Before The Darkest Hour

Eight

Jacel

I sit atop the building, looking down to the ground below.

In mere moments, three men will walk out of the door. I will be upon them before they can blink.

My fangs ache to dig deep into their flesh, not because of hunger, but an emotion that runs much deeper.

These men have touched my mate, frightened her. They will all die, painfully.

As I perch right above the door, waiting, I look out over the horizon. The sun is now long gone, giving way to the large moon that hangs suspended in the sky. Millions of little glittering stars surround it, some so bright that they stand out like splotches of blood on white fabric. It may be different than home, but I can acknowledge the beauty of this world.

I remember my mate, with her brown skin and long curls. Even from a distance, I could see the curves of her form and the lines on her face. If I had to choose one thing I liked most about this new plane, it would be her. My heart squeezes at the memory of her frightened eyes.

These males will pay for putting fear into her mind.

I freeze as heavy footsteps approach from below. Even the wind settles, as if it is holding its breath with me. The lock on the other side of the heavy door clicks, and then the door is pushed open wide. Three men stumble out from the threshold with smiles on their faces.

My own face mimics theirs, a mockery of their selfish indulgence.

I stand, silently, as they take more heavy steps forward. And then I let myself fall; down, down, down until I hit the solid ground below me with a thud. The three warriors twist, spinning around in that slow clumsy way that humans seem to favor. I am still smiling as their eyes widen, taking in the sight of death on their doorstep.

"Hello," I say, rasping out the strange language that humans use to speak to one another.

Their guns lift in unison.

"Do you think your silly tools will stop me from ripping those pretty heads from your bodies?" I ask, cocking my head to one side.

They do not answer me, of course. They only press their fingers against the triggers of their fire-spitting weapons, spraying metal orbs against my skin.

I feel pinches, mere annoying flicks against my arms and chest. The bullets do not even scrape my flesh. I laugh, the sound booming from my voice, and watch the expressions change their features from fear to paralyzing terror.

"I told you so," I grumble, flicking the metal shrapnel from my clothing.

"What are you?"

I look up to the male, his eyes shining with wetness. I should feel pity for these helpless beings, but the emotions do not surface. These men have frightened my female. They may have hurt her.

No, they do not deserve mercy.

"You may call me death," I reply, before launching myself at the men.

The leader of the pack is easy to pick out. He carries himself in a way that is cowardly but big. He likes to make others do his dirty work. I leave him for last.

My hands grip the first male, and I doubt he even had the time for his mind to catch up with what was happening to him before my fingers were dug deep into his neck, feeling the warm blood that pumps just below his skin. I savor the moment his life drains from his body as his soul is absorbed by the Light, before moving on to the next warrior.