A light fog clings to the earth, winding its way through the small village nestled in the valley below. On either side of me, stretching in a long line, my brethren position themselves at the forest edge. I can smell their hunger and feel a similar stirring within myself as I sniff the air.
There are at least thirty humans slumbering in their homes below us. They are unaware of what danger is about to unleash upon them. Vladimir’s fingers twitch with excitement against my hip as he holds me close. Our breath hangs thick in the air as we wait and watch.
There is no movement from below, save for the rustling of a horse in its pen. Chickens perch on the lower branches of the trees, clucking in their sleep. Wisps of smoke rise from dwindling hearth fires into the clear night sky. A small stream bubbles at the base of the village. It will soon run red.
“It is time,” Vladimir whispers. His voice carries on the wind as he steps forward, motioning for me to keep pace with him.
I run alongside my brothers and sisters, moving like spectral ghosts in the night. Thatched wooden huts grow larger as we race down the hillside. There is no sound to our approach. No one will know we are here until it is too late.
Vladimir motions for those to my right to flank to the side. Those to our left follow suit while Vladimir and I drive straight into the heart of the town. My husband leaps upon an empty wagon seat and rides it to the ground when it teeters under his weight. He slides beneath a rope hung between two trees with garments drying overnight. I skirt around the tree and come to a halt three steps behind Vladimir as he stands before a closed hut door.
He reaches out and rubs his hands against the wooden doorframe. His chest rises and falls, not with exertion but with eagerness.
“Will you join me?” he asks without turning around.
I know that he expects me to say yes. To give him any other answer will mean hours of pain later as he tries once again to beat me into submission. But I have learned much over the years. The key to my survival is creating a distraction.
“There are only three humans within. I will choose another so you do not need to share.”
He glances back over his shoulder. His gaze is dark and piercing as he watches me, attempting to read my expression. When he sees nothing that would betray me, he nods.
“As you wish.”
With that, he pushes open the door and enters the darkness. I lower my gaze as the first scream rises into the night. It is that of a woman. She pleads for the lives of her children.
I turn and walk away.
As I move through the town, I listen to the shouts of alarm. Terror washes over this village as I pass by a blacksmith shop. His hammer lies in wait near a dwindling fire. I try not to think of how it will never be picked up again.
The lone horse I spied earlier rears up on its hind legs as I draw near to it.
“Shh.” I stretch out my hand to calm the beast. “I am not your enemy.”
Once Vladimir has finished his feasting, all will be dead. The humans drained of their blood and animals slaughtered for sport. All that will remain of this place come dawn will be ash.
I experience no remorse for those who die around me, for I have seen much death in my time. That is the way of things. As it will soon be for this beautiful animal that I now stroke.
Time no longer holds any beginning or end for me. It flows like water, at times with a subtle pressure that propels me forward. At others with enough force to move the mountains aside and drag me to the ocean’s depths. My life, if you can call it that, has been a culmination of terror. There are many regrets that haunt me. I have endured my fair share of betrayals.
Over the past thirty years, many things shifted in the world around me. Humans live, they fall in love, and then return to the dust from which they came. I remain the same, never aging and never growing. Like a face carved into stone.
As I stare into the eyes of the horse, it settles into the touch of my hand.
There was a time when my heart beat for another, but that age has faded into distant memory. Fane Dalca lied to me on the morning he fled Lucien’s vengeance. He never returned as he promised.
I watched for him each day, standing at my window and awaiting his arrival with expectant joy. For three decades I waited for him, yet he never came back for me.
I smile as the horse nudges my hand. Crouching down, I take hold of a salt cube that has fallen in the hay and offer it to him. This is real. This moment. The past is gone and with it the shadow of Fane’s touch and empty promises.
At one time I believed that my life could be set right again, that I could be free of my misery, but it, like myself, is unending. I was a fool to think that Fane would not betray me like the others. Why should he prove to be any different than my cruel, vile brethren?
My grip on the blade at my hip tightens as the horse licks at my palm in search of the last traces of salt. Its tongue is rough but nice.
With each day that has passed since Fane left, I have felt myself slipping farther into darkness. I try to resist, to remember the goodness that I once knew. This time of loneliness has taught me that there is nothing good left in this world. The light that Fane begged for me to cling to is almost extinguished.
I move my hand around to stroke the horse’s mane.
I loved Fane once, but no longer. Love is a weakness. He taught me that. The only thing I have left to embrace now is my fate.
“Forgive me.”
With a flash of steel, I slice through the tender hide of the horse’s neck. A spray of blood splashes me, soaking into the fabric of my dress. I close my eyes and whisper a prayer of peace for the animal. This quick death is a mercy that no other in this village will receive.
I stay with the horse until the end, stroking it as the light in its eye fades. Hanging my head, the first of my tears fall. “Rest now, my friend.”
At the sound of laughter, I look up to see Emeline’s snow white hair streaking through the night. She chases after a man fleeing in the nude. Some of the flesh on his back lies in thick strips that slap his side as he runs. Her pale rose lips are rich in color from his blood.
Cassius emerges from a hut across from me. His fine clothes glisten dark red in the moonlight. He pauses to straighten the ruffles at his wrists and then marches with purpose to the next house.
“I do so love it when they fight,” he says when he attempts to push open the door only to find it barred.
Stepping back into the moonlight, he crouches low and leaps onto the rooftop. Plucking strands of thatch from the roof, he drops it down a small chimney to ignite the fire within. “Roasted or fresh, I will have my meal.”
With a heavy sigh, I push back to my feet. When I close the pen door behind me and step into the dirt path, I spot Vladimir exiting the hut I that left him in. His teeth flash brilliant red in the moonlight when he smiles at me.
“You appear dressed for the occasion,” he calls out over the screams and laughter that surround us.
I look down to see that I too am covered in blood. “Is this not what you wanted?”
“Indeed it is. The night is truly ours. Come,” he stretches out his hand to me, “join me.”
Any hesitation on my part will spoil his mood. I learned long ago that defying him was a bad idea, but to ruin a hunt would mean suffering torment in Lucien’s dungeon.
“There is another hut that needs my attention. I do not wish to slow you down,” I call back.
“Then will you join me in the next?” There is a hint of hope in his voice, but he grows distracted. A woman fleeing with a bundle of cloth tucked in her arms escapes the hut beside him. Vladimir pounces.
Rubbing my fingers in the blood that stains my bodice, I relish its warm stickiness. My throat goes parched with need, but I push it aside.
The fallen animal deserves my respect.
The small sound of whimpering catches my ear, and I tilt my head to the side. Off to my right, I spy a lean-to building with stores of grain and hay. The sound appears to be comin
g from that direction. With silent steps, I move past Emory as he tears at his victim’s throat. The man's beard is so long that it conceals much of the gruesome wound.
Smoke begins to billow into the sky from the southern edge of the village. That will be Lucien’s doing. He does so love to watch things burn.
“Hello?” I call out, searching in the shadows.
There is no response beyond that of a cry from a small child. Moving through the dark, I follow drag marks matting the grass. I step into the barn and follow the blood trail. A girl, no more than five summers old, cradles the head of her dead mother in her lap. She cowers behind a large hay bale and whimpers when she sees me.
The woman’s torso is a patchwork of claw marks. Her eyes are vacant and unseeing, though if I were to touch her I would still feel a lingering warmth.
The effects of the blood make my fingers clench at my sides.
“Will you hurt me too?” the small voice asks.
Careful not to inhale as I gather my skirts, I sink down in front of the girl. There is a wide gash along her cheek. Her skin is pale and her eyes wide. She is in shock.
“No, little one.” I shake my head. “I will not hurt you.”
She stares at me for a long moment then looks down at her mother. The woman was once handsome, with blue eyes and soft yellow hair. Blood and soot stain her face now. The little girl begins to rock, and a gentle melody passes her lips.
“Are you alone?” I ask. One sniff of the air tells me that she is.
“Mama said run.” She wipes are her nose with her arm. “I missed her.”
The girl clings to her mother with desperation. “You should have run. She would want you to be safe.”
“Am I safe with you?” The hope filling her young face makes my chest pinch.
“No one is ever truly safe.”
I am forced to look away from the girl as the memory of my own sister’s death floats to the surface. Adela looked at me with those same pleading eyes on the night of her death. She trusted me to protect her, and I failed her in a monumental way. Lucien may have slit her throat, but I am the monster that fed on her.
“You are nice,” she whispers. Her small dirty hands smooth the hair back from her mother’s face.
If only she knew how far I am from nice.
“Your mama is gone, child. There is nothing for you here. You need to run.”
Her efforts will not be enough, but it is not my place to interfere with humans. Their fate is their own.
The girl’s chin sets in defiance. “She sleeps.”
“What of your papa?” I ask, hoping to distract her. If someone else yet lives, they might talk sense into the child. “Is he nearby?”
She points to the back of the barn. “The bad man ate him.”
My stomach twists with guilt. I had a hand in the horrors that have fallen on this innocent town. Though I was not the one who slew her family, I did nothing to stop it either.
Death is a given if she remains here. Someone will hear her heartbeat and come. As I stare back down into eyes brimming with tears, I find that I cannot leave her to such a fate. Not when I have the ability to save her.
“What is your name, little one?” I crouch down beside her.
When the girl does not answer, I reach out and try to place a hand on her arm, but she flinches and cries out. I wait for her to calm once more before trying again.
“My name is Roseline.”
“I am Brigita,” she whispers finally.
“That is a lovely name.” I notice the way the girl still clings to her mother, drenching her dress in fresh blood. It will not be easy to separate the two. “Do you think your mama would be more comfortable in her bed?”
Tears leak from her eyes as she nods, then rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “It is cold.”
“That it is. Should we move her inside?”
Brigita’s lower lip begins to tremble. “She is too heavy.”
“Not for me.” I smile down at her with a warmth that I have not felt in a very long time. “Will you let me help you?”
She clutches her mother tighter to her chest as she runs her eyes over my own bloody dress. “It will hurt.”
“Not at all, little one. I promise to be very gentle. We will have her in bed before you can finish your song.”
“Now why would you want to spoil my fun?” a voice calls from behind me.
Brigita stiffens and tries to push back, but the weight of her mother in her lap is too much. Frantic mewling sounds rise in her throat. The scent of her fear is overwhelming.
I fight to ignore her tantalizing scent as I turn to see Marcus towering behind me. He is tall in stature. Though thin of frame, he is still an imposing figure emerging from the dark. His black felt top hat, worn around the edges from use, sits at an angle over his forehead.
“She fears you,” I reply, rising to place myself between him and the girl.
“As she should.” He grins, tapping his finger against the sword hilt at his side. It is not drawn. There is no need for weapons.
His pale skin appears to glow in the moonlight streaming through the barn door. When he takes a step forward, I tense and his smile fades.
“You hold no claim on this kill. I had the other family members. By all rights, she belongs to me.”
I face off with him, bracing myself. Marcus is a skilled fighter, but I have learned much over the past thirty years. “Let the girl live.”
“Live?” He laughs. “Do not tell me that your love of humans still persists?”
“She is a child, Marcus. She is innocent.”
“They are all innocent.” He rolls his eyes. “That is what makes them taste so good.”
My heartbeat thrums in my ears as the vision of my sister’s lifeless body blurs with the face of this sweet girl. I have no right to interfere. Marcus is correct about his right to the girl, but I cannot let him touch her. I will not.
He leans in closer, drawing my focus back as he sniffs the air. His upper lip curls with disgust. “You reek of horse. Do you think this will fool Vladimir or the others? They will know that you have failed again to hunt as one of us. That will not end well for you.”
Marcus’s taunting smile makes my blood begin to boil.
“It will end well enough if there is no witness left behind to tell my tale.”
The girl behind me screams when I attack Marcus without warning. Her cries will not stand out among the wailing of those dying in her village.
I leap onto a hay bale and use the rafters overhead to swing up onto his back when he tries to duck out of my way. With only a split second before he grabs hold of me, I plunge my blade deep into Marcus’s neck. A quick twist of the dagger severs his spinal cord. Blood pours from the wound when I yank my blade free and jump back to the ground. His body collapses.
My hands quake as I step away from his outstretched hand. I pause to wipe his blood from my hands.
I had to kill him. There was no other way to spare Brigita’s life. Though death has become commonplace in my life, I have worked hard to keep my own hands clean...until tonight.
If Vladimir discovers that I have killed one of my brothers, I will pay dearly.
“Does he sleep too?” Brigita asks from behind the bloody hands she covers her face with.
“Yes, little one. He is sleeping too.” I am ill with fear as I sink down beside Marcus. What have I done? How could I let this moment of weakness destroy everything I have fought so hard to gain?
“Be a good girl and look away now.”
I am careful not to show Marcus’s final moments to the girl as I use my blade to saw through his neck. Once his head is free from his body, I stab the dagger deep through the top of his head.
Fire will finish him off.
“Do not look yet, little one,” I warn when I hear a rustling behind me.
With ease, I lift Marcus’s body from the ground and toss him back further into the grain barn. His head goes sailing to the
back wall. I move outside and seize a handful of thatch from the girl’s home. When I dip the ends into the flames of the burning house, the thatch catches fire. I walk along the barn, setting it alight. As soon as the fire eats its way across the roof, I hurry back inside.
“We must go before the others come. Your mother would want you to be safe, little one. Will you come with me?”
“Mama come too.”
“No, sweet child. Your mama needs to rest. She is sleeping, remember?”
She solemnly nods her head. When I kneel down beside Brigita and set her mother with care on the floor, she lifts her arms to me. I draw her up into my embrace, cradling her to my chest. “I am going to take you to a place where nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”
“How far?”
I look into the dark woods and fill with uncertainty. How far is too far for Vladimir’s reach?
“Rest, child. We will be there soon enough.”
“Will you stay with me?” When she nuzzles into my neck, the first of many tears begin to fall. She stares back at her mother’s body as I begin to run, unable to give her the answer that she needs.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Miles was born and raised in a military family but has now settled with her husband and son in South Carolina. She is also the author of Defiance Rising, Relinquish, Forbidden, Reckoning Redemption, Evermore and Captivate. To learn more about her and her books, visit AmyMilesBooks.com
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