Page 3 of Worse Fates
Vidar nods. “If he lives through being turned into a vampire, that is.”
I suck a breath between clenched teeth. I hadn’t even thought about changing him yet.
“Dying is simple, offspring, any moron can do it. Rebirth is difficult, as you well know when I tried to turn your brother, Luc.”
I push away the memory of my brother writhing in pain, vampire blood burning in his veins. Killing him slowly.
“Francisco’s my mate, surely he’ll—”
“It’s birth. Pain comes with the territory.”
I push Vidar away and open the door, unable to stop myself and glare into the room, as if daring it to hurt my sleepingmate. I would destroy anything that came for him, even myself. He stirs and I go to him without a second thought. My whole being shifting to his every need.
“Lucero…” He rubs sleep from his eyes and falls into my arms. “I was dreaming of you.”
“Good dreams, I hope?”
He smiles, then startles when he spots my Maker.
“This is Vidar. Francisco. A good friend of mine.”
Francisco’s attention returns to me, his face open. Trusting me in a way no one else ever has, and nods. No doubt he isn’t safe with me, and I am humbled by his sincerity.
I have to make a choice. To keep him for a short time then watch him die?
Or chance forever in my bite.
Chapter One - Golden
Present Day, England
Living in an abandoned mansion has its perks.
Sure, it's cold and damp, and let’s be honest, definitely haunted. I haven’t seen any ghosts yet, but there's more dead people than alive, right?
It’s just odds.
But I’ve got a roof over my head, shadow puppets to keep me company, and an old guitar I found under piles of dusty bedding.
So, a couple of possible ghost roommates aren’t the worst.
I strum my fingers down the broken guitar’s strings. I’ve got the musical talent of a brick, but even I can tell it needs a good tuning, and make up songs by the light of candles I found on my second night here.
Cold eats at my fingers, making them stiff as I play. But the off-key melody brings me comfort, and I’m reluctant to stop, so I keep at it even as the strings leave dents in my skin. It’s nice to have a little company on these long, cold nights. I’ve laid my head down in worse spots than this, so I’m lucky, really.
It’s all good.
I’mall good.
I have to be.
It’s easy to pretend the nagging pain twisting in my empty stomach is because I’m saving myself for a big dinner. Easy to imagine I’m shaking not from the cold settling in my bones, but because I’m so damn good at music. Easy not to be lonely…
Slowly, hesitantly, I wake up my nearly-dead phone and play a voicemail.
“Hey, goofball! Pick up, already. Your favourite person is bringing home burgers, what sauce do you want? Love ya.”Jace’s voice is exactly as I remember, strong and sure of himself. And difficult to listen to.
I shove my phone into my ripped jeans and jump up. Lounging on a fancy old sofa is nice, but I need to get my blood moving. I grab the guitar strap and sling it over the black combat jacket I found just last week.
