Curse of Blood and Midnight

by Emily Inskip

  Before anything else could happen, Amara shimmied down the side of the building, slinking into the shadows then reappearing behind the boy, her face deathly calm.

  “Who are you?” the man spat, his thin lips quivering with what looked like fury. “Did you bring him here, boy?”

  “You mean her,” Amara corrected, tugging her hood back to reveal her lethal onyx gaze and the fangs that matched.

  The man blanched. “W . . . what is this?”

  Slowly, he began backing up the alleyway, but not before shoving all the coins from the hat into his jacket.

  Amara didn’t bother to pursue him yet, she only bent down to whisper something in the little boy’s ear. He nodded once then hobbled away, not turning back. Then Amara finally turned her attention on the man. He was old, his eyes were ringed with dark circles and creases marred his face. But there was a hardness there, an evil even Amara couldn’t beat.

  She would never hurt a child.

  Like mist itself, Amara sauntered forwards. She took her time, silently advancing after him. Fear and realisation suddenly flashed across his features and a heartbeat later, he began to run.

  Amara let him. She watched him make slow progress, his boots skidding along the cobbles. And when he eventually slipped to his knees in a puddle of an unidentified dark liquid, Amara could have sworn the gods must love her.

  The older man didn’t give up though. He continued shuffling away, dragging himself down the alley. In a burst of hopelessness, he tossed the cap at her. Amara merely brushed it to the side. She couldn’t help the laugh that rippled from her throat. Let’s see how he likes it, she mused.

  In an instant he was screaming out, gripping his ankle at where she had snapped it to the side. His bones splintered in a bloody mess, but Amara didn’t give him long enough to realise before she leapt on top of him and tore into his throat.

  His body spasmed slightly then relaxed in her grip, giving in to the strength of her jaws around his neck.

  Amara made sure the life had drained from his eyes before extracting a tiny glass vial from her pocket and placing it against the puncture wound in his skin. Dark blood oozed in, it’s warmth spreading through the container. Amara didn’t feel bad about what she had done. She didn’t feel sympathy for men who abused children, for those that believed they deserved more than anyone else.

  So as she plugged the cork stopper into the vial and tucked it safely inside her pocket, she smiled faintly to herself before skipping down the alley, leaving the hunk of rat food behind her.

  31

  Four blood-filled glasses now clinked about in her pocket as she stalked down her final victim. The skies above were fading from black into a pale purple as sunlight began to leak from the horizon. She had been hunting all night, constantly looking over her shoulder out of instinct, terrified of who she would find lurking behind her. But each time there was nothing. Amara hadn’t so much as scented another vampire in the slums, but she still travelled carefully, never lingering in one place for too long.

  She hadn’t found it hard to decide upon the other three people to kill. After scouting out the local brothel, a few of the run-down taverns and a fighting ring established below the remains of an old cotton factory, Amara didn’t have difficulty taking her pick of Valmont’s worst. Eventually, she’d settled upon a slave-trader resting before setting sail the following morning and a madam who forced her girls onto the streets. Her last victim had been a smug con artist, duping desperate families into handing over any coin they could scrounge from their days on the streets of the slums.

  If he were here, Elias would wonder why she was putting so much thought into her targets. Why she hadn’t just killed the first five people she came across. Amara wondered that, too. But somehow, whenever she imagined taking the life of another innocent, all the faces of the royal guards flashed into her mind, the gardener’s frail body tumbling down the mountainside and the hundreds of others she’d watched die by her hand.

  Never again.

  So yes, she had to be sure of her decision. Because if she wasn’t, she was afraid the mistake would destroy her forever.

  Amara tailed her final victim, easily slipping in and out of the shadows. She followed the woman silently; her soft footfalls could barely be heard against the cobbles below.

  Amara had known about this old hag for months now, gossip and stories of how she kept children locked in her cellar, holding them hostage whilst she bribed their parents. Of course, the slums being the slums, families would usually rather keep their coin than spend it on saving their child. So they were left to rot in the shadows of the musty vault until the wicked woman grew bored and played games which involved ripping out their fingernails to make a pretty necklace.

  No one really believed the tales, neither had Amara until she saw it with her very own eyes that night. It made her want to gag and she was surprised by the fury that rose up inside of her as she peered down at the chained children from a grate above. Before pursuing her target, Amara made sure to unbolt the door, releasing all of the children from their shackles and stormed out. Oh, how she couldn’t wait to slit this woman’s throat.

  Now, Amara trailed after her through the winding passages, waiting for the right moment to strike. She was surprised when the hunched woman stopped in her tracks and ducked beneath the boarded-up entrance to a crumbling workhouse that looked to have been abandoned years ago.

  Amara hesitated for a moment, waiting until the woman’s footsteps faded before she followed her inside.

  It seemed to be a warehouse of sorts, packed with bales of hay and bundles of threadbare fabric fastened with twine. Amara weaved between the stacks of straw; it dusted the floor, making it harder to silence her movements, each step she took was followed by a soft crunch. But it could also be a blessing. In the dull early morning light, Amara followed the shuffling sounds, winding through the rows upon rows of hay and cloth until finding herself in a clearing somewhere along the eastern flank of the building.

  The dark figure of the woman halted before her, slowly turning to face her. The silence was eerie as the old hag peered at her through the dimness of the building.

  “Don’t think I didn’t realise you’ve been following me, child,” her voice was rough and grinding, as though her throat were made of broken glass.

  Child, Amara thought as she grinned at the woman. You have barely scraped the surface of my age.

  The woman scowled, and it was only then that Amara noticed the necklace of jagged cut ceramic hanging around her neck. No, not ceramic, she realised with a start. Human Nails.

  Amara grimaced, cringing at the yellowing flakes that had been arranged like beads.

  The crone smiled as she noted Amara’s gaze. “Do you like—”

  One moment she was stood there in the shadows. The next, her head tumbled to the ground with a wet thump. It rolled towards Amara’s feet, strands of hay sticking to the flesh, her wrinkled face staring blankly up at her. Another thud shook through the warehouse as her body followed suit, crumbling to the floor.

  Amara was sure she was dreaming. She had to be.

  For Fassar Valkrane was stood before her. His dark eyes pinned her down like arrows. They were the same emotionless stones she remembered. But she wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t a nightmare, it was reality. And suddenly she couldn’t move.

  Shock froze her bones, every part of her seized up until it was even an effort to blink. She was sure tears had found their way into her eyes. They burnt before rolling down her cheek.

  Amara thought she’d been careful. She thought she’d covered her tracks, always one step ahead of everyone else. But there was only so far she could run before hitting a dead end.

  Taking his time, Fassar strolled forward. The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. He was dressed in a sleek black jacket that matched the liquid ebony of his hair. Shadows gathered around him as though he fed on the darkness itself.

  “Hello, my dear Amara.”

 
She shuddered at just the sound of his voice. The soft, lethal tones that made her gut lurch and fingers begin to tremble.

  “Finally, we meet after all this time,” he smiled, though it reminded her more of a wolf baring its teeth.

  She hated how casual he was, the effortlessness of his movements as he melted through the shadows towards her.

  Amara called for her calm, her arrogance and swagger. But nothing answered. She was alone now, nothing more than a defenceless servant waiting to be punished.

  And it was in that moment that Amara realised she was going to die.

  “Now, now,” he soothed.

  Fassar stopped before her, his long slender body craning over her. Like a wisp of smoke, he brought his hand up to her face. Amara flinched away but he snatched her chin with his other hand, pinning her in place.

  With one pale finger, he brushed away her tears. She wanted to scream. To yell and run, to lash out and fight. And yet, all she could do was stand there helplessly.

  Her head was swimming and as each second ticked by, she felt herself slipping away. Her mind began to escape her body in the same way it had done during her hours of torture. Being beaten bloody by the man who now gripped her face. She still felt the burn of the leather whip against her back.

  “Elias had told me you had changed.” His breath tickled her face as he pulled her closer. “But it looks to me like you are just as pathetic as you were before.”

  Carefully, he tilted her chin up, marvelling at the smooth skin of her neck. “You’ve always been beautiful though. No wonder my son became such a fool for you.”

  Shadows passed across his eyes and his grip tightened around her, his fingertips beginning to dig hard into her flesh. But she barely felt it. Everything grew numb. His voice was a muffled noise, a distant whisper.

  “I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed,” he said, “I thought you’d at least put up something of a fight.”

  Warmth began to trickle down her face. She hardly registered that it was her own blood until he drew one finger away, slowly licking his nail clean.

  His eyes fell closed. “Devine.”

  No.

  A small voice cried out from a pit within her. When she didn’t listen, it called louder. A single kernel of hope amongst the darkness. And it was just enough to draw her back from the edge. Amara blinked and the ice that had frozen her veins shattered. Centuries of buried anger and fury suddenly erupted. This man was responsible for wrecking her life. He destroyed every part of her and her family.

  No, that voice reminded her, not every part. Because that shard of hope now shined brighter than ever.

  She would never yield.

  It happened in a flash of motion. Fassar’s roar ripped through the room as Amara drove the firebirch stake through his chest. It rammed home behind the force of two hundred years of wrath.

  “I never disappoint,” she said with a wink before twisting the wood, forcing it deeper into his flesh.

  Amara had known to take it from Elias’ room as soon as she’d planned to visit the city. The stake had been extremely uncomfortable against where she’d strapped it to her leg during the theatre trip. But not as uncomfortable as it must be now, buried into his chest.

  Fassar struggled against her but the pain paralyzed him. For a single foolish moment, Amara thought that was the end. That she had found a way to outsmart the devil himself.

  But that feeling was short-lived as a pair of strong hands gripped her from behind and hauled her away. Amara snarled, whirling on her attacker only to realise that the entire warehouse was now crowded by members of the Valkrane . . . And she’d just stabbed their master.

  Somewhere across the room, Fassar was clawing at the stake. To her horror, he managed to heave it out. It clattered to the floor, echoing through the now silent workhouse.

  From the shadows of the hay bales, more vampires began to advance towards her, closing in on all sides. Amara held her ground, staring down her opponents and baring her teeth. But they didn’t stop.

  “Enough,” Fassar growled, and the entire room froze.

  She spun to face him, fists clenched at her sides and ears roaring. But she couldn’t help the smug grin that tugged her lips as she took in the shock in his eyes. His jacket was now torn, splattered by his own blood and with a gaping hole shredded above his heart where the stake had hit true.

  Although, her smirk faltered as she met his hard gaze. He glared at her in fury, his jaw set, the tight line of his mouth twitching as if resisting the urge to rip her apart there and then.

  “You said you wanted a fight,” she only shrugged. “I was merely obliging.”

  He scowled. “I bet you think you’re so clever with your little act up at the castle. I hope you liked the gifts I sent. I’ve been working on a thing or two recently. The creature you met was a Narazu, wonderful little things. Courtesy of the witch I bled dry . . . But that’s a story for another time.”

  A single gesture to the men behind her was all it took for them to seize her by the arms and force her to the ground.

  She gritted her teeth through the jarring slam of her knees against the concrete. Pain lanced up her legs but she ignored it, not dropping Fassar’s gaze for a second.

  “But the thing is, Amara,” Fassar continued, slowly strolling towards her. “I rather like you.”

  Amara cringed as he took her face into his hands once more, dropping down into a crouch beside her. “You were always such a hard worker and I’m planning great things to come. The world will soon become that little bit more hideous, and you are the sort of pretty face I’d like for company.”

  A small growl escaped her lips before she pulled back and spat into his face. The surrounding vampires tensed, ready to react as Fassar jerked backwards in response. Rage flashed across his face but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a lack of emotion honed from a millennia of cruelty. Smoothly, he rose to his feet and reached into his jacket to retrieve a silk-cut cloth that he used to gently dab his cheek.

  “I’m offering you a way out,” he said, carefully folding the cloth over and sliding it back into his pocket. “If you’re really as clever as I hope, you’ll take it.”

  Amara waited.

  Fassar smiled. “Work for me.”

  Her mind stuttered, grinding to a halt. Silence settled over the room at his words. Even some of the Valkrane had let their emotions slip, their mouths gaping slightly.

  “Work for me,” he repeated as he fixed the cuffs of his jacket.

  His bone-white fingers caught the weak morning light that now struggled through the clouded glass windows of the warehouse. Amara found herself staring at his hands as they quickly worked, like pale threads stitching through the darkness.

  “I will never work for you,” she said, low and rough. “Never again.”

  Fassar stopped and looked at her. She was sure she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, or was that just the dull throbbing pain of her body? She couldn’t tell anymore.

  “Are you sure?” he asked calmly, his sinewy arms coming to fold across his chest.

  And that’s when two more men appeared from behind a pile of fraying cloth. Amara craned her neck up, only to realise that they were clutching a trembling boy in their arms. His eyes were glassy and white. A little cap nestled atop the brown curls of his head.

  “Let him go,” Amara said through gritted teeth. The men behind her struggled to keep her restrained as she furiously tugged against them.

  She didn’t want anyone else involved in this, especially not the child she had fought to save. His soft whimpers could be heard from across the room. His head frantically whipped from side to side as he tried to regain his bearings. But what difference would that make when Fassar was finished with him.

  “See, Amara, I know you too well,” Fassar said with a lethal softness as he waltzed towards the boy, snaring him by the wrist and dragging him forwards. “I knew you wouldn’t agree . . . so let’s see if he can change your min
d.”

  “Help me,” the boy sobbed, his weak voice cracking with fear. “Help me.”

  Amara couldn’t bear to watch. And seeing him there only fuelled the anger that roiled in her veins.

  “I said, let him go,” she bit out.

  Fassar placed a hand on his chest as if wounded. “And I will, my dear. Just as soon as you agree to work for me.”

  She growled in frustration. She would kill him.

  Her eyes fell on the shuddering boy. His lips were feathered with chapped skin, his face blotchy and red from tears. There was a time when she was as broken as that. When she was so helpless and desperate that she had to rely on others for a way out. But since then, she had been given the chance to change, to grow older and stronger. She had earnt the power to make her own decisions and take control of her life. And this opportunity was as good as any. Even if it meant sacrificing that freedom she had fought so hard to claim.

  After a while, she let her eyes fall closed.

  No, Fenn’s voice was in her head. Don’t you dare do it, Amara.

  Don’t do it, Elias urged from the back of her mind. Don’t be so stupid.

  But she was done taking orders.

  “Fine,” she breathed, dropping her head to the floor.

  Instantly, she heard the soft sounds of the boy being taken away, followed by a spine-raking laugh that echoed through the room. Even the Valkrane minion busy pinning her arms behind her back flinched at that.

  Amara didn’t need to look behind her to know that he must be new to it, probably hadn’t even earnt himself a suncharm yet. Only those just beginning to experience Fassar’s evil still had their emotions intact. Although, they would lose them soon enough.

  Amara tugged against his grip, and to her surprise, it held firm.

  Fassar smirked, carefully studying her now. “I told you I know you too well.”

  She rolled her eyes, clumps of straw sticking to her trousers as she knelt in the foul mess. Right now, she wouldn’t have minded the comforts of her chambers in Winvaris. She even missed her silken bedsheets and velvet chaise that she had spent far too long lounging on. But all of that disappeared as she caught Fassar’s sharp gaze.