Page 14 of A Bond Beyond Blood (The Butcher’s Daughter Trilogy #1)

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Had I known that Franco’s Jack wasn’t a son at all but this bold, beautiful woman with fire in her eyes and a mind so filthy I wanted to pry her head open and climb inside, I wouldn’t have stayed away so long.

Eleven appointments I’d missed in the time I’d been gone.

Eleven opportunities to meet this woman who’d apparently been waiting for me.

I watched her with a strange sort of amusement, surprisingly rapt as she prepared to fight me.

Knees bent ever so slightly, she brought her fists up in front of her, one tucked close to her chest and the other extended out a bit.

She’d been trained by a fighter, clearly, but being trained in hand-to-hand combat by a human meant little when faced with a vampire, especially one of my age and ability.

She stood no chance against me, but I’d allow her to get her fill of the fight.

After all, the girl desired vengeance, and I was eager to oblige.

“Well, come on then, love.” I crouched, mimicking her stance with my fists in front of me, and she sidestepped to the left so I sidestepped to my right, and we began our deadly dance.

“Don’t go easy on me,” she warned.

I snorted. “Wouldn’t dream of it, pet.”

She shuffled forward quickly and I braced for a blow that never came. Cute. She was toying with me.

You can do this, she told herself, her inner voice firm and sure even as her heart beat erratically with fear.

I rolled my eyes.

She snarled at me as she thought, He deserves this for what he did.

Tilting my head, I waited for more. What had I done to her?

“Who’s been training you, Jack?”

“Don’t call me that,” she spat.

My eyebrows lifted. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”

“My name is Jacqueline. Only my family calls me Jack.” And you are not that, she added angrily within that cute little head.

“We should both be relieved about that distinction, petit colibri , seeing as how you’ve been eye-fucking me since you arrived.”

Her mouth fell open, but even within her mind, she didn’t argue my point.

I winked as I lunged forward and pinned her against the wall. She gasped and I smiled. “And your thoughts...” I shook my head. “What was it you wanted to know about my hands?”

Eyes angry and wild, she fought against the way my closeness made her feel, and I watched with amusement as she berated herself for wanting me. When she licked her lips and the scent of fear mixed with arousal in the air, I inclined my head as if to say, ‘See?’

You do not want him.

He isn’t Vinny.

He’s not one of the good ones.

I snorted as I released her and stepped backwards to give her space. “As if there are any of those.”

Don’t listen to him, she told herself.

“Who is Vinny?”

Her eyes widened and she began to sing a song I didn’t recognize in her head. “None of your business.”

“A boyfriend?”

Her lips curled. “Get out of my head.”

“Wish I could.” I shrugged. “It’s quite annoying in there.”

It was also a play-by-play commentary of her next move, so when she glared at me as she created a plan of attack then moved forward to swing, I dodged her fist easily enough.

I would have been able to anyway, as she was no match for my agility.

Already hindered by the human way she moved like molasses, she didn’t stand a chance against one of my kind, but seeing each step of her plan play out in her head bored me and I desperately tried to force myself out of that chaotic space.

The song grew louder and I sighed. “Try to push me out of your mind,” I told her.

She paused in her circling and her brow creased. “What? How?”

“Wish I knew.” I stepped quickly toward her and she stepped back, carefully matching my every move. She’d been trained well, at least. Franco would be proud. “This is new territory for me, love.”

As I focused on her mouth instead, soft and full and pursed into a determined frown, I was able to silence her thoughts long enough to think—

And she was able to sneak one past me.

Her fist connected with my jaw and she pulled back with a scream of agony, hand limp as she cradled it against her chest. “Fuck!” Those angry blue eyes flicked up to mine as she shook out her hand, wincing from the pain, but she quickly positioned it up in front of her chest once more, tucking it closer to her body than the other one as she crouched and began to circle again.

“Impressive,” I said. “Who trains you?”

“None of your business.” She feigned coming for me with a few rapid steps forward, then jumped quickly back—

Just not quickly enough. I shot my fist forward and connected with her cheek, sending her crashing backwards against a stack of boxes.

“Ow, fuck,” she cried, bringing her hand up to cup her face. She winced, then quickly righted herself, growling as she narrowed her eyes. “Is that all you got?”

Cute.

With a grin, I lunged for her and swept my leg, knocking her feet out from under her and sending her backwards onto her ass. A shame, seeing as how it was a lovely ass indeed, but if she wanted to fight, I’d give her that.

She hit the floor with a loud thud , and the way she howled inside her head was nearly as deafening as the sound that tore from her lips. I grimaced, waiting for her to assess the damage so I could glean her pain through her thoughts.

Judging by her thoughts and pain level, I didn’t think she’d broken her tail bone, but it would definitely be bruised come morning.

“Are you finished?” I asked.

She bared her teeth in a snarl as she stood, trying to hide the wince of pain. “Not even close.”

I sighed. “Suit yourself.” Before she could even get her bearings back on her feet, I charged forward, then picked her up and spun toward the boxes, tossing her against them like a sack of flour. She wailed as she careened into them and tumbled to the ground.

“Fuck,” she cried, curling up into the fetal position. I struggled to block out her agony, but the pain was deafening inside her mind.

“Push me out of your head,” I commanded.

“I don’t know how ,” she argued, her voice tight against the pain.

“Who trains you?”

She glared up at me from the floor, but didn’t answer. In her head, a song began, an old Christmas song her father used to love. He’d play it on repeat all season long.

“Your father loved that song—”

She winced and I instantly regretted the words.

But they spurred her on, renewed in her the need to fight me.

I watched in awe as she rose to her feet and charged toward me, half-tempted to let her get another swing in but loathe to allow her to damage her fist more than she already had.

A butcher needs their hands, and I would not allow her to injure herself further.

She struck me as a woman who would not take well to being helpless.

She swung and I dodged easily out of the way, then grabbed her by the throat and spun her away from me. She hit the freezer hard, and I grimaced as she slumped down to her knees, breathing heavily.

“If you’re done—”

“Not until you’re dead,” she whispered.

My eyebrows rose and I tilted my head as I looked down at her. “Well then. Let’s get to it.”

She rose to her feet slowly, using the metal door of the freezer for leverage, and when she turned to face me once more, blood trickled from her mouth.

Bullocks.

The scent of her blood reached my nose and I inhaled greedily, cursing my thirst for the first time in years.

I’d had it so under control, thanks to Franco, but one whiff of his daughter and I suddenly felt.

.. well, absolutely famished. The way the scent of her ignited a long dormant thirst in me was quite uncivilized.

One whiff of the sweet, coppery tang of her blood, and I nearly lost every ounce of decorum and well-honed self-control. But it was that underlying scent, the familiarity of my own essence coursing through her veins that made me salivate, desperation gripping my chest like a vise.

She was made for me.

Mine.

Surely a small taste wouldn’t hurt—

I grunted as pain exploded in my chest, an agonizing fire that licked at my flesh.

I batted the girl away like a fly, wincing when Jack hit the ground hard, gasping for air, but I was too distracted, awestruck by the stake sticking out of my chest and the bloom of crimson staining my white dress shirt.

Centuries without being staked, and it only took one interaction with this woman to ruin my impeccable record.

“Incredible,” I whispered as I pulled the wood from my chest and the wound began to knit itself back together. Baiting her, I said, “Pity you didn’t aim just an inch to the left, love.”

I dropped the stake and strode over to where she laid in a heap on the floor, concern replacing wonder as I looked down at her. I’d never forgive myself if I truly harmed Franco’s daughter.

Though she was alive, defeat wafted from her in waves, her pain almost palpable in the space between us and maddeningly loud within her mind.

I shook my head, completely captivated by her and the absolute lack of fear in her thoughts.

Even as I stood over her now, clearly stronger than her and obviously winning this fight, she wasn’t afraid of dying at my hand.

“Jack,” I whispered.

Tears filled her bright blue eyes as she looked up, and my stomach dropped out as the memories assaulted me. That familiar, striking shade of blue. Her mother’s eyes , I finally realized, and my heart twisted painfully.

Evangeline Fiorino had died during childbirth, too weak to be saved by even my blood, though I’d given her plenty that fateful day.

Devastated by the loss of the first person to befriend me with no ulterior motives, and fearful that I’d be affected by the blood spilling from Evangeline’s body, I hadn’t stuck around long enough to see her baby enter this life.

She and her butcher already had two sons; I assumed the third child was also a boy.

How wrong I’d been.

But the recollection of that fateful day answered the question of why my essence flowed through Jack’s veins. Evangeline had lived long enough for my blood to transfer to her unborn child.

I stood and looked down at Jack. “I saved your life once. Let’s stop this foolishness so I don’t have to do so a second time.”

Her face crumpled and the tears flowed from her eyes freely now, but she didn’t say anything.

And she didn’t need to. Her thoughts were deafening.

Why? she wanted to know. Why me and not her?

In the seconds of silence that stretched between us, every ounce of her pain, every frustrating moment of needing a mother but being surrounded by men, every bit of anger and rage and aching heartbreak battered against me like a hurricane against storm shutters.

I winced as she assaulted my mind with vitriol and grief, and as I turned to leave, to head up to her apartment and wait for her to pull herself together and join me so we could discuss the deal her father and I made twenty-one years ago, I heard the final question so clearly I couldn’t tell whether she’d spoken the words aloud or thought them within her mind.

Why didn’t you save them?

I paused at the door, hanging my head. Them. Not just her mother, but her father as well.

This is why she trained. Not to fight, but to punish .

Because she believed I turned my back on her father in his time of need.

If only she knew the guilt I carry for my failure to save her mother, the regret I live with every day since Franco’s passing. He didn’t want my help, but I could have taken that decision away from him as easily as blinking.

As I stepped outside into the night, I spoke the painful truth: “He wouldn’t allow me to save him.”

The door closed behind me, but did little to muffle the heart-wrenching sobs coming from within the shop. I clenched my jaw and strode upstairs to her apartment, giving her the time she needed to come to grips with the truth of her father’s passing.

He didn’t want to be saved.

And she could no longer blame me for that.