-Ruik-

  Branches whipped past as I tore through the forest, the red light swelling ahead like a wound on the horizon. The scream came again, shrill, then cut short. My boots pounded the moss and roots, breath ragged, the air thick with smoke.

  I broke through the treeline.

  Below me, Dunkarr burned.

  The chapel roof had already collapsed, spitting fire into the night. Orange glow devoured thatched cottages and cast black silhouettes across the fields. I could see figures running, some human, some not. The Dawnsworn were nowhere in sight.

  “By the dawn…” I breathed, voice trembling. My body moved before thought caught up. Down the slope, through the smoke, into the chaos.

  A woman stumbled from a doorway clutching a child. A dark figure descended on her, fangs glinting. My dagger flashed through the air before the vampire even saw me coming. It buried itself in the creature’s temple; the woman screamed as both fell into the dirt.

  “Run!” I shouted, wrenching my weapon free. The woman obeyed, disappearing into the haze.

  Another figure lunged from the shadows. I ducked, spun, and drove my knee into its chest. The crack of bone followed. I finished the strike with a clean, practiced thrust under the jaw. The vampire twitched once and fell limp.

  The air was alive with distant shrieks, men, women, beasts, and worse. The scent of ash and blood churned in my throat. Every heartbeat thudded like a hammer.

  I could barely see through the smoke when I heard it, Jarold’s voice shouting somewhere down the main road.

  “Ruik! Over here!”

  I sprinted toward the sound, turning a corner just in time to see Jarold dragging a limp Dawnsworn brother toward cover. Tom stood behind them, blade raised, peering into the dark at shadows that moved too fast to follow.

  “What happened?” I demanded, sliding beside them.

  “Decoy patrol!” Jarold spat, his face streaked with soot. “We chased them into the forest, fledglings, we thought. When we turned back, this—” He gestured to the flames. “They knew we’d be gone.”

  Tom gripped his dagger, hand shaking. “Thorn... he ran ahead to save Myrren.”

  A crash split the air, a massive beam from the chapel tower crashed into the square. Sparks rained like fiery snow. Through the blaze, more figures emerged, cloaked in darkness, their eyes burning cold blue.

  “We’re overrun.” I gasped. “Gather any you can find and get out of here! I’ll look for Thorn and Myrren.”

  Jarold and Tom hesitated.

  I shouted. “I said move, now!”

  They nodded as they dragged our wounded comrade, eyes saying goodbye as they reflected the fiery haze in their haste.

  I sprinted toward my cottage. My heart pounded harder than my feet, not from fear, but hope. Maybe they were still alive. I dipped and dived through burning wreckage, no regard for myself, my body gathering scrapes and gashes along the way.

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  I pushed through the last obstacles in the alley next to my home until I skid in front of the door.

  The once proud cottage sagged, coughing sparks into the night. Two forms lay sprawled in its doorway, faces lost beneath ash, the stench of charred flesh clinging to me like a curse.

  My breath lost, heart sinking beneath my feet, voice cracking like my vocals had nearly disappeared. “No...”

  My pale hair whipped across a tear-streaked face, catching firelight like fragile threads of flame. Eyes sharp, hollow, faintly glowing, embers struggling to survive the night.

  Veined forearms flexed as my fingers gripped the hilt of my dagger, now trembling with fear and fury. I knelt beside them, reaching towards what was left, remnants of the ones who raised me, now burnt together in their last embrace, two feint coals of their former selves.

  An overwhelming sense of guilt flooded my lungs, the pain of the loss threatening to drown my soul.

  I abandoned them.

  I should have been there.

  Too selfish to save them.

  My time to mourn was cut short. The fine hairs on my arms rose. Tingling ran up my neck, nerves sparking.

  A sharp twang behind me. Instinct. I whipped my head, raised my dagger, blade slammed against my guard above the hilt. Sparks flew. Dagger knocked loose, arcing into a flaming window.

  “How could I be so careless?” My blood thundered in my ears as I rested on one knee.

  A hooded figure crouched five paces ahead of me. Clad in dark leather, broad in build, he radiated menace. His eyes burned bright blue, and a thin, curved blade gleamed in his right hand. He broke the silence with a fanged grin, voice slick with malice.

  “So, this is the hunter that lives among sheep?” he sneered.

  Before either of us could move or make a sound, a delicate yet piercing voice cut through the chaos.

  “Enough, Drazan!”

  Ten paces behind Drazan, she stood. A small, dark figure, hood shadowing her face, revealing only piercing, glowing, blue eyes. Strands of jet-black hair slipped like smoke from beneath the hood. Her leather-clad frame clung like a second skin. The air shifted around her. The flames bent, flickering low as if bowing. Even the smoke seemed to hesitate.

  “He’s mine. I claimed him first, Rivulet. Find your own hunter,” Drazan replied, pride lacing every word.

  Her jaw clenched, the flames reflecting off eyes that once knew this kind of loss. “You’ve gone too far. We were supposed to bring him in, not burn the entire village.”

  Ash drifted between them, black as snow. Intrigue, not anger, filled my mind. I should have struck, but her gaze tugged at a memory buried deep, a flicker of something once lost.

  I blinked.

  Hesitated.

  Heart hammering.

  “Not my fault you arrived to the party late. You’ve always had a soft spot for the helpless, Rivulet.” Replied Drazan as he turned his focus back to me. “What good is a hunter without a weapon?”

  He began circling slowly, sword leveled at me, eyes gleaming with sadistic anticipation.

  “Time to end this,” he continued, voice dripping venom, “just like I ended your vermin parents and those pathetic Dawnsworn. They squealed, you know. Squealed as I ran them through. Your father, he laid there as I drained your mother. I still have his blood on my blade and hers on my lips”

  My gaze shifted upward, locking on Rivulet, jaw tight, every muscle coiled. Drazan continued his slow, menacing circle, his tongue tracing his mouth, until he finally stopped, standing directly in front of me once more, sword poised, intent clear.

  “Don’t fret, my child. I’ll suck you dry as—”

  Rivulet flinched.

  Before Drazan could finish, my right hand shot out, seizing the blade. Drazan froze, stunned, as blood began coating the metal. With my left hand, I reached for my boot and drew a hidden dagger.

  I rose, still gripping the blade tight.

  “A hunter always has another weapon.”

  I drove the dagger toward the right side of Drazan’s neck. Drazan slammed his left palm up to block, but the blade sank through his hand, pinning it to his throat.

  A blood-curdling gasp escaped him. “Wait… I—”

  He never finished. I shoved the dagger forward, slicing through the pinned hand and into the back of his neck, severing the spinal cord. Drazan went limp, collapsing to his knees, his grip on the blade lost. I flipped Drazan’s weapon in my hand, catching it by the hilt, immediately pointing it at him, eyes blazing with the hunter’s fury.

  “For my family, and for the Dawnsworn.” I growled, as I swung the blade toward the left side of Drazan’s neck. His eyes watched as his own weapon sliced towards him with a quick and sudden hissing sound.

  The blade came down in a single motion. When Drazan’s head hit the dirt, the world went quiet. Only the fire spoke. I didn’t feel triumph, only the echo of the monster inside me whispering, More.

  As the thud echoed from Drazan’s head hitting the ground, blood fountained from his neck, dark arcs staining the floor. When it finally slowed, I expected to see Rivulet still standing where she had been, but she was gone.