Created by blood

Chapter 8

Two nights later

Heavy footsteps, void of sound, from the slush-filled world carry Reid's body forward as he makes the long journey back to Pembroke Hospital. He had hoped to return yesterday, but some of the jobs he had been asked to do were more... Taxing on the mind than others, leaving him in a headspace that was unfit for "polite" company.

Jonathan's pace slows, his body coming to a halt as he looks to the sky, its offensive sleet doing nothing for his fowl mood as he opens a fresh pack of smokes. He could handle the rain as the sky's cold tears only assaulted the earth for a short time, vanishing without a trace hours later. But sleet? The sleet was unforgiving as it coated the world in its slushy, freezing hands that stuck around longer than it needed to.

The metal click of a lighter and sharp inhale of smoke is his only company as he organises his thoughts; he had come to terms with a lot the previous night, thanks in part to a "man" by the name of Father Tobias Whitaker. Father Whitaker was, despite the name, not an ordained priest. He was an extremist who hardly deserved to be called a man.

Jonathan had the displeasure of speaking with him yesterday evening after the bloke had inserted himself into Reids and Clayton's conversation about the state of the district. It was... To say the least, a challenge to maintain decorum as many of the man's views were barbaric, outdated, and, if Reid was being frank, they were downright appalling.

The vampire may be an actual monster in the literal sense, but the Father's idea of healing the sick with "cleansing fire" marked him as something much worse, for he had no remorse... Yet for how much he disliked the man, Reid did have to thank him, as not only did he have a third name for his new "list", but the job Jonathan had accepted to simply shut the man up gave him time to reflect. Not only time to reflect but time to accept some things he had been pushing down for the last month or so.

The assignment had taken him to the cemetery, a place he was careful to avoid as not only was it the location his Father was buried in name, but it was where his dear sweet sister lay. Slain by his hand when he first awoke all those weeks ago. Many a moon, he had let it haunt him; he had pushed down every thought, every memory of his sister. It was for her; he had sworn to feed only on the rats that scurried along London's ground. It was for her he had, even as a mortal man, denied the desires of the black seed in his heart, planted long before his Father ever met his Mother.

But now? Now Jonathan Reid no longer blamed himself as he knew it was nothing more than an accident. An accident born out of his lack of control at the time. An accident that, if he worked with his unlucky symbiotic fiend, should never happen again. This act of self-forgiveness and acceptance allowed him to fully embrace not only the beast itself but all that came with it... Which led to the creation of "the list."

It sounded sinister, yes, and the requirements for a name to end up on this list needed... Refining, to say the least, but it would allow them to indulge in what their bodies and creatures really wanted... No, what they really required. Sure, skals would still make up the largest portion of their "diet." As would the odd rat or two if there was no time to hunt... But mortal blood? The rich, decadent oxygen and nutrient-rich blood that flowed in the veins of a healthy mortal would no longer be a fever dream.

Jonathan had tried to deny just how much their bodies needed it over other sources, simply chalking it up to a want instead of a need, but between his pet's ability to accept the hunger, his bodies reaction to the hunters blood and the near-constant reminders from Edgar... Well, he couldn't do that anymore... Besides, how could he call himself a proud Reid and scientist if he continued to reject the facts?

"Save who you can, when you can. But understand that all are not worth saving." He softly recites Odessa's words as he approaches the hospital's front gate. Concerning Clay Cox, Father Whitaker and Cadogan bates... You've no idea how true your Father's words were, my dear. Reid muses with a subtle smirk as he rolls the scents of the hospital's courtyard around on his tongue.