Feral Snippets

Lily PrH

Set long before the events of Feral Hearts.

Lily didn't believe in vampires, in werewolves, or even witches, regardless of what the church thought. So when she had a vision of a red eyed man draining the blood of the priest until he was nothing but a corpse on the ground, she thought it was just a nightmare.

She had already learned not to share her visions, talking about them was a sure way to get a lashing, her back already bore the scars from before the lesson had sunk in, but it was just a nightmare anyway, or maybe a dream. Nightmares were supposed to be scary right? And the priest dying was not frightening in the least. In fact, it was the only thing she and the others prayed for.

But then she saw him.

Lily stood out in the front yard, the rain drenching her faded pink dress until it latched onto her skin. The dress was a favourite, the only bit of colourful clothing she had been given, and she'd worn it so often there were mismatched pieces where she'd had to patch holes.

Lily hadn't expected to see anyone else, not in that weather, and not that late at night, but maybe he liked storms too. The man set a quick pace, undisturbed by the puddles that sent water splashing up his trousers. He passed by Lily like he didn't even see her and she had intended to do the same, but she must have made a sound because as he was reaching the end of the path, he turned to face her, head slightly cocked the way the stray dogs did when you spoke to them. And then she saw his eyes.

"It's you," she breathed, before she could form a conscious thought. It shouldn't have mattered, he was too far away to have heard her barely audible words.

But he stopped short.

"What did you say?" the man asked, his eyes eerie in the dim light. Not quite glowing, but a deep red colour that she'd never seen before, except in her vision.

Lily's throat closed and she shut her mouth, taking a few steps back and casting her gaze to the ground. You didn't want to catch a man's attention, she knew that, she knew that, and yet, she already had. The best she could hope for was to mumble an apology and hope he dismissed her moment of carelessness. "Nothing, sorry," she barely managed to whisper. It was impolite to not look at someone when you spoke to them so she peeked shyly up from under her lashes.

The man's nostril flared, like something smelled sour, and she took a few more steps back, shrinking away.

And then he was over the gate and holding her chin and she hadn't even seen him move. He was just there and he was holding her. She expected pain, tensed up in preparation, her breath already becoming ragged with fear but he just moved his grip to cup her chin, his hands cold as ice even along her already chilled skin, and whispered, "What did you say?"

And the fear evaporated, like it had never been there. Lily swallowed because her throat was still sticky from the fear that didn't exist and she repeated herself once again. "It's you."

The man dropped her chin and tilted his head, Lily could almost see the gears turning. "Me, who?" he said, and his voice was silk and soft and she still wasn't afraid and why wasn't she afraid? He was looking at her and staring, and she knew that look, dreaded that look, but he wasn't touching her and why wasn't she afraid?

"You're the one who's going to save us," Lily replied, like she was in a trance. And she looked back up at the storm and smiled, because it hadn't been a dream, it had been a vision. And that priest was going to be dead like the mice he trapped along the shed where they slept.

The man's mouth quirked up. "Save you from what?"

She turned back to the church instead of answering, and then his hand was at her neck and she froze. But his hands only brushed back the neck of her dress and she knew what he saw, the scars, the lashes, the evidence of her misery. But he only said, "I see." His voice was tight, and cold and irritated, but his grip didn't tighten. Didn't choke, didn't rip, didn't tear.