Chapter 9: The Vampire’s Hunt

I wake up groaning, spitting blood and phlegm, and scramble to get off the floor in the pitch black of my room. The hot fluid running down the sides of my face tells me my ears are bleeding; my head is aching like it just got stomped repeatedly, and I'm so dizzy I can't seem to focus on anything. The air is deathly cold, and I scrape my hands around the dusty wooden floor to get my bearings. I have no idea what's happened, why there's no light anymore, or why I'm so messed up, dazed, and confused—my body aches badly.

The air is filled with noises so terrifying that I freeze in utter fear as they filter through. I pick them apart, stilled as I listen and try to make sense of what they are. My heart is gripped in icy terror. Screaming... howling. Wails of despair and sobbing. Something else, too—a weird, almost chattering, taunting noise that I swear is exactly how I would imagine the devil would sound laughing. It sends the fear of God through me and I shudder violently, pulling myself up to huddle on my rear, aware I can move again, if only slowly and with great effort. My limbs are insanely heavy, and I'm hazy, not entirely "there."

The air is filled with a metallic stench, so intense it makes me gag—completely vile in its density. Although I have no idea what's going on, my internal instincts are warning me to be very, very afraid. I shiver and curl up into a ball, trying to be small as childhood instincts take over. I swallow down the urge to cry and struggle not to gasp, because it's making me lightheaded. I screw up my eyes, trying to force them to adjust to the pitch blackness faster to make out the forms and shapes of my room. My sight adjusts quickly, letting me see some of my surroundings.

There's a sudden

thud, thud, thud

that piques my attention like a sixth sense and echoes my way softly. My stomach turns with fear-induced nausea as I zone in on it. I hold my breath and freeze, as still as a statue, as I tune in, trying to focus all my effort on what it is. It's less imposing than the rest of the noises—sort of dull, heavy, and foreboding—but it's slicing through and pulling my painful hearing its way, demanding attention. It's getting closer; I can feel it. It's almost like each thud syncs with my heartbeat, and my courage drops to my stomach with every bang of its intimidating noise. I tremble inside with extreme terror, knowing that it's coming my way.

The overwhelming stench of something familiar begins wafting my way as I focus my energy, and it distracts me from listening. I know the smell; it's not metallic, it's a scent. A wolf scent, familiar... someone I know.

I don't know what's happening, but instinct makes me push back, despite the world tilting and swaying around me, and I slide backwards under the nearest bed. I scramble flat again and use my palms and all the strength I can muster to force myself into the shadows of my only protection. I inhale sharply, and that scent forms a picture in my mind of the face it belongs to—so clear, now that it's almost upon me.

It's Vanka's. It's her smell, her scent. It's strong, as though she's afraid or in wolf form. I don't know.

I claw and pull myself under, breaking nails in the painful process as I scramble in panic. Something is telling me to hide. I’m concealed by the sheets she leaves hanging, and for once, I'm glad of her refusal to make her bed. I am thankful her bed is always a mess, leaving chaos around it which now conceals me, and I curl into my own body to fit in one corner. I peer out, my gut telling me that I should be quiet and stay hidden. I hold my breath and cover my mouth with my own hand as tears begin to fall quietly down my cheeks. Fear tries to consume me, making me shake so badly I'm sure it'll give me away.

My door is still open, and as I start to become accustomed to the dark—my nocturnal eyes coming out to play for the first time since my turning—I make out something passing by the open space. I inhale quickly to quiet myself into stillness. My heart is bursting through my chest, pounding my ribs erratically as tears drench my hand and wrist.

Something tall and dark swaggers by in the space out there—imposing and blurry as I adjust—but it pauses and stops, right outside. It's almost like it senses me, and I recoil some more, trying to make myself as small as I can. I'm so scared. It turns slowly to peer my way, and everything in me turns to ice as a terrified faint drains me of all blood. I close my eyes, screw them shut tight, and clench my fists in a bid to become completely cut off and invisible as best I can. Praying to the Fates that they don't see me. Whatever it is, I know it's not a friend. It's not one of us.

"Here, puppy, puppy... where are you hiding? I know there's at least one more up here..." The bloodcurdling words make me scrunch my face up to combat hysterical tears. The voice is alien to me—almost satanic, low, and husky, with a heavy accent in the depths. It is foreign; I don't know this voice.

The scent is nothing that I have ever encountered before and dampens the one I vaguely recognize. It's not Vanka, but I can smell her close, which only confuses my fear-addled brain. The sadistic laugh that follows his bold words turns my insides to mush, and I physically weaken with a cold wave as whatever, or whoever, it is, steps inside the room with me.

"I can hear your heart beating, little one.......

Bumpity, bumpity, bump, bump, bump.

You're scared.... Why don’t you come out and play, like your friends are doing? I want to play with you, too..." He laughs again, a sound that curls my toes and sends shivers across my scalp and down my spine, so that I shudder uncontrollably. It is the sound of someone truly deranged and evil, and I almost lose control and freak out. I tighten myself stiff and hold my breath to keep myself together.

I cover my mouth again, tighter, as the urge to break into a sobbing cry hits me harder. I shake, holding my breath and praying to God he leaves me alone. I don’t know who he is, and I'm so disoriented—the smell overpowering my senses—that I am trying hard not to gag while keeping my focus on this stranger. I can taste something foul in the air, hitting my tongue, invading my lungs, awful and cloying. It is so metallic and potent that it makes my eyes sting and water with its toxicity. He's not one of us. I don't know what he is, but his intentions aren't good. I can almost taste his desire for blood, and it renders me completely useless. I am frozen and afraid. He ventures in further from the doorway, dragging something heavy along behind him that identifies the "thud, thud" I heard coming my way.

I choke on instant bile as it rises up my throat and almost suffocates me in the process. My heart is near imploding as my body convulses at the sight of the lifeless and headless body he's dragging behind him. Gagging on my own vomit, I can't block out her scent.... Panic, hysteria, and the crumbling of my mental state take over as I identify who he has with him. There is no mistaking who has fallen foul to whatever this is; I can’t unsee or blot it out no matter how much I try to turn away or wash it out of my eyes and mind with snotty tears.

It's Vanka. She's dead! She's right there, feet in front of me, dragged by this monster and being used as a toy for his sick, twisted game.

"I know where you are, puppy. Why don't you come out and do me a favor... I don't want to have to drag you out from under there. It's not fun if I have to do that." There's a sneer of venomous hatred in his voice, and I imagine the way his face curls into a sadistic grin, glaring my way through the darkness. He is enjoying every moment of this.

He drops her lifeless form on the floor fully with a dull thud of weight; her body splaying her arms out in a star shape. I recoil, tears blurring my vision as I try and get as small as I can back here, whimpering internally.

I don't know what to do. I'm terrified, and if Vanka was no match for this thing, then I'm not either. I don't know how to fight; I've never had to. I'm not a warrior or even aggressive. I'm a "nothing," a reject from a farmer's family who is worth nothing to no one.

I bite on my lip, fear paralyzing me, when suddenly, the entire bed is ripped from above me. The gust of the action throws my hair around my face and he sends it crashing into the other wall effortlessly, displaying strength much like ours. I gasp and react with a shuddering splaying of arms over my head defensively as it flies and lands on top of mine dramatically. The crashing, splintering noise of a wooden bed crumbling and shattering into chaos fills the room. I'm left exposed, fully accessible—prey huddled for the taking in the smallest of corners. He comes at me with a flash of speed that I see coming as if in slow motion, and I gasp in horror, choking up and immobile for a second.

Move, Alora... move!

Some strong inner voice hits me as I chant to myself, trying so hard to make my body work with me, to command it somehow, but nothing is happening. It's like my brain is in slow motion and my limbs are in hibernation. I shake my head, try to dislodge this overwhelming dizziness, and focus on doing something. Anything...

It's dark, it's eerily still, and it's like time has slowed so his movements are almost paused, as instinct finally takes over. Blood is rushing and pumping at speed as he scrapes a step closer to me.

In a flash equal to his speed—if not more—I bolt from my flat-out position with a renewed lease of energy from God knows where, and aim for the door. Adrenaline is spiking, my survival instinct is kicking in, and I'm praying I turn without even knowing how to. Even though I'm stronger and faster like this in human form since turning, our wolves are way more so. I need to turn to survive, to heal, and to fight. We only heal fast when in form. We only have abilities of extreme strength, ferocious aggression, and razor-sharp claws and teeth when we turn.

I don't get far, because he catches me by the back of my hair effortlessly, snares and tugs it, and throws me backwards as though I'm a limp rag. He smashes me into the vanity with force, sending me crashing through the mirror and splintering wood into a heap on the floor, as heavy objects tumble on top of me. Pain slices at my body as I convulse at the assault, rendered mute with the wind being knocked out of me. Completely defenseless, weak, and no match.

I submit to the pain as I feel every single one of those slicing shards pierce my skin, writhing in agony and bleeding out. I scream out loud—a blood-curdling wail of agony as I am inflicted with a thousand tears and cuts and the bone-crunching, splintering sound of my body snapping.

Adrenaline takes over, despite my body vibrating with the sheer effort, and I get up, grinding my teeth against the crunching of broken bone and dull, burning ache, clawing the walls in a bid to get purchase. My hands start changing before me and relief washes over my mind at the evidence of my beginning to turn. This is what I need, but it's not fast enough, or it's not progressing, and he has me from behind, around my throat, in an effortless maneuver before it takes effect. He throws me and sends me flying forward with a thrust, straight through the window of our third-floor bedroom with another flinching of unavoidable stabbing agony.

If I thought hitting furniture was painful, then the slicing assault of a thousand glass shards breaking on your already torn and bleeding skin, as you fly through at speed, is so much worse. There's a moment of silent stillness as I hit air and my body changes direction, weightless for a second. It's a moment of ease before the realization sinks in that I'm three floors up, and my stomach lurches as gravity takes hold and yanks me downwards.

I hit the ground below with a stomach-churning thud at crazy speed that reverberates through my every cell and pore and knocks the life out of me as it shatters any unbroken pieces I may have left. It's so beyond painful it almost doesn't hurt at all for a second; I'm stunned, until my lungs try to stir, to recover, and I start choking on my own blood and bile. I gasp for breath, my body convulsing as I try to move, but I'm bleeding out so profusely that the ground around me is turning dark with the evidence.

I am slashed all over from breaking through the glass and shattered from my fall. I'm broken all over and can literally feel my life flowing away from me as I become woozy and useless—more so than I was. I'm dying... I know it, I can feel it, and try as I might to cling on, I just can't. I lie here like a useless piece of discarded nothing, unable to move in any way, as my body fights for dregs of energy and consciousness.

The kind of pain my turning inflicted is the only way to describe how this feels, and try as I might, I don't know how to finish transforming. If I don't, I'll die for sure... we can't heal the way we can as wolves and I'm critical. Something is keeping me weak enough that turning isn't happening, no matter how desperate my instincts are, and the self-preservation function of my kind seems absent. We're meant to turn without thought when we're seriously messed up, to save ourselves. It's so typical that I can't even get that right.

I can feel my human body giving up on me. I'm losing so much blood that the grass around me is soaking parts of my clothes that weren't wet before, and the metallic stench of my own essence is dousing out everything else. I claw the grass around my hands, which are splayed out as I'm on my stomach, and pull myself forward painfully, refusing to just give up completely. I'm trying so hard to fight this and sobbing out loud with each wincing attempt.

So slowly—painfully so—I make little progress, only to shudder when a ground-shaking thud beside each side of my head signals the landing of two feet. The impending fate is falling over me like a heavy, dark cloud, and I know this is futile. He jumped from the window above, and yet landed perfectly by me, in human form. This is no wolf. This is one of them... coming back to end what they lost so many years ago.

Standing over me, bearing down, he grabs me by the back of my neck and digs nails into my skin. Long, piercing, claw-like talons bite with scorching pain, and he drags me partially upright to hoarsely snarl in my ear. My body flinches with the agony of being moved. I reach back, pathetically, to grip his hands on my flesh—the cold, icy, and clammy skin that's alien to anything I've ever felt before—and I know what this is for certain... we heard stories... The ice-cold, vile touch of the skin of the undead. This lifeless, cold monster is a vampire. They've returned.

"Too easy. Call yourselves warriors? You're all dropping like putrid flies and one snap, it's all over for you, puppy. I'm rather enjoying dragging it out, though... why don’t you go on and beg like your little friends did? Whine and cry some, make it worth my while." His icy-cold, stinking breath fans my cheek and chokes me into quiet submission. I wretch, losing consciousness despite my fight. I have nothing. My powers fail me, my words dead on my lips as I gasp for air my lungs can't seem to take in anymore, and I choke on my own bodily fluids.