Chapter 6
SIX
After enduring a long, cold winter, the first days of spring had finally arrived.
My mother and I had spent the day bringing the garden back to life.
The sun beat down with renewed warmth, and I sprawled out on a blanket in the garden.
Even though it was still brisk, I lay there, hoping to absorb its comforting heat.
The branches above me swayed; their movements synchronized with the soft creak of my mother’s wooden rocking chair on the porch.
She was absorbed in her book, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands.
We cherished moments like this. Longer days meant shorter nights, and shorter nights meant less time for Blood Hunters to roam.
Our home, tucked deep in the woods just outside of Elmcross, was both a sanctuary and a trap.
Blood Hunters naturally avoided daylight, as the sun burned their delicate skin.
But there were exceptions. Over the years, I’d caught glimpses of them, stray figures lurking in the shadows during overcast days, when the sky hung heavy with clouds, and the sun was nowhere to be found.
I looked to the path leading into the woods, silently hoping for Vail to appear, as she had so many times before.
Things had grown complex between us since my birthday when she kissed me by the river.
Despite my attempts to downplay it and assure her that it was of little importance to me, she had avoided discussing it, often citing the need to rush home and help her grandmother.
I understood her need for space, hoping she would come around eventually.
Pushing her further away was the last thing I wanted.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, but my eyes became heavy with relaxation. I rose and looked at my mother. “I am going into town, Mama. Do have you need of anything?”
She looked up from her book, her brow knitting with concern. “No, Rosebud. But don’t take too long. A Slayer passed through yesterday and told me they are organizing a hunt nearby. They spotted a Blood Hunter not far from here.” Her tone held a subtle unease as if she were reluctant to let me go.
I reached for my coat, then turned back to her, pausing for a moment. “Don’t fret,” I said gently, placing a quick kiss on her cheek.
She offered me a soft smile, though her eyes still carried worry. “Take care, and do not travel after dark.”
“I love you,” I promised, making my way down the path.
In the forest, a smile graced my lips at the sight of the snowdrops blooming beneath a tree. I plucked one, its petals delicate under my fingertips, and tucked it behind my ear. A sudden crack of a branch breaking underfoot startled me. My heart skipped, and I stood up quickly.
Henry stood in front of me, a smile gracing his lips.
“Hello, Henry,” I said softly, my gaze fixed on the dark curls adorning his head.
“Rosalia.” He took a step closer to me.
My heart quickened with anticipation. I had first met Henry at the winter solstice party a few months ago, and since then, our secret meetings by my house had become a regular occurrence.
We shared a mutual agreement to keep our relationship strictly physical.
If our families were to discover us, they would undoubtedly hope for a courtship to ensue.
We cared deeply for each other, but we weren’t prepared to take things further.
Henry closed the gap between us, his touch gentle as he cupped my face, and our lips melted in a fervent kiss.
Things escalated quickly, as they often did. I began to unbutton Henry’s pants, while in turn, he eased off my coat. His hands quickly explored beneath my shirt.
Afterward, we lay on our coats, which were spread across the forest floor, my head resting on Henry’s chest. His fingers idly twisted my hair as we gazed up at the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves and watched birds fluttering among the branches.
Henry’s words broke the comfortable silence. “It seems we are moving once more.”
I turned to face him. “When?”
“Soon. Mother is growing anxious. Another attack occurred in town the other night, and she is considering moving to a place with more people, fewer trees, perhaps by the ocean.”
“Winter is nearly over. The Blood Hunters will not be out as much,” I protested. “I was under the impression that you wanted to join the Slayers?”
“Mother would never allow me to,” he said. His tone was final. “And it is not in my blood. I am just … mortal. How could I stand a chance against the Blood Hunters? You know what happens to most people who try to fight them without the right lineage.”
I couldn’t argue with that. The Slayers were not regular huntsmen, even though anyone with the right skill and training could choose to take up arms against Blood Hunters.
Slayers were different. They were bred for it, forged down countless generations, their bloodlines meticulously honed to give them strength and agility far beyond the average human.
Their bodies were faster, more resilient, and more deadly.
It was a rare gift, however. Not something anyone could acquire.
Anyone could train to be a Slayer, but only a few were born for it.
Unfortunately, my father was not one of them.
He trained from youth to be a Slayer, and damn was he a good one. But not good enough to survive.
“I sound like a coward,” Henry continued, his voice quieter now. “I do not have the bloodline …”
I sighed, reaching up to gently brush the soft stubble on his chin, a tender gesture that felt like goodbye. “I am going to miss this.”
He gave a faint smile, his hand cupping mine for a moment before his gaze turned serious again. “Me too.” He kissed me sweetly, and I deepened it, climbing back on top of him.
We lost track of time, the rhythm of our kisses syncing with the passing hours. The once-distant songs of birds shifted and transformed into the hooting of owls.
“It is late. I must go!” I exclaimed, quickly putting my coat back on. I knew my mother would be upset with me for returning home after dark. She was probably worried.
“Do you want me to escort you home?” Henry offered, patting his mussed hair back into place.
“I will manage,” I assured him. “Same time tomorrow?”
Henry smiled. “Suits me well.” I stared at him for a moment longer and entertained the thought of us as a couple. If either of us wanted something more, we might make a good pair. But for now, I was happy with this, our little rendezvous in the forest.
I arrived home, emerging from the woods to the comforting glow of the kitchen light shining through the windows. It was strange, though, that the bed linens were still draped over the line outside, an unusual sight for this hour.
I walked around the front of the house and found the door ajar. My mother’s book lay face down on the chair, marking her place. I hesitated for a moment, dread settling in my stomach as I pushed open the front door and was met with a sight of crimson red.
A surge of heat flooded through me as I collapsed to the floor, my limbs trembling with shock. My mother lay sprawled across the kitchen tiles, her body surrounded by blood that seeped into every corner of the room. The walls and ceiling were splattered with red.
“Mama!” I cried out, my voice choked with fear as I crawled toward her, my legs refusing to support me. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum threatening to explode. My hands slipped in the crimson as I made my way to her.
How could so much blood belong to a single person? Is this truly hers?
I reached my mother and pulled her head into my lap, my hands trembling with desperation as I cradled her face.
Her once vibrant eyes stared lifelessly into the void, her skin marred with scratches and bite marks.
I touched her cheek, my heart sinking with dread as I traced the gaping wound on her neck.
My fingers came away slick. My breath caught, sharp as a blade in my chest, and I recoiled.
I clutched her cold hand in mine, and my vision blurred as tears steamed down my face.
The emptiness of her touch sent a wave of devastation crashing over me.
My cries reverberated through the kitchen, the raw sound of my grief settling into the painful truth of what had happened.
“No, no, no, Mama, please wake up!” I cried. My voice filled with anguish as I rocked her. This could not be real. It had to be a nightmare.
Guilt washed over me. My chest felt tight, and I had to fight the urge to vomit. How could I have been so selfish, thinking only of my own desires? My heart twisted with regret, wishing desperately for a chance to turn back and shield her from harm.
Or take her place in death.
I planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m so, so sorry.” I sobbed into her hair, and a crash came from outside. I froze and stared wide-eyed at the open door into the darkness of the night. I knew something terrible lurked in the shadows.
I thought about the shed outside, where my father’s hunting shotgun was kept.
I carefully slid my mother’s body off my lap and stood up.
I took a step and slipped in blood, crashing down onto my left knee.
Pain bloomed at the impact, but I ignored it, crawling toward the front door, a crimson trail behind me as I inched forward.
With great effort, I braced myself on the frame, slowly pulling myself upright. My knee felt weak as if it might give out at any moment, but I kept my eyes fixed on the shed outside, waiting for any sign of movement.
I took a deep breath, then hiked up my skirt and sprinted toward the shed.
It felt as if I wasn’t in control of my body but rather propelled by an external force into the night.
Each step sent a jolt of pain through my now swollen knee, but I ignored it.
Reaching the shed, I flung open the door and hurriedly closed it behind me.