Page 19 of Blood Coven

Alina smiled. She brushed a strand of hair from Red’s face, pushing it behind her ear. The gentle touch sent sparks through Red, but she remained motionless as if any movement would scare Alina away like a deer. Then, Alina kissed her; a soft kiss, much like the night before, around the fire, only sweeter without anyone watching. Their lips fit perfectly. Alina’s were warm and smooth, while Red’s were dry and inexperienced.

Overhead, a raven watched them unnoticed.

When Alina broke away, her eyes were cast downwards. “They do not understand, and people fear what they do not understand.”

“I…” Red stammered, touching Alina’s cheek and lifting her face to look at her. “I understand.”

“If anyone finds out…” Alina whispered, trailing off.

“They won’t.” Red felt bold. The kiss empowered her. Witchcraft empowered her. “You’re protected, hopefully not from… all love… They won’t find out because I will not let them.”

Alina looked right into Red’s soul. “I won’t let the Wolf take you.”

“Let him take me if we cannot be together,” Red whispered.

Smiling, Alina kissed her again.

* * *

A fortnight passed, and Red forgot about the Wolf. Swept up in her newfound friendships and what she began to consider love, Red’s confidence grew. They did not meet every evening, and when she saw neither her Coven nor Alina, she found herself walking home alone from her grandmother’s nurturing a growing hatred for her family. Very little had changed in her life, but Red had changed.

As she made her way home, darkness fell. Without her friends by her side, Red did not feel as assured the woods wouldn’t reach out for her with long tendril-like branches and pull her in forever. The moment she crossed the town line, she felt as close to relaxed as she could. The lanterns outside the few homes she passed were lit—a sign to the children that they should be home. Mud squelched beneath her shoes; they would need a good washing when she got home.

Leaping over a puddle from the rain three days before, she landed with both feet and looked ahead to see where she was going. Her home in the distance was hard to see, with only one window showing any sign of light. A single candle lit a whole room, as if someone was trying to keep their actions a secret.

Red cocked her head to the side. It is only suppertime, why were there no other lights on? Suddenly the door opened, though neither parent appeared. There was nothing in the darkness of the open doorway, and Red stepped backward into the puddle she had leaped over.

Though she could see nothing, Red felt the energy creeping toward her like a gust of wind. It was not like the power she felt from the Earth, but something evil. As it crept closer, blowing out the lanterns as it flew by, Red froze, unable to move a muscle.

The invisible energy hit her hard in the chest, spreading through her veins like sharp needles, starting from her core, expanding through her limbs, and out through her fingers. It lodged itself inside her body, attaching to her like a parasite, and Red’s eyes rolled back in her head. Her head fell backward at a painful angle, her spine bending, her hands extending out to the side. She convulsed, then closed in on herself, her head snapping forward so she faced the ground. She could not scream, despite the pain and terror. Her shoulders were hunched, her knees bent like a feral beast; her back heaved with heavy breaths.

Then she stood, drawing herself up to her full height, turning around and striding toward the forest with a bewitched gait. Unable to stop herself, knowing she had been sacrificed, Red could not even weep.

12

OCLEAU

THE YEAR OF THE CURSE

ANA

Ana sat on her bed in her modest two-bedroom home, passed down for generations in her family. She scanned the empty log walls. The lack of personalization mimicked her life: empty. Her family was gone, her husband did not count, and she would have no children.

Looking down at her belly, she winced. She knew she would not carry on the family line; it would die with her. Being barren was not the worst thing for Ana, though she knew many women saw it as a curse and suffered a deep, impenetrable sadness because of it. Ana saw it as a gift, for she saw too many women die during birth and too many babies die before their first year—winter killed more than illness. She never wanted Blaez’s child.

Finally, she rose and dressed, donning a thick brown skirt and simple white blouse. Then she brushed her hair, leaving it loose. After feeding the livestock, tending to the fire, and making herself something to eat, Ana set out to find Matthias. She was worried people would talk if they saw them together again, but she had no choice. She needed someone with power to start them down this dangerous path. That someone was Azalea Luca.

Matthias was easy to find at the market, his tall, burly stature similar to Blaez’s. She immediately gravitated towards him when she spotted him, but stopped before she looked too obvious. She pretended to smell soaps and consider the small selection of fruits being sold. She kept herself occupied for an appropriate time, then decided to make contact in a subtle way. Surrounded by townsfolk, gossip would spread like wildfire if anyone thought they were having an affair.

What we are doing is so much worse.

She walked up to the cart where Matthias stood, feeling an apple for bruises. She joined him in studying the quality of the fruit, palming her own apple to feel its firmness.

“I have an answer,” Ana whispered, keeping her voice low enough that the nearby merchant could not hear her. “We should speak in private.”

“The cemetery?” he asked. He grabbed another apple and squeezed it gently, then tossed it in the basket he carried.

Ana shook her head. “Somewhere more private. My home.”

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