Page 21 of A Bond Beyond Blood (The Butcher’s Daughter Trilogy #1)

G annon

‘Who turned you?’

I’d been asking myself that same question for months, and no matter how long I dwelled on it or how hard I tried to remember what happened, I was no closer to knowing that answer than Jackie’s friend was.

I didn’t need food or water.

Temperature no longer bothered me, whether the extreme cold of this New York winter or, I assumed, those surface-of-the-sun summers that melted the tar right off the rooftops. Time would tell on that one, though.

I could hold my breath, not breathe at all , and still be just as fine as these people gawking up at the Christmas tree.

I gazed up at it too, seeing the details they all overlooked with their human eyes.

The critters scurrying within the branches, the lights that had burned out but hadn’t yet been replaced. Each individual pine needle.

I could see things I never saw before. Not only distances that would have been impossible to navigate with my human eyes, but details in even the smallest, most minuscule things.

The network of veins and cells in a single blade of grass.

The scales of a butterfly’s wings.

The millions of tiny hairs on the thorax of an ant.

And the sense of smell... At times it could feel almost unbearable. Blood was the worst; it compelled me, called to me, thrummed loudly in every human that I passed, stinking of sweetness in some and disease in others.

Who turned me?

Wish I fucking knew!

Wish I could find him and demand he take it back, because even now, miles away from Fiorino’s Meats and hours since I’d been thrown off her balcony by that maniac, Vincenzo Ricci, the intoxicating aroma of Jackie’s blood was still fresh in my nostrils, lingering there to tease and tempt.

As if missing her with every fiber of my being hadn’t been torture enough, now I craved her in ways I’d never before craved anything.

I was torn between wanting to hold her, console her, confirm with my own eyes that she wasn’t as injured as my senses had wanted me to believe... and the painful ache of hunger, the need to bleed her dry. My mouth watered at the thought of sinking my teeth into her and—

Growling, I pushed that fucked up thought aside and tugged at my hair, then I jumped down into the empty skating rink, earning myself a shout from the barrel-chested security guard as he charged toward me.

I crossed the ice without slipping, then hopped over the fence on the other side and ducked between two buildings, disappearing into the shadows to wait.

His heavy breathing and loud heartbeat preceded him, heart working overtime as his hefty ass tried to follow me.

As soon as he was within reach, I grabbed the man and hauled him against the building, then slid my hand over his mouth to muffle his shock.

I tipped his head to the side and sank my teeth into the meaty flesh of his neck, drawing that first pull into my mouth greedily.

My stomach twisted at the taste, his blood soured by fatty foods and deadly levels of cholesterol, but I ignored my discomfort and drank my fill. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was the first person I’d been able to find tonight that wasn’t surrounded by other people.

And I didn’t feel much like hunting for a better option, so this guy would have to do. I didn’t have it in me to flirt with some random girl when one girl already consumed my every thought; each beat of my heart was hers.

Faking it for a bite to eat was something I just couldn’t be bothered with tonight. Not when the scent of her was still so fresh.

Once he sighed, relaxing into the euphoria of my bite, I slid my hand from his mouth and fisted both hands into his shirt to hold him steady. The longer I drank, the more relaxed he became, melting between my body and the hard side of the building until I was the only thing holding him up.

I’d learned the hard way—multiple times—how much blood a human could lose before they couldn’t recover from the loss, so I focused on the steady thrum of his pulse until it began to slow.

I pulled for only a little while longer, licked over the wounds left from my fangs to heal them swiftly, then lowered him slowly to the ground.

“You’ll sleep it off for a few hours...”

My words trailed off as I realized what I’d done.

His pulse was too slow, too quiet.

My stomach dropped out.

It had been weeks since this happened.

“No, no, no” I pleaded as I lowered to a crouch and pressed my fingers against the vein in his neck, as if doing so would yield different results when I could hear the dying beats of his heart as they slowed to a crawl, then stopped altogether.

“Fuck!”

Frowning, I swiped my hand over my lips, then dragged it down the security guard’s navy-blue coat sleeve and patted his chest. “I’m sorry.

.. um... thank you for your service.” I winced as that remark came out snarkier than I’d intended.

I just wanted to thank him, to honor what he’d given me tonight, but—

Anguish gripped my chest and I rose quickly, then turned around and left the tight space between the two buildings.

Once again, a hearty meal alleviated the pain in my stomach, but I had yet to find something that did a goddamn thing about the pain in my heart. Pain over the girl I lost, the people I’d killed...

Seeing Jackie this morning had been the first glimpse of happiness I’d had in some time, fleeting as it was. Even with her anger, which I’d earned, seeing her had been the hit that I’d needed.

But I needed more than a glimpse and a few angry words.

I needed her .

She’d been my everything and I’d thrown her away.

Shoulders hunched and head tucked down, I strolled onto the avenue and headed in the only direction I wanted to go—and the one direction I should avoid.

But if I couldn’t be with Jackie tonight, this was the next best option, even though it would hurt like hell.

By the time I reached the front stoop, all the interior lights were off, but the Christmas tree still glowed in the window to the left of the front door.

Mom always kept it lit up all night long for Christmas, just like the tree at 30 Rock.

‘To help guide Santa on his journey,’ she’d always said.

I’d given her shit for that over the years, explaining that I was too old for make-believe but not too old to feel the sting of the higher electric bill I split with her, but she’d always silenced me with one of her fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and she’d always stood firm.

That was my Mama, sweetness wrapped up in a stubborn streak three miles wide, just like Jackie.

God, I missed them.

If I closed my eyes and breathed deeply enough, I could almost pick up on that hint of Mom’s chocolate chip cookies in the air.