The Vampire Debt (Shadow World: The Vampire Debt Book 1)

by Ali Winters

  Praise for The Vampire Debt

  “A dark retelling with a provocative twist that lures you into its pages.”

  NATALIA JASTER, author of the Selfish Myths series

  “I am completely, utterly, and absolutely obsessed!”

  LEXXY VORPAHL, paranormal romance author

  “This book is amazing… I was seriously BLOWN AWAY.”

  MICHELLE G., goodreads reviewer

  “Conflict, twists and turns and a story that makes you root for the characters yet relate to their flaws at the same time.”

  TRISH BENINATO, fantasy author

  “[The Vampire Debt] is my ****ing favorite. Everything about this book is brilliant.”

  KITTY GALLANT, romance author

  “Ms. Winters took my breath away!!! This is going to steal away your heart and mind as well!! These characters are delicious and will tug upon your heartstrings!”

  MICHELLE F., goodreads reviewer

  “Sink your teeth into this blood-pumping story of love, loss, and redemption. You won’t be disappointed.”

  JESIKAH SUNDIN, author of the Biodome chronicles

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Continue the series..

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Ali Winters

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020, Ali Winters

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

  Published by Rising Flame Press

  Edited by Schwartz Fiction Edits

  Cover design & Formatting by Red Umbrella Graphic Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  www.aliwinters.com

  www.thevampiredebt.com

  For Jesikah

  Chapter One

  Clara

  It isn’t the sound of the front door slamming that wakes me. Or even the sound of Father as he drunkenly stomps through the house toward his room to finally collapse, face down into his bed just before dawn—those are noises I grew accustomed to long ago—but rather the sharp pains of hunger that can pull me from a deep sleep.

  I lift my favorite book from my chest and close it, having fallen asleep reading. The leather is worn smooth from use over the years. It’s the only one I have left from before life went to hell. I brush my hand over the worn leather then wrap it up in an old cloth and place it under the bed.

  Sliding my legs over the edge of the bed, I tiptoe across the cold wooden slats of the floor, moving silently to avoid waking Kathrine. She stretches out as soon as I’m gone, pulling the blankets closer toward her, and lets out a soft sigh. I pause, not moving, barely even daring to breathe as I wait to make sure she’s still fast asleep.

  Kathrine stirs and rolls to her side.

  “Clara?” she mumbles, still mostly asleep.

  “It’s early, go back to sleep,” I shush her gently. When she doesn’t make a noise or movement of protest, I quickly slip into my worn leather trousers and shrug into a thick shirt, not bothering to tie the laces at the hollow of my throat.

  I pick up my boots from behind the door and slip out of the room, closing it slowly behind me while trying to keep the old hinges from screeching.

  I turn to face the small room that serves as our main living area, kitchen and dining room in one. A far cry from the luxury we used to have. The room reeks of spilled spirits, several dirty cups, and a mess of gambling tokens are scattered across our table. I wonder how much of our meager stash of money Father gambled away last night.

  I shake away the thoughts and my blooming anger—it doesn’t matter. It never matters. There’s nothing I can do to change it.

  Plopping down on the bench beside the fireplace and the dying embers that barely give off any heat, I tug my boots on. They conform to the shape of my legs perfectly, even if the leather is becoming a little too worn around the seams. If I can make them last through the coming summer then I should be able to stash away enough coin to buy a used pair and not have Father or Kathrine notice.

  My guilt over such things has long since vanished, especially since it had somehow fallen on my shoulders to not only supply all our food and needs, but also bring home enough money for Father to lose in his near nightly games.

  I don’t even try to be quiet now as I stand, flinging my cloak over my shoulders. I head for the door, pausing to snatch up a small piece of stale bread left out on the counter. I pull my knife from my pocket and slice off the slightly molded bit. Shoving it into my mouth as I open the door with one hand, I snatch up my arrows with my other.

  It’s chilly in the watery light of morning, but it is enough to keep the demons that haunt the forest at bay—but just barely. While it’s still early in autumn, the mornings have already begun to cool.

  I walk along the dirt road, avoiding the muddy patches as much as possible. It is mostly deserted this time of day, with only an occasional cart or rider. Nevertheless, I skirt around the town to avoid being seen and turn into the grassy field that separates our small village of Littlemire from the Shade forest.

  I crouch low, hurrying through the field trying to keep from being noticed. Going into the forest is forbidden. That territory doesn’t belong to us. Though the butcher and the clothier know I go there almost daily, they keep that to themselves because I bring them meat and fur far cheaper than anyone else.

  Father doesn’t care what I spend my days doing, so long as I keep bringing home money and food. I think Kitty would like to think I have some sort of honorable job in town that provides for us.

  Once I hit the trees, I stand to full height and jog until I’m certain no one can see me. I pull an arrow from my quiver and knock it into my bow as I walk with near silent steps, eyes scanning for birds or rabbits, or some other woodland creature that might make a decent meal, as well as the wild beasts said to roam the forests hunting anyone who dares stray too far into the woods.

  But those are old wives’ tales, stories told to children to keep them from wandering too far from home. They are no more real than the stories in books about princes rescuing girls who have suffered lives no one should be forced to en
dure. No more real than tales of unicorns and fairy godmothers, poor servant girls who are found out to be long lost princesses, or even colorful worlds, where the grasses are bright green instead of a dried yellowish hue, of flowers that blanket the country side, or skies so blue they are the color of gems.

  In those tales, the monsters are always defeated.

  No, those things aren’t real. What is real is a perpetually gray sky that always has the feeling of being on the brink of a downpour. What is real is a world that was not only born of demons and monsters, but is ruled by them.

  A mile in, and I’ve seen nothing so far. I roll my shoulders, then my neck, letting the tension in my muscles ease a bit. A little further and I decide to climb a tree and wait for something to cross my path.

  I’m already tired, and my stomach still aches. Though, thankfully, the small scrap of bread I ate is enough to keep it from grumbling and scaring off the prey.

  Slinging my bow over my shoulder, I shove my gloves into my pockets, then I begin to climb a tree, with thick sturdy branches.

  My fingers are already stiff from the chill, but morning dew sticks to the bark making it soft and impossible to climb with gloves. At any rate, I’ll need the accuracy of unburdened fingers once I reach my perch.

  It takes me only a few minutes to find a branch sturdy enough to support my weight, yet high enough to avoid easy detection.

  I settle in, ready my bow, and knock an arrow.

  Hours pass and I grow weary. I’m debating on giving up and going into town to see if I can find a little something no one will miss, when a rustle of leaves brings me to attention.

  A fat, white rabbit pops its head out from beneath the brush.

  In a painfully slow movement, to avoid creating even the slightest creak from my bow, I pull my arrow back, ready to let it fly, and stop when the distant sound of someone humming a lullaby reaches me. Easing the pull I have on the arrow, I glance around, doing my best to avoid moving too much.

  My eyelids grow heavy and I find myself wanting to drift off. I jolt, sucking in a breath, and hold it.

  Damn it. That was too close. My heart pounds and it’s all I can do to remain calm.

  I look back to where I saw the rabbit to find a young woman sitting there. She’s humming. Her shoulders move with ever so slight movements, as if she’s weaving a crown of flowers or some other harmless thing.

  But she is no innocent.

  She is a nightmare come to life. She is everything that is wrong with this world.

  I watch her for a long moment, unsure what my next move will be. If I jump down and run, she will spot me. But my leg is beginning to cramp and if I don’t leave soon, I’m sure my stomach will start to growl.

  There’s only one thing I can do. A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead at the thought of following through.

  Slowly, I lift my bow. The fletching of my arrow grazes my cheek as I pull it back. The bowstring groans, halting my movements and my breath. I wait several heartbeats making sure the monster in my sights doesn’t notice my presence before it’s too late.

  My original purpose for coming into the woods today has already been forgotten.

  Long, wavy, golden hair flows down her back in waves, almost as pale as her skin. A stark contrast to her dark red dress-- so dark it's almost black, like a thick pool of fresh blood.

  How fitting.

  To most eyes she would appear to be nothing more than a young woman.

  But I know better. Her impossibly graceful movements and at times her perfect stillness give her away.

  She is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, only something far more dangerous and deadly—beautiful on the outside, but grotesque and twisted inside. From where I sit perched in my tree, she could be making a crown of flowers as she sits in the grass. Though I know better. She is sucking the life out of some poor, defenseless animal, watching the life leave its eyes as it can do nothing but gaze back at her in terror.

  She hums as she feeds, a tune so familiar and haunting, it makes my head ache. It steals whatever hesitation I might still possess.

  I pull my arrow back a fraction more, my muscles straining. Then I let go.

  The second I do, she stills and starts to turn her head toward me. If she moves… demons of the Otherworld help me if she moves before it reaches her—I am dead.

  The arrow sails through the air and I hold my breath. It hits the mark, just to the left of her spine, piercing her heart. She hovers for a moment before falling face first into the ground with a soft thud. Her hair fans out around her in a gold nimbus.

  I brush the back of my hand across my forehead, wiping away the sweat that beaded.

  I’ve got to go before others come for her. Before anyone finds out what I’ve done and finds me here.

  I leap down from the tree and sling my bow around my shoulders. I turn to run but some morbid curiosity holds me back. I need to make sure she’s truly dead and not faking it. Years of waiting to seek revenge on my mother’s killer, and it’s over with the flick of my wrist. It’s almost too easy to believe.

  Of course, there’s no way to know for sure that she is the vampire responsible… but aren’t they all? They are all equally as terrible… all guilty of the same crimes.

  I make my way toward it, as slow as I can manage, trying not to make any noise. I reach her and look down. She’s dressed in a black gown, her flaxen hair splayed all around her. Red slowly leeches its way in and through the strands, darkening them as it spreads.

  With the toe of my boot, I tap her in the side, ready to bolt. For a moment I eye the arrow sticking out from her back. If I leave it here then it can be traced back to me. I have to take it even though I can’t use it again—the blood from this abomination would taint any game I used it on.

  I toe her, rolling her to her side. Her face, partially obscured by golden hair, is serene. She looks like she’s sleeping, but her lips are stained red with blood. In her hands, the now dead rabbit stares at her, unseeing. Her fingers are all but crushing it. The sight makes me want to retch.

  I reach for the arrow, grabbing it low on the shaft and wrench it from the monstrosity. It makes a sickening slurping sound as it comes free. I shove it into my quiver.

  Some of the beast’s blood is on my hands. I crouch and wipe it off the best I can on the frozen blades of grass.

  Then I turn and run. I run and I don’t stop until I’m at the edge of town.

  My breath comes heavy and I earn a few strange looks from the townsfolk, but I keep moving, wending my way through them, determined to lose myself in the crowd.

  My hands shake, but I’m smiling. My smile is probably too wide. I can’t help it though. The mixture of nerves, of fear, of vindication is strong. For two years I’ve been going out into those woods every chance I got to hunt, always hoping in the back of my mind that I would come across one of the monsters. Always hoping the one who killed Mother would return and I could repay that life debt.

  I refuse to be a food source for them. I refuse to be shoved down to the bottom of the food chain just because evolution dealt them a winning hand long ago. I refuse to allow them to be the only ones able to seek out justice for crimes.

  I make it to an alley where there are always boxes and garbage piled up, and toss in my bow and arrows into the rubbish. I hesitate, but only for a second. It’s a waste of money, but I can’t risk having them traced back to me. It would spell death, not only for me, but my family as well. I quickly remove my jacket and the outer layer of clothes to mask my scent alongside the bow.

  My own clothes are wrinkled and smell of sweat. I smooth them down as best I can, then head back out into the throng of people milling about in the square. This time, making sure I am seen by as many people who know me as possible. I even go so far as to greet some I don’t know.

  I am tired and hungry and am in desperate need of a bath, but it is still many hours before I can make my way home.

  Though I move slowly from vendor to vendor, my
heart still pounds wildly from what I did.

  Today, I have made my own justice.

  Today, I have done what others in this town have only ever talked about but are never brave enough to do.

  Today, I have signed my own death warrant.

  I’ve just killed a vampire.

  Chapter Two

  Clara

  Vampires rule our world, and demons haunt the shadows. The vampires come and go as they please and we humans are little more than chattel. Our purpose is to serve them and to feed them. For the most part we remain safe as long as we follow their laws they set forth, and keep our heads down, and remember our place.

  We humans travel between villages on rare occasions, as most of us would rather not get caught outside after nightfall. In the dark, we are playthings for whatever demons we are unlucky enough to cross paths with.

  Once a year, during the claiming, the vampire court will come to our rundown village and demand a human, or several. Some even gladly go, willing to be servants to the monsters.

  The thought of it sends a shiver crawling down my spine. No one knows what becomes of any of them. Perhaps they do live in a world of luxury doting on their vampires, enjoying soft comfortable plush beds at night. Or perhaps they are nothing more than a snack for the long ride home, or worse. I can always imagine worse, but for now I shove the thoughts aside.