Volume 2 — Birth Father
Not a sound. Not yet at least. Nothing I could describe in any way that makes sense.
It made me halt mid-cut.
I was beset once more by the haunting fear that had been with me for more than a month and a half now. My hand, the knife I held, hovered over the carrots I had been dicing. Keeping perfectly still, I listened.
Across from me, the chak-chak-chak of Eryn’s own knife faltered. The rich nuance of her chicken-broth flavor colored with compassion. The motherly old woman put her arms on the table between us and leaned forward, deliberately lowering herself to my height so that she would not have to look down at me. She tilted her head in an attempt to look me in the eye. Her shoulder-length dark-blonde hair, which she wore loose indoors, fell to one side. Her eyebrows rose, ever so slightly uneven, cutting deep wrinkles in the aged skin of her forehead.
Someone who did not know Eryn was likely to mistake this for mockery of my paranoia, but I had grown deeply familiar with her warm presence. Her aroma swirled with genuine worry, proving that even after so many false scares, she still treated my fears seriously.
I stared into the distance and waved a hand through the air between us to silence the reassurance that I knew would follow. Something really wasn’t right this time. I wet my lips and fully opened myself to my senses in a manner I rarely did. Something was different, out of place in a way that couldn’t be condensed into mere sounds or scents. That only made me want to quantify what had startled me all the more.
Maybe the old woman was right to worry about me, with how often I did this. I so hoped she was right this time as well. Then I would shrug, and continue our work on this evening's dinner. She would sigh quietly, and whisper, “Jumping at shadows again, Dear.”
Yet as the days stretched on, dragging out these moments of impossible contentment far beyond anything I deserved, so grew my trepidation. The Inquisition had come by here nearly two months ago, oblivious to my true nature. By some miracle, the entire town had kept my secret.
I had been living here since then, in open hiding. A forbidden nightmare. A monster that should be hunted to extinction. First I’d been relieved, but that relief had been short-lived. As time passed, I knew with ever-growing certainty, a secret held so openly could not be kept forever. The Inquisition would learn about me eventually. They would return. Kill me. It would happen quickly, quietly. When they came, it would be unannounced and with overwhelming force. It was the only way they could best me, the only way that was safe for them.
Every moment could be my last. Every evening spent among friends, every meal shared, every smile stolen, every touch, each hug and cuddle could be the final one. Every word I spoke could be the thing people remembered me by.
I feared it really were my last moments now. I tilted my head, fanned my nostrils. I licked my lips and tasted the air once more. There were new, elusive sounds outside I could not identify. They were ever so subtle, almost imperceptible, shrouded. Whoever made those sounds snuck closer from downwind, with predatory finesse and purpose.
There were barely more than forty people here in Birnstead. I had interacted with all of them, during the day, when I was close to blind. I knew everyone by the way they walked, how they held themselves, and the broad gestures they made. I could identify people simply by the quality of their breathing. With most inhabitants, I was more familiar with their taste than their very name.
The six humans that had come stalking noiselessly out of the forest, deliberately muting their scents by their direction of approach, I did not know them at all.
And then they broke into a run.
My eyes, up to now unfocused, found Eryn’s, and I held her gaze.
Her heart thundered in that typical uneven, frail way of hers. Guilt flowed into her chicken-broth taste, the first sign of fright. The happy, mocking twist to her lips twitched into a frown. She blinked several times in rapid succession.
Even now, I still would not have missed any of it.
Still don’t regret it.
Not for one second.
These two months have been the happiest of my life.
“I need you to leave, Eryn.” My words were little more than a hush, yet there was a deep and cold finality in my voice. With slow and deliberate motions I put my knife to the side, and then prized Eryn’s own knife from between her trembling fingers.
Once I had put that aside as well, I spread my hands out on the table between us. I wore no gloves. Not anymore. Not in here, while cooking. Often not even out in the town. My claws, which I had spent decades hiding from people, were on full display. All of me was on full display, because I trusted these people, and they trusted me in turn. They had trusted a vampire, and now I hoped they would not pay too grievous a price for it.
“Vale?” Eryn’s usually stern voice cracked apart until all that was left was a frail whisper. Worry frayed her scent. Her fingers twitched, one hand reaching out to me.
“Now, Eryn. They’re here,” I pleaded, pulling my hands back, out of her reach. I could not afford her sentimentality now. There was no more time for that. Yet even my lips quivered as I exhaled loudly. I narrowed my eyes, struggling — failing — to keep my emotions at bay. “We talked about this. Cooperate with them. Do not interfere. Let them kill me. Now go!”
Outside, the six unknown tastes had moved with ruthless efficiency. As soon as they had reached the little lean-to at the back of the bunkhouse that served as stables and outdoor storage, they had split up. One group of two was circling the building from the west, and another group of two from the east. The last two had taken up position halfway to the tree line, probably keeping watch on the back windows, making certain I did not escape through those.
“Maybe…” Eryn reached for me again.
“No!” I shook her off. Brisk. Rough. Pointed at the door leading from the kitchen towards the common room while stubbornly looking down at my feet. She had to leave. Right now.
Already I was counting the seconds, estimating the pace of the circling groups, extrapolating how long it would take them to meet up at the front. There was only the slightest falter in the steps of the assailants. It was not out of fear, or caution. It was too measured for that, the pauses at nice, equidistant intervals. I knew all too well what that meant. They were placing runestones, putting up a containment field.
A shiver ran down my neck and shoulders and then I could no longer stop shaking. Just living, fully, happily, and accepting the end when it came should have been easy. And I had lived. Free from constant, endless vigil, it had been the happiest time of my life. And I had no clever plan for this that didn’t endanger the townspeople I cared so much about. And…
I did not want to die.
A dull clack signaled the closing of the door behind Eryn. It was the last I knew of the woman who had spent so many evenings teaching me to cook. This was her home. She and her husband owned this bunkhouse and ran this entire town. It wasn’t right that I ordered her around like this. She did not deserve me treating her this rough, not after all she had done for me. Yet it was the only way. She was too old and frail and sentimental. She would take too long otherwise, and we had no time for that. If she did not distance herself from me, the Inquisitors would not differentiate between us.
It was so stupid. Instead of a proper goodbye, all I’d had time for was a sternly worded ‘no’, and a finger pointing at a door. Earlier today, when Aunt Reya had come by to mooch breakfast, I had simply given her a slap on the wrist and a glare. The town healer did not like her girlfriend’s idea of morning fare, so she always tried to sneak in and snatch a bite or two from the food intended for the people staying in the bunkhouse. And I couldn’t even recall what my last words had been to Meg, Gery, Shae, Nebby, and all the other people in this little village who had wanted me to see their quiet town in the middle of nowhere as a second home. I had probably said or done something equally pointless and banal.
No uplifting final words.
No comforting goodbye.
Nothing to remember me by.
Pathetic.
These people deserved more, and I could not give it to them. If only I had run away two months ago, then I could have spared them this. Instead, I’d stayed, selfishly. Against all expectations, the people of Birnstead had come to see me not as a monster, not as a child, but as a person. For two whole months, they had made me feel human, even while they allowed me to be myself.
The acceptance of me was not entirely universal. There were still some people here who felt less than comfortable with my presence. Had one of them ratted me out to the Inquisition? I hoped not, and even if someone had, I found that in these last moments, I did not care. I really hoped they’d all be alright, after what they had done for me. Harboring me. A vampire. The scourge that had razed the continent of Ostea, plunged it into a vicious and desperate war that was still going on, even now, decades later.
Fourteen. I stopped counting when a dim shout came from outside, one of the circling Inquisitors revealing their presence now that they were convinced I could no longer escape. They had only needed fourteen seconds to put down and prime their containment field. They were good. Really good. That was strangely comforting. At least I would not be killed at the hands of some incompetent fool.
I took a deep breath, taking in the cozy feel and warm taste of the bunkhouse kitchen — the lingering hints of Chicken-broth Eryn and Lovelorn-firebird Rafe that permeated the air and the wood — one last time, then leaned back against the wall and let my body sag down to the ground. If there was ever any chance of fleeing, I’d wasted the opportunity now.
I’m sorry, Dad.
So sorry… I never gave you a proper—
The containment field, charged with devastatingly powerful Tonaltus, slammed into me. The wave of energy severed and seared away the strands of Metzus animating my body. Agony lanced through every fiber of my being.
I could no longer grit my teeth because I lacked control.
I could not even scream.
Putrid stink filled the room as my flesh boiled, my bones melted, and my decomposing body stained the floor. Then two damp pops came from my eyes and I was spared the remainder of the gruesome sight. The searing pain subsided soon after, as there was no longer enough left of me to feel with.
Book 2! Yay!
Chapter 1
"Today, I died. Again..."
*throws book*
*returns book*
Here, you're going to need this when chapter two drops. You know, for more book-throwing
Truly, the only monster here is the Author
Honestly, I have no idea how my characters put up with me anymore. One day they're just going to walk out on me mid-chapter