Chapter 31 The Maker #3
She dipped her head, obedient, and disappeared down the hall from which she had come, her footsteps fading into silence.
We stepped into the night, the courtyard glowing with the unsteady light of torches.
The barn loomed ahead, its doors wide, two horses—one cream, one dark brown—already saddled and waiting.
No groom in sight. Serban mounted with effortless grace, pausing only to glance at me.
When I swung into the saddle, he turned without a word, spurred his horse, and vanished into the darkness.
I urged mine forward, the sound of hooves striking stone echoing between us.
For nearly an hour we rode through the hills—sometimes flying in a loose gallop across open ground, sometimes reduced to a cautious trot as the path twisted into rocky passes.
At last Serban crested a ridge and raised his hand, commanding me to halt.
He dismounted in one smooth motion, boots crunching against the gravel, and waited until I joined him on foot.
He moved so quickly I barely saw it—his hand clamped against my face, firm but not cruel, forcing my gaze to his.
The shock of it jolted through me, his fingers holding me still, commanding every flicker of my attention.
He inhaled, slow and deliberate, as though tasting the night itself.
His pupils widened, black swallowing silver, and I felt the shift before I understood it.
A scent carried on the cold air brushed my senses—musky, acrid, animal.
Beneath it, a faint sweetness, earthy and wild.
His gaze went to the direction of the scent.
“Fox,” he murmured, voice dropping low. His grip eased, but his eyes stayed fixed beyond me. “Her den is near. Listen.”
From deep in the ravine came a sharp, dog-like yip. My ears caught it instantly, every vibration reverberating inside me. The sound rolled around the stones and trees, until I could pinpoint its source with uncanny clarity. The hairs along my arms prickled upright.
“Give chase.” His voice was low, certain, as he nodded down the slope.
I hesitated. “Can I catch it?”
“You are faster now than any beast in this forest,” he said. “Go. Feel the slope beneath you. Smell the air. Listen.”
I stood frozen, the command burning in me, half disbelieving it could be so simple—that I might master the night with nothing more than instinct.
“You don't need to think, Magda. Your body knows how to survive.” And he nodded again. “Go.”
I gave in and let my body carry me, feet skimming over the rocky slope. Gravel scattered and tumbled beneath me, but nothing slowed my momentum. The night itself seemed alive inside my skull—sounds too sharp, reverberating like struck metal, each one urging me on.
The scent was my tether, sharp and musky, pulling me first straight toward the den. But the fox sensed me, bolting into the brush. My power surged, and I veered after her, each turn as effortless as breath.
At last, I cornered her beneath a fallen log. Her body crouched low, trembling, eyes wide and wild as she cowered in the shadows. I bared my fangs at her—another predator, an alpha staking claim—making it plain how this would end.
I seized her, pulling her warm body to my lips.
Before thought or revulsion could slow me, an inherent knowing roared to the surface.
My ears caught the frantic patter of her heart, racing faster and faster as if she already knew her fate.
My fangs sank into the soft vein of her neck, and hot blood rushed into me—this small creature giving her life for mine.
It was gamey on my tongue, sweet—tinged with earth and rot.
So unlike Serban's blood, which had been golden honey on my lips.
I drank until she was dry, until her small body lay limp in my arms, and only then did the enormity strike me: I had killed her.
An animal, yes, but one that trembled and resisted like any soul who wished to live.
I stood there, holding her lifeless weight, not knowing what to do.
Serban's voice cut through the night behind me, his boot steps crushing dried leaves and pine needles as he came nearer. “Put her down, Magda. Her carcass will feed the scavengers—and then the earth.”
Kneeling, I laid her gently on a bed of pine needles, a clumsy echo of reverence. That was when I heard it—the high, frantic yips from deeper in the ravine. Kits. Her kits. Calling for the mother who would never return. I stood and looked toward Serban, the unasked question in my eyes.
“Finish them off,” he said with a nod toward the den. “I've caught the scent of a wolf nearby. When you're done, find me.”
Then he was gone—no more than a blur in my sharpened vision, a rush of air as he vanished into the trees.
A breeze stirred after him, carrying with it the musk of wolf.
Similar to the fox, yet heavier, darker—my senses catalogued it hungrily, as though the forest itself was writing a new language in my blood.
The yips drew me back. Thin, frantic cries that tugged me closer to the den. I crouched low, my vision keen, but even with this new clarity I could not pierce the darkness of the burrow. Instead, I listened—three tiny heartbeats, quick and desperate, hammering against the earth.
I slid my hand into the hole. Warm fur brushed my palm.
I closed my fingers and pulled. The young fox was no larger than a kitten, trembling in my grip, its body feather-light.
Its eyes blinked open, glassy and wide, fixing on me with a silent, instinctive terror.
Its small heart battered against my hand, a frantic drum calling to the hunger still uncoiling inside me.
I reached in and gathered the other two, cradling all three against my palms. At least they would have the small comfort of each other in their final moments.
Tears blurred my vision, because what Serban hadn't said aloud was true—that ending the lives of these motherless kits was an act of mercy.
Yet when I was done, the only thought clawing through me was not of kindness to them but to myself.
What mercy exists for a mother without her child? Certainly not this life.
With a hollowness inside me, I made my way to where Serban had killed the wolf, letting the new creature inside me carry me forward, step after step, pushing down the emotions that threatened to break me if I held them, examined them too long.
He stepped back when I approached and let me drain the last of the wolf's blood.
When our night's hunting was finished, we rode east toward Serban's keep. The first blush of dawn painted the sky, and when the sun's pink rays struck my eyes I winced.
“Pull up your hood. It will blunt the worst of it,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Your eyes won't fully adjust yet for weeks.”
I tugged the hood forward, angling my head so the heavy folds of fabric shaded my pupils. Even so, I flinched at every stray shaft of light. As we rode, Serban went on.
“I suspect the sensitivity we suffer in those first weeks—along with the lack of impulse control—is what gave rise to the legends and falsehoods humans whisper about our kind. Once our bodies adapt, once we master restraint, we can walk beside them in the market or on the street and never be suspected. The curse of the undead, hiding in plain sight.”
“Why are you teaching me?” The question escaped at last, sharp and restless, rattling around in my mind since we left the stables hours before.
“Because it is what we do. I was taught, and now I teach. One day, if you choose to make another as you are now, you will do the same. That is the way of it.” He might as well have been reciting scripture, so devoid of feeling was his tone.
“When may I leave? To return to Buna?” The question slipped out before I could bite it back.
“You'll go when you are ready. Not before.” His eyes flicked to mine, cold and cutting, a look sharpened to a weapon.
The shiver it sent down my spine carried fear—but twined within it was a thread of exhilaration.
I could not pretend the hunger of this new self explained it.
No, even the girl I was before had found danger intoxicating.
And now, that girl and this creature both stirred at once.
“Tomorrow night you learn to take from a human,” he said, his eyes straight ahead as if they'd hadn't just cut me to the quick. “Enough to sustain you without taking a life. And then to wipe the memories, so the human wakes in the morning none the wiser.”
My fingers dug into the rough wool of my hood, and I wondered what awaited me.