by Amy Miles
I hear the drums first, rising from the depths of the darkening woods. I turn my back on the window as the last few droplets of color fade from the sky. The stars twinkle high above, though tonight they do not capture my attention.
My heart thumps loudly in my ears as I stare at my door, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching. I know they are coming for me. It is time.
Panic seizes me as I realize this might be my last night on this earth. How odd it is to suddenly be fearful of the one thing I have wanted most: death. Maybe meeting Fane has changed me. Maybe the feel of a blade in my hand has given me something small to live for.
There is no knock or pause to request entrance to my room. My door bangs open and half a dozen immortals stand in the threshold, fighting to peer in. My candle is diminished so they do not spot me for a few scant seconds, though it is long enough for me to get a good look at them under torchlight.
The first I see is a slender redhead with waves of fire cascading over her shoulders. Never before have I seen such a vivid color on any other woman. Her skin is pale as winter snow and her lips the color of blood. I cannot help but wonder if she has actually painted her lips with it to celebrate this occasion.
Metal chains wrap about her long neck and wrists. Her dress is foreign, much fuller than any I have ever worn. Her feet are bare and her eyes are amplified by thick bands of black. Alamesia’s grating laugh sends ripples of unease down my spine.
Beside her is a tall, dark-haired man with a severe-cut beard and eyes the color of coal. His hair is unusually short, almost as if it has been shorn so you can see the strange markings on his neck, leading up to his scalp. I am tempted to lean in closer to see what design it makes at the back of his head, though one look at his eyes tells me I want no part of this man near me. The bloodied blade at his side gives evidence to the skirmish I heard below only a few minutes ago. I suppose I now know who won.
Two burly men stand behind Alamesia, rising nearly a foot taller and double the width. Their russet beards are unruly, their hair matted with leaves and dirt. They look as if they have been rolling with the dogs in the meadow. Judging by their scent, they may have had a time with the pigs as well. I do not know their names or their scent. These three men must have been among the newest group to arrive. I have heard many new voices come and go throughout the day.
I recognize the last immortal simply by her state of undress: Bellamy. If she were to speak, I would instantly recognize her accent from being raised by a small sheepherder in the countryside of France, where Lucien found her. Her name is on the lips of nearly every male that traipses through the front doors of Castle Bran, and I would wager she has shared a bed with most of them as well. She has been absent for some time, though Lucien seemed rather pleased to see her once more.
I had hoped Fane would be sent for me. He would have been a familiar face, though perhaps it is for the best. If Vladimir ever caught one of Fane’s less-than-guarded glances, he would lose his head and a few other limbs in the process.
“There she is,” the dark-haired man says with a gravelly voice as his grip tightens atop his fancy wooden walking stick. It has the head of a lion, its teeth sharpened into points. I dare say they appear to be dripping with blood. A fitting cane for such a beastly man.
“I saw her first, Barrett.” Bellamy offers him a smile dripping with honey as she places a hand high to tweak his nose before twirling to face me. I can see no hint of compassion in her eyes, only excitement as she digs her nails into my arms to wrench me from the dark.
“You had your fun during the plagues within the provinces of England. It is only fair that someone else shall have the honor.” I can see the ruddy tint still clinging to Barrett’s cheeks from Bellamy’s touch. He is not fooling anyone with his gruff tone. Men are essentially all the same.
Bellamy smirks and waves him off. “We must not keep everyone waiting.” Her voice is singsong, as if gripped by a dream world, yet laced with a lethal dose of poison.
“No, we certainly would not want that,” I spit back. The contents of my stomach rise in my throat, though I swallow it down, refusing to give them the satisfaction of sensing my fear.
If my greeting party is anything to judge by, the hunters should be far more anxious to begin the hunt. It is a sport to them, as sick as it is sadistic.
When Fane came to see me at dawn, he informed that I have received my request. Lucien will be among the hunters and he is eager to take a swing at me. As are the hulking men clomping behind me down the hall, no doubt. Their swords look sharp enough to severe bone with a single blow.
The castle is oddly empty as I am shoved down one corridor to the next. I fight the urge to drag my feet and force them to carry me. That will only expend energy I am sure to need before the sun rises… if I can make it that long.
The great hall is eerily still and vacant of firelight. Every door has been flung open, each room we pass unoccupied.
I am going to have quite the audience, I muse silently as I am prodded in the back by Barrett’s walking stick. The desire to beat him over the head with it grips me suddenly, though I hardly have time to think upon it as I am sent flying through the exterior door with a violent shove. I tumble end over end to the bottom of the stairs.
The leather of my skirt slaps against the stone as I roll to a halt, the edge of the bottom step digging painfully into my spine. Alamesia and Bellamy cackle as they leap down beside me. “Watch that top step. It can prove to be tricky.”
“Enough.”
I tense at the sound of the stern voice that echoes around the stone courtyard. Blood and gravel cling to my palms as someone grasps me under my arms and hauls me to my feet. My black leather halter is dusted white from the stone, my sword dangling from its sheath at my side thankfully unharmed.
This is not exactly how I wanted to present myself: disheveled and favoring my side. It is a weakness that the hunters will use to their advantage. Blast you, Alamesia! I silently curse.
“Why must you always spoil our sport?” Bellamy pouts. I look up as she steps around me without a glance and watch as she saunters toward Fane. Golden waves of fine hair trail behind her in the wind as she glides her hand across his chest. Rising onto her toes, she licks her blood-red lips and leans in toward him, sniffing the curve of his neck. There is a distinct sway to her hips as she moves past with a smirk, and I notice a muscle along his jaw flinch reflexively.
“Vladimir will not be pleased if Roseline arrives in a less-than-perfect state for her hunt.”
Alamesia snorts and crosses her arms over her chest as she juts out her hip. Her jewelry tinkles as she sways. “Roseline is it now? Tsk tsk, Fane. I would be cautious at how familiar you address the girl in front of Vladimir. He might not take too kindly to that. He seems unusually fond of her.”
Acid burns my throat at the thought of Vladimir’s particular form of fondness. Fane stiffens and appears determined not to glance in my direction as he turns to address Alamesia. He presses his shoulders back and lifts his chin with defiance. “I am her trainer, nothing more.”
I try not to let the lack of emotion in his tone nor the dullness of his eyes bother me, yet it does. I thought Fane was different than them. Was I mistaken about his feelings for me? Was it all some sick ploy to win my affections at my expense?
Judging by Alamesia’s grating laugh, she does not entirely agree with his sentiment. “We shall see.”
As she moves past to join arms with Bellamy, I cannot help but wonder to what she is referring. Will she see if Fane cares more for me than he is letting on, or is she referring to his status as my trainer?
Why do these people always speak in riddles? I cry out as Barrett takes another swift stab at my side. I growl and turn on him. “If I live to see the dawn, I am going to beat you with that stick.”
Barrett laughs as he snatches my arm and yanks me close, pressing me so tightly to his chest that I fear he will crush my lungs. He reaches up and brushes the back of his hand against my
cheek, slowly and with purpose. His cold eyes lock onto mine as he leers down at me. “I sincerely hope I am the one to remove your pretty little head.”
“You will have to catch her first,” Fane says from behind him. Barrett lifts his head to glare at Fane over my shoulder.
“It will be my pleasure.” With a shove that steals my breath away, Barrett stomps past and heads toward the darkened woods.
The torchlight, spaced every few meters along the stone courtyard walls, casts an eerie glow upon the ground. I realize with a start that the sun has completely vanished from the sky. I dart a glance toward the front gates of the castle. Could I make it? Could I outrun the others and make it to the village before Vladimir discovers I have fled?
Fane meets my gaze and gives me a tiny shake of his head. His grip tightens on his sword hilt as two hands grip me from behind. “He is waiting,” a gruff voice blasts just above my ear.
The scent of manure is strong in my nose as I am practically carried onto the castle grounds. Fane walks ahead of us. I can see his blond hair glowing in the full moonlight rising just over the distant trees. I lift my gaze to the sky and realize there is an odd rust hue to the moon. I blink, sure I am not seeing it correctly.
A numbness drapes over me as I contemplate how little time I have left. How many will come after me? Five? Ten? I dread to think what would happen if Vladimir unleashed all of them upon me.
I cannot do this. I cannot outthink all of them! I can feel hysteria slipping in, smell the scent of fear clinging to my skin. The men behind me breathe deep, savoring my anxiety.
I crane my head back to look at them. They stand well over a foot taller than I do, mouths gaped wide in a grin. Even in the dim light, I can see many of their teeth are chipped or missing altogether. It looks as if they attempted to gnaw on rocks. The scent of putrid meat escaping between their lips turns my stomach.
Did they eat their last victim? Did they tear flesh from bone before draining them of blood?
I have heard tale of such savage men from a distant country somewhere on the continent. I glance down at their clothes and realize they both wear the skins of a bear, with a necklace of bone wrapped about their stocky necks.
If I must die tonight, I vow it will not be by the hands of these men. Even as the words sift through my mind, I know I will do whatever it takes to avoid these two hunters. If I must perish, I do not want it to be horrific.
“The blood moon rises,” Barrett calls from the shadow of night up ahead. A sinister laugh turns my blood cold. “It is time.”
THIRTY-TWO