The Immortal Kiss

Chapter 3 "The encounter" Jin

The news anchors were buzzing, sensationalizing last night's kill. "Blah, blah, blah." A bunch of alarmists. I was doing society a favor, really. Their blood was foul anyway. Every notification pinging on my phone only grated my nerves, each one a reminder of their overblown reaction to just another murder. It's not that deep. So what if they were wealthy, went to the best schools, and rubbed elbows with high society? Who cares?

With a sigh, I muted my notifications, flicked off the TV, and headed downstairs. There he was, the old man, parked on the couch like he owned the place, oblivious to it all. I knew he owned the whole damn place, but that didn't stop the irritation simmering beneath my skin. I cleared my throat, leaning against the doorway of the living room, arms crossed. He looked over, his face settling into that familiar disappointed expression. The kind I'd seen a thousand times, like a father looking down on his wayward child.

"Have you gotten it together today?" he asked, voice sharp. "We agreed—no drinking human blood."

I rolled my eyes but didn't look away. He wasn't my dad, not really. Just an old man who'd found me bleeding out in some forgotten alleyway and, for whatever reason, decided to save me by turning me into a vampire. A questionable decision, but hey, no complaints here. I still looked incredible, after all.

I wanted to tell the old man I only did it because there was money involved. It wasn't like I was actually planning to kill anyone. Besides, one of them was a pretty hot chick, maybe Korean or something. She had caught my eye. I was thinking about spending the night with her, not draining her dry. Then again, if I had stayed the night with her, she'd probably be too shaken to walk straight after experiencing what I can do. Not everyone can handle that level of talent. But does it really matter? People all start to blur together after a few centuries.

And before you get all judgy, let's be clear: am I a bad person? Yeah, probably. But you're still here, reading every word, aren't you? So, maybe I'm interesting enough to make you stick around.

The old man's face darkened as he rose to his feet, his cane striking the ground with a sharp crack. The entire world seemed to hold its breath, freezing in place. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe; my chest tightened like an iron grip had wrapped around my lungs, and I collapsed to my knees, gasping.

Even blind, he didn't miss a beat. His other senses were sharper than any blade—and right now, I was on the receiving end of his wrath. And damn, it hurt like hell.

My nails scraped into the hardwood as I clawed at the air, struggling for a breath that wouldn't come. It felt like ice was snaking through my veins, my throat clamped shut as if something thick and choking had lodged itself inside. I looked up at the old man, my vision blurring, almost tearing up. He looked furious.

He must've caught the news—damn it, I wish he hadn't. Or, well, heard it. I tried to force words out, but my throat was locked tight. My eyes flared a deep, menacing red as I fought against his grip, desperate to break free. But he was stronger—so much stronger. Hell, the man had centuries on me; he'd been around since the Victorian era, steeped in ancient power and wisdom. Meanwhile, I was barely a product of the '90s, barely scratching the surface of what he knew, what he could do.

Frustration surged, and I slammed my fist into the hardwood with a crack, leaving a deep dent in the floor. Anger burned through me like wildfire—I hated how easily he had me under his thumb, how good he was at this.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the pressure vanished. My breath rushed back, and for a split second, I thought maybe I'd broken through, maybe my power was finally evolving. But then I saw it—pity in his expression, a hint of sympathy. He'd let me go because he felt sorry for me.