Page 27 of Bound in Blood (Vampires of Boston #1)

Interlude

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The world had faded into something gray and dull, misery with no reprieve.

Everything bled together, time only broken apart by hunger.

Hunger. That was all it had left, gnawing and endless, wrapping around its ribs like ivy through cracked stone.

Sometimes, it remembered, things used to be different than this.

Sometimes, in its mind, it saw a soft smile.

Felt the warmth of the sun. The pleasure of touch.

But that was a lifetime ago, it was sure.

Now, all it felt were the millions of heartbeats surrounding him.

But then?—

A scent.

Not blood, but familiar.

It sliced through the fog, sharp and golden, sinking its hooks into the remnants of something it had long forgotten the name of. It was the only warm thing in the tundra, the first break of sunshine after the winter solstice. It was… the only thing that had kept it going.

Vaguely, it could see the glow of streetlights pass as it followed the scent.

Humans passed by it everywhere, oblivious to the danger they were in just from its nearness.

Voices blurred together, indistinct, a murmur of language it no longer understood.

It wasn’t exactly sure it ever had. It didn’t matter, though.

Only the scent did. Only the familiarity.

As the scent grew nearer, so too did the scent of alcohol, of drunken humans. It looked into a window, the inside of what it assumed to be a bar, slightly brighter than the darkness outside. Four figures moved at a booth near the door, but it only had eyes for one.

I know you.

The thought came unbidden, slipping through the small cracks in its mind where temporary sanity sometimes came from.

It did not know its name or where it was.

It did not know what year it was. It knew it was hungry, so hungry.

And it knew the figure beyond this window belonged to it.

It pressed his hand to the glass, eager to touch. When was the last time it had touched ?

The figure moved, shifting slightly in the dim light, speaking in a voice lost to the hum of the bar and the ringing in its ears.

Its gaze followed the curve of the figure’s jaw, shaping words it could not understand.

Mine. The thought came instinctively, curling in its chest like the last ember after the fire had been all but stomped out.

It held onto it, because it was all he had.

Hunger, and the figure beyond the glass.

Its fingers pressed harder on the glass, like the warmth inside might bleed into it, but it didn’t. It wasn’t cold, it didn’t think. But it longed to be warm.

It lingered anyway, and for a moment, the hunger dulled.

For just a moment, the world felt a little sharper around it, into something resembling real.

The scent just beyond the glass curled around it, so familiar, like returning home after years and years at war.

It reached toward it, wanting to slip inside the bar, aching to recall the name at the tip of its tongue.

It was just out of reach, slipping further away the closer it got.

But then?—

A human, just behind it. Passing a little too close. The scent of blood thick and hot and fresh. If it could not get warmth from the familiarity, it would return to the hunger.

The hunger, which surged, digging its claws deep into the pit of its stomach, following behind the living figure before its brain had time to react.

It wanted to hesitate, needed to hesitate, but it wasn’t quite sure why anymore.

The gnawing ache was too great to ignore, the ember dying out inside of it as quickly as it had sparked.

The world, suddenly, was again dull and gray and empty.

But the hunger remained. It always remained.