Bound by Blood

The vault smelled of old money and older secrets.

Sera ran her fingers along a shelf of gold ingots. The metal was cool against her skin. Beside her, Angelo crammed gemstones into a duffel bag.

“We’re rich,” he said. “We’re actually rich.”

“We’re not rich yet. We’re rich when we’re on a beach in the Caribbean with no one chasing us.”

Sera allowed herself a small smile. The plan had worked. The seven elders were ash in their custom coffins, the prisoners were free, and the vault was theirs for the taking.

She moved deeper into the room, past shelves of antique jewelry and chests of silver coins. The Delacroix family had spent centuries accumulating wealth through predation and crime, and now that wealth was going to fund her escape. There was a certain poetry to it.

Angelo’s voice echoed from behind her. “How much do you think we can carry?”

“We have two duffel bags and a truck waiting. We take what we can and leave the rest.”

“Leave it?” He sounded wounded. “There’s centuries of loot here.”

“And centuries of enemies who will be looking for it. We can’t take everything, Angelo. We take enough to disappear, and we don’t get greedy.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

Sera rounded a corner, her boots echoing on the stone floor. The vault stretched into shadow, an overgrown graveyard of displays and iron shelves. She clicked on her phone flashlight to cut through the dark.

That was when she saw an iron door at the far end, half-hidden behind a collapsed shelf.

Rust covered its surface, and the hinges looked like they hadn’t been oiled in centuries. But the door was open.

Sera’s instincts screamed at her. She took a step back, her hand reaching for the stake at her belt.

“Angelo,” she whispered. “We need to go.”

“What? I’m not done.”

“Now.”

Something moved in the darkness. A sound, like dry leaves scraping against stone.

The figure emerging from the shadow was unlike the seven elders. Tall and gaunt, skin stretched tightly over bone, he wore clothes centuries out of date. His eyes burned with a muted red glare, moving with precision before his cracked voice whispered through the vault.

“My blood,” he said.

His voice was gentle. The sound hooked into her mind, a physical tug deep within her chest pulling her forward.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The figure came closer. “You carry my line in your veins, child. You know who I am.”

She did.

The realization hit her like a physical blow. The family histories. The portraits in the mansion. The one face that was never displayed, never spoken of, but always present in the shadows of every story. The founder.

“Count Delacroix,” she whispered.

“Indeed.” He muffled on the stone floor. “You killed my children.”

“They were monsters.”

“They were mine.” His voice hardened. “As are you.”

Sera lunged.

She drove a fist into his chest, snapped a kick against his knee, and struck his throat, delivering a dozen precision strikes in a single breath.

The Count didn’t move.

He stood there, accepting her assault with an expression of mild disappointment. When she finally paused, chest heaving, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“You have potential,” he said. “But you are young. Untrained. You fight like a child throwing a tantrum.”

He squeezed.

Sera screamed as bones snapped in her arm. The Count released her, and she stumbled backward, clutching her wrist. Pain radiated up to her shoulder, but she forced her knees to lock.

“Angelo!” she shouted. “Run!”

Angelo had not run.

He appeared at the end of the aisle, raising a heavy solar pistol. Its silver barrel hummed as the internal power source charged.

“Get away from her,” Angelo demanded.

The Count turned, regarding Angelo with the same curiosity he had shown Sera. “A human. How quaint.”

“I’m warning you.”

“You are warning me.” The Count smiled, revealing teeth like yellowed daggers. “You, a mortal, dare to threaten me?”

Angelo pulled the trigger.

The gun unleashed a beam of concentrated sunlight directly into the Count’s face. His skin blistered and blackened on contact, peeling away from the underlying bone. He screamed, a sound that shook the stone walls, and stumbled backward.

Sera grabbed Angelo’s arm with her good hand. “We need to go. Now.”

They ran.

Behind them, the Count’s screams faded into a low growl. Sera could hear him moving, his footsteps heavy on the floor. He was wounded, but the light had not stopped him.

They reached the main hall, where the seven coffins still sat in their semicircle.

Then Sera froze.

Her body refused to obey. Legs locked, arms dropped limp, and though her mind screamed a warning to Angelo, her mouth remained frozen.

The Count’s voice echoed in her mind, cold and commanding.

You are mine. You have always been mine.

Her vision flushed red. She felt the Count’s will pressing against her own, overwhelming her thoughts.

Kill the human.

Sera’s hand moved on its own, reaching out to grab Angelo by the throat.

“Sera?” His voice was confused, then terrified. “Sera, what are you doing?”

She couldn’t answer. She could only watch as her fingers tightened around his neck, cutting off his air. His face turned red, then purple, as he clawed at her arm with wide, desperate eyes.

Good, the Count’s voice purred. Kill him.

Sera screamed inside her own mind, fighting the control with every ounce of will she possessed. But he was too strong, too deeply woven into her blood.

Then the windows shattered.

A tactical squad poured through the breach. They wore Kevlar vests over chainmail, their faces hidden behind masks. Some carried solar rifles while others held portable sunlight emitters that cast a harsh white glow across the hall.

The leader raised a launcher and fired.

A wooden stake punched straight through the Count’s ribs and out his back. He staggered, his control over Sera wavering. She felt his grip on her mind loosen and seized the opportunity.

She released Angelo, shoving him away. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, but he was alive.

The squad advanced on the Count, their weapons firing in unison. Solar beams and wooden stakes struck him from every direction. He roared, lashing out with claws that tore through gear, but there were too many of them.

Sera grabbed a fallen launcher and joined the fight. Her broken wrist throbbed in protest, but she ignored it. She aimed at the Count’s heart and fired.

The stake found its mark.

The Count froze, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment, he looked almost human. Then his body crumbled inward, turning to ash and dust. The founder of the bloodline was gone.

Sera sank to her knees, clutching her arm. Angelo crawled to her, his throat bruised and eyes wet with tears.

“You’re okay,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” He pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. “You fought him. You won.”

The squad moved swiftly, clearing the hall in silence.

Then a young man dressed in casual robes appeared.

He smiled at Sera and Angelo. In his hands was a leather-bound notebook and a pen that clicked as he wrote.

“Interesting,” he scanned the scene. “Very interesting.”

Sera’s eyes returned to their natural blue. Her fangs retracted. She stared at the stranger, too exhausted to be afraid.

“Who are you?”

“Veritas.” He closed his notebook and tucked it away. “I’m a chronicler. A historian, of sorts. I record supernatural events for posterity.”

“Posterity.”

“It’s a living.” He crouched beside the pile of ash that had been Count Delacroix. “You killed the Greedy. That’s not easy. He was one of the seven founders, you know. The ancient vampire clans. He terrorized the American Northwest for centuries before retreating to this estate.”

Sera exchanged a glance with Angelo. “The seven founders?”

“The Delacroix clan was only one branch of a much larger supernatural history.” Veritas stood. “There are others. The Gluttonous. The Lustful. The Envious. Each one founded a bloodline that still exists today, hidden in the shadows of human society.”

“So there are more of them out there.”

“Many more.” Veritas smiled. “But that’s a story for another day. For now, I suggest you two get out of here. The authorities will be arriving soon, and they’ll have questions.”

He turned and walked toward the exit, his footsteps light on the stone floor.

“Wait,” Sera called. “How did you know we were here?”

Veritas glanced over his shoulder. “I know a lot of things, Seraphina Delacroix. It’s my job.” He opened the door, letting in the cold night air. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Then he was gone.

***

The sun was rising by the time Sera and Angelo loaded the last of their loot into the truck.

The Delacroix empire was unravelling in real time. Leaked Covenant records laid bare centuries of murder, trafficking, and fraud, prompting instant freezes on their accounts and raids across their estates. The surviving family members were scattering like rats from a sinking ship.

Sera had lost her family. But she was finally free of them.

She looked at the suitcases and duffel bags stacked in the back of the truck. Gold, jewels, and artifacts worth a fortune. It was enough to start over, to build something new.

Angelo climbed into the driver’s seat. “How much did we take?”

Sera settled beside him. “Enough.”

He started the engine and pulled onto the road, heading south toward the coast. They would catch a ship from there, sail to the Caribbean, and find a quiet island where no one knew their names.

Angelo glanced at the luggage in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure this is enough?”

Sera looked at the gold, the glittering jewels, and the accumulated wealth of centuries. Then she looked at Angelo, at his bruised throat and tired smile, at the man who had refused to run when she told him to.

She smiled.

“If it isn’t,” she said, “we’ll rob another vampire.”

Angelo laughed, and the truck sped toward the dawn.