by J. C.
She screamed, and a faltering wave of pleasure passed through Chane as he bit into her throat
Her flesh was soft and hot with fear, but he drank only enough to weaken her. He slowed, licking at the wound to make the moment last a little longer, then pulled back and twisted his fingernails in her skin.
She screamed again, trailing into panting whimpers. This time the sound brought Chane only melancholy. When she tried to pull his hand away, he pushed his fingernails through layers of her clothes and flesh.
Her sounds of pain and horror would attract all the attention he wanted, but she wasn't putting up enough of a fight, barely a pretense of self-defense.
Chane didn't cover her mouth as he burrowed his face into her bloodied throat. He ripped her flesh open with his teeth, but took care not to collapse her windpipe. She cried out and began a series of moans as he dropped her to bleed out on the alley floor. Pounding footsteps in the street told him it was time to slip away. He scurried to a deep black doorway down the alley and paused to watch.
A soldier skidded on the wet cobblestones as he passed the alley mouth and hurried back to see the woman. He had no torch or lantern and nearly tripped over the manservant's body as he rushed to her. Another guard arrived with a torch held high, the light exposing both victims. Both guards stared at the woman.
Blood had stopped spilling from between her fingers clamped about her throat. It pooled about her head, slowly running along crevices between the cobblestones. Her brown eyes were still open.
"Get Lord Geyren—now!" the first soldier yelled.
The second guard dropped the torch beside his companion and ran back the way he'd come. Shouts and confusion followed.
Chane knew he should slip away, but a strange fascination kept him there. He watched longer than he should have.
Armed men and gasping townspeople began to collect at the alley's mouth. Chane heard an anguished shout.
A young man in polished boots pushed through the gawkers to stand over the young woman's corpse. He wore a royal-blue tunic and an open indigo cloak. When he crumpled to his knees, he took no notice of blood soaking into his fine breeches.
"Marianne?" he asked, reaching out for her red-stained fingers. He pulled them away, exposing her throat. "Marianne!"
The second soldier had returned with the young nobleman and began pushing the crowd back. The first soldier turned on his knee toward the manservant, checking for life. In front of the guards and everyone else the young nobleman sobbed like a child. He lifted her body and pulled it to his chest. Her blood smeared across the side of his face. He looked around wildly.
"Help me! Someone get help."
Chane watched in puzzlement as the young man rocked the woman in his arms, back and forth.
It wasn't fair. He should still have the joy of the hunt and the kill, but it had come and gone in an instant. Euphoria eluded him, no matter how much warm flesh he bit into since…
That night in the Apudalsat forest, Wynn, bleeding from a shoulder wound, threw herself in front of Magiere. Chane hesitated. Magiere took his head. And then nothing but waking in terror from that last instant, and thrashing free of the corpses thrown over him.
Watching the young nobleman, Chane felt no pity or regret, but there was an image in his thoughts, as he imagined…
Wynn collapsed across his own headless body. She sobbed upon his chest, her small face streaked with dirt and tears and his own black fluids.
Chane couldn't watch any longer. He slipped along the wall, deeper into the alley. No one noticed his departure. He kept seeing Wynn's face marred by his own second death.
The first long, eerie wail rang out through the night air, close enough that Chane froze. He stood in an open street, completely unprotected from the shield of Welstiel's ring.
Chap was hunting him.
* * * *
Magiere walked toward an inn, and as they drew near Leesil's torch lit up the yellow-painted letters of its sign—THE BRONZE BELL. Hunger rumbled in her stomach, and the barest burn of it rose in her throat. She hadn't bothered to eat anything before they stepped out on the hunt. Her jaw muscles twinged, probably from all the tension she'd suffered in the last few days. She reached for the door handle to enter the inn.
"Magiere…" Leesil whispered from behind.
She turned and saw his face strangely lit up inside his deep cowl, but the clomping of heavy boots pulled her attention away. Two men in leather armor, shortswords unsheathed, ran by through the intersection they'd just crossed.
Chap snarled and broke into a full-throated wail.
Hunger sharpened in Magiere's stomach in response to Chap's cry.
"Damned dead deities… we're right on top of him!" Leesil said.
He pulled the crossbow off his back, a quarrel already fitted under its holding clamp as he cocked it. Magiere saw why his face was lit up within the cowl.
The topaz amulet glowed upon his chest.
"Chap, go!" she ordered.
The dog bolted down the street, wailing as he turned the corner after the running soldiers. Magiere followed as fast as she could with Leesil close at her side. Chap outdistanced them to the next cross street, but there he pulled up short.
Two soldiers held back a small cluster of people before the mouth of an alley. Chap paced behind the townsfolk, trying to look through their legs into the alley. When Magiere caught up, she and Leesil stopped as well. She pushed halfway through the crowd before she saw the spectacle that had drawn them here.
A torch on the alley floor illuminated a man in an indigo cloak rocking the body of a small woman—his face smeared with her blood and his tunic soaked from her torn throat.
Magiere's hunger burned her from the inside. She was too late.
Chap wormed out of the crowd and past the two soldiers. Leesil pushed forward to follow, torch and crossbow held up in one hand. One soldier stepped in his way.
Leesil planted his foot behind the soldier's without breaking stride and struck the man with his hip and shoulder as he walked on. The soldier's footing slipped, and he flopped to the cobblestones.
"Leesil, easy!" Magiere snapped as she followed.
Chap scurried deeper into the alley, head low and swinging with his nose just above the cobblestones. He stopped, shook himself, and looked back to Magiere and Leesil with a high-pitched howl.
The crowd's murmurs softened, and two armed men behind the noble turned at the sound.
Leesil trotted ahead. He was halfway to Chap as Magiere drew her falchion to follow. The second soldier turned his back to the crowd. Short-sword drawn, he tried to cut Magiere off before she got into the alley.
Magiere lowered her sword but kept it in front of herself. She held up her empty hand.
"We were hired by your ruler to deal with whatever did this."
The soldier hesitated. She stepped along the alley's far wall, keeping well away from the kneeling noble. When she'd cleared the grieving man the soldier appeared satisfied and turned back to holding off the townsfolk.
Armed men surrounded the noble and tried to take the woman's body from him, but he wouldn't let go of her, and clutched her tightly to his chest. There was nothing Magiere could say or do for him, and she ran after Chap and Leesil heading out the alley's far end.
An old woman in an olive shawl and brown cloak stood across the wide street where the next stretch of alley continued on. She pointed east along the street, peering hesitantly around the alley corner.
"He went there," she said.
Chap was well ahead. So was Leesil. Magiere nodded to the old woman and ran to catch up. The dog howled out again, this time pitched to an almost human wail of anger.
"Go on!" Leesil shouted over his shoulder as he swerved right toward a cross street. "Don't let him duck for cover. I'll try to head him off."
Magiere ran after Chap, falchion in her hand. They would have to harry this undead closely to do as Leesil wanted. She caught sight of a tall man in tattered clothing running
ahead and knew this was her quarry. She felt it, the same rage and vicious hunger that overwhelmed her each time an undead was close by.
The few people she passed on the street were a blur quickly left behind. A wide-bellied man called out angrily as she brushed past him. Magiere let her dharnpir nature rise, and the night lit up in her sight. Hunger seeped into bone and muscle little by little, and she gained ground, coming up behind Chap.
The dog had the full scent of their quarry, and Magiere focused on keeping up. Buildings blurred by. Even if she hadn't felt this thing for what it was, nothing on two legs could stay ahead of Chap but a vampire.
She spotted the city's wall beyond the rooftops and realized they were headed in the direction of the main gate.
The tattered man veered right into a side street.
Magiere tried to curse, but it came out a hiss. If Leesil managed to stay parallel to them in the next street over, that thing was going to run right into him. Chap let out a sustained howl as he turned to follow. She hoped Leesil understood they now headed his way.
The dog rounded a corner. Magiere swerved, and her boots slid. She didn't have all fours and claws to run on as Chap did. Her feet wouldn't hold the turn at full speed.
She slammed sideways into the planking of a shop, spun on recoil, and fell. The falchion tumbled out of her grip. The drag of her hauberk against frozen mud brought her to a stop.
Chap wailed out ahead of her, and Magiere's anger cut away her control.
When she lifted her head, rising to her feet, her jaws pressed apart as her teeth elongated. The night grew so bright that tears leaked from her eyes.
The fleeing undead skidded to a stop in the next intersection, as if something blocked his way. Beyond him, in the next section of the street, a figure crouched behind a small flame.
Magiere saw a white brilliance around his face, and the amber glow of his eyes like tiny suns in the night.
Leesil had gotten ahead of them, crossbow aimed and the quarrel lit. He fired.
At the snap of the bowstring, Magiere charged, leaning to snatch up her falchion. Chap closed in on their prey.
The quarrel stuck. The vampire's tattered shawl ignited. For an instant Magiere's sight blurred painfully in the increased light.
She saw only the barest details. He was dressed like a poor city worker, and the stench of urine accosted her heightened senses. She bore down upon him, taking hold of the falchion with both hands.
The undead barely paused. He jerked the quarrel from his body and ripped away the burning shawl in the same movement. He flung them at Chap and ducked into another alley.
"Damn it!" Leesil shouted, as Chap dodged aside from the flames.
Magiere was first into the alley and didn't wait for her companions to catch up. Chap's wail came behind her as she ran; then he passed her by. She followed at the tip of his tail, hearing Leesil's angry breaths behind her.
Everything became instinct as Magiere's hunger focused on the undead fleeing through the dark ahead of her.
* * * *
Chane saw the quarrel an instant before it hit him and braced for the flames. He did not have time to think or react. He was afraid… and this made him angry.
He dreamed so often of ripping Magiere's throat out, but he could not face her and Chap and Leesil all at once. And not on the run and unarmed.
The quarrel struck him with a sickening thud, and the air around his head ignited into flames. He jerked out the quarrel, stripping away the burning shawl as well. He flung these at the dog, and ducked into the nearest path to run.
He had to reach the Ivy Vine without being seen.
Chane fled down the alley. Even if he eluded his pursuers' sight, hiding would do him no good. That bitch dhampir or the dog would sense him, or the half-blood's glowing stone would reveal that he was nearby. He simply ran, twisting and turning into other paths wherever he could.
But he needed that instant out of their sight, and it came at the right moment.
Chane spotted the Ivy Vine inn ahead. One block away he cut inward to find the alley that ran behind it. He reached the back of the inn. The wailing grew louder as his pursuers approached. Chane clawed his way up the wall, digging hardened fingernails into crevices and cracks between wood planks. He hoped he would not have to make noise by breaking the window.
As he reached the second floor, the window swung open. A hand reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. Welstiel heaved, and Chane toppled over the sill into the room. He heard the window close sharply as he spun around.
Welstiel crouched beside Chane, gripping his shoulder. They both froze and listened. Welstiel held up his hand with the ring of nothing on his first finger. It would hide them from the senses of the dog and dhampir, and even Leesil's amulet.
The dog's wailing stopped. Chane heard frustrated snarls outside in the alley. Welstiel put a finger to his tight lips.
Chane wrinkled his brow. He did not need to be told to keep silent.
Indeed, he was surprised at his own relief at being so well protected. Such a thought brought distaste and a thin edge of self-loathing. He longed for the rapture he had once known in the hunt and the kill.
But tonight, while Chane watched the nobleman sob in the alley, his mind finally conjured images to replace his missing memory…
Of Wynn weeping over his corpse.
* * * *
Chap nearly burst with rage when the undead's presence vanished from his awareness. He could smell which way it had passed, and he ranged back and forth along the alley. The trail ended midway near the back of an inn, but it made no sense. If the creature were inside, he would feel it this close, like an aching wound in the Spirit of the world.
Frustration was one more annoyance of living in flesh, and he found it harder to face with each passing year. He snarled through bared teeth, trying to let it out, spitting it from between his teeth, but it would not pass from him as he turned in agitated circles.
Perhaps his kin, the Fay, were not wrong in their accusation. Taking on flesh had changed him.
"You lost it?" Leesil asked between pants.
He barked twice for "no," then three more, low and rumbling, for his uncertainty. He looked up to Magiere, wondering if she could still feel the undead's whereabouts. Frustration drained and tension grew in its place.
Her irises were pure black. Tear tracks stained her pale cheeks. Each breath she took hissed in and out through her teeth, and Chap clearly saw her elongated canines. She shuddered under her own strain to retain self-control.
Chap cautiously approached Magiere from an angle that would allow him to stop her if she suddenly turned on Leesil.
"Do you sense anything?" Leesil asked.
Chap looked briefly toward Leesil. But Leesil was not looking to him. The half-elf's face was clenched with concern, and he did not return
Chap's gaze. Chap looked quickly back to Magiere and couldn't stop the growl that escaped him.
She glared at Leesil, breath deep and sharp. This was not exhaustion but the heat of something else within her. Chap heard Leesil behind him take a step toward Magiere. Chap tensed on all fours, ready to take Magiere down.
"Magiere?" Leesil said softly. "Can you sense anything?"
A startling change washed over her features. Her black eyes focused on Leesil.
The wrinkle of her brow faded. Her breaths became even and smooth, though her teeth remained unchanged. It was like seeing a feral animal suddenly look with longing at what stood before it.
Magiere dropped her gaze, reflexively covering her mouth with the back of her free hand.
"No… nothing," she said, though the words came out like a loud whisper.
Leesil stepped around Chap, grasping Magiere's raised hand. He gently pulled it down.
"I've seen it before," he said. "You don't need to hide from me."
Magiere clutched Leesil's fingers, blinking slowly. She looked tired now, as if the fading of her dhampir nature fatigued her more than t
he chase.
"I sense nothing," she answered more clearly, and looked down to Chap. "Where was the last place you smelled it?"
Magiere's teeth appeared to have receded, though her eyes remained unchanged. Chap whined again, and shook himself.
He relied on scent in some ways when tracking, but with an undead it was more that he felt its presence. He trotted back to the alley's center behind the building where the scent had ended. One second he had a strong sense of the creature, and the next, it was gone.
Chap saw that Magiere was as frustrated as he, gripping her sword tightly. It was hard to get this close and not make the kill… and more innocents might die as a result. His kin called this the way of things. Chap had long had his doubts that one small life of any kind in this world should mean so little, even in the balance of eternity.
Leesil crouched next to him. "My fault. I should've hit him with an oil flask, but he pulled the quarrel out too fast."
Magiere tried to catch her breath. "How did you get ahead of us?"
"Shortcut. I grew up here, remember. Did you get a look at him?"
"No, but his clothes were stolen."
"How do you know?"
"Because they smelled of the living… urine and sweat."
Chap continued to growl and fret, barely listening to his companions. He had been on the undead's tail, but the battle had been stolen from him. He began to tremble.
"He's gone," Magiere said. "The amulet lost its glow, and neither Chap nor I can pick up anything. How is this possible?"
Chap snorted and pawed at the alley's dirt.
"Now what?" Leesil asked. "Try again tomorrow night?"
Magiere frowned. "I wanted that thing's head tonight, so I could take it back to the keep. Then maybe Darmouth might find me a more trustworthy servant."
Leesil's expression darkened. Magiere reached out to touch his shoulder.
"If we haven't found something in the next few days, we should leave," she said. "Head up into the mountains and find our way to the elves… and hope Sgaile wasn't lying."
Leesil dropped his head in silence.
Chap had pondered this option to the point of frustration.