Ch5
995 Words
Later that night, the town lay hushed beneath a blanket of darkness. Streetlights flickered, and snow crunched softly underfoot as three shadows moved cautiously through the silent streets. Rowen walked between Raven and Liora, his steps careful, almost tentative. Every creak of a branch, every faint whisper of the wind set his nerves on edge.
Raven’s eyes swept every shadow, every flicker of movement. “I’ve been hearing rumors,” he murmured, voice low. “Someone—or something—has been taking people at night. Folks are scared to even step outside.”
Rowen swallowed, the cold biting at his cheeks. “Some kids at school… they were talking about it. Saying people vanish, just… gone. No one dares go out after dark.”
Raven’s eyes darkened, scanning the shadows. “Whatever’s out there… it’s taking people. Quietly. No one knows how—or why.”
Rowen’s stomach twisted. “Why hasn’t anyone seen it?”
Raven leaned closer, voice low but steady. “Mr. Jones’ son… he told me about a murder that happened one night, not far from here. No one saw exactly what happened, but by morning there was blood, torn clothing… and nothing else. No one ever found out who—or what—did it.”
Rowen shivered. So someone really could be out there tonight…
Fenrir stirred inside Rowen, small and uneasy. Rowen… it’s here. It’s waiting. Be ready.
Liora’s hands glowed faintly as her magic hummed, warm and ready beneath her skin. “If it attacks, I’m ready,” she whispered, though her eyes scanned the forest edge, tense.
The three moved down a narrow path skirting the forest, the snow crunching lightly under their boots. Every step seemed louder than the last, echoing against the empty houses. Then—a faint, wet sound reached them. Something tearing, squirming, gurgling. The coppery scent of blood hung thick in the air, sharp and metallic.
Rowen’s stomach turned. Fenrir growled, voice tight. Rowen… it’s feeding. Small, but… not human.
Raven stiffened, sniffing the air like a wolf. “Stay sharp,” he said. “I don’t like this. That smell… it’s fresh.”
Liora’s fingers twitched, the warmth of her magic spreading to her palms. “I can feel it too,” she said. “It’s… alive. Hiding, waiting.”
The shadows of the forest stretched like fingers across the snowy street. Under a broken streetlight crouched a boy no older than seven or eight. His dark hair fell over his pale face, and he hunched over something in the snow. Wet, gurgling noises filled the silence as he fed. The metallic scent of blood was strong, almost suffocating.
Shadow growled sharply in Raven’s mind. That child is dangerous. Move carefully.
Fenrir’s voice trembled inside Rowen. Watch out… he’s going to attack…
Raven’s hand tightened on Rowen’s shoulder. “Stay close. Don’t move.”
The boy suddenly looked up, and his golden-brown eyes caught the faint glow of the streetlight. He froze, trembling, then moved with surprising speed—a blur of pale limbs.
Rowen! Fenrir’s warning cut sharply. Move!
The child lunged. Rowen stumbled back, heart in his throat. Raven reacted instantly, grabbing him and rolling aside just as claws swept through the space where he had stood. The boy landed in the snow, crouched like a small predator, lips curled back to reveal sharp fangs.
Liora’s magic flared. She raised her hands, and a shimmering barrier formed, halting the child mid-strike. He hissed, thrashing against it, trembling violently.
The metallic scent of blood intensified, mingling with the sharp tang of fear. Rowen watched, frozen, as Fenrir whimpered in his chest. He’s so small… but so hungry…
Liora reinforced the barrier with another wave of her hands. “No one can see us. He won’t escape — I knocked him out. We should be safe to get him home.”
Rowen stayed at a safe distance, barely breathing. Raven crouched near the child, keeping his grip firm as Shadow pressed against him, guiding his strength.
Finally, they made it home, carrying the child gently inside. They laid him on the couch under the protective block. Rowen stayed close, watching silently, while Raven held a careful grip nearby.
A sudden crashing sound made them all jump. The child had woken, thrashing against the block, trying to break free. His golden-brown eyes caught the light, glowing faintly, and Liora froze.
Her stomach tightened as she saw it—something was wrong. The chaotic, unstable energy radiating from him… the hunger, the corruption… all of it concentrated in those glowing eyes. Vampiric hunger… and a sickness that needs to be purged, she realized.
Quickly, she ran to her herbs, crushing them into a bitter mixture and mixing with water. “Raven,” she said sharply, “we have to give this to him. Now, before he hurts himself—or anyone else.”
Raven nodded, crouching beside the boy. “I’ve got him.”
Liora leaned close and poured the mixture down the boy’s throat. He shook, gagging violently, black blood spilling from his mouth and staining the couch and Raven’s coat. The stench of iron was overwhelming. Rowen had to cover his nose, the smell turning his stomach.
After several minutes, the boy slumped fully, exhausted and trembling. The black blood no longer leaked, but the metallic tang lingered in the air.
Rowen stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the child. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched.
Fenrir stirred beside him, low and uneasy. He’s out, but… something about him feels wrong. I don’t like this. He’s still dangerous, even like this.
Liora placed a gentle hand on Raven’s arm. “He should sleep for the rest of the night. The block will keep him contained. We’ll watch over him.”
Outside, the town slept on, unaware of the child who had haunted their streets—and the three who had taken it upon themselves to save him.
- Writer
