Quinn stumbled back to the college, his throat tight, his eyes prickling.

It shouldn’t have mattered so much, Brandon shoving him away. He should’ve known Brandon couldn’t stand to have him so close. Brandon was afraid of Quinn’s teeth, and Quinn should’ve known better than to try biting him. He couldn’t even trust himself, not with how he’d murdered his own sister.

Even if he’d licked blood off Brandon’s cuts, it was different from sinking his fangs into Brandon’s flesh. Brandon hadn’t been bitten before. Of course he would react badly. He would never allow a vampire near him.

And so Quinn’s vampirism would always cause a rift between them. Quinn would always be a reminder of Brandon’s parents’ deaths. If he cared for Brandon, then he would remove himself from Brandon’s life, so Brandon could be happy.

It was better that they never saw each other again.

He strode past the stone letters of College of San Luis Obispo, ignoring the security guard stepping out of his booth.

“Professor Quinn,” the guard said, but Quinn brushed past him. “There were a couple of men looking for you. I told them I saw you leave.”

Well, it was late. They could visit tomorrow.

He barreled up the sidewalk, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. His chest shouldn’t hurt this much. Leaving Brandon shouldn’t hurt this much, and maybe... he really did love Brandon.

Even if he was a student.

Even if he was a human.

Quinn gulped, striding up the stairs of the biology lab building. None of this should have happened—not the sex, not the different facets of Brandon’s person, not the memories he’d stashed of Brandon smiling.

He’d focus on the blood samples Oriel had left, maybe test another suppressant. He wasn’t any closer to finding one that worked, and gods damn it, couldn’t he succeed at this for once?

All he wanted was something going right in his life, so he didn’t have as many reasons to hate himself.

He strode unseeingly through the hallways, passing the other labs with their plain brown doors. Then he stopped in front of the Blood Synthesis lab, setting his hand on the door handle. He’d locked it before he left; where was his key?

The door handle turned when he pressed down on it. Quinn frowned. It’s open? I thought I locked it.

He pushed open the door, and two figures in the lab froze. They were dressed in white, with surgical masks over their faces. The fridge door was open, and one of them held Oriel’s unlabeled blood samples in his gloved hand. A chill skidded down Quinn’s spine. How did they find out?

“Plan C,” one of the masked men said. They were thieves. Agents.

Quinn swore, striding forward. “You can’t have those,” he snapped. “Who sent you?”

The men didn’t even look at each other. They backed away, turning toward the corner of the lab. Quinn followed, listening to their heartbeats. Two hearts in front of him, thumping quickly.

One went thud-thud-thud behind him, and Quinn spun around. A figure in black stepped out of his office, gun in hand. How did I not notice...?

The agent fired. A tranq dart lodged in Quinn’s throat. He snarled, yanked it out, leaped at the agent. He should flee. But this was his lab; he couldn’t let them take the samples away.

Quinn flung himself at the black-clad figure, shoved the point of his gun away. The man reached for him; Quinn grasped his throat, squeezed. The man struggled. Quinn was too weak to kill him easily, but fury burned in his veins. He needed these people out, needed those samples back. He’d promised to keep them safe.

The agents behind him clicked their own guns. Quinn swore, knowing he should turn to dust right now.

He tried to relax. He couldn’t.

He heard the whistle of the darts before they hit, one in his neck, the other in his back. He grabbed at them, and the agent in black lunged at him, punched him in the face.

He reeled, slamming into the wall, pain bursting through his skull.

One of the agents grabbed him, twisting his arms behind his back. Strong hands locked him in place. He needed to relax, damn it! Quinn snarled, struggling. The men in white exchanged a glance.

“How did you get here?” Quinn snapped.

“We received tip-offs. Someone called Brandon.”

Quinn’s stomach turned to ice. No.

But even as he refused to accept it, he knew Brandon had told on him. How could he not, when he’d spent ten years hunting vampires?

Quinn gasped for breath, trying to think. He needed to leave. Needed to grab those samples. But Brandon had given his secret away, and all his thoughts clustered around that. Of course Brandon hated him. Why had Quinn ever thought otherwise?

His vision blurred at the edges. The tranq darts. Quinn shook his head, needing his thoughts to clear. He needed to get out now.

He tried to relax. His body stayed intact, and his thoughts slowed to a crawl. Need to leave. Somewhere. Tell Seb about blood. Brandon hates me.

Someone shot another dart at him. His arms were locked tight. He couldn’t move. His vision spun, and Quinn reeled.

Then the men shoved at him, and his legs gave out.

His last thoughts, before his vision blanked, were of hazel eyes and a handsome cocky smile.