A Hunger Soft and Wild

1. Aria

Aria

They say a vampire can’t bleed out.

Tonight, I might be the exception.

I never thought I’d flee barefoot through the woods—but here I am, stumbling through bramble and moonlight like a half-feral thing.

My cloak catches on a branch again—another sharp tug that nearly spins me sideways. I curse and yank it free, breath shallow, shoulder screaming. Every step jars the gash trailing from my collarbone to the edge of my back, left by an enforcer’s blade the moment I turned to climb the estate wall.

A punishment. A reminder. A warning.

I press a shaking hand to the wound. It’s warm and wet beneath my palm—too much blood, too fast. The scent of it coats the air, metallic and damning. A beacon. I might as well be leaving a trail for them, breadcrumbed in red. My mother’s loyal hounds—her enforcers—will follow it.

Keep going, Aria. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.

If I could just find a place to hide, to catch my breath and think, maybe I could avoid bleeding out.

The night is too quiet. No birds. No insects. Just the slap of bare feet on wet moss and mud. It’s not silence, but stillness. The kind of stillness that comes before something awful. It’s as if the forest itself is watching, waiting.

I almost laugh. This used to be my clan’s land—patrolled, safe. Now it’s possibly my execution ground.

Twigs snap behind me.

My heart stutters. I lurch forward, nearly pitching headfirst over a knotted root, catching myself on a tree trunk slick with lichen. The bark bites into my palm, grounding me.

Focus. Move.

Don’t think about the pain or the way your legs tremble.

Don’t think about how your boots were torn off in the fight, or how your mother stood at the top of the marble steps, watching you run like she was already writing your eulogy.

A bitter laugh bubbles up in my chest. She must have guessed I’d attempt this sooner or later, but I never expected her to stand back and let me fight her enforcers alone. Or was that her plan all along—to make me realize how hopeless escaping would be? The memory of her cold stare burns in my mind, a more potent wound than the gash in my shoulder.

“If you leave, never show your face again.”

Her words still throb like bruises inside my skull. She didn’t yell. She never yells. Her calm is always worse. Measured. Absolute. “ You’ll die out there, Aria. You’re nothing without us. You’re not like them.”

She’s wrong. Or maybe she’s right, and I simply don’t care anymore.

The moon slips between the trees, casting silver ribbons across the forest floor. I glance down and see the cut on my shoulder again—red against pale skin, gaping and angry. The blood runs down, staining my cloak and dress.

I dig my nails into my palm to stay upright. Vampires heal faster than humans, sure. But not when we’re starved, not when the blood loss is this bad. And I haven’t fed in… gods, two days?

Panic claws at my ribs. If I stop now, they’ll catch me. And if they catch me, they’ll bring me back. And if they bring me back…my mother will deliver a punishment worse than any I’ve suffered before. Or maybe she’ll make an example of me, prove to the clan that no one—especially her daughter—defies the matriarch.

No. I won’t let that happen.

But how much further can I go like this? How much longer until my body gives out?

I blink up at the sky, its cold clarity framed by boney branches. The stars don’t care if I live or die. Why would they?

But I do.

I do.

Keep going, I chant inwardly and straighten up again—each step a small act of defiance. Just until dawn.

If I make it until dawn, I can escape them.

Her enforcers—those snarling shadows she calls loyal—are all turned vampires. Twisted creatures made, not born. The sun sears them to ash. But not me. Born into vampirism, I can endure its light.

It’s the one thing I have that they don’t.

If I can just hold out a little longer, survive the night—I’ll be free.

The branches overhead shift, rustling like hushed whispers of disapproval, and I catch a distant shout: the enforcers are close. My heart lurches, and my throat closes around a sob, but I choke it back.

I was never supposed to get out.

In the estate, everything was laid out for me—a role carved in polished stone. Be still. Be silent. Serve the clan. That’s what daughters are meant for in our world—daughters with fangs and pretty faces, born to strengthen alliances or decorate cages.

But I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. I’ve witnessed enough cruelty, enough innocent bloodshed to know that.

So I ran.

And now, I’ll pay the price.

You’re a fool, Aria.

But a fool is better than a monster. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Still, I force myself to stand. To move.

No more, no more… My lungs burn. My limbs feel stiff and awkward, as if I’m breaking apart at the seams.

“Just a little farther,” I promise myself, voice cracking.

But it isn’t hope that keeps me upright. It’s terror.

My mother's voice still echoes in my skull, smug and cold: "When you die out there, it will be your own doing."

Maybe so.

But I’ll die as myself.

Behind me, a branch cracks.

I bolt.

Please, just a little farther. The ground dips, and I tumble down a short embankment, landing hard on my bad shoulder. The impact sends a scream ripping through my throat. My vision blooms with white-hot stars, before fading into blackness that nibbles at the edges of my vision.

Get up. If you stay down, you die. So I drag myself upright, chest heaving.

I trip forward, each step half a stumble. The sense of being hunted closes in on me, pressing like a physical weight.

Ahead, the trees thin out just enough to let a sliver of moonlight spill onto a small clearing. My breath rattles with relief, though the clearing is hardly a refuge. If I can just make it past this ridge, maybe I can find a place to hide.

Another half-choked laugh. The plan is shaky at best—more dream than strategy—but it’s all I’ve got.

My body screams in protest, but I force myself across the open patch of moonlight. It feels like stepping onto a stage in front of a silent crowd, vulnerable and exposed. The distant baying of pursuit echoes through the trees, fueling my ragged sprint. Each step sends jolts of agony through my wounded shoulder, but still, I run.

The ground slopes downward, thick roots clawing up from the earth like skeletal hands, but I don’t slow—I can’t . My lungs burn, each gasp tasting of moss and cold night air. Branches whip against my face, tearing at my clothes, but I barely feel them over the throbbing wound in my shoulder.

The forest thins, trees growing sparser, their twisted fingers giving way to scattered stones and rotting logs.

And then… I see them. The ruins.

Ancient stone arches jut from the ground like broken ribs, twisted and half-swallowed by ivy. Vines creep up cracked pillars, and the shattered remnants of windows glint under the moonlight. I’ve only seen them from afar before, warned by the elders that the land was cursed, forsaken. That no blood runs clean where the gods once wept.

Perfect.

A fitting grave, if it comes to that.

The ruins loom larger as I stagger into their shadow. Towering pillars lean at impossible angles, and beneath them, a courtyard opens—half choked with weeds, half paved with cracked stone. I lurch toward the nearest wall, my hand catching rough, ancient stone as my legs give out.

I collapse against the wall, stone cool against my fevered skin. My hand clutches at my wound. Blood slicks my palm. I press harder, hard enough to make myself gasp, to remind myself I’m still here. Still fighting.

The forest beyond the ruins is eerily silent—no snapping branches, no distant howls. My ears strain for the hunt, but for the first time since I fled, I hear nothing but my own broken gasps.

Did I lose them?

No, a cold voice whispers in my head, you bought yourself time. That’s all.

They’re out there. I can feel them. My mother’s enforcers, prowling like wolves in the dark, blood-bound and loyal to a monster in silk. But maybe—just maybe—they’ll hesitate before following me here. Superstition runs deep in the clan, and this place reeks of old gods and older vengeance.

I tilt my head back against the wall, the cool stone grounding me, and a ragged sob rattles from my chest. My eyes burn, but no tears fall—I’m too spent.

Above me, the sky stretches wide and star-swept, a thousand glittering pinpricks looking down without care. The stars don't blink for me. The night doesn't pause. I’m a fleck of shadow beneath an indifferent cosmos, and yet—despite everything—there’s something like relief threading through the pain. Fragile. Foolish. But there.

I made it this far.

That has to count for something.

Except my body’s done. I can’t run again. I can’t even crawl. If they find me here, it’ll be over before I can lift a hand in protest. Not that I’d manage more than a whimper.

And if I don’t stop the bleeding soon, I’ll never live to see them arrive.

A bitter laugh bubbles up in my throat, dry and pained. “So,” I whisper to the night, voice hoarse, “is this where it ends?”

The ruins give me nothing back. No whispered comfort, no answer from the gods the elders used to fear. Just shadows and silence.

Yet, the silence here is different. Not just the hush of the forest, but something deeper—like the place itself is holding its breath.

The moon looms overhead, heavy and full above the broken walls.

It stares down like a witness. Like it sees me—really sees me—and still offers nothing. My lips part around a wordless plea. Help me. Please.

But there's no one.

No gods. No allies. No soft-voiced rescue waiting in the wings. I’m alone.

“I won’t…” My voice fractures, thin and brittle, but I grit my teeth and force it out. “I won’t go back.”

The vow lands like a stone in the stillness. Sharp. Absolute. I may be bleeding out on ancient cursed ground, I may be alone—but I’d rather die in this ruined place than ever kneel at her feet again.

Then, despite my best efforts, my body surrenders. The cold creeps in, tangling with the terror, and I wonder if all those thoughts of freedom were just pretty lies.

At least I tried.

The darkness comes slow. Like sleep. Like surrender.

But in my last flicker of awareness, I imagine her face—the clan matriarch, my mother, watching from her gilded halls, waiting for me to crawl home.

She’ll wait forever.

Because I’m never going back.

Not even if it kills me.