“And when you don’t?” Every fangling’s most vicious era was that collection of years when they had not yet mastered their appetite. We are reduced, initially, to the very essence of hunger—a mindless, bloody, violent rampage that, unless overseen by a sire, turns into the type of carnage only found in human-created wars. That the fanglings had been essentially bottle-fed since their creation left a dangerous door unopened.
“Why wouldn’t—”
“What if the relationship between the Clotswold and the hospital disbands? What if there is a storm that wrecks the truck, leaving your steady stream bleeding into the street? What then?” Each fangling dropped my gaze as fast as I caught theirs. “You must know how to feed from a live source—” Several protests began, but I held up a hand for silence. “If only for emergencies.”
“I willnae eat anyone in the village.” Alex, again. I could tell from the angle of his face that he was staring me down, could feel his stare penetrating the curtain of his hair.
“Do you all echo Master Alexander’s sentiments?” I would’ve sighed had I the held breath to do so. Instead, I found that cluster of headaches pressing against my forehead, stretching into the bridge of my nose and the edge of my vision. I pressed fingers at that key point, trying to relieve the tension.
“Yes, Professor, we do,” Alfred answered.
“There is another way, if you insist.” I gestured to the edge of the woods on the horizon, their dark jagged forms scratching at the stars beyond. “Your first test is to arrive at the woods without my detecting you. So much as a shadow, and I’ll send you back to the start. We won’t begin the next lesson—meaning I will not offer you the alternative for sating your hunger—until you pass this test.” Without another word, I unleashed my silent speed, sprinting for the woods in a matter of moments.
Once there, I settled in a comfortable crook of tree branches toward the front, watching with disappointment as fanglingafter fangling stumbled their clumsy way past the hotel, over the stables, and into the open expanse of moonlit meadow. For every teen I could hear coming from a distance, I returned them to the start, only letting those improving their muffled steps move farther. I’m embarrassed to admit my wrist got a workout, catching them with my control and flinging them back to the start, one by one—sometimes two by two. But the night was young, and there was no greater teacher than experience.
By nearly 3:00 a.m., all six fanglings were sweating, exhausted, leaning on one another at the edge of the woods.
“Persistence will carry you further than skill, in some cases.” I dropped on silent toes from the branches, joining them on the carpeted forest floor. Already, my senses were heightened to their predatory peak—I could hear every twig rustling, every snuffling creature in the underbrush, every careful step of a possible target for my next lesson. “Lucky for you all, you seem to have that in abundance, at least.”
“Yeah, lucky us,” huffed Frederick. I ignored him, gesturing to the dark thicket behind us.
“If you refuse a human meal, it is possible to feed on alternative sources instead. But I must warn you, they will not sustain you in the same way—you will needmanymore animals to maintain your hunger than a single human. And the taste is . . . ” I shuddered. “Less than desirable.”
“Oh! It’s just like in—”
“Don’t.” Alfred cut off Benedict with a snarl.
“No, it’s alright, Master Alfred.” I turned to Benedict. “You’re correct. Humans have tried to soften the vampiric image for romantic fantasies by essentially neutering their powers with vegetarianism. It turns up in many popular media in this age. But do not be fooled—you cannot live a full immortal life on animal blood alone.”
“What happens if you do?” Ford asked.
“You’ll waste away to a shell of yourself, barely able to catch the next rat you need to stay alive. Until eventually, you reach such a point of starvation that you lose control anyway, snatching the first human unfortunate enough to stumble your way.”
“Then what’s the point?” Alex threw his hands up in frustration. “Why are you torturing us like this?”
“You have been coddled until now. No one has told you the truth of our existence, which is this—it is a curse. We are unholy monsters damned to stalk this earth until some hero with a god complex strikes us down.” The fanglings stilled, red eyes wide and flat, none of the glittering starlight reflecting in their anxious gaze. “The best you can do is face that truth head-on, so you stand a chance of carving a life for yourself that doesn’t make you curse your own existence.” There was more truth pouring from me than I’d intended—more stains on my own memory than I wanted to share. I squared my shoulders, tried to slip back into the teacher disguise that had saved me so many times before. “And that means understanding how to curb your appetites, how to control yourselves before you’ve committed the kind of atrocities that make you want to walk into the sun of your own volition.”
My voice echoed in the silence, the telltale twitching twigs and hoofed steps stilled entirely at my tone.
“We won’t.” Benedict stepped forward, finally straightening his shoulders. “We won’t be bad, Professor. We’ll learn.”
“The rest of the world—human and inhuman—will try to tell you you’re a lost cause. They will brand you a monster.” I looked to each fangling in turn, memorizing this moment as understanding settled over each. This could be the thread of hope that saved them—finally recognizing the treacherous mire they were about to ford together, that thin line between ghoul and vampire, between mindless hunger and conscious choice.
Regardless of how awful that choice may be.
“It is up to each of you to decide whether the rest of the world is right.” I gestured to the dark wood again, stepping to the side beneath a towering oak. “Now, hunt.”
They were gone before I could blink, newly honed silence carrying them deep into the shadows, renewed understanding pumping their muscles, lengthening their fangs.
They would become predators yet.
The fanglings returned empty-handed from their first hunt. They slumped, defeated, past me, making the trudge back to the hotel in silence. Dawn was close, already the softest tinge lightening the horizon.
“We’ll return to hunting skills tomorrow night,” I called after them. “Good work tonight, young masters.” They didn’t so much as gesture over their shoulder, all their chaotic energy spent.
Maybe this meant William wouldn’t heckle me with breakfast at the crack of evening again.
Stiff from sitting in a tree all night, but still too restless to return to my dirt, I set off toward the village, curious about the stretch of thatched cottages and old-world shops I’d barely glanced at the night before. I slowed my pace, taking in the peaty mud squelching beneath me, the whispering brush of tall grass at my ankles. When I reached the edge of the first cobblestone street, I paused, trailing my gaze over each flickering streetlamp until it disappeared around a curve. Between the hand-paintedsigns and the refitted gas fixtures, it was eerily similar to how this place must’ve looked when Billy was still human.
