Bloodbound – The Fault Line

San Myshuno

The Rusty Anchor dive bar

You know how they say no good thing ever lasts?
It’s true.
Even for vampires.

Especially for vampires.

I don’t remember exactly when this started, or even how. I believe it was a long-simmering collection of little events that eventually led to a crescendo, so I’ll tell it from the moment that makes the most sense. All this developed over many months, but for the sake of time, I’ll condense it for you.

I remember sitting in the sticky-floored dive-bar diner in San Myshuno with Vincent and Eirwen, who was mid-story about her latest romantic escapades — something she was famous for. Witches and mages tended to run on the licentious side, and my niece was certainly no exception. Something told me her daddy dearest hadn’t the foggiest idea what his special little girl was really up to most of the time, or he would have blown a fuse. Eirwen swore she could talk her way out of anything if he ever did find out.

I wasn’t her father, so I just let her talk.

Vincent, however, was a father now — of twins, no less — and he looked it. Unlike me, he needed sleep and rest, and he wasn’t getting much of either. He looked ready to fall asleep with his eyes open and hadn’t touched whatever disgusting slop they were serving. For a werewolf, not wanting to devour everything in sight is never a good sign. He spoke about the challenges of still teaching Sloane to control her inner wolf while preparing to be the next Alpha, all while raising twins and trying to scrape money together on the side. I offered financial help; of course he was too proud to accept it. Some just like to make their lives harder than they need to be.

When I mentioned Cerys and my adventures — after both of them lit me up for missing weeks of meetings — I expected the usual teasing for a new relationship. Instead, Vincent told me how Sloane had “called it,” how she’d known we’d end up together, and went on about how he’d invited her along tonight for a change of scenery but she hadn’t wanted to come in case I brought Cerys, who was “so thin and sexy, while she is now a whale.” The baby weight wasn’t sitting well with her. The problem with wolves is they are always ferociously hungry — and a ravenous wolf fighting to stay in control is nobody’s idea of a good time. Vampires could eat, but we were particular: food did nothing for us except maybe please the palate. We didn’t need it. Our sustenance looked different. And if we strayed into mortal delicacies, we made it worth our while — most often the liquid variety. We could even get drunk; it just took considerably more effort. I wouldn’t know about baby weight and an ungovernable appetite — have you ever seen a fat vampire? It doesn’t happen.

I sipped my deep red Merlot when my phone went off.

Eirwen halted mid-gesture, grimacing. “Oh, come on now! Don’t answer it!”

“I have to — and you know that.”

I answered — a few words — and then I was bidding my farewells, Eirwen complaining the entire time.

The Fault Line

When I met up with my father, I looked around for Caelan.

“He’s not coming. Just us,” Dad told me flatly.

“Why?” A warranted question — not like I was desperate for his company, but Caelan was our Commander.

“We’re tracking Rhiannon again. New development. Be quiet and follow.” Dad said. Him calling his mother by her first name showed me he was already in Enforcer mode. Detachment was key when investigating someone you were close to. We all did it. I would call my grandmother Rhiannon from here on forth as well.

We snuck through the thicket almost soundlessly. Then he gestured for me to split, pointing wordlessly at a spot across the meadow.

I positioned myself and waited.

And then she appeared — Rhiannon. Beautiful, with long silvery-blonde hair, almost white, youthful, with a mesmerizing violet gaze. My grandmother — though you’d never know it. She was vampire, frozen at an age that made her look my peer. Same as my father, her son, who inherited the hair and eyes. I was blonde too, but I had the Vannucci silver eyes.

Now you’re wondering why Rhiannon ended up on our list. A target. Not to eliminate — but to investigate.

My father and I are very dedicated Coven Enforcers, but he would never kill his own mother. And I wouldn’t kill my beloved grandmother. My sisters and I have nothing but the best memories growing up — many of those include her. Cesare knows this, and he doesn’t want her harmed. He is very fond of her himself.

So we were asked to stalk. To watch. To reveal any secrets there might be. And it was clear there were secrets.

Whenever Caelan was dispatched on missions, she used to wait eagerly for his return at the castle. But for months now, every time he was gone, she was soon gone too. She wasn’t a prisoner — she was even encouraged to make friends, find hobbies. But the pattern was too suspicious for Cesare to ignore.

Cesare had welcomed the once-mortal love interest of his very hard-to-love son with open arms, but he had always sensed something from the beginning — the violet eyes, the silver-blonde hair. Rare for any mortal. Almost unheard of among vampires.

But Rhiannon was mortal when she and Caelan met all those years ago. No powers. No magical aura. Nothing. Just a beautiful mortal who somehow found something about one of the creepiest versions of my kind enticing.

And believe me when I say Caelan is different with her. Like her mere presence rewires him, turning him into an almost pleasant person. He is — I don’t know what else to call it — sweet to her. He brings her flowers. Kisses her hand.

Grandmother Rhiannon loves Caelan — I haven’t a shadow of a doubt. They divorced once before because he had withdrawn and left her starved for affection; when she told him she couldn’t live like that and a marriage isn’t one without affection, it ended in a war of roses — fanged edition. He treated her so dismally my father and I were ashamed to be related to him, ashamed to be men.

Which is why we are not Vannucci in name. We used to be, when my sisters and I were younger, but we took Grandma’s maiden name in solidarity when she was forced to renounce the Vannucci name after the divorce. Fiona and I did, along with Mom and Dad; Jaymie, my oldest sister and the only one born mortal, was already married to Nathan and a Shaw in name.

After the divorce Caelan realized soon enough Rhiannon was his one and only. His Soulmate. He crawled back, tail tucked — almost funny, had it not been so sad. She forgave him, remarried him, took his name again. We didn’t. A deep ridge tore between my dad and his dad then, and it never healed. They’re civil — but not like Dad and I are. Not hugs and support and the kind of trust where you can say anything and know it’s safe.

But she still looks at Caelan with those violet eyes full of love and adoration, like none of it ever happened.

My father and one of my sisters, Fiona, inherited those eyes. Unheard of among vampires. Impossible, unless… well … unless reasons.

Once her disappearances raised Cesare’s interest, he tasked my father and me to shadow her. Top secret. Not even Caelan could know — especially not him. He would have burned the world down before asking a question. He was a very jealous man. He would never cheat on Rhiannon, and demanded she not even look at another man in return. If he suspected she was sneaking around, blood would be shed before any questions were asked.

We followed her.

Imagine my shock when she met a man who was clearly fae.

Jesus Christ.
If we were about to discover Rhiannon was cheating on Caelan, the Prince of Darkness, with a fairy-dude, I was moving to a new universe. There’d be nothing left of this one once Caelan found out about this.

Luckily, they seemed familiar but didn’t disappear inside some building which would make it hard to follow, but sat on a bench in the sickeningly whimsical Everdew quarter of Innisgreen where most fae roamed. They didn’t kiss, let alone more, thank God. They hugged at parting — but the way I’d hug Vincent or Eirwen. Nothing romantic about it. Praise all the power there’d be.

But this was only the first time. Over the next few weeks they would meet again and again. Again and again Dad and I would follow. They only kissed once, on the cheek, but clearly, it looked like they were gearing up to something here.

So, eventually, we intercepted her.
Caught her off guard, hauled her into the interrogation chambers of the castle.

My father interrogated his own mother.
Detached, professional — but I could tell how much he hated it, hated himself for it.

She broke fast. Too fast.

And the truth… The truth was a blade with two edges, and both cut deep.
The truth made me wish she had just been cheating.

Rhiannon told us how she’d grown curious about her heritage — how Caelan’s constant jabs at my father for “looking fae” had planted the seed. Always Connell. Always the same cold, cutting remarks about his appearance, no matter how many times Rhiannon begged him to stop. He did it to me too, though not as viciously — the occasional comment about being “too pretty” to be worth my weight as a man. Honestly, Caelan had never been the sweet old grandfather type who bounced you on his knee and slipped you candy. It didn’t bother me much. I had all the love I needed from the rest of my family, including my mortal grandparents on my mother’s side, who were still alive and very involved back then.

Grandfather Caelan believed boys needed “tough love,” which, in his case, had very little to do with love at all.

The only reason my father became the man my sisters, my mother, and I adore is because of Rhiannon — because she raised him with a mother’s gentleness, not Caelan’s brutality. And for all the venom Caelan spat at Connell and me, he never once — not that I ever heard — gave Rhiannon grief about her looks.

Her search for her roots hadn’t been smooth. It was years of dead ends, wrong doors, and people who knew nothing. But eventually — after a million false starts — she found the right ones. And with them, the truth.

And that truth nearly knocked the socks off my father and me.

Enforcers are trained to keep our faces blank during interrogations, to bury every flicker of emotion. But this? This was too close to home. Too personal. Too explosive. Our faces were fireworks of thoughts and emotions.

I still don’t like talking about it, so here’s the short version — the bare bones.

The man Rhiannon kept meeting was her brother. Her real brother. The one who had been searching for her for decades.

He filled in the blanks she’d never been able to fill herself.

Rhiannon is the daughter of the late fae king and queen — a child hidden to save her life when the king was murdered by his own brother in a usurpation attempt. The queen knew her children, the true heirs, would be hunted. So she stripped them of their powers and hid them where no one would think to look.

Rhiannon on the steps of a church. Found and raised by mortals, eventually met Caelan and was turned in their wedding night.
Her brother with an elderly couple on the outskirts of town, raised as a poor farmer’s boy, but as fae by fae.

Both raised under assumed names.
Both unaware of who they truly were.

Her brother was eventually found by loyalists after the mad king died. They restored him to his rightful place — the last good prince of the fae, the one the old songs still whisper about. The one who chose to abolish the monarchy among fae entirely, refusing to let tyranny wear a crown ever again.

He spent decades searching for his lost sister, following rumors, traces, half‑remembered lullabies. Never once did he think to look among the vampires. Nobody would have.

He was as stunned that life had taken her to us as we were to hear whom she truly was.
It could have been a sweet, feel‑good reunion story.

But it wasn’t.
Not. At. All.

It left us with a problem. A monumental one.

The oldest, most powerful vampire line in existence — infiltrated with royal fae blood.
It may not mean anything to you, but to us it was life-altering. A stain in our lineage.
A secret that could fracture our society.
Ignite old wars. Invite usurp attempts.
Topple everything we’d built, everything we protect, everything we are.
It could lead to total chaos.

A truth that brought shame over our lineage — even though none of us had known.
Even though it couldn’t be undone.

And speaking of shame — when the truth came out, Cesare quietly ordered a heritage test. Our version of a DNA or paternity test, but older, darker, and far more invasive. A ritual that traces bloodlines the way mortals trace fingerprints. Vampires don’t use it lightly. It’s the kind of test you only commission when the consequences of the answer could shake a dynasty.

He needed to be certain my father was truly Caelan’s son.

Spoiler: he was. One hundred percent.
I’m still not sure whether that was good news or bad. If he hadn’t been Caelan’s son, he and I might’ve been disqualified from being Enforcers — but then again, where exactly would we go? Vampires don’t get the luxury mortals do, running off to “start over” with a new name and a new haircut. Doesn’t work like that for us. You’re born into a lineage, and you stay in it. Like it or not.

And me?

I’m standing in the middle of it — the blissfully unaware grandson of a fae queen’s daughter. The Enforcer who survived poison darts and toxic blades that should’ve killed him ten times over.

Maybe because of the fae blood humming quietly in my veins.

Maybe this whole dark family secret actually works in my favor. Maybe I’m… what? Slightly invincible? A little more immortal than the rest of my kind?

Wouldn’t that be hilarious. My dad would have a higher concentration then and should be indestructible. My sisters and cousins too. No wonder my sisters had been so attractive to other occult, who would normally abhor vampires. While Jaymie was born mortal, she was raised by vamps. Then again, she met her husband because he was dad’s best friend Michael’s son. Mike, another werewolf, but besties with a vamp? Also unheard of. Maybe because my dad had enough fae blood to make that feasible. Oh man.

But dad and me — of all vampires, two Enforcers — being the ones who’d make every other occult creature cry into their spellbooks because no matter what poison they cook up, we just keep getting back up. Dad had very close calls before. One when he was still young, only nineteen, still training, back when he met mom, then a mortal teen girl. He likely only survived that because of her help and fae blood inside him.

Ha.

It’d be funny if it weren’t so damn dire.

You may not know this, but fae blood heals gravely injured vampires. It’s highly coveted — which probably explains why the fae and we don’t get along. Nobody likes to give their blood freely, and vampires aren’t exactly known for asking politely.

Now this truth — this world‑shaking revelation — is known only to five of us:

Rhiannon.
My father, Connell.
Cesare.
Riordan.
And me.

Cesare and Riordan forbade us from telling anyone while they “researched and deliberated what to do with it.” Which, translated from ancient‑vampire to plain speech, meant: figuring out how to bury the truth so deep it would never see daylight again — not metaphorically, literally. The kind of burial that involves muzzling the few who do know, ensuring no one else ever will, and placing enough weight on the whole thing to keep it down for eternity.

And so we carried it — the weight of a secret that could burn the world down.

The problem with secrets is they always want out.
This one had lasted a long time before we discovered it.
There were no guarantees it could be buried — not unless all of us were.

Which led to the elephant in the room.
Never mind the impact on our reputation.
Thinking smaller: Caelan wouldn’t take it well at all.
Which isn’t something small at all. This may be the most nuclear problem of them all.

Cesare wasn’t sure how Caelan would react, part of him, the fatherly part, was cautiously optimistic that Caelan would blow up, kick walls, break furniture — and eventually accept it.
Because it was Rhiannon.
If you ask me, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell for that.

Cesare also knew that it was far more likely that Caelan would be so hurt and insulted that he’d kill Rhiannon and only wonder afterward if that had been the right thing — after it was already too late. Classic Caelan.

Now, sitting there, hashing over it all, a lot of things suddenly made sense.

Caelan and Rhiannon Vannucci had one child — my father, Connell.

But Caelan had another daughter long before he ever met my grandmother. Illegitimate. Hidden. Leeora.

Born of a witch, inheriting her late mother’s magic — though she always preferred the darkness of vampires. When she was young, she begged to be turned. Impossible. A death sentence for a witch. Didn’t stop her from trying. She dated vampires almost exclusively.

Her first husband was the exception — a witcher. She killed him when she discovered he belonged to one of those delightful mortal societies whispered about in stories: vampire hunters. Rumor had it she loved him deeply, right up until she found the hidden passage in their home and the weapons meant for Caelan and Cesare. She didn’t ask questions. Or she did — while waiting for the poison she’d seasoned his dinner with to finish its work. Caelan had caught wind of the threat too, but by the time he arrived, she’d already handled it. All he could do was disappear the body.

Yes, those Van Helsing tales have more than a grain of truth. Witch hunts were once initiated by vampires, and vampire hunters were the witches’ retaliation. A cycle so old no one remembers who struck first.

Yet Leeora loved vampires — especially her father — with a ferocity that bordered on terrifying. She killed anyone who threatened him. She killed her own mother. She rose through the ranks with a magical skillset you really didn’t want aimed at you. Now a necromancer, she has even raised the dead for Caelan. She married a former rogue vampire — Artemus Levesque — whose life Caelan spared only because she begged for it. She made sure he joined the coven and behaved.

And here’s the part that stings: Caelan adored her.
Leeora could do no wrong in his eyes.
Not once — not ever — did he mock her for being witch.
He never threw her heritage in her face.
He never used it as a weapon.

Connell, on the other hand?
Born a vampire. Confirmed one hundred percent Caelan’s son. And still Caelan mocked him for “looking fae” every chance he got.

In our world, family is dominion — but apparently not all family is treated equally.

So why did Caelan only have one child with Rhiannon?

Not by choice. It was their deepest heartbreak.

They wanted children — especially Rhiannon, who adores them — many children, if they could have had them. But none of their pregnancies before or after my father were viable. If she conceived, she couldn’t keep it. Two daughters were born; both died young.

Knowing what we know now, it’s hard not to wonder if her secret heritage was the cause.

She conceived my father on their wedding night — the same night Caelan turned her. Maybe she was still mortal enough then for a pregnancy to hold. Once fully turned, her inner fae may have fought too hard against the vampire she became.

She didn’t know.
I believe her.
Dad believes her.
Cesare believes her.

The question is whether Caelan will.

Isn’t my life delightful?

The Bitter Truth

With all of it weighing on me, I left the castle with my mind miles away. I simmered on it at home. So did Dad.

Of course, Mom picked up on it immediately.

“What’s with you boys?”

“Nothing, Mom,” I lied — Dad had apparently forgotten how to speak, and Mom would only listen to crickets for so long before launching into full‑on motherly investigator mode.

I felt her eyes on me before she slid onto the couch beside me, looping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me in.

“Trouble in the heart department again? Just tell me, baby. We all adore Cerys — let me at least try to help, give advice, anything. I hope you’re not still choking on wondering if she really loves you. Sweet boy, that girl saved your life — and not just by healing you. She killed a rogue for you. If that isn’t true love, then I know nothing anymore.”

I tried to pull away, but guilt pinned me in place. “No, Mom, everything is fine with Cer—”

And that’s when it hit me.

One of those eyes‑wide, stomach‑dropping realization moments.

I had told Caelan I would marry Cerys. And I meant it. Not tomorrow, not next week — but someday. If soulmates existed, she was mine and I was hers.

But that was before I learned my blood was tainted with fae.

I couldn’t tell her — Cesare’s orders — not without risking the whole thing becoming public. But I also couldn’t drag Cerys into this without her consent. If we became a real couple, if we married, we’d eventually have kids. She wanted them. I wanted them — and needed them, at least until there was a boy to carry the next generation of Enforcers. But now I knew I had fae blood in me.

In reality, all it would take is her getting pregnant. Not something we were trying for, not something that would normally be a problem — but it would be now. Things happen when you least expect them, and with consequences you can’t take back.

My grandmother hadn’t known when she met Caelan, and they had my dad, and look how that ended. And that wasn’t even the real end. If — when — Caelan ever found out…

But I did know. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t, and I couldn’t just go around risking knocking someone up without them knowing about my dark secret.

“Baby?” Mom nudged me. I’d gone stiff mid‑sentence.

“Emmy, there is something we need to discuss,” Dad said suddenly, and I knew that tone. He was going to tell her.

“Dad!”

He shook his head. “I have never kept a secret from your mother, and I’m not going to start now.”

“Dad! You heard Cesare. He explicitly forbade it! You know what could happen!”

“Excuse me, guys,” Mom cut in, now in full worry mode. “What is going on here?”

Dad told her. Everything.

I stared at him in disbelief as Mom’s eyes widened. Silence fell when he finished.

“Wow,” she said at last.

She wasn’t born a vampire, but she’d been one — and one married to an Enforcer — long enough to understand exactly what this meant. The weight. The danger. The history rewriting itself under our feet.

She stood, kissed my forehead, then crossed the room and settled onto Dad’s lap. He wrapped his arms around her; she wrapped hers around him, whispering something into his ear.

I stood.

“Hey — where are you going?” Dad called after me, his voice sharp with suspicion.

“Cerys,” I said, already halfway to the front door. “I’m going to tell her too.”

Dad shot to his feet. “No. Absolutely not.”

I turned fully toward him. “Why not?”

“We have orders not to divulge this to outsiders,” he said, slipping into Enforcer mode.

“You just told Mom!” I snapped.

“She is your mother and my wife,” he countered, tone edged with that patronizing how are you not getting this cadence he used when he thought I was being too slow on the uptake. “She is part of me, part of you — not an outsider.”

“Neither is Cerys,” I fired back. “She saved my life. Twice now! Three times if you count the fact that she also dealt with the injuries the rogue left me with.”

“She’s a medic,” Dad said flatly. “She’s supposed to.”

“She’s supposed to kill vampire rogues to make that happen and go to trial for it too?” I barked. “That’s news to me!”

“Damon,” Dad warned, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register. “I outrank you — as your father and as an Enforcer. Sit your butt back down, Junior. That is final, or I will take you to the dungeons myself until you can think clearly.”

“Connell!” Mom snapped, giving him the look wives give husbands when they’ve crossed into nonsense territory.

“Emmy, this is serious business,” Dad insisted, exasperated. “He and Cerys have been dating for a minute. This is out of the question. Maybe if they were at least engaged I might consider it, but no. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, you need me to slap a ring on it real quick so you believe we’re real?” I snapped, the words out before I could stop them. And great — I realized I sounded like a pubescent teen who wasn’t allowed to borrow Dad’s car to pick up his latest crush.

“Damon, we are done with this conversation. The answer is a resounding no,” Dad said, fully over my BS now.

“What about Fiona and Jaymie?” I shot back, heat rising in my voice. “You’ll tell them? They’re your kids too, and Fi is a vamp.”

“No,” Dad said firmly, shaking his head. “Your sisters married men who make this news inconsequential. Fiona married a mage and has a mage daughter — fae blood in that mix changes nothing. Jaymie married a werewolf and has a werewolf son who just had werewolf twins. Neither needs to know.”

His jaw set, tone dropping into that immovable Enforcer authority.

“But it carries immense significance for us and the entire Vannucci line,” Dad finished. “The answer is no. You will not tell anyone. You will abide by the orders given to you by our highest leader.”

That was it. I stomped upstairs to my room to fume alone.

I was furious.

But the longer I simmered, the more right he sounded.

I couldn’t tell her. But she deserved someone who didn’t hide something like this. And if I stayed — if she accidentally got pregnant…

No.

There was only one thing I could do for both of us. The last thing I wanted to do.

It took two days — that’s how long I managed to dodge her before my excuses ran dry. Eventually, I asked her to meet me behind the old oak tree near the waterfall.

She arrived giddy and flirty, thinking we were going to make out and add some al fresco romance to the evening. She never saw it coming — that I’d asked her here to stick the knife in both our chests and twist.

“Break up?! What?! What do you mean ‘not compatible’?! Are you intoxicated? Where is all this coming from now?” Cerys’s voice rose higher and higher, echoing across the water like a wounded animal.

“It’s… just too much of a liability,” I forced out — the best lie I could manage. “What happened with the rogue proved it. Dating puts both of us — and the cause — at risk.”

“The cause? What cause? Damon, you sound like a conspiracy theorist!”

It didn’t get any prettier from there. Harsh words were spoken — by her, and eventually by me when she just wouldn’t accept it. I thought if I was enough of an ass she’d give up and kick me to the curb. It wasn’t quite that easy. It took a lot of things I hate myself for.

I’ll spare all of us the full transcript. We went in circles, her voice cracking, mine breaking, until she finally ran off crying — leaving me standing there feeling like the biggest asshole ever to walk the earth.

It did nothing for my mood.