Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Alexandru
The man wanders along the river path, face lit from below by the glow of his phone. Mid-thirties. Soft body, soft hoodie emblazoned with some form of insignia, things stuffed in his ears making him more defenseless than he already is.
I follow from a distance. He would not hear me even if I clapped. The path he follows winds past benches and plaques.
A breeze comes off the river, wet and metallic. The man veers off the main path onto a smaller, gravel-cut spur, toward a thicket where the river bulges inward. He’s done this before, I think.
He doesn’t notice me until I am too close. He spins around. “Why are you following me?”
I do not answer. The answer is in my face. He turns and takes off at a run, dropping his phone.
There’s a rhythm in the chase that reminds me of another life. Hooves pounding. Wolves howling.
I reach him without much effort.
“Wait—”
I press two fingers to his lips, and he shivers. Not from the cold; from the knowing.
I sink my fangs into his warm neck and drink, draining him completely, relishing the sense of calm and weight and something like gravity anchoring me again. I drink until there’s nothing left in his veins.
Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, and I cast his body into the river and watch it get carried off in the rushing waters, fierce from the northern snowmelt.
I step back onto the path and walk toward the town square, the lights from old-fashioned lampposts blooming like low stars between the trees.