Rassa had always feared what people would think of him when they found out. Would they point their fingers? Would they back away? Would they scream? Cry? Be frozen in fear? He felt that he would forgive them if they reacted in any of those ways.

After all, a monster was a monster. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

He was still hopeful. Hopeful that instead of fear, accu­satory fingers and screams, he would be greeted by under­standing should his true nature ever come to light. But he wasn’t hopeful enough to actually take the initiative and tell them.

But maybe … maybe if he could conquer the deep unrelenting hunger within him, he would not need to fear their reactions because they wouldn’t have reason to fear him. It was the Hunger that was the true monster to fear, not him, not Rassa.

Rassa was born human as the son of a humble farmer in the tiny and isolated north-eastern village of Cordon. Just a boy who before the Incident had loved to play and run like any other child in the village. A favourite game of the children had been to chase rabbits through Greenvale Forest.

Rassa had been good at that too. Cleverer than the other children who had charged after their targets with no regard for the noise they made nor the panic they caused in their prey. Rassa had waited, he’d watched, and then, when the rabbit was calm and unsuspecting.

But chasing rabbits wasn’t as fun when you could outrun them with ease. It wasn’t as fun when the end result, rather than a quick snuggle in soft fur and a victory lap around the village, was burying a carcass beneath the earth to hide the evidence of his monstrous appetite.

An appetite, he hoped, that could be reasoned with.

Varkevia, the largest city and trade centre of the Eldovian Empire’s eastern lands, was famous for its night market. So much that Varkevia was known for being far busier at night than any other time of day. Rassa, intrigued by the stories from his parents when they’d spoken briefly of how they’d met at that very market, had determined to see it with his own eyes one day.

Night was the monster’s time. Even if Rassa denied its existence and did his best to suppress it, he had to admit that the night was when he felt the most accepted and peaceful in his own skin. The moonlight was calming. It did not strain his eyes like the sun did, and the shadows were long and deep enough to hide his darker nature as he slipped out of the village to the Greenvale Forest in the east, then turned south. Not that anyone would have been able to catch him if they tried. The night was also the best time for him to truly let himself run.

Varkevia was a three-week journey by horse and cart from Cordon. Rassa traversed the same distance in three hours, though his enhanced speed barely scratched the surface of his monster-given abilities.

Rassa walked the streets of the ancient city of his parents’ stories during the height of the night market. He took in the sights and sounds, grinning like a fool. Then, quite coincidentally, he overheard a mother admonishing her son for not saving some of his candy for later. Scolding him for being a glutton. An idea struck Rassa like lightning. An idea so obvious that a thunder-like anger resounded in his mind for not thinking of it before. He’d been so focused on suppressing his Hunger, always trying to push the monster away so that he could cling to some semblance of normalcy, that he’d never stopped to think that perhaps normality could be a whole lot closer if he satisfied the gluttonous beast within him just a bit at a time.

Just a sip. A little mouthful or two daily rather than gorging himself every week or so when he was too starving to hold it back any longer. That’s all he’d need.

Now, in the twilight hours before sunrise, Rassa waited in the large forest clearing where he’d once waited with the other village children to pounce on a white-furred, red-eyed rabbit. He’d failed to catch it the last time he’d tried and had instead been caught in its place. But this time, Rassa was a far more experienced hunter, and his prey would not be a mere rabbit.

The full moon overhead illuminated the clearing situated just a kilometre or so into Greenvale Forest. Here, the forest was still considered “safe” for the children. Not too far from the village nor too close to the dangers that lurked deeper within the ancient wood, like predators and other, less tolerant, beings. The villagers had long ago marked the line that the children were not to cross with a series of coloured ribbons. Rassa still remembered the day his father had brought him to that line, as was the duty of every parent of young children in the village.

“Do you know why the ribbons are here, Rassa?” Rassa’s father, Phillip, had asked sat in his arms, his little legs too small and unpractised to carry him so far out of the village.

Rassa, one of his chubby hands playing with the flimsy yellow ribbon that had been tied to a low hanging branch, looked up at his father with round, dark eyes. Rassa took after his mother with his dark brown hair and eyes. His father had golden hair and blue eyes, something that stood out this far north, where most had darker features. Anna, Rassa’s mother, had always said that while Rassa had taken on her features, he had more of his father in him than her.

“Curious, intelligent and adventurous,” Anna would poke her son’s round belly when he’d been cheeky as a toddler.

Rassa had appraised the yellow ribbon with a deep frown, “Is it to scare the wolves, Daddy?” he guessed. “Falla has a yellow ribbon like this, it makes her look very pretty. And she got really scary when Digs tried to stole it one time.”

Phillip had smiled in amusement at his son’s adorable misuse of tense, “‘Steal’ not ‘stole’, and close, but not quite. The ribbons are tied to the trees to create a line from the orchards north of the village,” Phillip pointed in the direction he spoke of, “to Baron Peter’s Manor in the south. When you stand on this side of the line of ribbons, you’re safe, and your mother and I won’t have to worry about you or your friends if you play here. But on the other side of the ribbons, that’s where the wolves live. Only the adult hunters go there. It’s not a place for little boys and girls.”

Rassa looked beyond the ribbon, as if he would see the wolves that his father spoke of. He was curious indeed. The only wolf he’d ever seen was the one stuffed and mounted in the Baron’s entry hall. It looked scary with its maw opened wide to reveal teeth nearly the length of his stubby fingers.

“You have to promise me, Rassa,” Phillip had urged. “Promise you won’t go beyond the ribbons if you’re playing here.”

Rassa turned back to Phillip, his eyes still wide with curiosity. But seeing the serious look in his father’s eyes, Rassa had nodded, “I promise.”

“Good boy,” said Phillip with a smile. “Come on now, your mother needs help cooking her yummy bread.”

Rassa had grinned. He loved his mother’s bread. Bread he hadn’t tasted again after the Incident. Only one thing made his mouth water in anticipation now. Only one thing satisfied the Hunger within him.

A gentle crunch of grass encased in frost and snow cut through the usual forest sounds.

Rassa’s senses homed in on the sound as the creature responsible emerged on the far side of the clearing. He didn’t move from where he sat against one of the larger ash trees, his eyes remaining closed as if he were asleep. He could have moved right in that moment to take down his prey. He could have moved several moments before when he’d first heard it awakening and moving to find its morning meal. It would not have escaped him in either instance.

Instead, Rassa practised patience, waiting and convincing the Hunger.

Just a sip. Just a bit. That’s all that will be needed.

The snuffling of the healthy young buck that had entered the clearing was distinct. Rassa delved further, finding the sound that would no doubt awaken his Hunger.

Ba-ba-dump. Ba-ba-dump.

The Hunger stirred and excitement filled Rassa. Excitement that he had once blamed on the monster, but now found harder to distinguish from his own emotions. He felt the piercing ache in his gums as the needle-like fangs to which he’d had to grow accus­tomed extended down, forcing his mouth to open ever so slightly to accommodate them lest they pierce through his own bottom lip.

Rassa clenched his fists by his sides.

Not yet. Only a sip. I only need a sip.

The Hunger seemed to hesitate, confused at being held back. This was when it was supposed to be unleashed. When it could consume until there was nothing left. Why this ‘only a sip’ business? What concept was this?

Ba-ba-dump. Ba-ba-dump.

The buck looked up, its ears twitching at the sound of an unnatural movement. It cocked its ears back and forth to search for the noise. A breeze blew past, but the sound did not return. Nothing then. The buck waited a longer out of caution, then lowered its head to the ground once more, it was sure it smelled a sweet morsel of grass somewhere here—

The buck stiffened but even its instincts had reacted too late. An immense force gripped its antlers from behind to keep its head back, then it was pulled by its shoulders down towards the ground.

The buck struggled, crying out in protest before the sound was cut off from shock as something sharp and painful pierced its neck.

Rassa breathed deeply as his fangs pierced the vein of the animal five times his size. He did not fear its power, his was far greater despite his small stature. The animal could sense it too. It could sense that the small human that had brought it down was perhaps not a human at all, but a predator the likes of which it had never encountered before. It had smelled it though. It had smelled it through these woods but thought little of the unfamiliar scent it couldn’t place. It should have been more cautious.

Just a sip.

One mouthful of rich, warm blood was sucked straight from the vein and filled Rassa’s mouth. He swallowed quickly; red eyes bright as the Hunger reared forward at the taste.

More. More. More!

No, just a sip!

Rassa battled the Hunger as he took in another mouthful and swallowed, then a third.

More!

Enough. You don’t need any more!

More!

A fourth mouthful.

A fifth.

Rassa would not lose this battle. He needed to win. He needed to know that he could pull away. That he did not have to kill every time he fed. That he didn’t have to risk hurting those he loved when the hunger was too much to bear. That he could live a more normal life. That people would not see him as a monster.

Enough.

Mor—

ENOUGH!

Rassa pulled away rapidly, taking a deep breath as he released the buck and took two steps back. He covered his mouth as the urge to finish the prey before him hit him in waves. The sight of the blood dripping from the two holes his fangs had made was so tempting that Rassa snapped his eyes shut.

The slowly decreased as the seconds ticked by and the Hunger began to concede that the meal was over.

Rassa slowly opened his eyes, then squatted as he watched the buck. He waited for the paralysing venom of his bite to burn away and the creature to rise and run back into the forest.

Come on, get up, he urged it.

Fresh blood still dripped from the wound on its neck. Rassa held his breath to stop from scenting it, and turned away. The bleeding would stop soon enough; he’d only taken a few mouthfuls.

Come on, get up.

The crunch of frost-covered leaves underfoot cut through the tension of waiting like the sight of a knife poised to strike.

Rassa’s gaze shot up to look beyond the buck, back towards Cordon. He sniffed the air. Recognition swept through him. Jacob and Oscar, the village’s most skilled hunters. Rassa glanced up to the sky, it was too light. He’d stayed long enough for the hunters to start heading out for the day. He tensed to flee as his eyes fell back on the buck.

Come on, get up, he urged it.

Rassa felt his fangs retract and the blood-red vision of his hunting instinct fade to its normal inhuman sharpness. He watched the buck, waiting for some sign of movement, anything.

The hunters’ footsteps grew closer. Rassa could hear them speaking now in low tones. They would know him. He’d played with Oscar’s son all his life. Besides Cordon was too small to not know everybody. These men couldn’t see him like this. He needed to leave.

But the buck …

Come on, move! Rassa urged more forcefully as he gazed at it. As if the look in his eyes would push the buck into action.

The hunters moved closer. Almost too close. They would see him soon.

The buck twitched. Rassa’s eyes cut to the movement. He watched as the muscles in its legs twitched again, then its hooves moved. It was slight, but it was there. A few more seconds and it could get up and run.

But Rassa could wait no longer. Assured that the buck would be able to get up on its own, Rassa swept the icy grass around him to hide his footprints before jumping up towards the tree branches.

He couldn’t wait to tell his father. He’d done it. He’d found a way. He could find his own normal now. Now, he did not have to take a life every time he fed.