Page 3 of A Heart Of Bitter Poison
I know this dream. I’ve dreamed this dream so many times. But it’s not just a dream, it’s a memory. And like so many vampire memories, it’s one that likes to surface when it’s hungry for a piece of my soul, rising like a creature from the great unfathomable depths of the sea.
I see a cabin ahead, a lantern flickering within. I followed a man back here, a man I overheard in the tavern boasting about how he’d caught a witch and he planned to make her suffer. He was loud, brazen. Seeking attention. He roamed from the bar to several tables, telling his tale to disinterested patrons. No one believed him. He could barely hold his pint of ale upright, so who would?
But I did.
Something about the gleam in his eyes… the scent of him. The way his heart thrummed faster with his words. I smelled it. Adrenaline. Anticipation.
I smelled truth.
And now, at the cabin set back far from the road, I watch him climb the steps, each thud of his feet on the groaning, uneven planks cutting through the still air. He means for the sound to be heard. He means to terrify whoever is locked inside.
The man thumps his way further into the shadow of the moon with every step he ascends. But I have liquid patience in my blood, don’t forget. I have time to spare. So, I wait. I stand unmoving until he makes it to the landing of the porch. When he finally thunks his heavy boot onto the last step, wavering on his bowed legs, I bend and throw a pinecone against the side of the house. It hits far to the left of the door, obscured by the dark.
The man lurches to a halt and looks in the direction of the sound. He sways a little on his feet.
I throw another to the same spot.
“Who’s there?” he calls into the night, staggering a few steps toward the sound.
He never sees me leap from the dark, clearing the steps like a phantom. He never hears me land behind him, silent on my bare feet. I creep right up to him, so close I could count every wiry hair on the back of his neck. He smells of whiskey and sweat. Unwashed linen. And a woman, her scent a mix of sage and starlight.
I feel the anger bubble in my chest. It’s always struck me as ironic that a man like this can be so disgusting and yet so delicious. And he fits all the criteria to become one of my meals. Not that there are many.
I lean toward the back of his neck and blow a thin stream of air across his skin from pursed lips. His hand darts to the sensation and he ducks, spinning.
“Boo.”
I clip the human in the temple with my fist and he crashes onto the porch. It takes only two unconscious breaths before his thick, floppy throat starts rumbling an ungodly snore into the night.
I roll my eyes, then I bend to pick up his ankle and drag him into the cottage.
The single-room cabin is lit with lanterns, the light flickering across the thick planks of a table and the quilts that cover the chairs and the bed. I hear a scuttling noise in the shadow of the corner and see the witch trying to melt into its sharp angles. She’s tied with magical bonds, looking fierce and suspicious, like a trapped and vicious creature about to bite off a limb. I hear the blood quicken through the chambers of her heart. I can smell the bruises beneath her skin, the sweat and grime on her clothes. She glares at me with ebony eyes, daring me to come closer.
“Hello,” I say.
She says nothing, only narrows her eyes at me. I like her already.
“I’m Leucosia. And you are?..”
She looks at me for a long moment, unsure of whether to trust me with something as important as a name. She must see something worthy because her eyes soften just a little.
“Ediye,” she finally replies.
“Do you happen to know this piece of shit?” I ask, tugging the man’s ankle up to the height of my shoulder and waving it around.
“He’s the one who caught me.”
I look down at the man and back to the witch again. Her midnight skin glistens in the flickering lantern light. I can sense the power of magic in her, and I wonder how an idiot drunkard like this could have captured someone like Ediye. But when I look more deeply into her eyes, I see pain and loss beneath the fear and rage. There is grief. There is a well of it so deep that its waters are heated by the core of the earth.
Humans may be weak, but there are still ways to catch an immortal, even ones that contain immense power. A bait that could not be refused. An exchange to save someone she loved, perhaps. Something horrible held over her as an incentive. Something he likely still stole from her even when she promised to comply. A sin for which he should suffer.
“Want to have some fun?” I say, trying to keep my smile from growing too wide.
The witch looks at the man. Rage and disgust are fierce in her eyes. Her gaze collides with mine in a wicked grin. “I do.”
“We will be great friends, Ediye. I just know it.”
Ediye... Ediye…I move my lips but the sound never comes. For a moment, I’m confused. Why can’t I hear my voice?
