23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
P hoenix shattered the room’s stillness by sending a surge of energy through the bond Rowan shared with him. The signal was urgent, a silent scream in her mind, a warning of impending danger that set her nerves on edge.
“Something’s wrong.” Rowan grasped Casimir’s arm, holding on tight to steady herself.
He tensed, scanning the building for any sign of intrusion. “What is it? I sense nothing?”
“Phoenix. Warning us.” She closed her eyes to deepen her connection with her familiar. The world fell away, and she was aloft, her spirit fusing with the bird’s consciousness. She saw Stonehaven spread out below.
From her familiar’s perspective, the situation played out like a nightmare. Hordes of vampires flooded the streets like an endless sea of darkness. The moonlight glinted off bared fangs and swords, a terrifying display of imminent death. The invaders stalked with predatory movements and lethal intent.
Every muscle in her body vibrated, her pulse racing with the adrenaline that flooded her system. Her eyes snapped open and she returned to the library with the dire knowledge of what approached. Her gaze met Casimir’s, and an unspoken resolve passed between them.
“Let’s move,” he said, his voice edged with the steel of impending battle. He offered his hand to her, pulling her to her feet .
They sprinted from the library, their strides in perfect harmony. Casimir drew his sword, and Rowan clutched the ancient book securely to her chest, praying it held the key to unlocking her abilities.
As they neared the village square, the screams began—shrieks of terror and pain that cut through the darkness and echoed through the hollows of her soul. With the vampires already closing in, the streets would be soaked in blood by the end of the night.
Casimir scanned the conflict for an opening to strike. “Stay close.”
Rowan nodded, her cloak billowing out behind her as she surveyed the carnage before them. Children whimpered behind their mothers’ skirts, and men brandished tools-turned-weapons with shaking hands, all too aware of their impending doom. With each villager that fell, her resolve hardened further, transforming fear into a weapon as potent as any blade.
A young woman clutched her baby tighter to her chest, her eyes wide with the primal need to protect her offspring. Without a second thought, Rowan bolted in their direction. The world fell into tunnel vision, the pounding blood in her ears drowning out the screams of the villagers and the roar of vampires.
Protect them . Rowan repeated the words in her mind like a mantra to keep the paralyzing terror at bay. She extended her hands. Her fingertips sparked with the developing power she had only just begun to comprehend. Necromantic energy surged around her, cold and formidable, a spectral armor against the coming storm.
Casimir cut down a vampire that lunged toward them, fanged mouth gaping wide in anticipation of the kill. His sword struck the creature’s side, and blood spurted in an arc, painting a gruesome picture on the cobblestones.
“Rowan, now!” he shouted over the noise of combat, his urgency fueling her focus.
She visualized the energy emanating from her core, a bluish-white brilliance against the night sky. It swirled around her like a vortex of winter’s breath, tendrils of ice snaking outward from her center. As the frigid aura embraced her, an icy surge coursed through her veins. It was a river of frost, each wave awakening every nerve ending with an exhilarating chill that bordered on pain. She welcomed the sensation—it signaled the unleashing of her magic, which felt like a natural extension of her will.
She directed her power with a forceful push, the frosty tendrils reaching out to bind the advancing vampires, capturing their minds in her hold. The connection to each vampire dawned within her as an icy shiver. It began as a mere prickling sensation at the base of her skull that intensified tenfold with every passing second. Their savage natures screamed against her intrusion. Each mind she reached out to was a new battleground to conquer.
Rowan’s body shook, resisting the fierce pressure building within. Chaos consumed her as she fought to confine it within the limitations of her mortal mind. Magic surged through every fiber of her being, burning through her thoughts until there was nothing left but sheer determination as she plunged deeper into their grotesque psyches.
Some recoiled in surprise, while others fell under her sway. With each vampire she ensnared, a shiver of awe mingled with the cold that embraced her. It was a force both alien and intimately known, an instinctual element of her essence that had slumbered in the depths of her being until now.
The controlled vampires turned against their kind, their movements jerky and unnatural, yet effective. She directed them to form a protective barrier around the huddled villagers, who stared at their unlikely saviors with a mixture of terror and gratitude. The chilling beauty of Rowan’s magic was marred only by the harsh reality of its purpose—survival in the face of an unrelenting assault.
“Hold fast.” Casimir’s voice cut through the sounds of battle, his sword arm never ceasing its deadly motion.
“I’ll keep them at bay as long as I can,” she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. The cries of the dying outside her protective circle fueled her resolve.
She would not let this be the end.
They fought back-to-back, her magic and Casimir’s strength weaving a desperate attack. Each cry of the fallen made Rowan stumble, but she refused to succumb to despair. They were the last line of defense, and they would hold—because they must.
Casimir fought ferociously beside her, his blade a silver blur. His sword swung in a vicious pattern, cleaving all who came before it. Vampires fell in his wake, but for each one cut down, two more took its place.
A vampire lunged at Rowan with unnatural speed, mouth snapping open and eyes ablaze with hunger. His sharp features were monstrous in the dim light. The creature let out a menacing hiss, his pupils blown wide open, fixating on Rowan with ruthless intent.
She sidestepped his attack and sent a wave of power directly into his mind. Frozen in place, he jerked and glared at her. Casimir’s sword sliced through his neck before he could react. The creature’s head hit the ground with a thud before turning to ash at their feet.
Another vampire appeared from the shadows to take his place, sensing weakness in their defenses. Rowan felt his approach before seeing him, lashing out with an icy tendril that pierced the barrier of his mind. This one struggled more than the last, but she held firm until Casimir could finish him off with a single strike of his blade through the creature’s heart. The wet sound of flesh being severed and the clash of metal against bone was nauseating.
Rowan could sense the limits of her power fraying, like a rope worn thin. The stronger vampires remained unaffected, their ancient existence rendering them immune to her grasp. Fear pierced her insides, reminding her of her mortality, but she suppressed it. There was no other choice but to push on.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. The tendrils of her magic, once a swirling dance of mesmerizing beauty, now seemed feeble as they reached toward the more ancient vampires. With minds hardened over centuries and bodies honed by an endless thirst for blood, the creatures moved with a ferocity that made Rowan want to run and cower.
“Yield,” she commanded, the word slicing through the air, laced with the biting chill of her power. But the ancient ones would not falter or bow to her will. There was no flicker of control, no sign that her power so much as grazed their consciousness. Rowan pushed her magic harder and it felt as though daggers of ice were penetrating her flesh from the inside out.
The older vampires continued their assault, each movement calculated and predatory. They wove through the lesser vampires she had ensnared, untouched by the frost that claimed the others, their lips curled in disdain at her attempts to dominate them.
Rowan let out a low growl of frustration as her magic proved useless against them. Her control was slipping away, and she had to face the harsh truth: she was not as powerful as she needed to be.
“Damn you,” she yelled. The ancient vampires met her gaze, and in their eyes, she saw not fear but the cruel certainty of hunters who had their prey in their sight. A queasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she grasped the true gravity of their situation.
The putrid scent of death invaded her senses, shaking her to the core. Nothing could have prepared her for the sights, sounds, and smells of the dying. Their screams, the last sounds they would make in this world, would live on in her nightmares forever. The metallic scent of freshly spilled blood blended with the foul stench of newly voided bowels in a sickening cocktail.
Every breath was a reminder of the relentless destruction surrounding her, bringing a wave of dread that threatened to consume her mind. Her carefully crafted army of the undead, which had protected the villagers only seconds ago, now seemed useless. With each swift and merciless attack, the enemy tore through her forces.
“Rowan!”
Casimir’s voice snapped her from her paralysis. He blurred past her periphery, silver flashing, yet even his valiant efforts seemed to barely make an impression on the oncoming wave.
“Try to keep them at bay,” he boomed as he fought against the darkness closing in. His sword gleamed like liquid silver as he parried and struck. But despite his proficiency as a fighter, even he could not be everywhere at once.
Rowan caught sight of a vampire whose eyes were fixed on a terrified child. A grin spread across his deceptively youthful face, exposing elongated canines. The sight spurred her into action, her fear dissipating. In her haste to reach the child, she stumbled on the blood-slicked cobblestones, dropping the ancient book in her grasp.
As the vampire’s fangs neared the girl’s delicate flesh, a scream tore from Rowan’s mouth—a raw, primal sound that was all female fury and despair. For a heartbeat, the world stilled. The only truth that mattered was this child’s life on the brink of destruction—and her inability to prevent it.
From the darkness, another figure emerged like a ghostly apparition. Rowan gasped as she recognized him. Marcus . Moving with preternatural speed, he charged toward the vampire who was poised to tear out the child’s throat. He intercepted the attacker in a blur, his movements so quick they were almost invisible.
Before the vampire could react, Marcus’s hands were on him. He abruptly silenced the creature’s snarl as he grabbed his head and twisted it away from the child, snapping his neck with a sharp crack. The vampire fell to the ground, and in one swift motion, Marcus stabbed his heart. The body convulsed on the ground before disintegrating into dust.
“Run, child,” Marcus said, his voice a whip-crack that spurred the little girl into motion. She ran, her tiny feet pounding against the ground, glancing behind her with wide, fearful brown eyes.
Rowan’s gaze stayed locked on Marcus as he turned back to the battle. A vampire lunged at him from behind, but with heightened awareness, he sidestepped, allowing the attacker to pass by before impaling him through the back. The creature gasped as the sword pierced his lungs, his mouth frothing with blood and gore. Marcus kicked him, freeing his blade to deliver another lethal thrust. The creature burst into ash upon impact .
Marcus’s presence ignited a flicker of hope within Rowan. If anyone could turn the tide, it was him alongside Casimir. The fierceness of his resolve and the imperious tilt of his chin spoke of a seasoned warrior who had walked through hell and emerged unscathed.
With renewed determination, she dove back into the fight. As her power captured the mind of another vampire, she stole a glance at Casimir and Marcus, only to find them surrounded, fighting back-to-back in a battle of desperation. Their once-pristine tunics were now saturated with blood and shredded by deep gashes. The predatory grace that usually defined their movements had been replaced by sluggish, labored gestures. The toll of their exertions was etched upon their faces.
Using her distraction to his advantage, one of the ancient vampires broke away from the combat and charged Rowan from behind. The vampire’s long fingers wrapped around her neck, his iron grip strangling her last gasp of air while pinning her against a gritty stone building. Rowan struggled, clawing at the creature’s arm as her world wavered on the edge of unconsciousness. Tiny black dots danced in her vision. Cold seeped into her veins.
The creature sneered at her, gnashing his fangs. She knew she had to act before her vision went completely dark or she would never wake again. Instinctively, she slapped her hands on either side of the vampire’s face, locking eyes with him as she released the full force of her necromancy. She pushed forth a paralyzing wave of power, seeking the creature’s consciousness like an arrow seeking its target, envisioning a cloud of blue smoke in her mind, formless yet potent.
Her determination drove her power deeper, and she felt it leap eagerly from neuron to neuron, wrapping tightly around the creature’s brain. She channeled all of her energy into her magic, imagining it as a bright, pulsating ball of light that consumed everything within its path. The vampire shook uncontrollably, his grip on her throat slackening as her necromancy took control.
Blue sparks of magic danced on her fingertips as she tightened her grip on the ancient creature’s face. A growl rumbled in his chest before shifting into a horrendous scream of agony. His eyes rolled back into his head, revealing bloody whites. As the vampire spasmed and released his grip on her neck, she greedily gulped in a fresh lungful of air. Blood seeped from his eyes, nose, and ears as his brain disintegrated under her power, until she was left grasping nothing but ash .
Casimir fought to get to her side, but his hands, smeared with blood, shook with the effort of holding his sword. Marcus was no better off. The noble contours of his face were drawn tight with pain.
In that moment, the two battle-hardened warriors made eye contact—a wordless understanding that spoke volumes.
“We have to fall back immediately,” Casimir called in a commanding baritone.
Rowan watched, frozen, as he made a last-ditch effort to get to her, dispatching another vampire assailant with brutal efficiency, even in his weakened state. When he reached her, his arms encircled her waist, lifting her against him with an urgency that left no room for protest. Her heart seized in her chest as her mind reeled with the need to stay, to fight, to save even one more soul.
“No! We can’t go!” she screamed. She struggled within his hold, her fists pounding against his chest, but Casimir held firm, his grip unbreakable.
“Please, Rowan,” he said, his hoarse whisper almost drowned out by the sounds of violence. “This isn’t the end. We have to survive to continue fighting.”
Hungry flames engulfed the village, reducing its buildings to skeletal frames as Casimir carried her away. The night air smelled of charred wood and flesh, a sickly-sweet odor that would forever haunt Rowan’s dreams. She twisted in his arms, reaching back toward the town with fingers that grasped only air and smoke.
“Let me go! I need to save them—”
The roar of the flames, and the agonized cries of the dying, swallowed her words. Tears streamed down her face as she could only bear witness to the countless lives lost.
Casimir sprinted her away from the devastation. Together with Marcus, they wove through the destruction, focused purely on survival. The darkness of the nearby forest engulfed them, consuming the light of the burning village until it became a distant glow against the night sky.
As they retreated into the shadows, Rowan’s spirit plummeted into an abyss of despair, her sobs a mournful echo of her world coming undone.