Chapter 4 Elias
ELIAS
“What makes a monster, I wonder,” Elias murmured, his voice low and deliberate as he forced the fox’s head into the soil. He knelt over it with the stillness of a corpse, his hand holding it fast while the creature writhed beneath him, snarling and snapping its teeth in futile rage.
“We act only as nature demands, do we not?” he asked. The wind pressed against him, rustling the dead leaves that still hopelessly clung to the trees.
The fox’s golden eyes flickered, their wild shine dimming as it stared back at him—caught, cornered, helpless.
“Then tell me,” Elias whispered, freeing the snare from its torn paw. He held it up for the animal to see, the metal glinting dully in the moonlight. “Is the monster the one who obeys instinct… or the one who cloaks it?”
Rising to his feet, Elias dropped his hold on the fox, discarding the snare to the forest floor. For a moment, the beast remained there, laying on the ground as though it were awaiting its end.
“Go on, then,” Elias murmured, nudging its hind leg with the toe of his boot. “Before I decide I am hungry.”
The fox bolted at last, vanishing into the underbrush with a rustle of leaves.
The forest still sung with the same chorus it did all those years ago. He almost caught himself missing the sensation of the cold autumn nights. The chill of the wind caressing his skin. Even the fear of what it meant to be alone in the woods. The fear of what might have lurked.
Elias stood alone for a moment longer, staring into the place where the fox had fled, the scent of blood still thick in the air.
At last, he turned, brushing the soil from his hands as he made his way down the narrow path that threaded through the trees, back to the enclave.
The forest loomed high around him, skeletal branches scraping at the sky like blackened ribs.
Each gust of wind sent more leaves tumbling, brittle and broken beneath his steps.
There would only be a few more nights until Hallows Eve.
Though, this year, perhaps for the first time, melancholy settled in his heart rather than excitement.
The months he spent watching Penelope, resting on her roof while the sound of sorrow escaped her window.
And in listening to her melodies, something in him began to shift.
He was different than what he was. Though, he could not say how he differed.
Only that at some point he noticed how alone he was.
And even more, he no longer knew whether he watched her out of curiosity… or yearning.
A yearning for what, though?
Elias pushed the question out of his mind as he opened the door to his cottage—his home. It had been many years since Osiris had helped him build it. Since he was accepted into the enclave. And yet, what relationships did he have, save for the Horseman who bore the same weight of eternity.
Though, it was in all truth better this way.
There were only so many funerals he could attend. Only so many ways he could learn to say goodbye before he perfected the elegy.
The inside of his cottage was lined with dark, almost red, wooden floorboards. The black walls surrounded the many paintings and books, broken up only by the arching windows.
Almost as comfortable as a coffin.
Elias rolled his shoulders, falling into his reading chair and throwing Eleanor’s letters onto the round table at his side, the parchment fanning across the dark wood.
He tipped his head back against the chair, eyes closing as the fire in the hearth breathed its orange light across the walls.
“Yearning,” Elias whispered again to the empty room, as though testing the weight of the word upon his tongue. It lingered there, sour and lasting.
“I do not yearn for things,” Elias exhaled, dragging his hands down his face as though he could rub the tension from his very skin. His voice was a low rasp. “A vampire that yearns? For a mortal?”
The thought itself was obscenity. Osiris falling for a mortal—that he could understand. But Elias? To crave not merely her blood, but her sorrow, her presence, her gaze?
No—whatever haunted him, it was not yearning.
He would not call it that. He told himself it was nothing more than hunger, the oldest law of his kind.
A wish to taste what had been denied him too long.
He would drink. He would use her. And when his thirst was sated, he would leave her cold and empty in his wake.
Just as her family had always done to beings.
Yes. That was all.
And yet, if in doing this, his indulgence should scandalize that self-righteous Mayor—should burn another scar of shame into that loathsome family—then all the sweeter the feast.
A low knock at the door snapped him from his reverie. Three raps, deliberate.
Elias of course knew who it was before he lifted himself from his chair and opened the door. The smell of burning was ever present no matter where his visitor went. Strong enough that it had masked a humans scent for weeks.
The door opened to reveal the Horseman. His lights were low, calm, and did not flicker about as they once would.
“It’s late,” Elias said, leaning in the doorway.
“It is.” Osiris gestured past him. “Which makes me wonder why you’re only just returning. My shadows sensed you leaving hours ago.”
“Am I meant to report to your wife now? Or do you just enjoy playing sentinel of our little enclave?”
Osiris exhaled—patient, weary. He stepped inside without asking, shadows trailing behind him. “You know she worries for you—”
“She worries for Penelope,” Elias cut in, shutting the door.
The Horseman leaned against the chair, meeting Elias’s gaze before nodding once. “For both of you. With Penelope’s father leading the crusade against us, her worry grows. She has yet to receive a letter back. And I fear it is still too dangerous for her to go to Autumntun herself.”
“Well, father dearest does—like many men in that town—keep Penelope under a strong lock. I couldn’t visit her until he left for a town meeting.”
“A town meeting?”
“Yes. There have been more of late.”
“And you think it means something?”
Elias laughed softly. “They’re human. Everything means something to them. Especially when they’re afraid.”
“They’re not all hateful.”
“Enough of them are.”
“Not Penelope. Not Eleanor.”
His words hung between them, baiting Elias.
Osiris, for all his years, was slow to pick up on anything that was not plainly stated. Though as of late he was becoming more aware of Elias’ comings and goings.
Normally, Elias would not mind. However, and for whatever reason, he did not like the idea of others paying attention to what he was doing when Penelope was involved. She was his alone—his one secret, his one deviation from the endless ritual of undead life.
“What do you want, Osiris?” Elias folded his arms. “Why have you come here?”
“You’ve been going to Autumntun almost every night for months now.”
“Then you know I am keeping watch. And if I wish for… diversion while I do so, what trouble is it really? I am never seen. Humans are blind. A deer senses the hunter long before a human does. Their instincts are so dulled, it’s a miracle they ever survived this long.”
Osiris released a tired breath, shaking his head. “You know that is not what I am concerned about.”
“What then?” Elias chuckled. “Do you think I will bite someone? Or that I already have?”
Osiris went silent, but his restless hands betrayed him.
“I haven’t tasted human blood in centuries. I am not my maker. Not anymore. You know what I was when you found me. I swore I would never become that again. You know this.”
His gaze flicked toward the scattered letters on the table.
“Tell your wife to stop worrying,” Elias continued. “The letters will reach Penelope. As for the rest—my time is my own. I will do what I wish when I see fit. I did not leave one maker just to obey another.”
Osiris, of all beings, knew the torment Elias had endured to sever his maker’s bond. Knew he meant it when he swore never to hunt again. Penelope was not prey. She was only…a reprieve. A curiosity. An assuagement of what was otherwise an endless hunger.
“We have all worked tirelessly for this treaty with the humans,” Osiris said. “I urge you—do nothing that could jeopardize it.”
Elias said nothing as the Horseman crossed the room.
His friend paused at the door, and with a low voice said, “It is not only Penelope she worries for. She considers you her friend, Elias. She cares for you. As do I. We do not wish to see any harm come to you.”
And with that, Osiris was gone.
Elias stood alone again.
“I am not my maker,” he muttered. “I have done nothing wrong.”