JOHNAS FUMED AS he returned to his townhouse, where he now sat in his overstuffed chair before the roaring fire, the flames a fitting reflection of the fury that burned within his soul.
The crackling heat did nothing to soothe him, instead it seemed only to fuel the rage churning beneath the surface.
His thoughts turned to revenge. Revenge against Eldra.
The woman who had dared to reject his attentions.
The woman whose defiance had wounded his pride more deeply than he cared to admit.
Revenge against the weak willed men of the village who had abandoned their posts, scattering like frightened children when confronted with the impossible. They had proven themselves to be the cowards he had always known them to be.
But most of all, revenge against the one who had taken her.
The unknown figure who had stolen Eldra away from the fire without leaving so much as a trace.
No broken limb. No disturbed earth.
Not even the faintest glimpse of their countenance.
Whoever had rescued her had done so without showing themselves. And that, more than anything else, infuriated Johnas.
"What the hell could possess the power to move so quickly, snatch a grown woman from before his eyes, and vanish with her into the night like a phantom?" Johnas asked himself, while he sat bathed in the warming glow from the hearth that provided the only light in the darkened sitting room that served as his study.
He did not believe, as the superstitious villagers did, that Satan himself had descended upon them, and spirited the witch away into the night.
Johnas considered himself an educated man, a man of reason and intelligence. He knew there was no such thing as witches, ghosts, or devils. Such things were nothing more than the foolish imaginings of simple minded people who sought explanations for what they could not understand.
No.
There had been a trick. A deception.
Some clever ruse carried out by a man of flesh and blood. And Johnas intended to find him.
He had used the ruse of a witch in their midst, to his own advantage, after all. Turning the villagers against the healer so that none would come to her aid when the time came to exact his pound of flesh from the insolent woman.
Johnas knew not why the children had perished after Eldra had tended them. Nor did he care. What were the lives of a few filthy urchins compared to the power and wealth that came with his position as Village Steward?
Johnas seethed at the audacity of the woman for refusing him. Who was she to deny him? He thought bitterly.
Had he not offered her coin in exchange for what he desired?
In his mind, the matter should have been simple.
After all a woman of her station should have been grateful for the attention of a great man such as himself.
Instead, she had rejected him. Worse, she had insulted him!
She had called him a disgusting, repugnant pig, as though she were somehow better than the filthy rats that scurried through the streets and alleys near the docks.
Johnas muttered to himself beneath his breath, his face twisting with rage at the memory.
How dare she look down upon him?
Johnas saw himself as the very embodiment of robust manhood.
In his own mind, he possessed everything a man could desire: guile, charm, intellect, and the wealth to command obedience from those around him. His family's connection to the King had granted him influence far beyond that of any ordinary village steward, and he took great pride in the fact that he possessed more wealth than any other man holding the same position within two hundred miles. Though some of that money had been pilfered from the King's coffers, he reminded himself.
To Johnas, such things were proof of his superiority. So who was Eldra to refuse him?
A poor spinster from some filthy western farming village, who had arrived in HIS village to ply her trade as a healer.
A woman with no title, no wealth, and no power. In his eyes, she was less than nothing.
And Johnas would make certain she paid the ultimate price.
When he discovered where she had been taken, he would drag her back to the village himself, and would see her suffer far worse than death by fire.
His mind turned to his collection of torture devices in the cellar. And this time he would make sure there was no one to save her.
Johnas poured himself a generous amount of whiskey from the decanter of amber liquid that sat on the table next to his elbow.
He rolled the glass between his plump hands warming it, while gazing into the flames of the fireplace.
He raised the liquid to his lips, drawing in a long draft, before swallowing. On the morrow he would gather what men from the village who still possessing a spine in their backs, to venture into the forest in search of the little bitch, and her savior. He drained the last dregs of liquid in the glass, exhaling a long sigh, before placing the glass back on to the table, absentmindedly running his hand over the once sandy colored stubble on his cheek.
He promised himself that he would burn the damnable forest to the ground, if that was what it took to return Eldra to his clutches.
And as for her savior? He would lash him to the stake to burn in her stead, once his identity was uncovered he mused to himself, while the warmth from the whiskey traced its way through his ample guts.
Johnas Collins was not a man to be made to look like a fool! The little witch would pay, he vowed to himself. An evil smile stretching grotesquely across his thin lips at the image of her broken body on the rack in the cellar, of the woman's body contorting in agony as the rack broke her.
Johnas's eyes slowly began to close as sleep stole over him, fueled by too much whiskey, the heat from the fire, and the exhaustion of the night's activity on his rotund body.
As he drifted away into slumber he mumbled under his breath.
"I will catch you, then I will break that defiance out of you, you little bitch."
* * *
Vincent watched Eldra sleep, her body nestled within the warmth of the wolf's pelt until the need for sleep began to gnaw at his brain.
He abandoned the wobbly chair, moving to retrieve a second fur, this one belonging to a bear who had dared to challenge him on one of his nightly patrols.
The brute had sorely underestimated its intended preys strength.
Vincent had swiftly overpowered the animal, though not before it had sunk its fearsome teeth into his forearm, splintering bone, and tearing the flesh.
Vincent stroked the old wound absentmindedly, feeling the puckered skin that had replaced the once jagged gash left by bears powerful jaws. He placed the brutes skin on the floor close to the now cold hearth, laying down on the hard, cold floor atop it.
He was used to sleeping on the cold ground after spending years wandering the world, only steps ahead of those who would have ended his existence had he but given them the chance.
Vincent lay in the darkness, contemplating the distant memories of his past life.
He recalled the warmth of his once living body, the strength and agility he had possessed as a child, before he had become what he was now.
He remembered the simple joys of a life that had once seemed endless and full of possibility.
He remembered his mortal father's horses.
The exhilaration of riding across open fields, the wind rushing past him as he urged his steed onward.
The thrill of approaching a towering hedgerow, the powerful muscles of his Palfrey moving beneath him as they gathered speed.
He remembered the moment before the leap.
The brief sensation of weightlessness as he rose from the saddle, trusting both horse and instinct as they soared over the obstacle, and the thrill of the animals graceful landing upon the sun warmed grass beyond, the earth returning beneath the horse's feet, his heart racing with the pure joy of being alive.
Such memories belonged to another person.
A boy who had known the suns warmth, and endless summer days.
Vincent remembered his friends as they skated across the frozen lake during the winter months on his father's grand estate.
He remembered the laughter that carried across the snow-covered landscape, the carefree joy of youth coursing through their veins as they raced one another beneath the pale winter sun.
In those days, the world had seemed vast and full of wonder, and danger was merely another invitation to test their courage.
He remembered climbing the great oak tree at the edge of the grounds, the feel of the rough bark beneath his hands and the cooling breeze rushing through the branches as he ascended higher and higher still.
A challenge. A dare.
The fearless confidence of youth had driven him onward as he walked among the highest branches, looking down upon the world below with the certainty that nothing could harm him.
Back then, he had known no fear. He had known no loss.
He had not known that centuries later he would look back upon those moments as treasures belonging to a life forever beyond his reach.
He recalled throwing sticks for the dog that he had raised from a pup, and how he had drained the dog dry, discarding its limp, lifeless body like so much rubbish afterwards, when he was newly made, and the bloodlust was strongest.
Before he had learned to weald control over the beast that lives within.
Regrettably, after his many years as a Vampire, he could not even recall the once cherished dog's name.
His past life seemed vast lifetimes away from his present existence of secreting himself in the shadows of this ancient forest so as not to be discovered and vanquished at the blood soaked hands of the Vampire Hunters, who had killed his kin, and all others of his ilk.
Leaving him the sole survivor of his clan.
At times, in his unbearable loneliness, he fervently wished that he had met his fate alongside the rest of his kin.
His newly forged family, now all long dead, and returned to dust.
He had run with his Maker, and his Maker's other children, from city to city, country to country, mere steps ahead of their pursuers.
At times existing for days in abandoned hovels or crumbling ruins. While on other occasions living in opulence.
Taking possession of grand houses seized from those whom they had feasted upon.
Until, one by one every member of his newly forged family had met their deaths at the Hunters hands.
He could recall it all with terrible clarity.
The fires that engulfed their flesh leaving only ashes scattered on the ground. The silver tipped stakes that impaled their hearts.
The flash of sunlight on the hard steel blades that severed heads from necks, in one swift stroke.
He could also remember the soul rending feeling after realizing that he alone had survived the slaughter.
He could still recall the sweet taste of mortal blood as it rush, rich and red from their torn necks, in the years when he had relished the delicious fear in their eyes as death over took them.
The sensation of dread etched into their very souls, when the realized struck that they had become the prey. When he, the monster, had sunk his teeth into their tender necks, drinking hungrily.
Leaving behind only an empty husk.
Feeling the thrill of the chasing, unlike the joyful pursuits of his friends, on those long ago childhood days.
Regret filled him with sadness when he recalled his early days as a newly made vampire, hunting down those same childhood friends, draining their life's blood from their veins with an almost giddy feeling.
Vincent regretted those deaths above all other at any time since.
At times he wished he could go back in time, and give his friends their lives back.
Wished he had not been so foolhardy as to let those self same friends, goad him into entering the abandoned estate, that as it turned out, was not quite as abandoned as he and his companions had thought.
At twenty summers of age drunk on too much wine, and full of the foolish arrogance of youth, Vincent had believed himself untouchable.
He had taken the dare from his friends to heart in the arrogance of youth. Had ventured where wiser men would have turned back, and had entered the abandoned villa that everyone else had long since learned to avoid.
He had mistaken fear for superstition. He had mistaken himself for immortal.
That single night of reckless drunkenness had sealed his fate forever.
He had made his way into that dark and, unbeknownst to him, dangerous place as a naive, drunken fool, only to emerge changed, a predatory creature who had run down his waiting friends, slaughtering them all without a single sense of regret.
Until after all these long years of solitude had changed him.
Alas, that had been many a lifetime ago, he sighed.
Another time, and another place, far from who he was now.
What has been done, cannot be undone, no matter what his current regrets may be for his past sins.
I am as I was made that night. He thought.
I am the creature that mortals fear to encountering in the dark places.
I am no longer a man but an empty shell, hollow, a thing that hides in the shadows, feeding off of deer, rabbit, or the occasional bear or wolf.
Whatever creature that has the misfortune to cross my path when the beast takes over my body, like a demon that cannot be satisfied until it has drunk its fill, as I stalk through the night cloaked trees.
Vincent no longer drank mortals blood.
As if that could save his soul after all of the unforgivable transgressions he had committed during his long existence.
Nothing would touch his soul with light again he thought with regret, as he lay on the cold hard ground of his shelter, while the woman slept peacefully on the bed, unaware of what her savior truly was.
* * *
He rolled over onto his side, his eyes studying Eldra, as she snored softly in her sleep.
Vincent felt restless.
He could feel his hunger rising again.
Glancing through the open doorway, and seeing the first pale light of dawn beginning to color the sky outside.
He had chosen this place to build his shelter because it lay in a deep valley surrounded by impenetrable mountains.
Safe.
Or so he had hoped, from the prying eyes of those who hunted, and killed, his kind.
Hearing the birds beginning to stir in the trees, their morning song breaking the stillness of the dusky predawn light, Vincent silently rose, needing to feed his hunger before the sun took possession of the darkest reaches of the forest.
He crept out of the door, becoming the shadow once more.
* * *
Eldra woke from a dark dream of burning torches, men's voices shouting, and the smell of flesh consumed by the flames. She had just managed to swallow the scream that rose unbidden to her lips, in the dimly lit room of the small dwelling belonging to the strange man who had rescued her the might before.
She was sweating under the furs, whether from the nightmare, or the raging fire that now burned in the hearth could not say.
She shuddered, feeling sick since she could still smell the acrid stench of charred flesh in her nostrils.
Eldra strained to focus her sleep-blurred eyes in the dimly lit room. She could just make out the shape of a man kneeling by the hearth, turning something over the fire as it sizzled, spit... and burned.
As the memory of her dream faded, she realized the smell was coming from a rabbit Vincent was roasting over the fire in hearth, its smell causing her stomach to growl.
Reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast the morning before.
She let out a small sound of delight that startled Vincent, causing him to drop the rabbit into the flames.
Eldra bounded from the bed, rushed across the room to rescue the fallen meat from the flames before it was completely ruined, Vincent beat her to the task.
He reached into the fire with his bare hands, saving the rabbit from the scorching flames without showing a wince of pain.
Eldra instinctively grabbed Vincent's hands, turning them over in her own, sending a feeling as if lightning coursed through his body that Vincent he had not experienced before.
He abruptly pulled his hand free of her grasping hands, a startled expression on his face.
He sprang upright from his crouched position, unsteady on his feet he temporarily lost his footing nearly striking his head on the mantel-piece above the hearth.
Almost, dropping the rabbit back into the fire.
Eldra stepped back in embarrassment, red coloring her full cheeks, at Vincent's sudden retreat, before casting her gaze down to the floor.
She had also felt the curious lightning strike feeling coursing through her own body when their hands had touched.
Hers still streaked with dried mud, while his remained remarkably unmarked from their contact with the roasted meat, and the burning flames.
She backed up farther still to allow Vincent room to carry what remained of the scorched rabbit to the table, where he placed it on a silver charger that he had taken from a dusty, cobweb-covered shelf hanging on the wall near the ceiling.
Eldra scanned around the small room, seeing it clearly for the first time despite the muted light coming from the burning logs in the hearth, and the morning sunlight creeping in through the open door.
She noted that there were no windows in the small room, and the furniture was sparse, consisting of only the bed in the corner where she had spent the night, two ancient wooden chairs. One with uneven legs, which was the same chair that Vincent had occupied the night before.
A well-worn pile of garments lay in an untidy pile on a small table in the corner by the open doorway.
She glanced up at the shelf where two cups, some cutlery, as well as the single dusty plate, that Vincent had wiped clean using his sleeve, and upon which he had laid the rabbit before placing the charger on the table.
She also spied a well-worn wash basin. Once decorated with delicate hand painted pink roses that had now faded, sitting on a wash stand near the far wall, and a barrel that held rain water tucked into the corner near the table.
"Well I have to say you certainly live a frugal life within the forest." Eldra remarked, wiping dust from one of the worn wooden, chairs before gingerly taking a seat.
Vincent looked at Eldra, then around the room he called home.
"I have lived a solitary life for a very long time," he replied flatly.
Eldra looked down at her hands, afraid that she had offended the man who had saved her life.
"Truly, I didn't mean to sound churlish," she replied quietly.
"I can understand you're not needing much, living alone as you do. I have a modest cottage myself on the outskirts of the village. Just big enough for myself, and for the people I treat for their illnesses can come to visit, talk, and feel safe to unburden themselves of their worries," she remarked.
Feeling suddenly foolish, she retreated into silence.
Vincent gave her a sideways glance, as he continued to tear the rabbit into pieces with his hands.
"No, it is I who should apologize. I am not used to having visitors. I am afraid it has been a long time since I last interacted with anything other than the animals that reside in the forest. I'm sorry if I have offended you in any way. I truly did not mean to." Vincent said, a note of regret in his voice.
Eldra looked into Vincent's eyes, then slowly nodded her head in a gesture of understanding.
"I lived a quiet life myself before moving to the village six months ago. My mother was a Healer in our distant village for many years until..." Eldra's voice broke as she swallowed the emotions speaking of her mother always brought to her voice.
"My mother was our village's healer for many years" she repeated "until a sickness of the lungs took her last winter. She taught me the healing ways, but our village was so poor that life was hard there. I struggled just to keep my pantry filled. So I thought I would try and ply my trade in a larger village," she continued.
"All was well. For awhile anyway. I made enough coin treating the villagers' illnesses, and selling charms to the love lorn woman who came to me for assistance. I even served as a midwife. Then..." Here Eldra's voice trailed off.
Eldra hesitated, wondering if she should tell Vincent what had happened to cause her present plight.
She swallowed, making up her mind to trust the stranger with her tale. She then continued.
"Last week two children that I ministered to died. I treated them as best I knew how, with what I had to hand, and the knowledge that my mother had imparted to me, but I had little idea as to why they had become so sick in so short a period of time. Their illness was like nothing I had ever witnessed before, or that my mother had taught me to recognize." She squeaked, raising her face to meet his. Tears overflowing down her cheeks. There was a hitch in her voice, remembering how the children had writhed in agony, how they had cried out in torment, before death came to take them. She absentmindedly brushed away her tears, before she went on with her story.
"After the children's deaths, the people of the village began to look at me suspiciously. I could see the change in their postures whenever we met on the street, they would hasten away, mistrust in their eyes. All I had done was what I had always pledged to do, use compassion and my healing knowledge to ease others suffering, but they viewed me as an outsider. Someone not to be trusted. As a witch, who had taken three innocent souls from this world for some evil intention."
She stopped, drawing in a long breath, her tears unashamedly rolling down her cheeks.
After taking in a deep breath, and when she had regained control over her emotions enough to speak she went on.
"Then, yesterday morning as I was working in my little kitchen grinding herbs to powder in my mortar to prepare healing salves. For the few people of the town who still came to my door. Suddenly Johnas Collins large frame filled the open doorway leading to my back garden. Taken by surprise, but not wishing to get on Johnas notorious bad side, I bid him welcome, and inquired what I could do for him?" She paused recalling the fear she had felt.
"He flashed a lecherous grin, stating that it was not what I could do for him, but what he could do for me that mattered. I was taken aback, and foolishly asking what it was he had in mind? Moving more quickly than a man of his size should have been able to do, he was on me in a flash, ripping at the fabric of my bodice. His fat hands grasping me around the neck, trying to force kisses to my mouth."
"By some miracle I managed to free myself from his grasp, but my kitchen being only a small space, he managed to grip me by my wrist as I fled past him trying to escape into the sitting room and out into the busy road beyond. Tightening his grip on my wrist he pulled me close and said that I must submit, or he would have me burned as a witch for casting a killing spell on those poor children!" she exclaimed.
The terror returning to her face remembering the ordeal in the field.
Vincent looked down at her, with something like pity in his eyes, or as close as his kind could come to pity anyway.
Eldra began to speak again, grateful for the shadows that concealed her face.
"I turned to face him, disgusted at his demands. I told him what a loathsome pig he was. That I would never share his bed, even if he was the last man in the land. The rest you witnessed for yourself," she sighed in defeat.
Eldra looked up at Vincent, her face filled with shame.
Vincent only grunted, turning away from her gaze, as anger and bloodlust rose to the surface.
His eyes burning crimson, as he fought to control the rising beast in her presence.
If he let the savage break free, he might not be able to control himself, and that would mean the end of poor, trusting Eldra and with her, the last of his hard won humanity would slip away forever.
He could not let the beast win.
And so instead he turned, fleeing through the open doorway, leaving Eldra behind alone, and broken into as many pieces as the rabbit that laying forgotten on the platter.