Page 110 of Touch in the Night

“I’m not tired.”

“You are. Sleep, Jesse,” he whispered. “Heal. Let me take care of things tonight.”

Chapter Sixteen

When Jesse awoke the next day in the master bedroom, the clock on the bedside table revealed it was close to noon. He pushed the covers back blearily. The heavy drapes had kept the room dark as night, and he had to turn on the bedside light to find all his clothes. When he drew the curtains back, the day was surprisingly bright. Patches of grass were starting to show through in the snow on the moor.

There was still a police car in the lane and a crowd of people waving placards. But looking at them now, Jesse felt an odd sense of calm.

He touched his head. The skin was smooth. He went to the mirror but there wasn’t even a fading mark on his skin. He felt fresh, alert.

When he checked his phone, there were no missed calls, no messages, nothing—not from Ant, not from Trixy, anyone. Even the memory of Lucien’s red eyes blazing in the darkness seemed less horrifying in the cool, midday sunshine.

Dimity’s bedroom door was open, but her room was empty. He was heading back to his own room to change when he ran into Tom. His face was drawn and pale. There were shadows under his eyes. He was tapping on his phone and almost walked straight into Jesse.

“Did you get any sleep, mate?”

“Jesse,” Tom said, blinking. “There you are.”

Jesse frowned at the look on his face. “What’s happened now?”

Tom bit his lip. “You’ve not been online?”

Jesse’s stomach lurched. “What is it?”

“It’s…you.”

Jesse swore and hurried past Tom to his room. His displays were blinking with notifications. He sat at the desk, numb, and loaded the content, bracing himself. But it wasn’t a sex tape that was doing the rounds. It was a sound clip.

The truth is that, yes, I’m fucking Emory Von Magnusson. And it’s the best fucking sex I’ve ever had. And that’s all there is to that story.

Trixy’s smiling face then appeared, but her video discussing haemophile sexual arousal and BDSM was a blur. She’d got a hundred thousand hits already, and it was still rising. There were memes. There were spin-off articles, reaction videos. Her proposed human-haemophile sex guide was already getting crowdfunded.

Jesse slumped in his chair. Tom was hovering in the doorway.

“Was that really you?”

“My Christ, Tom,” he said, despairing, “is there anything Ican’tdo to fuck this up more?”

“It wasn’t you who decided to share that with the world,” Tom said, coming into the room.

Jesse shook his head. “I should have known she was recording me. I should have known.”

“You met with her and said that?”

“I thought she was a friend. Stupid me. She was just using me, like always.”

Tom sighed. “Darragh wants a meeting at sunset.”

“Shit,” Jess said, going cold. “Really?”

Tom nodded. “Hawthorn’s lawyer wants you for a deposition next week.”

“A…what?”

“They need to ask you some questions, under oath—about Dimity. And Emory.”

“Like with a judge and shit?”

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