a counter a few steps away from her, wondering if she needs to be making a call to the police right now, wondering if she has time to make that call.

Harry pays her no mind. There’s a table in the back of the room, almost hidden by a fake potted plant, one that’s empty of any people. But it has a jacket lying neatly over the back of one of its chairs and a laptop sitting open atop the table, a bag tossed carelessly underneath it.

It smells like the boy. In his mouth, Harry’s fangs threaten to pierce his gums, drop. They want to sink into the soft flesh of this boy who’s eluded him for far too long, taste his blood and his sweat and every broken cry he’ll let out as Harry fucks him.

With some difficulty, Harry pushes them back. He moves smoothly through the room, taking the empty seat at the boy’s table. Louis. At Louis’ table. He’s probably gone off to the loo, not expecting to return to the richest vamp in the city sitting at his table.

He should be. Harry’s had his people searching for this boy for the past two weeks, growing more and more frustrated with every failure. It’s long past time they became reacquainted.

Harry can smell that the boy hasn’t left the building, a rich, heady scent invading his nose. If he wanted, Harry could follow that scent and surprise him in the bathroom, push him up against a wall and just take what he wants. He has the element of surprise at his disposal, after all, and he’s better prepared for what this boy is capable of now.

He doesn’t. Instead, he drags Louis’ bag towards him and goes through it methodically, observing the heavy black AmEx sitting nearly in his worn out wallet - Harry’s heavy black AmEx - a few books, a laptop charger, a t-shirt that smells as though it’s been worn, a half empty package of cigarettes and a couple lighters. Carefully, Harry extracts the shirt, folding it up neatly and tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Leaves the credit card where it is.

A sharp intake of breath lets him know Louis has returned. Slowly, Harry looks up, making no effort to conceal the fact that he’s been going through his bag. This boy has taken from him and Harry plans on receiving his refund in full.

“Don’t know whether to be more surprised that it took you so long to find me or that you were smart enough to be able to do it in the first place,” Louis says, no hint of false bravado in his voice at all. He takes his seat at the table, folding his arms across his chest.

Good. If Harry wanted a plaything who would bend at a flick of his finger he could have just gone down into his club and taken his pick. That’s not what he wants.

“You’ve been buying yourself things with my credit card,” Harry says, tapping Louis’ wallet pointedly. “Have you not realized by now who I am?”

Louis snorts, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I know who are you,” he says easily. “I know you’re a bloke who’s apparently too dumb to cancel a credit card after it’s been stolen and thinks just because he’s rich he can have whatever he wants. That sound about right?”