Generations Blood: Love Follows The Immortal Fangs

Sten’s POV The Miami sun was hotter than a Brazilian model on steroids, but that didn’t stop Bastian from marching straight-backed on the sidewalk with a black office shirt, black flat front pants, and black loafers. A devil in his element, Sten thought. Typical of his brother. “Your choice of residence once again baffles me, Sten,” Bastian said in that dignified voice Sten had hated once. He had also hated his older brother’s broad shoulders and deep brown eyes once upon a time. They garnered an awful lot of dazzled looks from scantily dressed passersby – women and men alike – heading for the beach. “Yeah? You don’t look all that baffled to me,” snorted Sten, scanning his brother’s brick-like face. He spared a moment to wink at a pretty girl who stared into his sharp hazel eyes a bit too much like a deer in headlights before snorting once more. “And just so you know, while you’re here, I’m Stan. Got it?” Bastian gave a sly smile that Sten, no, Stan knew was the equivalent of a nod. “Now then. Are you sure it was him? Your inferences better be sharp enough to warrant having me fly halfway across the world on such short notice.” Bastian flexed his right arm as though it was suddenly stiff. “Give me a bit more credit than that, Bas. My loyalties found six corpses scattered all over the city in the last month. All of them had six bite marks on the neck. Violent work. I don’t know about you, but that’s about as telling of a Progenitor as anything can get.” “You didn’t answer my question,” said Bastian. Stan didn’t like the way he glanced at him as he spoke. He always felt how much of a little brother he was when Bastian expressed scepticism. He glared. “There’s a possibility. That’s all that matters. Right?” Bastian sighed and stopped right before they turned round the corner of the street. “I might as well catch the plane back home if you called me here all for an anxious guess. If it’s not him, I’m not interested.” Stan, dumbstruck, ground his teeth. He couldn’t help but burn with fury. Bastian rarely took things seriously unless they had to do with that man. Ever since that dark span centuries ago, his already darkened heart had become a nest for ice cold gloom and brooding. “I only asked you here for assurance, Bas. I worked too damn hard to claim his city. I lost seventeen loyalties in a battle to drive out the wolves who’d settled here. I’m not about to lose it all just because a Progenitor – whether it’s him or not – just happened to pass by.” “You can always leave. Start afresh. History repeats itself and the world is wide,” said Bastian dispassionately. He slotted his hand into his pockets and turned to zip back towards the airport, quick as the wind. “She would never leave with me. I’ve tried.” Bastian paused at once. “She?” Stan almost allowed his desperation to seep into his voice. He made the sort of face sour dough would make when kneaded for the first time. “Her name’s Janet. She’s my… She would never leave this city even if I begged. Her whole life is here. And I don’t have the heart to compel her. You of all people should understand.” It killed Stan to appeal to his brother in this matter – almost like blackmail – but it couldn’t be helped. For Janet’s safety, he would do anything. The only way he could keep her safe from monsters even more monstrous than him was if Bastian stayed. When his brick-faced brother turned, Stan saw his face melt. “Janet, huh? Someone forced you to break your vow? Again?” “Dead men crave love more deeply.” Stan felt a corny smile creep over his face. “I wanted you and Rose to meet her sooner, but well…” Bastian considered his brother for a few moments. He managed a small smile. “Dead men crave love more deeply,” he said and began a march in the direction he and his brother had been going originally. “Well? No congratulations?” said Stan with a sigh of relief. Bastian grinned and skipped past the question. “Let’s go meet this… Janet. She live close?” As they turned from street to street, Stan couldn’t have been happier about the lighter mood between him and Bastian. The baking sun was a better torment than the punishment of having to track down his brother again if he had let him slip. It was a tragic thing, really. Vampires had conquered many things since their kind were bred amongst the natural species of the world: the sun, garlic, medieval crackheads. However, like all man, they were still prone to desire; perhaps love most of all. Bastian was a chief scholar in the cruelty of love, Stan knew. He had never been the same since that damned Fall of 1456. The fall of the peach ballroom dress, Bastian had called it back then, smiling for grief. As they turned street after street, Stan stole glances at his brother. He hadn’t gotten the chance to ask how he was doing: what adventures he had taken to; what other vampires he had met; what wolves he had slaughtered. That might not have been a bad thing, though. “Is that her?” the brick-faced vampire said as he and Stan stood on the other side of the street, looking at a humble outdoor café. Stan wished he could have hidden his surprise. How his brother had spotted Janet at once was beyond him. Goodsie’s Local was a very popular café. Even at the height of noon, you would always find dozens occupying all its tables. As it so happened, Janet was a regular at Goodsie’s. Stan had always loved that predictable fact about her. On days like today, he’d find her sitting on a table, alone but content, a cup of iced tea in one hand and some convoluted romance novel in the other. There was a warm summer about her and her flower-dotted skater dress. It was so short it revealed a bit too much of her long, spotless legs. Her sunflower blonde hair almost seemed to gleam in the bright sun, as did her narrow green eyes. Stan sensed Bastian’s smile. He figured it was approval. Soon, he led his brother to his lady. Janet looked up just as the two men were an arm’s length from her table and donned a bright smile. Her cheeks inflated like a chipmunk’s, prompting the ancient butterflies in Stan’s belly to flutter. He couldn’t help it; beaming, he gave Janet a peck on the lips when she craned her neck to meet his face. He would have done more, but she gave a gentle push with a finger against his Adam’s apple. “This is unexpected. Wait. Don’t tell me you’re here to cancel on our plans for tonight,” Janet said, narrowing her eyes and closing her book. “Or is it… to speed things up?” “Neither,” Stan said. “I was just passing by.” “Sure, you were, boss. Who’s your friend?” Bastian deftly slipped forward and took Janet’s hand in his with a subtle bow. “Bastian. Bastian Malbourne. I’m Stan’s older brother.” “Oh.” Janet’s brows rose and she gave a quick, knowing look to Stan. “You have an accent. Fitting for a gentleman. Stan’s a bit too loose. I thought that ran in the family.” “I’m the exception,” said Bastian smoothly. Stan scoffed and considered his brother. There was a spark in his eyes that he hadn’t seen in more than four centuries. It intensified by the breath as his eyes stole into Janet’s. A part of him yelped in warning. This development had the makings of a twister.