Before - Homeworld, Two thousand years ago, After the Burn #4
The sound of Adam’s pounding heart sang in her ears as he scrambled to create distance from her.
“You wouldn’t dare!” His hands rose between them. “My Lord would cast you out if you touched me. I am his chosen!”
She watched him shrink. Good.
“He’d forgive me.” Her eyes glanced back at the knife. “He always does.”
Hurting the man wasn’t actually on the table. She wouldn’t do that to Josh. But…she could scare the piss out of him.
“We all know how hard it is for me to control my…impulses.” She licked her lips. “And you smell…delicious right now, Adam.”
“You won’t!” The man reeled backward, catching his knee against a chair, his arms fumbling for balance as he forced a path between the tables.
“Of course not.” She laughed, sitting back in her chair, as his mouth worked, shaping words through gritted teeth.
“Fine. Go drown yourself for all I care. God will judge you.”
Then he shoved through the door without looking back, leaving the air behind him curdled with spite.
“Been there, done that,” Rynna muttered into the cup. “And it didn’t turn out well for either of us.”
She groaned, lowering her head to rest on top of her stacked hands on the table. Promising to stay and protect that asshole had been a mistake. Not killing him herself might be the greatest challenge she’d ever faced.
No one bothered her as she chipped away at another jug of wine over the next two bells, and time blurred until the steady drum of work in the kitchen broke through—soft clatter, low voices, the dull wump of a cleaver.
The scent of roasting meat and herbs sifted out from behind the bar, drawing a soft growl from her stomach. So ordinary and human, it was almost comforting. But before she could raise her hand for an early plate, a cry tore through the air, cutting straight through her skull.
Recoiling, her wine sloshed over the cup’s rim, spilling onto the table. Then came the crack of splintering wood, and something heavy giving way under force. Maybe a door or a stall breaking apart.
“Fuuuck.” Rynna tried to ignore it. Not my business.
The scream came again, sharper this time. Then the crack of flesh striking flesh, and a woman’s cry.
Rynna’s hand stopped halfway to her cup.
“Damn it,” she exhaled, just as Malachi barreled through the tavern door.
He wore fresh bruises: a swollen welt and a blackening eye, and in his arms, he cradled a tiny, limp form. Her eyes widened, and both the alcohol and indifference drained out of her in an instant as she flew to her feet.
“Rynna! There’s a demon out there.” Malachi set the small girl down on a table. “He wants Josh and is killing everyone he sees to get him. You have to help them!”
The girl was caked in mud and blood. And over her chest ran a deep, jagged gash.
“Is she…” Rynna studied the child, unable to finish the sentence.
Then she saw it—the faint rise beneath wrecked fabric.
“Oh no. No, no.” The tavern owner ran forward, one hand clapped over her mouth. “It’s little Jessica.”
“She’s alive.” Rynna grabbed a fistful of her own tunic and ripped it into strips.
“Hold this to her chest. Hard. Don’t let up. Not for anything.” She shoved the makeshift bandages into the other woman’s trembling grip.
Then she turned, moving fast to where her knife still jutted from the table and yanked it free without pause. Behind her, Malachi fell in without a word, hand on her shoulder.
“Be careful, Rynna.” He hesitated as she pushed open the door. “This one…” She heard the blood rushing in his veins. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’ll be fine.” Sunlight punched into her eyes the moment they stepped outside, forcing her to squint against the glare. “Get somewhere safe. And keep people out of my way.”
As the door swung shut behind her, Rynna looked back, the tavern’s lantern light spilling out one last time before the hinges caught.
Inside, the tavern owner hovered over the girl, clutching blood-soaked rags in shaking hands.
Tears streaked down the woman’s face as she pressed harder, begging the girl to open her eyes.
The door closed with a soft snick. The light vanished, and anger burned beneath Rynna’s skin, flaring up her neck.
“Go!” She shoved Malachi in the shoulder, the golden sword already in hand as she stalked into the street.
Ahead, something massive moved through the wreckage of a broken wagon. She saw broad shoulders and skin stretched too tight over thick muscle, at least twice her size. And in its taloned hand, it hoisted a man by the throat.
“Prophet! Where are you hiding?” The beast roared in every direction. “Come out and face me!”
Then, with a flick of thumb and forefinger, it broke the man’s neck and released the body to crumble to the ground with a dull, wet thud.
Townspeople scattered, tripping over one another trying to get away.
Shouts broke through the air as parents yanked children stumbling in tow, dragging them clear of its path.
A boy fell hard in front of her—small, limbs flailing for balance.
Rynna sidestepped, grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt, and hauled him upright before shoving him toward a woman barreling past, eyes wide with terror.
“This town is under my protection.” Rynna planted herself square in the creature’s path, golden blade raised. “The Prophet has better things to do than waste time on you.”
The demon paused mid-step, head cocked as if finally realizing she wasn’t running like the others.
“Little girl.” Its gaze scrabbled over her. “Do you think your god will protect you? That he’ll grant you the strength to banish me?”
Rynna snorted, advancing on the monster. As if that asshole would ever do anything to help her.
She dragged the tip of her sword through the dirt, carving a lazy line behind her.
“If you think I give a rat’s ass about some hypocritical desert spirit playing at godhood, you’re even more stupid than you look.” She extended her blade before her, steel catching the light and throwing it back across the demon’s chest like a challenge.
The demon faltered, eyes snagging on the sword, and something like recognition sputtered beneath its sneer. Rynna’s mouth pulled tight at one corner. Malekar had been right, at least about the value of a gruesome reputation.
“I have no quarrel with you, vampire queen.” It paused. “In fact…killing these fools together could be fun. There’s plenty of blood to share.”
“Unlikely.” Her hands tingled, nerves crawling along her bones like threads being drawn too tight.
Without Josh nearby, the Hunger rose, louder now near all the death and blood. Feed. Drink. Tear. Rend. Not even drowning herself in wine had dulled it for long.
The demon sensed it. She saw the knowing creep into its eyes as it spread its claws wide, then stooped to snatch a cowering woman by the hair. One finger lengthened, bone sharpening to a cruel point before it drew a shallow cut down the woman’s cheek.
As the blood welled, bright and fresh, Rynna’s teeth ached, then fangs pushed lower from her gums. She wanted it, could practically taste the woman’s blood and panic. Now.
“No.” A sound broke loose from her mouth, half hunger, half need.
Her toes inched forward as she licked her lips, the familiar red haze glazing over her eyes. It would be so…easy.
Then—
Fingers like iron caught her wrist, wrenching her back in a violent pivot. And the world spun with her, until she landed face to face with Malachi.
Her heart kicked once, shame flooding her face. But it wasn’t her wayward friend behind those endless eyes.
“Rynna.” Malachi’s lips moved with Josh’s voice behind them. “You are loved. You need only love yourself.”
Everything stilled.
“I’m sorry,” she choked, even as the Hunger raged through her, scratching at her skull, demanding blood and feasting.
But that voice. Those words. They folded around her like silk-wrapped hands, steadying her where nothing else could reach.
The Hunger roared. It had been held at bay for too long, but he held her, offering his faith, despite whatever trials he was facing on his own.
Her eyes squeezed shut.
No. She told the darkness inside her. Today was not the day she’d give in. Today, it would have to wait.
Her eyes snapped open, and the world sharpened. Colors struck harder, and sounds rang clearer. Every breath rasped aching from her lungs.
She grabbed Malachi by the collar and crushed her mouth to his. Wine, sweat, fear—all of it tangled on her tongue. And his warmth, fused with the remnants of Josh’s love, answered the emptiness within her in a way blood never could, filling those hollow, broken spaces with peace instead of pain.
I can do this. She blinked back the wetness building between her lashes.
When she broke away, Malachi inhaled like he was surfacing from deep water. A flush crept up his neck, blooming red beneath the scruff on his jaw.
“Well,” he said, voice rough, “you can do that any damn time you want.”
Rynna huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes as she turned back toward the demon.
“Gotta deal with this shithead first,” she growled, then launched herself at the demon before it could register the change.
Rynna ducked beneath the demon’s outstretched arm, the woman’s legs dangling uselessly above her, and the ground bit at her palms as she caught herself, muscles tensing. Then she pushed away from the earth, driving her body upward with every ounce of force behind her legs.
Her blade caught and bit deep, slicing through thick meat from ribs to shoulder until resistance gave way with a wet snap of tendon.
With a sickening squelch, the limb came free, black ichor spilling over her face as she landed in a crouch.
Beside her, the severed arm hit the dirt, twitching once before going still.
And the woman, no longer in the demon’s hold, fell to the ground, choking on air as she scrabbled backward on wobbling limbs.
“Ahhh,” Rynna exhaled, smearing the demon’s blood across her cheek and nose in three oily black streaks. “That was…easier than I thought it would be.”