“You’re going to let them go, free of punishment, after all they’ve done?” The petite woman isn’t laughing anymore. She almost looks like she could cry, or murder something. “Ruvan—”
“It is done,” he snaps. “I would swear more if it meant our people would be free of this blight. We’ve lost too many and only have a few cycles left, otherwise we’re dead, all of us.” Frustration radiates off his shoulders as he half turns to face me. “This is my covenant. You will be working closely with them so do try to be polite, if you can manage the mere basics of decorum. None of them will harm you, per the conditions of our vow.” Ruvan proceeds to introduce them, his palm motioning to each one by one.
“Our fiddle-playing siren is Winny.”
“Quarter-siren,” she says, somewhat coyly, but her eyes are as hard as the gold they resemble.
“Ventos is our muscle.”
The burly man folds his arms over his chest, accentuating his biceps.
“Should you need anything of tactics or knowledge, there are none better than Callos.”
The bespectacled man raises a hand to his right breast, bowing low. Every fold of his clothing is carefully pressed. Not one bit out of place. He is clearly someone who appreciates form over function and doesn’t strike me as being threatening…unless that’s his plan.
“Lavenzia is…”
“The practical one.” She grins widely, fangs on display. The shorter woman is full-bodied. There could easily be untold strength under her curves and, given her scars, there likely is.
“And you have met Quinn.”
He hardly looks at me as he crosses to the table. He fills a golden chalice—not unlike what was on the altar—with water. Then he fills it with three drops from an obsidian vial. The vial is similar to the one Drew gave me. Unnervingly so…
“What’s in the vial?” I ask.
They all share a look. Callos is the one to answer, “Blood.”
Taken from the hunters on the night of the Blood Moon, no doubt.
My thoughts are interrupted as, right before my eyes, Quinn’s flesh fills out. His tawny skin is a shade darker than Ruvan’s and Ventos’s pallor. His eyes regain clarity, the darkness dripping down his cheeks in rivulets. The wisps of hair fill out on his head, replaced with rusty-brown locks—short cut and slightly upturned in the front. His lips plump into a pout, complemented by his sad, intense eyes.
They drink human blood to conceal their monstrous forms. That must be why they need to hunt humans on the full moon and why they look like shambling corpses when they do. Perhaps drinking the blood consistently is what allows them to speak and think—why these vampires are sentient compared to the ones who usually attack us.
“And, my covenant, this is…is…” Ruvan pauses, blinking several times at me. “I don’t have your name.”
I smile triumphantly. I had been waiting for him to realize this. It might be a small, insignificant victory to have concealed this from him for so long. But it’s a victory nonetheless. I have something simple now to use as a test for the bloodsworn oath.
“My name is—” The fake name I had been planning to give sticks in my throat. I clear it with a cough. So what he said was true. We can’t lie to each other. Or at leastIcan’t lie to him. I’ll have to find a way to test that it’s the same for him, just for safety. “Riane,” I manage, proving half-truths can be said. Another good piece of information.
“How many vampir have you killed, Riane?” Ventos asks, stroking his beard, a deep shade of umber.
“One,” I answer honestly, then immediately wish I had inflated the number to sound more threatening.
“One?” he scoffs. “Lie.”
“Think what you will.” I shrug.
“She’s a young one.” Winny sits back down, pulling the fiddle to her chest. She plucks it gently, not playing anything in particular. The notes are sharp and high-pitched, grating in comparison to her earlier melody. “There’s no way she could’ve killed many.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Ruvan says with conviction enough that it reinforces his ability to sense truth from lie.
“I take it by the fact that you brought a human here at all that the anchor was not the master hunter, as you suspected.” Callos shifts the topic of conversation away from me and speaks directly to Ruvan. The others quiet themselves. There’s a knowing gleam in Callos’s eyes. Ruvan stiffens at my side.
A sudden, oppressive sensation settles on my shoulders. At first, I think it’s mourning for Davos, but I hardly ever felt love for the grizzly old hunter who guarded our town and was ready to marry me off like a broodmare. No, this is different… I can almost feel my stomach sinking as if I’m the one on the spot. I glance at Ruvan. His face is passive, but… My nerves are aflame. I can almost see under the surface of his expression. I think I can feelhispanic.
“The master hunter was slain by my hand, but the curse still stands,” Ruvan begrudgingly admits.
“I told you so.” Callos sighs. “I’ve read every book on the early blood lore written by Jontun and I’m confident that the anchor of a curse must be athing, not a person. Especially a curse as long-lasting as this. If it had been a person, they and the curse would’ve died long ago.”
