Page 11 of Blood of a Huntsman

Under the Surface

Paul and Emilia insisted they stay the night, but while Bash usually had a hard time saying no to his siblings, he remained firm on that point. No way was he sleeping in the same apartment as a couple of delicious sacks of blood. He loved them too damn much to risk it, no matter what Luke said about his improvements.

Bash knew what he felt when he sniffed anywhere near them. Pure hunger. In his old life, the only thing comparable had been the smell of bacon after a long sparring session. So fucking irresistible. But even that didn’t cover it.

They headed back north in the middle of the night. Another great thing about having a jet on standby.

They rode back through the Scottish Highlands in silence for a time, windows rolled down to enjoy the fresh air.

How sad was it that Bash felt more comfortable with Luke, a quasi-stranger, than his own brother and sister?

"I'm gonna tell you a story. Not because I want your pity but because you need to hear it. In my days, my people believed in vampires, like everyone does now. There wasn't much proof, and the big, important lords of this world called it common folklore. But my tribe? They knew."

Bash glanced at the ageless creature behind the wheel. He knew the assistant was old. Like, five centuries old, at least. Outside of Oldcrest, he would have been considered a wise, revered elder. But with the likes of Levi on the grounds, it was easy to lose perspective.

"When was that?"

"Sixteenth century, at the start of the slave trade. My mama was taken from a North African country. She was pretty, unluckily for her. I was fathered by her owner. Still, that made me no better than anyone else, just a slave."

If Luke was trying to make Bash feel like an ass for feeling sorry for himself, it was absolutely working.

"Back then, there wasn't artificial blood, see, and vamps fed where they could. Slaves were easier for them. No one really missed us. Maybe some money would exchange hands when one of us disappeared, but if some important landowner had vanished, it would have been another story. Still, people talked in the fields. Even then, there were rumors. We knew about bloodsuckers. We called them angels of death. Angels, because sometimes death could be an appealing prospect."

Bash had no response.

"A rogue came to us in the night. We didn't know what rogues were; to us, all suckers meant death. But looking at him, disheveled and covered in blood, I knew my fate. He went for my sister first—she was pretty, like Mama, see. Pretty is always more appealing, to man or beast. So I pushed her out of the way, and he got me instead. Bit deep. I knew I would be gone in moments. I suspected the rest of my family would be not long after."

Luke fell silent until Bash couldn't bear it. He had to hear the rest. "Well, what then?"

The elder laughed. "Then, another sucker appeared. Different, for sure. Impeccably dressed in ivory. He looked so damn perfect he could have passed for a king. There were more behind him, all bearing weapons. At the time, I remembered thinking it was going to be a banquet, that they'd drain the whole plantation, masters and slaves alike. I'm not sure I disliked that idea. But instead, the sucker pulled the rogue out of me and killed him. One blow and his head was rolling in the field."

Bash could picture it, imagining a mixture of Hollywood movies and any random huntsman raid.

"Levi?" he guessed.

Luke nodded once. "Levi. I was a goner by then. He made a different call, and I rose again."

Bash thought the story was finished. He was wrong.

"And the first thing I can remember is my family running away from us—from me. Screaming. They knew disrupting the masters might mean death, or at least flogging, but they screamed all the way, demanding torches. ‘Demon’. ‘Monster’. That's what they called us. Me."

Fuck. Bash felt sick to his stomach.

"This age is different. The world has known about us for close to two generations. And your own family, for a lot longer than that. Huntsmen and vampires are at peace. As long as each side behaves, anyway. I get it. New times. But what you have? Do not take it for granted. Do not waste it."

His words held an edge, a subtext that warned if Bash took his family for granted, Luke would make him pay.

Rightfully.

"So yes, they can come this summer. I'll arrange the specifics. Anytime you want to visit them, I'll be there—as long as you believe you can't keep it together around humans, anyway. You got it, boy?"

He nodded, grateful and somewhat ashamed. Two feelings he was growing exceedingly familiar with.

"What's your name?" Bash asked suddenly. "I mean, Luke is pretty modern. Is that an abbreviation, like Levi?"

"The man who fathered me named me something else, yes," he replied. "But I am Luke."

Bash made a mental note to never ask again.

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