She growled, baring her set of needle-like fangs, sending a chill through his veins. They were eerily similar to his first encountered demon in his father’s smithy, but far more terrifying. Larger, calamitously so.
Oriana had spoken of other worlds. She had said all the demons he had vanquished were not from this world, which could only mean that she wasn’t either.
She charged; he stood firm. When she barreled into him, hands wrapping around his throat, he bore his toes into the ground, maintaining his upright position, and brought his arms up in a high arch, before bringing them down hard on hers, releasing her grip. She shrieked and he quickly fell to the ground, swinging a leg around in the same movement and effectively swiping her legs out from under her. He turned and watched as she fell, but then she stopped midair as if invisible hands had caught her and slowly pushed her upright once again.
“I’m not that easy to knock down,” she hissed. Her feet never fully touched back on the solid earth; she remained suspended slightly above it.
“What are you?” he whispered.
A malevolent leer spread across her features. “I am the bloodlust.”
“What does that mean?” he questioned, muscles tensed.
“Too many questions,” she snarled, lunging so quickly that Garren had no time to react. Before he knew it, he was slammed down to the mossy earth, pushing the air from his lungs. The White Demon was atop him, holding him down, her nails digging through his leathers and tunic and into his shoulders beneath, drawing blood.
She cackled as her nails dug into him further. “I will enjoy ripping you apart, feasting on your blood.” She sniffed the air above his bloodied shoulder, fangs lengthening and readied to puncture through him, but then she hissed, pushing herself away from him as if she had been burned.
“Filth!” she shrieked. “You are tainted by the gods.”
Garren stared at her in disbelief, unable to speak. He rose, looking down at the punctures still bleeding on his shoulders. They should have healed within seconds, but somehow this place–the bizarre, mystical forest–did something to him, keeping the pierced flesh open to spill his blood. Garren wiped away the red trickling down his leathers. When he looked up to find her, the White Demon was gone.
“Oriana!” Garren’s voice boomed, echoing through the forest and the mist.
17
Oriana
1st day of the Twelfth Month, 1774
Oriana stood at the edge of cliffs overlooking Shipwreck Cove. The sea churned below, crashing into the sides of the rocky slope and spraying water in a mist that cooled her heated skin.
She was still reeling from the previous night, how Garren had watched as she changed into her horrid, bloodthirsty monster. And from what she had learned of him as well.
Haldis had known from the first day of being in his presence, but now Oriana truly believed it. Garren was not of this world. Even Orrick had sensed it, but it wasn’t until now that she had fully realized it. Funny that it was her darkness that recognized it with such clarity. His blood had repulsed her. It smelled sweet, like honey and berries, not the salty iron taste that her bloodlust so desperately craved of those from this world.
Oriana listened to the symphony of the wind and sea as she watched the tempests form on the horizon, far out in the Storm Sea. Throughout Shipwreck Cove, splintered masts of great ships shot out of the waves like spears, ready to impale any who might enter these waters. A fleeting thought flitted through her mind of jumping off the cliff’s edge into the deadly sea of stakes far below. She knew it would do nothing; she had attempted such feats more times than she could count, hoping that it would work just once and she could rid herself of this curse, of the guilt she constantly felt.
The Storm Sea beyond was impassable. Many had tried, but the wreckage that washed into this very cove was all that was left of them.
The sea breeze caressed her cheeks, sending her long wisps of hair dancing behind her. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm from the cold wind. Over the centuries, she had stood at this very spot so many times. It helped to clear her mind, forget herself, forget the past and present.
The sun steadily rose from its slumber, painting streaks of pink and orange among the blue and purple of the sky. It was during this time, after every full moon, she recalled the faces of her victims. Each was permanently etched in her mind, inked behind her closed eyes. She saw them and their families. She saw their murdered, mutilated bodies. She remembered the taste and the feel of their delicate skin and bones ripping and cracking beneath her grip.
With each face, a new hot tear rolled down her cheek into the churning sea below. It was the only way she could pay tribute to them, through her tears and the agony she felt at what she had done to them.
Without turning around, she knew he was behind her. She could sense his presence, quietly observing her.
His soft steps ventured closer, and she felt his warmth beside her. Oriana knew he would ask questions and that she needed to tell him everything. She wanted to tell him everything. This connection, their unusual bond, had her yearning for him to know her true self, both the good and the bad.
He waited patiently until she had finished her silent recanting, her remembrance of all those she had ripped the life from too early.
When she finally finished, she opened her eyes to see Garren gazing down at her with a look that held concern and pain in its depths. She turned back to gaze out over the expanse of ocean that stretched before her. “There is nothing quite like the sea at first light.” She smiled softly. “I’m sure you have many questions.”
He nodded, following her gaze to the endless stretch of ocean, watching the same breathtaking swirls of wind and rain looming far out over the Storm Sea. “Who are you?” he finally asked.
“Will you sit?” she asked.
He simply nodded, and they sat together on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling off the side. They both remained silent until she mustered up the courage to speak.
