Blood Haven: Year Two: A Mayhem of Magic World Story

by Nicole Zoltack

  Yes, my thoughts are this morbid as I make my way back to Moonstone Academy. It’s almost eerie, how the blood moon colors everything red, and I swear the shadows are longer than ever, but the spookiest part of all is the lack of students. No one is around, not even a single wolf.

  Unnerved, I grab my phone and call Bermon and then Mercy. Neither answer.

  Fighting a sense of panic, I race to my castle. No one is there. There’s no sign of Bermon anywhere. Where can he be?

  I try calling my friends again, but there’s still no answer.

  A sinking feeling washes over me, and I can’t shake the feeling that I never should have let Romelia out of my sight. I debate shifting into my wolf and finally do. My wolf is even more anxious than I am, and I race in the direction of Blood Haven.

  When I reach Silver Ironwoods, I halt. The shadows here are long, yes, but there’s an animal quality to them. I hide behind a bush and shift back to myself. My clothes are a bit rumpled, but I don’t worry about that, too focused on the shadows.

  A faint whine sounds, and I ignore my fear and start toward the sound. It turns into a whimper, and I spy a wounded wolf.

  My hands tremble as I fall to my knees. The smaller size suggests a female, but I don't recognize the wolf, by color or smell. She has a terrible bite to one of her back legs.

  A bite with two puncture wounds.

  Fangs.

  I shift away from her legs so I can stare the wolf in her eyes. “Did you go to Blood Haven Academy?” I demand.

  Her answer is a moan.

  “Did you attack the vampires?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, but I can’t tell if that’s in answer or if she’s writhing around in pain.

  My stomach twists on itself. I don't have the means to heal the werewolf. Why isn't the wound healing itself? It should've by now, but it's still open, still bleeding.

  Mumbling a curse to myself, I stand and glance around. It's ridiculous, but I don't want to rip my shirt, but if it's the only way I can try to stop the bleeding… Her wound needs pressure on it.

  From the corner of my eye, I see another form. A growl emerges from the back of my throat, and I prepare to shift if need be, but the wolf takes a step forward before collapsing.

  Uncertain what I can do for the first wolf, I run to check the second. This one is a male, and he’s bruised, chunks of his fur matted down with blood. His body trembles as he heaves in each breath.

  All around me, more werewolves appear. They’re limping, making their way back to Moonstone Academy. It’s all I can do to try to guide them back. Some aren’t even able to walk, and I have to carry or even drag some of them.

  My heart aches, the pain burning even more than my lungs. My arms are so sore that even swaying them as I walk makes me squirm. My body is yelling at me to stop, to rest, but I can’t. More werewolves need me yet. When I think there aren’t possibly be more, I’m wrong. Time and again, more wounded werewolves arrive. Worst of all, I haven’t seen any sign of Bermon and Mercy. Does that mean they didn’t take part in the attack? Or that they did, and they’re still fighting? Or maybe they were killed at Blood Haven Academy and have been left behind?

  Finally, I spy a werewolf I recognize. Bingham Lodge. There are so many different packs from the surrounding areas that send werewolf teenagers to Moon Stone Academy that it's impossible to know everyone. Still, Bingham and I went camping together one summer almost a decade ago. We were young then, and we grew apart. Just how far apart I didn't realize until I see him with a wounded paw that he can't bear to put any weight on, and a claw mark down his nose, piercing his lips, down his throat. It's such a violent cut, and even with our abilities to heal, that should leave a scar.

  “Bingham.” I rush over to him just as he falls down.

  Unlike more of the werewolves, Bingham doesn’t remain as his wolf. He transforms back to his human, and he stares up at me. That’s how I realize that he has another wound on his chest. This one… There’s no coming back from it.

  "You went… All of you went to Blood Haven Academy," I say haltingly, not wanting to pepper him with too many questions. Maybe I shouldn't even be saying anything at all, considering he doesn't have much time. That wound on his chest is massive, and the stench…

  Bingham slowly nods.

  “You went to attack the ball,” I say through gritted teeth. “How many students went? How many didn’t?”

  Bingham just closes his eyes.

  I let out a low growl. It's beyond infuriating that the werewolves would do something like this. Can't Bingham see how terrible this is? How pointless the fighting is? He fought, and for what? He's dying, why? What did they hope to accomplish? Why did they attack?

  It’s not because of me, is it? Because I attended the ball last year? Bermon, Mercy, and I thought Bellanore Shade might have some vampire blood in her. She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. Werewolves and vampires don’t fall in love, and they don’t have babies. No, Bellanore is related to some vampires, but through the vampires’ father. At least that is the impression I’m under. Who knows? Perhaps she is even related to my Romelia.

  Romelia. She has to be all right, isn’t she? I’m so very happy she never attended that ball, but what if one of her friends or family members has been injured or worse? An attack like this could spark a war. It could cause the alphas to get involved. It might be larger than merely a rivalry between two academies.

  “Bingham,” I murmur urgently. “Bingham, open your eyes.”

  At my urging, he complies. I go to lift him, but he winces and moans.

  “Bingham, if I don’t move you…”

  “If you do…”

  Even though there are others who need help, others who might be able to be saved, I stay with Bingham.

  “Do you remember how you liked your marshmallows?” I ask him even though he has to remember that. “You would set them on fire, let them burn, eat the burn layer, and then set them on fire again. You got splinters one time, trying to eat the last residual bits off the stick.”

  “Not fun.”

  “No? We ate a lot of fish, though.”

  “Prefer… deer.”

  “You hated that trip, didn’t you? Is that why we never went camping again?”

  “I got… poison.”

  “You got poison? I don’t remember that. When did that happen?”

  “I had… I couldn’t hold it… Used a leaf…”

  I can’t help it. Covering my mouth doesn’t really hide it, and Bingham manages a tiny smile.

  “You can… You can… laugh…”

  Bingham starts to, and then, he’s gone. His eyes turn glassy, and he’s dead.

  I tilt my head back, and I loose a long, loud howl that’s answered time and again. When I finish my howl, I howl again and again.

  I am sick at all of the pain and suffering around me. Why can’t the world know peace?

  Chapter 11

  Romelia

  I don't know if I've ever felt this happy before. That's saying something considering the moments I've had before—realizing I love Julian, first meeting him, our first kiss, the proposal, and now the ring.

  Honestly, that he proposed without one didn’t bother me at all. I didn’t even think about the lack of a ring. Knowing my mother, she would’ve been mortified if a suitor dared to propose to her without a ring, but I’m not her. I don’t need a fancy dress or a ring or any of that.

  Of course, this is a bit ironic considering I'm wearing a gown, but that's beside the point. I didn't purchase this gown, so that doesn't quite count.

  Despite the hooped skirt, I can still use my vampiric speed, and I’m back to Blood Haven Academy and in my room in no time at all. I hum to myself as I make my skirt sway. Last year, at this time, Julian and I spoke for such a long while at my balcony. I throw open the tall window to step out when my door bursts open.

  “Tyra, I had the most—”

  “Romelia.”

  Her tone has me turning aroun
d, and I gape at her.

  Tyra’s dress is ripped and torn. Her chest is heaving as she sucks down air. Her hair is all wild and crazy, her makeup smeared, and she looks as if she’s been through a war.

  "Tyra?" I ask, my heart in my throat, my hand flying to touch underneath the dress's neck collar so my fingers can brush against the protective talisman.

  “There’s been an attack.”

  “An attack? On campus? Is it over?”

  Tyra shakes her head. “Werewolves. They’re here.”

  I set my jaw. This is the very worst thing that could happen this night, the only thing that could ruin what had been a perfectly perfect evening, but I square my shoulders.

  “Where?” I ask, my voice sharp and unshaken.

  “Near the fountain that we just fixed over the break from their vandalism,” Tyra says softly. “I…”

  “You don’t look well,” I tell her as I sweep over to her side.

  “I don’t feel well,” she admits.

  “You stay,” I instruct her. “I’ll go.”

  “Go and do what?” Tyra mumbles.

  “You need to recover. Go drink some blood.”

  I can’t see any wound on her, but she’s clearly hurting somehow.

  Although I expect Tyra to argue with me, she doesn’t, and that frightens me all the more. She’s so very strong. For her to admit she’s weak is absolutely terrifying.

  What’s even more terrifying? The scene of the battle.

  Vampires can move incredibly fast, too fast for even our eyes to take in every bit of their movement, although we can see more details than a human eye can distinguish. The vampires are flitting about, trying to hit and run against the werewolves, but the werewolves are organized. In mini packs, the wolves are standing three in a group, the three heads in different directions. They're constantly snarling, biting, clawing, and they're managing to snag some of the vampires despite their speed.

  One vampire’s hair is caught between claws. Down she goes, and the werewolf trio responsible gang up on her, attack, slicing, maiming.

  “Enough!” I shout, waving my hands, hoping to distract them, but no one pays me any attention.

  It’s as if I’m invisible.

  While I would so love to be invisible to Constantine, right now, I cannot and will not accept that.

  The statue, the one the werewolves beheaded last year, it's been tumbled to the ground. The new head has detached, and about half of the body is covered in blood. Vampire blood? Werewolf blood? I can't be sure, but I ignore the blood and climb up the state as high as possible.

  “Listen to me,” I boom. “There is no reason to fight!”

  But they ignore me still, and I grit my teeth. Those three wolves are still attacking the vampire, and I dash over to her and try to yank one of the werewolves back by his tail.

  “Leave her be!” I shout.

  The werewolf twists around to glare at me. I glower right back, and then, sharp teeth sink into my other arm.

  One of the other werewolves attacked me. Despite the werewolf's teeth ripping into my arm, I can still sense the smile on his face.

  I glower at the werewolf and fling my arm hard.

  The werewolf remains attached. Worse, I can feel fangs tearing into my flesh, ripping it. If he pulls back now, he'll remove a chunk of my arm.

  “There’s no reason to fight,” I cry. “We don’t have to be at odds. We can be civilized—”

  "Ah!" the vampire lets out a blood-chilling shrill. She's breathing heavily, and although she's been trying to punch and slap the werewolves, they aren't backing away. They aren't slowing down, and she's been bitten at least three times, if not more.

  It’s reckless and dangerous to both her and me, but I fling the werewolves away, one, two, three, the one attached to my arm last. The tearing of flesh does happen, and my gown—Mother’s gown—is becoming ruined, but I don’t care.

  The vampire lies there, on the ground, staring up at the blood moon as if the red orb can give her what she needs. It’s a bit dicey, but I don’t even think about it, and I shove my wounded arm at her mouth. The vampire stares at me, shakes her head, and bats my arm away weakly but still with more strength than I would’ve thought she possessed at this point.

  I go to help her up and realize my arm isn’t healing. There’s something not right about any of this—the attack, the wounds not healing because I’m realizing that the other vampires aren’t healing either.

  The werewolves outnumber us by a good margin. I'm trying to count them as the vampire dashes away. She doesn't quite have vampiric speed, but she's making good timing.

  Then, I spy a werewolf in the shadows, watching her. She's going to try to race by the werewolf, and he's going to pounce.

  Alarmed, I race over there myself, moving fast, ignoring the blood dripping from my wounded arm, pretending the pain I feel is a part of a nightmare I can wake up from.

  My shoulder slaps into the vampire, knocking her down and safe from harm.

  My actions also earn me the brunt of the werewolf’s attack, and he claws me straight down my neck toward my stomach.

  With a gasp, I struggle to maintain my balance but fall to one knee. The werewolf is circling us, and I woozily climb to my feet. He’s going to lunge again, and I—

  The vampire I saved grabs my arm. She nods, and we take off, both using as much of our vampiric speed as we can to try to spur the other one. At first, I can hear the werewolf chasing after us, but his growl, his heaving breath, his pounding pawprints all fade away as the infirmary comes into view.

  Yes, even vampires need infirmaries now and again.

  The school year had been a peaceful one. We didn’t have the guards like we did last year. As much as I wish we didn’t need them, clearly, we did. The thought makes my heart sink, and I help the vampire inside the infirmary, yet another castle. All of the buildings on the campus are castles, but some are bigger than others, of course. This is one of the smallest ones, and it’s already overflowing with vampires.

  My chest aches as the vampire shifts. I almost collapse. Wow, am I dizzy. I didn't realize how much I was leaning on her for support instead of me providing her support.

  A professor approaches. At least, I think she’s a professor. She brushes my hair back and talks to me, but a faint buzzing in my ears grows louder with every beat of my heart to the point that I can’t hear her words. The vampires lay on beds, blood coating everything, the stench of death heavy in the air.

  The professor grips me and walks me down the twin columns of beds. My gaze is too unfocused for me to count how many beds there are, but each one is occupied. At the end of the beds is a gilded, red crushed velvet chair, and I stumble as she has me sit.

  “Your wound…” I can’t hear anything else she says.

  My vision grows dark, but I’m not unconscious. I just can’t see. The scent of blood grows seriously strong, and I realize someone is holding a cup to my mouth. I drink and drink and drink, the metallic taste of the blood delicious. The buzzing slowly fades as I swallow, and the person goes to take the cup away, but there’s more blood to drink. I grab the cup, intent on drinking it all when a groan brings me back to reality.

  “Others need it more than you,” the professor says firmly, yanking the cup from me.

  “I…” I blink as the world slowly comes into focus. “I’m sorry.”

  She pats my knee and rushes away to tend to another vampire.

  Candles are lit, making the room smell like incense, cinnamon, and vanilla. Magical candles, most likely. Yes, the smoke wafting is swirls of purples and reds, even white.

  Some of the healers are pressing gemstones to the wounds. Others are waving their hands in strange ways, as if conjuring… something. I don’t know. Witches? Are there witches here? Vampires have magic, yes, but we can’t cast spells like witches. We also can’t make potions either, but that doesn’t stop a vampire from drinking something bubbly and purple that most definitely isn’t blood.


  My arm itches, and I glance at it, lifting it. The wound isn’t really healing any faster than it had before. The bleeding… that might have stopped, but that’s the only bit I have going for me.

  Why am I not healing properly? What did the werewolf do to me? What did the lot of them do to us?

  More wounded vampires are entering the room, and I relinquish the chair. Feeling almost like a ghost, I step forward, walking down the line between the two columns of beds. My arm aches terribly, and I try to hold it still as I walk. Just because it’s not actively bleeding doesn’t stop blood from dripping down my arm to my fingers and dripping onto the gown.

  My gaze shifts back and forth all around me. One vampire is on a bed without anyone near her. Her body shakes uncontrollably, and I move to stand beside her.

  Her face is gray, her lips white, and she shakily lifts her hand. I clasp it to my chest, careful not to jar my wounded arm.

  “You don’t need to worry,” I say soothingly.

  “I… Am I dying?”

  “You don’t need to worry,” I repeat.

  Remembrance of what my father did to me springs to mind, and I repeat her lack of need to worry, trying to soothe her, but also, maybe, I try to get her to listen, to comply.

  Compulsion. It’s not only a vampire trait. Demons share that too, and while I would normally think what I’m attempting is revolting, this is not a normal situation at all.

  “I don’t need to worry,” she repeats in a voice that sounds almost happy after I’ve told her that nearly one hundred times.

  “You also don’t need to shake,” I tell her, brushing her damp locks from her forehead. Yes, this has to be done with my wounded arm, but I manage, wanting to give her a measure of comfort.

  Getting her to stop shaking seems to be a lost cause, though. If anything, the tremors are getting worse, her legs moving restlessly.