RONAN

In a forest full of trees, my heart aches for the sea. Chasing a buck I smelled a mile back, I storm through the thick brush, wishing for a life of freedom, a life on the sea. I wish that I could shirk the life of a king’s noble spawn for that of a seaside peasant—perhaps a boatmaker. I could do that. I could live that life.

My heart desires the life of a fisherman. It’s such a simple, beautiful existence. I wish I could live by the sea and forget everything, but I can’t. There is much to be done here, so many things that need attending to.

Wading freely in the ocean is impossible when I know my good-for-nothing brother might take rule of the land. I cannot stand by and let things get out of hand.

I was the high general to the Di’an military. The kingdom would have fallen to outside attacks without me leading the Di’an through victory after bloody victory. That entitles me to the throne, not my brother.

I scoff.

Why would I think anything else? Why would he be a better choice than me? After all that I’ve done, I don’t understand why the throne wasn’t left to me.

I hate this life. Hate this eternal living. I am lonely, bored, and tired. How much longer will I be forced to live such a life?

For thousands of years, I have stayed in this one place, the only home I’ve ever known. Dundoire means everything to me. Because of my love for the town and my father’s kingdom, I ended up cursed to this eternity.

I smell the blood once again, and I know I am on the right track. I see the buck standing before me, eating some grass, utterly unaware of my presence.

The buck moves through the woods, but with my preternatural speed, I will catch him. I dash through the ferns, earth pounding under my feet, as I hear his heart beat like a drum.

Boom.

I pounce, lunging through the foliage, and tackle the buck to the ground. He barely puts up a fight as I sink my teeth into his throat. I’ve captured my game. I’ve made my victory.

Looking down at his still body, I don’t feel ashamed. I don’t feel regret. A family will get to eat tonight. Slinging him over my shoulder, I trample through the woods.

Carrying the deer to a small cottage on the outskirts of the woods, I deliver it to a family who is struggling. The father is out of work, and the mother is losing her mind trying to make ends meet. They can’t feed their children, but I can.

Sure, I could go into town and buy groceries, but this is a tradition I’ve followed ever since I was born as a half-vampire. We hunt for our food. We provide. We protect. We hunt.

Besides, groceries leave a paper trail, and I don’t want anyone to know I’m the one leaving gifts at their doors. Don’t want anyone to know it is me.

I value my privacy, having always preferred isolation, having always preferred to be alone. That thought makes me laugh.

In an old town legend, some call me a hermit.

Others call me a wild beast, like Bigfoot. Others just call me the devil. A few, a very rare few, call me their angel. But no one complains when I leave them food.

Around town, I’m known as a gruff. I stand tall at six-foot-four and am a muscular man, but I run a pub. It’s one of the oldest pubs in the area, and I don’t take crap from anyone. So, I get it. The talk. The stories. The myths and legends they create to surround me.

If only they knew half the truth.

Battle-hardened from centuries of war, I am quick to anger and slow to love. My imposing stature is why the people of this town give me a wide berth. I don’t think they know what to do with me.

I smirk as I slump the buck off my shoulder and drop it onto the porch. I must not be some kind of jerk if I’m protecting local families and making sure they’re fed. Sure, they can call me a monster, but I know better.

A sudden scream echoes through the forest. It sounds like a young child. My vampire senses kick in, and I can hear everything. The pounding of his little chest, the gasps in his lungs, the pitter-patter of his tiny feet. He is scared.

I tear off the porch and run around the back of the house as the boy screeches in terror.

Once around the house, I crouch and sneak closer. A man in a mask is running toward the little boy.

The masked assailant is a bulging, greasy-haired mess. He smells like sickness and death as he approaches the child. In my heart, I know that this man intends to do terrible things to this child, and it sickens me.

It makes my soul ache that a grown man could terrorize such an innocent child. I growl under my breath and grit my teeth.

I duck under the hedges of a low-hanging tree, hiding myself from sight as I watch the man approach.

The birds stop chirping and the squirrels stop chattering as I draw nearer. I hear their ragged breaths, those of the hunted and those of the stalker. I cannot stand it for another minute.

I want to kill this masked man. His shrouded face is covered by a deer skull like he’s some kind of creature to be feared.

I am the one to be feared. This man is nothing.

I want to make him feel pain.

The child cries in fear for his life, and that is when I pounce. Saliva drips from my mouth as I bare my teeth.

I will not let him win. I will not let him take his prize. No, not today. Not on my watch.

Dodging in front of the masked man, I snatch him by the throat. His eyes show me nothing but darkness and pain.

“No, please. Oh, God, no.” The man withers and cries under my grasp.

“There is no god here, only you and your sick deeds.” I grip his throat tighter, and he chokes out a sob.

“Please, no. Oh, God, please, no.” The man whimpers as I lift him off the ground.

The smell of him makes me retch, but I hold him closer. I inspect every angle of his body. His gross, bulging body.

“Sir, please. I was just playing about,” the man whimpers.

I hold him like a curious object, something to be studied or ridiculed. My fingers dig into his flesh, and I hiss.

“You are a bad man.” I eye him with a menacing gaze, snarling at his crude mask.

“No, I’m sorry. I was just, I was just…” His voice trails away as my fingers tighten, cutting off his air.

“You were just trying to hunt an innocent child?” I snarl, and I can feel my spit leave my mouth.

“No, I’m sorry. He's just, he’s just...” I choke the man harder, so he cannot speak.

“He’s just what? Being a child. Being innocent. Walking in the woods? You have no right to be here. You have no right to harm this child. You have no right to live.” I sink my teeth into his throat, and he screams.

The little boy cries and runs into the trees. I let him go because he is not my prey. This man, this abuser, this killer is who is on the menu.

I bleed him dry. Elated and satisfied, I feel full. I let his body drop once he is empty. He unceremoniously flops to the forest floor.

“There. That ought to do.” I wipe my mouth and straighten my jacket, looking around at the trees.

A sudden, strange sensation courses through my veins. It’s not the high from feeding. No, this is different.

It’s like an ancient calling deep within my bones. Something I haven’t felt in ages. I shake my head and think to myself that it is not possible.

How could it be?

It can’t.

It’s not possible. The Di’an died out hundreds of years ago…so, how can I feel them now?

I can’t.

I shake my head, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

There is no way in hell the Di’an is back.