Page 3 of Eternally Bound

“The second I open the door for the paper.” He shoves the clothes at me.

“Well, don’t just stand there like Medusa’s lover. It’s been over two hundred years. Go get your girl.” I stand there looking at him in shock for another second, and then I blear into motion.

I’m showered, dressed, and out the door before he can tease me anymore. It’s a typical rainy evening in London, and the setting sun is a blessing.

I always hated the rumors surrounding my kind.

Vampire.

Frankly, the only things humans have ever gotten right are the fangs and the need for blood. Everything else is utter bullshit. Although our eyes are more sensitive to the sun, we can survive it. Garlic is fucking delicious, and holy water is a joke.

We are faster, stronger, and immortal.

My heart still beats, although slower. My cells regenerate faster, and I heal from any wound, even beheading, as long as someone puts it close enough to the rest of my body, that is. I was born this way, my vampiric cells not taking over until my mortal body died.

We age at a fifth of the speed of humans. The only record to my knowledge of a vampire’s demise was during the Dark Ages. He was drawn and quartered, his body parts separated and buried in secret so he couldn’t return.

Our senses are a hundred times better than humans, and right now, I’m letting smell guide me.

“There,” I whisper to myself as I turn down a cobblestone road in the old Victorian warehouse district of London.

It’s become a tourist attraction recently.

Does that mean she’s not English this time? I wonder what else will be different. I stop at a shady-looking door. I’ve long pasted the photogenic areas and stumbled upon a warehouse that has seen better days. It looks on the verge of being condemned.

I open the door slowly, knowing she’s somewhere behind it. Her smell outside is so strong I can almost taste her on my tongue. I step in and look around.

Vampire den.

I hiss, and all the immortals inside look my way, making it easy to spot the humans. Five young women, all dancing in the middle of the crumbling building. They are each holding drinks and singing to music that is not there.

They’re being glamoured, I deduce quickly as I scan them each. Then I see her.

RED.

It’s always red hair. A temptation as strong as her blood. Why is my wife sitting in this vampire den? More importantly, whose wrist was I about to break for touching her?

“Lord Mathias?” I don’t spare the person speaking to me a glance.

My eyes lock in on the hand that is holding my wife’s hip and slowly moving down. I blear behind her and whisper in her ear as I snatch the hand off her ass.

“Your name?” She turns her head to my voice and gasps.

“Why?” Her eyes are moss green and glassy from drinking.

Her cheeks were beautifully flushed. Her parted lips begging for mine are the only thing keeping me sane.

“I would like to apologize to you formally for my actions.” My words have her turning fully to address me.

“Why?” This time, it is barely a whisper.

When her dance partner protests, I snap his wrist.

“For that. No man should be touching my wife.” She doesn’t even blink at the screaming man.

“Why do I know you?” If not for my advanced hearing, I never would have heard the breath that escaped her lips.

“Kiss me and find out.” I cup her cheek, and time stands still.

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