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The bond had been silent for eighty-two days.

I still dreamed of the charred, lifeless vampire corpses smouldering in the gutted remains of the motel guest house, the last of the glowing red embers gleaming like fireflies in the warm August night.

More often I dreamed of Keel: half-vampire, crown prince-cum-full-blooded Nosferatu King – my destiny or my death. Maybe both.

Perhaps, on some subconscious, instinctual level, I knew what was about to happen.

But I don’t think so. Even now.

No one could have predicted any of it.

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