Page 1 of Before We Burn

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BLOOD ON THE LEAVES

MARZANA

Have you ever gone to bed wondering—what if I wake up and my memory’s gone?

Most people would call that a nightmare. For me, it was a prayer. A desperate plea to forget the last 382 years of blood-soaked history. Yes, life had its positive moments. But most of it? War. Gore. Shadows so thick they wrapped around my soul.

My handler saw potential in me and pushed me toward people I wanted nothing to do with. Yet somehow through the never ending cycle of control, I found Constantine. She watched me from afar, silent and curious, then chose to save me. She taught me there was more to vampirism than hunger and despair.

That was in the year 2405—exactly two centuries ago.

My assassin days are long behind me, but the nightmares never stopped. I’ve done things that make even vampires flinch, which is why I decided to teach at Bloodlust Academy—a name that sounds like a bad joke until you’ve walked the halls. I train fresh-blooded vampires to use their gifts without blowing our cover. To blend in. To survive.

Post-war vampire life is far less dramatic. We live in gated communities and modify our blood diets to include vegetables and vitamins, because frankly, humans taste terrible these days. Too much salt, too much protein.

I miss the hunt. I miss the pulse of blood from a fresh vein. But that’s too dangerous now. Witchcraft changed everything. The humans feared it, studied it, and turned it against us. The war was quick and merciless. Covens turned to ash. Those who survived were captured and now work for the humans, creating UV weapons that can cook us alive.

I’m too old to die easily, but even I flinch at the thought of those bullets. Every night, I drive to the Academy in my UV-shielded car, playing the part of a night-shift worker at a mental health hospital. My neighbors think I am a model citizen. I am far from that.

I was off to another night, another wave of turned-too-young vampires. Whoever is making them is breaking every code we’ve ever followed. Kids barely twenty, still high on sugar and bad decisions, had their lives stolen before they even started.

I park inside the garage of the Academy—a crumbling castle nestled deep within what used to be northern Canada, snow blanketing the land. The environment appears idyllic—pure and untouched—but no one would feel that way if they knew the stories of the blood that fed this soil.

I walk inside to find two young vamps fighting over a half-empty blood bag. I sigh before flinging them into the snow by the napes of their necks, giving them my usual speech about how they’ll die out there if they don’t learn control. I remind myself it isn’t their fault—that they know nothing more than what they’ve become. Vampirism takes more from you than just your species. It takes your memories, your name, and everything your personality has grown to be in your human years. It’s tiresome to constantly fight a battle you have no chance of winning.

They are angry…scared. I knew how it felt; my own memories of coming to terms with what I am haunt me. Plus, I can hear them.

I walk the halls, heels echoing on the solid floors, whispers following my every move. Everyone knew the name Marzana Popov—war criminal, assassin, and monster. But I’m done being those things.

My classroom is where I try to rewrite my legacy. Abilities 101—the place where fledgling vampires learn who they are and what they might become—allows me to use my own ability to help me guide each student in a way that works for them. It’s exhausting.

Every new vampire awakens with something—speed, strength, hearing, the occasional mind reading, or shadow-walking—and it’s my job to teach them to hone their gifts so they don’t get killed.

Each student files in, awkward and scared. One girl catches my eye—dark brown skin kissed by moonlight, curls reaching in every direction, and eyes distant. Something about her is different, but I push it aside. If I single her out in front of the entire class, she will be less likely to open up to me.

“Hello, Bloodlings. New Bloods. Whichever you prefer,” I say, as I glance around the room. “I’m Marzana Popov, I’m 382 years old, and I read minds. Only surface thoughts—nothing too juicy,” I say, lying to ease the shock.

Whispers erupt immediately. Rumors about me spread fast in this building, and I can only imagine what the older vampires have told them.

“Yes,” I add, “I used to be an assassin. Yes, I still could be. No, I won’t kill you... Unless you give me a reason.”

The room falls quiet. Good.

The work I do is very subtle, and I am particularly good at it because of my own abilities. Reading minds allows me to peel back layers of others and expose things…carefully. I wander their minds without them knowing, asking them questions to give me certain responses. Each question leads them on a train of thought, making it easier to gauge their personalities. I stay away from the potentially dangerous thoughts, as a mishap could send someone to the hospital center to grow back limbs.

As I coax powers from them, I feel the weight of my past press harder than usual. These students are younger than our usual intake. Most of them look like they were turned before their eighteenth birthdays—a recurring nightmare for me, but a reality for them. Their gifts are basic but useful; the most common gift that walked in is speed. Strength is a very close second. I’ve barely scratched the surface as the bell rings and they scurry off.

Four classes to go. I need another teacher, but Alexander—our self-serving headmaster—refused. He deemed it a waste.

This school started as something good and pure. The Council of Five finally heard enough complaints from elder vampires around the world that they had to do something. They tried to get me to come back—to become the hunter once more—but I had already begun a life of peace and didn’t want to break that by killing New Bloods.

Constantine was heavily against me having anything to do with the council from the start, but when I pitched the idea of the school, she told me to push for it. Alexander was the only person I knew they would listen to, so I told him my idea.

I don’t know why I expected more from him; I thought maybe he would care as much as I did, since his job was to fix problems. That was naive of me. I should’ve talked it over with Constantine before anything, but passion can push you to be desperate.

Alexander took claim of my idea, securing the headmaster position for himself, and allowing me to teach classes was his gift. I should’ve gutted him—skewered him. But I swore I wasn’t going to be that person anymore, and as long as I was somewhat involved, I believed I was making a change.