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  Bond Deeper Than Blood

  Copyright © 2020 K Webster

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About This Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgements

  About Author K Webster

  Books by K Webster

  They took everything from me as a child.

  Two crazed vampire twins stole my family from me and nearly my life.

  Worse, they turned my favorite person into one of them.

  I’m now a ruthless vampire slayer with one purpose.

  Find the evil twins and seek my revenge.

  And a mercy kill for…him.

  He’d want nothing less.

  My mission is clear.

  I just have to find them first.

  All goes well until I see him again.

  For so long, I’ve ached to end his miserable existence he was forced into.

  But he doesn’t want that at all…

  He only wants me.

  Castilla

  Five Years Old

  Dah-dum-dum-dum.

  Dah-dum-dum-dum.

  Dah-dum-dum-dum.

  “Hear it?” Laurent asks, his eyebrow lifted up like a cartoon character as he grins.

  I’m trying. Laurent says there’s music in everything. In our hearts. In our apartment. Even outside in nature. Like now. In the rain. He says it sounds like drums beating if you listen hard enough.

  All I hear are raindrops and sometimes a grumble of thunder.

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest and stick my bottom lip out.

  Laurent laughs—and maybe I do hear music in his laugh—before he picks up his guitar from the coffee table. “Come on, kiddo,” he instructs. “We’ll go on the patio where we can hear better.”

  Mommy doesn’t like for me to go out in the rain, but she’s trying to get my baby brother Jesse to sleep in my room—well, our room now—so she won’t know. Ever since she brought him home from the hospital a few weeks ago, she’s been too busy to play with me.

  Laurent always finds time.

  Mommy once told me I could call Laurent Daddy if I wanted to. He wasn’t there when she said it, though. What if he doesn’t want me to be his daughter? The thought of his smiling face twisting into a frown to tell me he doesn’t want to be my daddy has my heart hurting inside my chest.

  Laurent is just fine.

  He never ever frowns when I call him Laurent.

  “Put your sweater on,” Laurent instructs, handing me my fuzzy pink sweater. “If you catch your death, your momma will chap my ass.”

  I giggle because Mommy doesn’t like when Laurent curses.

  Or smokes.

  Or drinks.

  Or plays his guitar too loudly.

  Or stays out too late at the club.

  Once I have my sweater on, I follow Laurent through the sliding glass door onto the patio. Where we live, we don’t have a pretty view of the park. Our view faces another building. Boring. Laurent never seems to mind that it’s boring, so I don’t let it bother me either.

  “Sit,” he says, nodding at a patio chair as he pulls out his smokes from his shirt pocket. “Now close your eyes and have a listen.”

  I plop down on Momma’s chair and scrunch my eyes closed.

  Rain. All I hear is rain.

  “I think I hear it,” I lie.

  He chuckles as the scent of cigarette smoke billows around me. It makes me cough sometimes, but I never tell Laurent that. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I want to keep him.

  “Keep listening,” he says. “Listen to how the rain hits the metal railing.”

  I lean forward, craning my neck so I can hear it better. Still sounds like rain. I pretend anyway, nodding.

  Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.

  My eyes pop open and I dart them over to Laurent. He’s stretched out in the patio chair beside me, his bare feet resting on the metal railing with his guitar in his lap. His eyes are closed as he plucks at the guitar strings. The rain splatters on his toes.

  Sometimes, when he sleeps, I watch him. He’s the only one of Mommy’s boyfriends who stuck around. The rest were kind of mean or would stare at me weird. Laurent’s different. I want him to stay with us forever.

  Once, I thought he was going to leave us, but then Mommy told him she was going to have his baby. Later that night, he came home stinking like beer, but he gave Mommy a ring. I wanted a ring too, but rings are for mommies only. That week, they were married by a judge, which didn’t make sense to me. I thought you were supposed to get married in a church to make it real. I don’t tell anyone in case that might make Laurent leave.

  I never want him to leave.

  Dah-dum-dum-dum.

  Dah-dum-dum-dum.

  Dah-dum-dum-dum.

  Laurent’s fingers move at the same time the raindrops do, strumming his guitar. Like they’re making music together. I can hear it!

  I gasp in surprise.

  “Told you,” Laurent says, his cigarette wobbling between his lips. “Music is in everything. You just have to listen, Castilla.”

  I grin at the way he says my name. Mommy calls me Cast, but the kids at school call me Casti. Laurent is the only one who says all the letters in my name like they’re all special.

  Happily, I swing my legs and watch Laurent as he plays his song with nature. He closes his eyes again, a smile forming on his face. I peek at him when he’s not watching, always eager to gobble up new details about him. Like, today, I notice the shiny silver key that hangs around his neck.

  Once, I tried to count his tattoos when I found him asleep on the couch with his shirt off. Mommy was mad at him that day and wouldn’t let him sleep in her room. So, when I came out for cereal, I stopped to count his tattoos. I got to six before he woke up, scaring me silly.

  The music abruptly stops.

  “Did you hear that?” he asks.

  “More music?”

  “Crying.” He stands, flicking his half-smoked cigarette into the rain.

  “Jesse cries all the time,” I complain. Mommy does too, but it makes Laurent unhappy when she does.

  “Not Jesse,” he murmurs. “Out there.”

  I stand up and walk over to the bars, gripping onto two metal poles to stick my head through. Rain splatters my face and makes me shiver from the cold.

  A scream.

  I look down into the alley to see a girl who lives in the unit next door, running. She keeps looking behind her like the Boogieman is going to get her.

  It’s then I see two people chasing her. Scary people. A man and a woman with hair white like snow. They snarl like mountain lions. She flings open the door below to enter
the building and they go in after her.

  “No fucking way,” Laurent hisses, grabbing my arm hard. “Get inside. Now.”

  He’s too rough with me as he drags me into the house. It hurts, but I don’t tell him so. The screams aren’t as loud now. Laurent tosses his guitar onto the sofa and then yanks me into his arms to carry me. I cry out in surprise and he snaps at me.

  “Quiet, Castilla!”

  Hot tears form in my eyes at being scolded, but I clamp down on my bottom lip to keep my sob from escaping. He walks me into the room he shares with Mommy and sets me to my feet beside his trunk at the foot of their bed. The room is dark. Laurent once tacked a blanket over the window because he doesn’t like the sunshine waking him up in the morning. He leaves me in the middle of the room before he turns the overhead light on.

  “Listen,” he says, kneeling in front of me. “You need to hide.”

  “Why—”

  “Goddammit, kid, just fucking listen,” he growls as he pulls the key necklace up over his head. “Get inside. You’ll be safe there.”

  I whimper, worried about being stuck inside a trunk.

  His brown eyes soften for a moment. “It’s probably nothing, but we can’t be too sure. Whenever my mother was afraid, she’d lock me up inside the trunk to keep me safe.”

  “Did it keep you safe?”

  “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He grins. “Come on. Be brave for me.”

  “I’m not brave.”

  “You are because you have to be.”

  He unlocks the silver padlock and unhooks it from the metal latch. The lid creaks open and I get a whiff of something stinky. Like old books. Inside, it’s just big enough for me to fit.

  “These were my mother’s,” he says as he retrieves a silk pouch from inside, leaving the trunk empty. “Hurry.”

  The screams are louder. This one sounds like maybe it’s coming through the wall next door. She must have made it home, but it sounds like they might have caught up to her. A loud thump has Laurent cursing again. He presses a kiss to the top of my head as he slips the key necklace over my head and then picks me up. I tense up, not liking the idea of going inside, but he has an angry face on and I don’t like it, so I kneel down inside.

  “Mercy be thy way,” he murmurs as he strokes my hair. “I’m sorry.”

  I squish down inside the box upon his insistence, my heart beating louder than any drum I’ve heard. Music is in everything. Even inside my heart.

  With a slam that makes me shriek, he closes the lid. The air inside quickly grows hot and sticky. I can’t stretch out my legs or arms. Metal clanks together and then he clicks it locked.

  “Don’t make a peep,” he murmurs.

  The floor creaks as he walks away. I can hear him whispering Mommy’s name. Jesse starts crying loudly as Laurent says things to Mommy that I can’t hear.

  “You put her where?” Mommy yells as she comes into their bedroom.

  “Jesus Christ, Demi,” Laurent barks back. “I told you to keep your voice down.”

  Mommy isn’t quiet, though. She calls Laurent terrible names and then beats on the trunk.

  “Baby? You in there? Oh my God, Laur, where’s the fucking key?!”

  Jesse screams louder, which makes me start to cry. I don’t like this. I don’t like what’s happening. I’m scared.

  “You don’t understand,” Laurent says, his voice cracking.

  “No,” Mommy cries out. “Are you high? What the fuck are you speeding on now? I told you if you used one more time, you were out of here!”

  “Demi,” Laurent growls. “Just fucking listen.”

  “Give me the key.”

  “Demi—”

  “GIVE ME THE FUCKING KEY!”

  “Demi—”

  His words are cut off when she starts smacking him. I can hear it. It’s so loud. Jesse is screaming louder than ever before.

  “Let go of me!” Mommy hisses.

  “Just fucking stop and listen.”

  “Where’s the key?”

  “It doesn’t matter because there are goddamn vampires next door—”

  “Vampires? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “Dammit, Demi. That’s what these are for.” A pause filled only by Jesse’s cries. “Protection.”

  “You locked my baby in a trunk and are going to stab at motherfucking make-believe vampires with red wooden stakes?” Mommy screeches. “I’m calling the cops—”

  Crack!

  I shriek inside the trunk and push against the lid. It opens just enough to allow a bit of light in. Mommy, with Jesse squawking in her arms, is sprawled out on the floor.

  Did Laurent hit Mommy?

  “What are you going to do with those?” an unfamiliar female voice purrs like a kitten.

  “Get back,” Laurent threatens. “Stay the fuck away from my family. I know what you are. I know all it takes is a stake through your black, dead hearts.”

  The woman laughs and it echoes.

  No, there’s a man with her.

  There are two of them laughing.

  “Weston,” the woman says, “deal with the…thing. It’s giving me a headache.”

  Laurent yells, but then there’s a loud crashing sound. Jesse screams from where Mommy lies on the floor.

  “Did I hit you too hard, little lady?” Weston asks, crouching in front of Mommy with his back to me. “My sincerest apologies.”

  Mommy wakes with a sob and then her screams are so loud they hurt my ears. Because the louder hers get, the more I notice the silence of my baby brother. Sloppy, wet sounds can be heard and then a thud.

  Laurent says there’s music in everything.

  Like the ripping of fabric. The slapping of skin. Begging and begging. So much crying from Mommy.

  I don’t hear any music.

  Just too many scary sounds.

  “Please,” Laurent begs, but he sounds like he’s hurting. “Please.”

  Weston grunts and that’s when I realize I can’t hear Mommy anymore. All the sounds stop at once.

  Except one.

  Me.

  Crying.

  “What’s in the box, lover?” the scary woman asks. “Hmm? Another treat for my brother?”

  Weston laughs, slapping the top of the box hard enough to make me scream. He stumbles away, crashing into something, and then starts yelling. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, hoping it’ll all be a bad dream that I’ll wake up from soon.

  “What the fuck is that?!”

  “She’s protected,” Laurent rasps out. “You’ll never get to her.”

  Weston growls and snarls again when he slaps the box. “It burns!”

  “Then stop touching it,” the woman snaps. “Whatever’s inside isn’t important.”

  “But I want it,” Weston whines.

  “So does this one,” she purrs. “He’ll die trying to get at it, too. Won’t you, love?”

  “Fuck you,” Laurent chokes out, his breathing ragged.

  “How about this?” Her voice is icy and mean. “If you survive the next twenty-four hours, we’ll come back for you. I imagine you’ll never get what you want and will be quite…thirsty. Next drink is on me, love.”

  Heavy footsteps thud through the house and all that can be heard again is my crying.

  “Laurent,” I whimper.

  “I’m s-so s-sorry.” His musical voice sounds like he turned down the volume. It quickly fades to nothing.

  Just quiet.

  I’m all alone.

  Hiss.

  Snarl.

  Roar.

  I wake from my nightmare only to find I’m trapped inside a real one. It smells like pee where I’ve wet myself and my stomach growls continuously from hunger. My hands and knees sting from where the splinters of wood have poked into my skin, making it bleed.

  “Laurent?” I whisper. “Are you there?”

  I push up against the lid to find him crouched so close his face nearly touches the box. His brown eyes seem to glo
w red like a monster. And his teeth…

  “Get out of the box,” he roars, his voice deep and terrifying. I don’t recognize the sound of his voice. “Now, pet.”

  Pet?

  “I can’t,” I croak out, my throat so dry I can barely speak. “I want to, but I can’t.”

  He reaches forward with one finger, but the moment his finger touches the box, it sizzles, and he yelps. “Get out!” he bellows. “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

  I start to sob again. He surely won’t want me to be his daughter now. I can’t obey him.

  “Where’s Mommy?”

  “GET OUT!”

  “Laurent—”

  “GET OUT!”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block out his sounds. Hungry. Crazed. Furious. He throws things at the box and burns himself a whole bunch touching it. He never gets inside.

  And when I think I might starve to death, Weston and the woman come back. They talk to him like he’s their friend. They make strange sounds and the bed squeaks. Eventually, they leave.

  Laurent doesn’t even say goodbye.

  I beg and beg for Mommy to let me out, but she can’t hear me.

  There’s no music anymore.

  Not in my heart.

  Not in the box.

  Not anywhere.

  Castilla

  Fourteen Years Later—Present Day

  Rain in the city always floods my mind with nightmares from my past. With each pitter-patter of the rain, I’m forced to hear the musical soundtrack to the most horrific time in my life.

  The day everyone I loved died.

  You’d think, after fourteen years, I’d get over it. That I wouldn’t curl myself into a ball in the late hours of the night and sob until I’m wrung dry.

  I can’t get over it, though.

  I’ll never be done grieving until I bury Laurent with my brother and mother.

  Until that day—and that day will come—I ache for the loss of my family.

  My black combat boots seem to hit every puddle along the way, but I don’t care. The icy cold rain that saturates through the leather and into my socks, freezing my toes, is invigorating. I need the shock to my system. Tonight, when I’m in bed, I can feel all the pain that stays bottled up inside me. For now, I shove a lid on that box and get to work.