Page 6 of Vampire Runner

He slips into the en suite bathroom, closing the door solidly behind him. The soft tick of the lock makes me wince. Lan releases an amused huff and I quell him with a sharp glare. His lips twist up in a smirk and he spins back around towards the bedroom door.

“I’m off to kiss my mate,” he informs us, the dig obvious.

Josephine sighs, the sound of an exasperated mother. I slump against the headboard, still holding the sachet against my chest. It offers a small barrier of protection against the foul darkness twisting through me but it’s not a solution.

Josephine squeezes my shoulder, and I can’t look at her. I can’t see the pity in her eyes, or I’ll lose it. Even now, I’m fighting back a torrent of tears building behind my eyes, the sorrow choking my heart.

“He’ll come around,” she assures me, like any good mother. “He just needs time. You both do.”

I nod, unable to speak as I stare unfocused at the end of the bed. Josephine seems to know I don’t want to talk, and she gives me another squeeze before heading out.

“I’ll get you something to eat and I’m sure one of the ladies has something you can wear,” she says, all pity replaced by the frank decisiveness she’d always run the household with.

When I’m alone, I let my head fall back with a clunk on the headboard. Josephine is right. Ashe and I both need time. Something that I may not have very much of.

1865

Cassandra

This vampire is certainly nothing like any others I’ve encountered. Warnings from my elders and my mother whisper in my mind. Vampires are creatures of death and the dark, never to be trusted. They are selfish, perverse, and delight in being cruel to others.

Yet this man, Ashe Halford, did not attack me when he sensed my true nature. In fact, when he thought I was no more than a human woman fallen to the ground, he’d turned his horse back to check on me.

Damn my clumsiness. I can’t go more than an hour before tripping over something, even if it’s simply my own feet. For years, my grandmother had thought spirits swirled around my feet and tried every charm and ward she could find. My mother had hoped I’d grow out of it. A daughter the age of ten and younger can be forgiven for such clumsiness, but once I’d begun bleeding and been declared a woman, it was an unforgivable trait in society’s eyes.

Had my family been common tradesmen, perhaps I wouldn’t have been considered such a disgrace. As it was, the O’Briens were an ancient lineage in the coven, and my father had been in line to lead the coven. I’d once explained it to a hedge witch I came across after leaving, that my father was basically the same rank as an earl in the human world. I was expected to be the perfect daughter, both in manners, grace, and spellcraft.

Instead, they got a daughter who preferred running through the forest with bare feet, dancing in storms, and playing with any fae creatures I could find. My magic is wild, something my family tried to overlook because of how much power I had.

But no punishment could break my wild heart and when I came of age, I made the choice to leave the coven. My mother, angry and ashamed of me, declared that if I left, I’d be erased from the family and could never return.

Better living in the wild, among the squirrels and deer, than dying in silks and jewels.

I’d stopped trying to force my magic to follow the stringent rules and rituals taught by my coven. I let my magic be free, allowed it to be as wild as the world I’d made my home.

I shushed the whispers of my past. Those voices had taught me so much I’ve already cast out. Why should this be any different?

“And we have arrived,” Ashe says, halting the mare. He’d introduced her as Lily Dancer and my magic told me she loved the name. From her easy, lovely gait, I know it’s an appropriate name. Before I can slide down, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me into his arms. My weight and, more surprisingly, my skirts don’t hamper him as he braces one arm under my knees and the other around my shoulders.

“Put me down!” I yelp but put my arms around his neck instinctively. “This really isn’t necessary.”

I glare at him, and when he turns his face to me, my expression falters. We’re so close, his golden eyes alive with mirth and his lips quirked in a grin. Long strands of brown hair have fallen across his brow and without thinking, I gently sweep them back.

Ashe isn’t classically handsome. His face is oval, and he has a bump on the bridge of his nose suggesting he’d broken it once as a human. His eyes are a bit too close together, but his lips are envy worthy. His features combined should make him look homely and forgettable.

Instead, just like he’d ignored my protests earlier, his features ignore expectation and create a face that’s impossible to ignore.

“My mother will roll in her grave if I allow someone to further injure themselves when there’s no need,” he replies, and as if the matter is settled, he looks to Lily Dancer’s reins, ensuring the mare won’t become entangled, before turning towards my cottage.

I purse my lips. I’m loath to admit it, but my ankle does hurt something fierce. However, even on threat of death, I will never admit that I’m enjoying being held.

I’ve lived alone for years, necessary because I age so much slower than the average human. It meant companionship was few and far between, and I never let a partner get too close. Which ensured the relationships never lasted long either.

That’s all this is, I decide. It’s been so long since my last lover that it’s only natural my stomach swoops with excitement as another waft of his scent fills my nose. It’s pure masculine warmth and promises. Petrichor and amber with the green notes of a summer meadow. I barely resist tucking my face against his neck and breathing deep.

“I can sense the wards,” he murmurs. I blink rapidly, coming back to the present. Right, wards. So creatures like him couldn’t pass.

I sketch a sigil in the air, verdant green magic flowing from my fingers like ink. It fades from view the moment the sigil is complete, leaving an impression similar to a firework disappearing from the night sky.

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