Touch in the night, p.1
Touch in the Night, page 1
Table of Contents
Books by S. J. Coles
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
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Blood and Bonds
TOUCH IN THE NIGHT
S. J. COLES
Touch in the Night
ISBN # 978-1-83943-312-2
©Copyright S.J. Coles 2023
Cover Art by Kelly Martin ©Copyright November 2023
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2023 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book one in the
Blood and Bonds series
Jesse Truelove never felt a part of his own family. But can a vampire really give him a new one?
With a criminal record, no steady job and a penchant for kink, Jesse Truelove has spent most of his life feeling like an outsider. He tells himself it doesn’t bother him, that he never needed human connections anyway.
Now the Undying Baron, Emory Von Magnusson, a vampire—or, to use the modern term, ‘haemophile’—has reclaimed his ancestral home north of Jesse’s hometown, and the human population isn’t sure how to react. Jesse knows a thing or two about what it’s like to be misjudged, so he keeps an open mind. But when a bungled break-in at Emory’s home brings them face-to-face, Jesse finds it’s much more than his mind that’s stimulated.
However, building a relationship with an undead blood-drinker was never going to be straightforward, especially when that undead blood-drinker reveals he wants a family.
Dedication
For Hannah B, Queen of the Night
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Google: Google Inc.
Facebook: Facebook Inc., Meta Platforms
Grindr: Grindr LLC
Viagra: Pfizer Inc.
The York Press: Gannet Company Inc.
TikTok: ByteDance
Hammer: Hammer Film Productions Ltd.
Twitter: Twitter Inc.
Wi-Fi: Wi-Fi Alliance Corporation
Budweiser: Anheuser Busch Incorporated
YouTube: Google Inc.
Dracula: Bram Stoker
iPad: AVC Group LLC
Misfits: Cyclopian Music Inc.
Iron Maiden: Iron Maiden Holdings Limited
Cinderella: Disney Enterprises Inc.
McDonald’s: McDonald's Corporation
Photoshop: Adobe Systems Incorporated
Ribena: Suntory
York Hospital: National Health Service
Mini Cooper: British Motor Corporation
101 Dalmatians: Disney Enterprises Inc.
Chapter One
“Can you see all right, Olly?”
“Yeah.”
Jesse looked up. His nephew’s face was solemn under his blue bobble-hat. Jesse patted his knee and shifted the boy’s weight on his shoulders.
“You know there’s nothing to be scared of, right?”
Oliver didn’t answer right away. “Dad says the baron is dangerous.”
“He said that to you?”
“Not to me. To Mum.”
“And what did your mum say?”
“I dunno…I snuck away before I heard. They’re arguing a lot again.”
Jesse edged to the side as a woman brought her phone up to photograph the illuminated front of St. Helen’s church. The snow-flecked air was rich with the smells from the mulled wine cart and bratwurst stall but stiff with a sense of unease. Jesse scanned the crowd, noting the unusual lack of children.
“He’s not dangerous, Olly,” he said. “He’s just a man.”
“He’s not a man, though, Uncle Jesse,” Oliver whispered urgently. “He’s a vampire.”
Jesse suppressed a smile. “There’s no such thing, mate. Just wait. You’ll see he’s just a guy, like me…like your dad.”
“Dad says they kill people.” Oliver’s grip tightened on Jesse’s head.
Jesse muttered under his breath. “There are bad ones and good ones, Olly…just like people.”
Lights flooded the stage before his nephew could answer. A woman Jesse recognized from TV stepped up to the microphone, raising her hand in response to the muted applause.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for braving the cold to be here tonight. We have a truly unique Christmas light display for you this year. Leaflets with a walk-around guide can be picked up at the tourist info center, or you can download the York Christmas Festival app.” She smiled wider, darting her focus behind her. She took a deep breath. “Without further ado, I would like to welcome our special guest, someone who has funded this year’s illuminations and who has kindly agreed to switch them on. Please welcome, Baron Emory Von Magnusson.”
More hushed applause and whispered comments punctured the frozen air as a tall figure stepped onstage. Oliver tensed. Jesse stared.
He’d seen pictures of Von Magnusson, of course. It seemed to Jesse that you could hardly look at your phone these days without seeing something about ‘The Undying Baron’ and his recent move back to his ancestral lands. He was a handsome, broad-shouldered figure with styled black hair and dark blue eyes, the color of a nighttime ocean. Hot? There was no question about that. Jesse didn’t mind admitting to himself that the haemophile was the stuff of fantasies—chiseled jaw, flawless skin, a body he’d be happy to take a flying run at. But still just a flesh-and-blood guy, not the inhuman demon the hate groups touted him as.
In person, however, he literally took Jesse’s breath away. He was the tallest man Jesse had ever seen. He towered over the woman, who was easily five-eleven in her stiletto heels. His shoulders were so wide that the black wool overcoat, dotted with snow, had to be custom-made. Under the coat, he wore a tasteful suit in Oxford blue, a crisp, white shirt and a blood-red tie. Jesse blinked, wondering if that had been deliberate. But then the haemophile’s eyes met Jesse’s, and all intelligent thought fled.
There was an electric moment when Jesse was convinced the haemophile was reading every inappropriate thought that rolled through his mind, then he lifted his cobalt gaze and Jesse was able to breathe again.
“A very warm welcome to all of you,” the haemophile said, his voice deep and rich as coffee liqueur. “I am honored to be here. York is a city very dear to me, and any chance to make it shine brighter warms my heart.”
More staid clapping. Every gaze was fixed on the speaker, but the expressions on the faces around Jesse were uncertain. Magnusson never blinked, and his smile never wavered. The glimpse of his over-long canines Jesse had got as he spoke had sent a needle of uncertain excitement over the back of his neck. He shook himself and patted Oliver’s shin.
“See? Just a bloke…like I said.”
Oliver’s gaze was locked on the haemophile, but his grip on Jesse’s head had loosened, and he sat a little easier across his shoulders.
“He’s big,” Oliver murmured.
“You’re not wrong there, mate,” Jesse said, drawing a deep breath, hoping it would cool the sudden heat in his veins.
“This year’s Christmas display is something a little different,” Magnusson went on. “I wanted to try to recreate the York I was born in.—the one I knew as home, to show the world the timeless nature of our city’s beauty. So, if you’ll allow me…”
The smiling woman stepped aside, gesturing toward the large switch on a table next to the mic. Magnusson wrapped one large, gloved hand around the lever. He pulled it back with a click.
The streetlights dimmed at the same time as countless points of white light sprang into life around the square. Hundreds of simulated candles flickered along every eve and window ledge, their flames appearing to sway in the chill breeze. The building fronts were dotted with points of cooler white, creating the illusion of an unclouded night sky crowded with stars. A full moon wreathed in wisps of silver cloud was projected on the front of the church. The uneasy murmuring silenced as the crowd turned to take in the display.
“It’s moving,” Oliver whispered, his voice hushed with awe as the projected clouds appeared to drift away, leaving the moon shining and full on the front of the building.
Magnusson was gazing up with a smile on his full, tilting lips.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I give you a winter night in eighteenth-century York—cold but warm with welcome, dark but lit by love.” He gestured around the square “The stars and moon are true to their current positions in the sky above us and will move as they do. As you walk throughout the city, you will find constellations, planets and galaxies. The candles will burn down before dawn but tomorrow”—he smiled wider—“it all begins again. A very Merry Christmas to you all—and a Happy New Year.”
The clapping that broke out as he raised his hand was far more enthusiastic. The square filled with chatter. Phones were lifted to photograph the lights. Magnusson shook the hand of the woman on the stage and withdrew into the shadows.
“Come on, Uncle Jesse. I want to go see over there…”
Oliver was trying to scramble down Jesse’s body. He lowered his nephew to the floor but was unable to resist glancing back, trying to see if the haemophile was still there, in the dark, watching.
But Oliver tugged on his hand again, and he allowed himself to be dragged down Stonegate to follow the trail of flickering candles. Oliver squeaked in delight and pointed to where the sparkling band of the milky way shimmered over the closed-up shop fronts. He hustled them down Minster Gates toward the towering hulk of the Minster itself, asking ceaseless questions about the constellations that Jesse was only able to answer with the aid of Google and a Wi-Fi hotspot.
When they had completed a circuit of the moonlit, star-speckled Minster, weaving between the swelling crowds with increased difficulty, Jesse drew Oliver aside.
“It’s getting late, mate. Better get you home.”
“But I want to see if the moon’s moved!”
“It’ll be back tomorrow night,” Jesse said, tucking his chin into his threadbare scarf and wincing again at another missed call notification from his brother. “Come on, pal. Time to go.”
The crowds thinned as they walked toward the river. Oliver started to shiver, and Jesse picked up his pace, thinking to get Oliver back in the warmth as quickly as possible, even though he wasn’t keen to face the sort of welcome he guessed would be waiting for him at his brother’s house.
“What’s that?” Oliver stopped in his tracks and looked back up the deserted street.
“What was what?”
“Didn’t you hear that?”
Jesse heard it—a muffled cry, almost too quiet to hear.
Oliver pointed back the way they’d come. “I think it’s coming from over there.”
Jesse backtracked to the mouth of an alley. He could hear the traffic from the main road and the hoot of a boat on the river, but inside the alley was silent and dark.
Jesse knelt by Oliver. “I want you to stay here, okay, mate?”
“But what is it, Uncle Jesse?” Oliver whispered, his face crumpled with concern.
“I don’t know, but you’re going to stay here, yeah? Hold on to this railing, and don’t let go. I’ll be right back.”
Oliver nodded, pursing his lips, and Jesse squeezed his hand and crept into the alley.
“Hello?” he called. “Hey, is anyone there?”
Silence. Jesse took another step and spotted a pale shape in the shadows. A little girl sat against the wall with her knees drawn up and her face buried in her arms.
“Hey,” Jesse said, his heart going into his throat as he knelt next to her. “Hey there. Are you okay?”
She squeaked and curled into a tighter ball.
“Hey, love, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m not gonna hurt you. What are you doing here on your own, huh?”
The girl shook and clutched her arms tighter about herself. Jesse bit his lip and pulled out his phone to call the police then swore when he saw his battery had died.
“Hey, Olly,” he called. “Come here a sec, mate.” Oliver crept into view, his eyes intent as he spotted the girl. “Looks like this little lady’s lost. She’s scared. Can you tell her it’s okay?”
“Hey,” Oliver said uncertainly, approaching the girl. The girl finally raised her head. Even in the dimness, Jesse could see her face was tear-stained and puffy. “Hey,” Oliver said, kneeling next to her, putting his mittened hand on her arm. “Hey, what’s up? You lost?”
The girl nodded, screwing her face up like kids did when they were trying desperately not to cry.
“It’s okay,” Oliver said with a smile. “We can help. Can’t we, Uncle Jesse?”
“Course we can,” Jesse said. “We’ll get you home, love. You’ll see. Can you tell us your name?”
She sniffed. “Dimity.”
Oliver giggled. “That’s a funny name.”
The girl scowled. “No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is,” Oliver said, smiling wider.
“No, it isn’t,” Dimity insisted.
“Okay, okay,” Jesse said as Oliver’s smirk threatened to break into another giggle. “Dimity? Can you tell me where you folks are?”
“I’m…I’m looking for my dad,” she quavered. “I’ve looked everywhere… He was supposed to be here.”
“It’s all right, honey,” Jesse said. “We’ll find him. But let’s get you inside somewhere warm first, okay?”
Dimity stared warily at Jesse.
“It’s okay,” Oliver said. “Uncle Jesse’s nice, really. He only looks scary.”
“Oi,” Jesse said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and Oliver laughed, startling a chuckle from the girl. “He’s right though, love. They’re only piercings. I’m soft as soft inside, promise. Up you get. I know a place around the corner that does the best milkshakes.”
Her face brightened, and Oliver exclaimed excitedly. They helped Dimity to her feet, and Jesse instructed his nephew to take the little girl’s hand and not let go. Oliver obeyed, and Jesse took his nephew’s other hand. They left the alley, the little boy chattering about the moon and star lights, the Minster, the candles.
“I wanted to see it,” the girl sniffed again as they turned onto another side street. “My dad was supposed to be there.”
“We’ll get you back to him, love. Don’t worry,” Jesse said. He ushered them into the warm, steamy space of Ditzy Daisy’s Ice Parlor with relief. His hands pulsed as they warmed. The children’s faces lit up as they took in the counter, laden with sponges, brownies, trifles, cupcakes and cookies.
He steered them into a booth near the door just as a smiling middle-aged woman in a bright blue apron appeared from behind the counter with a notebook.
“And very nice to see you again, Jesse,” she beamed as she took in the children. “On babysitting duty again, I see?”
“Hey, Daisy,” Jesse said, keeping an eye on the children as they began scanning the laminated menu of colorful ice creams. “Can I borrow your phone?”
