Bound by Duty

ALEXANDER

^CAIRO, 1926^

The moment we entered the city, I sensed something was off. The atmosphere was thick with unease, and the overpowering aroma of potent herbs was everywhere, overwhelming my senses.

Aya was beside me, buzzing with anticipation. Her hand clung to mine as she pointed out familiar shops and smells that sparked old memories. Her joy was contagious, and for a brief moment, I wished I could give her this—bring her back home whenever she wished, let her soak in the nostalgia without repercussions.

But I knew better. Teaching her restraint had been a challenge—her thirst, her impulses, her power. She was committed, smart, and determined to control herself.

But she was a ripper, and each failure broke her. Keeping her family at arm’s length, never engaging, was the only protection I could offer her. But was it enough?

Watching her fingers trace the fabric of her scarf, I knew it wasn’t. Not for her. She had pleaded with me for years to come back here.

I had taken her around the globe, shown her marvels beyond her wildest dreams, but she always yearned for home. For them. She wanted to see her family while she still could.

She wanted to protect them while she still could. I thought cutting ties was the only way to keep her safe. She disagreed. And I gave in.

I owed her that much. After all, I was the one who had taken her life. Even though she had forgiven me, I hadn’t forgiven myself.

Having her with me—snuggled against me during the day, keeping pace with me at night—brought me more happiness than I ever thought possible. But the thought of her getting hurt was unbearable.

We navigated through the busy streets until we reached the one she used to call home. Her steps hesitated as she spotted a shop. I knew her family, even though I had never met them.

The resemblance was unmistakable. And then, before I could react, Aya lunged. She propelled herself forward, and I caught her mid-motion.

Her body shook in my hold, her breaths uneven with anger and pain. Her throat was on fire with thirst. Any strong emotion triggered it in newborns—they had no control. And it was my duty to be her restraint.

“I’m your family now. It’s just us,” I murmured, cradling her face and forcing her to look at me. Her crimson eyes blazed.

“Just us,” I repeated. I could see the internal struggle within her. I loathed myself for what I did next, but I had no choice.

I exerted my dominance over her, bending her will, pulling her away from the life she had lost. She wept, fighting against our bond but not strong enough to break it.

I was her master. I detested the term, but I couldn’t deny the reality. I was a pureblood, and she was mine to command.

Only when we had left the city did I realize what I had missed. That heavy, overpowering scent—so prevalent in the air—had suddenly disappeared. My stomach sank.

I stopped so abruptly that the sand slid beneath me. The vampire who had been concealing his scent had revealed himself. And now he was closing in.

A scent I would recognize anywhere. My grandfather. Fear gripped me. Aya was unstable, boiling with rage and sorrow.

She was vulnerable, exposed. And she could not—must not—encounter him. I muttered a curse, my ears straining against the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Aya, I need you to listen to me. I need you to trust me.”

She blinked, confused. “What?”

“Stay here,” I commanded, pushing her behind the reeds. “Wait for me to return. Do you understand?”

“I’m not a fucking child, Alex,” she retorted, defiance surging in her veins.

“You’re out of control,” I snapped. “I had to get you out of there. I’m sorry.”

Her glare was piercing. “I just wanted to see them.”

“You saw them just fine,” I replied as gently as I could. “Your vision is perfect. But you wanted to touch them. And that was a mistake.”

Her lips parted, the beginnings of a rebuttal forming, but I didn’t have time to hear it.

“Aya, enough! Stay here and wait for me.”

I couldn’t wait any longer. I pressed my lips to hers, tasting her anger and grief before pulling away.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, and then I was gone. I sprinted, faster than I had in hundreds of years, desperate to put as much space between him and her as possible.

As I reached the peak of a sand dune, I leapt down, landing squarely in front of him. My grandfather was there, his dark red hair tied back at the base of his neck, his face as hard as stone.

“Grandfather,” I acknowledged, my voice strained.

“Alexander.”

We locked eyes across the moonlit sand. His lips were pressed together tightly. I could tell he had fed recently.

“I won’t insult you,” he finally broke the silence. “You know why I’m here.”

“I won’t go back.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Yes, you will. It’s your duty. It’s your family.”

“I don’t want to be king.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

I gritted my teeth. “Caroline wants it.”

“She’s selfish.”

“And you’re not?” I shot back. “Forcing me into a life I hate?”

He laughed, a cruel sound. “You thought you could keep running? Squander our wealth? Enjoy your status without any responsibility? You’re nearly four hundred. It’s time to grow up.”

I clenched my fists. “You don’t need me. You just want to control me.”

His gaze hardened. “I’ve been patient. Allowed you this…rebellion. But enough is enough.”

Then his lips twisted into a smirk that sent a chill down my spine.

“I don’t need to force your return, Alexander.”

A wave of nausea washed over me. And then I felt it. Her fear. Her thirst.

I spun around, terror gripping me. Aya. I bolted away from him, moving at a speed that was almost inhuman.

I should have never left her. I knew my grandfather didn’t play fair. And I had given him exactly what he wanted.

The smell of fresh blood hit me like a punch in the face. My own hunger flared up, but I pushed it down, racing through the city.

I rounded the last corner, and my heart stopped. The shop was soaked in blood. Bodies were strewn across the floor, their throats ripped open, their faces twisted in pain. The smell was overpowering.

Aya was standing in the middle of it all, her lips smeared with blood, her fangs gleaming. Her hands were shaking, still clutching her latest victim. A child. Her sister.

Aya looked up at me, her blood-red eyes wide with shock.

“Alex?” she whispered. I could barely get the words out.

“What have you done?”

Aya’s gaze slowly drifted down to the bodies on the floor. I could feel the surge of emotions inside her. Her heart was pounding, her breath hitched in her throat, and she backed away from me.

Pain ripped through her like a hot knife—rage, agony, helplessness. She fell from my arms onto the blood-soaked floor, a scream tearing from her throat as she cradled her sister’s lifeless body against her chest.

Her raw cries echoed through the small shop, mixing with the sickening sound of blood squelching beneath her. The sound was relentless, raw, and heart-wrenching.

There was nothing I could say. No comfort I could offer. No words.

She was shaking violently, her grief choking her, her pain pressing against my mind like shards of glass. I could hear her heart pounding, a stuttering, broken rhythm. Her breath came in ragged gasps, torn apart by bloody sobs.

Horror surged through me, tearing at my insides. My anger flared with her cries. How could I have left her so vulnerable?

I should have known. I should have stayed with her. I had failed her. She would never recover from this.

She was scarred for life, horrified by her own actions. The slow, deliberate crunch of boots on blood-soaked floorboards made me look up. My grandfather and my mother stepped into the shop.

Mother’s face was blank as she took in the carnage, the blood-splattered walls gleaming in the dim light. But my grandfather… He looked pleased.

“Weak,” he murmured.

My anger pounded inside me, threatening to explode. I wanted to kill them. I wanted to rip their throats out, to gut them, to leave their bodies to rot under the sun.

Aya was wailing, and I would never leave her again. My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, my eyes burning with hatred as I stepped in front of her, protecting her from them.

I could feel my muscles tensing, coiling, ready to strike.

“Leave,” I commanded, my voice low and deadly.

Mother scoffed, running a finger through the blood smeared across a counter, then slipping it into her mouth.

“Delicious,” she murmured.

Grandpa let out a soft laugh. “Alexander, you’re coming with us.”

“No. Get out. Now,” I spat, my body shaking with rage. Aya was crying at my feet, lost in her own world of sorrow. I wanted nothing more than to take her away. Somewhere safe. But they would never stop chasing us. Never.

Mom moved closer, her nose crinkling in disgust as she looked at Aya. I shifted, placing myself between them, trying to protect Aya as much as I could.

“You did this to yourself, Alex,” Mom said, her voice cold. “You did this to her. You were too young to turn a human. You didn’t know how to guide her, how to help her. She’s a ripper. And this? This was bound to happen.”

“No,” I growled. “You did this to her.”

She nodded. “Yes. But you should have been smarter. Turned vampires are vulnerable for years, Alex. Decades. You didn’t give her the protection she needed. You did this.”

Aya gasped for air at my feet, her pain morphing into guilt. I could feel it swirling inside her, overwhelming her.

“You’re coming home with us now, Alexander,” Grandpa commanded.

“I will never go with you,” I vowed. “Get out. Now!”

“I don’t think you get it, son,” Mom said, her voice frosty. “This isn’t a request.”

I bristled.

“Alexander, you’re coming with us,” Grandpa repeated, “or we will kill her.”

A chilling, suffocating silence descended. I noticed the change in their posture, the confidence in their eyes.

“You won’t lay a finger on her,” I growled.

“You’ll forget about her soon,” Mom promised me. “I guarantee it. You won’t even remember her.”

“I will not abandon her, and you won’t harm her!” I bellowed.

“Then you leave us no choice.” Grandpa sighed, then snapped his fingers.

The moment the sound echoed in the blood-tainted air, I heard them. Footsteps. Lots of them. The heavy march of soldiers, closing in quickly.

I spun around, pulling Aya into my arms, and darted through the debris. Upstairs, onto a balcony, then a rooftop. The night wind screamed against us as I ran—faster, faster.

They were everywhere—surrounding us. At least fifty trained, turned vampires.

I pushed harder, my hold on Aya tightening.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

“Never,” I said, jumping across the rooftops. I aimed for the river. The water would mask our scent—if we could reach it in time.

“Let me go!” Aya suddenly screamed, writhing in my arms. I almost lost my balance and nearly dropped her. I caught her again, holding on tighter.

“Never,” I repeated, but she was resisting me. Her fists hammered against my chest, her teeth bit into my neck, and her nails dug into my skin.

“Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!” she shrieked.

Desperation gripped me. I exerted my power over her, trying to control her emotions and her compliance.

“Calm down,” I hissed.

Nothing. I felt the barrier she’d erected between us. She’d shut me out. Her guilt and pain had swallowed everything.

Her fangs sank deep into my arm, ripping skin. I grunted in pain, stumbling.

“Never again!” she screamed. “You will never control me again!”

She bit into my throat, deeper this time, tearing at my esophagus. Pain erupted through me. My vision blurred. I tripped.

We fell, crashing onto a terrace. Aya rolled away from me, throwing herself off the building. I had no choice but to follow.

We fell—right into the hands of Grandpa’s soldiers.

“No!” I lunged for her, but hands clamped down on me, iron grips holding me back. Their crimson eyes met mine—void of emotion.

“Let her go,” I growled.

“Kill her,” Grandpa’s voice ordered.

“No!” I roared, tearing through the soldiers. Blood sprayed as I ripped heads from bodies, but more took their place.

“Stop,” Grandpa’s voice thundered. His men froze, but I didn’t. I surged forward—

Aya wasn’t fighting anymore. She hung limp in their hold, her head bowed, tears mixed with blood tracing lines down her face.

“Aya,” I whispered, cradling her face. Her crimson eyes met mine—empty, lost. She had given up.

“Just kill me,” she whispered.

A shudder coursed through my body. “No. Never.”

“Just end it, Alex.”

“Join us back home, Alexander,” my mother’s voice was as smooth as silk, “or we’ll end her life right here, right now.”

My body trembled uncontrollably. It felt like my soul was being torn apart.

“All right,” I managed to whisper. “All right. I’ll come home.”

“Good.” My grandfather’s nod was curt. “Take her.”

“No!” My protest was a roar as they forcefully pulled me away from her.

“Where are you taking her?” My voice was a desperate scream.

A smirk played on my mother’s lips. “Where she belongs. Among the slaves. And if you dare to escape again—”

She leaned in closer, her whisper sharp as a knife.

“We’ll end her life.”