Page 2 of Fated Blood

The stories about my father’s love for Mother are my bedtime stories. Even now, when I’m too grown for baby stories, I still replay them in my head as I go to sleep. Although while I enjoy the tale of a love that surpasses time, what I adore the most is watching them together. I smile into my pillow. The way he holds her, the gentleness in his caress, his kisses on her temple. That’s true love.

That’s the backdrop to my childhood.

Even when Father is drawn away for business, as he calls it, Mother never lets me get sad. We dance barefoot in the kitchen, drinking blood from her fanciest glasses and playing dress up with the gowns Father brings. Fitting my smaller feet into her heels, I walk around the house and scrape the wood floors with every step. There are only smiles from Mother, happiness and cuddling at night.

Stories and plays and books for days, it was a childhood that was as magical as it was cherished. One that was over as fast as everything else I do. Mother, who’s a teacher, taught me to read and write before I was taller than her knee. I was devouring fantastical love stories before I budded into a woman, but nothing compared to the love between my parents.

My heart yearns for that kind of connection, and although I’m so happy, so loved, and I want for nothing but to live my life with my wonderful parents forever, a sadness crept in.

A…loneliness.

The books showed so many people, spoke about friendship. I started to wonder about the other people out there. My questions stretched out, became more and more insistent. Father started to look concerned. Mother frowned and begged Father for more. They never told me what ‘more’ was.

Not until the best day of my life.

I realize I’m hugging the pillow now, my grin far more than a smile of contentment. My life, the one I thought couldn't get any better, bloomed and opened like a budding rose the day Mara and June arrived. Every few days, they visited and we’d spend the day having tea and laughing and talking about the latest book we’d read. Mara quickly became the center of my universe, and I didn't care when Mother and June would have conversations in hushed and urgent tones. I had a friend, nothing else in the world mattered.

Sleep tugs at my consciousness, warm and comforting. I welcome it, allowing my mind to wander through its plentiful, happy memories. I can barely remember life without Mara, and as we both became women, we shared our most secret desires. Mara told me secrets, and sometimes I helped her solve problems she couldn’t solve alone. One time, I talked to a stranger through a box. Mara said I saved lives, but I think this is just all a fun game she made up for me. I love her for it.

I sigh, feeling sleep finally pulling me under, wrapped in this cocoon of contentment and happiness. I have everything I could ever need.

Life is simply…perfect.

* * *

I’m torn from sleep by three things.

The violent crash of lightning.

The sound of a scream.

And a slash of intense pain.

I shoot up, screaming, only then realizing that's a sound I’ve never made before. Neither have I ever felt this thudding, frantic feeling gripping my chest.

Lightning flashes again, blazing my room with light. Beyond my window I register black clouds twisting and writhing, as if they’re in pain. A monstrous cracking shatters the air, and I watch, wide eyed, as the old pine I used to climb thrashes, tips, then crashes to the ground. Torn straight from the soil.

“Mother!” I cry, leaping out of bed. “Father!”

The frantic, out of control feeling propels me as I run out of the room. Except the whole house is eerily quiet. No Mother. No Father. No servants, no bustling cooks in the kitchen to feed the humans. I search the entire house, calling out for my parents, calling for June and Mara. No answer comes.

But the terrifying roar beyond the walls of the house is only becoming louder. No, not just a roar. Wails pierce it, cries puncture it. The screams, the sound I’d never heard before this day, are coming closer.

I run outside barefoot, the raging rain and wind whipping at my long braid, soaking me the moment I step out. I look up at the sky and see bodies, men and women darting through the clouds with great, bat-like wings. The screams are so loud I have to cover my ears. Blood is falling from the sky, but it was not the blood we drink. This is blood that reminds me of my own when I bleed every month.

This is the blood of vampires.

“No!” Mother screams.

My head snaps to the right, facing the impenetrable line of trees I’ve never gone to. I never needed to. Mother is there, her blonde hair plastered to her back as she holds her arms out toward the trees. There’s a line of winged ones stepping out, raising their hands and pressing forward slowly.

“Mother!” I cry.

Her head turns to me so fast that her hair whips a spray of water. Her eyes are horrified, tears streaming down her face. She’s screaming something but I can’t make out the words. She falters, fear tearing her focus away from keeping the enemy back as she reaches for me, and the vampires rush forward. A woman grabs Mother’s neck and squeezes, her eyes filled with so much evil that the smile on her lips only makes her look scarier.

I’m running, trying to get to Mother, as the winged woman pushes her to her knees. She’s speaking to her, eyes flashing with a dangerous victory, and they both look at me in unison. I stop in my tracks, fear freezing me in place. My hands are twisted in my nightgown, holding the wet and muddy edges off the ground, my hair so wet that it sticks to me as it’s torn from my braid.

“I love you, Fayla!” Mother screams.

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