Page 3 of A Bond Beyond Blood

“You need only to ask, butcher.”

The bargain had been made between us years ago; receiving the gift of everlasting life from me now would bring about no changes to the terms of our original agreement.His bloodline belonged to me regardless of whether he lived, died, or was turned—indebted as long as I walked the earth.I could offer my blood and expect nothing in return.

And yet, Franco simply shook his head.Stubborn man.

Certainly, I could coerce him to consume my blood, force him to turn, but immortality was not a fate I would inflict upon anyone, least of all the closest thing to a friend I had known in all of my centuries of existence.

No, he would have to choose this life.To ask me outright.

As the seconds ticked by, I found myself anxious to hear his answer.

Finally, his eyes closed in a long blink, but when he opened them again, sadness was replaced with resolve.“Thank you, but no.My time has come.”

Whether due to grim acceptance or foolish pride, the man had made his decision.

After a moment, I slipped my hands through the handles of the bags and gave Franco a curt nod.“Go peacefully into the endless night, my friend.”With that, I turned my back on him, shoulders heavy with the profound knowledge that this would be the final time I bid farewell to the butcher.

When I returned, it would not be Franco awaiting my arrival, but his son, Jack.

As the little bell chimed to announce my exit, then the door closed behind me, I disappeared into the shadows.Though the world had become a place where creatures of the night were no longer myths and bedtime stories but existed alongside humans, it was still unsafe for those who swore fealty to the missing king.Easy targets, they were, for both vampire hunters and the vicious predators who rose to power once the treaty was signed in the king’s prolonged absence.

I maintained a low profile, though it would be a lie to say I enjoyed this existence.

I was tired.Lonesome.

And, worst of all, bored out of my godforsaken mind.

Chapter Two

Jack

Anyone who has stepped foot inside a hospital or watched someone die of incurable disease could tell you that death has a smell.And it isn’t that ‘roadkill on the side of the highway’ stench, but something more subtle.Pervasive.Apparent in the chemical scent of cleaning supplies, the pungency of bleached laundry.The disinfectant used to clean every touchable surface.

Death is heavy, palpable.An entity all on its own.

And it had taken up residence in my childhood home.

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