Before the Bond (Bound by Blood #1)

Chapter 1

Olivia

Two minutes ago, I thought he was dead.

A tall man loomed over me, his hands pinning my wrists hard into the grass. It’s at that moment that I realized how much I regret taking this assignment.

The sunset tried to push through the fog. It didn’t.

Figures.

The assignment at Greyhollow arrived the way all new ones did: a phone call, a name, and a fruitless back-and-forth with my employer about her tendency to drop me in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t argue.

It’s temporary. Just like everything else. That’s kind of the point.

In a couple of days I’d be starting at the local walk-in clinic. Twelve weeks, then on to wherever the agency sent me next. It wasn’t the assignment I wanted — too quiet, too small, too far from the kind of facility where things actually happened — but it was available.

I arrived in Greyhollow only a couple hours prior. I didn’t have the full picture just yet, but driving through the town told me three things: it was old, quiet, and definitely wasn’t glamorous. The fog swallowed most of it. Lights blinked out early.

As it got darker, I decided to head inside and get my things in order. I didn’t get another coffee and risk spending the night alone with my thoughts.

I looked around. The rental cottage was… fine. More rustic than the listing made it sound. Wood panels that need refinishing. Too much Americana on the shelves. The fireplace didn’t work.

Of course it didn’t.

In the bedroom, I headed toward the two bags sitting on the quilted mattress.

One was a suitcase, the standard belongings: clothes, scrubs, a collection of travel soaps and toothpastes I never seem to run out of.

The other was my go-bag, a bright red duffel that I could quickly spot in any situation.

It held a compact version of my essentials, alongside extra precautions.

First-aid. Flashlight. Anything that fell under the category of “emergency.”

Always ready.

I sighed as I went over my documents and confirmed the details. A nearby brochure the landlord gave me had a small map of Greyhollow. I’d look at it tomorrow.

Normally, I moved through this kind of thing faster. Now I was dragging, flipping through the papers like I had all the time in the world. I could blame the drive, but I knew better.

I moved slower than usual.

I always got like this when it was quiet. It was always worse in a town than a city, too. When you moved around, you didn’t make connections. No one missed you when you left, and you’re perpetually a stranger.

When you kept moving, you didn’t build anything. No roots. No one expecting you to stay.

I was good with patients. Good with coworkers. Good at making people feel like I’d be around. I just wasn’t someone who stayed.

Better that way.

But it’s all temporary, I thought.

That’s supposed to be the benefit for these kinds of things. It’s why I chose this career, for crying out loud. No one stayed in your life, true, but that also meant you didn’t get attached.

I didn’t let anything stay. That’s the point.

You could enjoy things and move without hesitation. You didn’t need to stand still with your own thoughts, and regrets, or worry about whether change was a bad thing. Change was never a bad thing if it was the only constant in your life.

However, an advantage did not feel so pleasant when the reason you wanted to keep moving seemed to follow you around.

I shut the thought down.

After I finished my documents, I made my way to the kitchen. The fluorescent light made the colorful tile backsplash look a lot sadder than it should have.

I noticed a window near the area’s backdoor. Through it, I caught a glimpse of the treeline. Not even the fog could hide it. I frowned. The last thing I wanted was to look at the trees directly.

I made a motion to pull the blinds down. The faster I could retire, the faster I could wake up and keep myself busy.

But then I saw it.

The light from the kitchen window hit something in the long stretch of grass in the backyard.

It’s the body of a man, face-down. Still as stone.

My instincts kicked in.

I rushed outside into the backyard, the cold air hitting me hard. Whatever mood I’d been in a second ago was gone. Time to shift gears.

I was already moving before I thought about it.

I knew what I was. Seven years of travel nursing meant I walked into rooms that would make most people freeze. Freezing was not something you’re allowed to do. I assessed the situation, and I found a way to fix it.

This was the part where you stopped being a person and started being a checklist. Was the scene safe? Could I reach the patient? Airway. Breathing. Circulation.

I looked at the surrounding area. Safe enough. Not that I expected anything, but you always needed to be sure. I crossed the yard in my socks — I didn’t even think about shoes — and dropped to my knees beside him.

Up close, the man’s condition looked even more dire.

He was large. Broad-shouldered, long-limbed, and eerily motionless.

His dark hair was damp from the grass and mist. Mud caked along his forearms, his bare feet, and the back of his neck.

No shirt, either. Instead, he was wrapped in something that was probably a blanket before something tore it apart.

“Hey,” I said loudly. “Are you okay?”

I reached out and pressed my hand flat against his back, ready to shake him awake.

The moment my fingers touched his skin, I felt it. A wave of overwhelming emotion ran over me. My body flushed with heat. My pulse rose. I could feel my breath sharpen and narrow. It wasn’t fear, that much I was sure of. Whatever mechanical inclinations I had earlier now kicked into high gear.

You’re running out of time, my brain supplied.

I wasn’t about to argue.

I used all the force I had to flip him over, careful not to move his neck and head too much. His airway didn’t seem obstructed, but he did seem pale. His bare chest made no movement, either.

Damn it!

I pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, praying for a pulse.

Nothing.

The feeling from earlier pressed through the edges of my entire body. My fingers buzzed. My temples throbbed like there was a steamhammer slamming into the sides of my skull. The energy had nowhere to go and it only made me more tense.

You can’t lose him, the voice reiterated. Not this one. You just can’t.

It was only then that I realized his skin was burning hot. Not fever-hot or the familiar heat of infection, but something that seemed to come from somewhere even deeper inside.

I pressed harder against his neck, shifted my fingers, tried again. Still nothing.

There was a tightness in my own chest I didn’t have time to examine.

I started compressions.

This was the part they didn’t tell you in textbooks — CPR was physical. Not a gentle push. You used your whole body, enough force to move through skin, muscle, bone, and actually moved the heart.

I placed my hands on the man’s sternum, arms straight. I pressed down until I could feel bones crack. If you weren’t in the business, this part would jar you.

I pushed against the man’s chest in a fast but clear rhythm. I counted mentally, my mind clear of any other thought.

One, two, three, four.

The grass’s moisture soaked through my socks. The ground dug into my knees.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

I tilted his head back, lifted his chin, and sealed my mouth over his. The scalding heat from his body went through me, but I ignored it. I breathed into him. Watched his chest. Waited.

Nothing.

Come on.

The dread built with every second he made no response.

One, two, three —

Not this one.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

Not this one.

I pulled my mouth from his face. I was ready to resume the next round of compressions until an enormous force hit my palms. A heartbeat.

One enormous, shuddering beat that moved up through my hands and into my arms and made me flinch.

Then there was another. And another. Strong and rhythmic and powerful enough that I could feel it against my own sternum where I’d been leaning in.

Not a weak flutter. Not the tentative restart of a heart trying to remember its job.

A full, driving, absolute beat — like it had always been there and had simply chosen this moment to announce itself.

I pulled back to check his pulse and breathing again.

That was when his eyes snapped open.

They were red.

Bright, red irises stared straight at me, penetrating through the growing darkness around us.

The moment his eyes opened, every part of him oriented toward me. Not to the yard or the trees or the fog — to me, specifically.

Normally, I would ask the patient questions. If they were okay, their general orientation, any physical sensations… But I merely froze.

Relief swept through me without warning. Every part of my body trembled. Tears welled up in my eyes.

There was something else there, too. Something that landed in my chest like the answer to a question I hadn’t known I was asking — and underneath it, stranger than anything else, a feeling like recognition.

The only thing that snapped me out of it was what happened next.

The man leapt forward.

In a split second, the world spun and my body pressed against the ground. Firm hands gripped my wrists tightly.

I looked at him. The man was right above me, fully pinning me down.

A shaky gasp escaped me. My heart raced so fast I could hear it.

Despite the cold grass pressing against me, the only thing I could feel was the irrevocable warmth radiating from my patient-turned-assailant.

“W-what…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

I knew for a fact that people who were unconscious didn’t always act rationally. Many experienced delirium and some were more defensive than others.

I forced my breathing to slow. Post-resuscitation confusion. Adrenaline spike. He didn’t know what he was doing.

I finally met his gaze again.

Whatever words I had somehow left me.

The man’s brow creased. His molten red eyes stared at me intensely but I sensed no trace of aggression or hostility. His lips parted. A strained voice came out.

“It’s been seven years…” the man murmured. “And I finally found you.”

The words didn’t make sense. I couldn’t recall ever seeing his face, let alone when I arrived in Greyhollow less than twenty-four hours ago.

He’s just confused.

But it didn’t seem like it. Everything about what he was doing didn’t register as the actions of someone confused. It felt focused. Intentional.

I swallowed.

“I think you have me confused with someone else.”

The man didn’t reply. He merely looked at me. His grip didn’t ease up. Only a few seconds passed, but it felt like an eternity.

The man looked like he was about to speak again.

Wind swept in from the east. The trees rustled loudly. The man’s head snapped in the sound’s direction. His eyes narrowed at the distance.

I finally felt the man’s hands release my wrists. As swiftly as he pinned me down, he got off of me and straightened up. The torn-up blanket clung against him like a shadow.

I clambered up from the ground. I attempted to stand, but my legs shook underneath me.

The man looked at me once more.

The heat I felt only intensified. I could feel my own skin burning now.

Within a split second, the man’s frame blurred into the darkness. I heard the thud of heavy footsteps before the sound vanished alongside the rest of him. The gap his movement left in the fog quickly closed.

And just like that, he was gone.

I sat in the wet grass for longer than I cared to admit.

Even as more minutes passed, every part of me was still on the edge.

I tried to replay the moment in my head. I tried to find a way I could explain it. Not the event. Not his expression. Not even the strange voice that egged me on earlier to make sure I did what needed to be done.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have an explanation.

There was only the memory of what happened, and the man’s burning, red eyes.