Tempting Shadowed Hearts

Prologue - Avyanna

I’ve dedicated the majority of my long life to protecting those who can’t protect themselves, hunting the monsters who take advantage of the innocent—those human and…

not. I guess the reason I’m so good at what I do is that I’m not much better than they are; it takes a monster to know a monster.

The difference between them and me is that I only target the innocent when I have no choice or when I lose control of myself.

In those cases, I’ve thanked my lucky stars that I am what I am and can blend into any crowd without rousing suspicion.

You’re probably wondering how I accomplish this. What I am. Well, my kind has been called many things over the years:

Shape shifter.

Changeling.

Doppelg?nger.

Imposter.

Mimic.

Skin walker.

None of these names are wrong, per se, but skinwalker is the one I hate the most. It’s the one monstrous name that sparks fear in far too many people, especially those in the Appalachian region. That name is the reason I’m so cautious about who sees what I’m capable of.

Most people consider us shapeshifters. While we are shapeshifters of a sort, we don’t turn into animals like ordinary shifters; we turn into other people.

The most common—and, in my opinion, accurate—names we’re given are doppelg?nger and mimic. Those of us who are good at what we do are able to look nearly identical to our intended person.

The only feature of my own I can’t seem to part with when I change is a lone freckle on my cheekbone.

My mother used to refer to it as a beauty mark.

Although it’s small, it’s still there and can affect my desired image, clashing with the features I’m trying to imitate.

Most of the time, it isn’t a problem, though.

I’ve worked hard over the years to hone my features with each change, but it doesn’t matter who I try to become; that damn thing is still there.

Other than that minute detail, I’m one of the best of my kind, hence why I’ve lived so long and am in such high demand in my field.

Now I’m sure you’re wondering how old I am. Let’s just say that I’ve walked this earth for centuries. I’ve traveled all over—seen every sight there is to see in this world—and I’m getting tired.

Tired of the same sights that I’ve seen hundreds of times.

Tired of doing the same thing over and over because there’s nothing else for me to do.

Tired of being alone. Because that’s how I’ve spent the majority of the last several centuries.

When I was young, someone murdered my parents, and none of my family really wanted to deal with me, so they passed me around like a sack of potatoes. After a few years, they all started dying out of nowhere, one by one. The only person left for me to live with in the end was my uncle.

At that point, I was about fifteen and had become used to bouncing from house to house.

The idea of no longer having to do so was a relief, but things didn’t stay that way for long.

For the first month, and in the presence of others, he was the nicest man in the world.

He bought me everything I could ever want, made sure I was well taken care of, and treated me like the daughter he never had.

After that first month, he became the monster I still have nightmares about.

It started with hugs and touches that were more intimate than they should’ve been.

Then, he started picking out the clothes I was to wear, choosing things that revealed more skin than I was comfortable with.

When I told him how I felt, he backhanded me and told me I was lucky he even took me in. .

It wasn’t long after that when he came into my bedroom and started touching me.

He told me he ‘wanted to make me feel good.’ I tried to fight him, but eventually he tied me down and forced himself upon me.

The entire time, he laughed and told me he was going to ‘ruin me for all other men’ and was making me his forever because no man wanted a woman who’d allowed another man to touch her.

I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one helped me.

This became a near-nightly occurrence for the rest of the time I lived with him.

After a few months, I started getting sick out of nowhere.

I thought nothing of it at first; there was always some sort of sickness going around, and back then, we didn’t know much about them.

But when I missed my period, I knew something was going on.

I monitored my symptoms for nearly a month before I asked a neighbor to take me to the doctor.

After an examination and some now considered odd urine tests, they told me I was pregnant, and I cried the entire way home.

Thankfully, my neighbor didn’t ask questions.

Month by month flew by, and even with my belly and breasts growing, my uncle didn’t realize anything was different. I was grateful because I had no clue what I was going to do. I didn’t want to bring a child into his home, but the doctor told me my baby would be arriving soon.

Boy, was he right, just in the worst way possible.

One morning, I woke up in immense pain. At the time, I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but when I got out of bed, I felt an unfamiliar slickness between my legs, so I hurried to the bathroom.

Once in the light, I nearly dropped to the floor.

Blood was running freely down my legs while pain like no other wrapped around my belly into my back.

My heart sank.

Something was very wrong.

When the pain subsided the first time, I did my best to clean up the mess on the floor. Then another rush of pain engulfed me, and I had to clench my teeth to avoid screaming. The last thing I wanted was for my uncle to know what was happening to me.

Of course, we didn’t have phones back then, so I couldn’t call anyone, but I knew I had to get checked out.

I wasn’t sure how I managed to get dressed and make it to my neighbor’s house; I just knew I had to do it for my baby.

My neighbor rushed me to the doctor, avoiding my uncle per my request, all while trying to keep her face stoic so she wouldn’t scare me.

Deep down, I knew the odds weren’t good.

My baby—a little girl I would’ve done anything to keep, no matter the circumstances of her conception—died in my arms a few hours later.

I wished I’d died alongside her. If it weren’t for what I am, I would’ve because of all the blood I lost. But I didn’t.

I knew it was for the best that she didn’t make it; it just didn’t make it any easier.

I just knew that the life I was forced to live wasn’t suitable for a baby, especially since I was still a child myself.

When I returned home that evening, my uncle was livid because I hadn’t told him where I was going. He forced me back to my room, intent on locking me in there as a punishment, but then he discovered the blood in my bed and punished me for ruining it.

Through all that, he still never did find out about my daughter.

Just after I turned sixteen, his gaze fell upon another young woman whom he quickly acquired possession of. Once she was settled in his home, he tried to sell me off to his friend, but I disappeared before he could complete the deal.

He chased me all over the country for several years before someone finally killed him, and I could lie low for a few years.

Fear gripped me at the thought of venturing out because I knew there were other monsters out there just waiting to take advantage of a young woman.

I refused to let them get their hands on me.

Not only that, but I had to allow myself some time to heal.

After a few more years in hiding, I decided to try my hand at fitting into society again.

At first, things went well. The world had changed, but it was still predominantly male-dominated.

Women had absolutely no rights, so it was frowned upon for a woman to remain unmarried or be without her parents while she remained so.

The biggest mistake I made during this time was allowing those around me to know what I was.

I should’ve taken on the identity of another until I knew more about these people.

But I was still young and knew nothing about society back then.

The church quickly discovered I was unmarried and orphaned.

To appease society’s expectations, they presented me to several bachelors and basically auctioned me off to the highest bidder.

But the thought of another man touching me repulsed me, so I tried to escape several times.

I made the mistake of changing my appearance, and that’s when they discovered I wasn’t human.

Upon capturing me, they locked me in a room until my new husband came to claim me.

He was a vile man who often kept me locked in the house to keep me from leaving. It didn’t keep me from trying, though. I fought him every step of the way. And when he tried to rape me, I killed him with my bare hands.

It was my first murder, but I don’t regret it, even to this day. The thing that hurt the most was when I found out I wasn’t his first victim by any stretch of the imagination. And the church was condoning his actions by giving him woman after woman when he was done with the last.

After the church found out what I did, they tried to lock me up again, and the townspeople lost their minds.

They called me a murderer and claimed the man I killed deserved justice.

Yet no one took the time to listen to me because I was a woman.

Everything I’d done to that man was done in self-defense.

And no one batted an eye at the fact that he had killed other women before me. Did his victims not deserve justice?

I got out of that town as quickly as possible, changing my appearance several times while I traveled to avoid recognition.

When things cooled down and I actually took the time to look at everyone around me, I realized that there were more monsters than I could’ve ever imagined in this world.

That’s when I knew I had to do something.

So I did what no one else would at the time; I began hunting down the monsters no one was doing anything about.

Hunting them down has slowly turned me into one of them, though.

Especially when I’m on a mission and forget to feed myself.

Let’s just say that when I get hungry, I lose sight of who I am.

It doesn’t help that normal food doesn’t do shit for me when I get to that point.

When I’m starved, the only thing that can satisfy me is the life essence of another.

Basically, I either drink blood or take a piece of someone’s soul.

I hate it because I don’t want to be a bad person, but when hunger takes over, I lose control.

I’ve killed my fair share of likely decent people by accident.

If it’s a monster, I don’t feel as bad. But that’s why I let it get so damn bad sometimes.

I figure that if I let myself lose control with a monster, I can justify it. I’m going to kill them either way.

When said monsters are demons, it fucks everything up, though.

They can’t offer me anything because they don’t have souls, and their blood is toxic if ingested.

So, I’ve learned to pace myself and keep tabs on my hunger when pursuing a demon.

Thankfully, they’re sparse in the human realm—they tend to stick to their own realm more often than not.

Since I’m one of the best hunters there is, I’m highly sought after. It doesn’t surprise me that most know me—I’ve walked this damned Earth for long enough. But hunting all these monsters doesn’t feel like a purpose enough anymore. I want more from my life than just this bullshit.

Over the years, there’ve been several people who’ve made me realize that not everyone is awful.

At least, that’s how I remember them. Then again, maybe I’m just lying to myself and making those people seem better in my mind because I want some fucking meaningful interaction.

A friend who won’t judge me for what I am.

Maybe even a little bit of love… if that’s a thing for someone like me.

My problem with finding someone to fill the empty void in my life is that I struggle to see the good in others.

Monsters and those who’ve wronged me in the past have tainted my view of society as a whole.

It’s as if I’m always worried that someone is out to get me.

I’ve spoken to some of my longtime colleagues about how I’m feeling, and they tell me to rely on my instincts when I’m getting to know someone.

They say it’s ‘what’ll tell you if someone is inherently good or bad. ’

I’ve tried trusting my instincts a few times, and I think whoever said that in the first place is full of shit.

The last time I tried to ‘trust my gut,’ the relationship fucked me up for years.

Needless to say, I’m going to put that advice on the back burner.

Or I might not ever use those things again.

While I have become desperate for connection, I won’t settle for just anything or anyone.

I want someone who can keep up with my disastrous lifestyle, someone who isn’t worried about being caught up in it.

I need someone who can bring a little bit of light to my otherwise dark life, but also someone who’s been through some shit and doesn’t expect their life to be sunshine and rainbows constantly.

Last, but most importantly, I want someone who isn’t looking to fuck me over, mistreat me, or hurt me. There’s been enough of that in my life.

I think maybe I need to change the way I look at people. And I need to attempt to open up to others more than I have in the past. The idea of it scares the fuck out of me, but I’m tired of being so lonely all the time.

Pain and hatred are the only things I’ve felt for so long, and I really want to feel something different again.