Page 40 of Blood Coven

“That he…you defile them and eat them afterward.” Red blushed at how silly it sounded. This man is no real killer; just because he’s murdered bloodlines, there isn’t a bone in his body that wanted to.

Another wave of guilt hit her as she remembered where she was taking him and the reason why she dragged him along like a dog on a leash, pulling tight so the chain dug into his throat and suffocated him. Maybe she was no different from everyone else who came before her.

He let out an ugly chuckle, full of disgust. “Marie Dalca lived in Ocleau for forty-three years before her death of old age. Gabriela Sala lived for twenty-three before she died of the plague. Magda Funar lived for sixty-seven years, one town over. Narcisa Balan disappeared from this ugly town with a young man, they married and had several children. I don’t touch them. I don’t do anything except give them something better in life, a way out from the family that would give them up to have me murder for them. Cowards. All of them.”

“I did not know…”

“They never consider for a moment that maybe I do not like the killing, the spilling of innocent—or not so innocent—blood. I’ve killed fathers, mothers, children, infants... I look at my hands and see they are stained. They will always be stained. The only way I can sleep—when I do manage to sleep—is by knowing that the sacrificed lead the best lives they can because of me. I do not take all the credit, no, but I do help them.” Anger dripped from his words.

“Is that why you are helping me?” she asked.

He glared at her. “I may not be innocent, and I am far from being righteous, but what you are asking me to do is evil. You’re asking me to kill by choice.”

Red looked ahead and spotted the familiar house, overpowering her, so she felt insignificant under its gaze. “You saved all those girls—why can’t you see this as saving me?”

“I can get you out of this town…”

“I said I would tell you what I would do with my freedom. I would bring peace to Silvania. I don’t want to leave and start a new life elsewhere; I want to rid the town of its evil and let something else bloom from the ashes. We have to change. We must make them see. Do you understand? For all of us, for you…it must change. My story is not new.”

“As long as I am here, the town will never stop being evil,” he muttered.

Silence lingered as they stood before the house, knowing what came next.

27

OCLEAU

THE YEAR OF THE CURSE

BLAEZ

Returning home was always troublesome for Blaez. He never knew how Ana would be when he returned: pleased to see him back with meat and furs carried over his shoulders or displeased that he was still alive and hadn’t been mauled during his hunt? She was unpredictable, but so long as he stayed out of her way, he could get through unscathed. One wrong word, one wrong action, and she would unleash her fury upon him.

The fields of their land—her land—came into sight. Spiderwebs glittered in the morning dew, and stretched over the fences. His verdant eyes surveyed the frost that coated the grass, making it look almost blue in the sunlight. In the distance, he could see the goats and cows. They seemed in high spirits, better than himself. The simplest of animals lived the happiest of lives, he thought. Only humans could suffer as much as they do, as though they want it. Maybe that was why I stay with Ana—to suffer is to be alive.

The knobby legs of the deer hung over either shoulder, his hands clutching onto its muscular haunches. Blaez walked with a slow grace through the field, avoiding his own animals to keep from spooking them with the scent of death in the air. Overhead, a weak plume of smoke rose from the chimney, suggesting Ana was home. The white color blended into the clouds, letting him know the fire had long gone out.

His chest constricted as he approached their home. He wondered what Ana would do when he told her he was leaving her, and the thought made him stop in his tracks. Suddenly the weight of the deer became too heavy, and he dropped to a knee to collect himself. Why do I come back? Why do I always come back? He mocked himself for not being man enough to leave. Coward. The word throbbed in his skull.

With a grunt of exertion, he climbed back to his feet and went to the overhang on the west side of the house, where his tools for skinning hung against the wall. Their polished glint winked at him. He took pride in his work, in his ability and skill at many trades. But still, the thump of the corpse as he unloaded it onto the table weighed heavy on his heart. He stroked the coarse hair over the beast’s torso. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Blaez went to work, setting out a bucket to collect the viscera, then removing its fur and skin with his paring knife. He hung the thin layer of skin over taut strings to dry, then trimmed each cut with careful precision. Butchering the deer took a long time, and though it was filthy work, it calmed Blaez enough to face Ana and the domestic troubles that often awaited him at home. Using a metal basin filled with icy water, he washed the blood from his hands, though they would remain a reddish tint for a few days, then splashed the cold water over his dirty, bearded face. Using a clean knife, Blaez tidied himself up, shaving to reveal the soft flesh hidden beneath his beard.

He opened his front door with cautious silence and was greeted with the pungent stench of sickness. His nose wrinkled as his eyes surveyed the room. He noted an untouched pot of tea, the leaves bloated and swollen, giving off the scent of faded mint and lavender. It was not enough to cover the stench. Something was very wrong. Maybe, he thought bitterly with a hint of excitement, Ana is dead. Disgusted by his thoughts, he quickly headed toward the bedroom.

He found Ana in the bed, shivering on her side with a bucket of vomit, some of it caked on her cheek. Blaez was immediately pummeled with guilt over leaving her for a week and allowing her to fall sick while he was away. If he had been home, he might have been able to prevent her from falling ill. Perhaps she had overexerted herself or exposed herself to the elements when Blaez should have been there to do it instead.

“Ana.”

She barely stirred at his voice.

“I’m so sorry. I should never have left,” he said. An unusual sense of superiority suddenly came over him; Ana deserved to fall ill for all she had done. But smugness did not come naturally to him, and it faded fast. It was overpowered by his need to help her, as he had done so many times before.

A memory hit suddenly, a different time, a different illness…

He had returned home in a similar fashion, filthy from hunting but with the spoils of a successful trip. He entered the house to greet the scent of blood, strong and bitter to his nostrils. He found Ana sitting on the bed. Blood drenched the blankets, covering her hands held between her legs up to the wrists. She took a few moments to notice him. Her stare was so blank, he wasn’t sure if she saw him or if she was so overpowered by grief. She’d lost a child they hadn’t even known she carried.

He tried to comfort her then, but she clawed at him. The attack only lasted a few seconds before she collapsed into him. He carried her to the tub and bathed her, washing all the blood away, but he could not wash away her pain. He could not erase the sorrow she carried inside her after that.

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