Usually, Rivenston to Birnstead would have been a three-day trip. Somewhere in the afternoon of the second day, I realized I was only an hour out from the little village. Leaving before dawn, traveling until far into the night, and significant segments — mostly before dawn and after dusk — where I walked beside my horse instead of riding had drastically cut down on the usual travel time.

Fern did not like the murderous pace one bit.

I didn’t either, but for entirely different reasons. I was going the wrong way, doing the wrong thing. Indecision was the only thing guiding me closer to Birnstead. Returning there had been my initial plan. I needed a new one, preferably before I arrived. My trepidation grew with every step I came nearer to the town, yet a clever plot to keep myself alive remained out of reach.

It should have been easy. Those three Inquisitors would pass by Birnstead. Onar would report me. If I stayed in Birnstead, I would be waiting for my executioners to arrive. And the moment they learned of me, runners and messenger birds would be sent out to locate and dispatch all nearby Inquisition teams. Returning only brought me closer to death. Even though I had nowhere else to go, no place I could safely hide, I still had to get as far away as I could.

Simply, blindly, run!

Turn around.

Run away.

I could not do it. Not after promising I would be back. There were so many... too many feelings now wrapped up in that place to just run away from it.

Feelings I only ever pretended to have, I reminded myself.

It made no difference, that reminder. Inevitably, Birnstead came nearer.

Stepping out of the forest, onto that last stretch of road before the town itself, I could see the idyllic place right in front of me. Daylight-blind, and I could still see it. The whispers in the air spoke to me, as clear as sight could. Places, people, they all had such distinct, lovely scents. Nothing was better than returning to a place you hadn’t even known you could miss. Even though I had been gone for only a couple of days, just breathing the air, taking in the experience...

Soooo lovely.

So, sooooo…

Why?

Why me? Why do I need to keep making these terrible decisions? Why do I always make things harder on myself?

Pulling my blade out of its scabbard, I pretended I could see my reflection. It would be an ugly thing that stared back. A vampire pretending it was a little girl. A mimicked mockery of life. A predator that knew to blend in perfectly with its prey, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

I would go in. Tell them I could not stay. Warm them about the coming Inquisitors, in case Rafe wanted to shield Onar from them.

Or something like that.

Then run, fast as I could.

Easy.

If only thinking something was easy actually made it that way. One clop of my horse’s hooves after another, Fern led me into town. As usual, everything was quiet, with people either out working in the fields or logging near the river.

No one paid attention to me. For the first time this summer, I did not sneak into this town, but rode in normally, and no one seemed to care. They all knew what I was, yet no one ran away screaming or came to stop me. Not even Onar, though maybe that was just because he was working in his field, on the other side of his barn, and had not seen me approach.

Or maybe no one dared to approach me. Not even Shae, who was working alongside her dad. Perhaps they had all hoped I would not return. Maybe all of the ‘you are welcome to stay here’ had just been a big lie, a fake kindness, or even honest fear; no one but Onar daring to tell me they did not want a vampire here.

No, that was just a plain vindictive thought, born from my mood. Meg would never be able to hide malice behind pretend kindness. Reya would straight up flog anyone who tries being that deceptive.

I left Fern outside and entered the bunkhouse through the communal entrance. It was still early enough in the evening for the common room to be empty, so I marched straight past all the empty tables toward the door leading to Rafe and Eryn’s living quarters.

Remembering Reya’s insistence that I not barge into people’s homes unannounced I raised my hand to knock.

Hesitated.

They would expect me to flee west, even further away from the capital. That meant my best chance at running was probably to head northeast, cut a path across most of the country, and cross the border into the Aberny Republic. From here in Birnstead I could even make a quick little detour to the west, misdirect pursuers by making everyone in town think I had fled across the Maru river.

Reaching the Aberny border would take weeks though. I would not last that long. I would be the first vampire in Thysa. Ever. They would spread word everywhere, the entire continent on the lookout for someone matching my description. The panic alone, once news spread that a vampire was loose, would be utter madness. Cities under lockdown. Patrols on the roads. Manhunts during the day. Only the nights would grant me respite. No one was mad enough to ambush a vampire at night.

And even if, with miraculous luck, I would make it all the way to Aberny, that would not make any difference. Borders were useless when the entire continent was united against the vampire threat. Not even sneaking on a boat to Ostea would help me. With the blockade, the only ships that sailed there were Inquisition warships.

The door in front of me opened, a worried Eryn looking down at me. I hadn’t even knocked yet. I had been about to, and then my thoughts had wandered.

How long have I been standing here?

Aaaaah… soooo embarrassing.

I had to say something, but I did not know where to start. Instead, we stared at each other. When the prolonged silence became too much I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Inquisitors are coming.”

Again we both stared at each other, startled by the words that had fallen out of my mouth, the truth presented so bluntly and suddenly that it needed time to sink in. Simply stating this fact out loud should not be able to have this much of an impact. But it did. I felt the truth twisting, coiling deep inside me, taking root, snatching away what flimsy specks of hope still remained.

Inquisitors were coming, and my days of hiding were over. It would be nothing like the slow reveal of my secrets to the people of Birnstead had been. It would be immediate. Harsh. Final.

I would die.

And I was sitting in Rafe and Eryn's kitchen, a mug of something hot and steaming — soup maybe — thrust into my hands, and I had no idea how the mug had gotten there or how I had ended up in this chair.

Eryn was fussing over me. The soup smelled like disgustingly inedible vegetables. People were filing in. Nebby. Rafe. Reya, accompanied by that one woman who had helped me carry Uncle Tare the first time the old man had been good enough to come outside. Meg and Gery, their two kids in tow.

It was just like when I had first confronted the loggers out by the river. Just like when I had come back from taking care of the ahuizotl. Just like when I had first admitted to the entire village that I was not human. The instant something interesting happened, everyone in this tiny backwater place showed up to witness it. Only, all those other instances had been outside, with plenty of space for people to stand. This was in a one-room hovel.

It was too much. Too many people. I had not fed since Rivenston. Chicken-broth Eryn's too-small living quarters were suddenly stuffed with a press of bodies. The air was thick with the worry of a startled herd of animals right before panic turned the throng into a mad scramble for safety. A far, far, far more enticing taste than the soup.

I chewed the rim of the mug, a frantic attempt to still my feral thoughts, but the mug was solid, tough, entirely without the subtle give of flesh. I needed to do something else to stop the tide of prey from swelling even thicker.

“You don't understand,” I hissed, launching into an explanation in a desperate bid to distract myself from the hunger. “It's Onar... It's...”

My words went unheard, lost in the excitement and fear and worry that drifted in with the townspeople. Rationally I knew there weren’t that many people here. The tiny indoor space simply made it seem much busier. But the raw emotion itched and teased and pulled and tempted me in a way that made the warmth and friendship these people presented nothing but a dim and distant thing compared to their delightful taste.

“…please?” I growled out through clenched teeth, looking decidedly down at my mug because I did not want anyone to spot the cold hunger in my eyes.

Lemongrass Meg’s little nibble wailed as it picked up on the anxiety of the adults. People raised their voices to be heard over the crying child. The Lemongrass-and-cotton mother somehow made soothing noises to the little thing that overpowered every other noise.

A resounding bang cut through everything. The prey jumped and ducked in fright. I was already halfway out of the chair and reaching for a weapon before I realized it was just Pepper-blood Reya slamming the front door shut, deliberately loud and shocking to get everyone’s attention.

Steaming hot soup from the mug I’d let go off sloshed all over my legs.

Hot! Scalding hot!

Pretend to jump and flail and scream in pain, you idiot!

I was spent and ran ragged. Blisteringly hot liquid simply did not bother me the way it bothered everyone else. They all knew anyway and it was hopeless. And so, in the sudden silence that followed the deafening bang, when the thud of the mug hitting the floor turned everyone’s gazes back to me, I simply dropped that part of my human mimicry. I sat back down, and let the hot soup seeping through my clothes gently warm me.

“Everyone that doesn't need to be here, out!” Reya's anger cut through the quiet. She opened the door she’d just slammed shut. Her finger resolutely pointed at the exit allowing no room for discussion.

People scuffed their feet, whatever reservations and excuses they had quickly squashed under the weight of Reya's gaze. When Nebby gently guided everyone towards the door, no one protested.

Eryn collapsed in the only other chair. “Entirely...” The frail woman gasped for breath. “Entirely... too much... excitement...”

The Chicken-broth woman’s heartbeat resounded in my ears, the familiar unsteady flutter of it reached a pitch that was far too fast, far too loud, far too close to collapsing in on itself.

Oldest.

Weakest.

Rafe and Nebby hurried to her side. Fussed over her. Pointlessly late, the rhythm of Eryn’s breathing and heartbeat was already steadying.

After Reya had forced the woman that had entered with her out with a surprisingly gentle shove, I picked the fallen mug up from the ground, wiped it clean with the edge of my sleeve, and put it down on the table. “I'm sorry,” I said. “This is my fault. I shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have stayed. Shouldn't have come back. But if they arrive unannounced, Onar... Onar... he won't... I don't want him to... like...”

I gave up on my own excuses. These people knew me almost as well as my dad and Uncle Hadrian did. There was no way someone like Reya would believe my lies. I did not care about Onar. I did not care about his traumas. I merely did not want him to betray me. Stating anything else, like that I wanted to protect him from the sudden shock of Inquisitors showing up in Birnstead, I could not bring myself to voice that.

I grabbed hold of the entire confusing mess of emotions inside of me that made this so difficult. The fake ones I used to pretend to these people I was a cute and innocent little thing. The very real fear of my looming demise. The bewildering ones that had started out as nothing but a mask and had somehow grown roots, sprouted leaves, and become a wild bramble beyond my control. I buried all of it deep inside, pretended to wipe tears out of my eyes to disguise the sudden change in my composure, and when I dropped my arms again there was nothing left of the utter mess I had been moments before.

“I'm really sorry. I need to leave,” I stated plainly, stood up, and turned towards the exit.

Before I could open the door, Reya's hand pressed down on my shoulder. “Good idea. We too should give Rafe and Erin some space. Why don’t you come over to my place while these three get things ready?” She tilted her head towards Rafe, Eryn, and Nebby. “We can have dinner. And once you’re all settled in we can figure this out together.”

What?

Why’d she say it like that?

That wasn’t what she wanted to do at all. I understood that from scent and tone alone. How upset she was with me. How much more worried she was about Eryn. There was care and affection there in a way that no one would ever have for me. She wanted me gone. Away from here. Out of their lives. I knew that. It was better that way. Better without me scaring Eryn half to death. Better if Reya spent time on people that deserved her care. Better if the town healer did not waste her time on monsters like me that were days away from being killed.

The door in front of me was pulled open. A blur of orange hair, caught up in a wildflower breeze barrelled into me. Arms wrapped themselves around my back. A chin rested on my shoulder. Tangles of hair halfway free from their braids tickled my nose. A wild and hiccuping laugh bubbled up from deep inside Shae’s heart. “You really came back. Vale! You really came back!”

I lifted a hand, prepared to embrace her in turn, then dropped it again. She did not know. About the news I had brought. Not yet. She had simply stormed in, and slipped past everyone, ignoring all the commotion. I could not. Could not reciprocate. Not with her happiness in such stark contrast to everything else.

When I did not move, did not reply, did not say anything, her hands untangled from my back and slid down my arms as she took a step back. Even totally unbothered Wildflower Shae could tell something was wrong.

“Vale?”

When she tried to look me in the eyes, I stared at the ground instead.

She let go of me entirely, and took in everything else instead. Her head whipped from one person to the next. Eryn and Rafe, standing next to each other wrapped in a cloud of worry. Nebby, silent and demure instead of energetic and happy. Reya, sour and glum as always. Then finally, finding me again, alone in this room despite everyone else being here with me.

“What’s going on?”

Her voice, laced with bitter disappointment, was the smallest, saddest thing I had ever heard.