Page 20 of Blood of a Huntsman

Seeing what vampires were capable of at their worst wasn't pretty. Bash might not have witnessed it, but he'd seen the horror in Tris's eyes. The hatred in Jack’s.

After he'd turned, Bash hadn't been able to face him. Not in his state— mindless, without control, closer to one of the beasts he had to put down in South London than to his old friends.

Tris was a born vampire; her father was a pureblood born from the Drake line, one of the seven vampire families able to bring children into the world, and her mother had been a huntsman—Jack’s aunt. Someday, she would turn into an immortal.

Jack didn’t hate all vampires on principle. Just the ones who couldn’t control themselves. How could Bash face him while feeling like this?

But after three months of avoiding him, Jack was in front of him.

So very tall. So very straight. Jack topped most men by half a head. At five foot eleven, Bash stood taller than some, but he was not Jack Hunter, son of their High Guard and an actual god. A genuine god. A minor one, but there was no other word for an immortal born of the old race who'd shaped this world.

Jack was perfect. Bash had always been flawed in comparison, but now they shouldn't even breathe the same air.

He looked down.

Bash heard Jack's feet stomping forward, and half expected the man to punch him. He knew that he hadn't been fair, that he shouldn't have avoided him like he had.

Instead, he encircled Bash’s shoulders with his arms and pulled him close, in an uncharacteristic yet firm hug.

"You're a dumb jerk," Jack told him.

But Jack wasn't letting go, and Bash wasn't even trying to get away from the embrace.

Jack had blood in his veins, just like everyone else, and there was a degree of temptation, a part of him that wanted nothing but violence and chaos, that would have desired to sink his teeth inside his neck.

But Bash found that part of him manageable now. Somehow. Maybe because of the three bags of blood he’d downed when he got to Levi's an hour ago, or because of the strange note in Jack's blood that didn't make him feel like prey. The huntsmen behind him also felt stronger. Different.

Bath took a deep breath.

And when he breathed out again, he was still himself.

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