The carriage rolled at a brisk pace down the forest road. At sporadic intervals, the coach hit bumps in the old dirt roadway, jostling the riders within. “It’s getting dark, Father. How much farther to the outpost?” The young woman of nineteen had tried to keep the fear from her voice, but it crept in, like the night around them.
“We will be there soon; we’re within a mile of the compound. Don’t worry, Rose, The Guard patrols these roads. We will be safe.” William stretched out his tall muscular frame and ran his hand through his silvering golden-blonde hair. He tried to comfort her with his confident façade, letting his aging features relax with exaggerated boredom, but his reassuring words and actions did nothing to calm her fears.
“Angela, can you hand me that blanket?” Elizabeth asked the young woman next to her. Angela was three years older than Elizabeth, but the resemblance was astonishing. Her eyes were the only feature that was a contrast to Elizabeth; Angela’s were a vivid green like their father, while Elizabeth’s were a bright, cool blue. Angela handed the blanket to her with a strained smile.
Elizabeth wrapped it around the dozing child sitting next to her. Brianna was a carbon copy of Elizabeth, long, dark honey-colored hair, soft ivory skin, coral-colored lips, wrapped in the frame of a nine-year-old. She leaned against the carriage wall sleepily, waking with each bump, and then falling quickly back into the rhythmic breathing of a child’s carefree slumber.
“Father, we should’ve stopped at that last village for the night.” Michael leaned his well-toned frame forward, trying unsuccessfully to scan the trees for danger. “It would’ve been safer for the girls.”
Michael was barely a minute older than Elizabeth, and his reference to their safety made her smile despite herself. He was hardly a carbon copy of his twin. He looked like their father, instead of their mother, and he was tall, his hair gleaming a golden-blonde against his bronze skin, his eyes the same vivid green as their older sister and father.
William winced at the reminder of their earlier argument. It was not often that his son openly disputed his decisions, but this time had been the worst. It seemed silly to William for his son to overreact to his insistence on continuing to the outpost. “You kids worry too much. Rose can fight as well as either of us. After ten years, I’m still getting an earful from your Aunt Lucinda for that fact.” He smiled proudly at his middle daughter, but Elizabeth did not share his mirth. Many things stalked in the dark, and a woman with a sword—or a man for that matter—would not so easily intimidate some of them.
“I’m not letting a thrown shoe delay us any more than it has already,” the older man continued, bothered by their lack of confidence in his decision. “Your aunt will be livid with us having to stop at the outpost. If we leave there at dawn, we will be in Exeter before lunch, and I will be able to take leave within the hour with the excuse of making it home before sunset.”
He smiled at the cleverness of his detour, knowing that if he had to stay longer than necessary with that woman, he would go insane. It would be maddening having to listen to her constant bickering about them arriving late, for the hour required to keep up the pretenses of politeness.
“And maybe one of your sisters will find a nice soldier to bring home with them. That would certainly deflate your aunt’s conniving mannerism!” Their father’s teasing remark brought about a chorus of protesting from the older girls and gleeful laughter from Michael.
The bloodcurdling screams of Gregory, the coachman, and Jeffrey, the footman, broke through the night, silencing the entire coach, and sending Brianna scampering into Elizabeth’s lap, blanket forgotten on the floor. Michael was immediately on his feet, drawing his sword carefully in the enclosed space.
As soon as the rapier cleared the scabbard, a delicate white arm—fringed at the forearm in cream-colored lace—reached through the window at the back of the carriage, grabbed the young man by the back of his hair, and snatched him back through the small portal. Michael’s sword thudded to the floor and brought forth screaming from the young girls and cursing from their father. The older man threw open the coach door and jumped from the moving carriage to face the hidden foe attacking his children.
An unseen predator ripped the opposite coach door from the hinges, and a bone-white face appeared with eyes as red as embers. He grinned evilly, as his ghostly hand shot forward, making a grab for Brianna. Elizabeth shrank back from the now visible vampire, shielding her little sister.
With wild panic, Angela threw herself over her two younger sisters to protect them. The older girl’s eyes never left the unnatural orbs staring mockingly at her heroic foolishness. He did not hesitate, as he wrapped his hand around her throat, and snatched her from the slowing carriage.
Elizabeth pulled Brianna up with one hand and grabbed the abandoned sword from the floor of the coach with the other. She waited for a chance to exit the vehicle, fighting a wave of nausea and dizziness at the sudden disappearance of the connection she shared with her twin. She swallowed the lump in her throat, squinted the tears from her eyes, and pushed all thoughts from her mind. She knew if she fell apart now, she and Brianna would die. As the coach crept to a stop, Elizabeth exited with her younger sister fast on her heels. The young girl tugged at her older sister’s skirts as if knowing that breaking this physical connection would suck her into a void of darkness and death.
Across the clearing, a female vampire watched the two remaining girls exit the carriage with a malevolent smile, having just finished draining Michael of his lifeblood. The redhead’s pealing laughter echoed off the surrounding trees. She sidled her lean, athletic body forward slowly—giving her fiery spirals a playful bounce with each step—thinking to intimidate the young woman. Her feral, demonic smile vanished, as she realized that it had no effect on her prey. The red-head tilted her head and watched the woman with curious confusion.
Elizabeth slid Brianna against the side of the coach and placed herself in front of her youngest sister. She pressed her back against Brianna and whispered, “Close your eyes, and don’t open them, no matter what.” She turned her attention back to the approaching female.
Elizabeth steeled herself and dropped into a defensive crouch. It was obvious to the red-haired vampire that the young woman was no novice with the sword. She studied the human girl for a moment, but past exploits left her overconfident. She had felled many men three times this girl’s size without a single scratch. She pounced forward with hardly a second thought.
Elizabeth reacted instinctively. She threw her brother’s sword up at the last moment, impaling the female through the chest. She, then, used her foot to push the shocked woman from her blade, and with a quick, clean strike of the rapier’s sharpened edges, she beheaded the vampire. She silently gave thanks that her brother had insisted so vehemently that the blacksmith modify the blade to be a slashing weapon, as well as, a piercing weapon.
Elizabeth, so engrossed with the attacking creature, did not see the second woman crouched to spring less than ten yards away. The blonde female leapt forward, letting a ferocious growl slip through her parted, bloody lips. Had Elizabeth not heard the snarl, she would have been caught unaware. Elizabeth threw the sword up and across her own body using her left hand to stabilize the long blade, protecting her vulnerable neck. She cringed, as the female’s gleaming teeth hit the flat of the blade and the razor edge of the sword bit into her bare palm. Elizabeth pushed forward, with all the strength she had, trying to put a little distance between herself and the second female’s deadly maw.
The blade hitting the vampire in the mouth so unexpectedly, knocked the small blonde woman off balance, otherwise, Elizabeth’s attempt to push her away would never have worked. The vampire stumbled back holding her busted mouth. Elizabeth never hesitated. She swung the sword across with the pure desperation born of survival instinct. The rapier took off the young blonde’s head and the hand that she had been holding to her busted mouth.
Marin tossed the near-lifeless body of the young woman aside. He wanted to take the time to savor the kill but knew that the patrols would arrive too soon. That was the risk of attacking so close to the outpost. He still had not found the scent that had drawn him here. It was as strong as ever on the light evening breeze, nearly intoxicating. He had thought that it was the now dead woman at his feet, but the scent had faded, once he pulled her from the carriage. The frustration boiled in him at the disappointment, and the knowledge that such a succulent bouquet would be wasted on one of the others.
A blood-curdling shriek followed by an angry, feral growl wrenched him from his frustrated thoughts. He whirled around in a blur, in time to see the head of Veronica rolling across the clearing and Sybil spring in for the kill. Somehow the woman spun around in time to fend off Sybil’s ferocious attack. He had never seen a human move so fast. His curiosity peeked, Marin moved toward them, just as the breeze wafted the intoxicating scent he had been searching for into his nostrils. It was far more powerful now, as the fresh blood flowed freely from the wound in the woman’s palm.
Marin watched Sybil stumble backward—thrown off balance from the blow to the mouth and the push from the young woman. He saw the blade turn for the killing strike, and he exploded into action. He could only hope that he would cover the distance in time to save Sybil.
He was too late…
At that moment, an unseen force hit Elizabeth from the side. She felt her left arm shatter from the force of the blow, and the wind deserted her lungs. The young woman let her body roll, as it hit the ground, to absorb much of the impact. She sprang to her feet, sword ready to defend, expecting her opponent to continue attacking to keep her off balance. She gasped, forcing air into her stunned lungs, and cringed—jaw set at the debilitating pain in her injured arm and damaged ribs.
Elizabeth froze, as an ear-piercing scream erupted from behind the tall, dark-haired male vampire that was now standing in front of her. He smiled wickedly, watching with gratification, as Elizabeth reacted to her little sister’s sobs ending abruptly. In that instant, a wave of grief overcame Elizabeth, and she almost dropped her brother’s sword.
As her heart shattered, the rage engulfed her. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her brother’s blade. She charged the vampire, swinging with wild fury, not caring anymore about anything but killing the monster.
The vampire’s barrage came in a blur of movement that Elizabeth barely registered through the red haze of her fury. In one swift movement, the alabaster monster kicked her right leg, launching her into the side of the coach. The rage dulled the pain of her broken limbs. He was on her in seconds, pinning her to the side of the carriage and going for her vulnerable neck. Elizabeth’s sword arm came down with the full force of her rage for the killing blow, but he was ready. The vampire grabbed her arm and pinned it to the side of the carriage. Elizabeth fought his hold with all the strength the fury had lent to her.
She was not strong enough! Elizabeth watched in abject horror, as the vampire leaned in, and his mouth closed on her bare neck.
She gasped, as the pain stole her bloodlust and all ability to scream. Her vision began to clear, no longer tinged with red, before beginning to blur once again, darkness creeping in. She could feel her hand loosen its hold on the hilt of the sword, and she fought to keep her fingers clenched around it. Then, the pain in her body began to ease, and her vision to blacken.
She could hear a female voice somewhere close speaking a language she could not place. At the edges of her consciousness, she could just make out a distant rumbling. She heard the male answer the woman in what sounded like a rebuff. The female pleaded insistently, as the rumbling became louder and more distinct.
Then, Elizabeth was falling, unable to make her limbs work. Her limp body dropped into the damp grass, her head hitting a rock, as it raced unbidden to the ground. The sword bounced from her uncooperative hand, skittering across the damp grass. She reached for the blade and tried to fight off the darkness—to force her eyes to open, but she was too weak from the blood loss. She fell into the void, screaming silently.
Marin saw the rage engulf the young woman just in time to react before Elizabeth could launch fully into the fury that clouded her vision. He kicked her right leg with such force, that it slammed her into the carriage and bent her leg at a sickly, odd angle. He was on her before her feet could firmly touch the ground. He pinned her by her hair to the side of the coach. The young woman swung her sword in a desperate attempt to stave off his attack, but Marin caught her arm and slammed it back against the carriage wall, exposing her soft, ivory neck. She struggled, ripping clumps of hair out by the roots, and almost tearing her head free of his iron grasp, as she screamed with fury.
Marin salivated—the woman’s scent calling to him—as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her soft, sweet neck. His fangs pierced her flesh. The sweet nectar of her blood rushed into him, and he forgot the world around him. Never, in his hundreds of years on this earth, had a human tasted so delectable. He never wanted it to end, but he knew that it would be over far too soon.
Drawn in by the experience, Marin almost did not feel the grip on his arm. As his senses began to return, Emmaline’s desperate voice finally reached his ears. “Please, love! We must go. The Guard is here.”
Marin withdrew from his prize and reacted instinctively. He snatched his arm from Emmaline’s grasp and yelled, “She is mine, and I will have all of her.” He raised his arm to strike his mate across the face. Without the blood flowing into him, the effects began to wane, and he regained some of his senses—enough to stop himself. He looked at Emmaline with horrified shame, then back at the human woman.
He heard and felt the hoof beats of The Guard, as they rushed toward the scene. Emmaline pleaded again for him to leave, and this time he followed. He let his prize—barely alive—fall limply to the ground, as he ran full speed into the forest.
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