The Demon's Legacy

“Dad?” Kane rasped.

His vision was blackening, but he resisted the pull of darkness. He couldn’t give in—not when he was staring into his dad’s face and taking in every feature that he’d missed fiercely.

Milton’s glasses fell down his lightly freckled nose. Kane’s hazy gaze traced the faint scar over his eyebrow, to his messy brown hair, and then to his familiar chestnut eyes.

He looked the same.

He wore the same checkered pullover. The only thing missing was his shotgun from when they had entered that crypt so long ago.

Kane was relieved beyond what he could fathom in his hazy state, but also so lost. Had his sanity cracked, and now he was seeing ghosts in his last moments?

“It’s me, son.” Milton’s chest rose quickly. “Where are you hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Kane growled through the pain. “How are you here? You’re dead, aren’t you?”

“I thought so,” Milton said, smiling shakily. “I have no idea what’s happening.”

Milton slowly placed the pistol on the bloody carpeting near Kane’s head. He looked like he was holding back tears. The sight twisted Kane’s stomach into a mess of nerves.

Dad didn’t cry.

Neither of them did.

Kane choked on his thin breath, tears falling from his eyes. He had a scream bubbling in his constricting throat. The only reason he didn’t wail himself hoarse was because he wasn’t that far gone to forget his pride.

“Reid?” Kane gasped. Through their bond, he felt that the idiot was alive. He was scared to look because it was quiet. He yearned for a stupid quip or an irritating laugh—anything that wasn’t dreaded silence.

The only sound was a tap—tap—tap—of what might be blood dripping down the wall or off the wooden cabinetry.

Milton glanced up. The shallowness of his breath caused Kane’s silent tears to become gasps of panic.

Then, the old man gave him a gentle smile. It was such bullshit Kane would have punched him if he could move past the searing pain that was only soaring.

“He’s fine,” Milton said gently.

“You’re lying!”

Choking on his thin breath, Kane tried to turn his head to look for Reid, panicking.

Milton grasped Kane’s jaw, keeping his blearing gaze on him. “No,” he said harshly. “Don’t look. He’ll be alright. He’s alive. But if you look now, you’re going to see a lot of blood. He’s not conscious. So, look at me. Alright, son?”

Kane nodded, teary, his vision blurring.

Milton checked Kane’s sorry state over with a careful eye and then looked back at him grimly. “You’re heavily injured.”

Was the old man fucking kidding? He was in agony! He’d been stabbed, shot, and had his throat ripped out by a monster with jagged teeth, but this was the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life.

Fire was in his bones.

Kane groaned, and as if on cue, the pain soared. His blood was molten. He was drugged, but the panic-inducing delirium that took his mind wasn’t from its influence. He was battling something sinister.

Something that wanted him to give in.

“Listen to me, son,” Milton said harshly, and only then did he realize he’d been lost in his haze.

“You’re turning.”

“No,” Kane whispered, despairing. “I didn’t have enough.”

Milton gave him a forced smile that wasn’t fucking reassuring in the slightest. “You’re injured. You’ve been bleeding for a while now, haven’t you? The vampire’s blood will be that much stronger.”

Kane nodded, dizzy.

The chilling truth that he would have been a vampire if Reid’s intention had not been to heal him when they’d lost themselves near the bed, settled to churn his stomach.

“I’m going to check on Reid. I’m not sure if he’s breathing.”

“He is,” Kane said hastily, gasping in pain. “I feel him.” There was a tugging in his mind that was nearly overwhelming. He knew it was Reid who was making his mouth dry and tearing his heart apart. “He’s alive. He’s a vampire. Shit. There’s so much you don’t know. What the fuck is going on? I can’t...”

“It’s okay.” Milton rubbed Kane’s cheek with a calloused palm. Then he paused, his gaze teary, and said softly, “I have no idea what’s happening. I remember blowing that nest, and... that’s it.”

His gaze sharpened at Kane’s pained groan. “You remember how a vampire turns? Or were you a shit and lied when you swore that you read those books?”

He lied, and the old man knew it. “I read the fucking books.”

Milton smiled fondly. “Tell me, son.” His gaze kept flickering up to Reid and then back, lancing Kane with the seriousness in his eyes. Kane felt like a scolded boy. He wanted to curse, but all he could do was try to not hyperventilate pathetically.

“Don’t give in,” Kane whispered.

“What does that mean?”

“Fight.”

Kane didn’t remember shit about the books because he didn’t read them. He skimmed a few when Reid was showing symptoms and got the snippets, but he focused on information pertaining to born vampires.

He did know how a turning worked firsthand. Reid fought, and he nearly died. Kane would never forget that nightmarish evening. It’d been burned into his mind, replaying on repeat, making him suffer it anew when he dared to let his guard down.

“It can only take you if you let it,” Milton said, finding Kane’s bloody fingers and squeezing tightly.

“That bastard wasn’t strong enough to beat you. You can overcome the blood, son. If you fight.”

Countless streams of thoughts Kane couldn’t resist stole his thin breath.

Was this a dream? Was he already dead? Had he skipped that bridge to plunge headfirst into the never-ending nightmares, replaying his greatest wants, only to snatch them away from his cold, dead fingers? His dad couldn’t be alive, could he? Milton died in that crypt. Did Reid’s screams snap more than that rope around Kane’s wrists, his sanity too?

Milton took a deep breath, and then his hand left Kane’s fingers. On his hands and knees, Milton crawled to where Kane last stared into Reid’s blue eyes and failed him. Because he’s an asshole who thought he could take on the world. Truth be told, he was weaker than Reid ever could be.

He would always need the idiot more.

“Reid,” Milton said softly, with a quaver in his voice.

Kane shut his eyes and gritted his teeth against the waves of agony that were only growing. Reid resisted Kiernan’s blood for hours. He nearly died four times. Remembering that horrible ordeal only heightened Kane’s panic. He took in ragged breaths while flashes of that bathtub bathed in blood invaded his delirious thoughts.

If the idiot could do this, he could hold on.

The whimpering noise that escaped his mouth was enough to have him growl a moment later, angry at himself for giving in to the pain. He wasn’t weak. He was Kenneth Rainer, a formally badass fighter who made men shit themselves in fear. And now, he was a pitiful mess of agony writhing on the floor.

Fuck! Alma Sinclair could eat a bullet, then another. On second thought, Kane would take his sword, hacking away every limb the vampire didn’t deserve to keep. He would start with that creepy hand that felt up his leg. He would have liked to hear the vampire scream and beg for mercy.

The blood. The fangs in his neck. Alma’s influence was clawing at his mind, wanting him to give in.

Kane tried to keep fighting, but he was forgetting why he was resistant quickly.

“Kane,” Milton said, his voice whooshing in Kane’s ringing ears. “Open your eyes now!”

He obeyed instantly, Milton’s bellowing voice reaching him through the darkness. He was on his side, chest heaving and nearing vomiting. Bile was rising in his throat. He swallowed it down.

Milton was shifting, and he finished, straining, “I need you to get up and pick up that gun.”

“Fuck you.”

“Someone is coming,” Milton said sternly. “Reid will die if I leave him. You need to do this.”

Kane couldn’t breathe. He knew that if he gave in, the pain would go away. The idea was growing more tempting.

“Son,” Milton prompted, pained. “What are you going to do?”

Kane snarled, “I’m going to fight.”

“So pick up that gun and fight.”

Kane made a feral noise, gritting his teeth against an intense wave of pain.

He was going to kick Reid’s ass for not telling him that it hurt this badly to resist the change, because this molten agony was the worst pain he had ever faced in his life.

“Dad,” he whispered brokenly, shifting to his stomach. “It hurts. It fucking kills.”

“I know, son. Get up.”

“Screw you.”

“Fight.”

“Die,” Kane rasped weakly.

Milton snarled, “Get up, now.”

Kane slapped a palm on the pistol and lifted himself onto his shaking arms. He growled through his teeth, feeling more like an animal than a man. The adrenaline pumping through him helped to keep him conscious.

His chest heaved. He stared at the carpet, where his palms rested in a cold puddle of crimson. There was blood tapping against the back of his left hand, trickling from his neck. The bite must have been brutal to still be bleeding heavily. He hadn’t felt it at the time. Reid’s screams had masked his pain. Now, though, he felt it—a searing bone-deep hurt.

Milton’s soft murmuring is what gave him the courage to raise his weak head. Through his hazy vision, he saw Reid limp across Milton’s lap.

Reid was bloody and battered. His hands were untied. There was intense bruising on his wrists from how hard he fought. Kane felt pride, but he shouldn’t have. Reid wouldn’t give up. That’s what he loved about him... fuck, he must be close to death. That, or he had truly gone insane, spouting emotional bullshit that made his stomach churn and gaze burn.

He could hardly recognize Reid’s face. As he stared at the bruising and swelling, he had a fucked thought: Reid looked sadly handsome, like a depressing painting of a beautiful, dying prince.

Milton pressed his forearm against Reid’s mouth, gritting his teeth and flaring his nostrils. Then, Kane saw Reid had bitten into his dad’s wrist.

Choking on his thin breath, he hung his head, forgetting his own pain. A pitiful sob escaped him, anguish tearing him apart in ways he wouldn’t recover from.

Reid’s alive. Kane thought he... he refused to let his mind wander. He couldn’t let himself fall into despair now. He would save that breakdown for when he was alone and not in agony.

Milton said, “The door. Hurry.”

There was the distinct sound of footsteps approaching from outside the closed door. Gunshots. Shouts. He had to get moving, but his body was trembling and his limbs were weak.

Kane dragged himself to the low cabinet that was against the wall beside the door. He slumped against the grooved wood. The silver handles dug into his back. His stabbed flank was hurting, made worse by moving. His nostrils flared against the searing pain of the fire in his blood that kept rising.

If only that bastard could have healed him entirely. Some of his wounds had closed. Most of the blood that ran through his veins wanted to gain control and make him submit.

Alma’s body lay turned towards the bed, his limbs fallen awkwardly. He was dead. It should have brought Kane relief, but it didn’t. All he felt was pain and numbness.

Reid coughed, a horrible, grating noise from deep in his chest. He was stirring.

Damn it, Kane thought, just sleep.

He didn’t want him to witness this mess. He wanted him to wake up safe and healed. If Reid woke up now, he’d be in agony.

Go to sleep, idiot. You’re done fighting.