"Be gone before I make you."
The man scuttled away, knowing what was good for him, joining the line of nobles entering the Minster.
Nye turned and watched Eleanor approach, her long curly chestnut hair blowing in the icy wind that had picked up with her arrival. A few flakes of snow spiraled around the square, and he couldn't help marveling at her beauty. Had he known she was a witch from the beginning, he wouldn't have touched her, but by the time she revealed herself, it was too late. He’d already had a taste of her body and didn't have the strength to turn her away.
"Nye Saer," she said, her voice sounding almost musical in the close air. "Vampires are not welcome here. You know this, yet here you remain."
"You weren't complaining last week, Eleanor."
"Things change." She traced her fingers along the edge of his cloak, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip. "You must leave or suffer the consequences."
"But you still want it," he murmured, stepping closer. "I can hear your heart beating. No matter what they say, you still want me, Eleanor."
Her hand trailed up his collar, along his neck, into his hair and she pulled him against her, crushing her lips with his. He had no control where she was concerned, and he kissed her back, taking her as deeply as he could in such a public place.
"Come," she whispered against his swollen mouth.
Nye felt the crackle in the air that betrayed the power in her command, but he didn't have it in him to deny her. Taking her hand, she led him from the square and through the streets until they reached the wood that bordered against the far edge of town.
"What is this?" he asked, snow crunching underfoot.
Eleanor dropped his hand and pushed him back against a tree, kissing him again. His body began to take over and he grasped her waist, spinning her around and pinning her against the trunk of the ancient oak. Something deep inside him said that this was a trap. He should've known better, considering in his last life he'd been a spy for the English Crown. He should've known they'd turn her against him. He didn't want to be a vampire; he was cheated by a cruel twist of fate, but there was a part of him that loved this witch and that was his downfall.
He kissed her with all the passion he could muster, sliding his tongue against hers, showing her how much she meant to him…how much he cared for her. But it was never going to be enough. He felt the magic rising in her before he could pull away and he knew he'd failed. She shoved him back, a look of malice etched into her beautiful features.
Gagging, he stumbled, clutching at his throat. "What have you done?"
"The Unhallowed will suffer your presence no longer." She pushed him again and he fell backward into the snow with a thud, his movements becoming sluggish.
So, they'd bade her to kill him then. Strangely, he didn't feel that alarmed, considering he was well aware of what the witches were capable of.
Eleanor straddled him, pulling out a blade and pressing it against his forehead. The sting of metal cut into him and he hissed at her, but she ignored his pitiful wailing and continued carving his skin.
"Such an unfortunate life," she crooned, tracing his scar with the tip of her bloody blade. The stench of his own blood was overpowering, threatening to take his control, but there was nothing he could do about it.
"So much pain," she murmured. "I will take it away. I will deliver you, Nye. I promise."
She began to speak in the strange language of the witches and the symbol she'd cut into his forehead began to sear with unbelievable agony. “Eleanor—"
There was a gust of wind and suddenly, she was gone. Immediately, the burning pain stopped and he sat up, gasping for air. Nye's gaze locked onto a tall man standing on the opposite side of the clearing, his hand curled into Eleanor's hair. She let out a whimper as he twisted, a sick look of satisfaction on his face.
Nye knew the man was a vampire-he could see it in his eyes, the way the color swirled from white into black, and in the pallor of his skin.
"You know what you need to do, brother," he said, forcing Eleanor to her knees. With his other hand he drew a sword from under his black cloak and held it out hilt first.
Stumbling to his feet, Nye took the sword-somehow knowing it was in his best interests if he did. Hesitating, he looked down at Eleanor and saw that her eyes were full of fear. She had no issues with taking his life, but when it came to hers...
"The love you feel is false," the man said. "End her and you will end your misery."
Eleanor's eyes began to darken, her mouth twisting into a devilish smile. The air began to thicken and he knew he was dead if he didn't do what the man bade him. They'd both die. As the word formed in her throat, he raised the sword and struck with all his supernatural strength. He hardly felt it when the blade severed flesh and bone, but he felt his heart break…or what was left of it.
The stench of blood was almost immediate as it splattered over the white snow, a stark contrast if he ever saw one. Eleanor's body dropped with a thud, the red of her life soaking into the earth. Propping himself up with the bloody sword, he covered his nose and mouth with a trembling hand to smother the scent of his dead lover.
Finally looking up at the man who'd saved him, he asked, "Who are you?"
The man smirked and dropped Eleanor's head. It landed in the snow with a dull thud and he theatrically dusted off his hands.
"I am Regulus and I've been watching you, Nye Saer."
* * *
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About the Author
Hey there. My name is Nicole R. Taylor (the R stands for radical…not really, but I'll never tell) and I write books and stuff.
I write about vampires with complexes, insane witches, super heroes, post-apocalyptic warriors, soul baring music lovers and samurai sword wielding women…all from a desk in a country town in Australia.
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For More Information:
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Young Blood (A Witch Hunter Saga Novella) Page 10