She gives me a sorrowful expression as she recalls the events of yesterday. The reckless assault the humans unleashed upon the city, strutting inside the stone walls, marching toward the square at the busiest time of the day, and the attack that unraveled from the madmen. How they leaped on vampires, stabbing them with oak stakes; hacked off hands like unhinged savages, and sprinted toward witches, slitting their throats, while others shot arrows from a distance. The humans were well prepared for their attack. None stuck out their necks to save anyone but themselves. When I frown at that, she continues.
What were she and the male witch supposed to do? Let them kill without any repercussions? Had they had an onslaught? Was she supposed to stand still while her kin were slaughtered? When I don’t react fast enough, she asks: “Would you stand idle if your kind was being murdered in front of you, and you were able to put a stop to it? Answer that truthfully, Fynn.”
I shake my head. No, of course not. I would have done the same as they, perhaps even worse. I know I would have done worse.
“That’s what I th—” She falls silent mid-sentence.
Her eyes trail to a pair of figures, and I follow them, seeing the two people she’s staring at.
“How the fuck did they come in?” she hisses. “This shouldn’t be possible… how are they here?”
Two humans stand in front of the large stone gate inside the city, their hands roaming the air, not paying us any attention as we stare at them. They frantically examine the invisible wall between them and some humans on the other side. It is like watching a mime play, almost comedic, if I weren’t aware that these two poor souls are now captured inside the city. They are sitting ducks. Poor might not be the right choice of words, but they will not make it to the night's end if they cannot passthrough the wards. Still, I feel some sympathy for them. Yes, they have murdered without cause during the brazen attack that took place, but I can’t help but feel some appreciation for their bravery. They must have escaped the carnage somehow and wanted to flee tonight. Caria and I watch as some humans, wearing uniforms similar to those inside the wall, on the other side, throw a pebble through the wards; the stone passes the test without a scratch as it falls to the ground inside the walls. Murmuring ensues as they fail to follow the pebble.
A large, broad figure steps into view, and Caria stiffens beside me at the mere sight.
“Fuck. It can’t be. It’s the Dhampir. Reiner was right,” she whispers, barely audible.
The pale, tall figure stalks to the entrance and trespasses without difficulty, entering through the gate. His bright, alert, unnatural green eyes snap to Caria, who’s standing transfixed—a wicked grin on his pale face.
“Smart little witch. I know it was you, youngling. I can sense the magic of death oozing from your skin,” he says, his voice deep and thunderous.
Caria’s shadows sweep protectively around her, but also me, as if I’m part of her, in need of shielding.
He explodes in a burst of roaring laughter at the sight of her defensive stance and coiling dark masses. It is as if her shadows cannot kill him; the shadows are only a source of entertainment for him. His unperturbed demeanor sends a wave of dread crawling up my spine. Goosebumps prick my skin as unease settles in, and I swallow carefully.
“No need to worry, witch. You’re not on my menu tonight; all I’m asking is for them to pass through. Your permission, please.”
He bows mockingly toward her, a false act of courtesy as if offering her a pleasantry. His piercing eyes never lose sight of her; despite his indifference, he is wary.
“I can’t, not by myself,” she says, a slight tremble in her voice.
“How did you pass the blood hunt so quickly?” she inquires.
“You think that would stop us? Stop me? A bit of outraged blood?” he snickers.
“I decapitated them all that same night, then drank the blood, darling. It put up a fight, but I’ve handled worse. I forgot how tasty fresh blood can be. I must say I do enjoy your rather creative approach to all of this. The wards, the necromancy, the blood hunt—all of it—is… entertaining. I never knew that Death Witches could be such fun; I would have sought you out sooner. Your little games make me feel… alive.”
He laughs at his own joke. The Dhampir looks smug as Caria pulls her lips into a disgusted smile. I’m unsure what they're discussing, but her rigid reaction and clenched fists indicate it’s not a positive outcome. She maintains a calm demeanor, but her breathing is just a bit too shallow, and her shoulders are too stiff. The Dhampir questions her about me as if I am not standing right next to her and why I, a human being, am with her willingly, noting the absence of any restraints on my free will. Irritated by the dismissal, I step forward; a slight twitch in my jaw betrays the tension underneath.
“The Death Witch is my friend; this place, Valorya, is now my home. Stop attacking this city; go play elsewhere with your human puppets,” I shout.
Caria’s eyes widen from shock. Her lips part in a silent gasp, and she instinctively steps back, her body stiff with apprehension.
Again, the Dhampir bursts out laughing, as if I'd said something incredibly entertaining.
“Pretty love-smitten, aren’t you? Mark my words, son. Listen closely. A Blood Witch like her will never associate herself with a human unless she has some interest in the blood they’re carrying. Witches rarely partner outside their own kind, let alone let themselves be courted by a mortal human. That in itself is a humiliation. She might let you fuck her, perhaps even a few times, but she will not give up her coven for you, a decision she’ll be forced to make, you or her coven, if she decides to mate outside her own kind. And, son, leaving her coven also means giving up the majority of her power. A death sentence in itself.”
I swallow at his words and let them sink in, unsure if they hold any truth. Caria doesn’t speak; her breath hitches, shallow and rapid, as her shoulders hunch inward defensively. I see her shadows layering me, guarding and readying themselves. This Dhampir must be lying, trying to get into my head, fill it with lies, and break our connection. I just know he is; if he can separate us, we’re both vulnerable targets. I’m well aware he can notice the Aurum around me, explaining his hesitation.
“That’s for me to figure out, Dhampir; my well-being is not your concern. Now leave. Get out of the city,” I retort.
I straighten my shoulders, showing him I do not fear him or any of his minions. I fold my arms across my chest, trying to appear calm, though my knuckles whiten with the grip. I stand in front of Caria, part of me desperately wanting to prove that I am worthy of such a choice if she ever needs to make one. A stinging headache takes hold of me as images of Jodelle are forced into my mind, and the love I have for her is pushed to the forefront. I wince from the pain that strikes me over and over. His eyes narrow in confusion, a frown tugging at the Dhampir's lips.
“Don’t get your heart broken in the process. It’d be a waste of such a strong young man. If you ever change your mind, just call my name, and I’ll come get you.”
A genuine smile briefly appears on his face. Is he trying to recruit me for his cause? Would I be able to fight alongside a darkling? Could he help me get to Harlot?
“You two,” the Dhampir addresses the two men inside the city walls, “occasionally, sacrifices are inevitable. I thank you for your courage. It’s time to rejoin your families.”
