Dawn Of Hope: Charity Anthology

by J. A. Culican

  A pair of dark brown horses tied to a fence outside whined and neighed, reeling back on hind legs. The ropes tying them to the fence were knotted tight. With no knife to cut them, she worried the knots with her fingers, burning her hands and tearing a nail off in the process. She pressed her mouth to her shoulder to stifle the pained cry that threatened to betray her location.

  “Please,” she whispered, “please untie!”

  Would the attacking vampires hear her? Would her whispers send them running to her?

  Only after she lost a second nail did the rope came undone, blood from her fingers staining the wooden post. Her horse barely waited until she settled on his back before bolting into the woods. The second horse continued to neigh as she left him behind. There was no time to save him.

  Sunrise was still hours away. Vampires could outrun a horse with ease, but she at least had a head start. Whether that head start would put enough distance between them remained to be seen.

  Emilia choked back a sob and forced herself to focus on her horse’s movements. She couldn’t think of anything else, not when riding without reigns or saddle. It was dangerous enough in broad daylight. A fall at this speed would break bones if lucky, and kill her if not.

  The nearest town was no less than a day’s ride away, longer if she had to slow down to navigate in the dark. There was little possibility of making it through the woods at full speed, even knowing the trail the way she did. She had lived in these woods all her life. The trail was winding and precarious, not one that should have been taken lightly. As long as she kept ahead of the vampires until sunrise, she would be able to find shelter and safety.

  The once-white handkerchief pulled from her corset to wrap around her bloody fingers came loose and fluttered onto the ground behind her.

  The hunter was dead. There wasn’t enough blood in his body to satisfy six vampires — overkill for a single man — and the girl was gone.

  Sweyn eyed the carnage, licking his lips. Blood and gore stained the worn wood floor of the cabin. The taste of it lingering on his tongue made him want more, the few mouthfuls of blood making hunger burn in his stomach. It wasn’t up to him, though. His eyes flickered over to his clan leader.

  Tor walked through the cabin, his boots heavy against the floor. Each step sent a resounding thud to Sweyn’s ears. He was a large man, built more for pulling down animals twice his size with his bare hands than stealth. In life, he had been a metalsmith, an occupation that required strength. The build never left him.

  Sweyn waited with rising anxiety for him to speak. He had been part of this clan for the better part of the century, but Tor’s authoritative pacing still made the urge to growl rise in his throat.

  His feelings for Tor were simple. The man had saved his life, taken him in when he had been weak and unable to protect himself. Sweyn respected him, his orders, and his authority. Where Tor lead, Sweyn would follow.

  Tor stopped pacing and looked down at Sweyn. His iridescent red eyes glimmered in the moonlight.

  “I want the girl,” he said, his voice gruff, not quite a growl.

  Sweyn frowned. “The girl?”

  “Do you think she won’t try to hunt us, too?”

  Sweyn nodded as Tor approached him, his heart feeling like it would beat again. The older vampire was right. They had seen it, they had all seen it. Many hunters began hunting after the death of a loved one at a vampire's hands. When those loved ones were already experts in killing their kind, was it not a logical next step? The only way to protect themselves was to stop hunters as early as possible. If that meant killing them before they began, so be it.

  The girl could not have gotten far, even on the horse Sweyn heard her escape on. Her animal’s whines had been plenty loud enough to travel through the walls of the cabin.

  “I will find her,” Sweyn said. “You and the others feed first and come find me.”

  He was the youngest of the clan, and in that odd place between too young and too old where he needed less blood than the others. His last meal had only been a day ago. There was no pressing need to feed again.

  Tor reached up to stroke his hair with gentle affection.

  “Be safe,” he said.

  “I will.”

  Crisp night air bit into Sweyn’s skin through his thin, baggy clothes as he stepped out into the moonlight. Though it was approaching mid-fall, frost had yet to form on the ground. He would need to find something warmer to wear soon. Leaves crunched beneath his feet as he made his way around the cabin. He smelled the other four vampires over the reek of the remaining horse. The animal was loud, terrified by the stench of death. Poor thing. Sweyn’s heart may have been dead, but it was still there.

  Other than the horse, there was little sound in the surrounding woods. Animals often took shelter at the approach of so many predators who did so little to hide themselves.

  “What should we do with him?” Gottfrid asked as he approached.

  “Kill it,” Asta said in a bored drawl.

  Sweyn turned the corner of the house and found Gottfrid attempting to pet the terrified horse while Asta leaned against the fence, picking blood and tissue from under her claws. Erland and Johannes further away, likely scoping the perimeter for someone else to eat. They were a large clan, much larger than any other one Sweyn knew about. It wasn’t always so easy to keep track of every member.

  “I won't kill him,” Gottfrid said, as though horrified at the thought. “I want to let him go.”

  “It will only end up eaten by wolves,” Asta said.

  She turned her attention to untangling her long, black hair. The end of a ribbon stuck out against her neck, the rest of it lost in the mess.

  “I still won't be the one to kill it,” Gottfrid insisted.

  “I’m going to find the girl,” Sweyn said, interrupting before Asta retorted with more sarcasm that would hurt Gottfrid’s feelings.

  Asta turned her bored expression to him. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell if she really was bored or if that was just the way her face was. Sweyn wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her with another expression, except perhaps rage. She must have shown happiness at some point, or her equivalent of happiness, but he didn't remember it.

  “Tor’s decision?” she asked. “Of course it is. You should know, there’s blood here. It might be hers.”

  The blood didn’t belong to the body inside, that was certain. It was different. Similar, but different. There wasn’t much on the post, but it should have been enough to pick up a trail.

  Johannes offered to go with him, and Sweyn accepted without hesitation. He was always good company when hunting. He was the best hunter of the clan next to Asta, and he wasn’t as prone to sarcasm and eye-rolling.

  They followed the scent along a path through the woods until they came across a discarded woman’s handkerchief. The blood seeped into the fabric matched the blood on the post.

  “We aren’t far behind her,” Johannes said. “We need to hurry, or we won’t be able to find her before sunrise.”

  Sweyn looked back the way they came. If they turned around, they would lose the trail and it would be impossible to find her again.

  “Then we had best keep moving.”

  There was no possibility of Emilia reaching town by sunrise. There was a castle she passed every time she traveled to town, though she had never met its inhabitants. She had always observed it from the path, imagining who else would live so far from civilization. It was small, likely belonging to someone of exceptional wealth rather than members of nobility. From where she stood, had two choices: attempt to make it to the town and hope the vampires didn’t catch up, or hope the castle’s occupants would give her shelter for the night. There was no sign of the vampires, but that didn’t mean they weren’t coming after her. After sunrise, she could go wherever she wanted. Now, she had to get somewhere safe.

  The castle it was.

  It must have been at least another hour of riding by the time she reached it. Every part
of her hurt from riding without a saddle. Candlelight was visible from the edge of the woods. Emilia prayed they would let her spend the night. She was a stranger, and it was the middle of the night. No reasonable person would so much as open a door to her, let alone let her in. What other choice did she have? She nudged the horse forward with a tired sigh until they reached the edge of large stone steps. Her knees buckled as she slid off the horse. She caught herself against her horse and held onto him until she regained her balance enough to make her way up to the castle door.

  The heavy, brass knocker echoed against the wood, not unlike the vampires trying to break into her house. Emilia shuddered at the comparison. Sharp pain ran through her chest and she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. She could never go back there, could she? There was nothing there for her. Her father was no doubt long dead by now. If the people in this castle didn’t show her mercy, then she… Then she could only hope the vampires weren’t after her anymore.

  A proper-looking man opened the door, only to have a woman in a dark, elegant dress push him aside. It was much finer than any dress Emilia had ever seen, let alone owned. She wobbled on high heels. Emilia smelled the alcohol on her breath.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice pitchy with drunk excitement.

  “I need help,” Emilia said before she even processed the question.

  The woman paused and looked Emilia over, taking in her messy hair and dirty dress and bare feet. Her expression became serious, and she straightened up.

  “Darling, what happened?”

  “Vampires. I— My name is Emilia. Vampires killed my father, they—”

  She looked back and saw nothing. Maybe they weren’t after her.

  “Vampires? Darling, come in. You look like a wreck. Joran! Joran, come help this woman with her horse! Put him in the stables, would you? Let me find you something to wear. I'm sorry, but that dress is just filthy.” The woman pulled her into the castle. “We’re having a party, and you absolutely must join us. Please. I’m Hella, by the way. This is my husband’s castle. It’s so out of the way, isn’t it? It gets awfully lonely sometimes. We used to live in the city, you see, but my husband insisted he needed a castle, and there was no space in the city, obviously. Men and their egos, you know how it is. My mother is thrilled, of course. She lives here with us, and she brags every time she goes to the city. Mothers can be so like that.”

  Hella was an overwhelming whirlwind of chatter but the distraction was more welcome than Emilia expected it to be.

  Though the castle was smaller than the few others Emilia had seen in her lifetime, it was much larger than her small cabin home with its single room. The journey up the stairs exhausted her almost more than the horse ride. Never in her life had she climbed so many steps at once.

  Grim portraits decorated the dark stone walls. Each face that watched her ascend the large stairs seemed more judgmental than the last. How could they live like this? Emilia thought she would go mad. Her relief at finding there were no portraits in the bedroom was overshadowed by her awe at the size of her wardrobe. She had never seen so many clothes in so many colours, colours she hadn’t even realized clothes could be made in. Her own torn clothes seemed all the more plain in comparison.

  “Oh, this will look lovely on you! You must wear it.”

  As amiable as Hella was, Emilia was still uneasy. Though whether it was because there was something suspect about this place and these people or because she was still on edge over her escape, she didn't know. Hella had been kind and trusting enough to welcome into her home. Returning that trust was the least Emilia could do.

  The dress was nice, Emilia had to admit. It was a deep red that matched her skin tone. She and Hella were close to the same size, though the dress was tight in the chest and a few inches too long for comfort. She had to hold the skirt to keep from stepping on the fabric. It felt out of place on her, like she was playing dress-up. Though, was that not what she was doing? Hella handed her a mask with a flighty explanation that this party was a masquerade, and she absolutely had to wear it.

  Emilia let Hella drag her back downstairs to the party without complaint despite her exhaustion. All she wanted to do was rest, but Hella wouldn't hear of it.

  “Darling, you need to eat something, and all the food is at the party."

  She showed Emilia around the rest of the castle, introducing her to the party's guests as if they had been friends for their entire lives. The whole thing felt like a dream that Emilia was more than happy to let shroud reality for a while.

  The girl’s blood led Sweyn and Johannes to a castle at the edge of the woods. Sweyn wasn’t sure who this one belonged to, and he didn’t care. What mattered was that they had found the hunter’s daughter, not to mention more than enough prey for six vampires.

  Few vampires travelled in a group as large as the one they did. They were a solitary species, living in pairs or groups of two or three at most. Sweyn couldn't imagine this clan would have managed for so long without Tor's guidance. He was the natural leader. He was the oldest, with hundreds of scars from encounters with hunters and other monsters to show for it. They trusted and respected him. If they didn't, they would have torn him to pieces by now.

  “Are we supposed to kill her?” Johannes asked.

  “I imagine Tor wants to do that himself,” Sweyn said. “Either way, we should wait. She isn’t going anywhere, I’m sure.”

  Sweyn crept up to a window, his presence scarcely rustling the grass, to peek inside. There was some kind of gathering going on. Bright chatter and music travelled through the glass. He brought his hand up to the window and felt it vibrate beneath his fingers.

  Most of the people inside wore dark clothes, even the women. One in a red dress sat at a table, watching a group of men play cards. Bandages were wrapped around two of her fingers. This must have been her. She was lovely, even with the red mask covering her eyes. There was no sign she had ever experienced any hardship that should have come with her father’s occupation.

  There were so many people here, enough to feed the entire clan. Sweyn ran his tongue over his teeth.

  “What are you thinking?” Johannes asked.

  “I’m wondering what their blood tastes like.”

  “We have to wait for the others.”

  Johannes growled at the back of his throat as he spoke.

  Sweyn didn’t blame him. Even he was hungry. If Tor and the others didn’t arrive soon, he couldn’t be sure Johannes wouldn’t start killing. He couldn’t even be sure he wouldn’t start killing.

  The trees behind them rustled with movement and when he turned, he found four other vampires stepping out of from between the trees. Tor walked ahead of the others with quick, even steps.

  “You found her?” he asked.

  “We found her,” Sweyn confirmed.

  When he turned back to the window, she was no longer at the table. He cursed under his breath. Where the hell had she gone?

  “Find her,” Tor said, “but be discreet.”

  The clan dispersed, blending into the night. Sweyn stalked up the large steps the girl must have come up and banged his fist against the heavy wooden door. It rattled on its hinges. He didn't give the man who answered it a chance to speak, grabbing him by the throat and snapping his neck. His blood slowed in his veins until it stopped. There was a strong temptation to tear his skin open and feed from him. He knew better than to try it. The instant the heart stopped, blood became poison to them. His hunger was not strong enough to make him forget that.

  Killing a man might not have been within Tor’s definition of discrete, but neither was walking into a castle in ratty, blood-soaked clothes. He stripped and exchanged his clothes with the corpse’s. The fit wasn't ideal — the fabric stretched across his chest and arms — but it would have to do. He fixed the mask over his eyes and let himself into the party.

  Jealousy had run through Asta’s veins the moment she set eyes through the large windows on the dresses the women wore.
Why shouldn’t she be jealous? In life, she had been a wealthy heiress, the owner of dresses even finer than these. In death, she was reduced to rags she wore until they fell apart. It was too difficult to hunt in lovely dresses and tight corsets which would only be ruined by their nomadic lifestyle. It didn't make her miss it any less, and it didn’t make her any less bitter about it. Why should these spoiled mistresses wear such finery while she lived like an animal?

  Of course, Asta was an animal. Anyone could see it in her wild, bloodthirsty eyes. Did that mean she didn't deserve nice things?

  Her bare feet crushed grass and leaves as she walked, following the sound of hushed whispers and giggles. Yes, yes, Tor wanted the girl found, but Asta had higher priorities. Who cared about a morsel when an entire meal was waiting for her? A young couple, a man and a woman, had left the presumed safety of the high castle walls for some private intimacy. How lovely. How foolish and lovely. The faint glow of moonlight outlined their delicious, warm bodies.

  Asta’s teeth extended into rows of sharp fangs. Her tongue touched each of her canines as she grinned. It wasn't in the way that humans grinned to show happiness, but in the way a predator showed it was a threat. There was nothing of the beautiful socialite she had once been as she descended on them. Her prey caught the red glow of her eyes too late to so much as scream. Claws tore through flesh, ripping out throats before a single sound could escape. She closed her mouth over the woman's neck first, then the man’s, alternating between the two and drinking them in until her stomach ached. Red ran down her chin and smeared across her mouth.

  Only when their hearts stopped did she pull back, her face and clothes soaked through with blood. Sitting back on her heels, she let out a satisfied laugh that echoed into the night. The woman's dress was hardly ruined compared to Asta’s clothes, even with blood soaked through the fabric. There were no holes, no spots faded so thin, her skin would be visible.