Curse of Blood and Midnight

by Emily Inskip

  Curse of Blood and Midnight

  Emily Inskip

  Copyright © 2020 Emily Inskip

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9798640426236

  To the readers who believe in a better world

  1

  The guards were already on their way. Amara could hear the rush of their footsteps behind her as she fled down the street and into the darkness beyond. Weaving through the maze of slums, she kept to the shadows, her hood pulled over her head, cloaked in black. No one dared to stop her as she tore down the narrow alleyways, cleaving through the air like a midnight storm. The yells were growing as maybe a dozen royal guards charged after her. They were fast. But she was faster.

  Honestly, she didn’t understand what the problem was. After all, the shopkeeper was practically begging to be stolen from. She was doing him a favour. Maybe next time he would be more careful and remember to lock the upstairs window . . . not that anyone else but herself could have been able to slip in that way. But still, he should be more careful.

  “Stop!” a loud male voice boomed, “Thief!”

  But Amara was already down the next street, hurtling through the wind, twirling and dodging past the lines of strung out washing and stacks of rotten crates dumped alongside buildings.

  She huffed. Thief, really?

  Oh, she was so much better than a common thief. If she hadn’t known better, she probably would have turned around and ripped out that guard’s throat for merely suggesting such a thing. But she didn’t have time for confrontation. She had places to be. Better things to be doing than running away from a group of overweight, middle-aged men. Gods, she could hear their repulsive panting from blocks away. Feral animals really, the lot of them. Amara, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat. They must have been running for about fifteen minutes now and she wasn’t even near exhaustion. Just boredom. Oh, and hunger.

  But that was nothing new.

  Just a few more blocks and then she would lose them. This chase was getting old and it was clear they had no chance in hell of capturing her. She hurtled forwards around the next bend, feet completely silent against the rain-slick cobbles as she ran. But what she didn’t anticipate was what would be waiting for her on the other side. A large brick wall loomed ahead. It was perhaps ten feet tall, a dark solid slab obstructing her path. A dead end. Well, how convenient, she thought as she advanced towards it, her speed not faltering for a second.

  She had to give them credit. The guards were doing a good job of catching up with her. She could almost see them as she spared a quick glance over her shoulder, still well over thirty meters away, but slightly too close for comfort.

  The wall was nearer now, and Amara was only realising just how tall it was exactly. Too formidable to scale. But that didn’t mean it would stop her trying. Amara continued to tear through the air, picking up her pace as she neared the end of the street. She had a choice. Stop or make the jump. But Amara Vanderlore didn’t stop for anyone. Especially not a goddamned wall. So instead, she swore beneath her breath and pounced.

  With feline elegance and a speed twice as fast, Amara pushed up from the cobbles and leapt into the air. She soared up and up, the chilling wind whipping against her face and making her eyes stream. The guards behind her stopped dead. Although she couldn’t see them, she felt their wide, wondering eyes glued to her back as she flew like a stream of mist into the sky. No human could have had the power or strength to jump like that. To hurdle a wall over twice their height. But Amara did it in a matter of seconds, which probably explained the gawking soldiers now gathered at the base of the wall.

  But Amara paid no notice. Instinctively, she brought her arms out as she flew forward, just as she smacked into the top of the wall. She could have sworn she heard her fingernails split as she dug them into the brick, gritting her teeth before hauling herself up and over the top of the wall. Without so much as a sound, Amara dropped down onto the other side, landing nimbly onto her feet before dusting her hands together and blowing a stray strand of dark hair from her eyes.

  It had been a minor inconvenience. But she sure as hell enjoyed the attention. And the rush of adrenaline that now roared through her veins. She should probably make a habit of it. After all, it was a good opportunity to stretch her legs once in a while.

  Amara didn’t waste a moment before taking off again down the street, perhaps only lingering to hear what the guards had to say to each other about her impressive escape. Only colourful curses escaped their lips. Good.

  Following the alleyway out, Amara found her way onto the main street. She slowed her run to a brisk walk, keeping her head down as she weaved her way through the crowds of people that drifted down the street. All affluent families on their way back from the theatre, or enjoying other evening entertainments. They laughed and gossiped, not even noticing as the girl clad in black leathers slipped past them, nothing more than a whisper on the wind.

  She stalked down the pavement for a few minutes, checking behind her every so often to make sure no one was trailing her. It was all clear. She didn’t know why she’d expected anything more from those fools who called themselves royal guards. She had seen children do a better job. Especially those who worked in the slums on the other side of the city. They had eyes everywhere, noted everything, unusual or not.

  Amara shook her head, a shadow of a smirk tweaking her lips as she swerved left down a narrow path between the shops that lined the high street. Away from the bustling nightlife behind her, the alley was eerily quiet; no more than normal, but it still set Amara on edge.

  She hated the city of Valmont really. She hated the divide in wealth. How some were entitled, not knowing what to do with their riches, whilst others struggled in poverty, barely a mile away. The city itself was filthy. Rats scurried amongst the piles of rotten detritus and sewage over spilled in pools across the street. And the smell—hell, it was revolting, making Amara’s heightened senses numb with pain. But Valmont was also large enough for people not to realise when someone went missing. That, or no one cared. Either way, it made Amara’s life much easier. When a city is so full of life, it is rather hard to pay attention to all the death that occurs.

  Her black lace-up boots rubbed against the top of her calves as she marched along the darkened street. Only the occasional shaft of moonlight filtered down between the rooftops above. But of course, Amara didn’t need the light to see exactly where she was going. Her razor-sharp vision sieved through the shadows as though it were midday, they noted everything, recorded every detail of her surroundings. Even without her acute sight, she could probably have navigated her way through the city without so much as a stumble. But with all her senses on high alert and every last follicle on her body burning with attuned awareness, she was practically unstoppable. Which was probably why Amara already knew she was being ambushed several minutes before it actually happened.

  Sure enough, five formidable figures suddenly appeared ahead of her, blocking the alleyway merely with their broad build alone. These were no foolish guards. These were trained, likely to be the Queen’s best soldiers. They were clad in enough weapons to supply an entire army. Swords were strapped to their backs, the iron hilts catching the moonlight as they shifted forward, steadying their stance as she advanced towards them.

  Behind her, Amara could s
ense another set of men close in on the other side of the alley. She was trapped, blocked on both sides by these towering soldiers. But she had already palmed a dagger in her right hand, flipping it as she stalked towards them, a grim smile spread across her face. If she were worried, no one would have noticed.

  “Hello boys,” she grinned, but it was barely visible beneath her dark hood.

  She may have lied earlier when she said she didn’t want confrontation . . . Because spilling a little blood sounded goddamned good right now.

  The men didn’t shift a muscle, didn’t bother even to reply as they carefully reached behind them and drew their blades. “Not in the mood for a chat then?” she shrugged.

  “Fine by me.”

  The dagger in her hand had already found its way into the first man’s throat before he even had a chance to blink. Blood spurted, gushing, arcing into the air as he let out a strangled cry and collapsed to the floor with a thud. But that was as much as a distraction as she needed. Amara’s nostrils flared as she ripped through the shadows towards them like a flash of darkness. One of the men was foolish enough to use his sword against her.

  Mistake.

  In one swift movement, she thrust her knee into his ribs. He buckled over in pain just as she dislodged the blade from his weakened grip. The guard crumpled forwards, right into Amara’s awaiting sword. Within seconds, the soldier had impaled himself on his own blade, the metal piercing his skull in one clean swipe. Amara withdrew the sword just in time to swing it round as the next man approached her. But he dodged it, causing the blade to crash into the bricks behind him.

  Finally, some competition.

  She ducked quickly as he brought his blade towards her, the whoosh of iron slicing through air. Amara let out a wicked laugh before swinging her leg out and swiping it beneath the soldier’s feet. She was too strong for her own good. And she loved it.

  The man’s knees buckled and he toppled to the ground, groaning as his temples smacked into the stone below. But Amara was on her feet again, and instead of opting for the sword in her hand, she decided to plunge her fist down, reaching through his chest cavity in one clean movement. He barely had time to scream before she ripped out his still-beating heart. It was warm in her palm. Delicious. And, just because she could, she took a ravenous bite out of the bloody flesh, savouring the metallic liquid as it slipped down her throat.

  Two of the men behind her had begun to flee, dropping their weapons and racing with every last scrap of energy they had left. How sweet. She felt sorry for them really.

  Amara whirled backwards, weaving between the two men until she was standing in front of them, blood escaping down her chin.

  “I’m sorry, where are my manners?” she said before smearing the dark blood off her face with the back of her sleeve.

  The men’s faces paled with fear, their large, muscular bodies trembling. Amara smirked; she could hear the roaring beat of their hearts as they stood before her. She didn’t feel bad, not even when she ripped her teeth into their necks. This was simply the nature of life. This was the food chain, and she was the apex predator.

  It didn’t take long for her to take out the final few soldiers, dodging and whirling past their lazy attacks. Their blood stained the cobbles of the narrow street, mixing with the rain and piss that was already festering below. It was a waste really. But Amara had already satisfied her hunger. And now she was just bored. Again.

  Leaving the mutilated carcasses behind her, Amara swaggered down the rest of the street and away from the massacre she had just caused. She didn’t clear up her mess. No, she would leave that to the strays. She saw it as charity work, really; it was nice of her to give her leftovers to the hounds. Honestly, she was a good person at heart. And she would never dream of killing a dog. She wasn’t a monster.

  Reaching the end of the street, Amara turned and began shimmying her way up the drainpipe of the last house on a long terrace. Her feet found their place on the brackets as she scaled the building with a feline grace. Once on the rooftop, Amara crouched down, silently skipping across the slate tiles. One wrong move and her feet would slip from beneath her. But Amara had never had any trouble with balance, or speed, or agility. So she skimmed over the rooftops with ease, leaping from building to building. As nimble as a cat, but twice as fast.

  Occasionally, she glanced out into the distance. From where she was, the city almost looked beautiful. The skyline was dotted with warm orange lights that spilt out through bedroom windows. Smoke billowed from chimney pots, drifting up into the sky, where stars shone in bright constellations. She scanned her eyes over the large expanse of gabled roofs, thatched terraced houses and church spires. People hurried below, weaving between the labyrinth of buildings and cobbled streets, where horses and carriages flowed. Even from where she was prowling along the roofs, Amara’s ears pricked at the rhythm of hooves against stone. Three beats, like a waltz.

  Slowing, she perched against a chimney side and leant her head back against the cool stone, breathing in a waft of night air as it slipped towards her lungs. Although she technically didn’t need to breathe, she still liked to every so often. Liked to feel the cold spread across her chest as she inhaled, and the relief she felt as she let it rush out. There were some things she missed about being human . . . But she didn’t allow herself the time to dwell on them.

  She sat for a few moments, staring out over the city. Her attention caught on the magnificent stone castle that rose up, towering over all the other buildings around. Sometimes, when she looked at it for too long, it took her breath away. With its beautiful castellations, turrets reaching into the heavens and delicate stained-glass windows overlooking the whole of Valmont. She often wondered what it would be like to live in such a luxurious building, having servants wait on you hand and foot, feeding you grapes and wine and whatever the hell else happened in a place like that.

  But Amara pushed those thoughts out of her head. She had to keep moving. After all, she had somewhere to be. More specifically, she had to see a man about some stolen goods . . . she had just happened to acquire.

  2

  Demetri O’Hara nearly choked on his brew as Amara strutted into his office, flinging the double doors wide open as she burst into the room.

  “And what, exactly, do you want?” he said, setting down his mug on the oak desk in front of him.

  Amara didn’t reply; she only tossed a bagged object onto the desk, making his drink rattle in its place.

  “I told you, I’m not accepting your items anymore. I’ve already had too many visits from the royal guards than I would like. You are nothing but trouble.”

  She smirked from beneath her hood. The firelight of the hearth caught her teeth, glinting off her deathly canines.

  “I’d advise you to reconsider,” was all she said as she folded her arms across her chest. The leather corset she wore made any slight movement rather uncomfortable. But it was pretty and she liked it. And that was all that mattered.

  Demetri was one of the city’s most notorious sellers on the black market, and he always offered a generous price for anything Amara managed to scavenge . . . or steal. Same difference.

  His brows creased as he leant forward in his chair, carefully eyeing the bag in front of him. Instead of waiting, Amara threw herself onto the plush chair opposite the desk. The rich, dyed embroidery sighed beneath her weight as she kicked her feet up, propping her legs onto his desk and stretching her hands lazily above her head. Demetri paused, glared at her for a second but seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the effort arguing with her. Instead, despite what he had said, he reached forwards, tugging down the cloth that covered whatever item she’d decided to bring him this time.

  The air escaped his lungs as his grey eyes fell upon the thing in front of him. It was a beautiful, gilded jewellery box made from mirror and gold, with magnificent pearls encrusting the hinges. It was small enough to fit in his palm but worth the wealth of an empire. Made of solid gold, he had known from the mo
ment he laid eyes on it. The same pair of eyes that were now wide with awe.

  Amara just grinned, pushing back her hood to let her glossy dark hair fall around her face. The man quickly grabbed the box, desperately running his calloused hands over the delicate design as he inspected it fully. He paused, meeting her eyes that were gleaming in the firelight.

  “No need to be so smug about this,” Demetri muttered, returning his attention back to the precious beauty in his possession.

  “Oh, there is all the need to be smug about this,” she said, “I’ll be expecting a suitable price for such an item.”

  “I’m sure you would,” he replied, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere as he gazed down at the gold in his clutches. She cleared her throat, seeming to wake him from his trance.

  “I’ll offer you fifty,” he said, placing the jewellery box back down on the desk and reaching to take another sip from his brew.

  Only fifty? It was worth a thousand, at least. Anger found its way into her veins, but she schooled her features into neutrality as she removed her feet from the wood. Amara jumped forward, pressing her fists into the desk as she leaned over it so her face was but inches away from his.

  “That’s no way to treat your favourite client,” she grinned again, watching as all the blood drained from his old, wrinkled face. Demetri gulped. “I urge you to think again . . .”

  He dropped his gaze to the golden item on the desk, its gilded exterior catching in the warm light of the fire. Then, he looked up at her, into those cunning onyx eyes as he said an extortionate price she had not been expecting. But Amara had spent centuries in this world, and she knew how to remain unimpressed, not giving anything away but the wry smirk that tugged on her lips.

  “That’s more like it,” she merely said, pulling away from the desk. The relief in his eyes said enough.