In the harsh morning light, a pyre burned on the edge of town, four corpses caught up in the devouring flames. The scent of rot and burning flesh wafted into the air. Markavo Kersk oversaw the burning, flanked by a burly farmer named Brecher and another local he had drafted into helping him move the defeated vampires. All three men wore tired expressions, eyes somber and limbs heavy.

  “So, a victory has finally been won,” Markavo muttered. “When the attacks started, I scarcely thought we would see any of these fiends vanquished.”

  “I still wonder if Anja is among them,” Brecher replied. He spoke of his wife – one of the first locals to be drained, her grave was found empty just a few days after her burial.

  “Anja will be given peace soon enough,” Markavo reassured the farmer. “The girl means business and you can see for yourself she can back up her promises.”

  Brecher sighed, staring into the flames. “Captain, I don’t like this. Even the strongest men of Ammeldorf are as helpless as children.”

  “I don’t like it either, but what good is it to complain? Of course one wants to protect, to be strong, but in this case we’re nothing of the sort. Best to face facts. Besides, that girl has the sanction of a high churchman – if we can trust anyone to aid us, it’s her.”

  After a moment of dour silence, the third man interjected. “We ought to head back, Captain. I slept not a minute last night and I expect neither of you did either.”

  Markavo nodded. “True enough.”

  A sense of worry hung over the trio as they parted ways to head back to their homes. They could only pray the threat would be permanently extinguished soon.

  *

  Blood sprayed through the darkness, fire blazed in her veins. With inhuman claws she had slashed open the flesh of her sister – the second child, beautiful, the favourite, neglected least by Father. Frustration had boiled into rage and violence, the Beast in the depths of Vadja’s soul had taken over for the first time. Heat, fury, the beautiful feeling of breaking skin.

  Time and place shifted without warning. Black-clad sisters surrounded her in the Holy Mother’s sepulchre and directed her to the crimson font. She drank of another blood, His Blood, healing and repairing. The light touch of His hand stroked the Beast, the Spirit pacified and chained it. A truce was signed by Heaven between her humanity and the curse of her birth.

  Animal instinct stood no chance against divinity.

  It was evening when Vadja awoke from her dream. From a small window next to the bed, she saw the sunlight was dimming and red. Sitting up and staring blankly at her spartan surroundings, she felt the sweat on her forehead. She breathed deeply, dwelling for a moment on her memories. Vadja thought she had made peace with her past, but her subconscious still dwelt there from time to time.

  She’d had enough rest.

  Pushing herself out of bed, she took several deep breaths then started to dress properly. Her leather jerkin, cloak and boots went on. Soon enough, she was out the door.

  Vadja had been put up by the blacksmith, Frehlen, and her minimal accommodations were attached to Frehlen’s place of work. The door from her room led into the smithy, a dim and hot place stocked with the tools of the trade. An anvil took centre stage, tongs and a hammer hung on the wall and a modest rack of weapons stood ready for use.

  The door out creaked open and a man walked in. It was the village priest, Father Kohl, a severe figure getting on in age. Shorter than Vadja but broad shouldered and perpetually glaring, the priest had the demeanour of a guard dog.

  “So, you’ve rested?” He asked without looking at her.

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  “Yes,” Vadja replied. “I must be prepared for when night falls. I left my opponents unfinished and that leaves me dissatisfied. The two who fled may return tonight, or the next night, or perhaps never. It worries me.”

  “How so?” The priest asked as he walked up to the weapon rack. “You have the strength to put them to rest, that is clear.”

  “Those things were feral, with no speech or reason. They attacked like a pack of starving dogs.” Vadja’s expression grew dark. “They are a lesser order of vampire. If my knowledge is on the mark, such wretches were spawned by a more powerful vampire – one with an identity, personhood, one who can think and plot. I don’t know who created them. That is why I’m worried.”

  Father Kohl nodded. “I see. I pray that their sire has no designs on this town.”

  Without any fanfare, the priest pulled out a prayer book and began reading out a blessing. He made holy signs over the weapons, consecrating them in the name of the Almighty. Finally, putting the prayer book away, he revealed a small vial from his robes and dipped his fingers, then anointed the blade of each short sword and spear with oil.

  Finishing his work, he turned back to Vadja.

  “Captain Kersk asked me to do this,” Father Kohl explained. “He said it was worth a try.”

  “Not a bad plan,” Vadja said with a nod of recognition. “Most likely, though, it will not be enough to best a vampire in combat.”

  “The captain just wants a fighting chance, if that’s what it comes to.” The priest sighed. “You can’t blame the man for wanting to do something. Even if a village militia aren’t qualified for this fight, it would hurt their pride not to prepare a last line of defence.”

  Vadja stared at the newly sanctified weapons. “It won’t come to that, I can assure you. I will not fall to these creatures.”

  Father Kohl cast a solemn gaze at her. “May the Lord of Hosts protect you -”

  He was cut off by sounds of commotion outside. Both he and Vadja made for the door. They made for the sounds of a crowd – gasps, shuffling, muffled speech.

  In the square, a bloodied boy lay face first on the ground with a large stranger looming over him. The intruder was tall, cruelly beautiful, with pale blond hair that flowed down to his shoulders. He wore a breastplate and cape, with a sword sheathed at his hip. His eyes glowed with a dim crimson light – a vampire.

  “Brecher!” Father Kohl grabbed the man next to him by the shoulder. “What in the Lord’s name is happening?”

  Brecher said nothing. He just stared at the wicked stranger along with everyone else.

  “I come in the name of Countess Lyria von Krieger, lady of the castle and rightful liege of the region,” the vampire began in a haughty voice. “You will listen carefully to what I have to say, because I have gone out of my way to deliver this message and I will not deign to speak to you again.” Putting a boot on the back of the youth at his feet, he glared into the crowd. “You have offended the countess greatly by dispatching four of her thralls. This is rank insolence and a personal insult toward her. Whoever is responsible for this offence will give himself over to me in surrender. If this is not done, I will vanquish as many of your filthy peasant stock as it takes to convince your would-be protector to yield!”

  The setting sun loomed behind the vampire, turning him into a foul silhouette. Hand resting on his sword hilt, he cast his eyes over the crowd, impatient. Vadja looked around and saw the man Brecher glaring with hatred at the vampire, his fists clenched at his sides with whitening knuckles.

  “Anja…” Brecher hissed, an exhalation from between clenched teeth.

  “Don’t do anything,” Father Kohl whispered, “please.”

  Heedless and trembling with rage, Brecher stepped forward, fixing his sullen eyes on the vampire.

  “You killed my wife,” he barked. “You and your horde of monsters!”

  The vampire looked unimpressed.

  “Perhaps my mistress did,” he said. “Try not to take it personally. To your betters, your lives are worthless. Killing one of you is of no more consequence than throwing away chaff.”

  Brecher grew red in the face, growling like a mad dog. He charged at the vampire, hands out, ready to grab him. The vampire stood in place, pose quite casual, and when Brecher came in close, he grabbed both the farmer’s hands in his own. With inhuman strength, the vampire crushed Brecher’s hands. Bones crunched, blood spewed, leaving mangled messes sitting on his wrists.

  Brecher cried out, collapsing to his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The vampire gave him a swift kick to the face and Brecher collapsed. He lay on his back, blood and brains pooling on his caved in forehead.

  “I doubt this half-wit peasant killed the countess’ servants,” the vampire said. His voice remained detached and arrogant even as his face hardened. “Will the true perpetrator surrender so we can end this idiocy? I grow weary of it.”

  Brow furrowed and shoulders squared, Vadja pushed her way through the crowd. She gave a passing glance to Father Kohl, who stared her down with haunted eyes. Not a word passed his lips.

  “Let’s be off,” she declared, facing the vampire. “I’ll not have you trespassing here any longer, you obnoxious corpse.”

  Vadja’s eyes flashed with yellow light. Her lips curled in a snarl, displaying her wolfish teeth. The folk of Ammeldorf watched two monsters stare each other down, silhouettes against a red horizon.

  “Mongrel bitch,” the vampire snarled. “You will answer for your offences. Follow me.”

  The vampire turned on his heel, marching away from the two crimson bodies lying in the square. Vadja followed, glowering at his back.

  “Oh, yes.” Her presumptive captor turned back. “Drop that sword at your waist. Now.”

  Vadja obeyed, tossing away her sword and sheathe. She growled, silently cursing. Any self-respecting warrior would be loathe to part with a quality blade.

  He must think highly of his own strength, to let me tail behind him like this. Bastard. Give me time and I’ll tear him to pieces.