He steps out of the way, and I have to shut my eyes to avoid getting sick. The image is burned into my mind. He cut out Neil's eyes.

Moving to the corpse of the blond-haired man, he repeats the procedure. I can’t watch. There’s more snapping and cutting as he does the same to the third man, and a plop as he drops the bloody eyeball into the flask.

He approaches my tree, with the bloody blade in one hand and the flask in the other.

"No, no, no, no," I choke out. "Let me go. Please let me go." Surely he wouldn’t subject a living person to that?

He wipes the flat edge of the blade against my pants, cleaning it.

"Can you comprehend why I bound you?" he asks, seemingly unfazed by any of this. His carefree tone makes me shudder. Despite my distress, he couldn’t be more comfortable. Is he drawing out the moment before my death for his own entertainment?

I shake my head, too afraid to attempt to answer him.

"So your little mind proposed that my purpose was to release you only a moment later?"

I shake my head again, not just saying no to his question but to this whole situation. I don’t want to be tied up, I don’t want to know why he tied me up, and I don’t want to die like the others. "Please let me go,” I whisper, “I didn't do anything.”

He steps closer, his chest just a few inches from my face. His fingers brush my hair behind my ear, and he leans in.

His breath rolls over my neck. I tuck my head into my shoulder, as much as the rope allows, pressing as far away from him as I can. It’s just to scare me, it’s just to scare me, I repeat over and over in my mind, but he doesn't back off. He's sniffing me.

He swoops down, and I cry out from the sharp pain at the base of my neck. His fangs have punctured my skin. I try wiggle away, but his teeth only cut deeper into my flesh.

A warm liquid runs down my chest. His teeth stab me a second time, and I let out another scream. He's drinking my blood. I shut my eyes, staying as still as I can in the hope that he won't readjust his fangs again.

"Please stop, please.”

His cold lips press against my collarbone.

The minutes pass, and he keeps drinking. My heart beats faster and faster, and I can’t get enough air despite my rapid breathing.

I can’t fight. I can’t move. I have no threats or incentives to offer him. All I can do is ask him. "Please... I don't want to die."

He doesn't move, continuing to drain me. This is cruel. He could've drunk from any of the bodies on the ground. It’s like he chose me because he knew that I would feel it – I would experience the dreadful hopelessness that comes with feeling my body shut down.

He finally pulls away, bringing another twinge of pain. His white teeth are colored red with blood – my blood.

I'm in a daze. A warm trickle runs down my chest again. I'm bleeding and unable to reach up to stop it.

He rests his hand on my collar and pinches the skin right next to the wound. I wince.

He keeps his hand steady, and it feels like I'm going numb. I don't know how bad I'm bleeding. I can't even see the cut.

After a few minutes, he returns to his dead horse. I’m still tied up, but I’m grateful to have him off me.

He cuts the saddle bag off the horse’s harness and tosses it by my feet as if expecting something.

I glance up at him before returning my eyes to the bag. What does he expect me to do? Pick it up? I’m tied to a trunk.

He moves behind the tree. I try twist to get a view of what he’s doing, but my binds are so tight that I can hardly move. His fingers brush mine, sending a cold shiver up my arm.

He unties the rope, freeing my wrists. My arms fall to my sides, and I roll the knots out of my sore shoulders. I take a step forward, but my strained legs buckle beneath me, and my knees hit the dirt.

The rope is still attached to my right wrist, but I’m just relieved to be able to move my arms again. I rub my left shoulder, massaging it. My eyes remain down, as if avoiding him will somehow encourage him to do the same for me. This is the first time that he has given me a chance to recover, and I’m going to savor it.

Snatching my wrists up in a tight grip, he yanks both my arms back, making me squeal. By the time I realize what’s going on, my wrists are tied behind my back, and he’s lifting me to my feet.

He loops the rope around my stomach. My eyes struggle to keep track of his hands in my dazed state. Fear keeps me still. My body is completely at his mercy, and my only security is the hope that he won’t hurt me when I’m not trying to fight him.

He yanks on the rope, compressing my middle and making me yelp. Soon the cord is secured with a knot, making it uncomfortably tight. I want to loosen it, but it’s by my belly button and my arms are bound behind my back.

He removes his hands, and I immediately lose my balance, tipping forward. I can’t use my arms to break my fall!

Before I hit the ground, I’m choked back by my shirt collar. He’s holding me up by the back of my shirt. He pulls me upright but keeps his hands around me this time, balancing me like a broom. Draining my blood and binding me has rendered my body so helpless that I can’t even stop myself from falling over, but instead of releasing me, he’s content with balancing me upright. This is his desired outcome. He wants to keep me completely powerless and at his mercy.

Once I’m steady, he kneels to pick up the eyeball flask. His head is by my waistline. For the first time since he ripped the blanket off me, it feels like I may have an opportunity to beat him. I can knee him in the nose and make a run for it. My heart races as I try to build up the courage. He’s digging in the bag that he cut off the horse, oblivious to my impending attack.

I move one foot back to ready my strike, but immediately regret it when I almost lose my balance again. His gaze lands on my fumbling feet. I can’t do this. How could I possibly hope to outrun him when I can barely stand? I would make it no more than a few paces before tripping, then I would have to endure his wrath again. He was so oppressive before, handling me as if I had the endurance of ten men and barely allowing me to breathe. What would I have to endure if I had the audacity to knee him in the nose before failing to escape from his clutches?

He lifts up the bag, pleased with his work. Two leather strips now extrude off the top. He circles me, like a predator. I turn my body to face him, but a heavy hand lands on my shoulder to keep me in place. He rests the bag against my back and threads the straps over my shoulders and under my arms. He’s turned it into a backpack and made me into his mule. Lovely.

He picks up the end of the rope connected to my middle and holds it a few inches from my face. “Walk, or you shall be dragged.”

I gulp and nod. I suppose that I should just be glad that he has a use for me. As long as he needs someone to carry his stuff, I will be allowed to live.

He walks, and I quickly follow. The short rope leads from his hand to my middle. If it pulls taught, he’ll pull me off my feet, and I’ll hit the ground face-first with no arms to break my fall.

The long grass and uneven mounds of dirt make walking a challenge. I did not realize how much I used my arms for balance until they were taken away from me.

My gaze lingers on the man leading me forward. His figure forms a dark silhouette which blends in with the night sky. His black cape hangs over his broad shoulders, and it covers him down to his boots. He has the physique of a soldier, but where’s his battalion? There were hundreds of them when they burned our village.

I glance back at the barn. The last of my possessions are being left behind, and it makes my heart ache. My coat, the scarf I knitted and the carved dragon hairbrush my brother made for me. They're worthless items to anyone who stumbles across them, but they mean a lot to me. They were the few things I had left from my old life.

* * * * * * * *

We've been walking for hours, and the sun is peeking over the horizon. He's taking me north. This is bad. I was fleeing south, to Faria. My brother, Jacob, is expecting me in Fekby, a small village just over the border. Other than a distant uncle I never see, Jacob’s the only real family I’ve got left.

We lived in a small house that our parents left us, and now that it’s destroyed, I have to reunite with him in someplace still under human control. He was lucky enough to be traveling when the vampires sacked our village. Before he left on his trading journey, he said I must flee to Fekby if our village was lost. There we will rebuild our lives and put this terrible chapter behind us. But now I’m being dragged north against my will, back to a region infested with vampires. This is a death sentence.

Why is this vampire taking me with him? With his immense strength, he’s more than capable of carrying his own bags, and if he didn’t hunt us down in the first place, then he’d still have his horse. My little village has done nothing to him or his people. He murdered the men I was traveling with for no reason. We were fleeing from the vampire army, leaving our homes and all our possessions behind to escape them. What could be less threatening than three stonemasons and a farmer running for their lives? He backed us into a corner, forcing the men to make a last-ditch attempt to protect themselves. We had nothing of value. He could've left us alone. With his fast horse, he could have ridden right past us, but he attacked knowing that we couldn’t defend ourselves.

“Those men you killed were just stonemasons, running from a village your army burned,” I spit.

His gait doesn’t waver, and his eyes remain forward. Silence.

I know he can hear me. "Why did you kill them? For sport?"

“Perhaps,” he says without looking at me.

His gruff voice sucks the confidence right out of me, reminding me of how he toyed with me when I was tied to the tree, but my anger quickly returns. Killing for sport. "You're a murderer," I growl.

He doesn’t even flinch, like my words are meaningless.

"You're a sick cold-blooded monster!" I shout, making sure that he heard every single syllable.

He whips around, and the glare from his red eyes reignites the fear I felt in the barn. I backpedal away, but his hand locks around my shoulder with an iron grip. I shut my eyes and tuck my head down in fear of being struck. Just pinching my shirt would be enough to hold my wobbly frame in place, but his hand rests on my shoulder with the weight of a stone, reminding me how easily he could crush me.

He pulls my hair, and the sudden burn on my scalp makes me wail. My cries are cut short as a piece of fabric is shoved into my mouth. "Nn-" I try protest, but it comes out muffled.

He ties the gag around my head. It digs into my cheeks, forcing them back like a smile, but laughter is the furthest thing from my mind right now.

I shout at him to take it off, but it comes out as mumbling.

He smirks. I want to tear his face off. I shout into the gag again, cursing him and demanding that he removes this degrading accessory, but my words are incomprehensible.

The rope pulls taut, forcing me to follow behind him again.

I let out muffled shouts and coughs. He ignores me, but I don’t give up. He burned my home, murdered my companions, took my blood, bound my arms, tied a leash around my midriff and now forced a gag in my mouth. I keep trying to get my words out, to let him know how much I hate him.

After an hour my throat is begging for water. I was thirsty back in the barn, and walking all night and having my blood drained didn’t help. I change my tone and ask for water, but it comes out as an unintelligible mumble. Maybe one word would be easier to understand. I try pronouncing ‘water’ slowly, "Ho-ha.”

Nothing.

I could bump into him to get his attention? No, I get the feeling that he wouldn't hold back if he interpreted it as a malicious attack, and I don't have the confidence to move ahead and block his path.

We march on, and soon the sun is high in the sky. My mind plays back silly fantasies in my head, like a squad of the king’s knights surrounding us on horses and freeing me from the vampire. They’d release me from my bindings, share their water with me, and carry me home on the back of a horse. Just the thought of sitting down and having something to drink sounds like heaven, but I know that it’ll never be anything but a fantasy. If there were any squads of knights left, this vampire would’ve been hunting them instead of us.

As time passes, my imagined fantasies grow desperate – just involving us accidentally wandering into a marsh, then I could collapse and have some water.

Scanning the horizon, my eyes linger on a wavy pond in the distance – a lake. We could make it there in under an hour if we took a small detour. "Ho-ha!” I gesture my head towards the lake, but he doesn’t look at me, not even acknowledging my presence.

Of course he ignores me. He's not thirsty. He has already had his drink. I hate that I have to ask him to do something as simple as take a sip of water. Why would he incapacitate me, forcing me to rely on him, then choose to keep me away from basic things I need to survive? Does he not know that humans need water? Maybe I could nudge him to get his attention?

I lean forward and gently touch his cape with my head – just enough to get his attention, but not enough to be interpreted as an act of aggression.

He stops, and I take a step back.

He turns to face me. I'm glad that I have his attention, but his red eyes make me shiver. My legs bend a little in an instinctive attempt to make myself smaller to show that I don’t mean to fight. "Ho-ha," I say in a small voice, gesturing with my head towards the lake.

He doesn't look at the lake. His eyes stay locked on me, and I take another step back. A rock forms in my stomach as I begin to think that I have made a mistake.

In a flash, he backhands me. The force on my cheek sends me crashing down. I hit the ground with a thud. Pain radiates throughout my body, and I let out a long groan.

The rope goes taut, and I’m yanked across the grass by my aching middle. He’s walking again, dragging me behind him. I need to get up.

I curl into a ball, push myself upright with my elbows and jump to my feet, stumbling behind him.

My cheek stings and my body aches. He doesn't care about my thirst. He's going to use me up and kill me when I’m too exhausted to walk anymore. No matter how deep you go, he’s nothing but a monster.

* * * * * * * *

It's just past midday, and it's becoming harder and harder to keep up. The bag on my back feels heavier, my head aches, my chest hurts, and my throat is on fire.

I force myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again. There are no more daydreams about knights coming to rescue me or us crossing through a watery marsh. My mind is in a haze, and my ears are ringing. I know that I’m not doing well, but I’m absolutely powerless to change anything, so I continue along the path that will bring the least pain – putting one foot in front of the other, following behind my vampire captor.