Page 3 of Shadows of Fate

Their home was neat and orderly. A soft beige color on the walls, shoes by the front door, and plants in the corner before a stairwell. I walked down the front hallway toward where the voices were coming from. Passing a living area and a bathroom, I came into the kitchen and found thehappilymarried couple there.

A small woman with short blonde hair and pale skin was on the floor, her lip bleeding and her right eye swelling shut as I glanced over toward her. A man stood above her. He was taller than both Odette and me. Also blond, his hair was down to his shoulders and stringy. His eyes sunken in and haggard. He clearly drank too much if his smell was any indication, but thankfully I knew he’d taste better than he smelled. They always did.

Walking silently up behind him, I could tell when Odette saw me. Her eyes grew wider, and she raised her hand as if to point at me. I quickly shook my head at her. I was doing this for her after all. She may or may not have seen it that way, though. Some of the victims did, and some didn’t. But that was their cross to bear, not mine.

Oh Fates, I was having a ball of fun already.

I reached up and slowly ran my nails down the back of his neck. He immediately stood upright and whipped around to look down at me. His eyes widened for a brief moment before he composed himself. Putting on the facade of a powerful man of the house.

“Do you enjoy hurting the woman you vowed to protect?” I asked quietly, a question truly only for the two of us.

“Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?” he yelled at me—although I was a stranger in his home, so I couldn’t blame him much.

I laughed at the notion that he thought I’d fear his screaming like poor Odette always has. Odette had reason to worry, though. As a human woman against such a man, she was vulnerable and easily broken. The pathetic excuse for a male she called her husband wouldn’t find the same was true for me—not anymore.

“How I got in should be the least of your concerns.” I winked at him and then punched him in the mouth, rendering him unconscious on the kitchen floor. I decided I did want to have some fun first after all. This town isn’t too tragic a place to stay for a bit.

I looked down at his wife. “If you want to stay and get a few hits in, just let me know. Otherwise feel free to continue forth on your merry way, Odette. You’re free to do as you please.” I dropped a small bag of coins in front of her. It was plenty enough if she wanted to leave and start over, or just to cover her costs for a while without her husband around.

“W-w-who are you?” she muttered through tears. I’m not sure if they were happy and grateful tears, or if she was going into shock. Honestly, I didn’t have the time or empathy to coach her through the latter. I just wanted to enjoy my meal.

I smiled, showing off a hint of my fangs. “Just call me the angel of feminine retribution, darling.”

Chapter3

Buttercup

Silvana

The man slowly came back to consciousness to find me sitting on the floor in front of him, smiling. His wife had taken the bag of coins I’d left her and ran. Not from me so much as from this life and him, it seemed. I don’t know if she thought I was going to kill him, or maybe just injure him? No clear idea. But she left, and for that, I was proud of her.

It wasn’t easy leaving behind everything you knew. Most of the time, leaving the familiar is the hardest part—no matter how terrible the familiar may feel.

I rose to my feet and slowly walked around the wooden chair I had him sitting on. He wasn’t tied up or anything—at least not at that moment. I should have probably learned his name, but then again… I didn’t care. So why bother? He’d be dead soon anyway. Fuel to get me home.

Maybe I’d make up a name for him. That was a fun idea.

Just something to call him. Something to bother him with. Set him on edge.

Ideas. Doll face. Sweetie. Buttercup could be fun. Something like a flower. Soft and feminine, like his sad and pathetic ego.

He finally opened his eyes fully as he looked down to realize he wasn’t restrained. He quickly tried to jump to his feet, but that wouldn’t do for what I had planned for our evening together. Grabbing his shoulders from behind, I slammed him back down onto the chair.

“Now, now,Buttercup, the fun is just getting started. You can’t head out just yet.” I walked around the front of the wooden chair and crouched down in front of him while placing my hands atop his. His arms were laid across the chair’s armrests and he gripped the ends so hard his knuckles turned white.

Slowly, I ran my hands down his forearms, letting my magic flow through me and into him. One thing I was reborn with, gifted, some would say, was ice magic. I didn’t know how or why, butsomeof the vampires were reborn into their next life with gifts. Ice magic, shadow magic, necromancy, the power to shift into an animal, or grow wings, and so on. Only the Fates-blessed were given something, so only the blessed ruled over one of the four courts and their covens.

Sometimes someone was reborn with nothing but the basics a vampire was given—increased strength, speed, vision, and hearing. Plus, the inability to enjoy getting a tan and the ridiculous hunger for blood.

It wasn’t known how it was decided—some thought it had to do with who turned you and their sire line. As if it may act like a family line did for humans. Some thought each new child of Ernesia was picked by the Fate herself. Personally, I didn’t care. I’d never wanted power. I’d just wanted revenge—thankfully the power made it easier, though. I stayed out of court politics and flew under the radar. Something about the inner courts always made me want to run the other way. As if being in the spotlight was a death sentence.

Back to my task at hand, I didn’t want to kill Buttercup just yet—just keep him somewhat still for the fun I had planned. Freezing his hands and arms to the chair felt like a good way to do so. I smirked as he started screaming. I’d gathered over the years that this was somewhat painful for humans. Good thing I didn’t exactly like this human very much.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Buttercup. Does that hurt?” I asked in my fakest whiny voice as I stuck my bottom lip out into a pouting position.

“You stupid bitch, yes!” he screamed, trying to rip himself from the chair.

I laughed—I truly couldn’t help myself. He wasn’t going anywhere. I’d already frozen the legs of the chair to the ground ahead of time, so he couldn’t even fall over if he wanted to.

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