Page 1 of Bonded By Blood

Chapter One

“I don’t understand, Mother,” young Brianna Wheeler said, in a language mankind no longer knew the name of. She was neither a “Brianna” nor a “Wheeler” then, either, but in all the millennia that had passed she no longer remembered her birth name. “What about Uncle? Shouldn’t we wait for Uncle?”

Her mother gave her shoulder a sharp push with her free hand, firmly encouraging her to continue moving forward. “No, we should not. Uncle won’t be coming with us. He’s dead.”

“What? No!” But there wasn’t time to grieve. The humans were upon them again, and they’d brought witches. Brianna had no choice but to do as her mother bid her and run, another lifetime’s possessions mostly lost or crammed into a single satchel. It wasn’t the first time they’d been found and chased from their attempt at a home. She didn’t understand why the humans despised them so much simply for existing. It wasn’t her fault she and her family had been cursed. It was humans who had made them the monsters they were.

“Never again,” her mother vowed as they slipped into the shadows and put the murderous village behind them. “I will never allow this to happen to us again.”

“Brianna!” The call that startled Brianna out of the ancient memory was accompanied by a rather obnoxious handclap mere inches from her nose.

Brianna leaned away from the offensive hands and narrowed her eyes at the young human woman responsible. “Was that necessary?”

“Apparently,” Kendall Wheeler, twenty-six sometimes going on thirteen, responded with dramatically arched brows. “You were spacing. Like, big time. Or am I boring to you now?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to be so dramatic?” Brianna asked, knowing the rhetorical question would fall on deaf ears. “I apologize. What were you saying?” She really hadn’t meant to space out—it wasn’t something she was known for in general.

Kendall sighed. “Nothing important. I was just curious if that werewolf pack is still in the area. Every time I think about it, I’m surprised Trista let them stay.” Kendall took a breath and twisted around on the couch, propping her elbows on the arm of the sofa, entirely facing Brianna. “Or has she killed them all?”

Brianna fought the urge to roll her eyes. “She has not killed them all, Kendall,” she replied. “As far as I know they’re still there. We’re in an alliance of sorts.” She paused. “Or maybe it’s more like a truce.”

“Huh,” Kendall said. “So weird.”

On that Brianna did agree.

The better part of two years previously, a small group of werewolves had boldly moved into the mountainous region of Northern California barely two hours northeast of Sacramento. The way Brianna had heard the story, there were hardly enough of them to count as a pack at the time. Yet the fledgling Alpha insisted on staying and setting down roots. Every supernatural being—or remotely connected individual—knew the First Family owned Sacramento and, by extension, had laid claim to pretty much the entire state of California. Mother’s ego knows no bounds. But that hadn’t scared them away. More surprising, Trista had acquiesced and granted them permission to stay. With certain restrictions, of course.

Brianna could hardly blame Kendall for wondering how long it would be before Trista changed her mind and ordered the wolves exterminated.

“Hey, so … I’m bored,” Kendall declared.

Lifting a single brow at the statement, Brianna said, “Then do something.”

Kendall straightened, as unable to sit still as she’d always been, and brushed a wave of her wild dirty blonde hair out of her face as she said, “Come outside with me, Bri. This place is stifling.”

Brianna scrunched up her nose. “No, thank you.” Kendall knew how much she hated going out into the city. The city was what was stifling.

“Just—” Kendall made a broad gesture with her arms. “I dunno, come shopping with me or something. Stretch your legs a little!”

“I walk plenty,” Brianna said. “Besides, my lunch is coming.” She could hear Garvin’s footsteps already.

“Ew, Bri, how many times do I have to ask you to refrain from saying that?” Kendall asked, physically cringing even as the door at the far side of the library eased open.

“I don’t understand why you’re so squeamish about it,” Brianna replied. “You eat off a plate, I drink out of a glass. What’s the difference?” She turned a calm smile to the healthy young man, a handful of years older than Kendall, as he walked up to her with a serving tray over his hand. Atop the tray rested a single crystal drinking glass, filled most of the way with freshly poured blood. His, from the scent of it. “Thank you, Garvin,” she said as she scooped the glass from the tray.

Garvin folded the tray against his torso and bowed at the shoulders. “Of course, ma’am.” He glanced to Kendall. “Can I get you anything, Miss Kendall?”

Kendall waved him off. “Uh, no, I can get myself something. Thanks anyway.” She was quiet until Garvin left, the door closed behind him again. “The difference,” she finally answered, “is that I’m not drinking my waiter’s blood.”

Brianna lowered her glass, licked her lips, and gave Kendall a pointed look. They’d had this conversation at least a dozen times. “Need I remind you of where your burgers come from? Honestly, Kendall, he’s not a prisoner. He’s a volunteer.”

“Trista still calls ‘em blood slaves,” Kendall returned.

“Mother’s stuck in the past,” Brianna said, taking another sip of her lunch. It was a past she didn’t much care to think about, truth be told. They hadn’t always had the luxury of hiring their human associates and her mother didn’t care nearly so much about the value of a human life. It’d taken Brianna a frighteningly long time to get her to stop referring to them as cattle. She still often called them slaves.

Kendall slumped against the couch, her head falling back. “Still, I guess at least you don’t go out and bite people at random. That is something.”

“After all the years you’ve lived here, how does it still bother you?” Brianna asked as she drained her glass.

---