Chapter 10: The Jealous Wraith
The night air hit them like a wet blanket, thick with the promise of rain that never quite fell. The speakeasy's crimson sign flickered behind them, casting the alley in pulses of blood-red light that made the wet cobblestones look like they were bleeding into the gutters.
Alice pulled her jacket tighter around herself, watching Hunter and Ghost linger by the mouth of the alley. Hunter's hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against something that wasn't the cold. Ghost stood beside him, still as a statue, that pale gaze fixed on the middle distance.
"Well," Alek said, his breath fogging in the damp air. "That was certainly an evening."
Kai snorted, his arm sliding around Alice's waist, pulling her into the furnace of his body heat. "You have a gift for understatement, bloodsucker."
"One of my many talents." Alek's smile was thin, but there was something warm behind it. He inclined his head toward Hunter and Ghost. "Are you two coming, or do you have more secrets to excavate?"
Hunter's jaw tightened. "We'll catch up."
The silence that followed was heavy, loaded. Alice felt it pressing against her skin like static before a storm. She opened her mouth to say something—she wasn't sure what—but Kai was already steering her away, his hand firm on her lower back.
"Night, you two," Kai called over his shoulder. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Which leaves plenty of options," Alek murmured, and Ghost's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough.
Alice let herself be led out of the alley, her footsteps echoing against the brick walls. After a few paces, she glanced back.
Hunter and Ghost were still standing there, frozen in the red glow, two shadows caught in the space between one moment and the next. And something about the way they stood—too close, too still, like animals scenting each other before the fight—made her shiver.
"Come on," Kai said, tugging her forward. "Let's give them their space."
"He said he'd catch up," Alek said, falling into step beside them. "Which, in my experience, means he'll be catching up to something entirely different."
Kai laughed. "Jealous?"
"Of what, precisely? The brooding silence? The unresolved tension?" Alek's voice was dry as old paper. "Hardly."
But Alice noticed he glanced back too.
---
The alley steeped in silence. Distant traffic hummed, a sound like blood moving through veins. The neon from Ghost's haven flickered once, twice, then settled into a steady crimson pulse.
Hunter's hands were still in his pockets. His fingers ached from the tension.
"You owed the vampire nothing," he said, and the words came out rougher than he intended. Rawer. He could feel Ghost's gaze on him like a brand.
Ghost hummed. That low, dangerous sound that vibrated somewhere in his chest and seemed to travel through the air itself. "You're mad that I told a story?"
"No." The word snapped out like a whip. Hunter's scarred face tightened. "I'm mad that you gave him that piece of you like it was nothing."
"A piece of me?" Ghost's voice was silken, threaded with something Hunter couldn't name. "Is that what you think that was?"
"I don't think anything." But Hunter's heart was hammering against his ribs, and they both knew it was a lie.
Ghost moved closer. The distance between them had been measured in inches before; now it was measured in heartbeats. His breath caressed Hunter's throat, a whisper of warmth against the cold night air. "Then why so jealous, little hunter?"
The word jealous landed like a knife between his ribs.
Hunter's fists uncurled. His hands came up—fast, desperate—and grabbed Ghost by the collar of his jacket. The fabric bunched in his fists, and he pulled, yanking Ghost down, crashing their mouths together.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision.
Ghost's breath hitched against Hunter's lips, and then he was pressing forward, driving Hunter back against the brick wall with a force that knocked the air from his lungs. The impact sent a shockwave through his spine, but he didn't feel it. He only felt Ghost's mouth—hungry, devouring, tasting of whiskey and smoke and something darker, something that had crawled out of a grave and never quite washed the dirt from its teeth.
Hunter bit his lower lip. Hard. Ghost growled.
"Fuck," Hunter breathed, the word swallowed by Ghost's mouth.
Ghost's hands were on him—no longer elegant, no longer restrained. They gripped his hips, his waist, his shoulders, pulling and pressing and claiming. Ghost's knee shoved between his thighs, forcing them apart, and Hunter arched into the pressure with a sound that was half moan, half growl.
"Jealous," Ghost murmured against his throat, his voice a wreck of silk and gravel. "You've been jealous all night, haven't you? Every time he looked at me. Every time he asked for a piece of my past."
"Fuck you." But Hunter's hands were in Ghost's hair, pulling, gripping, holding him there.
"Already doing that, love." Ghost sucked at the skin beneath Hunter's jaw, hard enough to bruise, and Hunter's head fell back against the brick, a shudder wracking his frame. "Have been since the first time you looked at me like I was something worth saving."
Hunter's laugh was broken, punched out of him. "I don't want to save you."
"No?" Ghost pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. The neon painted them crimson, burning like coals in the dark. "Then what do you want, little hunter?"
Hunter answered by pulling him down again.
The kiss this time was slower—not gentler, but deeper. Deliberate. Hunter's tongue swept into Ghost's mouth, tasting the lingering alcohol and something coppery, like old blood. Ghost groaned against him, his hands sliding lower, gripping Hunter's ass and pulling their hips together.
"You feel that?" Ghost rasped, grinding against him. "That's what you do to me. Every fucking time."
"Shut up." It came out breathless, barely a sound at all.
"Make me."
Hunter's hand moved between them, fumbling with Ghost's belt. The buckle clinked, metal against metal, and Ghost laughed—a low, wicked sound—before knocking Hunter's hands away.
"Patience, love."
"I don't have patience." Hunter's hands were shaking. "I've never had patience. You know that."
Ghost's smile was a slash of white in the darkness. "I know." He leaned in, his mouth brushing Hunter's ear. "That's why you're mine."
The word mine struck Hunter like a physical blow. His breath caught, and something raw and desperate surged up in his chest. He didn't have a name for it. He didn't want one.
Ghost pulled back just enough to look at him. That pale gaze raked over Hunter's face, his heaving chest, the way his hands still shook—and then he reached up and grabbed Hunter's wrists, pinning them to the wall above his head.
"On your knees," Ghost said.
Hunter should have fought it. Should have snarled, shoved, resisted. But the word dropped into him like a stone into deep water, rippling through his gut, and he sank.
The cobblestones were cold and wet against his knees, soaking through his jeans in seconds. He looked up, and Ghost was staring down at him—not with contempt, but with something rawer. Something starving.
"Open your mouth."
Hunter did.
Ghost's fingers slid into his hair, gripping, tilting his head back. The other hand moved to his own belt, unfastening it with a click that echoed in the narrow alley. He pulled himself free—heavy, flushed, already hard—and stroked himself once, slowly, watching Hunter's face.
"You want this?"
"Stop fucking asking." Hunter's voice was wrecked. "Just do it."
Ghost pressed the head of his cock against Hunter's lips, smearing the taste of him across that scarred mouth. "Since you asked so nicely."
He pushed in.
Hunter took him deep, all at once, without flinching. His throat contracted around the intrusion, and he heard Ghost's breath catch—a sharp, broken sound that was better than any music. He pulled back, sucking, tonguing the underside of Ghost's cock, and Ghost's grip in his hair tightened enough to hurt.
"Look at you," Ghost breathed. "On your knees in the dirt. So desperate for it."
Hunter made a sound around him that might have been a laugh, might have been a growl. His hands found Ghost's hips, gripping the sharp jut of bone as he set a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate. Ghost's thighs trembled.
"Fuck," Ghost hissed, his accent thickening the word. "You're too good at that, little hunter."
Hunter pulled off with a wet gasp, his mouth slick, his eyes burning. "You gonna complain?"
"Never." Ghost pulled him up, hard, spinning them so Hunter's back hit the brick again. The air left his lungs in a rush, and then Ghost was on him—mouth, hands, teeth—tearing at his jacket, his shirt, his belt. "Need you."
"Then take me."
Ghost froze. His hand was on Hunter's zipper, and he was looking at him with that pale, burning gaze. "Here?"
"Here." Hunter's voice was raw, scraped clean of anything soft. "Now. Unless you're too fucking refined for a dirty alley."
Ghost's smile was sharp enough to cut. "Never."
He dropped to his knees.
Hunter didn't have time to prepare. Ghost's mouth was on him—hot, insistent, impossibly skilled—and Hunter's head slammed back against the bricks, a groan torn from his chest. His hands found Ghost's shoulders, gripping, nails digging into the leather of his jacket.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Fucking hell."
Ghost's laugh vibrated around him, and Hunter saw stars.
It didn't take long. The weeks of tension, the slow burn of this thing between them, the night of watching Ghost bare his throat to a vampire—it all coalesced into a pressure behind Hunter's eyes, a heat in his gut, a desperate need to be taken.
"Stop," he gritted out, his hands tightening in Ghost's hair. "Stop, I'm—"
Ghost pulled off, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark. "Not yet. I want to be inside you."
Hunter's breath caught. "You have—"
"I have." Ghost rose, pressing a kiss to Hunter's throat, his hand dipping below his waistband to press against him. "Lube. In my jacket. I'm always prepared for you, little hunter."
The words undid him.
Hunter reached for Ghost's jacket, fumbling, finding the small bottle and pressing it into his hand. "Then do it. Do it now."
Ghost's laugh was low and wicked. He claimed Hunter's mouth again as he worked open the bottle, and the cold slick of it made Hunter gasp. But Ghost didn't wait. One finger, then two, sliding inside him with a patience that bordered on cruel.
"More," Hunter demanded.
"So demanding." But Ghost obliged, adding a third, stretching him with deliberate, ruthless precision. Hunter's hands clawed at the brick wall behind him, his breath ragged, his body arching into the intrusion.
"Now," he snarled. "Ghost, I swear to god—"
"Shh." Ghost's voice was soft, almost tender. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself between Hunter's thighs. "I've got you."
He pushed in.
The stretch was blinding—a burn that bordered on too much, a fullness that stole Hunter's breath. He gripped Ghost's shoulders, his forehead falling against his, their breath mingling in the cold night air.
"Fuck," Hunter whispered. "Fucking move."
Ghost moved.
The rhythm was brutal, relentless, each thrust driving Hunter harder against the brick wall. The rough stone scraped his back, but he didn't feel it. He only felt Ghost—the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he filled Hunter completely, impossibly, like he was made for this.
"Look at me," Ghost commanded, his voice wrecked. "I want to see you."
Hunter's eyes met his.
In the crimson light, Ghost's face was almost beautiful—sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, the shape of his mouth as he bit back a moan. Hunter reached up, his hand cradling Ghost's jaw, and Ghost turned his head to press a kiss to Hunter's palm.
Something in Hunter's chest cracked.
"Don't," he started, but the word was lost as Ghost drove deeper, hitting a spot that made his vision white.
"Don't what?" Ghost's voice was a growl, his hips stuttering. "Don't want me to care? Too late, little hunter. Too fucking late."
Hunter's response was a broken sound—half moan, half sob. He pulled Ghost closer, legs wrapping around his waist, taking him deeper, and Ghost buried his face in Hunter's neck as he came undone.
"Come," Ghost commanded, his voice ragged against Hunter's skin. "Come for me."
And Hunter couldn't have stopped it if he tried.
The orgasm hit him like a wave, pulling him under. He gasped, arched, his whole body shaking as he spilled between them, hot and sudden. Ghost followed with a groan, shuddering against him, his teeth grazing Hunter's throat.
They stayed like that for a long moment—pressed together, breathing hard, the world reduced to the space between their bodies. The neon flickered overhead, casting them in pulses of red.
Ghost pulled back slowly, sliding out of him, and Hunter's knees buckled. But Ghost caught him, steadying him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"That was—" Hunter started.
"Don't." Ghost's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Don't ruin it with words."
Hunter laughed—a hoarse, surprised sound. "Wasn't going to say anything poetic."
"What were you going to say?"
Hunter looked at him. In the dim light, Ghost looked almost human. Almost whole.
"I was going to say we should do that again," Hunter said. "But not in an alley."
Ghost's smile was slow, devastating. "My place then."
"Your place."
Ghost pulled him close, tucking his head under his chin, and Hunter let himself be held. The night pressed in around them, cold and damp, but Ghost was warm.
"I meant what I said," Ghost murmured against his hair. "You're mine."
Hunter closed his eyes. "I know."
---
The dorm building rose above them, a block of gray concrete and dimly lit windows. Alice leaned against Kai, his arm a heavy, comforting weight around her shoulders. Alek drifted beside them, his steps silent as a ghost.
"She hasn't texted," Alice said, checking her phone for the tenth time.
"Hunter and Ghost can take care of themselves," Kai said. "They're the two scariest bastards I know."
"I know." But her thumb kept hovering over the screen. "I just—"
"They're fine," Alek said, and there was a finality to his voice. "Trust me."
Alice looked at him. In the pale light of the streetlamp, Alek's face was unreadable. But there was something soft behind his eyes—something almost human.
"Okay," she said.
They climbed the stairs in silence. The building was quiet, the other students asleep. Alice's room was at the end of the hall, and when she pushed open the door, her bed was still unmade, her desk still covered in notes about cephalopod neuroanatomy.
Home, she thought. This is home now.
Kai followed her inside, but Alek lingered in the hallway. "I should go," he said. "Give you two some privacy."
"Don't be an idiot," Kai said. "We're all friends here."
Alek's smile was thin. "Yes. Friends."
Alice crossed the room, took his wrist, and pulled him inside. "You're not sleeping in the hallway, Aleksandr. That's ridiculous."
Alek let himself be pulled, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "I have a home. Several, actually."
"Then you can go in the morning." Alice kicked off her shoes, crawled onto the bed, and patted the space beside her. "But right now, I don't want to be alone."
The words hung in the air, heavier than she'd intended.
Kai looked at her, his amber eyes softening. He slid onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. "You're not alone," he said. "You'll never be alone again."
Alek stood by the desk, watching them. His face was unreadable, but something in his posture loosened.
"Fine," he said. "One night."
He moved to an armchair in the corner, sinking into it with a grace that seemed almost boneless. His eyes closed, and within moments his breathing slowed.
Alice rested her head against Kai's chest. His heart beat beneath her cheek, steady as a drum.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For staying."
Kai pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Always, little siren. Always."