The Vampire and the Vampire Hunters' Son [Frerard]

To Begin

Frank's family have been at war with vampires for decades. His grandfather, the legendary George Iero, had hunted down and killed no less than seven vampires before being ambushed and torn to shreds by a very pissed off widowed mate. George's own grandfather was the first vampire hunter in their family, each of the men being given a ceremonial weapon on their twenty-first birthday, which had been passed down.

Frank's twenty-first birthday was looming, and he had been dreading it since he was twelve. He just wanted to be a normal guy; he had no interest in hunting vampires, and he had much less interest in being dead. Vampires were dangerous and terrifying beings, and killing them would be harder than any math exam he'd ever taken.

He'd been at his cousin Richie's birthday party, the day he'd turned twenty-one, and there had been so many people, so much weird chanting, and then Richie had been given a stake, a kiss on the head from his grandmother, before being sent out to make his first kill.

Richie never came back.

Frank was sure that he wouldn't either.