Page 3 of How to Dump a Vampire

The wind cut right through my cloak like shards of ice. I pushed on for gods know how long, each step heavier than the last as the drifts froze my legs. Thought I was tougher than some harmless frozen rain. Pride goeth, and all that.

Finally, my stubbornness gave out along with my weary limbs. Collapsed face first into the snow. Considered just lying there and letting the cold embrace take me. Would’ve been a disappointing end for a noble son of Trettera.

The last thing I recall is the world fading as icy tendrils crept through my veins instead of blood so howin blazes did I end up cozied by a fire in these snug quarters?

I catch movement from the corner of my vision. There’s a woman across the room with her back to me. Slim build, black long braided hair. She’s grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle, oblivious to my awakening.

Well, whaddya know? This woman must’ve rescued my sorry, half-frozen ass and hauled me back here to thaw me out. Seems I’m in her debt. Doesn’t sit right, owing some peasant a boon. If the boys back home heard about this, I’d never live it down.

As I shift to sit up, the wooden floor creaks under my weight. The woman’s head whips around, eyes wide. Whoa…those eyes. Bright emerald, keen as a hawk’s, with a gaze that bores right through your soul.

Those are not the dull, bovine eyes of a simple commoner. Intelligence glimmers in their depths, hinting at knowledge and talents far beyond what her plain garb suggests. The mysteries beheld in those eyes could swallow a man whole.

My body relaxes a smidge as I realize she can’t be the woman I’m looking for. Well, the one I was looking for when I got lost in the snow. A rumor claimed thata powerful vampire who was thought to be dead was hiding in this forest and was, in fact, alive. This can’t be her, though. While I never saw the woman who nearly tore down all of vampire noble society myself—I was too young to be involved at the time—her descriptions don’t match the woman before me.

“I see you’ve awoken at last,” she says, voice sweet as birdsong. “You’ve been asleep for almost three days. I wasn’t certain you would surv—“

Her words catch as my own eyes flash silver. It’s a trick vampires can do when our emotions run strong. Right now, hunger rages within me, so my gaze betrays the predator inside. My fangs itch to extend, to sample the lifeblood that flows so near…

Whoa there, down boy. Reel it in.Mustn’t lose control and repay my rescuer’s kindness by turning her into dinner, but gods above, her aroma is maddening. Like a fine vintage wine calling to me, whispering promises of succulent nourishment if I just embrace my true nature.

Get ahold of yourself, man. You’re Draven Valisar, esteemed prince of Trettera. Not some rabid fledgling who bites anything with a pulse. Have some class.

With immense effort, I suppress my baser urges. My eyes resume their normal icy gray, and my ivory fangs relax.

The woman’s guarded expression softens. She’s reassured I don’t mean imminent harm. Little does she know how narrowly she just avoided becoming a late-night snack.

“Pardon my distressing reaction,” I rasp out. My throat burns, parched as the desert realms far south from here. “It has been some time since sustenance of any kind has passed my lips.”

She nods in understanding and wordlessly brings me a steaming cup. I don’t ask what’s in it, just guzzle the contents down, too desperate to soothe this wretched thirst. Rich, velvety warmth slides down my throat, chasing the rawness away. Strangely, I feel my depleted reserves replenish just a bit, despite the drink not being blood.

As my more civilized bearing returns, I take a moment just to look at this woman who plucked me from death’s maw. Fair of form and delicate in her features, yet she possesses an undeniable strength. She’s clad in a simple woolen dress of forest green, adorned with embroidered vines and blossoms along the bodice andsleeves. A homespun apron protects her front, stained with hints of dried herbs and earth. Her feet are laced into leather boots lined with fur, little tufts peeking out the top, sensible for trudging through drifts. A knitted shawl of undyed wool, which she might have spun herself, wraps around her shoulders, its fringed edges swaying as she moves about.

At first glance, one might see a rural herbalist or cottage tender humble in appearance, but something stirs in me. She exudes confidence, and my instincts scream there is something more beyond her pastoral facade.

“What cruel twist of fate dropped me at your cottage door?” I ask, intrigued. “The gods surely steered me along an unusual path to have our lives intersect.”

She tenses at my probing, avoiding my gaze as she busies herself stacking firewood. “Merely chance. I only did as conscience demanded in sheltering a fellow soul battered by winter’s fury.”

Her careful words spark my curiosity further, ringing both true and false, and I can’t figure out why. She’s being evasive about herself and her reasons for aiding me. Something about her intrigues me to no end.

“Well then, you have my deepest gratitude for heeding conscience’s call, mysterious hermit lady,” I say with an exaggerated bow from my seat near the hearth. That gets a flicker of a smile from her somber lips. “May I know the name of the fair soul who plucked me from icy oblivion?”

She pauses, wary again. I half expect another deflecting response, but finally, she answers, “Thorn. Just Thorn will suffice.”

“Well met, Lady Thorn.” I dip my head respectfully, hoping to earn more of her trust.

“Donotcall me lady. Don’t go giving me titles that I want no part of.”

Interesting.

We regard each other in contemplative silence, two strangers brought together by improbable circumstances. She saved my life when she could’ve left me to perish. This doesn’t make sense. While I’m appreciative to not be a frozen husk left in the snow, this part of Treterra isn’t supposed to be inhabited. The forest is known to be wild and dangerous. Unless… surely our crossing paths is not mere happenstance.

The wind continues its relentless howling outside, rattling the shutters of the humble cottage. Afterhearing it deal me such merciless punishment on my journey, I find its haunted cries almost mocking as I rest safely by the fire.

“One more day of rest and nourishment will restore you well enough for the journey home. Besides, until the storm lets up, you wouldn’t make it more than a few feet before becoming lost and returning to the same state I found you in,” Thorn says as she brings me another cup of the revitalizing tea. Her tone brokers no argument.

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Your concern for my constitution is duly noted, my lady.”

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