The dead don't talk, they don't move, and they don't scream. So there was no reason to fear those who have passed on or get squeamish around bodies. They were destined to be cold and quiet in the ground. Harmless. She learned that at a young age.
The undead were different and were definitely something to be afraid of. Their existence mocked death itself. You had to take an extra step to really kill them. Vampires scream when you drive silver through their hearts. Not so quiet, but they are in fact cold like dead bodies.
Deandra heard that scream seventeen times. Tonight, if everything went according to plan, eighteen. She crouched down, watching the abandoned chapel at the end of the cemetery. It obviously once was a beautiful place to worship, now it was falling apart to time.
No movement stirred behind the doors. But Deandra was certain something was in there.
“So we think he'sin there," whispered Jacob beside her.
Deandra didn't turn her head to look at him. "We do."
Jacob was newer to the Order. He wasn't born into like herself. He was barely twenty, and still carried the nervous energy of someone who hadn't learned what monsters really looked like.
"Are you super sure he is in there?" The nervous man asked.
”Positive."
Deandra looked at him. Jacob's face had gone a little pale. She should have ditched him back at base.
The pair were hunting a vampire that went be the name of Allister D'Marco. The oldest vampire anyone in the Order had seen in nearly a century. A creature blamed for the Blackstone massacre. The worst massacre any hunter had ever seen.
A monster who, according to the records, had drained forty three people in a single night. A vampire so dangerous that two other senior hunters had refused to pursue him. But not Deandra, she intended to kill him.
She rose. "Stay here."
Jacob immediately shook his head in disagreement. ”No I'm coming with you."
”That's an order.“ She stated as she quietly crept away.
Jacob lifted up his hand crossbow and held it steady in case anything sinister popped up. Even though he'd only been in the Order for a couple of years, he was the best shooter there. The real reason, however, was that she enjoyed his company.
However, the real reason was she very much enjoyed his company. He was sarcastic and funny. He was also honest. She admired that quality in him.
Deandra had been a hunter for eleven years. She knew what happened when fear took hold of someone inexperienced. They made noise, they hesitated, and then they died.
She pushed open the cemetery gate. The hinges creaked softly. Deandra walked the graveyard. Her boots sank into the wet earth. She passed a statue of an unrecognizable saint, its stone face eroded away by centuries of rain. She couldn't help but think about what normal woman did on their weekends. Not that she had a choice. She was a legacy there, dating back to her great, great, great grandmother.
As she approached the chapel doors so spotted blood on the handle. It was fresh. Deandra drew her dagger. Her other hand closed around a small vial of holy water hanging from her belt.
She pushed the door open and entered the chapel. It was eerily silent. There was a faint smell copper in the air. Blood has a metallic smell to it. When she was younger she couldn't stand it, it made her gag. But do to over exposure she got used to it.
Deandra stepped inside making sure every step was deliberate and as soundless as possible. Her heart started to beat faster. Hunters were trained to control their breathing and their pulse. But something about this place felt off.
Dodging rubble and debris, Deandra moved farther inside the chapel. A man's voice came barreling through the darkness. "You're either very brave." Deandra froze. It came from behind her. She spun around, swinging her dagger, but she just ended up slicing at the air. "Or very stupid." The voice came from the balcony now.
Deandra looked up. There was a man standing on the balcony. He wore a black coat that looked as though it belonged to another century. Long blonde hair that was slicked back. With a face pale enough to seem carved from marble.
But it was his eyes that held her. They were red. But not a bright red, they weren't glowing. Just a deep, unnatural crimson. Even from a far she couldn’t help but look into them.
Deandra raised her dagger. She thought about Jacob. Why he insisted on coming perplexed her. She couldn't help but think about the first time she killed a vampire. She was only 14 and she was terrified. She forced outside thoughts out if her head.
Allister D'Marco." Deandra called out.
He smiled faintly. "That's what they call me.“ In a blink of an eye, he was no longer on the balcony but on the first floor about 25 feet away.
Her eyes met his. “You have the opportunity to surrender. Your death will be quick and as painless as I can make it. This doesn't have to be a whole big thing.”
The vampire chuckled. "Do I? Interesting."
He stepped forward. A part a Deandra wished vampires looked more like the monster they were. Instead, they looked painfully human. Allister himself was very attractive. She immediately hated herself for noticing.
”By The looks of you. I'd wager a bet you've killed quite a few of my kind.” Allister said in an unserious almost mocking tone.
Deandra's grip on her dagger tightened. She pulled the vial of holy water off of her belt and hurled it at the vampire’s head. He caught it with ease.
He continued on throwing the holy water up in the air and catching it like someone would a ball. “Oh let me guess 11, 15. Am I gonna be 17? Do you ever wonder how many were innocent.”
Her stomach turned. How dare he. Things that drink human blood aren't exactly the good guys. "Vampires don't have innocents."
The Order had given her detailed instructions. Never allow a vampire within six feet. Never let it speak for too long. Never listen to its excuses. Never meet its eyes. She had already broken all those rules.
Allister's smile disappeared. "Is that what they teach you in the Order of Saint Lamar? Your blind loyalty would be cute if it wasn't about to get you killed. Please just turn around. We don’t have to do this this way.”
Deandra was shocked. She had never heard a vampire say please or give her a chance to leave. Of course, she never really gave them a chance to speak.
“You're giving me a warning?“ She questioned.
"I'm giving you a chance." Allister responded.
"I came here to kill you."
He was standing only a foot away now. “I know.”