Chapter 5 The First Shot
1088 Words
The village quieted faster that night, as if the missing girl had stolen even the wind’s voice.
Amara walked beside Mireya along the lantern-lit path, the weight of unspoken fears pressing close. Mireya’s warnings still echoed — about Sarian’s ancient, unchanging family, about trouble that followed Lucian like a second shadow.
“You shouldn’t have stayed there today,” Mireya whispered.
Amara glanced at her. “I didn’t start anything.”
“That’s the problem,” Mireya said, stopping suddenly. Her yes held real fear now. “You stood with them. Sarian… people say his kind don’t age, don’t sicken. And when girls go missing…”
Amara finished it softly. “Aswang.”
Mireya’s breath caught. “You felt it.”
Amara didn’t deny it. The word tasted old, like stories her father once told in low careful tones.
“And Lucian?” she asked.
Mireya shook her head. “I don’t know what he is. But he’s always near the danger. And Liraya…” She hesitated. “They call her a queen of sorts. Stay away from all of them.”
Amara nodded, but her thoughts had already drifted — to dark eyes that saw too much, and the strange comfort of a voice that warned her away even as it pulled her closer.
That night, sleep refused to come.
She lay staring into the dark, the memory of Lucian’s almost-smile lingering like salt on her skin. Not fear. Something warmer. More dangerous.
🌿
The sound came just after midnight — soft footsteps that tried hard to be silent.
Amara’s eyes opened. She didn’t move at first, only listened. Then she rose quietly, barefoot, and slipped outside.
The air felt thick, watchful.
“You took your time,” a mocking voice said.
Three men stepped from the shadows, their grins too sharp, too eager.
Amara stayed calm. “Can I help you?”
One laughed. “Depends on how easy you make this.”
She exhaled. “Then you chose the wrong girl.”
The first lunged.
Amara moved on instinct — graceful, precise, drawing just enough from her father’s unyielding strength and her mother’s flowing intuition. She twisted aside, drove an elbow into his ribs. The second charged; she used his momentum to send him crashing down. The third hesitated — long enough for her to strike cleanly.
They fled into the night, cursing, when something unseen seemed to falter their steps.
Silence fell again.
Amara stood breathing steadily, a shallow cut stinging along her arm and another at her shoulder. Nothing she couldn’t hide.
From the edge of the trees, a shadow detached itself.
“You’re not very good at staying out of trouble,” Lucian said, voice low.
She turned slowly. “And you’re not very good at leaving me alone.”
His gaze swept over her, sharp with concern. When it landed on the blood, something in his expression softened.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.” He stepped closer, the moonlight catching the faint scar along his jaw. “Sit.”
Amara raised an eyebrow, but the quiet command held a gentleness she hadn’t expected. She sat on the low wooden step outside Mireya’s house.
Lucian crouched in front of her without hesitation, tearing a clean strip from the edge of his sleeve. The fabric whispered as it gave away.
“You always do that?” she asked softly.
“Only when it matters.”
He reached for her arm, then paused, fingers hovering just above her skin. His eyes lifted to hers — dark, intense, but asking.
“May I?”
The simple question made her chest tighten. She nodded.
His touch was careful, almost reverent. Warm fingers brushed her skin as he cleaned the cut with the cloth, movements slow and deliberate. Every graze sent a quiet spark through her — not pain, but something sweeter. Like the first warm breeze after a long stillness.
“You fought well,” he murmured, not looking up.
Amara watched the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. “You sound surprised.”
A faint smile touched his lips — real this time, small and crooked. “I am. Most people freeze. You moved like… wind and stone at once.”
The words felt intimate, as if he’s glimpsed something of her parents in her. She felt a soft stir inside her chest.
“You helped,” she said quietly. “I felt it. That moment when the first one faltered.”
Lucian’s hands stilled. He didn’t deny it this time. Instead, he looked up, their faces close enough that she could see the way too-dark eyes caught faint flecks of moonlight.
“They would have hurt you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t’t… just watch.”
The admission hung between them, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying.
Amara leaned in a fraction, drawn by the warmth of his nearness. “I thought you’d stay away.”
“I did.” His thumb brushed lightly along the edge of the bandage, securing it with gentle pressure. The touch lingered. “Yet here I am.”
“And here I am,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended. “Still not listening to your warnings.”
His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before returning to her eyes. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before thunder — sweet, electric, full of promise and restraint.
“You’re dangerous,” he said, but the words carried no edge. Only quiet wonder.
Amara’s lips curved. “So are you. Yet you’re tending my wounds like I’m something precious.”
Lucian exhaled a low breath, almost a laugh, but his expression stayed serious. He finished the second bandage with the same careful attention, then sat back on his heels. For a heartbeat, neither moved — the space between them small enough to close with one shared breath.
“We need to be careful,” he said at last, though he made no move to stand.
“About what?” she asked, eyes searching his.
“They’re starting to notice you.” His voice dropped. “The ones who take what doesn’t belong.”
Amara’s expression stilled. “Who is ‘they’?”
Before he could answer, another voice slid from the shadows — smooth, knowing.
“You already know the answer to that.”
Liraya stepped forward, her eyes moving between them with quiet recognition. This time, they didn’t just observe.
They understood.
- Writer
