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1
Ismiled in the face of death, welcoming it like an old friend.
My reflection was etched into the wide, moon-round eyes of the vampire pinned beneath me. Even in the lightless cavern, my smirk was visible.
But to a vampire, I was no friend. Far from it, because friends rarely plunged stakes into each other’s chests and watched the insignificant life they had left drain away into nothingness.
Killing a vampire was easier than one would have imagined. It involved a good deal of stealth, for the fuckers were known for having a keener ear than an owl. There was also a healthy helping of fearlessness required. Vampires were monsters of nightmares, except no longer figments of imagination but real. As real as me and the stake I had gripped hard in my hand.
I no longer feared them. I couldn’t. Being scared was not an option. But I could still recognise the danger they possessed. There were hordes of vampires. Thousands. The figure likely higher than I could ever imagine, which made them far more deadly than I. I couldn’t pull the true number out of my ass to tell it even if I wished.
The corpse beneath me would have been young when he was turned. Its creaseless skin and innocent eyes revealed as much. His harsh face was crowned by sun-kissed locks of yellow and gold, long enough to fall around his skull like the petals of a picked flower.
I usually followed a rule I’d set for myself, as strict as a religion. Don’t kill the young ones. The discomfort which followed once I buried wood in their heart was too much to bear at times.
However, today was an exception.
I had slipped from Tithe later than I would have liked. It was easier to clamber out of the town during the shift of the wall’s guards around early dawn. The Watchers, as they were aptly named because it was all they ever seemed to do, were tired by the time they were swapped out, which meant they grew lazy—lazier than normal at least. Not that I complained. For years I had been completing this dance of leaving town before dawn and returning all before the break of the morning fast.
All day I had searched for the undead, seeking desperately through the ruins of long-forgotten buildings overgrown foliage had claimed. Usually they were easier to find, but it seemed today every single vampire had fled the world entirely.
If only.
Darkmourn, a city lost to death and time, nestled in the shadow of Castle Dread, was a major nest for the creatures. Today, the old town was utterly dry of the bounty I required.
When the sun ruled the skies, the creatures would flee to the darkest corners of the world. Light, much like my trusted stake, was deadly to the undead.
The more time slipped by, the harsher my desperation grew. Then I heard the familiar weeping of the creature, which finally led me to my prey.
The vampire was cowering in the cellar of an old bakery in Darkmourn. Years ago, this building would have been filled with the luscious smells of fresh bread and the tickling scents of sweet delights. Now it was a cavernous place, home to rats the size of cats and shadowed corners hiding other unseen horrors.
Fuck, I hate rats.
The vampire was whimpering in the dark belly of the bakery, its light voice enough to slice the skin of anyone without a stomach forged of iron. I knew it had been a child the moment I caught the dulcet tones lifting from the shadows of the cellar.
I had paused for only a moment, looking up at the rising sun and knowing my window of time to return to Tithe was short.
I could have turned my back and continued searching for one of older age. If I had the supply back home, perhaps I would have. But being picky with my prey was not a luxury I possessed, and I refused to return to Tithe without what I needed.
Blood. To be more specific, vampire blood.
I had made sure the vampire’s death was as swift as I could gift it. It had hardly had a chance to scream in terror before I had pounced into the shadows of the cellar, straddled it and then drove the stake into its heart.
Even after years of the Hunt, the sound of wood through flesh turned my stomach. It was wet and loud, like the smacking of lips as a greedy Watcher chewed on meat.
I sat there for a moment, watching the pale colouring of the child’s skin darken, as though years of rotting caught up to it within seconds. Guilt stabbed through me, but only for a moment. It was all I allowed.
Reaching for my leathered belt, I tore the short dagger from its sheath alongside two glass vials I kept in a pouch as easily accessible as my weapon.
“Sorry,” I muttered, taking the dagger and lifting the blade toward the creature’s throat. With a keen, swift slice, the flesh tore open and dark, pinkish gore splashed across the vampire’s chest.
“At least you have found peace,” I told the corpse as its cold, thin blood poured over my hands as I filled the vials to their rim.
There was a time I used to fill more than a couple of glass vials at a time, but then my sister grew older, and her eyes sharpened alongside her mind. She was inquisitive, which I had convinced myself was a bad thing. Sometimes those with watching stares noticed flaws as though it were their gift.
Auriol could not discover my greatest secret.
The pale colour of the blood and its almost transparent texture revealed the vampire had not fed in a while, likely because of the absence of prey. Humans who were lucky enough to survive since the curse of the vampires spread across the world, now lived within walled communities like Tithe. For years, the blood-thirsty creatures had little but vermin and wild beasts to feast from.
