Henry’s words broke the comfortable silence. “It seems we are moving once more.”
I turned to face him. “When?”
“Soon. Mother is growing anxious. Another attack occurred in town the other night, and she is considering moving to a place with more people, fewer trees, perhaps by the ocean.”
“Winter is nearly over. The Blood Hunters will not be out as much,” I protested. “I was under the impression that you wanted to join the Slayers?”
“Mother would never allow me to,” he said. His tone was final. “And it is not in my blood. I am just … mortal. How could I stand a chance against the Blood Hunters? You know what happens to most people who try to fight them without the right lineage.”
I couldn’t argue with that. The Slayers were not regular huntsmen, even though anyone with the right skill and training could choose to take up arms against Blood Hunters. Slayers were different. They werebredfor it, forged downcountless generations, their bloodlines meticulously honed to give them strength and agility far beyond the average human. Their bodies were faster, more resilient, and more deadly. It was a rare gift, however. Not something anyone could acquire. Anyone could train to be a Slayer, but only a few were born for it. Unfortunately, my father was not one of them. He trained from youth to be a Slayer, and damn was he a good one. But not good enough to survive.
“I sound like a coward,” Henry continued, his voice quieter now. “I do not have the bloodline …”
I sighed, reaching up to gently brush the soft stubble on his chin, a tender gesture that felt like goodbye. “I am going to miss this.”
He gave a faint smile, his hand cupping mine for a moment before his gaze turned serious again. “Me too.” He kissed me sweetly, and I deepened it, climbing back on top of him.
We lost track of time, the rhythm of our kisses syncing with the passing hours. The once-distant songs of birds shifted and transformed into the hooting of owls.
“It is late. I must go!” I exclaimed, quickly putting my coat back on. I knew my mother would be upset with me for returning home after dark. She was probably worried.
“Do you want me to escort you home?” Henry offered, patting his mussed hair back into place.
“I will manage,” I assured him. “Same time tomorrow?”
Henry smiled. “Suits me well.” I stared at him for a moment longer and entertained the thought of us as a couple. If either of us wanted something more, we might make a good pair. But for now, I was happy with this, our little rendezvous in the forest.
I arrived home, emerging from the woods to the comforting glow of the kitchen light shining through the windows. It was strange, though, that the bed linens were still draped over the line outside, an unusual sight for this hour.
I walked around the front of the house and found the door ajar. My mother’s book lay face down on the chair, marking her place. I hesitated for a moment, dread settling in my stomach as I pushed open the front door and was met with a sight of crimson red.
A surge of heat flooded through me as I collapsed to the floor, my limbs trembling with shock. My mother lay sprawled across the kitchen tiles, her body surrounded by blood that seeped into every corner of the room. The walls and ceiling were splattered with red.
“Mama!” I cried out, my voice choked with fear as I crawled toward her, my legs refusing to support me. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum threatening to explode. My hands slipped in the crimson as I made my way to her.
How could so much blood belong to a single person? Is this truly hers?
I reached my mother and pulled her head into my lap, my hands trembling with desperation as I cradled her face. Her once vibrant eyes stared lifelessly into the void, her skin marred with scratches and bite marks. I touched her cheek, my heart sinking with dread as I traced the gaping wound on her neck. My fingers came away slick. My breath caught, sharp as a blade in my chest, and I recoiled. I clutched her cold hand in mine, and my vision blurred as tears steamed down my face. The emptiness of her touch sent a wave of devastation crashing over me. My cries reverberated through the kitchen, the raw sound of my grief settling into the painful truth of what had happened.
“No, no, no, Mama, please wake up!” I cried. My voice filled with anguish as I rocked her. This could not be real. It had to be a nightmare.
Guilt washed over me. My chest felt tight, and I had to fight the urge to vomit. How could I have been so selfish, thinking only of my own desires? My heart twisted with regret, wishing desperately for a chance to turn back and shield her from harm.
Or take her place in death.
I planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m so, so sorry.” I sobbed into her hair, and a crash came from outside. I froze and stared wide-eyed at the open door into the darkness of the night. I knew something terrible lurked in the shadows.
I thought about the shed outside, where my father’s hunting shotgun was kept. I carefully slid my mother’s body off my lap and stood up. I took a step and slipped in blood, crashing down onto my left knee. Pain bloomed at the impact, but I ignored it, crawling toward the front door, a crimson trail behind me as I inched forward.
With great effort, I braced myself on the frame, slowly pulling myself upright. My knee felt weak as if it might give out at any moment, but I kept my eyes fixed on the shed outside, waiting for any sign of movement.
I took a deep breath, then hiked up my skirt and sprinted toward the shed. It felt as if I wasn’t in control of my body but rather propelled by an external force into the night. Each step sent a jolt of pain through my now swollen knee, but I ignored it. Reaching the shed, I flung open the door and hurriedly closed it behind me.
My father’s shotgun hung mounted on the wall. I loaded it with trembling hands, beads of sweat and tears dripping off my face as I clutched it tightly, stifling my breathing, determined to be quiet.
I peered out of the shed and saw something in the distance. His skin was pale, illuminated by the moonlight, and his incisors were fully extended. He looked at me, and even in the dim light, I could see my mother’s blood covering his jaw and clothing.
A Blood Hunter.
