Read Online The Bonded by John Falin - Free Book Online Page A

shortened. You can imagine how important that is to an older vamp on the verge of death.” She waits a couple of seconds and allows her words to settle in, then continues. “It is a little premature for a young one, but you have tasted blood and the desire will be primal. Your mind will not permit you to have peace until you’ve completed the cycle. If you catch a scent of it, see the blood moving through thickened veins, hear the deep bass of a frightened heart, or any other sensual experience with blood, matters can become much more urgent. Choose your prey; you may not even need to kill him to satiate your appetite.”
    With those words come visuals of the warm metallic liquid slipping in and out of my teeth and the rolled-back eyes of my prey. My heart starts a warm up, preparing for the race, and my ears tune to its melodic beat. I look at Percy as she is still talking and find her lip-syncing without background music. She stares intensely, narrowing her eyes into mine and she realizes I’m somewhere else.
    It’s in that feral moment that I look at those four wannabes huddled in a circle, discussing their midnight plans to hurt the destitute or perhaps to rob the corner girl. I hear amped up voices, each with distinction and their own specific vibration pressing against my ears. I smell the sweetness of alcohol and for a moment thank Dionysus for the favor. Without thought, my tongue rolls over my bottom lip in anticipation and retreats with no reward. In livid response my upper lip snarls with incensed rage and I feel the guttural growl of blood lust rise from within. Percy reaches for my arm, but it’s too late. I drop three stories to the ground with no problem. I will myself to leap, landing with an angry thud in the center of their circle for dramatic effect. My arrival shocks them as they jump back a foot or two in surprise. But they’re tough and recover quickly with, “Who the fuck are you, boy?”
    I strain to hear their words because my heart is pounding wildly. My target’s left carotid artery is throbbing in his neck, begging me to slice it open and enjoy the spoils of battle. So I oblige by grabbing his face with my left hand and squeezing so tight I think his eyes will pop out. I then shift my hand counterclockwise to expose that pulsating artery, bear hug him with my remaining arm, and dig in. I feel his friends hitting and kicking me with idle threats.
    When in Mogadishu, Africa, the rain was scarce and would take its time to build in immensity. When the storms finally arrived, it was announced with thunderous booms and a hard rain that pelted the naked skin. It didn’t really hurt, but it wouldn’t go totally unnoticed either. That’s what I feel with their muted beatings. I swear I hear the outlying rumble of thunder rolling toward me. The thunder is silenced by my slurping and I feel the heat of blood explode down my throat, trickling into a stomach that churns in thankfulness. I press harder and can’t contain my need until his flailing arms become limp. The blood stops gushing and in blazing agony I raise my head and roar in dissatisfaction. With blood dripping off my chin, red-streaked hair, and the fierceness of a madman in my eyes, I see the other three are teary eyed and paralyzed from fear as they get a good look at me.
    Percy is still on the rooftop, watching in bewilderment, when I target the man who antagonized the homeless person. He realizes his predicament and sheds all remnants of street cred as he begs the others to help him. His buddy with the black Ravens cap reaches in the back of his jeans and pulls out a 9mm. Apparently, he has watched too many gangster movies and aims the gun sideways, then begins the dialogue about getting the fuck away or he’ll put a cap in my ass, etcetera, etcetera. I take a step forward, daring him. He accepts, and with an incredibly loud boom to my hypersensitive ears, he fires the bullet, which impacts perfectly centered on my chest. I guess