The Blood of Dawn (Bloodhaven #1)

1. Isolde

CHAPTER ONE

ISOLDE

T he beast of Bloodhaven had made another kill, and for only the second time in the ten years since she’d been turned, Isolde Renault was glad to be a Vampire.

All the other killings had been messier than this.

It had started with livestock: chicken coops raided in the night, a herd of goats slaughtered, and even one pig.

Those had been easy to ignore. Bloodhaven was a small village, surrounded on all sides by miles of dense pine forest, and any number of hungry predators lived between the trees.

When the beast killed the first horse, Isolde took notice, but she still didn’t think much of it.

And then humans started to die.

First the villagers woke to discover the dismembered leg of a barmaid floating in the well, the water stained crimson. Then it was the blacksmith. All that remained of him was a severed hand in a pool of blood, abandoned a few steps from the doors to his forge.

Now, this. There were no remains—nothing left to identify the human by.

Just a sea of blood soaking between the stacked logs of the southern wood pile.

It wasn’t fresh. The scent of it didn’t make Isolde’s mouth water or cause her canines to extend to their lethal points.

The blood had been spilled a few hours ago, at least. Maybe more.

Isolde’s breath clouded in the air before her as she circled the wood pile, inhaling deeply.

Human blood didn’t carry the essence of the person whose veins it coursed through, not the way Vampire and Wolf blood did.

Even if it had been fresh, Isolde wouldn’t have been able to identify the human who’d been killed.

Not without a single scrap of them left behind. Not so much as a bone.

Whatever the beast of Bloodhaven was, the humans it hunted didn’t stand a chance. If it weren’t for the heightened speed and strength her Vampirism lent her, Isolde wouldn’t be caught dead in the open on a night like tonight.

No animal she had ever encountered ate their prey whole.

Before, she’d been willing to consider the possibility that the killer was a common wolf, or a bear, or some other large predator coming out of the woods at night to feast. That possibility seemed feasible when she’d been finding entrails and sheep’s fur and dismembered hands at the scenes of the murders.

But ordinary animals didn’t clean up their messes like this, without leaving so much as a finger behind.

Isolde knew of only one type of creature who might.

Werewolves.

If Selene was to be believed, a Wolf hadn’t set foot in Bloodhaven since the Blood Pact had been signed.

Wolves’ presence in the village wasn’t expressly forbidden by the Pact, but the beasts preferred to keep to their territory in the south.

Relations between Vampires and Werewolves were volatile at best, and while there were only two Vampires still living in Bloodhaven, the Wolves wanted nothing to do with them.

Just as well. From everything Selene had told her about the creatures, Isolde never wanted to find herself within a hundred yards of a Wolf. She might get fleas.

Two hundred years before, a war had raged between the Vampires and the Wolves.

The Vampires had been hunting Wolves for the potency of their blood, and the Wolves retaliated by slaughtering humans in Bloodhaven—threatening the Vampire’s food source.

The war eliminated nearly the entire Wolf pack, and the vast majority of human villagers.

Starvation killed more Vampires than the Wolves did, but only barely. Vampires, as it turned out, were a Wolf’s preferred prey.

The Bleeding War ended only when the three species—Vampire, Wolf, and human—came to an agreement.

The Vampires would keep to the village and feed only on consenting humans.

In turn, the Wolves would find a way to contain themselves on the full moon, when their transformation occurred and their predator instincts drove them to hunt for Vampires.

The Blood Pact was signed and peace returned to Bloodhaven, but Vampires and Werewolves hated each other more than ever before.

That was another reason why Isolde suspected a Wolf of being the beast of Bloodhaven. If a Wolf wanted to start another war, to violate the Pact and have free reign to hunt Vampires again, slaughtering humans was the quickest way to do it.

One sizable problem stood in the way of Isolde’s theory, however.

None of the attacks had occurred on a full moon.

In fact, the night of the last full moon—the only night of the month when it was possible for Wolves to shift from their human forms into their lupine ones—had been utterly still and silent.

Isolde widened her circles around the wood pile, sniffing for any trace of the beast even as she knew it was pointless.

Snow drifted down, blanketing the blood-soaked wood and covering any tracks left behind.

If the beast was a Wolf, and even a single drop of its blood had been spilled, Isolde might have been able to track it back to its den.

But the odds of that were almost laughably slim—it was nearly impossible to make a Wolf bleed, even for a Vampire.

All Isolde smelled was the rancidness of spoiled human blood, anyway.

The snow began to fall harder, the air turning downright frigid.

Isolde’s teeth began to chatter, and she turned to go with a frustrated huff.

It annoyed her beyond measure that even as a Vampire, she was still so susceptible to the cold.

She was technically dead, after all, and already ran several degrees colder than humans did, but one gust of icy wind cut all the way down to her bones. What a load of?—

A twig snapped in the trees beyond the wood pile.

Isolde froze. Slowly, silently, she turned around, letting her darksight illuminate the shadows between the trees. Her heart thumped in her chest—just once, emphatically, as if to warn her.

Suddenly, even her preternatural strength didn’t make her feel so safe.

Isolde held perfectly still, scanning the darkness.

If the beast lurked in the trees, stalking her, would she be able to outrun it?

If it truly was a Werewolf, it would track her back to the cabin.

She and Selene might stand a chance of fighting it together, but Isolde was woefully underprepared to confront the beast on her own.

But nothing moved in the forest. On some high-up branch, an owl hooted, unconcerned.

You’re a Vampire , Isolde reminded herself. Even if it is a Wolf, you’re not weak and helpless anymore.

The back of Isolde’s neck prickled beneath the weight of an unseen stare, all the way home.

Soft, flickering firelight spilled from the windows of the cabin, casting shadows beneath the pines that circled it. It stood just to the north of Bloodhaven, separated from the village by a copse of trees, and boasted a slanting roof and a rickety staircase that led to its high porch.

“Selene?” Isolde called, bolting the door behind herself as she slipped inside.

“Here,” Selene answered from across the cabin, somewhere in the vicinity of the hearth.

After hours of using her darksight to navigate the shadowy village, it took a moment for Isolde’s eyes to adjust to the light.

At first, all she could see was Selene’s silhouette against the glow of the flames, her long limbs folded into an elegant crouch.

A moment passed, and then she could make out the spill of the older Vampire’s dark hair and the sharp angle of her cheekbone.

Selene had never told Isolde how old she really was, beyond some vague references which Isolde used to infer that she’d seen at least five centuries, but she appeared no older than a human at the midpoint of her life.

Isolde picked her way across the cabin, untying her cloak as she went.

It had been a gift from Selene, shortly after she’d turned Isolde into a Vampire.

The outside was unassuming, sturdy black wool, but the lining…

the silk shone crimson in the firelight as Isolde flung it over the back of an armchair to dry.

The matching armchairs, side tables, and settee, with their scrolling woodwork and black velvet upholstery, were the only furniture in the greatroom.

The curtains matched, hanging thick and heavy over the windows to block out the sun.

Selene had a taste for fine silver, but since Vampires had no use for cutlery or a tea service, she made up for it with an outrageous collection of silver candelabras.

They stood on the mantel, on the end tables beside the settee, and were lined up on the empty sideboard.

Isolde was fairly certain Selene had a stash of spare candelabras hidden in the crawlspace under the cabin, too.

Isolde rounded the settee, trailing past Selene’s other vast collection—an entire wall of bookshelves, all stuffed to the brim—to sink into an armchair. She watched as Selene fed a scrap of white cotton into the flames, then sat back on her heels.

“You fed tonight?” Isolde asked, nodding at the burning pillowcase. If she’d returned home ten minutes sooner, she’d have seen the bloodstains on the cotton.

“Yes.” Selene’s answer was brusque, leaving no room for further comment.

“Who was it?” Isolde asked. She ignored the sharp look Selene sent her. “I didn’t see him on my way back.”

“That’s none of your concern, girl.” Selene uncoiled to her feet, her dark nightdress swirling around her ankles as she strode for the bedroom door. “I don’t question who you drink from, so you keep that pert little nose of yours out of my affairs.”

Isolde ground her teeth. She hated it when Selene brought humans back here to feed. She didn’t like having human men in the cabin.

But she knew better than to press the issue. They’d had this argument before, and it never ended well for Isolde.

Instead, she told Selene, “There’s been another attack.”

Selene didn’t so much as pause. “Oh?” she called over her shoulder, continuing into the other room. “Who this time?”

She had been exactly that flippant about the other murders, too. When the blacksmith’s hand had turned up, Selene didn’t even blink.

“That’s the thing,” Isolde replied. She trailed Selene to the door and propped herself against the frame, watching the other Vampire straighten the tousled bedclothes. “There were no remains—only the blood. Human. The beast left nothing behind to tell who it was. Not so much as a finger.”

“Hmm.” Selene said nothing else.

“You don’t think that’s odd?” Isolde prodded. “What sort of wild beast devours every scrap of human flesh like that? Bears don’t eat people whole, or common wolves.”

At that, Selene did pause. She glanced up at Isolde, one thin brow arched. “What are you suggesting, Isolde?”

Isolde couldn’t just announce that she thought the beast of Bloodhaven might be a Werewolf.

Selene would laugh in her face. She’d been around when the Blood Pact was signed, after all, and if anyone knew whether Wolves had the ability to shift more than once a moon cycle, it would be her.

All Vampires would need to know if such a thing were possible.

That was not to mention the fact that Selene hated Werewolves more than anything.

It had been one of the first things she’d taught Isolde when she turned, before even teaching her how to feed: Wolves were the enemy.

They were vicious and savage, and Pact or no Pact, they’d rip a Vampire’s head from their shoulders without a second thought.

“I’m suggesting nothing.” Isolde gripped the doorframe until she felt the wood creak beneath her fingers. “I’m only saying it’s strange. It can’t be a Werewolf,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster, “since the moon won’t be full again for almost a fortnight.”

Isolde watched Selene closely for any reaction, but she didn’t so much as blink. “Right.”

“So what could it be, then?”

Selene waved a dismissive hand. “A bear, most likely. I’ve seen grizzlies in the mountains big enough to eat a human whole. And they’re certainly hungry enough, this deep into winter.”

Isolde supposed that seemed like a plausible explanation, and yet… it didn’t sit right. No bear she’d ever encountered was so tidy about mauling people.

“The villagers will want to hunt it, once someone figures out what it is,” Isolde said. “We might be wise to help them. Won’t do for the beast to eat our entire food supply.”

“Speaking of, when was the last time you fed?”

Isolde ignored the swift change of subject. “What happened to staying out of each other’s mealtime business?”

“I said I wouldn’t question who you drink from,” Selene countered, “not that I’d leave you be if you refuse to feed for weeks on end.”

Now it was Isolde’s turn to bristle. “I’m perfectly well fed.”

“You look pale.”

“I always look pale.” Isolde gestured pointedly to the silvery blonde tail of her braid, just a couple shades lighter than her fair skin. The only color on her face was the blue of her eyes and the pink of her lips.

“Yes, but you’re much prettier with a little flush in those cheeks of yours,” Selene said. There was a rosy glow in her own cheeks from the fresh blood she’d consumed—a flush Isolde knew she was lacking just then.

“I suppose I’ll just have to start wearing rouge.”

Selene’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t test your limits, girl,” she chided. “I taught you better than that.”

Even after ten years, the reminder of what happened to a Vampire who went too long without feeding chilled Isolde’s bones.

The hunger would eventually drive her to bloodlust, and if Selene didn’t put her down before she murdered the entire village, her immortal body would tear itself apart from within.

“I’ll find someone at the festival tomorrow night,” she promised, and left Selene to rest in her freshly made bed.

Isolde climbed into the shadowy dormer where she slept, padding across the ornate rug on the floor, past her bed and her wardrobe to reach the window. As she watched, the moon drifted out from behind a cloud, crescent shaped and gleaming silver, before the snow storm swallowed it up again.

Perhaps Selene was right. Perhaps the beast of Bloodhaven really was a bear, desperate for something more to eat than pine bark and whatever small game the villagers had missed in the dead of winter.

But as dawn approached and Isolde lay in bed, staring into the rafters of the cabin, she couldn’t help but listen for the howling of Wolves in the distance.