I ought to let him go.
I can’t.
Ruxandra cocooned the soul inside her mind, wrapping it in layers of warmth and love and desire. She didn’t want to let him go—couldn’t let him go. Not after killing him like that. She wanted to be with him to take care of him and protect him. If that meant having to share her mind with him, then she would.
Better than being alone.
She stood up from the bed. Neculai lay like a dropped puppet, his limbs pointing off in different directions, his hands tight claws. She straightened his body first, then his legs. She crossed his arms on his chest and straightened the fingers. She gently turned his head to face the ceiling. He had a gaping hole in his throat, though no blood flowed from it.
Ruxandra fell to her knees, buried her face in the mattress, and screamed.
Ruxandra screamed her helplessness and her rage, her anger and her fear. She screamed at the demon that made her a monster and the body that would not obey her and would not even die like it was supposed to. She screamed out her grief at Neculai’s death and her anger at herself for killing him.
When she could no longer scream, she wept.
When the last of her tears were gone and she felt nothing but hollow inside, she rose from the bed. She covered Neculai’s body with his cloak, kissed his head, and went to the door.
She didn’t bother to pick up the dress or the chemise. There was no point pretending she was human any longer. No point in trying to preserve anything of the person she once was. She was a monster, and monsters didn’t need clothing.
The moment she opened the door, the wind slammed into her like a living creature, trying to knock her to the ground. The rain pounded against her flesh like ten thousand tiny hammers, each trying to beat her into submission. She closed the door behind her and stumbled down the path. She wended her way through the rough-cut stumps of the trees that Neculai had cut.
I should bury him.
But if I do that, his family will never know what happened. They deserve to know.
She left the clearing and stepped into the slight shelter of the forest. Branches whipped back and forth in the wind. Some struck her in the face. The rain still blew sideways, soaking her from head to foot. It didn’t matter to Ruxandra. None of it mattered.
The rain couldn’t hurt her. Nor could the cold. She couldn’t get sick. She’d probably never die. She’d just go on murdering for all eternity.
Before all this I thought I was going to be a princess, married and raising children.
Then I thought I could become a hermit, dedicated to God. I was going to dedicate my life to God. Instead, I became a beast. An abomination.
I am lost to God forever.
She stepped into the clearing around the pond. The log where they sat was soaking wet, the water streaming off the sides of it and filling up the little fire pit where they had sat together, singing and laughing and talking and kissing.
Ruxandra thought she was crying again, but the rain pounded so hard on her face she couldn’t feel her tears. She trudged away from the pond. There was no point in hurrying the rest of the way back to her den. Dawn wasn’t going to come for hours yet. She wasn’t hungry anymore, and she had nothing to do.
She trudged through the woods, letting the rain soak her and the wind shove her and the branches whip against her. An hour later, when she reached the den, she stood outside it, staring at the hole in the earth that she had been turning into a home.
She lay in the mud outside her door and stared at the clouds. She would stay there until the sun drove her into the den. She opened her mouth and let the rain pour into it. It wouldn’t drown her. Wouldn’t even choke her. Nothing would kill her.
Perhaps a lightning bolt.
Perhaps.
But the lightning was gone, and all that remained was the water sheeting down on her. She lay still, trying not to think of what she had done and what she was, and failing—his arms around me, his eyes so warm and lively, his kiss, the blood, his terror—until she felt the first heat of the sun, burning bright and hard and unforgiving, behind the clouds.
The lantern was the first thing she saw when she stepped inside. She stared at it, remembering how he had given it to her to light her way home and how she had looked at the flame until morning had come. Her eyes went from it to the bed frame and the cloak spread across it. Neculai’s scent wafted from it to her, and the tears grew stronger.
She grabbed the cloak and the chemise and the lantern with a single motion. She stepped back out into the rain and bundled the chemise and cloak around the lamp. Then she pitched them together as far out of her sight as she could. They bounced off a tree and landed in the underbrush less than a hundred yards away. Ruxandra turned her back on them and walked back into the den.
She curled up on the empty frame. The knots and breaks in the branches dug into her flesh. She embraced the pain of it and stared at the ceiling of the den until the sun began to rise.
Somewhere around noon, sleep came.
She felt the sun going down but didn’t move off the frame. Some of the pointed ends of the branches had dug into her in the night, leaving scrapes and dents in her flesh. She ignored the pain. It was small and almost unnoticeable in comparison to the pain inside her mind.
She wasn’t hungry though.
Further proof that animal blood isn’t enough.
With the animals, she had to eat every day and eat a lot. With human blood, she was still as full now as she had been when she’d finished murdering Neculai.
She waited until full darkness had descended before leaving the den. She picked a direction away from Neculai’s cabin and began walking. The sounds of the woods filled her ears, though she no longer cared. She didn’t need to hunt rabbits or anything else. She could walk all night without having to stop, and for the next night. She would get as far away from this place as she could manage.
An hour later, she realized she wasn’t alone.
It wasn’t a scent that caught her attention but a feeling—a deep-seated knowing that something else was out there. It wasn’t a human—she was sure of it. It wasn’t an animal either. She sniffed at the air, trying to pick up its scent. It wasn’t close enough. But there was something out there, and it followed her.
She stopped walking, closed her eyes, and listened.
A vision leapt into her brain. She was back inside Neculai’s cabin, and she was starving. She slammed again and again against the walls, trying to break free. Rage, burning high and bright, filled every inch of her being. She wanted to escape the cabin and feed. She needed to feed.
Ruxandra’s eyes flew open. She was alone in the woods. There was nothing near her except the animals.
Only she still felt herself locked in the cabin. She felt the mattress shedding under her ragged claws and jagged teeth. She felt the pain of stepping in the coals of the fire and heard the howling as she jumped away. She hit the door and banged against it. It moved. She slammed against it once, twice, and on the third time, broke through and tumbled out the cabin onto the wet ground.
But I’m not doing that. I’m right here.
Still, she raced through the woods, like another layer of reality had been placed over the world. A thin layer, a veil she saw through into the real world beyond. The more she concentrated on the real world, the fainter the vision became. It never went away though.
What is going on?
Thinking of it brought her back to the vision. In it, she moved through the woods, running fast. She broke into the clearing and to the pond. She went around it, feet spraying mud as they dug into the ground. She ran harder. Ruxandra recognized the route she took.
She headed for the den.
Why?
Why am I seeing this?
Fear, sudden, sharp, and overwhelming, filled her, bringing pain to her stomach and new tears to her eyes. Within her, Neculai’s soul struggled, desperate to escape.
She didn’t know what she was afraid of. All she knew was
that something very, very angry was coming and she needed to get away from it.
She turned and ran. She tore through the underbrush and dodged trees. She wanted to run full out but couldn’t. The vision overlay everything, making it harder for her to see where she was going. She was reduced to near-human speeds as she tried to keep her balance.
In the vision, she chased herself. Through the eyes of the vision, she saw herself go into the den. She inhaled her own scent and the trail she had left. She then loped through the woods, hard on her own trail.
This isn’t possible. I’m right here. Right here!
Ruxandra kept running until the sky brightened. She cast around for a hole—any hole—that she could crawl into. She looked for a depression in the land, an overhang, anything at all. The sky kept growing brighter. There was nothing in sight. Her fear of whatever followed her began to slip away, replaced by the sure, terrifying knowledge of what would happen when the sun touched her.
I do not want to wake up in a grave. Not again.
At last she spotted a tree that had been uprooted in the wind, tearing open the earth beneath it. She dove into the space under the roots, digging frantically, widening and deepening the hole. Ruxandra tunneled like a badger, desperate for a place that would protect her from the sun, pushing and shoving and throwing dirt until she had a place hidden from the light where no direct sun could reach. She heaved a sigh of relief.
Then the vision returned. She was running through the forest, charging at full speed over the very ground she had traveled. Ruxandra pushed herself farther back into the hole. The sun was rising, the heat of it came and the terrible light that would burn her to a crisp. In her vision she ran faster and faster, over the hills, through the woods, heading like an arrow toward her hiding spot.
It cannot be me. It can’t. I’m right here.
A new scent filled her nose. It wasn’t human, though it had been. The aroma of dead flesh, sweet and sickly with the beginnings of decay, came closer.
There was a howl as Neculai dove into the hole on top of her. His hands grabbed at her throat, he screamed, and for one moment she caught a glimpse of a face filled with animal rage, its eyes empty.
Then he collapsed, dead, into her arms.
RUXANDRA SHOVED AT NECULAI’S body until she was out from underneath it. There wasn’t any space for him in the hole. She managed to get out from under him, but he was still close enough that his dead flesh touched hers. She shuddered and pushed herself as far away as she could.
He smelled wrong. He didn’t smell like Neculai anymore. He smelled like death and decay. He was covered in dirt, as if he had fallen a dozen times running through the forest. His skin was gray and saggy on his bones. The hole in his throat was gone, but he was covered with deep scrapes and scratches as if he had ripped at his own skin.
His fingernails were long and thick and sharp and misshapen, as if an uncoordinated child had tried to duplicate her talons by molding them out of flesh and bone. His hands were bent in claws, still trying to grab, though he lay still.
Like they had been when he died.
Worse—much, much worse—were his teeth.
The straight, strong white teeth were gone. In their place, his mouth was filled with jagged, broken, crooked fangs unlike the long, clean two that Ruxandra had. They stuck out well past his lips, and the sharp edges of them had ripped his lips open in a dozen places.
What did I do to him?
The thought was terrible. She didn’t want anyone to have her curse. She couldn’t imagine making someone become like her. And he wasn’t like her. He was a grotesque imitation, a twisted broken thing that had once been the body of her lover.
It had to have been me. There was no way it could have been anything else. She shuddered, remembering the others she had bitten. Did the same happen to them? To her father’s advisors? To the woman in the manor? Did everyone she bite turn into a raving monster? For how long? Was it only for one night?
Because the body that lay before her was dead. There was no heartbeat, no breath. There was no sign of life.
My father’s advisors. I saw them the next night. They were still dead. So it isn’t everyone.
Why is it him?
She reached inside herself to the soul that lay there. She felt his fury. He tried to break free and escape, but his struggles were weaker than they had been the night before. As if the longer she held it, the more pliable it became. She sent a silent thought to him to calm down, and he did. She suggested again that he go back into his body. He raged and tore at the cocoon surrounding him, frantic to go a different direction. He didn’t want to go back into the travesty of life that lay before her.
The soul wanted to leave, to flee this world and not come back.
I’m not ready to lose him yet.
Except I haven’t lost him. I’ve made him into a monster like me.
She scrunched herself back against the dirt. She thought about pushing the corpse out of the hole, but that would mean risking the sun and she couldn’t do it. She had to stay next to it for the length of the day. Then she could shove it out of the hole and get out herself. Then she would go and leave the cursed creature behind.
But what if it follows? Shouldn’t I wait? Take care of it?
She shook her head. It cannot. It’s dead.
But it was dead before.
She stared at the thing that had been Neculai. Its muscles were too relaxed, its face too slack. There was no life in it. Even so, it repulsed her in a way that the dead had not. When she had first killed him, it had been horrible, staring at his body. Worse than it had been with that woman she’d drank in the manor house. Much worse, because it was Neculai, her lover. But there had been no revulsion. Just anger and grief.
That thing repulsed her.
She spent the whole day staring at it, ashamed of her repulsion when it was she who had made it what it was. Perhaps it just needs to learn.
She couldn’t sleep. And when she at last sensed the sun was out of sight, she squirmed out of the hole, trying to touch the thing as little as possible. She was filthy again. The dirt had been wet with the rain, and she was covered with mud. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to pull away the worst of it. Then she let it alone.
It doesn’t matter what I look like anymore. No one’s going to see me ever again.
This is the second day since I drank him.
She wasn’t hungry yet, which was a blessing. She could spend the night moving instead of hunting for food. She could get herself farther away from people and find a place where she could live off game instead. Once she dealt with him.
But how do I deal with him? Do I bury him?
A deep, angry growl came from the hole.
The hair on the back of Ruxandra’s neck stood on end. She didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to see what was going to come out from under the tree. She had a mental vision of darkness and a feeling of fury. There was the scrabble of nails on dirt and the sight of the open air and—
Neculai howled. Ruxandra snapped back into her own mind as he charged out of the hole, his claws reaching, his hands extended to rip into her flesh. Ruxandra let out a yelp and jumped out of the way. The leap sent her thirty feet, hard into the trunk of a tree. She fell gracelessly to the ground, and Neculai leapt after her. She scrambled to her feet and jumped again. She went right over him and ended balanced on the trunk of a fallen tree.
“Neculai!” Ruxandra shouted his name as loud as she could. “Neculai! It’s me!”
Neculai didn’t respond. He came on fast and strong again. Ruxandra jumped away and spun in the air. She landed in an animal crouch, facing him and ready to strike out with her claws.
“Stop it, Neculai.” She raised a hand and extended her talons. “I do not want to hurt you!”
Neculai stopped. His fangs were still bared, his claws still poised to rip and tear. He snarled and hissed. Then he turned and ran. Ruxandra watched him go. She sensed his anger and even great
er than that, his hunger. She knew she should go after him, but she couldn’t. Her feet felt rooted to the ground. Her legs were wobbling. The look in Neculai’s eyes had been one of pure hatred. Mindless hatred. There had been no consciousness behind it.
Neculai isn’t there anymore. She reached for the cocooned soul inside her. Because he’s here.
Is that what did it? She had not tried to hold on to any of the others. She had been too insane when she’d killed her father and his men, and it hadn’t occurred to her when she’d killed the old lady. It had only been because she wanted to keep Neculai by her that she’d tried to hang on at all. I still want him near me. But that thing isn’t him.
She sank to the ground and put her hands over her head. The vision came back as soon as she closed her eyes. She saw the world through his eyes. He ran back the way they had come. He moved far faster than a human could. Nowhere near what Ruxandra could do, but it was still very, very fast. She opened her eyes again, and the vision faded away to the background. She sighed and wrapped her hands in her hair, pulling until it hurt.
Am I going to spend the rest of my life seeing him in visions?
She stared at the sky, watching the thin clouds scudding past and the stars beyond them. She could spend all night looking but not every night. She couldn’t distract herself. She had to stop the visions from coming.
I must stop him.
But not tonight. Tonight I just want to be still.
She put him in the back of her thoughts, focusing instead on hearing the noises of the night animals and the breeze through the trees. She watched the stars and the clouds and the way the branches moved back and forth with the wind. The more she focused outside herself, the less she felt his presence.
Six hours later, she realized where he was headed.
He was already past her old den, running at full speed down the little path to the cabin. He knew exactly where he was going, she realized. She sensed his intentions and his hunger.