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Weak grey light was filtering into the night sky as she staggered down a cramped alleyway. Dawn was breaking, and she was bleeding out.
She just had to get to safety. So close; she was so close…
The old wooden door had never been so heavy. The stone steps hadn't been this steep. Her body gave out on the last few stairs, but she didn't feel the impact. She was numb aside from the throbbing heat in her palm, and only aware of the familiar and comforting scents of home as they mingled with the stench of her own blood and her own fear.
“You're back?” Avid’s voice echoed from the workshop section of their base of operations. She could track his footsteps as he moved through that room and stepped through the archway.
His breath caught in his throat. His heart began to race. She didn't think she should be able to hear either of those things.
“Oh, gods,” he said, “oh my gods. What- oh, there's so much blood, what happened?”
She wished she could tell him, but the world was becoming dark and far away and she really just wanted to sleep.
. . .
What would you do if you found me turned?
She remembered that evening. They'd been sitting together on the roof, watching the stars slowly appear one by one in the darkening sky, the slate tiles beneath them still sun-warm.
Into what? she'd asked.
Well, probably a vampire. Avid had laughed. I don't think there's many werewolves in the capital.
She'd not answered immediately, although she'd known what she would do the moment he'd asked. Maybe even before. Only a fool didn't think of these things, and fools didn't live long in this business.
I'd try to kill you before you properly turned, she'd replied. I'd make sure it was quick. And if you'd already turned, then I'd make sure to kill you before you could feed. A stake to the heart and silver to weaken your body's healing. Oil of garlic on any wounds you'd sustained from your vampiric sire or dam. I wouldn't want their blood thrall leading an entire coven to our place.
You'd kill me right away? Avid had squawked. You wouldn't try to cure me?
No. She'd left it unsaid how she'd tried, how they all had tried to help those who'd suffered a turning bite… it never did work.
Well, I'd try. If anyone could fight it, you would. Have I told you about that old alchemy tome I rescued from Weird Maggie? It's got some promising compounds…
Later that night she'd had to kill a boy who'd looked too much like Avid, if a few years his younger. His throat had been torn open by the bite—a messy sign of an untrained and overeager fledgling vampire—so she hadn't had to hear his screams, only a terrible gurgling hiss. Still, a new nightmare joined her in her sleep, of her baby brother with his purple eyes… and blood bubbling out of his mouth as he tried to sink his newly-sharp teeth into her neck.
. . .
When she awoke, she knew only two things: pain and hunger.
She didn't care where she was. In her bones, she knew she was in her safe space, in her nest; she knew her instincts were right when they told her she was alone save for her prey. There was a human in the other room, without even a door to separate them, and her mouth filled with saliva and her jaw ached with the urge to sink teeth into its warm flesh.
She ignored the pang of betrayal knowing that her dam had not found her, had not cared to claim her and take her into her fold. She swallowed down the keening cry that wanted to burst out of her chest. She didn’t need anyone else. She’d only ever needed her Avid.
She also ignored the pitiful sense of fear that echoed in the back of her mind. Of course, she knew the identity of her prey. The only difference it made was a brief moment of consideration… maybe she could turn him, and they'd keep being family. But her hunger was too great. It was its own beast, clawing apart her insides. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold back once she tasted her Avid’s blood.
Maybe it was saddening. Maybe, she should feel remorse.
She did not.
She sat up in the bed, feeling weaker than a newborn and yet burning with a strength fueled by pure hunger. Unbidden, she ripped at the dressings on her hand where she knew her turning bite was scabbed over, and without giving it a moment's thought she tore the stitches there out of her flesh.
The pain was startling, but it was brief. In her fist she held a loose collection of bloodied silver thread, which she tossed to the side. Her Avid had used more than he'd needed to close the neat puncture wounds, but he had always erred on the side of caution and excess. That tendency had saved her life many a time in the past.
With the silver thread now gone, a buzzing pain in her mind had also lifted. Her hunger sharpened. She needed to feed.
Her limbs were unsteady, but they held her upright. She staggered to the heavy curtain separating this small bedroom from the workshop, her nose wrinkling as the putrid scent of garlic only grew stronger. She stepped through the curtain and did not gag, as much as she wanted to.
She tore her gaze away from her prey, from her Avid (even though he was asleep and vulnerable and she could smell his blood through the overwhelming stench of garlic), and forced herself to survey the room. Her hunger was clamouring and howling and clawing at her, pushing her forward, but she bared her teeth and growled at the quiet room and forced her instincts down.
Newly-fledged vamplings were always too eager. They were always blind to everything but the nearest source of hot blood. She was better than that. She had used those instincts for her own means while hunting vampires through the city's streets; now, on the other side, she would use what she knew to survive.
Her hearing was sharp. Her eyes pierced the gloom, seeing the workshop as though it was sunlit and not illuminated by a single guttering candle. She could hear her Avid’s slow, deep breaths. She could hear a small family of mice in the walls, and the distant bustle and hum of the city beyond the stone walls of the basement. Two storeys above, footsteps creaked over wooden floorboards.
What she could see, it… well, it amused her, in a distant and detached way. The workshop was in utter disarray, with half-finished compounds and their ingredients scattered in amongst old manuscripts and dusty tomes—many of which she did not recognize. A round flask still sat on his desk with her single droplet of blood that had turned the once-clear solution a brilliant swirling crimson.
Her Avid had been researching a cure, that much was clear to her. How unfortunate that all of his effort had ultimately gone to waste.
Silly boy. Silly little human. Her silly, foolish little prey.
She crept forward, her footsteps silent on the stone, finally allowing herself to focus wholly on her Avid. They were well and truly alone. No hunters laid in wait in the shadows. No rival vampires lurked nearby. She could feed this impossible hunger. She could take her fill.
Her Avid was sitting on a stool at his workbench, slumped over an open book with his head pillowed in his arms. An unfinished bottle of allium tincture sat within arm's reach, with a scribbled time log beneath it spanning nearly three days. He'd been dosing himself at regular intervals, just like she'd taught him.
Judging by the hour on the pocket watch, he'd missed his last two doses, likely while asleep. It was midday. She wondered idly for just how long he'd kept himself awake, chasing this hopeless dream of a cure.
She opened her mouth to scent the air. That overpowering garlic was thick and slimy on her tongue, but underneath was the rich and heady scent of blood.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. Warm blood pulsed just beneath the skin. (Red blood, red blood, red blood. Her thoughts pulsed in time with his heartbeat.)
Her Avid stirred. He did not wake; he'd always been a heavy sleeper, even as a baby.
She dug her fingers into the meat of his shoulder, wondering when her claws would grow in. They would be so very effective at teasing that blood to the surface. For now, she would have to use her fangs.
Her baby brother mumbled something. It might've been her name. He cracked open an eye and looked at her.
He never had been one to startle easily. She felt no surprise at his lack of reaction, and let him study her. She knew he wouldn't run; her prey would stay under her hand. This was how he worked. This was who he was. He was curious about all things in life, but never flighty. He was dogged, determined, methodical. He was smart as a whip and often jumped to conclusions that were improbably, yet entirely, correct.
There was no large jump for him to make here.
He sat up, his mouth opening-
She yanked his head to the side with a hand gripping his hair, her hand on his shoulder keeping him pinned to the stool. She sank her fangs into his bared neck and finally, finally, fed the hunger that had been slowly tearing her apart.
Sweet lifeblood filled her mouth and she drank deeply. Warmth flooded her, it coursed through her veins, and gods she had never felt such strength before. It was intoxicating.
Her Avid finally began to scream, his body thrashing and his hands scrabbling at her arms. They fell backwards to the floor and in the brief moment her mouth left his neck, his blood flowed freely and painted his skin a bright crimson.
She latched her mouth back over the wound and wrapped her arms firmly around his chest. She began to purr, which did surprise her—she had never before heard a vampire purr—but she didn't stop. It felt right. It felt natural. She wanted her baby brother to stop fighting this. She had always been stronger, after all; he should do the right thing and submit to her.
Maybe, maybe, she'd find the willpower within herself to stop before she drained him dry.
He was pleading for her to stop, she realized. For her to listen to him, to talk to him.
And then, somehow, he freed himself from her arms.
What followed was a wild, graceless scramble to regain her meal. She was snarling like a wild beast, lashing out and grabbing at his vest, his pant leg, or anything in reach. Her Avid scrambled to get away, then suddenly turned to face her with terror in his eyes.
Terror, and steely resolve.
She didn't notice until it was too late that he now held a wooden stake in his hand.
. . .
Avid stared at the body of his dead sister for… too long.
She was dead.
He'd killed her. Stake to the heart. It should work on new vampires every time.
She'd taught him that.
And now she was dead.
He'd killed her.
Stake to the heart. He'd nearly missed. He'd nearly struck a rib, and then he'd have died. She'd been trying to kill him. But now she was dead. He'd killed her. She hadn't killed him. She hadn't turned him. He'd killed her. He'd killed her.
He was bleeding.
He clapped a hand to his neck. It was slippery and hot with his blood, although it was seeping out and not pumping like she'd struck a vein—or even worse, an artery. He simply needed to treat it with garlic oil, and a stronger antiseptic after, and then stitch the puncture wounds shut and apply that healing salve he'd picked up from the apothecary last week, and wrap the area in bandages, and…
He needed to get out of the city.
He'd killed his own sister.
His sister had…
No. No, now was the time to focus.
He cleaned his hands. He tended and bandaged his wound. He scrubbed his hands clean again. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He drank a large dose of allium tincture, and then vomited it up a moment later. He cleaned his hands—he swore he could still see the blood on his skin—and packed a travel bag, taking his sister's pauldron harness but leaving her favoured crossbow. He carefully sipped a dose of tincture and packed the remaining bottles in his bag. He cleaned his hands. They were turning raw from all the scrubbing. They still shook.
He needed to get out of the city, and luckily, he knew where to go. The same name, the same place had been referenced numerous times in all the research he'd done in years past. And then more mentions, in so many of the manuscripts he'd pored through in the past three days. There was history to uncover and secrets to learn, only a week's worth of travel by foot.
It was time to go to Oakhurst.