Page 2 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

Her enforcers—those snarling shadows she calls loyal—are all turned vampires. Twisted creatures made, not born. The sun sears them to ash. But not me. Born into vampirism, I can endure its light.

It’s the one thing I have that they don’t.

If I can just hold out a little longer, survive the night—I’ll be free.

The branches overhead shift, rustling like hushed whispers of disapproval, and I catch a distant shout: the enforcers are close. My heart lurches, and my throat closes around a sob, but I choke it back.

I was never supposed to get out.

In the estate, everything was laid out for me—a role carved in polished stone.Be still. Be silent. Serve the clan.That’s what daughters are meant for in our world—daughters with fangs and pretty faces, born to strengthen alliances or decorate cages.

But I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. I’ve witnessed enough cruelty, enough innocent bloodshed to know that.

So I ran.

And now, I’ll pay the price.

You’re a fool, Aria.

But a fool is better than a monster. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Still, I force myself to stand. To move.

No more, no more…My lungs burn. My limbs feel stiff and awkward, as if I’m breaking apart at the seams.

“Just a little farther,” I promise myself, voice cracking.

But it isn’t hope that keeps me upright. It’s terror.

My mother's voice still echoes in my skull, smug and cold:"When you die out there, it will be your own doing."

Maybe so.

But I’ll die as myself.

Behind me, a branch cracks.

I bolt.

Please, just a little farther.The ground dips, and I tumble down a short embankment, landing hard on my bad shoulder. The impact sends a scream ripping through my throat. My vision blooms with white-hot stars, before fading into blackness that nibbles at the edges of my vision.

Get up. If you stay down, you die.So I drag myself upright, chest heaving.

I trip forward, each step half a stumble. The sense of being hunted closes in on me, pressing like a physical weight.

Ahead, the trees thin out just enough to let a sliver of moonlight spill onto a small clearing. My breath rattles with relief, though the clearing is hardly a refuge.If I can just make it past this ridge, maybe I can find a place to hide.

Another half-choked laugh. The plan is shaky at best—more dream than strategy—but it’s all I’ve got.

My body screams in protest, but I force myself across the open patch of moonlight. It feels like stepping onto a stage in front of a silent crowd, vulnerable and exposed. The distant baying of pursuit echoes through the trees, fueling my ragged sprint. Each step sends jolts of agony through my wounded shoulder, but still, I run.

The ground slopes downward, thick roots clawing up from the earth like skeletal hands, but I don’t slow—Ican’t. My lungs burn, each gasp tasting of moss and cold night air. Branches whip against my face, tearing at my clothes, but I barely feel them over the throbbing wound in my shoulder.

The forest thins, trees growing sparser, their twisted fingers giving way to scattered stones and rotting logs.

And then… I see them. The ruins.

Ancient stone arches jut from the ground like broken ribs, twisted and half-swallowed by ivy. Vines creep up cracked pillars, and the shattered remnants of windows glint under the moonlight. I’ve only seen them from afar before, warned by the elders that the land was cursed, forsaken. That no blood runs clean where the gods once wept.

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