A/N: I wrote Blood That Binds on January 23rd, 2013, and since then it has been a year and a half. With over 10,000 views, 41 reviews, and 70,000+ words, I'm pleased to say that it went farther than I ever expected.

However, I also realize that a great deal of you have favourited/followed this story, and asked me in the past to update it. I'm releasing this author's note and chapter section as a part of Blood That Binds so any of you who receive email notifications will know it wasn't abandoned.

I stopped writing as frequently because my writing style changed, but I didn't want to sudden begin writing in a different manner when I was already 15+ chapters in. In the year that I wrote her, Zarissis as a character changed immensely, and without the proper character building, I could not reflect that in my writing.

Therefore, Blood That Binds has been rewritten in an improved and more developed version, still in progress, called Fear Not The Night. I would ask that anyone who likes this story to please take a look at it, as it is a source of pride and I'm far happier with the chemistry that is developing between the characters. It isn't totally different, but you will notice some changes in the behaviors of Zarissis, as well as her back story. I've included an excerpt as a way to finally wrap up the rest of Blood That Binds:

Zarissis sighed and blew a strand of red hair from her eyes before grunting unwillingly. She was never really certain what women found attractive about binding their bodies with corsets, yet here she was, arms splayed outwards as her mother viciously tore at the laces on the death-trap, her ribs threatening to burst.

The only valid reason she had for wearing the damn thing was because oh dear Tristeran was coming to visit. More specifically, he was taking her out to dinner. This was the man her mother had painstakingly picked out for her to marry. "You'll bring honor on the family," she had said.

Honor. Yeah, right. Zarissis could hardly imagine how much honor she'd bring married to a man who couldn't lift a spoon to his mouth without spilling the entire contents of his bowl over his shirt and lap, not to mention that he was simply the dullest human being she ever had the discomfort of being in the same room with. If he wasn't talking about ale and drinking, he was boasting over his father's income and the recent profit his father made as a blacksmith. Smithing in itself is an honorable trade, and one Zarissis respected greatly; however, Tristeran did not have the talents nor the interests of a smith, and instead chose to boast only over money and expensive furnishings. Zarissis wasn't certain if he even possessed any talents.

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of the whole situation was that her marriage was arranged, yet Zarissis's mother had married for love. In fact, she loved the man so much she dishonored her family and married several classes below herself, from a noblewoman to a simple merchant's wife. Her family had disowned her, but Zarissis supposed the price must have been worth it, given that she was here. Yet somehow, Zarissis sometimes doubted her mother's love for her father. Occasionally, the woman scowled at him like he was the most despicable human being she'd ever seen, only to be replaced with a friendly and loving gaze a few moments later. It had puzzled the girl most of her life.

Though it was possible that the woman did notmarry for love. Rather than bearing her father's family name, Zarissis was given her mother's family name. She had assumed that she was born out of wedlock, her mother giving birth before the two were married, although the older she got the more she began to question whether he was truly even her father. His hair was platinum blonde, her mother's a dingy brown, yet Zarissis had hair the color of a roaring fire, regularly kept in a long and unusually thick braid that dangled over her shoulder. Maybe Zarissis was actually the bastard child to another man, and her mother's marriage to her father was merely an act to cover up her sin.

She frowned. Even if that was the case, Zarissis resented that she was expected to accept an arranged marriage. She doubted she even wanted to be a wife and mother at all. There was so much of the world to see, so many adventures to experience. Perhaps she wanted to be a mage and study at the Arcane University – she was a Breton, magic was in her blood – or perhaps she wished to join the Fighter's Guild and be a fearsome warrior, maybe even try her hand at Arena. She had read in a book about the Bloodworks beneath the Arena and how men's blood had flowed for so long down its floors that the area was permanently stained red. An illustration had accompanied the description, and the gore had horrified Zarissis so much that she had to close it. However, curiosity overcame her, and every night for a week she turned back to that page to gaze over the scene. It made her pulse quicken to imagine herself there, among the carnage, the fantasy far more entertaining than she expected. Afterwards, her face would burn with shame knowing that the idea excited her. It was wrong and immoral to delight in bloodlust – thus was as Zarissis had been taught.

But had not men killed for love, for joy, for anger, and for the thrill of the chase for centuries? If it was so wrong, then why did so many succumb to it? Why did men go to war for their countries, and why was Arena such a widely accepted and treasured sport?

Zarissis frowned as her mother tightened the last of the laces on her corset. It would never be her place to know or understand the meaning of war and death – her place in society was set. She was to marry a man of her class, bear children, and raise them to be good little daughters and sons.

She slipped her arms into the dull green dress as her mother pulled it over her head, clasping the buttons together in the front. It was dirty and worn, being one of the only nice dresses she owned.

"There, don't you just look darling?" Her mother smoothed her hair down and stepped aside to give Zarissis a view of the mirror.

"I look the same as I always look," she deadpanned, "only wearing a dirty green dress waiting to have dinner with an idiot."

The woman slapped her arm, a menacing glare spreading over her face. "Zarissis, I have gone through all the trouble to find the right husband for you! You scared the last three suitors off; you will behave yourself this time."

Zarissis felt the last three were less despicable than the current.

"My daughter, my only daughter is twenty years old and still unmarried! Most women your age are already wives with children!" She threw her hands in the air while she railed, walking over to the other side of the bedroom to grab a ribbon for her daughter's hair. "Soon you'll be old and fat and no man will want you then. What will you do then, huh?" Her spindly hands seized the braid, resulting in a pained cry from Zarissis. Her fingers deftly laced the green ribbon around the braid in a crisscross pattern before tying it in a perfect bow.

The little redhead merely sighed under her breath, not willing to prolong the rant. The quicker the day could end, the better. She would really prefer nothing more than to curl up in bed with a book and put aside all this meaningless nonsense with suitors for another time.

From the other room, someone banged on the front door with a heavy fist. Her mother's head perked up, eyes glittering, before darting off to let the man in. That would certainly be Tristeran, and despite the fact that Zarissis relished the opportunities to be taken to eat with food that wasn't burnt by her mother, she wasn't too happy to see the man her mother intended her to be with.

It was going to be a very long night.