Beauty and Her Vampire {Watty Awards}

BAHV (Part 12)

2012 © Sonia Bartlett

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Part Twelve

     Cas’s small eyes seemed to go huge as they met hers and, almost fearfully, he backed away from her arm. When he reached the edge and his foot slipped, tipping his small body precariously, he hurriedly took flight, giving her a wide berth. Coming to a fumbling stop he slid from her sight into the darkness of the shadows.

     Arabella’s eyes searched the darkness for the gleam of his obsidian eyes, her mind blank with shock. Her eyes slowly drifted down to her bloodied hand. She stared blankly at it, her vision blurred by tears. A moment later her eyes cleared and she realized her tears were more from shock than pain. In fact, there was no pain at all.

      Her eyes went wide and they shot to the darkness then back down to her hand. Inspecting it closely, her stomach rolling in an effort to keep herself from passing out again, she inspected the gash. Where it had been freely bleeding before, the bleeding had now stopped.

   Her brow crinkled in confusion, for she hadn’t thought she’d been unconscious that long, she gingerly wiped her hand with her skirt. Suddenly she froze.

     “Oh my Lord…” She gaped in shock at the cut on her hand. Or, more accurately, where there used to be a cut. All that remained of the deep gash was dried blood and a thick, dark, puckered line of skin. Her gaze shot to Cas once more.

     She searched the impenetrable darkness once more searching for where exactly he was. Then, suddenly, it all made sense. It was impossible, it couldn’t be true! And yet…

     “I know what you are…”

     The shadows flickered and Cas emerged slowly, his wings and head low, his footsteps hesitant. As if he knew his fate; knew what would happen. As if it’d happened before.

     When his eyes at last rose to meet hers, she whispered lowly, “Lamia vespertilio.” The words were husky, unfamiliar like they were meant to be written on dark, faded scrolls in hidden rooms, not spoken aloud.

     Cas’s eyes fell once more. So she had been right. “Vampire bat.” Why had she not remembered the legend before, when Pierre had told her Cas was a bat?

     “There was an old story that had been created by a nameless traveler hundreds of years ago. It said that when he heard of the beast of Riderscroft, he began to weave a tale of such splendor it carried from generation to generation. I think you know the legend, Cas.

     “The tale went to say that Riderscroft was not the first city to be haunted by such a beast. The signs were all the same. A nameless army of warriors appeared, decimating the land. A soldier would appear from amongst them, disgusted by their behavior. He would offer the people savior in return for a favor. The next morning the forces would be slayed, but the price would be terrible.

     “The people of Riderscroft were horrified. Others before them had suffered the same fate? Why had they not been warned? Why had the king’s messengers not ridden to the farthest corners of the kingdom to tell everyone of such a beast?

     “The traveler warned those of the villagers who wanted to ride out to the king and plea for his help against their rashness. The king, he warned them, turns a blind eye to this beast. He tells his court of the insanity of such a creature existing! The villagers, now truly forsaken, begged to hear the fate of the other towns.

     “His words were grim. He spoke of a creature that would appear at night. It was small, he said, but a fearsome thing to behold. It fed on blood of the women that the beast took, and had the ability to heal those it fed from, to increase their longevity for the next feeding. It could go for many moons without feeding.