Chapter 3
Three
Outside of New Orleans
Eve of the Hunter’s Moon
Surrounded by her mist, Mina strolled the forest near the Tree of Delight for a last time. After weeks of observing, her mission was complete. Lothaire had left a message at Loa’s for Mina to report to court upon the setting of tonight’s moon.
She agreed it was time. She’d observed all she’d needed to at the Tree, without a single fainting spell (though it’d been touch and go in the beginning). Nor had her brother come storming this place to drag her home. He must still be working to win over Caspion.
As she wove around spears of moonlight, Mina recalled the letter she’d written back in Dacia, informing Mirceo of her upcoming adventure: I can’t wait to behold the otherlanders’ world—the splendor of its natural beauty and the nobility of its peoples.
She’d witnessed sex, sex, and more sex. Yet her initial titillation had dulled. Every scene blurred into the same aspects.
Arousal. Friction. Outcome.
Yawn.
Even the wild gaiety bored her. At one point tonight, too many party-goers had crowded onto one side of the great oak, and the tree had shifted, roots lifting from the ground.
Mina too had shifted.
Unlike that tree, Mina couldn’t count on a coven of drunken witches arriving to repair her. Everything she thought she’d known about the nymphs, this realm, and herself had been turned upside down.
Lothaire had been right about one thing: observing these females—audacious immortals in charge of themselves and their world—had changed her, inspiring her.
What if she could set boundaries and navigate the course of her own life? She blushed just thinking about the possibility of telling her family that she’d like to leave the kingdom again in search of adventure.
She wasn’t ready to return to her staid life in Castle Dacia, where her awkwardness had manifested. Sometimes, she wondered if her shyness had to do with living in the shadows of so many talented, powerful family members. Had Mina—a vampire—been starving for a moment in the sun?
Laughter sounded from a clearing amid the trees. Then sighs. Usually that forest clearing was quiet. She’d heard the nymphs whisper that it belonged to the fey folk and was off-limits.
Cocooned in her mist, Mina floated toward the sounds, coming across a pair of unclothed lovers, a fey male and female. They weren’t partaking in yawn-worthy debauchery.
Just the opposite.
Rapt, she watched a scene out of dreams unfold—a communion bathed in moonbeams. She should leave them to their tender caresses and adoring gazes. Yet she couldn’t pull herself away, sensing she’d climbed a precipice and now would be rewarded with an outlook she’d never experienced.
Her sense was right. With murmured words of promise, these two beings became one, as if through alchemy. Her mind opened to receive this epiphany. Blood tears welled, and she finally understood . . .
Everything.
Divinity in this realm existed. And it’s called lovemaking. . . .
Once the couple finished their communion, they caught their breath and exchanged more of those caresses. Then they dressed and meandered away hand in hand, the bond between them seeming to thrum and glow.
Mina breathed, “Alchemy,” and gazed after them as they disappeared into the night. Like watching a current of mist surrender to a breeze?—
Mist. Hers was gone. She’d been so enthralled that she’d lost track of her camouflage.
She inhaled a breath to concentrate and pictured herself as intangible. Before her form could fade and mist stretch outward from her, claws dug into her upper arm!
“You’re a female!” a red-eyed vampire cried beside her, spraying spittle. “I saw you appear out of the fog.”
“Unhand me at once.” Zero hesitation hindered her words to this opponent. He was a Horde vampire, and judging by his eyes, he was well on his way to bloodlust from drinking and killing others.
“Never!” Expression crazed, he dismissed her wishes without a care. “You’re coming with me.”
She tried to trace from his grip; his hold was unbreakable. She might be a Dacian, but she was young, and bloodlust made him strong. As her hand dipped to her sword, she said, “No. I am not.”
“A female vampire! What a prize you are. The Horde will give you a welcome you’ll never forget.” When he started to trace her to her “welcome,” Mina’s sword flashed out.
He frowned. His frown deepened as his head slid from his severed neck to tumble to the ground. His body collapsed, his claws digging into her arm. Five wounds sliced her shirt and skin.
She told the severed head, “I said no .”
Bold words, yet she felt hollow inside. This was her first kill. Though she’d had no choice and she’d trained for just such a scenario, no logical warrior enjoyed killing.
As she scanned for more threats, she attempted to produce her mist again. Not a wisp appeared. Maybe she had drained her ability, relying on it for weeks. Would more vampires come?
Realization sank in. She’d broken the most unbreakable law of Dacia: Forever to observe, never to engage . She would have to confess her crime in front of the court.
Though she wasn’t supposed to leave her post for hours more, under the circumstances she bade this place good-bye, then teleported home.
She moved not an inch. Huh?
Another attempt to reach home. Nothing. Yet when she traced across the forest, she disappeared and appeared as usual.
So Dacia’s mystical boundary—which kept the realm safe and hidden—was rejecting her. She and her brother were considered the heart of the kingdom; for what reason would her home deny her return?
Suspicion took hold as she peered down at her injured arm. A red-eyed vampire had clawed her. Now her mist didn’t work, and Dacia’s boundary was rejecting her. . . .
Many Horde males were silent carriers of a malady, unaffected by it while spreading it to females. No female vampires existed outside the safety of Dacia for a reason.
She stared at her new wounds. They weren’t regenerating, actually looked worse. Gods above and below, I have . . . the plague. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
In shock, she recalled one of her last exchanges with Mirceo before he’d left:
“Brother, I feel like I’m slowly dying in Dacia.”
“As opposed to quickly dying out there?”
How quickly? He’d warned her of this. Even Lothaire had mentioned it. Calamities didn’t get much graver than this.
She needed to send a message to Dacia. Loa could help! Yes, with the assistance of her family, Mina could figure out how to fix her predicament. She teleported to the Commercenary’s emporium. During the few times Mina had swallowed her pride to go swallow cold blood, the store had been open all through the night.
She arrived to find the lights off, the shutters drawn. What is happening? She darted her gaze around. Where to go? What to do?
Mina was friendless, cut off from her family, and cursed with sickness. Her arm hurt worse, and her body felt heated.
She’d read about the plague in an obscure text in Dacia’s library. The author had speculated that, while the illness wasn’t lethal in itself, females grew red-eyed and frenzied to drink others. The Horde had been forced to eradicate them once they’d grown “rabid for blood,” killing everything in sight, from their own mates and offspring to entire mortal outposts.
Insatiable and insensible—as far from a logical Dacian as could be. I’d rather die.
With consternation, she gazed up at the amber hunter’s moon. Before tonight, she’d never seen a full one. The sight of it had mesmerized her, the globe abundant with power, like a female readying for birth.
Now it appeared indifferent as she rocked on her feet and the sky spun and spun. . . .
Her hand found her sword, and the sky stopped. Mina was also strong and capable. She would find Loa, then return to Dacia. Somehow she would discover a cure. Only a brave, rational female could navigate such a fate.
Straightening her shoulders, she struck out onto the streets of New Orleans to locate her ally.
As she passed tourist haunts and taverns, she forced herself to slow her pace. A distant fey ancestor had graced her with abundant speed—and pointed ears—but Mina needed to blend in. Mortals packed the French Quarter; some of them were even sober.
The few lucid ones stopped and stared at her: a female with a sword and a slashed and bloody sleeve. When she came upon a closed clothing shop, she paused to view the wares in the window and decided on a quick detour.
Tracing inside, she surveyed the offerings. Every shirt was printed with some brow-raising message, so she changed into the least offensive one in a long-sleeved version, then kept moving. . . .
For hours as she searched for Loa or a friendly-looking Lorean, the moon followed her, arcing across the sky.
Keeping her gaze alert, Mina hastened past the other immortals she encountered in the Lore-rich city. Most were demons—some demonarchies were good, but many weren’t. Best not to risk an encounter.
She turned another corner to find four tall, muscular males heading down the street in her direction. They sang a melodic song, their accents a rumbling burr. When they caught sight of her scouting an alleyway, they all froze.
One with a scar on his face murmured, “A leech on the hunt, with her eyes flickering from red to blue as we speak.”
Flickering red? Was the plague marking her appearance in mere hours? She’d just turned fully immortal this year, hadn’t built up centuries of Lorean strength.
Another added, “Female or no’, those eyes mean you’ve got to go. Shame; I’m a fan of your shirt.”
She glanced down at the words emblazoned across her chest and grumbled, “It was the only one without curse words.”
Their claws and fangs lengthened, their eyes turning ice blue. Werewolves! Natural-born enemies of Horde vampires, they were the strongest sentient creatures in the Lore.
As an enemy of the Horde herself, she agreed with their mission. “I’m not a Horde vampire,” she said in a ringing voice to her new opponents, her training-yard boldness in full force.
That scarred Lykae, the presumed alpha among them, said, “You’re hunting humans in our territory during the night of a full moon? Death wish, lass? We can oblige.”
“I’m not hunting. I mean, I am in a way. I’m searching for someone.” When they edged closer, she considered brandishing her sword but decided against a slaughter of wolves. “I don’t want to hurt you gentlemen.”
They shared a laugh.
“Do you no’?” the leader said. “That’s no’ been our experience with your kind. Doona make this harder than it needs to be. Now, lads!”
They sprang as one with claws bared; she evaded their grasp, tracing across the Quarter to leave them far behind. Frustrated howls rang out from miles away, but she knew they’d be prowling for her throughout this maze of streets for the rest of the night.
Press on, Mina. Her steps led her down to the waterfront. Along the churning Mississippi, she found a trio of females who smelled like water nymphs. “You there!” Mina called. “Are you Loreans?”
Wary nods.
One asked, “Are you a vampire? Haven’t seen a female vamp in centuries.”
“I am,” Mina said without shyness, though these nymphs were no foes. Maybe her time observing their sisters had truly emboldened her. Or maybe the entire world had just become one big training yard—where everyone was an opponent. Her arm ached, signaling another possibility: the rabidity of the plague already affected her. “Do you know where Loa might be?”
“Yeah, she’s meeting with a Valkyrie at Cemetery Number Three, not Number One.”
“Can you provide directions?”
“Just follow the scent of lightning and bat. . . .” The nymph trailed off. Then in a burst of speech she exclaimed: “Whoa oh my gods your eyes flickered really red did you just cop a look at my neck?”
“Actually, no, I don’t drink from others.”
In unison, they all screamed, “Bloodlust!” They fled into the river, becoming one with it.
“I would never hurt you—” Mina’s hands flew to her neck as the rána scalded her throat. Because she would hurt them? Gasping, she said, “I would never . . . consciously want . . . to hurt you.” At last, the burn eased, but disbelief gripped her.
This is happening. I’ve been afflicted. If she couldn’t get help, she would become a monster. Focus, Mina. Follow your new lead.
With no time to waste, she sorted scents and homed in on a trail of concentrated lightning. As she followed it over miles, the streets grew darker, the mortals fewer in number.
Ominous pressure settled over the area as some kind of supernatural force closed in. Though she was a vampire, typically the hunter in the night, she felt decidedly hunted . Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword as the tiny hairs on her nape rose and her breaths condensed in puffs of smoke.
An inebriated human paused at a nearby lamppost to throw up. Vomit spewed—then slowed until it hung suspended in the air. All around her time stopped.
A time freeze? She’d read about these! She drew her sword, her pointed ears twitching.
Four spectral males materialized atop eerie steeds not twenty feet from her. Clad in ragged black cloaks, they resembled decomposing reapers. Their eye sockets were empty, but they gazed right at her.
One’s head dipped. Was he “looking” at the clawed arm she’d concealed?
Comprehension. These creatures have arrived for me, a plagued vampire. Maybe the Horde hadn’t killed off their own females. Maybe these reapers had.
Mina sensed that tracing wouldn’t help her escape them. No more running. She raised her sword and gave them fair warning: “Continue on your way, sirs, or I will be forced to hurt you.”
One waved his rotting hand.
Her sword and scabbard disappeared. She could still defend herself, had trained all her life for this. “You won’t take me without a fight!” She assumed a strike pose, readying to rain hell on these villains.
Another wave of that reaper’s hand; Mina’s body went from strike pose to limp. Her face met the ground, and her thoughts faded to nothing.