Angel Blood: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance Novel

by Jae Vogel

  Nemlach crossed his arms.

  Rell narrowed her eyes and stepped forward until her face was inches from his. “I am the Hunt Leader. And I forbid you from stepping from this tent.”

  Calm as ever, Nemlach nodded.

  Rell relaxed a little.

  “As a hunter, I must defer to my Hunt Leader,” Nemlach agreed.

  Her breathing began again; the high color retreated from Rell’s face, and she sighed.

  “Nemlach—”

  He picked up his pack and his spear and turned to the door. “Consider me rogue, then.”

  “Stop!” Rell ordered.

  Nemlach shook his head. “No.”

  Rell stared. Khara and Ghal and Bamet stared.

  “No one will tell me to leave two of our number to die. No one.” Nemlach pulled back the tent flap. Stunned, the others watched him hunker out into the dark, and in a blast of deathly and sinister cold, he was gone.

  Chapter 10

  Was this a dream?

  Laova was walking with ease.

  Every step took her higher and higher into reaches unknown, to places no mortal had travelled. Her village told stories about the Elder Men and how they would climb mountains for fun, as if to challenge the gods, claim this land as their own. Laova was no Elder Woman, and she knew with thrilling, uneasy certainty that the way should be growing harder.

  The trees were falling away, now. This must be real—in her dreams, the wind was always gentle and coy, never harsh and bitter as it was tonight. The moon shone bright on the mountain, in her dreams, and the gods’ lights glimmered above. It was cloudy now, indication enough that it was her living legs that carried her upward.

  And to what? The question was becoming more important.

  Laova still didn’t know. But it seemed to her that if she looked quickly enough, a tiny figure would slip out of sight just before her eyes landed upon it.

  A larger shade prowled the woods beside her: the wolf, of course. He’d appeared to guide her way some time after she’d fled the warm shelter of her fellow hunters. If she strayed, he nudged her back onto the path. If she fell—and she did, more than once—his hulking, bristling nose would burrow under her arm and goad her back to her feet. She would have certainly gotten lost by now without him.

  Still, his presence frightened her. He’d been sent, ordered. What called to Laova so imperiously held sway over the beast, as well, and she feared her will might fare no better when the time came.

  The snow slipped underfoot again and Laova sprawled out in the snow. It pressed against her face, cold and biting but also claustrophobic, and she fought to separate from the press of white. She was practically smothering on shadows on this moonless mountainside.

  As she knew and feared he would, the wolf had dug his snout under her midsection in moments. He snuffed her over with a grunt, and Laova hugged his neck so she could be pulled upright.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. Perhaps thanks were unnecessary. If the wolf could even understand, he did not act according to his own will. Laova turned and began to trudge on.

  He was not acting according to his own will.

  Was she?

  ***

  There were gods in this world. That was what Nemlach had always held true. He’d prayed to them often; he felt them near when his strength waned, and they had favored him with their help on occasion. He was a spiritual man, and if he’d shown the signs he would have accepted a place in the Grandmother’s house without complaint.

  There were gods in this world, and they had not been overly cruel to him. His parents were dead, but such was the way of life; perhaps he’d lost them too early, in his teenage years, but he did not feel a victim. He asked the gods for little, and was not disappointed. After all, nothing is free, and when you ask for too much, Nemlach knew, perhaps you’d find the price is also too much.

  There were gods in this world, and Nemlach honored them. But tonight, this meant nothing. Tonight, the gods meant to see him struggle after that which he wanted.

  Snow blasted and his thick hair was whipped across his eyes. The wind shrieked and crashed through the waving trees. The sky was black with heavy snow clouds, and the jagged silhouette of Star-Reach towered above.

  That was where Laova was going. Nemlach knew in his heart. He just wished he knew why.

  Tonight, ‘why’ was not important. Nemlach struggled on carefully, following the near-invisible trail of bent branches and broken underbrush, signs and marks that could have been left by anything. Perhaps by holding Laova close he had asked for too much. But there were gods in this world, and he trusted them, and climbed.

  ***

  “Laova.”

  It was more than a voice. The sound rolled and grated like low thunder. It was a rumble in her chest. Laova stopped, stunned, and looked up at the spirit lights cresting Star-Reach, finding herself closer than ever. The trees were far below, and the mountain expanded in spotless silver. Only the ripples of red and green and glorious purple touched here.

  But then, there was also Laova. And above her, standing less than a dozen paces up the slope…

  “Come to me, Laova.”

  She tried, but her feet were still. Was it a man? She was so close, Laova felt sure she should have seen him clearly. The only feature she knew was his voice. She’d heard it before; it was the sound of wind, high in the clouds. It was the hiss of rain, and the silence of stars.

  “I’ve brought you here to join with me, Laova.”

  She shivered. Did he mean what she thought he meant?

  “Come to me. Meet me here.”

  She wanted to ask him to wait, to ask him to explain. But then, she understood enough. In her gut, she understood what it was she was needed for.

  ***

  Warm fur welcomed Laova back into the waking world. Still dark, still night, and still spitting snow. She burrowed into the wolf’s heat just a little longer. Her heart thudded and strained with what she had learned.

  He was a god, surely. What else could he be?

  And he wanted her, as Nemlach wanted her.

  Laova lay there for a time, listening to the wind howl. Should she feel guilt? Was it a betrayal to Nemlach that she went now to lay with a god?

  There was no question of refusing, guilt or no guilt. Laova was not afraid, she was not reluctant. It seemed as if, perhaps, she had known for some time that this day would arrive. She was curious and entranced. There was no refusing—she had to know.

  With a groan, she shambled to her feet and felt the cold close in all the places where the wolf had curled near. It pierced her skin through her many layers of hides and skins, and Laova began to shiver almost instantly.

  The beast that guided her seemed little bothered with the storm. He stretched and yawned and unfolded his body out of the cold rock crevice they’d nestled within. Laova watched him with envy; it might have been a balmy summer afternoon, for all he was affected.

  Night stretched on, and the wolf gazed at Laova expectantly with his great green-gold eyes.

  “Let’s go,” she breathed.

  ***

  It was the first sound besides wind he’d heard in hours, and it shocked him with horror and dread.

  Nemlach lurched forward after the faint shout. Instinctively, he wanted to shout back and assure the bodiless voice that he was looking for its owner, but it would be a waste of what precious breath he could snatch up here, high on the mountain’s slope. Instead, he listened more closely than ever before, straining to catch another snippet of sound besides the hand of winter crashing about.

  Visibility was practically gone; the clouds hung so low on the mountain that Nemlach actually stood within them now, like a fog. The trees were becoming scarce as he climbed, which meant struggling upward through blank stretches of lonely wind-blown snow. The mountain surface was not smooth here; ravines dropped and crags rose, and Nemlach felt sure that if he didn’t find Laova soon they would both end up dead, buried beneath a white and frozen shroud.r />
  He’d gone thirty struggling paces when he heard the voice again, much clearer. It wasn’t Laova.

  “Taren!” he called.

  “Help!”

  “Keep yelling!” Nemlach scanned the snow, but didn’t see the boy. “Where are you?”

  “I slipped down a ravine!”

  Nemlach’s stomach dropped into his boots. How far had Taren fallen…? “Are… Are you injured?”

  “No, I’m stuck! The snow—it’s too heavy—I can’t get out!”

  At least his legs weren’t broken. Nemlach dug through his pack, searching for his rope. He wondered how he would have explained to Laova—if he ever saw her again—how he had left Taren to die. There was no way to get an injured man out of a ravine, much less back down the mountain safely. Not in this weather.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Here.” Nemlach followed the voice cautiously. He caught sight of a dip in the snow, and the closer he approached the deeper it became until he stood perilously close to the edge of a blessedly shallow ravine. In the dark, he could just make out a figure, mostly buried at the bottom. No wonder he couldn’t get out; Taren’s legs were both securely rooted. It was lucky he’d fallen in such a position. It would be fairly easy to drag him straight out.

  “Nemlach!”

  “Here.” Nemlach threw down the rope, and Taren tied it under his arms.

  “What are you doing out here?” There was a crackly suspicion to his tone that made it sound less appropriate for the lucky recipient of a rescue.

  How grateful of him to ask, Nemlach thought with a sigh. He labored to drag Taren free; the boy was relatively light, but still burdened with snow and heavy clothes. Nemlach had to take one step at a time, gasping for air all the while. His gloved hands held the rope tightly, but he still almost dropped it twice when his grip unexpectedly slipped.

  Slack appeared in the line, and Nemlach rotated his head on his neck to try and see past his hood and hair; Taren had gained the ledge, and his arms were scrabbling for purchase. With the end in sight, Nemlach drove further still, dragging on the lightening rope until Taren lay spread-eagled in the rising snow.

  “Are you—all right?” Nemlach asked again. The air this high on the mountain was wispy and insufficient. It was the opposite of trying to breathe water, or mist; it felt as if he drew in nothing. Nemlach looked up at the mostly-obscured crags of Star-Reach and tried to guess how far up Laova might be. She might do better than himself, being smaller. He had hoped the cumulative weather and thinning air might slow her down enough for him to catch up.

  Taren, meanwhile, fought to his feet. The wind nearly blew him back down the ravine, but Nemlach scrabbled for a grip on his coat and dragged him safely away.

  Impatiently, Taren batted his hands away. “You—shouldn’t be out—here.” Taren was feeling it, too. Just the strain of getting to his feet had left him laboring.

  “Neither should you,” Nemlach replied.

  Taren glared at him through the dark; their night-sight was good. Not as good as a wolf’s or a snow-panther, but better than an elk or deer. Elk or deer didn’t have to try and read each other’s faces, however, and with his scarf pulled up to his nose, Nemlach only had Taren’s flat and impetuous eyes to go off of.

  “You should—go back,” Taren said.

  Nemlach stared at him. The snow railed down, endlessly, blinding them to anything beyond twenty paces or so. He almost physically felt something in his chest snap back, like a child who’d been hanging on a tree branch and finally let go.

  In a half-wild flurry, Nemlach flew at Taren. He couldn’t remember, later, what had gotten into him, but he punched Taren straight across the nose and felt a crack, even through three layers of gloves. Taren staggered backward.

  Nemlach froze. “Gods, why did I do that?” he muttered with a sigh. He stepped forward carefully. “Here, let me see—”

  Nemlach doubled over as Taren delivered a clumsy, heavy kick to his abdomen.

  “That’s for Laova,” Taren hissed.

  Oh, we’re doing this, are we? Nemlach glared up at Taren, and couldn’t imagine a more inconvenient time or place for this particular scuffle.

  But the gods rarely give us a choice in when events boil over, and Nemlach had had enough of Taren’s moody sulking and little fits. Taren wanted to fight; Nemlach was surprised to discover that he wanted to, as well. It was a relief, as he and the boy swatted and battered back and forth at each other in the barren reaches of the gods’ territory.

  They didn’t have a barest extra breath to talk or jeer at each other; that was unnecessary. The fact that they were losing time and Laova was getting further away seemed less vital, as if perhaps she was waiting politely for them to hash out their differences before proceeding with her escape into the night. There was a desperation and an urgency in the physicality of battle, even a minor one such as this, and by the time both of them were panting and gasping for air in the swirling—and worsening—snowfall, it seemed as though some tension had broken lightly into pieces and vanished.

  Taren tried to swing another comically slow punch; Nemlach saw him coming without difficulty and waved him away, rasping. Taren didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped his arm and refocused on the task of getting air into his lungs.

  It was some time before either of them had the breath to speak, and by the time they did, Nemlach’s blood had fully cooled and he grimaced at all the time they’d lost. Laova could be a half a league ahead, by now. Of course, Nemlach wasn’t aware that at that very moment, Laova was curled up in a rocky nook with a mountain wolf, sleeping, warm and safe. If he had known this, perhaps he’d feel less crushing guilt at acting the fool now, pummeling this confused youngster on this frozen slope in a malevolent, darkening gale of storm and snow.

  “I wish--she’d never—met you.”

  Nemlach glanced over at Taren. Both their face-scarves and hoods had been knocked askew, and finally Nemlach could see Taren’s face clearly.

  “But she—did,” Nemlach replied, hardly loud enough to hear over the wind in their ears.

  They stared at each other, waiting. With a sigh, Nemlach spoke again.

  “She isn’t… yours. She isn’t mine, either. We were—weren’t made to be—owned or poss—possessed.” Nemlach took a moment, breathing deeply. “You have no right… to be angry at her… for choosing me.”

  Taren’s expression jolted, and Nemlach knew he had the right of it. “And you have no right to be angry with me… for loving her back.”

  “How dare you?” Taren snapped. “I have every right! You don’t even know her!”

  “You’re right,” Nemlach agreed; which shut Taren up for a moment. “I don’t know her. But neither do you. You think you know everything there is to know about Laova. Yet, here we are. You knew a girl - the Laova that ran out into the snow tonight is no longer that girl. You just can’t see it. You just don’t want to see it.”

  Taren seemed to be visibly shaking, either in rage or from the cold. Nemlach waited, hoping he still had the energy to fight, if that’s what Taren was after. Somehow, that didn’t seem likely.

  “I hate that you’re right,” Taren shouted over the storm.

  Nemlach shrugged. “I hate that we’re out on this damn mountain in a storm.”

  “I should have stopped her,” Taren admitted grimly.

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “Next time I will.”

  “Let’s make it through this time, before we plan next time.”

  ***

  “Why me?” Laova asked out loud. Her voice was small, and her steps were smaller, still.

  The answer came to her, in the waking world, twined about the falling pellets of snow and riding the bitter wind. Because you came to me when I asked. I reached out to you, and you answered.

  Upward, always upward. Laova was in disbelief of how high she had climbed. The mountain, here, cracked through the snow. The wind was fierce. So fierce, she had to shelter betwe
en rocky shelves if she wanted to move at all. She’d been knocked down by gales that blasted around corners, gusts that she’d walked into unexpectedly. The snow was thin on the ground here, at least. She walked on a frozen layer that held her weight, and only had to shuffle through knee-deep drifts.

  The wolf had disappeared. He’d seen her a good way up the last stretch of passable terrain, before this alien world of windswept rock and snow began. She hadn’t noted the exact moment he left her side, but she felt the isolation draw around her as she fought through the low cloud of the storm. When she’d fallen and had been forced to pick herself back up, that was when she noticed for certain he’d left her.

  Her dark hair hung half out of her hood, and she tried to tuck it away. The strands kept blocking her vision, and she had precious little of it to begin with. But then, there was only one path, anyway, and her feet seemed stuck to it, stubbornly resistant to the thought of turning around.

  “I’m on—my way,” she whispered between breaths.

  I know.

  “Why don’t—you—make this—easier?” she gasped, exasperated. She felt something like amusement answer, whispering over the wind, wordless.

  If it were easier, there would be nothing remarkable in the fact that you have made it this far.

  Laova pressed on, one foot before the other. It was a strange time to dream of it, but she thought of Nemlach. His fever had broken; if she’d stayed, they could be wrapped together in the shelter now, entwined in warmth and security, surrounded by friends. That would have been wonderful.

  But to have that, she would have had to turn away from the nagging voice in her head, not the voice of the god but her own curiosity that always asked… what if? Where? How far?

  The fact of the matter was, she admitted to herself as she moved along, one hand on the rock wall beside her for support, that Laova did truly love Nemlach and desire the warmth safety of his arms. But it wasn’t enough. That was why she was a hunter; safety, security, routine and predictable, was not enough. There was more in this world, and she wanted it.