The Blood Moons

Chapter Three

She walked up the staircase to the second floor, knowing that Tom would have her usual room already done up and ready for her. She walked to the end of the hall to the last room on the right. Digging into her pocket, she retrieved the key Tom had given her. He’d told her to never give it back a few years ago. It was his way of letting her know that she always had a place to go. She smiled slightly at the memory as she tapped the bronze key to her palm. He truly had taken the role of father in her heart, tucked right beside Mika. Pushing aside the pain that stabbed briefly at the thought her father, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

With the exception of it being freshly dusted and aired out, the room was exactly as she had left it six months ago. An adequately-sized bed was against the far wall with a dresser at the foot and a table and chair against the other wall. The shuttered window to her room was still open, the night air pleasantly blowing in. Another door to her right she knew would lead to the private bathroom attached to her room. It was the only room on this level that had one. Tom had had it specially added on when she started coming around often. The walls were the same off-white as the building making the royal blue of her bedspread really stand out. On the table sat the book she had been in the middle of reading. She remembered cursing herself out when she forgot to bring it with her when she left. Perhaps she’d start it again, remembering to bring it with her this time of course. All of this was lit by the single lantern anchored to the wall. Closing the door and placing her pack on top of the dresser, she opened the bathroom door.

The steam from the claw-foot tub hit her face as the door opened. This must have been Helda’s doing, she thought, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth at the thoughtfulness of Tom’s wife. She wasted no time in stripping down, dimming a second lantern beside the mirror, and easing herself into the water. It was so deliciously warm and relaxing that Cyla simply rested her head back. The heat eased the aches out from muscles sore from riding and walking the last few weeks. Even the bruising on her chest from Bryant’s shoulder seemed to lessen as the lavender oil infused in the water filled her senses. Helda had once again thought of everything.

Taking a sponge, she scrubbed the nearly inch-thick layer of dirt and grime off of every surface of her body. She was pressing so hard and diligently that her skin was bright pink by the time she was done. She was surprised how even her toes, even if always covered by her boots, had needed to be cleaned of the dirt wedged between them. Lathering her hair with the lavender scented shampoo was another event. It was so thick and dirty it took nearly three entire processes in order to get rid of all the muck. Cyla finally sighed in relief, leaning against the tub with a sense of satisfaction. She hadn’t felt this refreshed in a long, long time.

She glanced down at the water lapping around her knees, cringing. The brown from the dirt and red from the dried blood swirled around each other in the once clean water. The prospect of sitting in the filth seemed counterproductive, but just as she was beginning to stand, she paused. A particular patch of red had pooled together, forming a neat circle amidst the dirty brown.

Almost instantly she was thrown back to that day, ten years ago.

She clawed herself out of the hidden hole in the floor of her home that she hadn’t even known was there. Small skittish steps brought her over the floor, the wood smooth under her feet. She tripped on the haphazardly thrown rug, barely catching herself on the door before she slammed nose-first into it. Her hand shook as she gripped the cold door latch. It took more strength than normal to open the door and once she had, she saw the reason as to why.

A boy about her age was in a heap against her door, a jagged line from his neck to his chest leaking blood all down his front. Her eyes connected with his empty ones as she remembered who he was. A sob whimpered in her throat as she thought of how they had just been playing together the day before. She stiffly bent down and reached forward to close his eyes. She couldn’t bear to see them anymore.

Standing to her feet, she looked around. The iron in the air could be tasted on her tongue and stung her nose. Everywhere her amber eyes looked there was a person she knew, a person she loved, lying lifeless. She forced her steps forward, her feet sinking into the blood-soaked mud. She paused beside a pile of fur, thinking it was a large dog, a nearly perfect pool of blood beneath its head. But as she pushed it aside, she jumped back, realizing it was a dirty brown wolf, a giant one. Its mouth was stuck open in a permanent snarl. The eyes were as red as the blood dripping from its fangs and stared at nothing. Yet when she followed its gaze, she realized it wasn’t nothing it was staring at. She collapsed on her knees, her breath, and cry, stuck in her throat.

Instantly she snapped her thoughts forward, finding herself still sitting in the tub. The water had cooled significantly, yet she had barely noticed. She knew all along what today was, she always knew. Cyla always tried to ignore it, but it was always something seemingly innocent that would find its way passed her wall. She pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them close as she laid her forehead on them. Silently, tears streamed down her cheeks. She would allow this moment of weakness, just this moment. But she wouldn’t let anyone else know. So, she didn’t make a sound.

She was unaware of how much time had passed. But when the tears finally stopped, her fingers and toes were thoroughly pruned. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she shook her head. She forced her impassive face on and even went so far as to glare at the dirty water. This was her process to rebuilding the wall she kept all her emotions behind. Standing up, she grabbed the bucket sitting beside the tub before dumping the freezing water over her head.

Finally ready, she exited the tub. She would help Helda and the girls empty it in the morning, one bucket at a time out the window. She didn’t bother to dry her body as the air was quite warm with the summer. But she did dry her hair with a clean towel, staring at the warped mirror as she did so. Her skin had darkened from its usual pale to a deep brown with the countless hours in the sun. Scars littered her body as silver little lines, many about her arms and legs, but there were a few larger and longer ones about her ribs and even her back. Many of these big ones were from her years of training, only a few happening in the fights she’d had while working.

Muscles shifted beneath her skin, giving her strength where her average height suggested she would not have it. These muscles didn’t seem to diminish the size of her breasts though as they were still full and large. This bothered her as it generally led to unwanted attention. Her eyes were the last thing she noticed, though they were usually the first things others noticed. They were as amber as liquid honey most times. But she’d been told that when she was angry, they would lighten to a near white hot color. She’d never heard of eyes doing this, but since they never inconvenienced her, she quickly forgot about it. She sighed, running her fingers through the curls in an attempt to de-tangle them. Maybe one day she’d invest in a brush.

Continuing to attempt to de-tangle, she exited the bathroom and walked to her pack. Digging through it, she pulled out a black shirt. Hesitantly she sniffed it, immediately regretting that decision. Maybe I can get Helda to wash my clothes before I leave again, she thought as she picked up article after article of rank clothing. Deeming them absolutely unusable in their current state, she opened the second drawer of the dresser. Here she had started to leave belongings, overtime collecting an entire wardrobe. Of course, all in black.

She had just grabbed an oversized shirt when there was a soft knock at the door. Cautious as always, Cyla froze, her head snapping to the door. She toyed with the idea of just grabbing her knife and answering the door. Facing nudity always made an enemy nervous while she was quite indifferent to it. She’d done worse during her training. But there was an off chance it was Tom or one of the girls and she didn’t want to disrespect any of them. A second round of knocking, a little louder, made her mind up. She threw the shirt over her head and grabbed the dagger from the top of the dresser.

Slowly she gripped the handle and unlocked it, hiding the dagger up her sleeve against her arm. When Cyla opened the door, she saw the bar maid that had been being harassed earlier that evening standing there, head bowed shyly, holding a mug of beer. Her light straw-colored hair was parted into two long braids and her clothes were simple and humble, even a little threadbare in places. “Can I help you?” Cyla asked cautiously. The girl raised her head, wide green eyes staring innocently.

“I saw what you did. Fo-for me. With that jerk, I mean.” Her eyes darted back and forth, never really meeting Cyla’s puzzled gaze. “I thought I would say my thanks with this beer.” She stretched forth the mug, her eyes pinning themselves to the floor. Cyla titled her head quizzically, but still took the beer from the girl.

“It wasn’t really anything special,” Cyla said. “But I would be a fool to pass on free beer.” She wrapped her fingers around the wooden mug and took a swig of the cold beverage. “You have my thanks.” The girl smiled a small smile.

“No, it is mine you have,” she countered with a small curtsy. Cyla raised her brow at that but said nothing as the girl turned and walked away. She watched until the girl disappeared around the corner before she went back into her room.

Closing the door, she downed half the beer in one go before placing it and the dagger on the table. It was particularly strong this time and her head immediately started to feel fuzzy. She gripped the edges of the desk tightly, panting a bit as she stared out the small window. Suddenly she fell to a heap on the smooth wooden floor, her unfocused eyes watching the stars twinkling uncaringly in the night sky. There was a soft click from her door. She tried to turn her head to see who was there, her fingers twitching as they struggled to reach her dagger before she remembered she’d left it on the table. Nothing would respond like it should have though. Her vision blurred as a face came into view and as she heard someone clucking mockingly, everything went black.

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The first thing that hit her was the pounding in her head. She groaned as it thumped relentlessly against her skull. She pressed the heel of a palm against her eyes as she moaned again. Sluggishly she willed herself to sit up, which proved difficult as it felt like her arms and legs weighed a ton. Her fingers curled beneath her, realizing offhandedly that she was laying in her bed. “What the hell?” Cyla groaned. Dropping her head in her hands, she laid against the headboard.

“I thought it was more comfortable than the floor. I could always put you back.” Cyla forced her eyes open, trying to make her brain focus on the danger. She looked to the side to see a girl sitting at the table. Wait? Cyla narrowed her eyes. Is that the bar maid? The girl was dressed in the same clothing the bar maid had been in. But the white tunic had been pulled provocatively low, barely staying above her corset and showing and ample amount of cleavage. Her legs crossed at the ankle, bare feet up on the table, her brown skirt falling up her legs so that a lot of leg was showing. The blonde hair was no longer in braids, rather falling in waves past the chair as she lounged over the back. Cyla was beginning to doubt this was actually the same girl when she met those same startling green eyes. It was the same girl. This revelation caused her to run the events through her mind again before she growled and flopped her head back.

“Goddess’ t**s!” she snarled. “The beer was drugged.” She threw daggers at the girl with her eyes. Cyla then started silently cursing herself out for being so careless and dropping her guard. The girl giggled as though she could read Cyla’s mind.

“Of course it was. I had to find some way to get you down before you could kill me,” she replied. “Although, I didn’t think such a simple trick would get passed such a reclaimed bounty hunter as yourself. A rookie mistake I must say.” Her voice was full of such obvious ridicule that Cyla couldn’t do anything but glare. It wasn’t like she wasn’t thinking it to herself already. The girl faked a heavy sigh and switched her ankles, her skirt slipping a bit higher and showing a good portion of her white freckled thigh. Cyla glanced down at it wondering what her game was. Was she trying to seduce something out of her? Clearly, she knew who she was, so the girl must know that such tactics didn’t work on her. Her training made that impossible.

“What do you want?” she managed to snap. The girl smirked, her plump lips nearly pulling into a pout.

“Can’t a girl just say hello?” She waited a moment to see if Cyla would respond. When she didn’t, she sighed. Her head titled back slightly in boredom. “All work and no play, I see. That frown is going to give you some serious wrinkles.” Cyla didn’t bat an eye. In fact, her frown deepened. In a smooth movement, the girl (could she really be just a girl?) swung her legs around and strode the few steps to the bed. Cyla knew she wasn’t restrained, but the drug weighed her down mightily. So, she watched suspiciously and cautiously as the girl sat on the bed. She walked her fingers up Cyla’s bare leg softly and slowly.

“Goddess, you’re beautiful,” she exhaled softly, green eyes peeking up through long blonde eyelashes. She continued walking up her leg until she reached the edge of the long shirt, right above her knees. “Are you sure you don’t want to play? Oooooh the things I could teach you.” Cyla squirmed slightly, as though she was uncomfortable. Really, she was checking the strength in her limbs, which wasn’t much. Sitting up, she was realizing, had been essentially a miracle. But soon, her arm should have enough strength to serve her. Her eyes darted to the dagger still on the table where she had left it. Quick as she had looked away, she was back to facing this mysterious threat. Green eyes met hers instantly—they were laughing.

“Oh, I don’t think you can get that quite yet. And I’ll be long gone before you can.” Cyla narrowed her eyes. “Fine!” the girl exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “I came to talk to you about this.” As if with magic, the girl suddenly held a folded piece of parchment between her two fingers. Cyla watched as she unfolded it and waved it in her face. She could clearly see the emblem of the Blood Moons at the top. It had a name scrawled neatly along the top with a list of descriptions and known locations listed down the paper. It was an assignment from her employer.

Cyla read it quickly before darting her eyes back and forth between the order and the face of the girl. “What does this have to do with you?” Cyla gritted, despite already guessing the answer. The girl rolled her eyes.

“Oh, don’t be so stupid,” she tisked. “I’m not sure how you tracked me here, but I had you pegged the moment you stepped foot in the inn. And not because of that stupid red emblem on your shoulder. All you bounty hunters smell the same—sweat and blood. This,” she wiggled the paper a little, “is me.” Cyla remained stone-faced as she once against swept her eyes over the information. The description did seem to match. Of course, Cyla wasn’t going to tell her that she hadn’t gotten the order when she first came here. It must have come while she was in the bath.

“You’re a vampire,” Cyla stated finally, keeping her face as unreadable as possible. How did I miss that? she mentally berated herself. The girl rolled her eyes as she set the paper on the bed.

“Yes,” she drawled. “My name is Petunia James—obviously—but please don’t call me that. I go by Bug. It’s much less grandmotherly.” Bug paused for Cyla to say anything, but she merely glared. Bug sighed. “Come come, don’t be so rude. What is your name?”

“Is this what you do?” Cyla snapped. “Play with your meals?” Bug gasped, placing her hand over her heart as she pretended to be hurt.

“Of course not! You make me sound like some animal.” She huffed childishly, crossing her arms. “The only people I’ve drained have deserved it. Murderers, rapists, politicians.” She trailed off, waiting again for Cyla to give input. Once again, Cyla remained silent. “Oh, please. Tell me you aren’t one of those who actually believes politicians are as good and immaculately clean as they say they are. The Goddess knows, they are no saints. Like I said, only those who deserve death become my meals.” Bug’s face darkened a moment as she locked eyes with Cyla. “Do you deserve to become my meal?” Once again, silence from Cyla. But while her lips didn’t move, her mind was swirling.

She thought of all the people she had fought, human and supernatural. Their looks of pure terror or anger as she brought them to one captain or another and then simply walked away. The scene of death she alone walked away from ten years ago flashed painfully. Did she deserve it? Was she bad? Before she could think more on this, Bug spoke again. “No, I don’t think you do.” She shifted on the bed, letting her hand fall high up on Cyla’s leg. “Tell me,” she started rubbing small circles on Cyla’s thigh. “You’ve been unconscious for a while; your dagger has been right there—well within reach—and yet I haven’t killed you. Do you think I’m really all that bad a girl?” Cyla pretended to consider this. Truthfully, she was focusing on curling her fingers and twitching her toes, trying to restore full strength to her limbs. She almost rejoiced as she felt the strength returning quicker than expected. “Cyla Fillas!” Cyla paused, her eyes wide for just a moment as she realized the vampire already knew her name. “It’s important you answer this question. I need to know the answer.”

The vampire knew her name! Did that mean she knew about her past, about why she was a bounty hunter? She was so shocked that Cyla stumbled over her next words. “I guess you could have—had you been so inclined.” A whoosh escaped Bug’s mouth before she smiled.

“See, not such a bad girl. I may have killed—a lot—and there is definitely blood on my hands. But I try my hardest to make sure I do as much good as I can to redeem myself of it.” A look of remorse flashed across the freckled young face.

“Why are you telling me this?” Cyla found herself asking. Bug’s green eyes looked at her slowly, emotions warring in her gaze.

“Because—I guess—no one has ever given me a chance to. Everyone your employers have sent after me has gone straight for the kill. No questions, no hesitation. Maybe,” Bug chewed the inside of her cheek before sighing deeply. She dropped her head and looked at her hands as she folded them in her lap. “Maybe I’m tired of being misunderstood.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Cyla swore she could hear loneliness in the vampire’s voice.

A moment of silence passed before Bug seemed to reset herself, once again looking at Cyla with a sly look. “So, I was hoping, instead of you tracking me down and killing me—like all the others that tried and failed—perhaps you would find it in that beautiful, beautiful heart of yours to let me go.” She smiled a devastating smile that Cyla was sure usually hid Bug’s emotions. But she still saw the sadness in that smile. “Maybe,” the vampire’s bell-like voice trailed off. “Maybe you can think about it?”

Bug stood from the bed and turned to the door, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Taking this opening, Cyla threw herself off the bed and stumbled to the table. She gripped the table in one hand and the dagger in the other. But when she turned to where the vampire should have been, she found an empty room. The click of the door shutting softly echoed around her. Cyla sighed, her hand holding the dagger dropping heavily as the last of the drugs still pulled at her. That was odd, Cyla thought sluggishly. She was sure that the vampire was going to kill her in order to stop her from following through on the order. But to be standing in the room unharmed, relatively speaking, and alone, she was shaken in a way she hadn’t been in five years. She took a shaky breath as she placed the dagger back on the table behind her. Her fingers brushed against parchment and she hesitantly picked it up.

Her eyes dragged over the words she’d been reading for five years, not really reading them. From the light of the lantern, she could see the shadow of writing on the back. Curious, she turned the parchment over to read one phrase—a phrase that made her breath catch in her throat.

If you want to find him, I can help.