A huff of air. Amusement. The vampire lets out a low chuckle that sounds more like the distant roar of some beast, long forgotten, prowling the wetlands. “Another hunter come to avenge her fallen friends?”
So that voice truly was the vampire? They’re capable of speech? I’ve never heard of such a thing before. If it can talk, does that mean it’s capable of reason? And if it does have the capacity for higher thought then…then that means…
Everything has been a choice.
They do not hunt us as beasts. They hunt us because they havechosento. Because they see us as nothing more than sport. I clutch my sickle tighter and don’t ask for the creature to free my brother a second time. There are only two things a creature like him knows—bloodshed and death. And I will give them to him.
“I am your quarry now!” I close the gap between me and the vampire, jumping. He tries to turn, but he’s too slow. The steel gauntlet covering his clawed hands is embedded too deeply in the stone. I wedge one sickle into the visor of his helmet and yank.
Steel meets iron with a clamor. His helmet flies, my sickle going with it. He staggers and I am thrown off-balance. I dig the tip of my other sickle into the stone, using it to pivot around, finding my feet. I tuck them under me, freeing the weapon with a twist. I might not have trained with the hunters, but Drew taught me the skills Davos passed on to him. And by day I was honing my body by hoisting coal, hammer, iron, and silver.
The vampire spins and, as I meet the hollow eyes of the monster, I remember too late what Drew told me:
Tomorrow, the vampire lord himself will lead his legions through the Fade… I will kill him.
This creature of nightmare and pure evil…he is the source of all our pain. He can speak because he is the mind of the vampire. It is because of him the people of Hunter’s Hamlet have fought and bled. It is because of him we are walled in, struggling to survive for the sake of the world beyond.
Because of him, my father is dead and my brother is dying.
His eyes are sunken against his cheeks. Folds of flesh sag underneath, leathered with an age that must be ancient. A deeply furrowed brow hunches over them, carving wrinkles between. What would be white in a human’s eyes is black for him, making the deep recesses they sit in on his face all the more pronounced. At their center is a gleaming yellow iris, like a wolf’s eyes caught in the lamplight of a dark night.
His nose is hooked and sharp, as though it is made of wax and was pressed too close to the inside of his helmet. His skin is sagging and gray, lifeless and worn. Two yellowed fangs protrude from his slightly parted lips as he gasps for air.
The lord of the vampires is a walking corpse, embellished with every frightful story passed down in Hunter’s Hamlet.
Monster. Yes. The word suits him. He is every nightmare and more. He is the wind that raked against my window as a girl. He is the shadow that lingered too long in the corner of my room. He is what I feared beneath my bed. What stalked me in my nightmares into my adult years.
The vampire lord freezes as he looks upon me. His haunted eyes widen slightly, shining ominously in the bloody moonlight. Those hungry eyes study me, as if already consuming my soul.
“Whatareyou?” he rasps.
What am I?A strange question coming from a beast like him. I smile wildly. “I am your death.”
CHAPTER5
I swingthe sickle up and toward those haunted, horrible eyes. One jab is all it would take to end this. My strike nearly connects with sagging flesh when the vampire collapses into nothing more than mist. I fall through the dissipating shadows, bracing myself.
There’s a whisper of movement. I can feel his essence re-condensing with a whorl of shadow and blood magic. Mist gathers and the vampire lord emerges.
“You are an abomination,” he snarls.
I say nothing in reply, lunging forward to close the gap. The vampire dissolves again. My senses tingle and the hair on my right arm raises. The vampire lord materializing feels like the air right before a lightning strike. Shadowy haze collects and his red cape billows around him as he reappears.
He grabs for me and I drop to a crouch. I twist the sickle in my hand, rotating it so that I can stab with a pull. I try for the small space behind his knee. The chainmail should end at his hips. Greaves end just below the knee. I know enough about making armor to know there should be a vulnerability here—my blade sinks in but doesn’t find flesh before he reaches for me.
I abandon my sickle, still wedged in his armor, to grab him by the shoulder and use his awkward positioning against him. We tumble on the cobblestone. My nails crack as I rip up a rock to smash against the lord’s temple. He reels back.
I scramble for my weapon, but am too late. A plate-covered greave steps on it and kicks it back, sliding the sickle into the muck of the swamp. I go to grab for my other sickle as the vampire lord reaches down for me, hand wide. He’s going for my neck. I twist away. Our eyes lock once more. Breathless.
“They have made you a monster.” Disapproval—hatredbleeds into his words. An emotion we share.
“If I must be a monster to kill one then so it shall be!” I leap up.
He’s faster. Angry black mist follows his movements and when he stops before me it radiates off of him, enveloping my face with unseen hands. The lord grabs me by the throat, slamming me into one of the crumbling walls. I grab with my outside arm for his hand, gripping over his thumb. In a swift movement, I’ve peeled his hand away.
Usually I would bring my knee to his stomach, but it would do little against his plate. Falling, off-balance again, we grapple, rolling across the ground. I swing for him, but he disarms me once more.
Blow for blow, we match each other. One strike after the next, neither of us can seem to land much more than grazing hits. My knuckles meet the hard cobblestone, cracking and splitting as he dodges a punch, rolling me off of him and pinning me down with both hands.
