Hunters. Damnit, how could I have missed it?!
Emrys sits up straight, pulling me in tightly, crushing me into his broad, muscled chest as if protecting me against something,someone.
“What? Hunters? Do humans hunt the Darkness? Without Aurum? How?” I say, surprised.
The idea of humans hunting nightwalkers is one of madness and ridicule. How are they even protecting themselves? How does Elijah defend himself? I shake my head, erasing that thought and replacing it with a different one: hope, a hope he’ll meet his demise so I can continue my beginning. If Emrys is right, he is hunting beings far more powerful than him, creatures that can end his life in the blink of an eye. Having his life force drained erases the burden he evokes within me. A sharp sting takes hold in my head, and I grasp my temples. I start massaging my sides vigorously; the ache subdues as I force the longing for Elijah’s death out. It seems an unpleasant side-effect of the curse, no ill thoughts about my supposed soulmate.
Commotion stirs outside, followed by loud noises and shrieking screams. Fast as lightning, Emrys hugs me against himself, stepping into the room's shadows, out of sight. Traveling through the murky shadows, we appear in a dark alley as Emrys picks me up, carrying me through the maze of tiny streets. He’s faster than I, and we’re walking in and out of the shadows as he tries to understand what is happening and where the disturbance is coming from. He halts abruptly.
“There,” he says in a low, gravelly voice.
He points at a group of figures—the humans from the fair, armed to the teeth, acting like unhinged savages. Some of them wear skulls from, I assume, witches or vampires as masks. Isee humans jumping atop vampires, catching them by surprise as oak stakes are driven through their hearts. Large, sharp axes sever hands with daylight rings from their owners, causing vampires to burst into roaring flames until the wind takes their ashes. Witches are brutally assaulted before they can finish their spells or call their powers to work for them as humans, from a distance, send arrows flying across the square with their crossbows, effectively landing in their body parts and crippling them. The air fills with a metallic tang while screams and cries surround us. Blood is splattered everywhere, staining the stones a new shade of red. It’s utter mayhem. The bustling activity has now turned into a raging murder spree. To my surprise, I see the night creatures flee instead of attacking back.
The message from Elijah this afternoon is now clear: I was not supposed to get caught in the crossfire of this small war that erupted by their doing—a declaration by humans against the dark creatures. Then it hits me. There was never an actual fair; it was all a scheme to catch those living here off guard; the intent was to provoke the darklings by killing their kin. To understand the willingness of the citizens of Valorya to retaliate and seek revenge. Their little display of murdering that witch was nothing more than a sickening way to test the waters.
A thought creeps into my head; mating with a hunter, one who kills for sport and takes joy from killing a helpless creature. Repulsion takes hold of me. Never. Not in a million years will I align myself with an individual with such a perverted mind. The soul bond inside me agrees with my assessment and decision, reinforcing my disgust. As I witness the scene before me, my lips curl into a disapproving snarl. I fail to understand why the vampires and witches of this city do not fight back and let this onslaught persist.
While the humans continue their brutal attack, a fog begins to surround the group, obscuring their vision and trapping them with no way out. Cries of fear and worry fill the air, no longer of the creatures but of the humans instead. Caria and the man from the inn—her watchdog—the man with the mismatched eyes appear out of the fog. She furrows her brow at the scene in front of her, the corpses of vampires and fellow witches, the terrified humans, no longer in charge of their own attack—a deadly miscalculation on their part. I wonder whether they believed they could last this meaningless assault.
The voice in the back of my head expresses some relief that Elijah is not being held in the death trap; another part of me is disappointed that he’s not there, and my hope is slightly crushed.
The First Quarter witch, it will be over soon, my love. Unlike the Death Witch, this one is no youngling; he’s experienced, much older than her, and mature. Perhaps they foresaw this, explaining his presence and his eyes always present on her. Caria cannot defend herself properly; she can barely control her shadows; it’s pathetic.
What about the other witches? I refuse to believe they are all younglings like her,I ask, appalled by what’s happening, the brutal slaughtering.
Where did their confidence come from? Why did these humans decide to fight back, unlike most of my kind that hide in villages and broken towns?
My involvement with my monster hardens my sentiment for my own kind, humans. With each passing hour, it becomes increasingly challenging to imagine empathy for humanity, something I come to believe in less and less.
The humans in the square caught the witches by surprise. It takes a few minutes to summon their powers. It seems thehumans did not expect Valorya to harbor this many witches; even with their archers, they could never end this attack in victory. It was a foolish attempt to eradicate an entire city the size of Valorya unless… never mind; this was a fool’s mission, to begin with.
Emrys sighs deeply. His strong arms wrap around me protectively, and his smoky shadows add another layer of safeguarding to my skin. Even if we are not in the line of fire, he needs to ensure that I am safe with him.
The words of Emrys land inside my mind, my eyes glued on the pair of witches in the square, still standing straight. Caria’s shadows emerge, the whites of her eyes turn black, now voids in her face. Shadows rise and materialize from her skin and her open mouth as if her insides are pure shadow, too; it’s a ghastly sight. The other witch’s eyes glaze over too, entirely white—the opposite of her all-black eyes—as if he is blind now, relying on his senses instead of sight, his stare fixed solely on the humans. A pest that needs to be erased from this world.
A thick fog emanates around him as he moves his hands, controlling the silent shroud. I see him muttering sentences, and the mist moves steadily. Its tendrils weave through her shadows, nudging them like a guide, the dark shades obediently following. As they summon their powers, the humans trapped in the circle of mist around them try to claw their way out, panicking as the cloud of shadows and fog approaches. The thick layer around them mutes their screams to muffled sounds. None of the arrows can hit their mark, as if some invisible shield surrounds Caria and the male witch. In a panic, the archers keep firing in a frail attempt to protect their comrades.
The first human to collide with the darkened shroud, the shadows respond to, attacking him immediately. They forces themselves into the man’s body, through his nostrils and his mouth, as the man screams and howls. Within minutes, theman goes silent, no longer able to move his body; his eyes dart around in terror as the shadows paralyze him. The fog circles the man, icicles forming on his nose, the mist freezing his limbs to ice. The shroud disappears, giving the man a slight nudge and causing him to fall. The moment his body hits the blood-stained cobblestones, it shatters into a thousand shards, blood splinters everywhere. Broken pieces of frozen flesh and bone lay on the floor. He never stood a chance.
I swallow as I watch them work in unison. The fog leads the shadows as they kill the humans trapped with no way of escape. One by one, they are taken down, their deaths inevitable, their fingers a bloody mess from their clawing, the wall of fog unrelenting as they try to break free.
A thud is heard, and the shadows break away in alarm. Caria lies on the street, her form trembling, as dark blood, almost black, flows from her nose; she collapsed on the ground, her shadow covers her like a blanket as if trying to shield her. It nudges her, waking Caria up. I remember the words Emrys told me earlier. She’s a youngling witch; using this much power must have exhausted her. The First Quarter witch retreats his fog as he picks her up, the mist acting as a shield, while the humans who are not trapped seize their moment, shooting arrows, not giving up on their assault despite their losses, desperate to take down their enemy. As the male witch holds Caria closely, angrily, he lifts his hand, and a large cloud erupts from the protective layer around them; the mist moves with the arrows, only to turn them around and sling them back with relentless force. None of the humans are prepared for it as a swarm of arrows finds its way back, clouding the daylight, a cloud of sharp bolts piercing its way through their flesh, and screams erupt once more. Painful cries come from the human group.
I see Elijah being hit by an arrow that goes straight through his shoulder, another one through his thigh, his face contorting from the pain. A third one cuts his face across his lips and cheek. He spits phlegm and blood on the ground as he reaches for his blades with his good arm. A comrade pulls him away, telling the rest to retreat to their camp. Reluctantly, he lets his friend take him, hoisting his arm up and helping him walk as he limps. I watch in horror as his blood pours from his wounds, soaking his clothes.
Elijah's hazel eyes snap to mine as he holds onto the other man, drawn to my stare like blood to a blade. I am unable to look away as he holds my gaze. Despite his injuries, he manages to wink and gives me a grin, his teeth all crimson. He mouths, “Hey, Sunshine,” at me as he wiggles his eyebrows. Fucking dickhead.
I return a glare of disgust, unsure if the disgust is for his actions or the fact that he got hurt and is bleeding so badly. I feel my eyes prick with tears, welling up, but I blink them away, just like I push the sorrow back down that reaches the surface of the vortex of emotions that are coiling inside me after witnessing him getting wounded. I fucking hate him and his asshole hunter antics.
I want to hurl myself at the male witch, the strong First Quarter one, for attacking Elijah and almost killing him, but I also want to scream at him, scream at his poor aim. To shout in his face and ask him why he didn’t just end all of them; he obviously has the strength; why didn’t he direct an arrow at each living human’s heart? Kill them all with a flick of his wrist. Those arrows could have killed Elijah, ending my turmoil. Then, worry consumes me for Elijah, whether he’s in a lot of pain or doing okay… I feel the need to know how he’s doing and if he will be all right. Will he survive the night or die from possible infection?
When Elijah is out of sight, I collapse into Emrys’s arms, tears slowly falling from my eyes, the salt coating my lips. I claw at his chest desperately, anything that can help me ground my emotions. Emrys holds me firmly against his torso as he lovingly strokes my hair and kisses my head, whispering soothing affirmations into my ear and telling me he loves me endlessly. A sadness takes hold of me—no longer for Elijah—but anguish settles in my heart, an ache for Emrys. I am hurting him with these emotions swirling, this battle between my heart and mind, a struggle that can only be victorious if I am able to sever the link. I need to let my heart lead without interference from my mind; I need to find a way to let go and release Elijah from my being. When I consider this, I feel a stinging jolt inside me, and it fucking hurts. I gasp as I reach for my chest and head, fresh tears springing to my eyes at the vicious assault that takes place. It feels as if my heart is tearing itself in two.
“Stop, Harlot. Please, my love, stop doing this to yourself,” Emrys murmurs into my hair. “I’ll be fine. I knew what I was doing. I’d rather experience this pain than not have you at all. It breaks my heart to see you like this. Let it go, darling, embrace it. It’s okay to feel love for this… human. We will find a way to break this curse together.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to. If you fight it, so will I,” I whisper into his chest as I struggle to hold myself upright, fighting through the pain.
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