Crimson Bond | on hold

prologue

     THUNDER ROLLED while lightning cracked the sky open, the storm glaring down at the city below, dark angry clouds moving about in the sky becoming restless and anxious to release its wrath upon the people below. The rumble of thunder continued to echo all around, people among the streets and sidewalks picking up their pace to avoid being caught in the middle of the brewing storm.

The wind howled with its alliance to join the storm, bringing forth its frigid air that would have the people shaking in their fur coats. Clouds skipped across the dark night sky, the moon's light shining through windows left uncovered, in a dark desert street walked a young man— no older than his early thirties.

His shoes thumped against the ground, letting the creatures that roamed the streets aware of his presence, they scattered and fled in fear as his shadow stretched and folded over the area, claiming everything in its path. His eyes scanned the empty sidewalks and streets, knowing there would be someone lingering where they shouldn't.

Red orbs reflected against the windows of closed stores as he strode by, glinting hauntingly against puddles on the ground. The sky gave its final roar of warning before it began to unleash its terror, a shower of the world's misery and misfortune washing down the dark streets of New York City. The man was drenched within seconds, his suit sticking to him like a second skin and revealing what was hidden underneath, his dark tresses sticking to his scalp and his face.

His gums ached, the fangs that reside within them, slowly retracting and gleaming with the hunger that gnaws at his stomach. The smallest of whimpers reaches his ears, bringing his attention to a side alley behind a street light, his direction changes as he strides to the alley where the noise grows and the beat of the being's heart thuds louder in its chest.

Something was drawing him near as he gazed down the darkened alleyway, the area narrow and tight between two buildings. A small silhouette of a figure, quivering deep inside the alley, appears in his line of sight as the rain pours down upon it. His feet bring him closer, vision adjusting to the darkness; something he has been used to over the centuries he has roamed the earth. He takes in the small figure of what seemed to be a child.

His or her legs were bare and wet from the rain that continues to spray down, bruises littering the skin of the child's legs and arms, his gaze slowly rising higher up its body. The soaked t-shirt he or she was wearing has risen up from the bottom, revealing larger bruises on the hip and stomach.

He shouldn't care, he tells himself as he moves closer, the sight of the bruises causing anger to rise— something he hasn't felt in years. He shouldn't be angry, this was nothing more than a mere child he's found on the street. Yet, he still stalks toward the body that breathes life— barely— while his fangs dig deeper into his lip as more bruises are shown with each step that brings him nearer.

He crouches down, a head full of dark curls standing out against the pavement, wet from the rain and framing the child's face, shielding it away from the world that cast it aside. The male reaches out, his hand brushing a thick strand of hair from the child's face, his eyes drinking in every feature given to him, the bruising worse on its face.

He shouldn't care.

He shouldn't care.

He shouldn't care.

But the vampire continues to watch the unconscious being struggle to breathe, hanging onto the threads of life, and before he knew it he was gathering the half lifeless child in his arms. A growl should not have vibrated from his chest at the simple physical contact of their skins, an unknown feeling overcomes him as he stands to his feet and turns away from the alley, his grip on the child tightening.