Page 8 of Born in Blood

Fuck! I knew some time had passed, but I had no idea I’d lost three full days of my life. I have no idea who or what I am now. For someone who only ever wanted to besomebody, it’s unnerving to be nobody.

Alexandros stands in front of me, his knees touching mine. “You can be whomever you want to be, Alastair Thorne.”

How did he…? It doesn’t matter. It’s simply another question with an answer I have no doubt I will learn in time. “I don’t want to be Alastair.” I’ve always hated that name.

He hums softly. “Then who do you want to be?”

Who I have always wanted to be. “Someone unique. Different. Someone whose name will never be forgotten.”

His eyes narrow on my face, and he stares at me intently for a moment. Assessing me. “Axl.”

Axl? I have never heard the word spoken as a name. But it fits me well, as though I’m trying on a custom-tailored coat. I nod. “I like it.”

“Then you shall henceforth be Axl Thorne.”

“And you? Surely you don’t actually expect me to call you master. Or sire. I mean, I don’t even call my father sir.”

He rocks his head from side to side. “That is because you do not respect your father, Axl.”

He has me there. “True, but still.”

He sucks on his lip the way I’ve already learned he does when he’s thinking. “You may call me Professor.”

Well, I didn’t expect that for a second, but it’s a better alternative than sire. “You’re a professor?”

“Yes. At a prestigious university in America.”

Ah, America. One of the other many elephants in the room. “And you expect me to come with you?”

He turns on his heel and walks out the door without answering me, and once again, I’m forced to follow after him.

“So? America?” I ask as soon as we’re outside the house. The rising sun is doing its best to break through the thick smog but isn’t doing a very good job, yet I have no trouble seeing in the failing light. I have come to recognize that all of my senses are heightened.

“Do you want me to leave you behind here, Axl?”

What the hell kind of question is that?

“A simple one,” he replies.

I grab hold of his arm, pulling him to a stop beside me, and the murderous look he gives me makes me wish that I hadn’t. Still, I swallow my nerves and ask. “Can you read my fucking mind?”

He shrugs his arm away. “If you ever touch me again without my permission, I will take your head. Do I make myself clear?”

I have every reason to believe he means that. “Yes.” I take another breath. “But can you?”

He resumes walking. “Yes.”

I roll my eyes and follow after him. “Another gift?” He doesn’t answer me this time. “Do I have any of thesegifts?”

“Perhaps. We shall see.”

God, he is infuriatingly uncommunicative, and I have three million more questions I need answers to.

“You still have not answered my question,” he says, his voice cutting through the cold air like a knife. “Do you want me to leave you behind?”

An unexpected and overwhelming feeling of dread balls in the very pit of my stomach. Sweat beads on my upper lip, and my knees tremble with every step I take. The thought of him leaving me here alone terrifies me. Yet it should not matter to me when I have spent most of my life alone. “No.” I croak out the word.

“Then yes, you shall come to America with me.”

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