Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
I looked around, confused. I was in a cabin sitting on a bed.
I was starving.
A beautiful man stood before me, with pale skin and long, dark hair cascading like a waterfall around his shoulders. A knowing smile played at the corners of his lips as he approached me.
“You must feed, Rosalia,” he said, handing me a bottle and bringing it to my lips.
How does he know my name? I sniffed the liquid and drank.
I instantly felt better, as warm fire spread through me.
The scratch in my throat subsided. As I drank, visions flickered through my mind: fleeting glimpses of someone farming and potatoes being pulled from the earth.
The images blurred together in a kaleidoscope of sensations, leaving me breathless.
“What is that?” I asked the man. Draven. My husband. I recognized him again. My heart strained as he sat next to me, but the familiar drumbeat in my chest was not there anymore.
“What do you mean?” he asked me, his voice tender.
“I keep experiencing visions in my mind.”
“Memories and thoughts,” he began. “It takes time to acclimate, but it occurs when you consume a human’s blood.
Some Blood Hunters develop an addiction to it, pursuing the intoxicating rush of power that comes from exploring their prey’s psyche.
They fancy themselves capable of manipulating their victims through their memories and emotions.
However, I find such methods distasteful.
I prefer to select individuals with simple lives, whose memories are tranquil.
” His tone was decidedly matter-of-fact.
“I shall teach you how to set aside those thoughts and concentrate on other matters when you feed.”
“Why did you not tell me this before?” I asked, troubled by the thought of experiencing others’ memories and emotions each time I needed to feed.
“I apologize, my heart,” Draven replied, his voice tinged with regret as he drew me closer. “It has been a part of my existence for so long that I often forget this burden is not one that humans bear.”
“Humans do not drink blood,” I spat at him. I struggled to make sense of the feelings raging within me. Anger surged through me like a tidal wave, a torrent of emotion that threatened to consume me whole. Why am I so angry?
I reached for the bottle once more, only to find it empty, leaving me unsatisfied. It felt as though I was crawling under my own skin. I desperately scanned the room, searching for another bottle of blood.
“Rosalia, let me help you.” Draven reached out to touch my arm. I swatted his hand away as a feral growl escaped my lips. I bared my teeth at him, as hunger consumed my thoughts. My husband was an obstacle that stood before me.
A soft blanket of snow greeted me as I flung open the door of the cabin.
“My heart, come back inside. I have more for you to drink,” Draven urged, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. In a sudden burst of desperation, I whirled around and shoved him. The force of my action was unintentional, but he stumbled backward.
I felt ashamed that I pushed him, and I ran away before he could say anything more. I escaped into the night, allowing my new senses to take control, running barefoot, deeper into the woods.
I was faster than when I was human. I let my hearing and sight take control.
My skin prickled as I saw a white rabbit about a hundred yards away.
I moved quickly, stalking my prey, and when I reached the rabbit, I picked it up and pierced my teeth into it.
I couldn’t explain the feeling of drinking blood straight from the vein.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.
Soft, clear, and vivid memories of grass, clovers, and sun filled my mind as I devoured the rabbit, though they stopped right before the last drop of blood.
A sense of fleeting satisfaction washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by an insatiable craving for more. I knew that I needed something larger, something more substantial, to quench the voracious hunger that gnawed at my core.
I continued to run, following the instinctual pull of my senses. The journey felt long, as our cabin was nestled deep in the woods, far from the nearest town. I could hear the bustle of people long before I caught sight of them. I emerged from the trees and into the edge of a town.
The air was thick with the smell of salt and decay, mingling with the pungent odour of stale alcohol and cheap perfume.
The streets were narrow and winding. Dilapidated buildings lined the alleys, and windows adorned with faded curtains.
Dim light emanated from taverns, brothels lit up the streets, and whispered conversations filled the air.
I searched, eyeing the prostitutes lingering, their painted lips and vacant stares turning my way. Men lurked in the shadows, and the town’s inhabitants moved with a sense of caution, their eyes darting nervously as I walked. I couldn’t wait any longer.
At the end of an alley, I saw a woman walking into her house. I approached her, hunching over and faking a limp.
I attacked.
My fangs sank into the side of her neck, and I drank, her hot blood filling me. I drank deeper and deeper. I felt as though I’d never eaten in my life, and I couldn’t drink fast enough. Soon, flashes of her life flooded my senses and I closed my eyes. It didn’t help; I still saw everything.
Young hands gently combing a horse’s mane.
A woman igniting a fire on a wintry morning.
A young man extends his hand to dance. Yet, beneath it all, I felt her fear creeping in.
The same fear I felt as a human, but I continued to drink.
I saw myself—barefoot, my hair wild and wind-tossed, covered in blood.
My appetite was ravenous. Then the visions stopped, and she slumped weightless in my arms.
I started to shake her. “Wake up!” I yelled. But I drank too much. She was dead.
I killed someone.
I looked around to see if anyone saw me and hurried to run into the house, but an invisible barrier kept me out. Amongst my feral energy, I forgot that Blood Hunters needed to be invited into someone’s house.
I sank to the ground, unable to process what I had done. I took someone’s life. I took it for my own pleasure, and now I was left alone with a body next to me.
I wandered the streets for hours, washing my face in a pail of water by a gutter.
I was frantic. The darkness of the sky was lightening, and I was too far away from the cabin to make it back safely.
Dawn drew near, and I found a man stumbling home from a tavern.
I approached him and asked him if I could come inside with him.
A playful smile danced on my lips, hoping he was too tipsy to notice the blood staining my chin.
When he invited me in, I barely let him take two steps before my fangs found their mark at his throat.
I remained in the house all day, unable to bring myself to leave, haunted by the lives I had stolen. Fear gnawed at my insides, the fear of what I had become, of the darkness lurking within me, waiting to strike again.
That night, as the moon rose high in the sky, so too did the insatiable hunger that tormented me. With each passing hour, it grew more unbearable, driving me to almost seek out more, but as I was about to leave, a voice called from outside. “Rosalia?”
I opened the door and pulled Draven inside. Crying into his arms, tears streamed down my face.
“Fear not, you are well. It took me a while to find you,” he said, patting my hair and kissing my face.
He kissed my lips, and as soon as I felt his warmth on mine, I wanted more.
My hands instinctively moved to the buttons of his shirt.
With a desperate urgency, I unfastened them one by one, each click fueling my longing.
Just as I was about to pull it open completely, he caught my wrists, holding me back.
“My heart, do you want to talk about it?” Draven asked knowingly. His gaze searched me up and down. I knew I must have looked a mess.
I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t even want to think about the people I killed and the lives I took. I wanted a distraction.
I pushed those thoughts aside; I didn’t want to see that. I felt everything now more than before.
“Let’s return to the cabin,” he murmured against my neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
January 16, 1892
In the quiet seclusion of the cabin, time slowed down as the nights bled into each other. I remained inside, reluctant to venture out. I felt raw, my emotions like a fountain I still couldn’t turn off.
Draven became my lifeline, my anchor in the storm. With patience and understanding, he tended to my needs. He hunted for us, bringing back animals for me to feed from or filling bottles with blood, sparing me the need to venture out alone.
Slowly, I began to feel like myself again. If I had enough blood, I felt normal, almost human. Yet, beneath the surface, the primal urges inside of me simmered, a constant reminder of my new nature.
Every sound, every scent became magnified, my senses attuned to the slightest movement in the surrounding wilderness. I could hear animals moving in the fresh snow, their breath in the air. I could smell the musky scent of their fur, and I could hear their blood pulsing through their veins.
Waiting for Draven in the cabin felt like an itch I could not scratch, and as the evening wore on, I found myself growing increasingly restless. Draven had left, promising to return when the moon was high in the sky with our meal. But as the hours ticked by, his absence weighed upon me.
Unable to bear the cabin any longer, I decided I needed to leave. I had to escape the confines of these walls.
I walked, the path beneath my feet snow-covered until I reached the clearing where Draven had turned me.
Standing beneath the canopy of stars, the wind whispered through the trees.
I gazed up at the moon overhead, its pale light casting a silver glow upon the forest below. I felt a sense of calm wash over me.
I remembered when I was a little girl, my mother would tell me stories about Blood Hunters.
She would say they were soulless creatures who crept through the night searching for anyone to feed on.
Yet, despite the stillness in my veins, I knew with a certainty that I had never felt more alive.
Far from being soulless, I felt everything with an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.
Each sensation, each emotion, pulsed through me like a raging inferno, consuming me from within.
I don’t know how long I stood there for, but my thoughts were broken when Draven wrapped his arms around my waist. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, carrying with it the intoxicating scent of blood. It stirred something primal within me.
“Draven,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper as I looked into his eyes, my body moving closer to his. My hands traced the contours of his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. The desire to taste the blood on his lips overwhelmed me.
“Yes, my heart,” he replied, his gaze locked with mine as he held me close. In the moonlight, his eyes shimmered like pools of liquid sky, contrasting starkly against the darkness of his raven-black hair.
“Tell me how much you love me,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips as I pushed myself up on tiptoes, my tongue tracing a path over his lips, tasting the sweetness that lingered there.
“I love you, Rosalia,” Draven said, deepening the kiss and pulling me closer to him, his hands moving up my back. I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight as I was overwhelmed by the small taste of blood still coating his mouth.
I could feel my hunger growing inside of me, and my fangs were slowly growing longer as they cut through Draven’s lip. But he didn’t pull away; he only kept kissing me, running his tongue on my sharp fangs.
“Gluttony is a sin,” he murmured against my lips, his voice laced with a mixture of caution and desire. And with that, I surrendered to the irresistible pull of my instincts, sucking gently on his lip as his blood flooded my mouth, filling me with satisfaction.
I went feral, and without thinking, I tore myself from Draven's embrace, a growl escaping my throat as I turned to the clearing in the trees where I knew the village was.
I envisioned my victims asleep in their homes, unaware of me lurking outside. The image filled me with a savage hunger, fueling the relentless drive to satisfy the primal urges that consumed me.
A guttural scream tore from my lips as I backed away from Draven. I gathered up the hem of my skirt and bolted toward the village, my footsteps echoing through the silent night as I raced to my unsuspecting prey.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I caught sight of Draven standing motionless in the moonlight.
“Rosalia, stop,” I heard him call, the words lost to the wind as I sprinted toward the village below, my every instinct driving me onward to my prey.